Chapter Text
The first month was—overwhelming, for lack of a better word.
Waking up in the hospital. Jayce at her side, his eyes bloodshot.
Then, the doctors. The explanations. The tentative touch of her fingers to her bandaged head, the slow, dawning realization that she’d skipped forward into time five years and couldn’t remember any part of it. When she looked at herself in the hospital room mirror, angled her face this way and that, touching the slight ghost of scars across her brow, the line of her jaw, did Caitlyn realize that she couldn’t quite say she was familiar with her reflection. She’d become someone different in the past five years, and she couldn’t remember any of it. She’d been shaped, touched, molded into something different and yet she neither knew by what or how.
The recovery would be a process.
She’d been given a strict regimen, a routine to follow to regain her past, to bring it all back. Slow and steady, the doctors emphasized.
Caitlyn didn’t miss the strange look exchanged between the doctors and Jayce.
Both the doctors and Jayce ordered her to spend the next month recovering in Jayce’s estate, because the man fretted over her incessantly and he adamantly insisted that Caitlyn stay with him so he could care for her the way she needed to be cared for.
“I just…don’t want you alone at home,” Jayce said, his hands scrunching up the knees of his pants, sitting next to her bedside.
With a sigh, Caitlyn sat back on her hospital bed. “It’s…always felt empty, since Mother and Father passed.”
“Yeah, I remember you told me back then too. You—” Jayce stopped, working his jaw. “You moved out, you know?”
“I did?”
“Yeah, you have an apartment now. Penthouse,” he corrected himself.
“So what happened to the estate?”
“You, um,” Jayce started, opening his mouth and closing it several times. “The estate—you, um, well, look. We can show you it when it’s the right time. For now, you’re with me, sprout.”
“You’re just excited to have me at your house so you can trap me into your hours-long discussions about your inventions.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes.
Jayce managed a grin at her, one of the few she’d seen on him since she’d awoken. Then his expression turned more serious. “I’ll come get you tomorrow.” Standing up, he then asked, “Hey, though, how are you feeling?”
It felt hard to answer that question. Five years of her life—gone. Jayce had told her she’d kept her position as Sheriff, that she’d done well, but little more detail than that—in a strange way, Caitlyn couldn’t quite process the same kind of grief or sadness that seemed to weigh Jayce down. She didn’t know what she’d lost—she didn’t know what she didn’t know, only that she knew she’d lost some things, multiple things, many things, and it’d take her time to bring it all back to her.
For Caitlyn, the loss of memory felt less like sorrow and more of a bitter disappointment, a kind of seething desire to take back what she couldn’t remember, how this gaping hole in her life so blatantly stared back at her, emotionless, faceless, but a presence all the same. She could understand the people around her felt devastated she couldn’t remember—that brought its own form of mourning for Caitlyn—but for her, personally? This felt like…like another big case, another giant mystery to solve, to unravel, to unbury. This time, the subject was her; surely she and the people around her had left her enough clues to get to the bottom of all this.
And she’d figure it all out, one way or another. Surely she could rip away the black void called loss, fill it back up, and put the missing pieces back together.
“I’ll feel better once we’re catching up on everything,” was what Caitlyn answered.
And so, she got to work the next day, sitting with Jayce in his estate.
There was so much to catch up on. So much. About the world, about Piltover, about Zaun. She spent her days with Jayce reading newspaper articles, pamphlets, looking at old flyers that Jayce kept for posterity because the man couldn’t get enough of chronicling history in his own journal. He sat with her on the couch of his living room, handing her articles he thought she’d like.
—-
Newly Instated Sheriff Successfully Captures Criminal Corina Veraza
Sheriff Kiramman has begun her new tenure with the capture one of Zaun’s most elusive crime lords. She attributes her success to the welcome assistance from several Zaunites, who chose to remain anonymous for this article.
“I hope to continue my partnership with fellow Zaunites who also seek the same justice as I,” said Sheriff Kiramman in a statement. “It’s high time both of our cities learn to work together to make our homes a better place. The partnership with the good citizens of Zaun for the Veraza Operation has shown me that we’re only better together. I’ll be changing hiring practices for the Wardens to better include our partners from across the river, so I might gain better perspective on how best to help both of our cities.”
An anonymous partner to the investigation also gave their statement. “I’ll help Caitlyn with whatever she needs. I can’t just leave her alone to tackle Zaun on her own. You need a Zaunite to handle Zaun, and what better person to do that than me?”
Kiramman Establishes Scholarship Fund for Underprivileged
As part of new initiatives from the Council to enact reparations with Zaun, the Kiramman family has established a new scholarship fund to allow underprivileged children from Zaun to attend the prestigious Academy in Piltover. Every student eligible for the scholarship will have full tuition and board paid for, alongside additional funding for any research projects that the student may engage in at their time at the Academy. The first batch of scholarship students—ten, personally chosen by one of the inventors of Hextech, Viktor, and by the current Councilor from Zaun, Sevika—will begin their first year at the Academy this fall.
“I look forward to seeing how my fellow Zaunites will contribute to progress, not just in Piltover, but in Zaun,” said Viktor. “These are the best and brightest, and I know they will do not just good, but great, here with the resources given to us by the Kiramman family.”
Progress Day to be Held in Zaun
For the first time ever, Progress Day will instead be held in the main plaza of Zaun, with this year’s theme focusing around environmental restoration and recovery. Academy inventors and students have spent all year dedicating their efforts to inventions and many look forward to seeing the grand results.
“I can’t say much yet, but I’m really excited to show everyone my five year plan to restore Zaun’s soil,” said one inventor. “My partner and I have been working nonstop, so we’re really, really excited to show it to everyone.”
“Thanks to the Kirammans, I’m ready to show to the world the most hyper-efficient smog-clearing machine you’ve ever seen,” said another inventor. “I’m glad I got a chance to go to the Academy, and I’m glad I can finally make my inventions, and my dreams, come true.”
—-
Caitlyn studied the black and white photographs in the newspapers, saw how different the relationship between the two cities had become in just five years. She saw photographs of monthly farmer’s markets on the bridge, stalls and vendors from both cities showing off foods and wares. She saw the Councilors posing in front of a newly cleaned up shore of Zaun, its harbor and ocean cleared of debris and awful color. She saw news articles celebrating the success of housing initiatives, education reforms, and community centers in Zaun.
That wasn’t to say things were perfect. Despite the articles proving Caitlyn’s efficiency as Sheriff, new villains and barons always rose to the power vacuum left behind by their captured predecessors. Work clearly never ended for her, not when many were unwilling to let go of the addicting taste of power and the brutal force that came with it. It was less in degree and extreme, but there nonetheless; evil never rested, and justice never did too.
“I’m assuming there must’ve been an article about my incident,” Caitlyn said, gesturing at her head. “Kiramman gets into car crash, or something?”
Jayce looked uncomfortable as he straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “Uh, we asked the press not to make one, actually. Council threw their weight in too. As much as the paparazzi love a good front page piece, we convinced them it’d be a bad look to just broadcast our Sheriff was out of commission. Criminals might get the wrong idea.”
“Ah. Right. That makes sense.” Leaning back on the couch, teacup and saucer in her hands, Caitlyn asked, “So, who’s been overseeing the station while I’m recovering?”
“Steb. Do you remember him?”
“The…name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Ah, I guess you hired him in the time you, you know.” Jayce shuffled around some papers on the coffee table. “Huh, thought I’d be able to find an article or something about him, but I remember the guy’s not big on being in the limelight. How about we go to the station next week, and get you settled back in?”
“That sounds wonderful. Honestly, Jayce, I’m suffering from being a homebody for a month. I’d love to get back to work as soon as possible.”
“How can you possibly be tired of hanging out with me?” Jayce pouted, his eyes going huge and wide, almost tearful. “I thought you loved being with your big brother!”
Lightly kicking him in the shin, they both laughed, but Caitlyn didn’t miss how Jayce’s laughter didn’t quite have that high, happy note she remembered. As he stood up to refill the teapot, Caitlyn could see as the man turned away, the man’s face turning contemplative, calculating, like he were thinking of something else.
With a quiet sigh, Caitlyn continued her reading. She received well-wishes from friends too.
—-
Dear Caitlyn,
I must thank you for giving Jayce another outlet in which to converse about our discoveries. We’ve come to learn it’s valuable to have outside input when it comes to our inventions, and I’m sure he appreciates your insight, but I do chuckle at how he tells me you grow tired of talking to him until late in the night. I know you know this, but he’s just relieved you’re recovering, and his conversations with you are, I’m sure, to keep your healing brain stimulated with thought.
We were all afraid you wouldn’t make it, but I’m relieved to know you’re doing well.
Though I would love nothing more than to visit you myself, Jayce insists on following the doctor’s recovery regimen for you, and this letter will have to do for now. Know that I am thinking of you, always, and that I look forward to when you can visit our labs again. There’s so much to show you, Caitlyn. I know you would be inspired by what we’ve made here, and how the next era of Hextech can serve both our cities.
Rest well my friend,
Viktor
—-
Sniffling, Caitlyn wiped a tear from her eye. Viktor had always been so kind to her, so gentle with her; she remembered days as a teenager, nonstop asking him questions as she tailed both him and Jayce in their labs. He’d never made her feel like a misfit—he’d always been patient, gentle with her in a way that only an exemplary teacher could be. She was relieved to know that the man still had a place in her life.
It was surprising, though, to see that she’d established a stronger rapport and relationship with Mel.
—-
My dearest Caitlyn,
I’ve been told you don’t recall the friendship we’ve built over the past few years, which saddens me, but rest assured, I have no intention of changing that from my end. You have been a stalwart friend and a willing ally to not just me, but the Council, in ensuring that Piltover remains the City of Progress. If I am to summarize us best, you might argue I’m the one on the Council ensuring you have the bandwidth to do what’s just and necessary, without the bureaucratic red tape you and I are so familiar with. Suffice to say, you’re best at your job when you’re allowed to play a little fast and loose with the rules, which I’m sure will be of no surprise to you.
When you’re free and we’re allowed to visit each other again, let’s have tea. There’s an excellent Shuriman cafe in downtown you and I frequented often, and I know your favorite kind of tea is green. For the record, I’m preferable to white champaca.
Be well soon,
Mel Medarda
—-
Chuckling, Caitlyn rubbed her thumb over the wax stamp bearing the Medarda symbol. It was funny, thinking that the most accomplished and prestigious of the Councilors had been willing to indulge Caitlyn in her less ‘reputable’ ways of operation—Caitlyn had to admit, she did have a penchant for the unorthodox and for skirting rules, especially when the rules were a bit suffocating and archaic. It felt reassuring in some small way to know that she had a likeminded friend in that regard.
Once Caitlyn had gotten somewhat adjusted to modern times and caught up on major events in both the world and in Piltover and Zaun, Jayce saw fit to release her from the confines of his estate. The doctors reviewed Caitlyn thoroughly, concluding that she’d overcome the worst of her recovery—which had involved skull-shattering migraines clawing at her skull—and they finally gave her clearance for her to return to her occupation as Sheriff. There were strict orders for her to not engage in field work, regardless of how badly she wanted to, and Jayce himself had preemptively gone to the station and lectured all of Caitlyn’s officers to not let her fall into the line of fire at any cost.
“Yes, Jayce, I have the medicine with me,” Caitlyn said impatiently for the umpteenth time as the two prepared to leave through the front doors of his estate. “Jayce, honestly, if a migraine hits me while we’re outside, I’ll be fine. You’re with me, the officers at the station will be there, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know! You can’t blame me for just being worried,” Jayce said with an anxious smile. “I—look, I almost lost you. I’m—sorry, for being so overprotective, but I just…I’m just glad you’re here, with me.”
Softening, Caitlyn put a hand on his shoulder. “I know. I’m glad to be here with you too. Now, let’s go.”
They walked through Piltover’s streets, Caitlyn recognizing most of the common landmarks and restaurants, storefronts and buildings. She paused, though, on the street that led to the most prestigious estates—like hers—but Jayce’s hands clamped down firmly on her shoulders and he pushed her forward.
“We can visit your estate later, Cait,” Jayce said seriously. “Right now, we’re going to the station, and then we’ll visit your apartment tonight, okay? Little steps.”
“Of course.”
Still, she glanced back, wondering. Jayce had been so careful with the news articles he’d given her. What had happened to her estate in the past five years?
At the station, the second Caitlyn entered through the door, every officer of every rank stood in the lobby, letting loose tons of party poppers, blowing on little celebratory horns, and clapping and whistling with joyful enthusiasm at her return. There, she met old, familiar faces—and she spotted on their uniforms their high ranks, showing their progress through the years from when she remembered them as cadets to now, to well accomplished officers, captains, and commanders. Newer faces reintroduced themselves to her, politely shaking her hand while giving her their names.
Again, it was so, so heartwarming to see so many people greet her with such joy, such happiness and relief. So many ‘Glad to have you back, Chief’s and ‘I’m so happy you’re okay!’s, and she was surprised when a few even brought her in for a hug, tears in their eyes as they pulled away.
Her officers were all incredibly loyal, devoted, dedicated. She saw that in the way they saluted her.
One thing though that Caitlyn once again did not miss was the slight shadow of melancholy over the whole troop. As she politely listened to new officers explain how they’d joined the force, she saw two of her veteran officers in the corner of the lobby with Jayce, quietly speaking, Jayce shaking his head with a heavy sigh.
One of the newer officers came forward—an aquatic Vastayan.
“My name is Steb, ma’am,” the man said, offering his hand in a handshake, which Caitlyn politely returned. “I’m your second-in-command. I’ve been running the precinct since your accident.”
“My…second-in-command,” Caitlyn said, brow furrowed. “I thought Jenkins was—?”
“He was, ah,” Steb exhaled. “You wouldn’t remember, but he was found to be a mole for Renata Glasc, another chembaron that you and I worked to take down together. I was—promoted, after that. I have a report on the operation. I wasn’t technically your true second-in-command, to be honest, but as of now, I am. I’m here to assist you in whatever it is you need, ma’am.”
“What do you mean you weren’t technically my true second-in-command?” Caitlyn asked, perplexed at Steb’s choice of words. “Was someone else—?”
“We should proceed forward to your office,” Steb said quickly with a smile. “Shall we go?”
As Steb and Caitlyn entered the office, Caitlyn felt it both familiar and unfamiliar; the map and pins were a familiar thing but the actual clues and operation notes pinned to the board were new to her. The multitude array of notebooks, papers, and other operational material stacked on her desk was another thing she learned she’d continued to make a hobby of—organizing everything in neat piles, completed reports in one corner, reports to read in another, forms to process here, completed forms here. Moving around the desk, Caitlyn placed her hand atop the worn and weathered chair—signs of years of use. With her other hand, she touched the coaster atop the surface of the desk—it’d always been drilled into her to use a coaster, to never leave stains behind, and it was good to know that’d been a habit she’d kept for the past few years.
And, additionally, that old squeaky wheel at the bottom of her chair was still there. Clearly, her past self had never seen fit to fix it either. She moved to sit in her chair, remembering the many nights she’d sat in this very same chair, and how she could see she’d been in it for many more than she could remember.
“I understand you might want some time alone to review…everything,” Steb said, hands behind his back as he stood in front of Caitlyn’s desk. “I’ll be just outside the front door if you need me, ma’am.” He pointed at the very small stack of unprocessed forms at the corner of her desk. “To make you feel at home, I figured you might like a little bit of work. I’ve placed some reports and applications for your review here, if you’d like to read them.”
“Thank you, Steb,” Caitlyn said, smiling. “You’ve been working for me for quite some time, haven’t you?”
“I understand you have a system, ma’am. I’ve abided by it for a few years, now.” Steb’s smile was there, but small, too. “I’m to report back to Mr. Talis, but I’ve been informed you’ll be settling in slowly over the next week. I’ll ensure you have work, ma’am.”
Caitlyn laughed. “That’s one thing I’ve realized, even with my amnesia. The work never ended, did it?”
“It never does, ma’am.” Saluting her, Steb added, “It’s good to have you back, Sheriff. We’ve all missed you.”
“It’s good to be back. Thank you, Steb. Let Jayce know I’ll be fine—and yes, I intend on not leaving the premises—and that I’ll be prepared when he’ll get me at the end of the work day.”
Steb departed, and Caitlyn began her first day back at work in earnest.
Other officers dropped by over the day, one who gave her a cup of her favorite tea, a few who came to her to tearfully welcome her back, and on occasion, Steb, who acted as proxy for Jayce in checking she’d taken her medicine and was taking her mandated breaks.
In the break room, Caitlyn noticed it hadn’t changed over the past few years except for a bit of signs of age; some chipped corners of the table, the old water cooler knobs creaking when she turned them, one cabinet door squeaking loudly when she opened it to get a mug.
“You should come for game night, Sheriff. We miss having you,” said an officer behind her—Loris, was his name. “You’ve got a killer poker face.”
“Hah,” Caitlyn chuckled, turning around to see Loris at the table, a sandwich in his hands. “Is that so? I hope I didn’t annihilate you all too badly.”
Loris laughed—a deep, booming sound. “You did, all the time. Only V—”
Steb, standing at Caitlyn’s side immediately coughed. “Sheriff, perhaps I can show you to the armory? That’ll finish up your break and then you can resume reading reports again in your office.”
Loris shut his mouth, nodding at Steb, before stuffing his face with sandwich. Glancing between them both, Caitlyn felt inclined to push, but she sensed the strange tension in the room—again, that light shadow of melancholy, the something of sadness slipping into the cracks, hovering near but never revealing itself in full.
As the two entered the armory, though, Caitlyn noticed a set of equipment she didn’t recognize.
“Aren’t these Jayce’s Atlas Gauntlets?” Caitlyn asked, standing at the shelf, brow furrowed, a hand on her chin as she studied the great pieces of metal—there was obvious wear and age on these too, signs of brutal and brilliant battle shown on the metalwork. “What are they doing here? I thought they were meant to be used for the miners down in Zaun.”
Steb pursed his lips, hands behind his back as he stared at the gauntlets. “They were used—for specific operations. You authorized their use for—good reason, I assure you.”
“Hm.”
Clearing his throat, Steb said, “Since you became Sheriff, you’ve worked closely with the smiths at the Academy to improve our equipment and gear.” He turned around and moved away, and Caitlyn followed at his side, away from the gauntlets.
“Do we still follow my strict nonlethal policy?”
“We do, ma’am, yes. Only the Council, in full agreement, can grant permission for lethal force. And they rarely ever do.”
That was a relief to know. Never again would she allow another tragedy like the Day of Ash. That’d been a permanent stain on Piltover’s history—on Enforcer history—and Caitlyn was glad to see that her reforms of the Enforcers into the Wardens, a peacekeeping force, had been carried out through the years. Steb reviewed with her the existing stock of armor and weaponry in the armory, before they returned back to Caitlyn’s office.
Returning to the office, Caitlyn sat down at her desk again, reading through some menial forms—applications for days off, possible raises, potential new hires—she reviewed each one carefully, giving her approval or denial, but there was one, final form at the end of the stack that caught her eye.
—-
Sheriff Kiramman,
I, Vi, formally ask for a leave of absence, starting from today. I plan to return six months from now. The reason for my absence is for personal reasons due to bereavement.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Vi
—-
Something about the letter seemed wrong. The template Caitlyn recognized, but something about the way the filled-in words from Vi had been written down on the paper made something feel off in Caitlyn’s head.
‘Vi’, with lack of last name, indicated that this officer was from Zaun.
“Vi,” Caitlyn said aloud, shaping the name on her mouth, her tongue, trying to figure out why this name felt…not familiar, but not unfamiliar either.
‘Bereavement.’ Grief. Mourning. Caitlyn brushed her thumb over the word scrawled on the paper, followed the shaky, trembling lines of Vi’s hand as she’d filled the form out—and she felt disappointment at how she couldn’t picture just who this Vi was, what she looked like.
Wait, she.
Caitlyn wracked her brain, trying to figure out how she might’ve known this, why she assumed this Vi was a ‘she’ in the first place.
But something in her said that was right. The shape of Vi’s name on her tongue gave her a shadow of a thought of the actual, real Vi—a woman she once knew.
“Steb?” Caitlyn called out.
Steb swiftly strode to her desk, saluting. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Who’s this ‘Vi’? I don’t recall meeting her today,” Caitlyn said, holding out the leave of absence form.
“Ah.” Steb’s expression was perfectly neutral, perfectly blank as he glanced down at the form. “You don’t remember her?”
“I don’t, unfortunately.” Caitlyn studied Steb’s face, wondering at the strange question.
“Vi was—is, an important part of the force,” Steb said. If Caitlyn didn’t know better, she’d say there was a flash of disappointment in Steb’s gaze. “She’s very hardworking, dedicated, and loyal to you. She just needs some time off. I believe she needs the break.”
“I understand. I’m not going to pry into business that isn’t mine.” Caitlyn signed the form, approving the leave of absence, before putting the completed form on its appropriate stack.
“Do inform Vi that I hope she’s alright, and I hope she feels better soon,” Caitlyn added.
Steb offered her a small smile. “Of course, ma’am. I will.”
The rest of the work day proved to be a somewhat more relaxing one; Steb revealed to her that there weren’t any major operations in place right now, only minor crime incidents occurring during her own medical leave of absence, and that most of the operational functionality of the station proceeded like a well-oiled machine—Caitlyn could take her time settling back into her role, and Steb could manage splitting the rest of the minor reports and incidents between himself and Caitlyn to get her warmed up on the job.
By the end of the workday, Jayce appeared with his signature boyish grin, ready to take Caitlyn on her next walk down memory lane.
“You’re still welcome to stay with me for as long as you like, you know,” Jayce said, the two of them walking through the streets of Piltover. “My guest bedroom is yours.”
“I think I’ll probably move into this apartment of mine soon,” Caitlyn admitted. “I—I love being with you, Jayce, truly, but I miss having a space I can call my own.”
“Yeah, yeah, I figured you’d say that. Anyway, here we are.”
They paused in front of an apartment complex, Jayce fiddling with some keys in his pocket before he opened the door, and the two entered the lobby before entering another lift. Jayce pushed the button for the top, and then they were on their way up.
Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlyn noticed Jayce inhaling and exhaling, as if the man were bracing himself for something.
“Are you alright, Jayce?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course!” Jayce beamed at her, but Caitlyn could spot a strange glint in his eyes. “Haven’t been here in a while. I just hope you’ll be okay here. Just thinking about you being here, all on your lonesome,” he joked.
“I’ll be fine, Jayce. Really,” Caitlyn said pointedly. “I’m not a child anymore, as much as you seem to think I am.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Once they reached the top, they entered a short hallway with a door—Jayce fiddled the keys again, and they entered Caitlyn’s penthouse apartment.
At sunset, the place was strikingly beautiful. Golden rays of sunlight from the large windows bathed the open concept kitchen and living room, and as they paused in the entryway, taking off their shoes, Caitlyn casted her gaze about the place she’d called her home the past five years. The furniture and decor were modern, luxurious in the way only someone like her could afford, but Caitlyn spotted the little loose threads on the couch in the living room, saw the fine Ionian knives and other miscellaneous kitchen atop the kitchen island, saw the signs of how she’d lived here.
But something caught her eye.
Caitlyn strode forward to the living room, her feet touching the soft rug covering the expanse of the living room floor. She bent forward, dragging a finger against the coffee table, studying the crescent stains of mugs and cups pockmarking the table’s surface.
“You said you haven’t been here in a while,” Caitlyn commented.
“Mhm,” Jayce said, still struggling to take off his boot at the entryway.
“Then why was this place cleaned recently?”
“Hm?”
“A month of absence would generally mean there should be dust everywhere, Jayce,” Caitlyn said, and she straightened up, turning to look at him.
“Hm.” Jayce shrugged, dropping his boot on the ground. “I guess so.”
Caitlyn stared at him.
Jayce just stared back, eyebrows raised.
“Do you have something else to add, Cait?” Jayce asked.
“On the walls, there were paintings, here, right? The sunlight’s stained the walls, just the slightest bit, and I can see the outline of paintings on these walls.” She gestured to the walls of her apartment, where the bare—empty, blank—walls stared back at her almost shamefully, revealing just the faintest bit of discoloration where large pieces of artwork had hung.
“Huh. Weird.” Jayce flashed her a smile.
“Are you…going to elaborate?” Caitlyn asked.
“No,” Jayce said. “I think you’ll be fine.” With another smile, Jayce strode forward to the couch and plopped himself down, hands behind his head as he began whistling a little tune.
With narrowed eyes, Caitlyn stared at him for a moment longer, before giving an exasperated huff. She moved to the kitchen, her eyes roaming across every surface—again, stains on the countertops from cups, mugs—and saw signs of life, again. She began to open and close cabinet doors, tug open and shut drawers, inspecting every piece of what her life had been before—and pieces began to fall into places, conclusions drawn in her mind, an inevitable thing with her because even with a forgotten past, Caitlyn could never forget just who she was at her core.
“Hm.” Caitlyn paused in examining a very well-used pan.
“Yeah, Cait?” Jayce called from the living room.
“I’m thinking, Jayce.”
“I figured you’d be.”
“Did you expect me to?”
“I sure would be concerned if you weren’t. As you love reminding me, us prim and proper citizens of society should be thinking constantly on how best to—”
“Jayce, shut up.”
Caitlyn put away the kitchen equipment, walking out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the other rooms; she briefly explored her home office, noted that it looked like a mirror reflection of her office at the station, albeit a little bit more homey with some potted plants on the window sill. Those she spent a minute looking at, leaning down to inspect the vibrant and healthy green of the plants, the freshly watered soil, the signs of care of plants.
“I didn’t know I grew a green thumb,” Caitlyn said, casual.
“You learned how to,” Jayce answered behind her; he’d followed her in.
“Did I, now?” Turning around, once more, Caitlyn stared, hard, at Jayce.
Jayce surely remembered Caitlyn’s brief obsessive stint with succulents, back when she’d been a teenager trying to figure herself out. Surely he remembered Caitlyn slaughtering entire legions of poor little green things, and surely he remembered how Caitlyn had despaired for months afterward at her poor skill in planthood.
The man smiled at her, false innocence on his boyish face. “Wanna keep exploring?”
She poked her head into a generic-looking guest bedroom—that once again, however, showed signs of some kind of ‘removal’; imprints of missing paintings on the walls, a strange emptiness to the room that housed only a bed and a dresser. When she glanced down at the wooden flooring, she angled her head, kneeling down and tracing the barest, faintest lines of scratches, like very, very heavy things had been moved out of this room too. The bed and dresser, when Caitlyn glanced at them, looked just a little too new, but Caitlyn didn’t comment on it.
They moved to the master bedroom next.
Jayce leaned against the doorway, waiting, though he said nothing as he watched Caitlyn peruse the perimeter of the room.
First, she opened the doors to the balcony, and she stared out at the rest of Piltover’s skyline—angled, pristine, cut into just the right, perfect shapes, and further beyond, the crooked jaggedness of Zaun’s own high rise towers that poked up from the depths. When she glanced down at the railing, she idly brushed a finger over how the paint had scraped away from the metal on the topmost bar, how she could see the railing had often been used, touched, like someone had tightly gripped it for some reason, and if she leaned over the railing, she could see what looked like dirt marks against the building wall, like someone’s boot had scraped against it…
Turning around, Caitlyn strode towards the large bed—that was unsurprising by itself—and the exploration of what she assumed to be ‘her’ side of the bed was as expected. Opening the nightstand’s drawer, Caitlyn saw what she expected—pens, pencils, notebooks scrawled in her hand with reminders, notes, things to keep track of. The notebooks she didn’t spend a long time perusing—she could do that another time—and she noted how there was a coaster here, no doubt to hold her usual glasses of whatever drink.
Caitlyn hummed, once again.
Jayce didn’t say a word. He continued to watch.
Moving around the bed, Caitlyn approached the second nightstand and once again saw the telltale sign of cup and mug stains atop its surface, numerous crescents peppering it and signs of someone furiously attempting to clean it all off.
“Interesting,” Caitlyn said aloud.
Jayce’s silence was his own cheeky answer.
When Caitlyn slid open the drawer to the stained nightstand, it was, of course, empty.
Straightening up, Caitlyn went the master closet, and she opened the set of double doors.
Of course, her clothes were here—but the way the clothes were hanged from the rods, the way everything was spread out, as if trying to give the impression that the closet was full when it was so clearly and obviously half-empty made it so, so blatantly obvious of what was happening here.
“Jayce,” Caitlyn said, almost sweet, an edge of deadliness to her voice.
Footsteps, behind her, then Jayce’s presence. “Yeah, sprout?”
“Who else lived here with me?”
Jayce said nothing.
Turning around, Caitlyn came close to her caretaker, her brother, the man who she knew would not deny her what she wanted most.
He stood there, expression no longer playful, no longer mischievous innocence. He looked serious.
“Jayce. There was someone else here. They lived with me, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Jayce said, quiet. “Yeah, she did.”
“Jayce. Tell me. Now. Who lived here? She—she was my partner. Don’t lie—tell me who this is. I want to know.”
Jayce slowly exhaled, and he studied her, looked at her with something between pity and reluctance. “I knew you’d figure it out if I brought you here.” With a sigh, he crossed his arms, his gaze somewhere out the window. “She didn’t…she didn’t really want you to know about her, this soon, but…I kinda think you should. She was such a huge part of your life.”
With an exasperated twist of her hands, Caitlyn said, “So? Then tell me who she is.”
Jayce slowly breathed out of his mouth, still not looking at her, still staring off somewhere else. “That’s the one promise I’m gonna keep. I can’t tell you.”
“You’re not going to tell me who she is,” Caitlyn said flatly. “Her name? Anything? What she looks like? Anything?”
“I promised not to tell you anything about her,” Jayce said, finally turning his gaze onto her. With a small chuckle, he did a little gesture with his hand at the room. “Never said anything though about not showing you your place. Just can’t directly tell you anything. But I knew you’d figure it out.”
With a furrowed brow, Caitlyn put her hands on her hips, tapping her foot on the floor. “So—I’m allowed to know she exists, but not anything else of import.”
“Sorry, sprout. Seriously. Wish I could tell you more, but I really don’t think anything about her should come from me. It’s between you and her.”
“But I don’t understand. Wouldn’t she want to—help me recover? Help me remember her?” Caitlyn asked. “Doesn’t she want to be with me, then, if she’s my so-called partner?”
“It’s…hard to explain, Cait.”
“My accident has something to do with it, doesn’t it?”
He sighed. “Yeah, sort of. It’s kinda fresh for her, still. She needs time to heal, Cait. I’m sorry. I think—I think you should just let her come to you on her own time. I mean, you forgot about her.” Pushing away from the doorway, Jayce put a comforting hand on Caitlyn’s arm. “She’s—she’s kinda going through her own recovery thing right now. It kinda hurt her a lot to know you can’t remember her at all.”
“It’s not like I meant to forget her on purpose,” Caitlyn shot back; the frustration at this oh-so-obvious gigantic hole in her life bubbled up to the surface, boiling her temper, because the clear-fitting solution to this adamantly, for some reason, refused to see her, meet with her, talk with her.
“She knows that,” Jayce said. “But hey, look, you can’t—you can’t just force this, okay? Everyone heals at their own pace. Even you. And her. Keep that in mind. The car crash fucked up both of your lives.”
“Why go through this—this song and dance with me then, bringing me here?”
Jayce weakly smiled at her, shrugging a shoulder. “You did say you wanted to move out of my place. I think it’s right you know about her, I just don’t think it’s in my place for me to tell you everything about her.”
Choosing to let it go, Caitlyn moved past Jayce and back down the hallway. “Alright, fine. I’ve also decided. I’ll move back this weekend, Jayce.”
“I know you’ll figure it out, Cait,” Jayce said from behind her. “I know you will.”
When they returned to Jayce’s estate, Jayce and her kept silent as they ate dinner together in the dining room, and Caitlyn excused herself to bed early so she could be alone with her thoughts. Back in her bedroom, she lie awake staring at the ceiling, her mind going through a million different scenarios, wondering, imagining.
This partner.
She’d fallen in love. And someone had fallen in love with her. They’d shared a home, a life.
It wasn’t that Caitlyn couldn’t believe she’d fall in love—it was that someone could love her back, for all she was, who she was. The only way Caitlyn could imagine finding a partner for life meant finding someone who wasn’t interested in being with her for her wealth, or her status, or anything else about her that the world so viciously defined her by. This had been someone who’d so clearly and obviously loved her for her.
She began to put together the pieces of the mystery—the left behind fragments of the empty, gaping hole in her life—and began constructing the parts of the whole.
The stains on the coffee table, the nightstand, the kitchen counters; this had been someone rebellious, because Caitlyn could see herself reminding her partner repeatedly to use a coaster and yet her partner never did. This had been someone unafraid of her, willing to push back, to grind her gears just the slightest bit, annoy her in a charming way.
Then, the cooking utensils, the pots and pans and the prestigious knives—Caitlyn knew how to cook, yes, but not to the extent in which she’d seen in that kitchen, equipped from ceiling to floor with all manner of the most refined cooking gadgetry. This had been someone who’d made her meals, who’d put extraneous effort into cooking for them both.
The missing paintings from the walls. That puzzled Caitlyn the slightest bit, because for some reason, her partner had seen fit to remove all art before Caitlyn’s re-arrival to the place. Why? Was her partner an artist? Would the paintings have identified her?
The scrapes of heavy furniture removed from the guest bedroom—or, not the guest bedroom, it’d been something else. Caitlyn couldn’t quite picture just what that room could’ve been used for but it’d definitely been used as something else. Heavy furniture, moved out…
Rebellious. Cheeky. A great chef. Possibly an artist. Maybe even a thrillseeker, if Caitlyn’s hypothesis about the patio railing was right, if this woman liked to jump or climb up on it. Usually worked with something that involved heavy furniture or equipment in her downtime.
And she’d come back and watered her plants, presumably after she’d moved out. She so obviously cared still, even in the throes of her own grief.
Who could her partner possibly be?
The car crash obviously explained the damage to Caitlyn’s brain but the cause, the detail of it had been kept vague, and Jayce had deliberately deflected any question about it when Caitlyn asked.
Throwing an arm over her face, Caitlyn sighed.
This mystery would gnaw at her, she knew it. She had to get to the bottom of this as soon as she could. The curiosity, the need to know, the desire to see what their love had been like—Caitlyn’s heart pined for it in a way she couldn’t describe.
During the weekend, Caitlyn packed up what few belongings she had at Jayce’s—not much, just clothing, medicine, and an entire bag stuffed full of all the articles and such Jayce had seen fit to give her to read—and slid the key into the door of her personal apartment, opening it and once again seeing the telltale reminders of someone else.
It took little time for Caitlyn to put away her belongings and stow away the bag that Jayce had given her for her things, and then Caitlyn moved towards the office. She watered the plants following the instructions Jayce had given her before sitting down at her desk.
Brushing her fingers over the surface, she tried to imagine her past self sitting here, ruminating on her own thoughts, thinking about cases and mysteries, or just having a nice cup of tea by the window.
Exhaling, Caitlyn methodically explored the drawers of her desk.
She again found miscellaneous things that belonged in a workspace—pens, pencils, official deeds showing her ownership of her assets and other properties in Piltover, formal documents detailing some of the foundations she’d once opened in the Kiramman family name, and other memorabilia detailing Caitlyn’s more personal, but still official, work to improve both Zaun and Piltover. She studied some of these, making notes in a brand new pocket notebook about touching base again with some of her charitable foundations.
As Caitlyn studied another document, one mystery unraveled itself—she’d turned the family estate into an orphanage. The deed and documentation were purely informational—Kiramman Home for the Brightest Youth—and revealed little else for Caitlyn’s motivations to converting her old home into an orphanage, but Caitlyn wondered at how and why she’d done it. She didn’t doubt her generosity and her kindness, but Caitlyn sensed she’d had a far, far more personal reason for giving away her entire family home.
And why had Jayce steered her away from it? Something didn’t add up.
She made a note—find time to visit her old estate.
Then, Caitlyn leaned down and slid open the final, bottom drawer on her right.
She paused, staring at it. It had very little in it, just some loose sheafs of blank paper, a blank notepad bearing her family sigil in the corner, and some loose washers as change, but…the depth of the drawer was wrong. It should be deeper…
Kneeling and pushing away her chair for some space, Caitlyn bent low, studying the drawer, the mismatched depth to it…
With a smile, Caitlyn lightly chuckled. “Of course I would do this.”
She felt around the insides of the drawer, trying to find it—and then she did, a tiny button that triggered a mechanism that lifted up the false bottom of the drawer, and Caitlyn saw what lie beneath it.
A roughened journal, stuffed full with random sheafs of paper, photographs, other things that the past Caitlyn had seen fit to hide away from the rest of the world.
Holding her breath, Caitlyn withdrew the notebook, shifting back into her seat and scooting her chair closer to her desk as she stared at the notebook in her hand.
She’d written so much in it. The pages were roughened, the notebook itself thick from just how much she’d written not just on the pages but stuffed between the pages, and the edges of the cover were dulled and softened from the many years of use. Caitlyn had to be careful putting the thing down on the table because a loose note slipped free from the pages.
Caitlyn stopped breathing.
She took the loose note between her trembling hands and saw the handwritten scrawl she’d seen earlier.
Happy anniversary, cupcake
-Vi