Chapter Text
Caitlyn’s Saturday starts like any other. She wakes up at six o’clock to the hazy early morning sun streaming in through the large windows in her bedroom - better than any alarm clock - and drowsily meanders out to the kitchen to turn her coffee maker on. While her coffee brews, she heads back to her bedroom to change out of her pajamas and into her workout clothes, stopping in her bedroom doorway on her way back out to the kitchen to gently stretch her shoulders and quads with the aid of the doorframe.
She finishes her short trip to the kitchen, retrieving her favorite mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker - it’s a hideously ugly thing, but it makes her smile every time she sees it, remembering that disastrous pottery class she had taken with Jayce a few years ago, both of them (and the instructor) completely stunned when they managed to make each other’s Snowdown gifts watertight. After grabbing some oat milk creamer from the fridge and dumping a liberal amount into her coffee - she’s never been able to drink it black - she walks around her kitchen island and over to the plush couch in her living area to plop herself down and watch the news while she waits for the caffeine to start making her feel like a person.
“...Earlier this morning, a Zaunite citizen was caught on security footage from several stores on Progress Avenue running through the streets of Piltover, carrying what looks to be a heavy bag. The suspect was pursued by police, who you can see here, and, we’re told, was later apprehended.”
Caitlyn watches the grainy footage with interest, noting what looks to be a young Zaunite citizen running down Progress Avenue in the dark, tripping on cobblestones and disappearing from frame, the camera observing the empty street for a few moments before no less than five uniformed officers run past…with their batons out. The footage ends, and the trite garbage that passes for news in Piltover resumes.
“Well, Cindy, all I have to say is thank goodness for our brave officers. I personally can’t imagine having to contend with these criminals every day…”
Caitlyn tunes out for a moment, not needing to hear anything more, already making a mental note to keep an eye on her email, and to reach out to her contact tomorrow to find out if there have been any attempts from concerned parties to contact the young Zaunite, or if Caitlyn needs to go down there are get the kid out herself. She fights the instinct to go right now, since it’s one that hasn’t served her or her clients well in the past. She knows now that, with her name, and her face, and her general “Piltie” demeanor, she’ll either spook the kid if they’re still alone, or be written off as a swindler by the family. Zaun has an extraordinarily tight-knit community, and Caitlyn has learned that she can help the most by being available when she’s needed, and by working to make sure that the appropriate people are keeping a close eye on the well-being of the arrestees after they’re brought in. She can’t do as much as she’d like about the officers with chips on their shoulders and ready access to weapons, but she can send a quick text to Viktor at the hospital, asking him to swing by the police station as soon as he can to tend to anyone there who might need help.
After listening to the weather report - it’s nearly winter, and bitterly cold outside, though the forecast doesn’t predict any precipitation over the next few days - Caitlyn switches off the tv, deposits her coffee mug in the sink, grabs her water bottle out of the fridge, and makes her way to the front door to grab her coat and scarf off the coat rack, slip into her warm boots, and grab the workout bag she always leaves right by the door.
In just a few minutes, she’s out the door and on her way to her morning Pilates class with Mel. Her friend is on the Council, and therefore even busier than Caitlyn herself is - and that’s saying something - but she religiously makes time for herself and for Caitlyn every Saturday morning.
_____
After class, sweaty and limber, Caitlyn and Mel make their way to a nearby coffee shop, where Mel orders herbal tea and a scone, and Caitlyn gets her usual double shot oat milk latte, complete with disapproving look from Mel, and a slice of chocolate cake.
As they move to one of the small tables by the fireplace, Mel sits gracefully in the plush armchair and leans forward slightly in her chair, “So…”
Caitlyn’s arranging herself in her own chair, but looks up at Mel’s leading tone, reading the overly excited expression, the quirk in her lips, and the hands reaching toward her own over the table for what they are, “No.”
“Oh, come on, Caitlyn! It’s been ages since you’ve dated anyone. Can you blame a friend for trying to set you up with a nice girl?”
“Yes. Yes, I can. Mel, you have set me up on no less than four blind dates, and all of them have ended in disaster.” Mel looks disappointed at Caitlyn’s observation, pouting thoughtfully and tapping two fingers against her lips as she leans back in her chair.
“Well, what about Nora? She’s lovely, I was so sure you two would hit it off.”
“Three minutes into dinner, she started addressing me as ‘Omega’ and insisted that I’d look fetching in a collar that matched the one she was wearing. I didn’t even make it all the way through the appetizers.”
Mel’s eyes widen slightly, “That’s certainly…something. She’s really been very effective at expanding environmental protections for endangered species in the Freljord. She’s actually been consulting with the Council on how to do the same around Piltover.”
“I’m sure she’s incredibly good at her job, and I wouldn’t necessarily mind seeing her again in a professional setting if it were required, but I’m afraid our…proclivities really are not compatible.”
As Max, the gangly, boyish-looking waiter who started at the cafe a few months ago to fund his studies at the University of Piltover, comes over with their drinks and treats, depositing them on the table and checking to be sure they don’t need anything else, Caitlyn takes a deep breath, preparing herself for more of her friend’s well-meaning but slightly…forceful advice.
Max departs, and Caitlyn tucks into her cake - delicious - feeling Mel looking at her from across the table. Caitlyn finishes her bite, primly dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, “what?”
“You need to get laid.”
Caitlyn chokes on the sip of her latte she had just taken to wash the cake down.
“Mel! Keep your voice down,” Caitlyn hisses, looking around the cafe, already packed even at a quarter past eight.
“What? You do. You’re wound so tightly I can practically hear you vibrating, and you’re having chocolate cake and caffeine for breakfast. This is a cry for help. Seriously, when was the last time you fucked someone?”
Mel looks overly satisfied with how much her blunt question startles Caitlyn, somehow filling the action of plucking the teabag out of her tea and daintily setting it on a saucer with enough expectation that Caitlyn starts twisting her fingers together in her lap, a habit not broken by either her mother or a string of exasperated etiquette tutors.
When she can no longer bear Mel’s expectant expression, complete with narrowed eyes - goodness, she’s actually serious about this - Caitlyn heaves a sigh, pressing her middle and ring fingers to her right eyebrow and thinking about the barren plain that is her love life - not her favorite topic, “I suppose it’s been. Well. The last relationship I had ended…two years ago? You know how that went,” Mel makes a sympathetic noise, “And a few months ago, Jayce dragged me out to that new nightclub, Shimmer? Awful name, by the way, do people in Piltover have no empathy? Honestly. I danced with a very beautiful woman, but while I was on the dancefloor, Jayce had a few too many of the ‘Chemical Cocktails’ they were serving, and I had to take him home before the exalted ‘Man of Progress’ embarrassed himself too badly.”
It’s silent for the few, long moments before Caitlyn takes her fingers away from her eyebrow and looks up at Mel, who is sitting very still across from her, holding her teacup and saucer suspended in the air and wearing an absolutely stunned expression. She sets her china back on the table, opens and closes her mouth a few times, and settles finally on, “...you haven’t gotten laid in two years?”
“Hmm,” Caitlyn hums a slightly amused affirmative before continuing, “well, it’s not like Dylan and I were even having sex toward the end, so I actually think it’s been more like three.”
Mel seems to have absolutely no idea what to do with this information, blinking at her with wide eyes. Caitlyn’s never once heard the gorgeous and incredibly poised woman across from her splutter, but Caitlyn’s admission seems like it’s brought her close.
Taking pity on her friend, Caitlyn continues, “Really, Mel. I don’t even think about it. My practice keeps me so busy, plus no one has really struck my fancy lately,” she pauses to think and adds after a moment, “and I have access to online shopping at some very…useful stores.”
This admission breaks Mel free of her shocked trance, “Caitlyn Kiramman, are you really telling me that your job and vibrators have replaced your desire for companionship?”
Caitlyn laughs a little self-deprecatingly, picking up her fork again, “Well…it would certainly be nice to have someone, but my job and my bedside drawer suffice perfectly well for now.”
Mel nods, picking up her teacup and saucer again, “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Though, really, you know I’d like to,” Caitlyn smiles with her as Mel moves on from her disastrous love life. “You’ll never believe what happened at dinner last Tuesday at Councilor Bolbok’s house…”
____
After finishing her weekly catchup with Mel, Caitlyn makes the short walk back to her apartment, practically running up the four flights of stairs to her floor, determined to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. When she gets to her floor, her neighbor, Mrs. Ainsley, is bringing in groceries, so she stops for a moment to help her carry them in, before gently refusing an offer of some sort of repayment, insisting, “It was no trouble, really, Mrs. Ainsley, I’m happy to help,” and retreating back into the hall to unlock her own door and slip inside so she can finally take a hot bath after her workout class.
The Pilates instructors at Fitness Progress are known for their killer workouts, and even only a few hours after class, Caitlyn’s starting to feel the soreness in her muscles, a feeling she’s reminded of as she struggles out of her heavy boots and coat and drops her workout bag back by the door. She makes her way through her apartment to the bathroom, stopping to strip out of her workout gear in front of the laundry hamper in her room, excited at the prospect of soaking off the sweat with the aid of one of the new bath bombs her mother had gifted her a few months prior for her birthday, and, well. Mel’s talk about her lack of love life had Caitlyn considering putting her detachable showerhead to good use. Maybe she could use a little extra relaxation. But, when she leans over the edge of the tub to turn the tap for the hot water, said detachable showerhead starts spraying freezing water all over Caitlyn, and her immaculate bathroom. Disoriented from the aggressive, cold spray of water, Caitlyn fumbles to standing, ducking and trying to block the spray with her hands. Since the spray seems like it’s coming from everywhere , that doesn’t work at all, and it’s at that point that Caitlyn’s brain is finally cold-shocked into restarting, and she darts down to turn the tap off.
Thanks to her long moment of clumsiness, Caitlyn is aware of two things: one, her bathroom floor is soaked, and, two, the water was definitely on long enough to make it clear that the hot water is not working.
Shit.
______
After grabbing a few towels out of the cabinet and quickly drying off herself and then the floor - God, it’s on the walls - Caitlyn walks back into her bedroom to grab some dry clothes, settling on a soft, light purple long-sleeved shirt, black sweatpants, and her blue fuzzy slippers. Throwing the wet towels in the washing machine as she walks past it on the way to the living room to retrieve her phone from her coat pocket to call her landlord about a plumber.
Twenty minutes, and a very unsatisfying conversation with her landlord later, Caitlyn is considering switching from criminal defense law to whatever would allow her to most effectively sue her landlord for neglect. Or maybe at least asinine behavior. She might be overreacting a little, but apparently her landlord is out of town, and he usually does all the repairs himself. He had no recommendations, other than that Caitlyn should “just use the kitchen sink,” which will absolutely not work for her six-foot frame, and hung up before Caitlyn could come up with a suitable rebuttal, citing “ksssh, bad connection, kssshhhhhhh.”
Deeply affronted at her landlord’s behavior, Caitlyn stares dumbly down at the “end call” screen on her phone for a few moments before considering her options. After a few minutes of looking between her phone and the kitchen sink - the gall - she decides on heading across the hall to find out if Mrs. Ainsley knows of any plumbers who could come out on a Saturday morning to fix her busted shower.
Nodding resolutely to herself, she strides over to her door and steps through it and across the hall to knock crisply on the door. She can hear some light shuffling on the other side of the door before it swings open and she’s enthusiastically greeted by her elderly neighbor.
“Caitlyn! To what do I owe the pleasure twice in one day?”
“It’s very nice to see you again, too, Mrs. Ainsley,” Caitlyn smiles at the kindness and is glad for about the millionth time that she decided to move into this building, “I’m afraid my shower’s broken and Mr. Bradford is out of town and wasn’t able to tell me when he’d be back.”
“Oh, that man. Useless. Sure, honey, I’ve got the number for the best repair crew in Zaun - Piltover, too, actually, but they’re based in Zaun, you see. Come on in and help yourself to some of that lemon cake while I find the number.” She walks into the apartment, a mirror of Caitlyn’s own, gesturing to her left at the covered plate on the kitchen island as she walks around it and over to the fridge. She hums to herself, looking over the magnets, postcards, and children’s drawings plastered all over the appliance as Caitlyn reaches under the plastic wrap to grab a light, fluffy, delicious slice of lemon cake.
Caitlyn is just polishing off her slice and contemplating whether or not it would be rude to reach for another when Mrs. Ainsley lets out a victorious “a-ha!” and waves a business card in the air. She walks back over to where Caitlyn’s standing by the island and eyeing the cake, and hands her the business card with a flourish, “The Last Drop Plumbing and Repair. I’ve had to call them about a few jobs before - they always come right over, and they guarantee their repairs, but I’ve never had any issues. They’ve fixed everything from my kitchen sink to the faulty wiring behind my television that damn near caught the building on fire!” Caitlyn chuckles a little nervously at that revelation, making a mental note to get an electrician out soon to double check that nothing in her apartment is likely to burst into flames.
“Thank you so much, you’ve really saved me so much trouble. I’ll get this back to you as soon as I can,” Caitlyn says, holding up the business card.
“Oh, no worries, honey! Keep it as long as you need. And, here, take this whole plate with you,” Caitlyn tries to refuse, shaking her head and only managing to get out an, “oh, no, I couldn’t possibly-” before she’s cut off by her neighbor saying, “It’s no trouble! Those boys loved my baking when they came out the last few times, and you could do with some more meat on your bones.” She finishes out that statement by plunking the plate of lemon cake forcefully in Caitlyn’s hands and placing one hand on her lower back to gently usher her out the door.
“Now, go on! It’s nearly ten, you’ll want to get that shower fixed before it gets cold tonight.” Caitlyn manages to eke out a hurried “thank you so much,” before she’s again alone in the hallway, this time holding a plate of cake and a business card. Right.
She turns around and heads back into her apartment, gently setting the plate of lemon cake on the counter and turning the business card over in her long, slender fingers. The business’s name is in standard, block font with an illustration of a faucet with a single droplet leaking out hovering above the text. The office number is just below the logo, and she’s dialing the number with one hand and running the thumb of her opposite hand over the embossed letters while she listens to the line ring.
A crisp “Whaddaya want?” interrupts the fourth ring, and Caitlyn is momentarily taken aback by the abrupt answer. The voice continues, “Helloooooooooooo? You got house problems or sumthin’?” Caitlyn regains her voice at that, because, yes, actually, she does have “house problems.” She clears her throat and says, “Yes, I’m trying to reach The Last Drop?” There’s loud chewing, followed by a pop coming from the receiver.
“Yeah, you’ve got the right place. What’s the problem, toots?” More chewing filters through the receiver. Caitlyn’s trying to figure out how she got to a point in her life where she’s having a serious phone conversation with a bubblegum-chewing receptionist who’s calling her nicknames more suited to a prostitute from fifty years ago, but she soldiers on, “Ah, yes, I have no hot water and my shower is broken and spraying water everywhere. I’d really like to get someone out to fix it today, if possible.”
More chewing. Another pop.
“Yeah, no problem! I think maybe,” she draws out the syllables of the word so it covers several beats, “yeah, you lucked out. We just had a cancellation, so I can send Vi out right away. If it’s your water heater, we should be able to get that taken care of today, since you caught us in the morning. Right in time, too, right? Colder than an ice witch’s tit out there, ain’t it?” There’s some clattering and a muffled, “Vi! Move your ass, you got a job!” before the chewing is again loud and clear, “Name and address, toots?” Caitlyn gives the brusque but efficient receptionist her contact information, and is left with a, “Great! Vi’s heading out now. Should be there in about twenty minutes.”
Caitlyn’s in the middle of a “Great, tha–” when the line goes dead. For the second time today, she’s left staring at the “end call” screen on her phone, except, thankfully, this time there’s help arriving soon.
______
Had Caitlyn told Mel that no one had struck her fancy lately? That was now an outright lie. The pink-haired woman in front of her wearing a white t-shirt, thick, worn navy pants, and heavy work boots, casually checking the notes on her clipboard was doing things to Caitlyn’s heart rate she’d rather not admit. Because, of course, “Vi Wick, here with The Last Drop Plumbing and Repair?” was a stunningly beautiful, incredibly muscular woman, and not the typical middle aged “repair guy” in dirty coveralls who scratched his ass while he poked around under the sink and muttered about washers and lug nuts.
Realizing abruptly that said plumber was now looking up at her expectantly, Caitlyn stutters into motion, stepping back and swinging open the door to her apartment fully while sweeping an arm out in the universal gesture for “come in.”
“Right! Yes, sorry, Ms. Wick. I, uhm. I appreciate you coming out on a weekend, I know you must be very busy.”
Caitlyn watches as the plumber, Vi, leans down to stretch blue cloth booties over her boots before stepping over the threshold and into her apartment, “No problem! The morning’s only been a little crazy, and shower troubles are never fun. And, please. It’s Vi.”
“Alright. Vi.” Caitlyn smiles at her before shutting the door and gesturing for Vi to follow her back to the bedroom. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to clean up after my workout this morning. I apologize for my unkempt appearance.”
Vi chuckles at that, and the low sound of amusement goes straight to Caitlyn’s core, making her clench involuntarily around nothing. Has the temperature in her apartment spiked or something? Maybe she has had too much coffee. Since she’s apparently starting to hallucinate painfully intense attraction to courteous service professionals. Caitlyn pushes off the stirring in her lower stomach, the sudden tightness in her throat, and hums inquisitively in response to Vi’s amusement.
“You look more put-together than most people I see, Ms. Kiramman. One of the most recent house calls I made was for an elderly couple who needed safety bars installed, and neither of them tied their robes the entire time I was there,” Vi laughed a little awkwardly at the memory, making a face that told Caitlyn everything she needed to know about the couple’s sartorial choices beneath those robes.
“Goodness! That must have been rather shocking. And, please, call me Caitlyn.” Caitlyn waves toward the bathroom down the narrow hallway just to the right of the door to her bedroom, and Vi nods at her and smiles as she walks past, heading in to deal with the broken showerhead.
“It just went out this morning, yeah?” Vi asks from her place next to the tub, setting her clipboard on the sink to her left. Caitlyn leans a shoulder in the doorway, watching Vi in the mirror across from her in lieu of staring directly at her magnificent ass - who looks that good in utilitarian work pants? “Yes, it - “
But before Caitlyn can get her full sentence out, Vi twists both taps, and the broken showerhead positively hoses Vi - and some of the tile floor, again - with ice cold water.