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This time two years ago, Caitlyn’s life had been akin to driving along a highway, headlights blaring at three in the morning - all she could see was the road directly in front of her. The world outside those two glowing circles may not have existed - occasionally, a tree or a lamppost or a sign saying that she was driving too fast would float by, but she had kept her foot to the accelerator - the faster she drove, the faster she’d get out of this. Push, and push, and push until the speedometer needle went all the way to the right and the gas gauge went to the left - the only way to get through was to ensure you had nothing left when the road ended.
This time two years ago, the drink had changed her chemistry - changed her brain, changed her on the atomic level, it seemed like. The disease had its way of worming inside you and making the deep downs surface level - the fear of being unlovable, unfuckable, the deep rooted anxiety that you’re no better than your mother - a white collar drinker, a drinker who gave you the world but showed it to you with demons already built into the foundation, irreplaceable, unavoidable. Caitlyn had learned - through hazy research - that the reason she was like this - part of the reason - was in her blood, in her family tree. The disease was inherited dormant, activated by stress, and sent through her like a secret agent trigger phrase - her body’s response in times of emotional threat.
Her accomplishments meant nothing to the disease - they existed in the black outside the headlights scope, in the world that may not even be real. What was in full colour was the things she’d fucked up - the friendships she’d damaged, the things she’d destroyed in the tornado of flame she became when the disease fully clawed its way into her brain. She made bad decisions - starting in a relationship she’d begun because she felt like a failure, because she’d been vulnerable to predators. Caitlyn gave over more and more of herself to a situation that was untenable, a situation that she should’ve seen the signs of - but again, they existed outside of the headlights, fading away as the road whipped by her.
Caitlyn had, unconsciously, begun starting to apply the brakes - two years ago. She’d tried many times before that, to slow down, take a moment, work her way free. She’d tried to seize control of her life away from the disease in little acts of defiance - tried throwing lifelines to friendships that hadn’t been a smoking ruin, tried to get out more and go on walks and keep her tentative grasp on her mental health in order to keep the beasts at bay. She’d taken a turn on that whipping black road, but she’d taken it safely - safer than she had before, slowing just enough to avoid the obstacles outside those rings of light.
She’d slowed down long enough to see a pink haired woman, sticking out a thumb.
She’d slowed down long enough for the woman to say, can I tag along?
It was the middle of August when Caitlyn had to fly to Noxus on an appointment- a two day arbitration meeting to finally settle a long worked on case, followed by a five day conference. The client the firm wanted her to meet was a notorious lush, loved his scotch and his bro-time, and it was considered good practice to partake in order to keep the client happy. It was a perfect storm, too, because Vi was booked solid with jobs all throughout August - outdoor jobs that needed to get done before the frost set in, roofing jobs and deck jobs that would take advantage of the good weather.
The arbitration was to be the culmination of three years of hard work, a big step in the road to making Caitlyn a partner at the firm, really put her name on the map. The pharmaceutical company dealt with her, and only her, and had found her their champion in the fight to keep drugs at lower costs - a decently good cause, one that she could sleep at night over. One of the few.
The conference was just lawyer stuff, completely unnecessary in her view - but it was expected of her.
Vi had wanted to go with her - to support her - but Vi couldn’t cancel now - not when the jobs she’d booked were all for clients that she’d had a reputation with, ones who wanted her to see it through personally.
It was to be Caitlyn’s first real test in years - the first instance in which she’d be alone, and the disease could have its way with her with all the temptation that she could shake a stick at. Caitlyn talked her out of cancelling her jobs over dinner one night in July, with a cute scowl on Vi’s face and a defiant edge to her pushing pasta around on her plate.
“It’s not for that long,” Caitlyn said, “I can hold out a week.”
“It’s fucking stupid, is what it is,” Vi replied, “I can’t believe they’d send you. They know why you needed time off.”
“It can only be me,” Caitlyn soothed, “and after this, we can go on long vacations - you can cut back hours. Working can be more of an option for us rather than a necessity - we can add onto the house, all the little projects you’ve wanted.”
“Game room,” Vi murmured automatically, eyes locking on the rhombus windows she’d installed in the kitchen, all those years ago - the way it looked exactly like Caitlyn’s childhood home had always made her heart melt a little, feel a little bit more of love. She had been surprised that love for her wasn’t an on/off switch - wasn’t something that she felt, and then didn’t feel. It was more of a small dispensary, little droplets of it doled out over time, tiny reminders that made her fall a little deeper, a little harder.
“Game room,” Caitlyn replied, rubbing a hand over Vi’s thigh - still marvelling, sometimes, that she could just reach over and touch this woman whenever she wanted, that it was her right - sometimes her expectation - to get her hands on this hard body that she’d admired for so long.
Vi stared at her meal for a moment, took a bite of spaghetti, and pointed her fork at Caitlyn.
“You know that I don’t need these jobs. I could drop everything and be there for you- be in a suit and everything.”
“I know,” Caitlyn said, smiling, “but I can do this.”
“I know you can,” Vi said, softly, “will you call me, if it gets hard?”
“I’ll call you,” Caitlyn confirmed, “even if it doesn’t.”
The conference went well - the meet up with both companies went even better. Caitlyn had been firm in her reiteration and strong in her closing, and when she’d sat down both parties gave tiny little round-table applause - unnecessary, but flattering. She’d worked on her speech for the entire plane ride over - ignoring other associates at the firm with her earbuds in her ears, listening to a playlist Vi had titled ‘thotful bitches’.
Vi had to be introduced to Spotify - she’d lived a life without subscription services when Caitlyn had come into her life. Vi had some of the worst financial anxieties Caitlyn had ever seen, and it had taken sitting down with her and pouring over her financials come tax season to show her that not only was she in the black, she was making surplus year after year, and she could save more money than she could spend.
Encouraging Vi to indulge in pleasures was a hard thing, still, but Vi was getting better at recognizing when she deserved a break - when it was okay to treat herself to something that was just for her. She’d cried hard when she bought herself a new truck, been enamoured with it and protective of it, held Caitlyn tight, squeezed her. Caitlyn had been with her every step of the way, assuring her of the numbers and of the solid choice she was making, telling her firmly that she deserved things that made her life easier.
The weight that Vi carried around eased over the passing months, her solidity and trust in Caitlyn’s abilities overriding her anxiety based in fear - fear of raising Jinx on her own, fear of someone coming in and taking everything she loved away.
At the conference, they sent each other little texts - tiny little bullet points of love. Vi sent a selfie of her wearing her roofing harness to let Caitlyn know she was being safe - despite the fact that Vi had passionately argued, convincingly, that wearing one was actually less safe than having one on. Having to battle with the safety cord all day was a tripping hazard, making the harness a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Caitlyn sent a selfie of her holding a mug of tea - made in her hotel room. She made the switch from coffee a year prior, was trying to wean off of caffeine in general. Vi supported her, but couldn’t get on board - caffeine was the contractor’s lifeblood. Caitlyn had sent her lists of backed up data about tea having more caffeine than coffee, with more flavours, and would be less brutal on her stomach, but Vi was undeterred.
The first two nights at the conference, they’d called twice - the first to share a few short stories of their time right before dinner.
“They actually applauded?” Vi asked, chuckling lightly.
“It was strange,” Caitlyn confirmed, “not unwelcome, but strange. I think they felt like they needed to.”
“That’s probably a weird job environment,” Vi said, “that they felt the need to applaud. I wonder how many did it to not stand out.”
“Like lemmings,” Caitlyn laughed, “following one another off of the cliff.”
“But okay, so the meeting went well - can you come home yet?”
“Just the firm’s obligations,” Caitlyn murmured, “I go out with Pete and the client on Wednesday, and after that I should be able to return early.”
“I miss you,” Vi said.
Caitlyn smiled. “You baby.”
“Totally,” Vi murmured happily.
“Miss you too.”
The second conversation was a little less safe for Caitlyn’s clean work environment. She finished up with a meeting and checked her phone to find an image sent to her from Vi’s number - knowing enough to look around discreetly before opening it. Vi, in boxer shorts and little else, flexing in front of their bedroom mirror - Caitlyn’s boxers, specifically.
The text message said found a new way to be close to you .
Caitlyn inhaled slowly, exhaled deliberately, and called out of her next meeting - it wasn’t all that important, anyways - with a headache. She went straight to her hotel room and called Vi.
“That was mean,” she said, sprawled out on her bed, listening to the way that the birds chirped in the background, layered faintly over Vi’s breathing, “but I can be meaner.”
They hung up twenty minutes later, and Caitlyn felt a little better, able to go a little further.
Tuesday brought more challenges - Pete and Mr. Morrison, the client, wanted to have a bit of a pre-game, a liquid lunch in order to prepare for the final reading of the arbitration’s decision. Caitlyn was cornered socially - Pete’s sharklike eyes keying in on her reluctance to drink and capitalising on it.
“It’d be rude to refuse a client,” he said, barely hiding his devilish smirk. Caitlyn regarded him coolly in the moment, murdering him with her gaze for a solid two seconds - long enough for Mr. Morrison to know that this was not her preference - before snapping her briefcase shut.
“Mr. Morrison,” she said, “I’m not at all comfortable drinking before the meeting.”
“Aw, come on, counsellor,” the client whined, slinging a beefy arm around her shoulder - he had to stand up on tiptoe to do it.
“Maybe after,” she said, smiling, “it’s your money on the line, after all.”
“Eyes on the prize,” he said easily, removing his arm as quickly as he sensed her unwillingness to receive it, “I like that in my lawyers, Miss Kiramman. Okay, after - I’ll hold you to it.”
Caitlyn nodded firmly, taking her briefcase with them to a small brunch spot in Noxus, where Morrison raved and ranted about their service, the potential for future business, all while pouring three mimosas down his throat in rapid succession. Pete had one - emphasised that it was for courtesy, too, with a snide look in Caitlyn’s direction - and Caitlyn stuck with one glass of water, alternating between drinking from her glass and typing on her phone.
“You’re being kind of rude, Cait,” Pete said, a little mockingly, “can’t you put that device away for two seconds?”
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow at him.
“Your girlfriend can wait until after a client brunch,” Pete tacked on, and Caitlyn’s stare became sharp, cutting as Mr. Morrison’s gaze swivelled towards her.
“You’re gay?” he asked - tone full of curiosity more than judgement, a little excitement. Lucky for Pete.
“I don’t discuss my sexuality in professional settings,” Caitlyn responded simply, “and I resent the implication that I’m on personal time, Peter. In case you weren’t aware, we have an arbitration reading in an hour and I want to make sure we’re all squared.”
Mr. Morrison lifted his mimosa in a toast to her, and then slowly turned to look at Pete, drinking a little more thoughtfully. Caitlyn’s cheeks threatened to burn, but she willed the flush away - buried it beneath the ice she was throwing in Pete’s direction. He looked a little unsure of his footing, meeting Mr. Morrison’s eyes and caught between a smirk and a wince.
“I apologise if my question was insensitive,” Mr. Morrison said, turning back to Caitlyn, “my daughter came out recently and I can be over-eager with wanting to understand.”
Caitlyn waved it away. “I don’t mind questions - when the work is finished. I’d be happy to discuss it then.”
“It’s a date,” Mr. Morrison said, sliding his gaze to Pete again - and this time Caitlyn saw the way his eyebrows narrowed, his countenance darkening. A father of a recently outed gay woman just witnessed a man out someone unwillingly, and he did not approve.
Caitlyn enjoyed her water with a little more venom, kept checking on her phone.
“You know, Pete,” she said, conversationally, “I heard that you like to spice things up with these arbitrations with wagers.”
Pete’s lips twisted, searching for her angle. “Sometimes.”
“Let’s make a bet,” Caitlyn said, smiling, “since I feel so good about this arbitration - I wager that Mr. Morrison will get everything on the ask list, including the right to dispense in Noxus.”
Peter snorted. The right to dispense had been the hardest sticking point, the largest push back from the big wigs they were up against. Peter had led the charge on the negotiations, despite how they had all known it was a long shot to get it done. The drug market in Noxus wasn’t huge, but it was tightly controlled - the well established companies weren’t exactly thrilled at a cheaper option muscling its way in.
Caitlyn had overseen every aspect of this case, had been reluctant to pass any of it on - especially not to young and hungry hunters disguised as lawyers who saw every opportunity as a challenge to prove how macho they were.
“No way they’ll let us dispense,” Pete said, “the best we can hope for is mail order in this city.”
“Bet they will,” Caitlyn said, rolling an ankle in her dress shoe, “I bet you my drinks tonight that they will.”
“Ooh,” Mr. Morrison said, rubbing his hands together.
Pete studied her, suspicious. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Caitlyn said, “every drink you and Mr. Morrison do, you do double. You’ll drink for both of us. You win, and I’ll do the same for you.”
Mr. Morrison cackled. “Now that I’d love to see.”
“It feels unprofessional to bet,” Pete said quietly, and Mr. Morrison rolled his eyes.
“Come on,” he chided, “where’d your spine go! A half hour ago you were all eager to box Ms. Kiramman into having a happy hour with us - are you not confident in your report?”
Pete glanced at Mr. Morrison, glanced at Caitlyn, who was eyeing him, patient, calm, slightly smug. Pete shifted with the weight of the social pressure - neatly turned around on him, and finally shrugged.
“Why not,” he said, “I’ve never seen you drunk, Cait. It’ll be fun.”
“Grand,” Caitlyn said casually, typing on her phone again, “right. Who’s ready for a reading?”
“Are all of these this dull, Ms. Kiramman? These arbitrations?”
“Oh yes,” she said, laughing, “but they do beat a court room, most of the time. Shall we?”
Arbitration went exactly as Caitlyn had expected it to go - as the final decision was being read, she kept catching the eye of the head counsel of the opposition - Kiera, her name was - a friendly smile passed between them, a conspiratory wink.
Caitlyn had managed to catch her in the corridor of her building at the end of the first day of arbitration, and the two of them had re-opened the negotiations for thirty minutes - a quick discussion regarding the right to dispense.
“Where’s the bratty kid?” the opposition had asked.
“Just me for now,” Caitlyn had replied, “what exactly is the sticking part of the dispensary for your client?”
The two had gone over the deal, gone over the issues, the sticking points, at a rapid pace. Both knew their client’s position inside and out, both were detail oriented and task-focused.
When the arbitrator finished their reading - including that Mr. Morrison’s right to dispense was still considered a non starter, Mr. Morrison and Pete both looked at Caitlyn, noticed her lack of expression as she sat primly, watched the proceedings.
“Uh, actually, Shiela,” Keira said, raising a pen, “do you mind if we revisit dispensary rights? We have a counter offer.”
The arbitrator paused, glasses perched on her nose, waving to continue.
“A maximum of three dispensaries,” Keira said, turning a map towards Caitlyn - a map that Caitlyn had handed her the previous day with five locations circled - “and we’ve marked the three locations where we’re comfortable with you opening shop.”
Caitlyn pulled the map towards her, noted with satisfaction that two of the three high-priority locations were included, and passed the map to Mr. Morrison wordlessly. He looked down at it, grinned bright, and looked at her face, nodding.
“That’s acceptable to us,” Caitlyn said, turning back towards the arbitrator.
“Well,” Sheila said, chuckling, “that certainly clears that up. I’ll amend that to the legal documentation - it’s nice to see counsel that can agree.”
Pete leaned back in his chair as if struck, staring at the tabletop.
“You set me up,” Pete seethed as they exited the room, a jubilant Mr. Morrison shaking hands with everyone who came within a metre.
“Did I,” Caitlyn said, coolly.
“You did. You knew that we were going to - how did you know?”
“I handled it in under thirty minutes walking between elevators,” Caitlyn said, “what was your hold up?”
Pete stared at her.
“Peter,” she said, “my name is Caitlyn, not Cait. I’m a recovering alcoholic. Don’t fuck with me. You clearly knew the first two facts, but I’m happy to teach you the third whenever you wish.”
Pete kept staring at her as Mr. Morrison walked towards them, his booming voice announcing his arrival with a we did it!
“Counsellors,” he said to Pete and Caitlyn, clapping a hand on Pete’s back, “we are going to celebrate. You’re going to regret making that bet, son, because I am in the mood for some celebrations .”
“You heard the man,” Caitlyn said, smiling brightly, “let’s go celebrate.”
Pete had to leave an hour in, firing two shots down his throat every time Mr. Morrison did one. Mr. Morrison was built heavy and wide, and could hold his alcohol - reminding Caitlyn of a few friends that she’d left behind in her past life. Pete, meanwhile, was rail thin and walking into walls after shot five.
Mr. Morrison took pity on him - but only so that he could nurse a beer and sit quietly with Caitlyn, she suspected. The bar they were sitting at was quiet and atmospheric, reminding Caitlyn of something that Vi would’ve chosen, had she had all the options in front of her.
“You know,” Mr. Morrison said, quietly, “I think you’re a fantastic lawyer.”
“Thank you,” Caitlyn replied, slowly sipping at her water.
The bar being atmospheric instead of a dive made it a little easier to hide her fidgeting, hide the way each sip of plain water was a disappointment to some part of her - some part deep inside of her that constantly whispered this is the man to slip off the wagon with, just one won’t hurt you, Vi would forgive you if you did.
“And I really am sorry that I crossed a line earlier,” Mr. Morrison said, “my wife always tells me to slow down - that people’s private lives aren’t mine to nose in on.”
Caitlyn smiled. “It’s okay. I know how that goes - my parents were the same way when I came out.”
He laughed. “Tell me that they chilled out some.”
Caitlyn’s smile faded slightly, and she took another drink of water, her eyes locked on his glass of bubbling amber - it looked so good, so refreshing. Her body quaked lightly, her mind trying to focus on the bad times - the shakes, the aching pains, the sweating through the night and throwing up and having Vi hold her hair constantly.
“They did,” she said, “eventually.”
He smiled at her kindly, and then rose to his feet - beer in hand. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched him leave, exhaled slowly through her fingers, pressed them to her face. She grabbed for her phone with frantic movements, pulled it out, unlocked it - seconds away from calling Vi-
And saw her lock screen.
Her and Vi, smiling - Vi with paint on her cheek, Caitlyn with her hair down and loose. The selfie had been taken by Caitlyn when Vi was finishing off the basement, Mylo and Claggor having demanded a picture of the two of them to show their niece when she’d heard that Vi was in a relationship.
Vi’s eyes were soft, kind, and her body was nestled into Caitlyn’s, fit so well - puzzle pieces. Caitlyn could look at her face and summon Vi’s list of 10 movies that always rotated, Vi’s preferences for ice cream spoken with passion and volume. She could summon the way Vi’s eyes would darken when Caitlyn learned to ask for what she wanted, and the way Vi’s eyes would close when Vi would direct her where Vi wanted her.
A lifetime - a happy lifetime, a better lifetime - in an image.
I love you , Caitlyn texted, and put her phone away, bolstered.
Mr. Morrison returned with water, settling into his seat. His beer was nowhere to be seen - likely traded as he took a long sip.
“You made water look refreshing,” Mr. Morrison pointed out, and Caitlyn laughed. “Do you consider yourself off the clock yet?”
“I think so,” Caitlyn replied, easily.
“Good. Because I wanted to ask you - have you ever considered going private?”
Caitlyn raised a brow. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Mr. Morrison said, “you’re a phenomenal attorney - nobody I met with could’ve gotten the dispensaries through. You did. Nobody handles their business like you - nobody sets such clear boundaries. I really respect it, Ms. Kiramman, and if you ever were to consider leaving a firm for a corporation - I hope you’d keep us in mind.”
Caitlyn watched him for a few moments, slowly smiled.
“You’d be my first call, Mr. Morrison.”
“Call me Chris,” he said.
“Chris,” Caitlyn said, “I’m Caitlyn.”
He leaned his chin on his fist. “Tell me about the missus,” Chris said, “as much as you’re comfortable sharing.”
Caitlyn laughed. “She’s a contractor. She really wished she could take some time off to be here, but August is a big time for outdoor jobs for her.”
“I would’ve loved to meet her,” Chris said, “you light up when you talk about her.”
“She’s pretty great,” Caitlyn said, smiling, “this will be the longest that we’re away from one another since we first got together.”
“Oh?” Chris asked, “you’re not going back after this?”
“No,” Caitlyn said, sighing, “my firm has this conference they want Pete and I to attend - it’s packed with meetings.”
“Sounds boring,” Chris said, “we should get you out of it.”
Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. “I’d love to, but the partners at the firm are pretty insistent.”
“You made my dreams come true today,” Chris said, “let me do this for you. Here, hang on.”
He pulled his cell out and dialled. “Yes, is Mark in? It’s Chris Morrison - Morrison Pharmaceuticals, I need to speak with him urgently. Thank you.”
He winked at Caitlyn.
“Mark, it’s Chris - you’ve got a hell of an attorney in that Caitlyn Kiramman. She got me everything I could ever want or dream of from this whole arbitration thing. She did so well that I gave her the week off and insisted she rest - we’ll need her strength for next month when we tackle Ionia.”
Chris smiled into the phone. “I’m putting her back on a plane for Piltover - what’s that? Oh. This conference isn’t as important as me, is it? Pete can handle that - or fly someone else down to do that. I hate to be the annoying client, here Mark, but since you told me that Ms. Kiramman is effectively at my disposal, I’m going to insist. Yes. Yes. Great. Goodbye.”
He hung up, waggled his eyebrows, and lifted his water to Caitlyn to cheers.
Caitlyn shook her head, tapped glasses with him. “Thank you very much.”
“My pleasure,” Chris Morrison said with relish, “I’ve seen enough of those conferences for a lifetime. Go catch a plane.”
Vi replied to her text that she was coming home early with an unbroken string of short questions.
What time are you in?
You’re coming back tonight?
What terminal is that?
Are you really coming back tonight?
How was Chris Morrison?
Did Pete give you much trouble?
I can’t believe I get to see you tonight!
Caitlyn answered most of them from the air, insisting again that Vi didn’t need to come get her, that Caitlyn could just take a car home. She’d be getting into Piltover at almost 2 in the morning, and Vi was an early riser - she answered the dawn’s call at 6aam for all sorts of jobs.
Vi insisted, taking the truck out to meet her. She said that she could sleep when she was dead, that she just wanted to spend as much time with Caitlyn as possible, wanted to hear every detail of her trip.
Caitlyn was so absorbed in the texts that she didn’t even look up when she was offered champagne for the flight - didn’t even feel a shake in her spine.
When she landed, she picked up her suitcase, navigated the Piltover terminal like it was second nature, and found Vi at Arrivals, nodding off in a big chair - dressed in a white tank top and jeans. She still wore her work boots, which Caitlyn would’ve chided her for - they ruined your feet if you wore them constantly - had she not looked adorable, lightly slapping her cheeks to keep herself awake.
Caitlyn walked towards her, saw the moment Vi’s tired eyes registered it was her, saw the instant where she perked up, sat up straighter, her mouth shifting into a lazy, happy grin.
“Hey, cupcake,” Vi said, voice groggy, and she started to rise from her seat. Caitlyn beat her there, standing over her, and threaded her fingers into Vi’s pink locks, smoothing them down Vi’s skull, feeling the bristle and the silky soft hair with her palm.
“Hi,” she said, warmly, and Vi pressed her head into Caitlyn’s stomach, wrapped her arms around her waist, and squeezed.
They remained there, Caitlyn petting Vi and Vi hugging Caitlyn, for a few long moments.
“I missed you,” Caitlyn said.
“You baby,” Vi yawned, and smiled sleepily up at her, “I missed you too.”
“You’re in no shape to drive,” scoffed Caitlyn, “you should’ve let me take a car.”
“Mm,” Vi murmured, “disagree.”
Caitlyn smiled, crouched down, and kissed Vi’s lips - quickly at first, then longer, slower.
A kiss that said: thank you, I missed you.
A kiss that said: thank you for opening the passenger door - thank you for getting in. Thank you for keeping me company on the dark roads I encounter, because the black outside of these rings of light is a little brighter with you beside me.
“Come on,” Caitlyn said, tugging the keys from Vi’s pocket, “let’s go.”
“Okay,” Vi yawned.
Hand in hand, they headed for the exit, the truck, and for the home they’d both built together.
