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June 12, 1877
Caitlyn’s hands were cold, but she didn’t mind. They curled loosely around the rough bark of the branch, fingers pressing into its grooves as she shifted, balancing her weight. The night air was thick with summer, warm against her skin, but the tree’s limbs carried a draft, leaves rustling high above. A lantern sat on the ground, flickering in its glass, and she watched the way it cast shadows along the dirt, catching on the deep boot prints stamped into the earth.
Vi’s boots.
She was late.
Caitlyn swung her legs idly, the worn leather of her boots brushing against each other. The sounds of the town were far behind her now—the last drunken drawls of men spilling out of the saloon, the occasional snap of a horse’s reins, the rattle of a wagon heading out on the main road. None of it mattered here. The tree was too far to hear any of it clearly. The only sound was the hum of crickets and the occasional chirp of some restless bird in the distance.
She glanced at the lantern, at the tree, at the trampled grass beneath her feet. This place had always been theirs. Even before they knew what that meant. Before Caitlyn understood the way her chest tightened when Vi leaned too close. Before she realized there were no gentlemen in Piltover who would ever make her feel the way Vi did, grinning through a split lip, daring her to jump from the highest branch.
A twig snapped.
Caitlyn’s hand was at her hip before she thought about it, fingers curling around the revolver strapped to her belt.
Then—
"Easy, Cupcake."
Vi.
Caitlyn exhaled slowly, releasing the grip on her gun as Vi stepped into the lantern’s glow.
A deep, reddish bruise bloomed along her jaw, shadowed slightly by the dim light, and a gash traced just beneath her cheekbone. Not fresh. A day old, maybe two. It must’ve been a rough night.
Caitlyn let out an unimpressed hum. “You look awful.”
Vi grinned, lopsided and teasing. “Yeah? Well, you look like a rich girl sittin’ in a tree waitin’ on some outlaw.”
“Funny. I am a rich girl sitting in a tree waiting on some outlaw.”
Vi laughed and the knot in Caitlyn’s chest loosened. It always did, somehow, even when she tried to keep it tied tight.
Without hesitation, Vi stepped up between her legs, filling the space Caitlyn made without a word. It was familiar, the way they fit together like this—Vi standing, Caitlyn perched just above. Close enough that Vi’s belt buckle brushed against Caitlyn’s knee, close enough that Caitlyn could count the freckles dusting Vi’s nose, see the thin scar just above her left brow, the one she got years ago falling off a stolen horse.
This was dangerous.
Not the way a loaded gun was dangerous, or a bounty hunter at your back. This was something else, something far less predictable. If anyone saw them like this—well. There were words for women like that. Ugly, whispered ones. And Caitlyn knew what was expected of her. One day, she would wear her mother’s pearls and be married to some upstanding man who would press a polite kiss to her cheek and never make her feel like this.
“…You alright?” Caitlyn asked.
"Yeah."
A lie.
Caitlyn narrowed her eyes, considering her next move carefully. Then, without ceremony, she reached up and plucked Vi’s hat straight off her head.
Vi sighed, already exasperated. “Now why’d you go and do that?”
Caitlyn shrugged, rolling the brim between her fingers. “Figured it’d make you stay put long enough to tell me what’s wrong.” She spun the hat once, then dropped it onto her own head.
Vi groaned, tilting her head back as Caitlyn adjusted the hat. “You think you’re real clever, huh?”
“I know I am,” Caitlyn answered, smirking. She tapped the brim with two fingers, watching as Vi huffed, but didn’t make a move to take it back. “Now, tell me.”
Vi exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. It was shorter than it used to be—jagged from a knife-cut, layers uneven—but it suited her. Wild. Free. “Ain’t much to tell,” she muttered. “Just a job.”
Caitlyn arched a brow, waiting.
Vi licked her lips, shifting her weight like she was debating whether to leave or stay. But Caitlyn had the hat, and Vi wasn’t going anywhere without it. So, with another sigh, she planted her hands on Caitlyn’s thighs, fingers warm through the fabric of her trousers.
Vi’s fingers flexed against Caitlyn’s thighs, her grip tightening as she exhaled through her nose. “It was supposed to be simple,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Easy in, easy out. Just a run up past the ridge. Take a little off the top of some fat pocket that won’t miss it.” Vi scoffed, glancing to the side. “Didn’t go that way.”
"How bad?"
“The U.S. marshal caught wind of the job—brought a whole damned posse..” Vi kept her voice even, but Caitlyn knew what that meant. “Turned it into a damn ambush. We were sittin’ ducks, didn’t even make it to the safe before they had us flanked on both sides. Bullets flying before we could get back on our horses.”
Caitlyn’s stomach clenched.
“How many?”
“Enough. Sevika got shot, but she'll live.” Vi let out a slow breath, shifting her stance, her thumbs pressing into Caitlyn’s legs like it grounded her. “Could’ve been worse.”
It could’ve been Vi.
Caitlyn felt something hot and ugly coil inside her chest. A quiet, simmering anger—not at Vi, but at the life she led, the risks she took, the fact that every time Caitlyn saw her, she had to brace herself for the possibility that it might be the last.
She reached up before she could think twice about it, fingers ghosting along the bruise on Vi’s jaw. Her skin was warm beneath Caitlyn’s fingertips, the heat of her always so stark against the cool night air. Vi tensed at first, then let herself sink into the touch, her eyes half-lidded, unreadable.
“I hate this,” Caitlyn muttered, her thumb tracing the cut beneath Vi’s cheekbone. The scab was rough under her touch. “I hate your life. I hate that—” She cut herself off, jaw tightening.
Vi’s lips twitched like she wanted to smirk, but the look in her eyes was soft, patient. “That what?”
“That one day you won’t come back.”
Vi exhaled through her nose, slow and even. Then, just as Caitlyn started to pull away, Vi turned her head, pressing her lips to Caitlyn’s palm.
Caitlyn swallowed hard.
She knew Vi wasn’t heartless. People in town talked—about the gangs, about the robberies, the violence. They talked about men like Silco and every outlaw on the run. But they didn’t know Vi. Not like Caitlyn did. They didn’t know the girl who used to chase her through the tall grass behind the Kiramman estate, who used to knock her over into the dirt just to hear her laugh. The girl who used to pick wildflowers from the side of the road and bring them back to Caitlyn like they were worth more than diamonds.
Vi had done her share of bad things—Caitlyn wasn’t naïve enough to pretend otherwise. She’d stolen. She’d fought. She’d pulled the trigger when she had to. But Caitlyn also knew who Vi was before all of this. Before Vander died. Before Vi had nowhere else to go.
And now—
Now, Vi was here, warm and solid between Caitlyn’s knees, hands pressed against her thighs like she was steadying herself, like she was afraid to move. Her breath came slow, measured, but Caitlyn could feel the tension in her grip, in the way her jaw clenched beneath Caitlyn’s fingertips.
She was so close.
Caitlyn could see the way Vi’s chest rose and fell, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, chapped from long days in the sun, from dust and blood and trouble. Caitlyn’s gaze flicked down, drawn there without thinking, and when she looked back up, Vi was watching her.
Something pulled tight between them. A rope, a thread—something thin, stretched to its breaking point.
Caitlyn leaned in first.
She gave Vi time to pull away, gave herself time to rethink it, but Vi didn’t move. She stayed still, barely breathing, as if waiting for Caitlyn to come to her, as if she couldn’t—wouldn’t—cross that final inch on her own.
So Caitlyn did.
Vi’s mouth was warm, and when Caitlyn tilted her head, deepening the kiss, Vi let out a quiet, unsteady sound against her lips. Caitlyn swallowed it greedily, pressing closer, her fingers sliding up to the back of Vi’s neck, into the short, uneven layers of her hair.
That’s when Vi’s hands found her waist.Hot through the fabric of her shirt, fingers flexing like she wanted to pull Caitlyn against her, like she wasn’t sure if she should.
Caitlyn didn’t give her a choice.
She slid off the low branch she had been perched on, her boots hitting the ground, her body pressing against Vi’s. They were the same height like this, chest to chest, Vi’s belt buckle pressing into Caitlyn’s stomach.
At this moment, Caitlyn wanted to say so many things. That she dreamed of Vi more often than she’d admit, that she whispered her name against her pillow in the dark when no one was listening. That she didn’t care about London or Paris or New York, that she’d trade every silk dress, every pearl necklace, every goddamn ounce of privilege she had just to wake up and see Vi sleeping next to her. That she wanted Vi to have every part of her—her hands, her mouth, her body, her love.
When they pulled apart, breathless, it was all encompassed in three words—
“Come with me.”
Vi stilled.
“What?”
“To New York,” Caitlyn said, heart pounding. “Come with me. I leave at the end of the month, I’ll buy you a ticket.”
Vi’s hands twitched where they rested on Caitlyn’s hips, fingers flexing like she wanted to hold on but knew she shouldn’t. She licked her lips, and Caitlyn felt her pull back—not physically, not yet, but Caitlyn knew her too well. Knew the shift in her expression, the dullness settling behind her eyes, like she was already preparing herself to say no.
Caitlyn saw the answer before Vi even spoke.
“Cait—”
"Damn you!"
Her hands moved before she could stop them. She shoved Vi hard, enough to make her stumble back a step, enough to put space between them—space Caitlyn immediately hated.
"You don’t know what you’re asking," Vi said.
"Yes, I do!" Caitlyn snapped, voice rising, breaking. "Stop acting like you’re already dead! Like there’s nothing left for you but a noose or a bullet. I know you, Vi. I knew who you were before you joined Silco."
Vi’s face darkened. “And that girl ain’t here no more.”
"She is," Caitlyn said fiercely. “You’re standing right in front of me, Vi.”
She stepped forward, grabbing Vi’s forearm, gripping tight like she could drag her out of this life by force. "How bad is it, Vi?" she whispered. "How deep are you in?"
Vi exhaled hard through her nose, looking away, jaw tight.
"Bad." Her voice was quieter than before. Rough. "Ain’t no walking away."
"Then I’ll hide you!" Caitlyn was close again before she realized it, fingers curling against Vi’s sleeve. "I’ll—God, I’ll do whatever I have to do, I don’t care. I’ll get you out of here, I’ll keep you safe—"
"Then what?" Vi asked, shaking her head.
Caitlyn hesitated.
Vi’s lips curled, but it wasn’t a smirk.
"We get to New York, then what?" Vi said, voice calm in the way a storm was calm before it hit. "You got money, you got family, you got a name, and I got nothing. I can’t read right. I don’t talk like they do. I ain’t got a trade, Cait, and I sure as hell ain’t got an education."
"I’ll teach you!" Caitlyn’s chest heaved, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. "It doesn’t matter, I’ll teach you, I’ll—"
"And even if—if—somehow I find work, somehow I get by, what then, huh?" Vi shook her head, laughing but it wasn’t amused, it wasn't anything close. "We can’t—we ain’t—" She huffed, rubbing a hand over her face. "I’ll be what, Cait? Your friend? The roughneck you keep tucked away in some guest house? Ain’t a soul in New York that’d let me near you the way I just was. I sit pretty while you go off and marry some fine upstanding gentleman—"
Caitlyn surged forward and kissed her.
It was nothing like the first.
This was teeth, anger, desperation. Vi met her just as hard, fingers curling into Caitlyn’s shirt, into her waist, like she was trying to memorize the feel of her, like she could keep her.
Caitlyn felt her back hit the rough bark of the tree, but she didn’t care. She was clawing at Vi’s suspenders, trying to bring her closer, as if she pulled hard enough their bodies would morph into a new thing. A whole.
Her hands tangled in Vi’s hair, yanking her forward, and Vi let her, let Caitlyn take and take and take like she wasn’t sure if she’d ever have the chance again.
And she wouldn’t.
Because Vi wasn’t coming with her.
Her hands slowed. Her breath shuddered. Vi must’ve felt it, because her own grip loosened, her lips pulling away just slightly, just enough for Caitlyn to feel the absence of them.
Caitlyn was crying.
She didn’t even realize it at first. One hot tear, then another, and she hated it, hated that this was what it had come to, that loving Vi had to hurt this much.
Vi’s fingers skimmed along Caitlyn’s waist before pulling away entirely. A hand lifted, hesitant, brushing along Caitlyn’s cheek, smearing a tear away with the rough pad of her thumb. Caitlyn caught it, pressing Vi’s palm harder against her skin, like if she held it there long enough, if she willed it into permanence, it wouldn’t slip away like everything else.
Caitlyn hated how young and desperate she sounded when she asked: "Do you love me?"
Vi didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
Caitlyn saw it—felt it—in the way Vi’s fingers twitched against her cheek, in the way her breath stilled, in the way she looked at Caitlyn like she was something to be memorized.
Caitlyn's voice cracked. “You love me.” A statement, not a question. “I know you do. So say it. Say it, or tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll walk away. I swear it, Vi. I swear on everything I have, I’ll go to New York and forget you.”
Vi was silent.
And silence was an answer, wasn’t it?
Caitlyn took a step back, hands shaking as she reached up, pulling Vi’s hat from her own head. She shoved it against Vi’s chest—not hard, but firm enough to make Vi grab it.
Vi looked young in the lantern light. Too young to be seventeen, too young to be an outlaw mixed in one of the most notorious gangs this side of the river.
Caitlyn remembered the Vi from before. The girl who used to throw pebbles at her window to get her to sneak out. The girl who climbed the apple tree to get Caitlyn the ripest fruit. The girl who used to grin like she had the whole world in her pocket.
That was before.
Before Vi carried a gun on her hip. Before her hands were rough with callouses from years of riding and fighting, from living a life so far from the one Caitlyn knew Vander wanted for her. Far from a life Caitlyn wanted for her.
Before Caitlyn had to beg her to choose something else, something better, and Vi still said no.
“You’ll be dead before you’re twenty.” Her voice broke, but she didn’t stop. “And I won’t be here when they put you in the ground.”
Vi said nothing.
Caitlyn turned and walked away, the tears hot against her skin.
She didn’t look back.