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Begs the question, Young Kiramman…
…What are you shooting for?
The crack of the rifle echoed over the grounds.
Practiced hands reloaded the weapon.
Breathe.
Her finger slid over the trigger.
Another boom. This time, a murder of crows in a tree nearby took flight.
Focus.
One last bullet. It was loaded into the rifle and fired into the morning air, joining its predecessors in its journey past the target.
It was the kind of shooting one would expect from a total beginner, certainly not the seasoned sharpshooter who now led House Kiramman. A ragged sigh left Caitlyn's lips. She could almost hear Grayson now. Don't panic, Young Kiramman. The moment you panic, you lose.
Then Caitlyn had lost. The patch itched, as though reminding her of the new variable that affected every shot: weather, wind speed, wind direction… and now, her missing eye.
Her weakness.
Not once had she hit the target despite her recent daily attempts. She’d done nothing the first month following her injury. Her father specifically forbade it. Even if she’d had his permission, she hadn’t had the time in those early days; between restoring the Council and entrusting Piltover and Zaun back to its governance, the defunct title of Commander existing only in the darker pages of Piltover's history, there hadn't been much time to practice. These days she had the time, but almost wished she didn't.
Once, shooting had provided solace. Now, two months on from that fateful battle with an empty rifle held in loose hands, it just reminded her of what was lost.
It wasn’t just her shooting ability.
Jayce, her longest friend, was gone. Grief settled like a stone in her stomach, a lump forming in her throat. He and Viktor experimented with forces that had left Piltover fat with wealth, but left such a trail of destruction that it was impossible to say it was all worth it. She had no idea what had happened between Jayce and Viktor, only that no bodies were left behind.
Perhaps they weren't even dead. Perhaps they were somehow now entwined with the fabric of the universe. Perhaps they were in another dimension that wasn't quite as messed up as this one.
It didn't matter. Jayce wasn't here. As far as Caitlyn was concerned, he was another casualty. Gone, as were so many others.
It was strange, crying from one eye. It was as though her body knew it was missing an outlet, and the frustration built and built until she snapped like a cable pulled too taut. The phantom pain drilled holes in her head, as though she was pushing into that blade again, seeing through Ambessa's fourth principle to ensure that Piltover would not fall to the Noxians.
‘To be of service to the city… that's trophy enough.’
Caitlyn could never have imagined her own service to the city would look like this. She’d been young and idealistic, but Grayson's words had lit a spark within her. She wanted to follow in those footsteps. Use her skills for good.
Her mother had resisted that notion at every step. Caitlyn could almost hear her dismissive scoff. ‘The sole heir of the great House Kiramman will not be an enforcer.’ The woman was stubborn. If she'd gotten her way then Caitlyn would have stepped neatly into her own footprints, learning the game of politeness and poise, schmoozing those of high society to secure contracts and great influence within the political sphere.
Only, Cassandra Kiramman hadn't banked on Caitlyn inheriting her ironclad stubbornness. A battle of wills eventually led Cassandra to admit a rare defeat in the hopes that Caitlyn wouldn't survive the training academy.
In response, Caitlyn finished top of her class.
A breath escaped, visible in the cold bite of the morning. When Grayson became the Sheriff of Piltover, Caitlyn clapped the hardest at the ceremony, just as Grayson had at Caitlyn’s graduation. Though the burden of the role must have weighed heavily, Grayson constantly walking the tightrope over the tinderbox that was relations between Piltover and Zaun, she never once lost her head under the pressure.
That burden now beckoned to Caitlyn, a monolith on the horizon that stretched high into the sky. A humourless laugh escaped her. How in the world could she be Piltover's sheriff when she couldn’t perform the most basic shots?
Frustration bubbled in her veins, her hands itching to reload the rifle and shoot it again and again, until at least one target was pierced with a bullet. Unfortunately she'd already tried that over and over since the sun had risen; it had now almost reached its zenith, and she'd produced nothing for her efforts.
She collapsed her weapon, stowing it in its holster. Her body shifted, long legs crossing as she sat on the grass. The Sheriff of Piltover was not a ceremonial position. Why did the Council not understand that? How could Caitlyn be of service when she had lost the one skill she was good at?
Heavy footsteps stopped a few paces away.
“Thought I'd find you out here.”
She didn't need to turn around to know who had joined her. Caitlyn couldn't stop her lips twitching into a fleeting smile. Even in her darkest hour, Vi was a pinprick of light.
“Brooding doesn't suit you, Cupcake.”
Caitlyn didn't reply, instead leaning back on her hands, the bite of the frost-tipped grass barely registering.
Vi approached, dumping herself next to Caitlyn in an inelegant movement that would've had Caitlyn's mother tutting. “You worried about tomorrow?”
The reminder tugged at her nerves again. “Yes,” she answered simply, not bringing herself to meet those sky blue eyes staring at the side of her head. If she did, she'd collapse completely, and Vi didn't need to deal with that. They were both still hurting from the brutal aftermath of what happened, but Caitlyn's problems were self-inflicted.
Vi was quiet for a few moments. Then, she delivered the words that proved she knew Caitlyn all too well. “You still don't think you deserve it.”
Caitlyn bristled at hearing her deepest insecurity aloud. She dipped her head in a slight nod, an admission that her partner was correct. She couldn't lie to Vi. She wouldn't. Not after Vi gave her another chance when Caitlyn felt at her most undeserving. “I won't be alone in that feeling.”
Vi snorted. “Everyone hates the sheriff. Don't take it personally.”
“I can't hit one target,” Cait said bitterly, moving past Vi's light statement. “It's been weeks. I can't seem to improve, no matter what I do, yet I'm supposed to be ‘Piltover's protector’.”
Vi looked back at Caitlyn, eventually shifting her weight so that they were face to face. “Seven councillors think there's more to it than firing a gun.”
Caitlyn knew about the councillors all too well. The weight of their expectations was crushing. In one moment she was signing the decree to dissolve the title of Commander, and in the next a motion was passed to name her Sheriff. Sevika had abstained, as expected, but there was no outright resistance. “Piltover needs steady hands, now more than ever,” Shoola had said, light flooding her seat. With each illumination, the dread beneath Caitlyn's skin spread, eating away at any façade of bravery until she was a husk that could only nod and turn tail when dismissed, her hands anything but steady these days unless Vi held them.
“It’s not just this,” Caitlyn said, pressing her cold fingertips against the eye patch. “I have no right to be the sheriff. I caused so much pain and division. I let that… that woman talk me into hideous acts. I let her weaponise my grief. I stood by and watched her soldiers do what they wished to my people, simply because I was hurt.” Hard dirt pressed against blunt nails as she dug her fingers hard into the ground. “I shouldn't be rewarded for that.”
“Rewarded?” Vi asked, a look of genuine disbelief on her face. “Cait, being the sheriff is a curse. Between the Council bitching all day because you haven't caught whoever farted in the elevator and the Zaunites who straight up hate your fucking guts, it's the hardest job there is, now more than ever. The fact you think it's a reward means you're the right person for it.”
“I lost myself, Violet,” Caitlyn said, the pressure on her chest becoming unbearable. “How can I be the right person when I couldn't tell right from wrong?”
Vi held out her hands. Caitlyn placed her own on them, Vi's thumbs immediately stroking the skin they encountered. “You need to stop doing this. It's eating you alive.”
I can't, Caitlyn felt like saying, but kept the words locked away. She wondered if she'd ever live a day without feeling the guilt she carried like a millstone around her ankle.
“You said to me you'd live every day wanting forgiveness for what happened,” Vi said, “so use your position and prove it.”
Caitlyn's gaze met Vi's.
“When you accept that uniform tomorrow, prove that you want things to change for the better, for Piltover and Zaun. That you won't be another asshole bought for the highest price. That you'll actually be fair and tell the Council to screw themselves when they’re out of line.” Vi brushed her lips over the knuckles of Caitlyn's right hand. “Prove it every single day. Not to me. Not to anyone else. To you.”
Caitlyn nodded, some of the anxiety in her chest easing. “I will.”
“I know.”
Looking back over at the targets, Caitlyn sighed. “That still doesn't explain how I'm going to put down those trying to kill me.”
“They have to get through me first,” Vi said with a grin.
“My hero,” Caitlyn replied sarcastically, unable to suppress a smile.
They were quiet for a moment, the soothing feeling of Vi's rough thumbs rubbing circles bringing her back to reality. Then Vi stopped, looking over her shoulder at the targets for a long few seconds, Caitlyn almost able to hear the cogs turning in her head. She resisted the urge to run her fingertips over the shaved hair of Vi's undercut; nothing put the woman to sleep in her lap faster, and the pleasant sensation against Caitlyn's own skin calmed her to no end.
“You really think your eye’s the problem?” Vi asked, returning her attention to Caitlyn, her scarred eyebrow cocked.
“Of course,” Caitlyn said haughtily. “What else would it be?”
Vi simply shrugged in response, letting Caitlyn's hands slide from her own and getting to her feet. “I'll let you figure it out.” She casually walked off back towards the mansion, leaving a bewildered Caitlyn sitting on the grass. She stopped, looking over her shoulder again. “Don't take too long, Cupcake. Pretty cold out here when we could be in bed.”
“What is that supposed to mean?!” Caitlyn called after her, ignoring the hairs on her arms standing on end at the implications of Vi's playful words.
Vi began walking backwards, hands in her jacket pockets. “You've been an enforcer for long enough. Figure it out.”
Then she was gone, leaving Caitlyn with more questions than answers.
Vi thought something else was the cause of her lacklustre shooting? Caitlyn shook her head. That was preposterous.
Wasn't it?
An object in the grass caught her attention. She leaned over, picking up a box and turning it in her hands. Sliding back the cover, six bullets with the Kiramman crest engraved into their casings stared back. Vi must have dropped them on her approach without Caitlyn noticing.
Had she planned this?
She pondered Vi's question again. Her poor shooting only began when she'd lost her eye. Granted, it wasn't her dominant eye she'd lost, but nothing felt the same since. What were once natural motions felt wholly unnatural, and though she could have sworn she had the target in her sight, not one bullet hit its intended destination.
Getting to her feet, she stretched to her full height, tired bones creaking as she took in the lay of the land. The last time she'd used these targets at her family home she'd been competing against Grayson in a private competition for the final time, and she'd finally beaten her mentor without the need for accusations of parental bribery.
‘What are you shooting for?’
She closed her eye, Grayson's gravelly timbre filling her head and quieting the static noise that existed there, Caitlyn not realising just how loud it was until it stopped.
She'd never actually answered Grayson that night. She thought she'd answered it with her actions. She'd become an enforcer, her privileged idealism driving every move, boundless in its naive optimism. That same idealism led her down a dark path when she'd discovered the real world was so much more than her skin-deep interpretation of society and its conflicts, and, fuelled by her grief, she'd wrought much damage upon the people she'd once championed.
She'd begun to shoot in the name of the rage that burned within. A hollow thing to shoot for, in retrospect. Such a dishonourable thing could never be an answer to the question Grayson had asked.
Caitlyn drew her rifle again from its holster, loading it with the first bullet. Aiming at the target, she exhaled.
Piltover was her home. She'd worked hard to protect it, but only after making the gravest of mistakes did she truly understand what home was. Only now, with the benefit of hindsight, did she see the ugly truth behind the machinations that had kept Piltover on top for so long, Zaun perpetually crushed underfoot.
She would work until her end of days to ensure things were fairer. Gone was her delusional view of what could be, replaced with a realistic vision she would strive for; peace between the two cities, and prosperity for both. Whether Zaun wanted independence or not, she would defend it with her life against those who would work against its interests.
Stroking the trigger, she was mildly disappointed when the shot missed the mark, but at least she’d narrowed it down. Caitlyn didn't shoot for Piltover. At least, not anymore. The protection of her city wasn't a trophy, it was simply a given.
She searched her heart for answers as she reloaded the weapon.
Though she and her mother often did not see eye-to-eye, she would never forget the fond memories they had, particularly when she was a young girl. Cassandra would attend all of Caitlyn's tea parties, sagely nodding in agreement when Doctor Snuggles would offer his best advice for resolving conflicts occuring in far-off lands. When she was killed, Caitlyn’s world was plunged into chaos, serving as the catalyst for everything that followed.
She missed her deeply.
Caitlyn took the shot for the mother she lost, for the grief she felt.
It missed the target.
Lowering the rifle and loading the next bullet, she frowned.
What of her father, who had been there for all that pain and anguish? Caitlyn hadn't been the only one to lose someone. Tobias Kiramman had lost his wife, and it was down to him and Caitlyn to sift through the pieces of their broken hearts together, to show the strong front Cassandra would expect them to.
Despite his own crushing loss and his daughter's descent into someone he barely recognised, he stood by her, a lighthouse in the storm. He nursed both Caitlyn and Vi through their injuries during those agonising first days of the aftermath. His lip had trembled as he told Caitlyn that her eye was unsalvageable. He'd bitten his tongue as he helped to heal Vi's broken arm. He'd done as well as he could do, his own psychological wounds weeping without relief.
Caitlyn took the shot for the man who had been with her to the bitter end.
Another miss.
She gripped her bottom lip between her teeth. Reloading, her thoughts turned to Jayce.
He had been a brother to her in all but blood, and though he had gone, she had memories of him that would persist until the end of her own days. The pride he had in her when she graduated as an enforcer; the drinks they shared on her rare nights off as he babbled about concepts she never could understand; his unwavering love for his mother who would often set a place at the table for a younger Caitlyn, for whom he did everything he could to make her proud.
He, like Caitlyn, made a sacrifice, one that meant he'd likely never be coming back.
She shot this time for the gift of their friendship, and though it didn't hit the target, she smiled nonetheless.
Her blood was on fire as she loaded the fifth bullet. She barely needed to think of Vi to feel electrified, as though she could take on entire armies single-handedly. Caitlyn could scarcely believe that the near-broken woman she'd met in Stillwater was now burrowed so deep within her heart that it would surely kill her if she ever lost her. Caitlyn saved Vi once, trading her rifle for a dose of shimmer that kept her alive.
In return, Vi saved Caitlyn too, in more ways than she'd ever understand. In calloused palms Vi would carry Caitlyn's heart, gentler than any other ever could, because that was Vi: caring, loyal, and forgiving, with a tendency to eat slop that made Caitlyn's nose wrinkle.
Neither of them had said the words. They didn't need to. Not yet. But Caitlyn knew, as sure as the sun above, that she loved Vi.
How fortunate she was to have known love on so many levels.
‘Begs the question, Young Kiramman…
…What are you shooting for?’
She was beginning to understand.
Where a young Caitlyn Kiramman couldn't answer that question, an older one finally could. The memories she'd cycled through were tied together by a common thread:
Piltover and Zaun fighting and mourning together, two cities united for a moment;
Her mother’s voice reading fairy tales by the fireplace, Caitlyn in her lap;
Her father's caring hands treating her grazed knee, and later, her war wounds;
Jayce’s wide grin, his arm around her shoulder as they approached a girl Caitlyn liked;
Vi's lips on hers, their bodies intertwined, two broken souls becoming one and healing slowly with each passing day.
Caitlyn stared down the sight of the rifle, a calm settling over her that she'd not felt in months.
Love, Grayson. I'm shooting for love.
The fifth bullet ripped through the target.
She'd finally figured it out, just as Vi believed she would. Tension seeped from every muscle, leaving once-weary bones feeling renewed, the midday sun burning away the shadows that had plagued her relentlessly. A tough road lay ahead, but for the first time in a long time, it felt manageable.
Caitlyn didn't bother to load the final bullet.
She had somewhere to be, and she'd tested Vi's patience long enough.