#Silkat

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 26

The Necessity of Desire

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Kat asks Silco to show her Zaun again. And they finally allow themselves to give into their desire.

CW: Heavy petting/groping, descriptions of nudity, cunnilingus

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.3K

Silco stared at her for a moment, the thin line of his mouth slowly falling open.

For the briefest of moments, Kat felt like the rest of the tavern fell away. It was only her and him. Like in her dream. Her throat was a knot, her gut near exploding with the excited thrashing of Desire; her limbs trembled.

He set his drink down on the bar, and the noise and energy of the celebration rushed back in. Kat’s feet began moving again. Like she was a magnet, and Silco was one with an opposite pole.

“Kat,” he said, eyes wide, a nervous curl on his lips. His fingers twitched. Like he wanted to reach for her.

She reached for him instead, grabbing his hands.

Relief seeped from his palms into hers. She held tighter.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, and she pulled him from the main room. She didn’t know at first where she wanted to go, but only knew the tavern was too noisy, too public. They snuck through the backrooms, past Vander’s private quarters, and into the alley behind The Drop.

The chill of the air took Kat’s breath away, the cold pricking her eyes. Her heart was galloping in her chest, an erratic rhythm that shook her body. Silco squeezed her hand.

“Kat?”

“This way,” she said, tugging at him.

Her feet led them to the rickety fire escape that snaked up the side of the The Last Drop like a withering vine. The metal clanged and whined beneath their boots as they climbed. The building the bar was in was tall, and when the pair reached the rooftop, the bustling square beneath spread out before them several stories below.

Kat’s heartrate slowed as she approached the waist-high wall that prevented the drop off the building, and looked out. The square beneath them thrummed with life. The sound of people, music, vehicles, buzzing chem-lights wove together in a symphony of unlikely beauty. The Last Drop’s marquee bled a warm spotlight onto the cobblestones, highlighting merry revelers entering and exiting the tavern and neighboring establishments, arm-in-arm with their friends and loved ones. Their laughter and happiness rose above the main musical theme of the Lanes in bursts, like bubbles floating, then popping playfully through the air.

It was beautiful. Tears shelved themselves along Kat’s eyelids.

It was beautiful. And she was part of it.

A sigh escaped from her lips in a watery shudder. Silco stood closer.

Finally, she looked up at him, gold eyes clear and bright like polished hexes.

“Silco, will you tell me about Zaun again?”

Silco’s voice caught, surprised by the question. His chest ached to see the broken, searching look behind Kat’s eyes. She had been so standoffish as of late. He missed her. Would she allow him to reach inside and help puzzle her back together?

A breath left him, a cloud filtering out through his lips and dissipating over the breeze. His eyes tracked through the crowd; his ears filled with the sounds of Zaun; the warmth of Kat’s palm pressed against his.

“Look down there, Kat.” He jut his chin to the wide open space below, and her eyes slid to look again. “We have made our intentions known. We’ve taken the first stand against Piltover, and they’ve tried to deter and choke us already. But look down there, think of what you walked into in The Last Drop. No one is afraid – at least not enough to cow down and remain small.

“That is what Zaun is: Brothers and Sisters standing against whatever is thrown at them. Loyal and steadfast. Fierce and wild in a way that chafes Piltover. Across the River, Topsiders police themselves and us to maintain the status quo. Their devotion is to their station, not their lives. Certainly not the lives of others. You’ve been over there. You have seen how dour and stagnate that city is. Pretty, perhaps. But it’s only an ornate and bejeweled husk. Piltover is not alive.”

Kat realized she’d been holding her breath the entire time Silco had been speaking. His grip on her hand was tight, solid. She looked up at him and saw the same fiery, passionate profile she’d taken in all those weeks ago when he had first showed her Zaun. When that first inkling of want and desire flickered inside of her. It filled her with awe.

“Zaun is alive,” he continued, voice fervent, eyes wide with possibility. “It is breathing. Look. Even beneath the surface, look how we thrive despite it all.”

“It is not a pipedream anymore,” Kat whispered in a wavering voice.

Silco’s head snapped in her direction. “It never was. We were always meant for this. We deserve it.”

Something unstoppable shifted in the air; a charge that had been building, preparing. Puffs of breath mingled between them like a binding fog. Desire leapt into Kat’s throat so suddenly she nearly choked. Her fingers latched tighter to his as she angled herself into the shelter of his body. He mirrored her, hand sliding out of hers only to rehome itself on the small of her back, pulling her closer. A small gasp hissed through her lips; his hold was warm and right. It caused Desire to shiver down her spine and pool low in her belly.

Thoughtlessly, her hands reached up. One combed through his hair, drawing the strands away from the angles of his face. The same thought as what came up at the Springs struck her: Beautiful. Her other hand cupped his left cheek, thumb running along the pink line that now hatched his upper lip, the stitches having since dissolved.

“We deserve it,” she repeated reverently, and closed the space between them.

The firm press of his lips against hers made Kat’s body lock up in delight. The hand in his hair gripped, while the other slid around his shoulders, holding him close. It was so much better than her dream. It was real. He was; and so was she.

Silco tugged her in closer, the hand on her back wrapping around her waist; the other reaching up to cradle her jaw. He used the hold to gently lean her head to the side, the opposing slant of their mouths allowing deeper access to each other. When his tongue gently swiped along her lower lip, a sharp inhale pulled in through Kat’s nose. Excitedly, she met him, tongue sliding over his with a relieved sigh.

Everything that had not filled out in her dream came into stark, beautiful relief. The eager push and pull of his lips and tongue against hers were warm and hungry. Like hers. The blade of his nose slotted against hers, caressing her cheek as his jaw moved. She could taste the bright-earthiness of the tobacco he used, the woody-burn of the whisky he’d left at the bar.

Desire gave way to lust, seeping lower, oozing past Kat’s navel. Sweet like honey. Her breasts began to feel heavy in their confines, nipples pinching tight.

She wanted more.

Such is the nature of desire.

Silco’s hand slid down from her neck, traveling in a commanding hold to her waist. His hand ghosted over her breast as it went, and her insides went molten. She clawed at his shoulders and back. An undeniable firmness and warmth pressed against her lower abdomen, and their kisses turned frenzied. Less lips; more tongue, teeth, and breath.

Kat snatched his lower lip between her teeth, and Silco finally paused. He watched her with wide eyes, pupils blown out; their hungry darkness having eaten away at the blue of his irises. Kat looked up at him, her eyes similarly darkened, his lip slowly sliding out from the hold of her incisors. When it finally snapped back, Silco rested his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in damp huffs between them, their lips kiss-swollen and tingling.

“Should we go back inside?” he eventually whispered, hand running up her spine.

Kat swallowed, thinking.

They should.

But she didn’t want to.

She bit the inside of her lip, heart hammering, core beginning to throb. Her fingers dug into his shoulders; a sapling desperate to take root in sturdy ground.

Slowly, she nodded her head, but clarified in a breathy voice, “Yes. But not back to the party.”

If possible, Silco’s pupils dilated further. A grin, manic with enthrall, appeared on his face, and kissed her again.

“Come on,” he gasped, after pulling back from her lips in a sharp pop!

He grabbed Kat’s hand, and led her back to the fire escape and down. They tucked back into the lowlight of The Drop’s back rooms, staggering down the hall, ping-ponging off the walls as they grabbed and groped at each other, mouths meeting in messy kisses.

Silco pressed them against a door, pawing at the handle as his lips latched onto Kat’s neck. She mewled and squirmed – then squawked as the door opened and they tumbled through. Laughing, they tripped through Vander’s apartment on lust-sloppy feet until they reached another door that Silco pushed open.

“It’s a guest room,” he answered when the question flashed across her face. “This is where I stay if I spend the night.”

‘Room’ was a very generous term; it was more of a converted large closet. The space was just big enough to hold a twin bedframe and a few stacks of boxes whose use mimicked that of a dresser. None of this deterred Kat, though. She snicked the door shut, as he turned a small, pot-bellied lamp on.

When Silco turned, Kat was reaching for him once more. His hands greedily grabbed for her again, sliding beneath her open coat to grip at her waist and hips. Despite the animalistic tug of his body, a higher part of his brain managed to gutter back online for a moment.

He kissed her, sweeter this time, then asked, “This is okay? You’re sure?”

Kat looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling. Her hands threaded back up into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp in pleasurable tracks. She was moved he had thought to ask. It only solidified what she knew.

“Yes. I want you.”

She pulled him into a kiss, deep and consuming, their tongues intertwining. After a minute, Silco’s lips trailed over her cheek to the space beneath the bolt of her jaw, confidence and excitement renewed by her confirmation.

His teeth nipped at her. “Do you have any contraband in this coat tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Kat chuckled. “Just me.”

She nudged her nose against his head, reeling his lips back to hers. As he kissed her, his hands slid back up to her shoulders, peeling the coat off her back and down her arms in a smooth movement. Her vest was next to follow, crumpling to the floor in a soft pile of canvas and old tweed.

Kat’s hands snapped to the closure of his shirt, ripping it open with a sharp tug. They slid across his sides and up the cut muscles of his back, hungry to feel him. Silco tugged the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and flailed his arms out of his sleeves; Kat’s hands pulling the garment along to help. It landed in a soft wumpf on the floor.

Kat’s eyes were closed, completely enraptured, and lost in the feelings, smells, and tastes of him. Her mind and body basked in the answers to mysteries she had been pondering for weeks. She barely felt the spin, but her eyes shot open when the back of her knees hit the foot of the bed. She flopped onto the mattress with a yelp. Silco chuckled, stooping down to undo her boots, then his own. Kat scrambled to sit up, hooking her fingers around her socks and ripping them off. Silco’s face crashed into hers as she did, bowling them back.

Kat laughed and kissed him. His body was a blessed, grounding weight that kept her right here, right now. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and held him close; legs drifting apart, allowing him to nestle snuggly between her thighs. The warm, hard bulge in his trousers pressed promisingly against her. A sigh loosed itself from her throat. The crown of her head dropped back onto the pillow, and Silco returned his attention to her neck, its creamy expanse laid bare to him.

He licked, then latched on. A smile curled the corners of his mouth as she writhed needily beneath him. One arm burrowed beneath her body and the mattress, pulling her impossibly close; the other came up to palm the heavy weight of her breast.

The taste of sunshine was on her skin – as impossible as that seemed for someone who lived in the Sump. Deep, warm, and sweet. Like caramel being tempered across a confectioner’s marble table. He wanted more. He sucked hard – Kat gasping, her chest arching up into his – before popping off that spot and sucking onto another one an inch lower.

Breath came to Kat in sharp huffs, her hands desperately gripping in Silco’s hair and on his back. Every pull on her neck sent a twinge to her center. Her nails created crescent moons on the meat of his shoulders. Desire and lust looped and swelled inside her. A bright, luminescent ball that tingled her bones and warmed her from the inside out, opening and preparing.

Silco was not her first, and she highly doubted that she was his. She did not know what the statistics were in Piltover, but in the Undercity – where danger lurked around every corner in the form of Enforcers, desperate thugs, and illness – it was commonplace for people to be sexually active at a young age. To get the most out of a most-likely short life.

Kat had been older than the average Trencher; her first being when she was sixteen. A similarly aged boy who lived in the same apartment building as her, her father, and brother. He had been nice and polite, but the backbone of their brief relationship mostly had to do with curiosity and proximity. One day, he was arrested for pickpocketing a Topside woman in the Promenade, and was sent to Stillwater. Kat never saw him again.

The last fling Kat had occurred a few weeks before her father’s murder.  She’d met the young man at a food stall in Bridgewaltz, and cautious, but promising, sparks flew. She met him again the next night, and they went to a nearby boarding house that rented rooms by the hour.

Probably the worst five washers Kat had ever spent.

He hadn’t so much fondled her breasts as he had squeezed and yanked at them. His hips pistoned roughly and sloppily, and did not last long. And he had made a self-congratulatory pussycat joke upon rolling off her. She quickly cleaned and dressed, and never saw him again.

Silco moved to the other side of her neck, nipping at her jaw before sucking a third plum-colored mark right below it. A slight roll was beginning to build in his hips, the movement oiling his muscles and bones.

When his stiffness brushed against the seam of Kat’s trousers again, she panted and choked on a whimper.

Many sensations in her body felt familiar: the heavy, warm ache growing in her breasts, her nipples tightening to the point of discomfort; the wet, insistent pulse between her thighs . . .

Others weren’t.

The lust roiling inside of Kat was specifically for Silco. It was an itch that she only wanted him to scratch. Her other exploits, limited though they were, had not hinged on who her bedmate had been. Only that she had been curious, bored, lonely.

This Desire was specific. It was for him. And she felt hopeful, confident that his was too.

Kat’s hands left their hold on his back to tug at her shirt, pulling its hem from her trousers, before her fingers frantically began undoing the buttons.

Silco joined her, leaving the blossoming purple mark he had been working on to sit on his haunches, and hurriedly slip buttons through their eyelets. He nearly panted and salivated like a dog as more and more of her flesh was exposed to him. She was the color of a pearl and just as precious.

Kat thrashed her arms out of her sleeves, tossing the blouse onto the floor, before her hands wiggled behind her back to undo the hooks of her brassiere. Once undone, Silco shed the straps down her arms and threw the garment aside, revealing what he had been privately imagining since the Springs. Ample and heavy-bottomed, Kat’s breasts arched in their freedom; nipples, the color of her deep pink lips, stiff and proud.

Steadying the hungry shake of his hand, Silco held the weight of one of them, relishing the sensation of its softness. His breath hitched when Kat sighed and pressed into his hand. He dipped down, kissed her thoroughly, before settling prone over her, and began laving her other breast. His teeth puzzled against her nipple, and sucked. Kat gasped and choked on her pleasure, her spine bowing into him. Pleased, Silco spurred onward, his teeth and tongue performing an intricate dance over the sensitive bud.

Kat was no longer in control of how her body was reacting to him. Her hands struggled to find suitable purchase, gripping his body, then the sheets, then the pillow. Her hips undulated needily beneath him, searching for any sort of pressure to relief the maddening ache growing between her thighs.

Silco pulled away from her breast with a vicious tug that left Kat panting, and licked his way over to its partner. A moan that seamlessly wove together the sounds of eroticism and frustration bleated from her as he began nipping and sucking again. Her hands flew to grip his waist, attempting to make his pelvis crush against hers. Silco’s eyes rolled back behind his closed lids. She was so responsive and hungry. His dick strained at the front of his trousers, begging for attention.

Once both her breasts were glossy and rigid, he shifted down her torso, kissing the other moles and deep freckles now visible. His hands swept down the tantalizing curve of her waist as his lips and nose nuzzled the soft flesh of her stomach. Above him, she panted, her voice caught in a net of sharp breaths and half-words.

Silco raised himself again, sitting back on his heels. His own breathing was raggedly warped, a curse on the tip of his tongue as he beheld the woman under him. Kat’s chest heaved, her skin sweat-sheened and flushed; deep purple love-notes blossoming across her skin. Her eyes met his, a hazy, needy fire smoldering behind them.

Carefully, Silco’s fingers touched the waist of her pants. Kat’s eyes snapped open and she nodded madly.

“Yes!”

Together, they made quick work of her button fly, and tore her trousers off. Kat sighed as cool air hit the damp gusset of her underwear and her slick inner thighs. Silco’s fingers greedily gripped the waist of her undergarments, and Kat lifted her hips as he shucked them down and threw them into oblivion.

The curse finally leapt from Silco’s tongue in a disbelieving, “Fuck.”

She was lovelier than any daydream he’d manage to concoct. Luminescent and soft. Perfect. Her supple waist swooped into the generous curve of her hips, the flesh of her thighs quivering in anticipation.

“Sweet talker,” she giggled breathily, cheeks flushing like a rose.

Silco smiled and ran his hands up the length of her legs, marveling at their softness. As his palms grazed up, Kat’s hips canted. A needy reflex. His eyes honed in on the pretty thatch of curly hair between her thighs, at how the curls became dewy at the ends; the deep pink of her sex peeking out from underneath.

Saliva pooled under Silco’s tongue, and he licked his lips. His own aching need temporarily forgotten in the presence of this alter. Like a good disciple, he shimmied himself low, got onto his belly and guided her legs over his shoulders. Kat propped herself up on her elbows, watching him, her chest rapidly rising and falling in excited breaths.

He hadn’t even tasted her yet, and Silco already felt like he was drunk. The smell of her was so potent – a musky tang settling on the back of his tongue – and she was so warm – humidity radiating off her like a summertime rainstorm – that his mind wobbled with hunger and disbelief.

A soft coo from above drew him out of his revery. Blue met gold. His eyes were dilated and starry, hers were wide and waiting.

Silco scooched closer and took his first taste, his tongue a solid press and slide against her. A clipped, relieved groan sighed from Kat’s mouth, her body sagging. Silco’s eyes closed, a similar relief seeping through him. The sunshine taste of her skin boldened into something sharper here. A heady bouquet that he hoped would stay on his tongue for days after.

Silco drew back, and Kat whined at his absence. It was quickly remedied, though, as he snaked his hands up and around the crest of her hips and pulled her into his mouth. His actions were dichotomous: he ate like a man starved; but also licked and suckled at her methodically enough that it was clear her pleasure and experience was the priority.

Kat’s elbows gave way, and she collapsed onto the bed, a strangled cry caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Her gaze went down the length of her torso to the man between her thighs. Her imagination all those weeks ago paled in comparison to the real thing. Silco’s brows and eyelids remained soft, like he was at total peace and had all the time in the world to be with her. His nose rested against the split of her, breathing her in while his lips and tongue thoroughly explored below.

The sight and feeling of it all was overwhelming. Her head flopped back onto the pillow, vision swimming. The heat in her center pooled low and seeped out. She heard him groan against her, and tears pricked her eyes. Desire and euphoria bloomed big in her belly and chest. Her body trembled.

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

Despite his hold on her, Kat rocked her hips as much as she could. Matching the undulations of Silco’s tongue roll-for-roll. Wispy, sex-addled breaths and words huffed out from between her swollen lips. Affirmations and swears.

Silco’s mouth hooked in a smile against her. His eyes cracked open a sliver to watch Kat writhe, a lover’s pride filling him to see her peaked breasts, flushed skin, and pretty face twisted in erotic agony.

He drew back, left hand unwrapping from her hip so he could fill her with his fingers. His dick twitched at the warm, plush feel of her around his digits. His eyes fluttered when she moaned his name.

He would hear it again.

Like a hawk, his eyes honed in on the peak of her slit, to where that small bud sat hooded and sensitive. Bracketing his right forearm across her hip bones and gently shifting up, he unveiled his next target. Fingers hooking in such a way that had Kat gasping, Silco dove forward, flicking at her clitoris with the tip of his tongue.

She screeched and spasmed. A hand flew to his head and she grabbed his hair at the roots. The instruction was clear: Stay right there. Keep doing that.

Silco’s fingers pumped and pressed rhythmically, his tongue a steady dance on that little ball of nerves. Kat’s thighs began to shake around his head. His name was a chant on her lips once more. Delighted, enthralled, Silco took her clit between her lips and sucked.

Kat was teetering. Despite her screwed-shut eyes, she could see her climax barreling towards her. She was overwhelmed with the need for it, her want of it.

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

Despite everything – despite her desire, despite the man she had chosen – she could sense that this release had the potential to be the start of a big, life-altering reckoning. And while she wanted it, craved it, desired it, tendrils of fear slithered back out from behind her ribs. One last ditch effort to protect her from the unknown of choosing Silco. Choosing her life. Choosing herself.

Pleasure mounted. Desire coiled. Her skin grew tight over her bones.

She wanted. So, she chose.

Silco’s fingers pressed, his lips sucked, and Kat screamed her release with a resounding YES!

She renewed her hold on his head, and rode his fingers and tongue through wave after wave, hips rolling wildly as she claimed what was hers. And Silco stayed, dutifully pulling her orgasm along as long as she wanted.

Eventually, Kat’s body gave out, and her limbs became a quivering, jellied mess. Her legs slid off Silco’s shoulders, her hand released him and her arms lay boneless at her sides. Like bellows in the old forges of Augmentation Alley, her ribcage swung erratically. Her teeth chattered.

Distantly, she was aware of the feeling of Silco’s tongue back on her, cleaning her, kissing her thighs. Then, he suddenly scrabbled up the length of her body, hands coming to cup her face. She felt wetness between her cheeks and his palms.

“Kat. Kat. Hey. You’re okay? What’s wrong?”

She blinked, not understanding. There were tears in her eyes, she realized, and on her cheeks.

Sucking a great breath in, she prepared to tell him she was fine. More than fine. But instead of words, a bubbling sob-laugh burst from her mouth. She curled into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his back. He returned the hold automatically, limbs encompassing her without question. She panted and gasped into his neck, trying to speak.

“I got you,” he whispered above, drawing her closer. “I got you.”

There was a joyful laugh hidden within her labored breaths.

“You have me.”

Notes: Ahhhh! The slow-burn finally paid off! If you've been here, waiting for the smut, wow! You're patient! More to come, I promise. And it won't take long, either. The Silkat train had officially left the station ❤️

Comments, reblogs, and recommendations keep me and other author's motiviational fires burning! We love to hear what y'all are thinking.

Coming Up Next: Silco and Katya bask in a sultry morning after . . . until they're interuppted.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[kikiiswashere]

AUNTIEEEE 😭😭😭 Thank you for the recommendation and kind words!!!

If anyone has any SilcoXreader/ SilcoxFOC, etc recommendations, plz shoot em over, ya gurl has a mighty need

I don’t mind if they’re first person etc, only stipulation is no X instead of a name, it makes my brain 404 hahahahaha

[badshastore]

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[taraross-1787]

Medal of Honor Monday: Edward Silk

At about this time in 1944, a hero launches a one-man attack on Germans who were after his company. Amazingly, First Lt. Edward A. Silk survived his daring run.

Silk was then commanding a weapons platoon in France. He and his men had been tasked with a mission: They were to seize high ground outside the city of Moyenmoutier.

By noon on November 23, scouts for Silk’s company were approaching some woods near the vicinity of St. Pravel. They noticed that a nearby farmhouse had an enemy sentry posted out front.

Our soldiers were soon under attack.

The story continues here: https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-edward-silk-moh

[anastasiaauclaire]

My starwars cat gal Silkat for our new Sunday campaign! 💕 she's a pod/speeder racer and session one she managed to sneak inside an enemy compound, kill the leader, free all the other pcs and get her bike back. So in short I love her.

[kikiiswashere]

NAUSICA 😭😭😭😭

My sweet babies! You captured them so well 😭🥹

quick silco & katya sketches (character by @kikiiswashere from their fic children of zaun) i fear for her life but it's fine nothing bad is going to happen RIGHT right

[douglaspanaresf56]

Asa Namuyo ang mga Datong Negosyante ug mga Pamilyang Silkat sa Cebu?

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun Chapter 32 Sneak Peek!

It’s my 35th birthday today! And to celebrate, here is a little glimpse in to the next chapter. Domestic fluff abounds!

————

When Kat’s eyes cracked open, she saw the dim, orange glow of light outlining the jamb of Silco’s bedroom door. Signaling that Enyd was already up. If she had managed to sleep at all. Several nights over the past few weeks, the ferocity of her coughing and retching hadn’t allowed for more than a couple hours of sleep at a time. It left the already haggard woman exhausted, her throat raw, and her voice the soft crackle of a dwindling fire. Weak and smokey.

Kat shifted beneath Silco’s arm, and he grunted, muscles flexing and drawing her in closer.

“It’s time to get up, Silco.”

He mumbled something into her hair that she’d since learned was ‘Not yet’.

“There is going to be a delivery of supplies to the clinic today. I need to be there to receive it.”

His body stilled in consideration. Finally, his arm relaxed and she sat up, twisting to face him. In the shadows of the dark room, the angles of his face appeared sharper. They cut against the softness of the pillow beneath his head, hair an ink spill over the light color of the case’s fabric. She reached down and brushed some strands away from his eyes. It was getting so long.

A blue eye cracked open and squinted up at her.

“What?”

Kat smiled sleepily, and dipped down to kiss the summit of his cheekbone.

“Nothing. You’re just handsome.”

There was something about the mornings, when it was just them and a tangled-up sheet. Before they had to open that door and march into the world. Ready to live, lead, and fight. For a few brief, waking moments nothing else existed.

Silco shifted his head against the pillow, setting both eyes upon her. Even in the dark of the bedroom, she saw the color on his cheeks shift, and a careful-not-to-be-too-pleased smile on the edges of his mouth. Kat leaned down and pressed a kiss to it, before suddenly slipping away as his arms attempted to ensnare her and draw her back into the covers. Kat laughed quietly as his arms flopped on to the bed, heavy in defeat. She gently padded toward the dresser she’d left her clothes on and began changing out of her pajamas.

Silco untangled himself from the sheets, grabbed his cigarette tin from the bedside table, and shuffled to the window. The light that filled the bedroom as he drew back the ratty curtain was grey and watery. Soft enough that the brightness did not sting, clear enough that Kat could easily thumb the buttons of her trousers through their eyelets.

Silco cracked the window open, the sounds and smells of Zaun gently wafting into the room, and he struck a match against the sandpaper within the tin of the case. He lit a cigarette, and leaned out the window.

Kat shrugged into her blouse, fingers making quick work of the button-front. Her vest was next, the chain of her papa’s pocket watch catching the light in a joyful twinkle. Tying her hair up in a ponytail, she crossed over to Silco.

“You are going to have to tie this back soon,” she said, tucking his hair behind an ear. Goose pimples rose on his skin as her fingers traced lightly down his neck and shoulder.

He hummed in response, sucking a long drag from the cigarette. The paper was eaten away by a wriggling orange line, and the ash blew away on a soft breeze.

“You don’t want to get it caught in any of the machinery at work.”

Silco lifted his eyebrows in a ‘that’s true’ fashion. Leaning farther out the window, he blew a mouthful of smoke into the air and crushed the end of the cigarette against the bricks of the building. Standing back into the room, he pulled the window shut and turned to Kat.

“Any spares, perhaps?” he asked, reaching out and running his fingers through the thick waves of her ponytail.

“In my coat, probably. I’ll get you one before we leave.”

Kat left Silco in his bedroom to change, and ventured into the apartment. She heard Enyd before she saw her. A steady, wheezing drone whistling from the living room. She dipped her fingers into the pockets of her coat, searching for a spare elastic, before continuing.

The older woman was propped up in her rocking chair, pillow wedged behind her head, a large drop cloth spread over her lap. She held a section of the fabric up to the light at her side, stitching a long, red swatch to it with aching precision. Her eyes flicked over to Kat as she stepped into the room, a smile stretching her face.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Enyd.”

Kat’s eyes gave a cursory glance around Enyd’s immediate space. A water glass on the end table, her medicine (woefully low) next to it; no signs of bloody rags or a sick bucket. Then she looked at the project in Enyd’s lap. A flag. Zaun’s flag. She’d been working on it for a few weeks, desperate to keep herself busy as her ability to consistently leave the apartment lessened. Enyd had presented the idea to Kat and Silco one evening, along with a few rough sketches of a design and emblem.

“Every nation needs a flag,” she’d insisted.

And she wasn’t wrong. Kat couldn’t decide whether to inspect the drawings Enyd was showing them, or to stare at Silco’s utterly entranced face as he took in his mother’s work. Enyd had come such a long way from initially scolding him that one night at Vander’s, to creating the crest of their nation. He’d excitedly taken her sketches to The Last Drop the next day to confer with Vander.

The two men talked for hours, mulling over the scraps of paper, piecing together different facets of the drawings until the final draft emerged. The emblem for the Nation of Zaun. A ‘N’ and ‘Z’ artfully combined in a strong tower, against a backdrop of blue and red whorls meant to pay homage to Oshra Va’Zaun and Lady Janna.

“Did you sleep?” Kat asked, taking a step closer. It didn’t seem like Enyd had much progress from where she had stopped the night prior. Hopefully meaning –

“Yes. Better than I have the past few nights.”

“How long have you been up?”

Enyd blinked, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Only about an hour. Is Silco up?”

“He is getting dressed. I’ll make you some tea and breakfast.”

“Oh, Kat. You don’t have to do that. I can – “

Enyd slipped her needle through the flag to keep from losing it, and began to carefully gather the fabric up.

“No, no,” Kat insisted. She placed a hand on Enyd’s shoulder. “Really, I got it.”

The older woman looked up at her, eyes simultaneously grateful and abashed. She settled into the pillow behind her head, and lifted up her sewing again as Kat went to the kitchen.

Enyd’s kitchen had become as familiar as her own. Kat moved swiftly between either side of the galley. The kettle went on the top right burner, as it was the one that got hottest most quickly. Tea was tucked away in the cupboard above the hood. Mugs were in the second cupboard that faced the stove, along with the plates. Bread was kept in the box below those cupboards. The bread knife and other silverware were tucked in the middle drawer beneath the butcher block counter. The drawer stuck if one did not lift the handle first and give it a gentle, but firm, yank. The marmalade was in the icebox door, next to the yeast.

Like seeing her and Silco’s clothes drying next to one another, the way Kat easily moved about the kitchen was honey-sweet comfort. A warm blanket that wrapped around her heart.

She heard Silco enter the living room as she began slicing bread. Then, gentle and loving ‘good mornings’ shared between mother and son, before Silco appeared in the kitchen, Enyd’s water glass in hand. He went to the sink and filled it. Kat thinly applied the citrus marmalade to the bread just as the kettle began to warble. Silco reached over and turned the flame beneath down.

“Go ahead and take the bread over,” he said. “I’ll make the tea.”

“I’ll take the water, too.”

Silco handed her the fresh glass before turning his attention to the box of tea and mugs, and Kat walked over to the kitchen table, and placed the bread and water glass down.

Enyd knotted off the thread, and slid her needle snugly into the drop cloth’s weave for safekeeping. Gently setting her work on the floor, she gripped the arms of her chair and pressed up onto her feet. Kat watched her carefully, body tightening like a spring. Ready to leap forward should Enyd look at all unsteady. But she managed to the table just fine, though the plop into her seat was a little graceless. Kat slathered a slice of bread with marmalade, set it on a plate, and handed it to Enyd. She murmured her thanks as Kat went to prepare her own breakfast. Silco appeared, placing a mug of tea in front of his mother and Kat, before returning to the kitchen to grab his own.

As he took his own seat, Kat frowned as she scraped the sides of the marmalade jar with the knife.

“Do you - “

“You can finish it up,” he said, sipping at his tea.

Enyd watched as Kat slid the scant amount over her bread, lips pursing.

“I can go to the market today to see if I can find more.”

“Don’t, mum. The marketplaces barely have staples, muchless condiments.” Silco gave her a reassuring smile as he tore a piece of bread from his slice and popped it in his mouth. “We’ll be able to get marmalade soon enough. And butter. And cheese.”

Enyd returned the smile weakly, before tucking her head into the crook of her elbow and coughing. It passed quickly, and she waved Kat off before the young woman could assist her in any way.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” With a quivering hand, Enyd grabbed for her water glass. She took careful sips, her face softening with each one.

“There is a delivery coming to the clinic today,” Kat said. “I will grab another bottle of decongestant. We - we could also try some anti-inflammatories, too. See if that helps at all.”

Enyd’s knee-jerk reaction was to turn down the offer. Out of humbleness, out of fear. But she’d since learned to not fight against Kat’s instance. Especially when Silco backed her up. Even if Enyd said ‘no’, she knew Kat would bring them to her anyway.

Kat’s eyes lifted to the wall clock, and she grunted, biting her bread. She took a few large gulps of tea and made to stand.

“That delivery will be there shortly. I should head out. Oh, here.”

She held out her wrist to Silco, presenting the black elastic wrapped around it. He blinked, then was jolted back to what she had said in the bedroom.

He peeled it off her arm. “Thank you.”

Smoothing his wavy hair across his skull, and gathering its bulk at the nape of his neck, he tied it off. Kat’s eyes were warm as she took him in. Sighing, she folded the rest of her bread and took it up in one hand, as the other went gently rest on the side of Silco’s neck. She used the contact as a counter-balance to hold her upright as she dipped to kiss him. She rounded the table and kissed Enyd’s head.

“Be safe,” Enyd called as Kat walked toward the door.

“I will be.” She twirled her coat over her shoulders, and opened the door. “See you both tonight.”

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 30

Tightrope

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Grayson nor Bone get what they want.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.1K

Grayson tossed the most recent Enforcer reports onto her desk in a haphazard flourish. Leaning back in her chair, her wide hand roughly scrubbed at her face.

Things were a fucking mess.

Somehow, despite increased Enforcer presence in the Undercity, the Children of Zaun were yet to be ferreted out. It was as if their adversaries were not just a few dangerous malcontents, but the whole of the Underground. Not one Undercity citizen had come forth to relay any information. Not even a monetary reward was enough to persuade them.

How were they supposed to cull a terrorist group if a whole section of Piltover’s population was involved?

And things were only getting worse.

Since Council’s most recent crackdown, Enforcer-issued skips had been vandalized. Enforcers attempting investigations were met with even more resistance and vitriol: garbage and rocks thrown at them from the dark shadows of alleyways. Business owners refused to serve any officer who crossed their threshold. Some Trenchers had taken to skulking around the Undercity’s side of the Bridge. A sneering, intimidating, spiteful version of the attendance hut and barricade on Piltover’s side of the River. While those leering and cat-calling any who passed through, no one had been physically assaulted. Yet. But it had discouraged Piltovans from venturing into the Undercity.

The worst development came from the Undercity’s shoreline, and from the murk of their narrow alleys.

For several weeks, Enforcer squads tasked with tailing suspicious activity were found beaten and bleeding. Their weapons, masks, and badges missing. Once retrieved and treated for their injuries, none of the officers could give useful information, but all the squads’ stories were the same: They’d be following a group of suspicious-acting Trenchers. Their quarry would weave and loop through the labyrinth of streets and alleys, moving in a nonsensical fashion, thoroughly disorienting the Enforcers. When a backtrack was attempted, they would be rushed. No one could say how many there had been, nor where they’d come from. From behind, from above, from the very shadows themselves. The assault would be fast and furious and unforgiving. They would fight with their fists and metal.

The skips that hadn’t been damaged were being shot at. One Enforcer had been killed thus far. LeDaird had turned parts of the Undercity upside down looking for whoever was storing such weaponry. His efforts produced nothing. Piltover’s foreign relations began to strain as they wondered if some nation was supplying the Undercity with an arsenal.

And all of this made it near impossible for Grayson to tend to her deal with Councilor Bone. She hadn’t even seen him since before Snowdown. A combination of her Captain duties and his illness had kept them apart. She had heard, though, when in Chambers he was fighting tooth-and-nail to curb Council’s discipline of the Undercity.

The situation was a powder keg.

There was a knock at Grayson’s office door. She jolted in her seat, the wood creaking as the chair swiveled side-to-side.

“Come in,” she called, righting herself and spinning back to the desk.

LeDaird opened the door, looking angry and haggard. It had been his most common expression since the airship crash. Grayson stood up from her seat.

“Sheriff.”

“At ease, Dora. I am not hear to deliver news. Nor give official orders.”

This did not put Grayson at ease, but she returned to her seat all the same. LeDaird tiredly placed himself in the one in front of her desk. He eyed the papers on it, and sighed heavily.

“This is a bloody fucking mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

She opened a low desk drawer and took out the heavy bottle of scotch that lived there. LeDaird managed a smirk, but shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

Grayson looked at the bottle, considered, and then rehomed it. They sat in silence for a minute before she broke it.

“What is it you need to ask me?”

LeDaird sat back in his seat, a large hand swiping down his face.

It was a long moment before he said, “I need you to speak with Councilor Bone.”

“Sir?”

“I need you to speak with Councilor Bone,” he repeated. Leaning forward, he braced his large forearms on his knees. “I need you to convince him to stop stymying Council’s efforts. It is making our job impossible.”

“Sir – “

“I do not know what he wished to speak with you about all those weeks ago, but he sought you out. Perhaps you may be able to talk some sense into him.”

Grayson grimaced, and sat back in her seat, rubbing at her eyes. She knew Council was being pushed by aristocrats, nobles, and other Piltovans to be even harsher with their treatment of the Undercity. They wanted to beat their citizens into compliance. It would go against the promise she made Bone all those weeks ago.

After a moment, she reached for the top righthand drawer of her desk, and withdrew the reports Bone had given her. She placed them next to the ones about the Children of Zaun.

“What is this?”

“When Councilor Bone asked for that audience with me,” she began, opening the files, “he wanted my help and support in his endeavors to curb Enforcer brutality within the Undercity. He presented me with all these reports and evidence that shows a distinct disparity between legislative and judicial inequity when it comes to its citizens.”

LeDaird sat up, spine straightening. He eyed the files Grayson had put on her desk suspiciously.

“What does this have to do with what I am asking you?”

Grayson’s heart thumped against her breastbone.

“Sir, after going over the reports he provided, I believe there is cause for concern. And now, what with the Children, tensions between Enforcers and Undercity citizens has only become worse. Asking Bone to back down will not work. And pressing any harder on the Undercity will not either.”

“The Undercity is not leaving us much of a choice. Leniency is not an option anymore – “

“Leniency was never attempted.”

“Politics are not our job, Captain,” LeDaird barked. Out of habit, Greyson’s spine snapped straight at his tone. “Our job – your job – is to enforce the Council’s will.”

“Our job is to protect our citizens.”

“Whose safety is ensured by our laws.”

“And what happens when those laws do not apply to everyone? Or when our laws prevent certain of our citizens from thriving?”

LeDaird pinned her with a fiery stare. It was a look she’d never been on the receiving end of, and it sent her heart thundering. Despite that, she held it.

“The Children of Zaun got the Undercity into this mess, and no one from the Underground seems keen on getting themselves out,” LeDaird grit. “Leniency can come once justice is served. Go to Bone, and do your job, Captain. I will not entertain this nonsense.”

The Sheriff rose, posture and movements militant. Lethal. He paused at her office door, and glanced over his broad shoulder.

“You’re a good Enforcer, Dora. Your father would be proud to see where you are sitting. Don’t jeopardize it.”

The cold season had not been kind to Bone. The freezing temperatures had seized his lungs, near stilling any attempts for breath. He had visited the Council physician with the intention of getting stronger medication. But, after an examination, he was told that little could be done. The blight in his lungs was too pervasive. Even increasing his dosage of decongestant was unlikely to do much of anything. The doctor had looked at Bone somberly, and apologized. At this point, the only means for relief would be morphine.

Bone refused.

He wouldn’t be able to do his job under the influence. And with the Council, Enforcers, and Rynweaver squeezing the Undercity, his presence in Chambers was needed more than ever.

He arranged a temporary living space for himself within the Council Building so he would not have to travel in the whipping winds and snow. His Council peers – save for Heimerdinger – whispered and hissed about it.

If Bone was so ill that he could not venture outside, should he not resign?

Unfortunately for them, Bone’s body was failing; not his fortitude. And since he was lucid, and could still get to and participate in assembly, there were no grounds to remove him.

Every day, when Bone sat in the small apartment he had carved out in the Council Building, he stared out the window at the Promenade across the river. He watched his home, the city he was fighting for.

The city that was desperately, dangerously fighting for itself.

From his seat, Bone could make out some of the larger graffiti emblazoned on Promenade buildings.

FREE ZAUN

FUCK TOPSIDE

WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY

He thought about that day in the café. Of the owner and that customer mentioning The Last Drop in a way that left his weak heart pattering. When the warm came, he told himself, he would travel down to the Entresol and pay The Last Drop a visit.

The warm came.

Bone moved back into his loft on the Promenade after the first full week of consistent above-freezing temperatures. He shuffled about his space, wiping down the dust that had accumulated on the surfaces. He tossed away the old food in the icebox, wincing at the waste. He vomited several times into the toilet, and sputtered bloody globules into the sink. The warmer weather did not ease Bone’s breathing. It kept him from fully choking, but it did not relax his lungs like it had in the past.  

Bone blotted his clammy forehead with a handkerchief, staring down at the sizable, glistening wad of blood, mucus, and tissue in the sink. His hands were shaking, but not only from the effort of keeping himself upright.

Fear sluiced through his veins. Not for death itself. Fear that he would not be able to temper the conflict boiling between the Underground and Piltover. People had already died.

He had to try.

Despite being told it would do little good, Bone took a double dose of the decongestant, wrapped a long scarf around his neck, mouth, and nose, grabbed his cane, and set out for The Last Drop.

It had been a long while since Bone had traveled low into the Undercity. For no other reason than time and his health. But as he stepped off the conveyor car and hobbled down the lanes, a jabbing pang of regret prodded his heart.

For one, the Undercity was beautiful and impressive. A testament to the tenaciousness of her citizens.

Two: His constituents – those that recognized him, anyway – regarded him aloofly. A thin veil of suspicion clouding their eyes when they looked at him, and were tight-lipped if they spoke to him.

He wanted to be able to comprehend their distrust. Logically, he could arrive at an understanding: even though he was from the Undercity, he was still a Councilmember. And Council was notorious for their abuse and neglect. And despite what Bone had been able to accomplish during his time on Council, it was barely a stitch in the gaping, festering wound.

But he couldn’t help but feel a small slice of anger and sadness at his peers’ recoil. Hurt that his work and love of their home was not acknowledged, or believed in.

Hurt that they were lumping him in with them.

The Lanes were a kaleidoscope of color covered in a miasma of grey mist. The Enforcer presence was heavy, but that did not seem to stop anyone from going about their evening. People crowded around food stalls, meandered in and out of brothels, haggled at trader stands. Trenchers had always kept a wide berth around Enforcers, but now the air between them was charged to dangerous levels.

An Enforcer wiped away Zaun propaganda from the side of a building, and nearby Trenchers fixed them a look so hateful it took away what little breath Bone had. The minute the Enforcer stalked on, a young street urchin popped out of the alley shadows. Armed with a chunk of chalk, they redrew the Zaun graffiti. Bone frowned deeply behind his scarf and carried on.

It had been years since Bone had been to The Last Drop. When the establishment came into view, he felt a bittersweet wave of nostalgia. In his youth, he and the crew of miners he worked with would gather there after a too-long shift. They would be tired, battered, and filthy. Perhaps they should’ve just gone home, but they would fill the chairs around a table, and drink ale anyway. The togetherness relieved them in a way that sleep could not.

Bone’s heart ached as he neared. They were all dead now. And soon he would be, too.

The inside of the tavern was as he remembered it. Clunky mismatched tables and chairs, swaths of warm orange, yellow, and green light, large barrels of Fissure Froth tucked right behind the bar. The young man behind the counter was robust-looking, built broad and tall.

Belatedly, Bone realized some of the patrons nearest the door were eying him carefully, whispering amongst themselves. He shored up the grip on his cane and pressed forward. His gait was slow, but purposeful. His jaw grit with determination. As he continued, the cheerful chatter dwindled. The young barmaid – a slip of a thing with loose indigo plaits – held her serving tray to her chest before whisking back to the bar.

The customers there – all young folk themselves – spun at her sudden appearance. The barkeep leaned over as she hurriedly whispered to them. Then, they all looked in Bone’s direction. Varying levels of shock, concern, and irritation covered their faces. But Bone pressed forward. He sidled up to the bar with confidence only age brought.

“I am here,” he said in a light croak, “to inquire about The Children of Zaun.”

The barkeep’s face vacillated between tightening and softening, as if he were unsure to deal with Bone coolly or openly.

“Go lock the door, Annie,” one of the other men growled.

Bone glanced over to him: young, lean and made of angry angles, with a mop of wavy dark hair. His nose . . .

Bone’s mind guttered to a halt and his feeble heart skipped a beat. But he kept his face schooled. Now was not the time. His light eyes tracked over the man’s shoulder and his heart stuttered again.

Viktor’s sister.

“I don’t work for you!” the barmaid spat.

“Go lock th’door, Annie,” the barkeep said.

The barmaid – Annie – huffed, and swept away. The other patrons, who had quieted to a low hiss, watched her trajectory before turning their heads back to the bar.

“Can I get’cha something, Councilor?” the barkeep asked, setting massive, bruised hands on the counter.

“Information.”

The barkeep smirked. The thin young man sneered. Viktor’s sister grimaced, her pretty face turning pink.

“Aye. I got that. Anything t’go with? Ale? Schnapps? Tea?”

“Water is fine.”

The barkeep nodded, rising back to his full height. “Benzo, clear your table fer the Councilor.”

Behind Bone, another swarthy-built young man rose, and shooed away the others sitting with him. They readily scattered, taking their drinks, and stationing themselves nearby to watch and listen to whatever was about to happen.

Bone only hesitated a moment before stepping over, and stiltedly took the proffered seat. He kept it to himself, but his knees and hips groaned in thanks. It had been a long time since he had traveled so far on foot in one go.

The foul-faced young man slipped from his barstool, a freshly lit cigarette between his lips, and prowled over. The Councilor searched him, looking for any other signs of Rynweaver. Physically, there was nothing else but his nose, and perhaps the color and texture of his hair. Bone did not recognize his other features, but they were striking. He wondered how many more illegitimate children of Rynweaver’s were hidden in the crags and crevasses of the Undercity. How many of its women and girls he had terrorized in more ways than one?

He wondered if the young man knew. He wondered if it would be a tactical advantage to mention it.

Moving like smoke, he slipped into the chair to Bone’s left. A tall glass was suddenly plunked down in front of him, and the barkeep lowered his enormous body into the chair on the right. The rest of the tavern had turned to face them, the weight of hundreds of eyes settling heavily on Bone’s chest. The only sound left was the occasional uneasy tap of a tankard on a table’s surface.

“We were wonderin’ if you’d show up eventually,” the barkeep hummed, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“It is difficult to show up when one does not receive an invitation.” Bone looked around the room. “Is this everyone?”

“Your even more of a fool than I thought if you think this is everyone,” the blade-nosed man spat.

Bone’s upper lip twitched. He looked between the two. “You’re the leaders then, are you? What’re your names?”

A stream of smoke shot from the thin one’s mouth. “Like I said: Fool.”

“You are foolish if you think my purpose in coming here is only to turn you in to the Enforcers. I could’ve come here with Enforcers. I did not.”

The silence in the space quivered, uncertain and precarious.

“What’d’ya want then?” the barkeep asked.

“To talk,” Bone said. And then: “To reason.”

The silence broke into sharp, angry hisses and whispers. The barkeep waved a massive hand in the air, instructing the crowd to settle.

Once they did, he fixed the Councilor with firm, earnest eyes and said: “Name’s Vander.”

Vander glanced across the table to his compatriot, who did not look back. He kept his glare firmly fixed on Bone. After a several-second stare down, he sat back in his seat.

“Silco.”

Bone nodded, eyes flitting between the pair. Then around the room. They landed on Viktor’s sister for a beat longer than anyone else. He turned back to Silco and Vander.

“Where is the money from the airship crash?”

Silco snorted, shaking his head.  The cherry end of his cigarette glowed persimmon-orange as he took a long drag.

“That’s all Topside cares about. Their money.Their ego. Their status quo.” Rumbles of agreement rippled around the room. “Even if we could give them their coin back, it won’t keep them from punishing us.”

“They are punishing us now,” Bone reminded. “The trade blocks and inspections. The Bridge. The increasing number of Enforcers in the Underground.”

“And whose fault is that?” Silco’s voice was a low, predatory growl. It seemed to be another thing he’d inherited from Rynweaver.

Bone frowned. “I am the only one managing to hold them back right now. I have been keeping Piltover’s fist loose enough that we can still breathe. They will not back off until the threat of the Undercity seceding is terminated.”

“Maybe the tactic should be cuttin’ off their hand,” Vander said with a shrug. “Instead of tryin’ to loosen it.”

Bone sighed, and ran a hand over his head. After a moment, he took a sip of water. The cool trickles seared his ravaged throat.

“You’re not the first, you know,” he rasped, “to dream and ache about such things. Years ago, my friends and I would sit in this very bar, and listen to others talk about independence – “

“But that’s all it was: talk,” Silco said. “Talk gets one only so far. To see a dream through, it requires action. Fighting – “

“You will get people killed – “

“People have already been killed,” Vander countered.

“And will continue to be massacred, whether the Children of Zaun disband or not. There is nowhere to move but forward. Toward our freedom.”

Bone’s lips pulled tight. He looked around the room again. At the angry and hopeful faces of his fellowman. He’d seen glimmers of those expressions in every person he’d ever heard speak about independence from Piltover. It was only ever a flicker, not enough to nestle into the lines on their faces; not enough to become fully imbued with the dream they were concocting. Because they knew –

“The Undercity will not survive a war with Piltover,” the Councilor said lowly. There was no defeat in his voice. Just the flatness of fact.

Silco’s eyes flared. Vander frowned deeply.

“We lack the funds and supplies,” he continued. He spoke with the grounded authority of a parent, and The Children bristled under him. “Piltover and the Undercity rose up from the same place. From Oshra Va’Zaun. They are sisters. They’re meant to be together. They will be stronger, safer together. That is what I have been working on in Chambers – “

“Fat lotta good it’s done!” a voice deep in the crowd cried. A roil of agreement swelled through the Drop.

“All due respect, Councilor,” Vander said, and his tone matched the sentiment, “Topside has had plenty o’ time to pull the Undercity up. They’ve no interest. An’ despite yer heart-felt efforts – “ Silco scoffed at this – “we’re still livin’ n’ dyin’ in squalor. Bodies covered in soot, lungs full o’ Grey, barely two cogs to rub together despite all the work we do.”

“We deserve more,” Silco growled.

“We do,” Bone agreed.

“So work with us,” interrupted Vander. “Like I said, we were wonderin’ if ya’d ever come knockin’. It’s clear ya love the Undercity, but Topside won’ listen.”

“They’ve thrown you placating crumbs,” Silco sneered. “Just enough to think that your agenda for equitability is possible. And you’ve gobbled them up.”

Bone glared at him. After a long beat, he addressed the room quietly, “Your anger is righteous, real, and well-founded. But freedom is too costly a thing. For both the Undercity and Topside. Our people will be decimated. They will get further away from their humanity.” His eyes settled on Viktor’s sister. “Lives will be ruined.”

She stiffened under his stare, and he was glad the message landed.

Silco leaned into his eyeline, redirecting Bone’s attention back onto him and Vander. There was a wild sharpness to his eyes now, like they’d been cut from ice. Cold and deadly. The back of Bone’s neck prickled. This one was dangerous. Like his father, he’d run the Undercity into the ground if let loose. So, Bone turned his attention back to the other revolutionary.

“I understand that it is not what you want. So often what is best is not the thing we want. Peace arguably requires more work. Requires humbleness and a swallowing of pride. From both sides. It requires forgiveness. But it preserves life. That is what we should be working towards.”

“You’re a stark raving, idealist fool,” Silco hissed.

Agreements slithered around them. Vander’s lips flattened. He smashed his cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

“We have to try, Councilor.”

Bone’s heart tapped an agitated, uneven rhythm. Heat bloomed beneath his collar, frustration and grief gripped his throat. He coughed, pulling the scarf back over his nose and mouth, turning away from the table.

He felt defeated. Like the blight in his chest, there was nothing to be done here either.

He would have to contact Grayson. He would have to do as much work in Chambers as he possibly could before his illness finally choked him out.

When the fit passed, Bone braced himself onto the strength of his cane, and hauled himself to his feet. No one stepped forward to offer a hand. The inkling of alienation that had been brushing up against his insides since before Snowdown became a scythe that gutted him.

“Thank you for the water. I will keep doing what I need to do to protect the Undercity.”

“So will we,” Silco volleyed.

Slowly, the tap of his cane filling the room, Bone rounded the table. Before he began the journey to the door, he paused in front of Viktor’s sister. She held his gaze, but he saw the muscles in her jaw flutter manically with anxiety.

“You should be ashamed,” he whispered.

A chair shrieked behind him as Silco shot to his feet, but he did not react. Bone watched doubt flicker in the young woman’s eyes before they glazed over defensively.

“Get out.”

Bone heeded her and limped toward the front door. The crowd parted with each hobbled step. Annie unlocked the door, and opened it for him. Despite his better judgement, Bone looked back over his shoulder at the angry and hopeful faces he recognized so well. Guilt hung heavy on his heart.

“Good luck,” he said, and stepped out back into the Lanes.

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[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun Snippet - Selfish

Silco and Kat have a post-mortem following a meeting with the rebellion.

Children of Zaun

(Art by me. Uncensored version on my Patreon)

“There are sulfur pots deeper in the cave where the Springs are,” Kat said.

She nuzzled closer, her cheekbone rubbing against Silco’s neck, her left hand idly playing with the fingers of the arm wrapped around her shoulders. A low hum vibrated in his chest as he brought his other arm behind his head. He stared up at her bedroom ceiling in thought.

“Charcoal is easy enough to come by.”

“So is saltpeter,” he added. “It’s crusting every smokestack in Zaun.”

Silence fell between them. Then a thought curled Kat’s lips.

“It is ironic that Topside would shove us underground, only to give us the tools for their own undoing.”

A darkly amused sound huffed in Silco’s chest.

“They’ll choke on their own blood and hubris,” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”

The same warmth from the meeting swelled in Kat’s chest. It felt weighty with righteousness, her lungs struggling a bit under the emotion.

Suddenly, she sat up and made to straddle Silco’s waist. He started at her abrupt movement, but quickly settled back into the pillows. The blazing earnestness in her eyes held him in place. She hinged forward and kissed him, and he reached up to touch her cheek. When she straightened, the hand ghosted over her bare breast and rested on the ribs beneath it. She smiled at him, the dim green glow of the streetlamps outside cutting her into a beautiful shape. Then her smile lessened. Her eyes broke from his gaze and looked to the window.

“What is it?”

Silco watched the muscles in her jaw flex under the chartreuse light as she decided how to articulate whatever she was thinking.

“I have to get Viktor tomorrow.”

A low, short hum rumbled in Silco’s throat. His thumb swept over the mole beneath the swell of her breast. Kat disappeared from his side when she had her brother under her wing. He saw nothing of her between Friday afternoon and Monday morning.

“I will not lie,” she said, “the tenser things between Zaun and Piltover become, the more I am worried. I know there is no way forward without violence, but I am scared something may happen to him.”

Silco gently pet her flank, trying to decide what was best and truest to say.

“You cannot hide him from this forever.”

Kat’s brows pinched. “I am not hiding him. He knows there is unrest – “

“That’s not what I am talking about.”

She said nothing for a long moment. Then sighed, “I am not ready to tell him that I am a part of this. I am not ready to tell him anything.”

Her eyes sheepishly found his in the dark, the subtext of that statement settling heavy between them. She did not want Viktor involved in this part of her life – not the Children, not Enyd, not Silco.

Not yet.

Silco did not fight her on it. It wasn’t his decision to make. Viktor was her family, her responsibility. If Kat felt it was safest for him to be kept separate for the time-being, it wasn’t his place to insist otherwise.

Even so, he asked: “When will you?”

“When our freedom is on the horizon,” she said with a smile. Then, her expression sobered. “Or when I absolutely have to.”

Silco’s lips thinned and he nodded once, his eyes breaking away from hers. Kat reached out, running the back of her fingers down his cheek and over the scar on his lip.

“He is eleven. I want him to be a child as much as he can be. I know it is a privilege most Zaunite children do not get to have, but if I can offer some semblance of youth to him, I will. I want him to have better than I did. In every way. You understand?”

He did. Of course he did. A long sigh softened Silco’s body, and he leaned into her hand.

“I understand. I am selfish, and miss you on the weekends.”

Kat’s mouth quirked into a grin. She leaned over to kiss him, her hand threading through the ebony tangle of his hair.

How easily they fell into one another. Her plushness and his angles slotting together perfectly. How much sweeter would it be once Zaun was free, when their angst lifted and floated away on a sea breeze?

She could not wait.

“I miss you, too,” Kat whispered, pulling back. Then that mischievous, secret glint flashed in her eyes. “Shall I give you something to remember me by?”

Silco’s own eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing any of the faint light filtering into the room. A wolfish grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Like I said: I am selfish. I will gladly take whatever you’ll give me.”

“And then some.”

“And then some,” he agreed.

She matched his smile before spinning around, diving head first beneath the covers. Silco’s large hands gripped her hips firmly, and pulled her to his mouth just as her lips wrapped around him.

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 32

Loners

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Kat's busy, so Viktor's goes out by himself to take his boat for a spin.

Author's Note: Bright Yule, all! Hello again to all the new followers of this little blog of mine, and thank you for being here. My holiday gift is this next chunky chapter 💗

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 7.8K

When Kat’s eyes cracked open, she saw the dim, orange glow of light outlining the jamb of Silco’s bedroom door. Signaling that Enyd was already up. If she had managed to sleep at all. Several nights over the past few weeks, the ferocity of her coughing and retching hadn’t allowed for more than a couple hours of rest at a time. It left the already haggard woman exhausted, her throat raw, and her voice the soft crackle of a dwindling fire. Weak and smokey.

Kat shifted beneath Silco’s arm, and he grunted, muscles flexing and drawing her in closer.

“It’s time to get up, Silco.”

He mumbled something into her hair that she’d since learned was ‘Not yet’.

“There is going to be a delivery of supplies to the clinic today. I need to be there to receive it.”

His body stilled in consideration. Finally, his arm relaxed and she sat up, twisting to face him. In the shadows of the dark room, the angles of his face appeared sharper. They cut against the softness of the pillow beneath his head, hair an ink spill over the light color of the case’s fabric. She reached down and brushed some strands away from his eyes. It was getting so long.

A blue eye cracked open and squinted up at her.

“What?”

Kat smiled sleepily, and dipped down to kiss the summit of his cheekbone.

“Nothing. You’re just handsome.”

There was something about the mornings, when it was just them and a tangled-up sheet. Before they had to open that door and march into the world. Ready to live, lead, and fight. For a few brief, waking moments nothing else existed.

Silco shifted his head against the pillow, setting both eyes upon her. Even in the dark of the bedroom, she saw the color on his cheeks shift, and a careful-not-to-be-too-pleased smile on the edges of his mouth. Kat leaned down and pressed a kiss to it, before suddenly slipping away as his arms attempted to ensnare her and draw her back into the covers. Kat laughed quietly as his arms flopped on to the bed, heavy in defeat. She gently padded toward the dresser her clothes were left on, and began changing out of her pajamas.

Silco unraveled himself from the sheets, grabbed his cigarette tin from the bedside table, and shuffled to the window. The light that filled the bedroom as he drew back the ratty curtain was grey and watery. Soft enough that the brightness did not sting, clear enough that Kat could easily thumb the buttons of her trousers through their eyelets. 

Silco cracked the window open, the sounds and smells of Zaun gently wafting into the room. He struck a match against the sandpaper within the tin of the case, and lit a cigarette. With a sleepy sigh, he leaned out the window.

Kat shrugged into her blouse, fingers making quick work of the button-front. Her vest was next, the chain of her papa’s pocket watch catching the light in a joyful twinkle. Tying her hair up in a ponytail, she crossed over to Silco. 

“You are going to have to tie this back soon,” she said, tucking his hair behind an ear. Goose pimples rose on his skin as her fingers traced lightly down his neck and shoulder.

He hummed in response, sucking a long drag from the cigarette. The paper was eaten away by a wriggling orange line, and the ash blew away on a soft breeze. 

“You don’t want to get it caught in any of the machinery at work.”

Silco lifted his eyebrows in a ‘that’s true’ fashion. Leaning farther out the window, he blew a mouthful of smoke into the air, and crushed the end of the cigarette against the bricks of the building. Standing back into the room, he pulled the window shut and turned to Kat. 

“Any spares, perhaps?” he asked, reaching out and running his fingers through the thick waves of her ponytail. 

“In my coat, probably. I’ll get you one before we leave.”

Kat left Silco in his bedroom to change, and ventured into the apartment. She heard Enyd before she saw her. A steady, wheezing drone whistling from the living room. She dipped her fingers into the pockets of her coat, searching for a spare elastic, before continuing.

The older woman was propped up in her rocking chair, pillow wedged behind her head, a large drop cloth spread over her lap. She held a section of the fabric up to the light at her side, stitching a long, red swatch to it with aching precision. Her eyes flicked over to Kat as she stepped into the room, a smile stretching her face.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Enyd.” 

Kat’s eyes gave a cursory glance around Enyd’s immediate space. A water glass on the end table, her medicine (woefully low) next to it; no signs of bloody rags or a sick bucket. Then she looked at the project in Enyd’s lap. A flag. Zaun’s flag. She’d been working on it for a few weeks, desperate to keep herself busy as her ability to consistently leave the apartment lessened. Enyd had presented the idea to Kat and Silco one evening, along with a few rough sketches of a design and emblem.

“Every nation needs a flag,” she’d insisted.

And she wasn’t wrong. Kat couldn’t decide whether to inspect the drawings Enyd was showing them, or to stare at Silco’s utterly entranced face as he took in his mother’s work. Enyd had come such a long way from initially scolding him that one night at Vander’s, to creating the crest of their nation. He’d excitedly taken her sketches to The Last Drop the next day to confer with Vander. 

The two men talked for hours, mulling over the scraps of paper, piecing together different facets of the drawings until the final draft emerged. The emblem for the Nation of Zaun: A ‘N’ and ‘Z’ artfully combined in a strong tower, against a backdrop of blue and red whorls meant to pay homage to Oshra Va’Zaun and Lady Janna.

“Did you sleep?” Kat asked, taking a step closer. It didn’t seem like Enyd had made much progress from where she had stopped the night prior. Hopefully meaning – 

“Yes. Better than I have the past few nights.”

“How long have you been up?”

Enyd blinked, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Only about an hour. Is Silco up?”

“He is getting dressed. I’ll make you some tea and breakfast.”

“Oh, Kat. You don’t have to do that. I can – “

Enyd slipped her needle through the flag to keep from losing it, and began to carefully gather the fabric up.

“No, no,” Kat insisted. She placed a hand on Enyd’s shoulder. “Really, I got it.”

The older woman looked up at her, eyes simultaneously grateful and abashed. She settled into the pillow behind her head, and lifted up her sewing again as Kat went to the kitchen. 

Enyd’s kitchen had become as familiar as her own. She moved swiftly between either side of the galley. The kettle went on the top right burner, as it was the one that got hottest most quickly. Tea was tucked away in the cupboard above the hood. Mugs were in the second cupboard that faced the stove, along with the plates. Bread was kept in the box below those cupboards. The bread knife and other silverware were tucked in the middle drawer beneath the butcher block counter. The drawer stuck if one did not lift the handle first and give it a gentle, but firm, yank. The marmalade was in the icebox door, next to the yeast.

Like seeing her and Silco’s clothes drying next to one another, the way Kat easily moved about the kitchen was honey-sweet comfort. A warm blanket that wrapped around her heart. 

She heard Silco enter the living room as she began slicing bread. Then, gentle and loving ‘good mornings’ shared between mother and son, before he appeared in the kitchen, Enyd’s water glass in hand. He went to the sink and filled it. The kettle began to warble. Silco reached over and turned the flame beneath down.

“Go ahead and take the bread over,” he said. “I’ll make the tea.”

“I’ll take the water, too.”

Silco handed her the fresh glass before turning his attention to the box of tea and mugs, and Kat walked over to the kitchen table, placing the bread and water glass down. 

Enyd knotted off the thread, and slid her needle snugly into the drop cloth’s weave for safekeeping. Gently setting her work on the floor, she gripped the arms of her chair and pressed up to her feet. Kat watched her carefully, body tightening like a spring. Ready to leap forward should Enyd look at all unsteady. But the older woman managed to the table just fine, though the plop into her seat was a little graceless. Kat slathered a slice of bread with marmalade, set it on a plate, and handed it to Enyd. She murmured her thanks as Kat went to prepare her own breakfast. Silco appeared, placing mugs of tea in front of his mother and Kat, before returning to the kitchen to grab his own.

As he took his own seat, Kat frowned as she scraped the sides of the marmalade jar with a knife.

“Do you - “

“You can finish it up,” he said, sipping at his tea.

Enyd watched as Kat slid the scant amount over her bread, lips pursing.

“I can go to the market today to see if I can find more.”

“Don’t, mum. The marketplaces barely have staples, muchless condiments.” Silco gave her a reassuring smile as he tore a piece of bread from his slice and popped it in his mouth. “We’ll be able to get marmalade soon enough. And butter. And cheese.”

Enyd returned the smile weakly, before tucking her head into the crook of her elbow and coughing. It passed quickly, and she waved Kat off before the young woman could assist her in any way. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” With a quivering hand, Enyd grabbed for her water glass. She took careful sips, her face softening with each one.

“There is a delivery coming to the clinic today,” Kat said. “I will grab another bottle of decongestant. We - we could also try some anti-inflammatories, too. See if that helps at all.”

Enyd’s knee-jerk reaction was to turn down the offer. Out of humbleness, out of fear. But she’d since learned to not fight against Kat’s insistence. Especially when Silco backed her up. Even if Enyd said ‘no’, she knew Kat would bring them to her anyway.

Kat’s eyes lifted to the wall clock, and she grunted, biting her bread. She took a few large gulps of tea and made to stand.

“That delivery will be there shortly. I should head out. Oh, here.”

She held out her wrist to Silco, presenting the black elastic wrapped around it. He blinked, then was jolted back to what she had said in the bedroom.

He peeled it off her arm. “Thank you.”

Smoothing his wavy hair across his skull, and gathering its bulk at the nape of his neck, he tied it off. Kat’s eyes were warm as she took him in. Sighing, she folded the rest of her bread and took it up in one hand, as the other went to gently rest on the side of Silco’s neck. She used the contact as a counter-balance to hold her upright as she dipped to kiss him. She rounded the table and kissed Enyd’s head. 

“Be safe,” Enyd called as Kat walked toward the door.

“I will be.” She twirled her coat over her shoulders, and opened the door. “See you both tonight.”

The delivery arrived. Kat had the crates stacked and lined up against the wall across from the reception desk. She attached two invoices to a clipboard: the one that accurately reflected the amount of goods in the crates, and the one she’d forged to represent what would be stocked in the clinic’s stores. It was a strategy she’d never done before these last few orders, instead just sneakily slipping bottles and bandages here and there. But with this large of a job, the hard copies of paperwork would help shield her from any suspicion.

She hoped that no miners would come by. The only face she wanted to see peek through the clinic door was Sevika, who would arrive about an hour before Will was due to start. She would tuck a large portion of the confiscated goods in a hollow-bottomed trash bin, and wheel it out of the mine. She would meet Brothers and Sisters near the mine’s refuse trenches and divvy up the supplies among them to take to The Last Drop.

She’d had the foresight after Snowdown to convince the board to stock up on medicine and materials, arguing that the previous cold season they’d been woefully short on supplies. They had ended up being unable to contend with a flare of Fissure Fever that had broken out in the barracks. And subsequently spread to the tunnels. Sixty-two children, twenty-two men, and forty-five women died by the time the Cold broke.

Of course, the loss of life meant little to the Piltovan Board and Rynweaver. So, Kat spun the clinic’s need for preemptive supplies to the tune of the bottom line. If less miners got sick, more miners could work. If more miners could work, the more business the mine could do. A simple deflection, but a successful one. The board greenlit Kat to triple the order of supplies for the cold season. However, due to the intensity of the weather this past cold season and with the continued scrutiny over goods entering the Undercity, the shipments had been parsed out and delayed. Only two of the three orders arrived during the cold months; this was the last one.

Luckily, there had been no major illness outbreak this past Snowdown. And, luckily, that was not the reason Kat had requested the large orders.

More and more weapons were coming in from black market dealers, pirates, and morally dubious traders. Mek and several other augmenteers kept their forges burning bright at all hours, crafting weapons from metal scraps. Creating domed bullet heads and chrome-colored casings. 

In very, very small amounts, the Brothers and Sisters who had access to it were carefully smuggling gunpowder out of the mine. They’d scoop it up in random glass vials and jars, small enough that it wasn’t apparent on their person, and whisk it away to Augmentation Alley. There, blacksmiths became munitioners and assembled bullets. 

To compensate for the minimal amounts of prepared gunpowder, Brothers and Sisters began assembling the ingredients Enyd had listed weeks ago. Those who happened to be chimney sweeps gathered crusts of saltpeter in their satchels while they worked. Everyone who had access to a wood burning stove saved the charred remains left in their hearths. Kat showed Annie and Beckett where the Springs were, and the pair had been leading small crews to the caves to collect chunks of sulphur.

The collected hodge-podge of materials were brought to the Drop. The days Enyd was well enough to venture from her home, she taught the Children how to combine the trinity together, and oversaw the process. Never once did she think being a Slipper would be anything but a killing curse. Using the skills that had been forced upon her by Piltover to rend their own misfortune allowed her to remember what sweetness tasted like.

And in preparing for the inevitable fight, Kat spent Piltovan coin on supplies that would help heal and protect Zaunites injured in the fray. She’d nearly cackled and kissed Rynweaver’s signature at the bottom of the permit when it arrived in her hands. Instead, she folded it up and kept it in her coat as a keepsake.

Kat’s shift was blessedly quiet. Allowing her all the time to intake and craftily organize supplies. Most new items would stay in the clinic. The ‘extras’ she set aside, using empty boxes to hold them. She also stuffed a few items in her coat. Most of it would go to the stocks in the Drop’s walls. The rest she would bring to her clients.

Just as she closed the lid on the final box that was destined for The Last Drop, Sevika showed up with the trash bin. Together, they shoved the supplies snugly into the bin’s hollow bottom. The door snapped shut with a quick tug. Any sign of the door’s outline was hidden beneath the coarse texture of rust. Corroded metal barely received a first-glance, muchless a second one, in Zaun.

“Be careful.”

“‘Course.” Sevika winked and beamed her endearingly cocky smile.

Kat watched her friend go until she turned the corner and headed for the lift.

The rest of Kat’s time passed quietly. She was grateful for that. The absence of hubbub, sirens, and Enforcers meant Sevika had pulled her job off successfully.

It also gave her more time to finish stocking the storeroom. To make it seem fuller than it actually was. Like the window dressers that tended to the boutiques in Main Spring Crescent, Kat placed items in the cabinets and drawers just so. Absolutely no suspicion would be roused. 

A few minutes before the shift bell sounded, Silco swaggered into the clinic. Kat popped her head out from the supply closet, mouth drawing into a bright smile at the sight of him.

“That time already?”

“Already? Were you just having so much fun pilfering Topside that you lost track of time?” Silco cheekily asked.

Kat laughed, and stepped out of the closet, clipboard in hand. She set it on the reception desk, and sauntered over to him.

“I do love taking from them,” she cooed. Placing a hand on his chest, she lifted onto the toes of her boots. Mouth but a scant couple inches in front of his, she said, “It is a nice change of pace.”

There was a grin on Silco’s lips. It existed only for a moment. The tease of Kat so close to him too strong of a thing to keep from kissing her. She met him half-way with a small tug on his shirt. Her other hand wove its way up into his hair. Still in its knot from the morning. 

Silco’s tongue appeared in her mouth, his arms around her hips. His fingertips grazing the top of her ass. She welcomed him with a tilt of her head and a firmer press of her lips. He responded in kind, until it was difficult to know where he stopped and she began. 

The kiss slowed before it grew irrevocably frenzied. Kat loosened the grip on his shirt, and dropped back onto her feet. He grinned down at her, expression ever so slightly dazed.

“Let me grab the medicine. I left it in the closet. Then I’ll grab my coat and we’ll go.”

She patted his chest, went back to the supply closet, and pulled a brown glass bottle of decongestant and a tin of anti-inflammatories from the shelves. Closing the door behind her, Kat handed Silco the two medicines before going to grab her coat off the rack. 

“Excuse me?”

Silco started and spun around. He’d forgotten to shut the clinic door upon arriving, allowing Will to appear with no announcing sounds.

Will’s face dropped into an expression one might make when discovering shit on their shoe.

“Silco.”

Kat had finally given them a perfunctory introduction after the eighth time he had come to pick her up after work. Will had eyed him suspiciously, like he always had. Silco regarded him with a disdainful eye; Kat had told him about Will cautioning her about the Children. Silco had no time and little respect for someone trying to convince the fight out of someone.

“Will.”

“Hello, Will,” Katya said as she stepped over, gently adjusting her coat as she went. “I did the intake of the supplies. Could you call someone to come get the crates?”

Will didn’t answer her. His eyes were focused on Silco’s hands.

“What do you have there?”

The medic knew very well what Silco had. Decongestant and anti-inflammatories. But why did he have containers of each in his hands?

Will’s small eyes traveled over to Katya. He furrowed his brow, and used the knuckle of his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We don’t give patients entire bottles of medicine, Katya. You know that.”

It was Silco’s first instinct to tell the man to mind his own fucking business. But Kat pressed a hand to his shoulder, short-circuiting any hasty reaction. She fixed Will with a firm look.

“Yes, I know that. But a family member of his is very ill, and needs the help.”

“Over half of the Undercity needs help!” Will hissed in a harried voice. He closed the door behind him, and spun back to her. “And you can’t go giving away medicine that doesn’t belong to you. You could get into big trouble. We could get into big trouble!”

Katya frowned. “We won’t get into trouble. I’ll make sure of it. Silco’s mother suffers from the Lung Blight she developed working in these mines. This - “ she gestured to the medicine in Silco’s hands “ - is the least Topside can do.”

“Katya,” Will whined. “This isn’t going to end well - “

“She just told you that there’ll be no trouble,” Silco snapped. “So, unless you want there to be trouble, I suggest shutting your mouth.”

Will stared up at Silco, expression livid. His lips turned downward, as his eyebrows and nose pinched together. His hand lashed out, and pushed Silco’s shoulder.

“You’re a bad influence!”

Silco snarled and went to lunge forward. Kat jockeyed between the two men, a firm hand to Silco’s chest and a gentle elbow against Will’s collarbones.

“Just stop,” she demanded. “Drop it.” She focused her attention on Will. “I am giving him the medicine because it is the right thing to do. No one will know.”

Gently, Kat guided Silco around Will, toward the clinic door. Silco tucked the bottles into his shirt, and didn’t spare the other man a second glance as he and Kat disappeared into the hallway.

Viktor held tight to the clunky model boat tucked under his arm as he and Miss Ivy waited for Kat to pick him up. He’d finished this first proto-type earlier in the week, and could not wait to show her. Miss Ivy had already ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ over it when she came to gather him at his dorm. 

“It’s spectacular, Viktor,” she had said, gently tapping one of the paddle-wheels.

“I’m going to take it for a test-drive this weekend.”

“I’m sure it will go swimmingly.”

She winked at him. Viktor’s cheeks warmed, and he carefully placed his boat into the shelter of his free arm. Miss Ivy took up his rucksack, and together they traveled to the Bridge.

Kat was prompt per usual. Grinning at him as she walked up, her eyes widened at the machine in his arm. Viktor gnawed on the inside of his lower lip in anticipation. He limped forward once she was a few feet away, carefully adjusting the boat against his hip.

“Is this it?” Kat gasped excitedly. “The SS Viktor?”

She held out her hands, and Viktor allowed her to take up the boat. He bathed in the look of awe and pride on her face, in the small little exclamations that escaped her mouth as she turned the boat this way and that.

“I am not going to name it that,” he mumbled, a rosy tint on his cheeks, an awkward smile tugging his lips. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Ivy gushed.

The joy in Katya’s face melted into stony protectiveness as the aide stepped forward. Gingerly, she handed the boat back to her brother.

“It is.” 

The agreement was cool. A small wince crinkled the corners of Ivy’s eyes. Katya held her hand out, and Ivy handed Viktor’s bag to her. Without a ‘thank you’, the brunette shouldered it, and encouraged her brother to begin the journey back home.

“Have a good weekend, Miss Ivy,” he called over his shoulder.

The discomfort on her face morphed quickly back into a kind expression.

“You too, Viktor. See you Monday!”

“See you Monday!”

“Come along, Viktor,” Katya murmured. 

She softly grazed her fingers over his cheek to redirect his gaze away from Piltover, and toward the Undercity. 

Once situated in the conveyor car, Viktor settled the boat on his lap, small hands wrapped securely around it. The other passengers eyed it and him curiously, but kept to themselves. Not that he would’ve noticed; the attention of his bright eyes and clever fingers held completely by his creation. 

“Were you able to figure out the motor?”

His sister’s voice was the one thing that could draw him away from the boat. Viktor’s head snapped up to look at her. The interest in her eyes warmed him.

“Yes, and no,” he admitted, looking back at the boat. A finger pet agitatedly at a slot near the helm. His lips thinned. “The motor needs to be cranked. The key is in my bag. So, it is renewable energy in a sense. But not self-sustaining.”

Kat chuckled, and pet a hand over his head. 

“That is still very good.”

“I want to test it out,” he said, eyes big and pleading. “Can we go to the Oases tomorrow? Please?”

Kat blinked, fingering the duck-tailed curls at the nape of his neck. The conveyor car’s engine rumbled to life, and the cab jerked as it began its descent. Viktor kept his eyes on her the whole time. Bright and hungry and deserving.

She smiled softly. “Yes. Alright.”

Viktor barely slept that night. His mind vibrating with images of his boat pleasantly chugging through water, formulas of acceleration and fluid mechanics dancing behind his eyelids. He leapt out of bed the moment he heard Kat shuffling about the apartment. He dressed in a whirlwind, particularly grateful that his brace was so much easier to slip on and set in place. Shirt only partially tucked in, he staggered excitedly into the hall, and shuffled toward the kitchen on clumsy socked feet.

“Careful,” Kat chuckled as he damn-near tumbled into the table. 

Viktor sucked in an excited breath the way children do - one wet sounding around the edges, as if they’re about to salivate around their joy - and shoved himself into his seat. He’d left the boat and his notebook on the table the night before. He pulled the items closer, eyes sparkling, and flipped the notebook open.

He heard Kat chuckle beneath her breath before she stepped over from the stove, and placed a hot mug of tea at his side.

“Don’t spill.”

“I won’t!”

His sister returned to the stove, and continued preparing their bowls of oatmeal. Viktor continued pouring over his notes, periodically mumbling to himself, and looking up at his boat. His breakfast appeared before him with a sudden clunk, oats thickly sloshing about within the bowl. Kat took up her seat beside him, and carefully moved the boat back to the center of the table.

“Eat, Viktor.”

Reluctantly, he closed his notebook and set it aside, tugging the bowl in front of him. Internally, his mind tantrumed a bit from having to be pulled away from its preferred activity, but he knew the faster he dealt with breakfast, the faster he’d get to the Oases. That was motivation enough to keep him from grumbling. Kat knew this, and smiled to herself as her brother tore through his oats and tea. 

When the bowl was empty, Viktor pushed it away, reached for his crutch, and hauled himself to his feet.

“I’m going to go brush my teeth!”

Kat glowed under his excitement, gathering their breakfast dishes, and bringing them to the sink.

Just as she finished washing them up, Viktor enthusiastically trundled back from the washroom. He made for the kitchen table to gather the boat, heart pattering excitedly at the thought of getting to test it out for the first time. 

Then, Viktor was unfairly pulled from his boyish excitement by surprising, rapid knocks at the apartment door. He looked to Kat - whose own face conveyed her confusion - to the door, and back to his sister. The knocks started up again. Frowning, Kat set the dish towel in her hand on the counter, and made for the door. She peered through the peephole, and Viktor watched as the color drained from her face. Her eyes flicked to him before pulling the door chain loose and unlocking the deadbolt. Opening the door only enough so she could slip outside, Viktor saw the silhouette of the visitor slink back to make space for her. She pulled the door mostly closed behind her, and he heard her hurriedly whisper. There was concern in her tone, though he could not make out the words. A voice, a man who sounded distraught, answered. A pause. Then his sister murmured an answer. 

She whisked back inside and closed the door. Turning to face him, Viktor felt his heart splatter to his feet. The heat of unfairness prickled his round cheeks. 

Despite having some idea of what Katya was about to say, he still asked: “What’s going on?”

She sighed, stepping toward him. “I’m so sorry, Viktor. Something has happened, and I need to go help someone.”

Viktor’s eyes, burning with tears he refused to let form, flicked to the door. Then back to his sister.

“Who? What happened?”

“It’s not anything you need to worry yourself with. If I am back before it is dark, we will go to the Oases. If not today, tomorrow - “

“But - !”

“Viktor, please.” Katya crouched low and grabbed his shoulders. “A . . friend of mine who is sick had a fall. She needs someone to check on her. Please.”

Viktor’s lower lip jutted forward, and he averted his gaze. Waves of anger roiled in his body. Flotsam and jetsam of disappointment and hurt frothed under his skin. Stiltedly, he nodded. Katya’s hands softened in relief as she leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

Then she whisked away. 

As she shrugged into her coat, she said, “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Do not leave the apartment. Yes?”

Viktor opened his mouth to respond, but his voice hitched in the back of his throat. His jaw snapped shut, and he nodded instead.

Katya’s shoulders slumped. Remorse bled over her face.

“I am sorry, Viktor. I will try to be back as soon as possible.”

Lips pulling into a tight, tight line, Viktor looked away and nodded again.

“I love you,” Katya promised. 

He mumbled it back, and she stole out the door. In the brief moment before it shut, Viktor got a peek of a tall figure with black hair and pale skin.

Then he was alone.

Again.

Finally, the tears escaped his eyes, streaming in near-unstoppable rivers down his cheeks. He limped back to his seat, laid his head down on his notebook, and cried. And cried. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger, yes. Disappointment, for sure. But those emotions did not quite fit in the cracks of his heart. There was something deeper there. Something that wrenched at his gut and strained his bones.

Eventually, his anger became hotter; drying up the tears from his eyes and burning his face. He lifted his head up, and glared at the boat in front of him. It sat cock-eyed on the table, as if it were asking a question. 

Viktor sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. His brain was beginning to buzz, an agitation fizzing under his skin. The insatiable need to do something. The strange, foreign sensation of defiance thrummed in his chest. He looked over at the clock, then the window. Then the boat. Then the door.

He knew how to get to the Oases. And he wasn’t nearly as fragile as his sister and teachers at school treated him. He knew how to move his body, he knew his home-city, and he was eleven. Twelve soon! Other fissure children scurried about on their own far earlier!

Viktor decided. He would go to the Oases himself. With any luck, he would be back before Katya. If not . . . Well, then, she’d know where to find him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Viktor shoved himself out of his chair, grabbed the boat and made sure its key was still in his pocket, and left the apartment.

While he knew the way to the Oases, it felt strange traveling there alone. An odd cocktail of sadness and excitement swirled inside him as he limped through the Lanes. Most did not even acknowledge him as they walked by. Those that did, did not look at him like they were wondering why he was alone. 

Viktor’s chin lifted higher, and he pressed on.

His confidence wavered slightly as he descended the incomplete iron steps that led down to the tributaries and lagoons of the Oases. It wasn’t graceful, but he and his boat managed to clamber down in one piece. 

As he carefully hobbled down the soft sandstone, high squeals and excited whoops echoed off the rocks and retention walls. Nerves dared to sully his feeling of independence, and he shuffled as quickly as he could past one of the larger lagoons. He glanced over his shoulder as he went, and spied four or five children splashing about in the oil-slicked water.

He followed the stream that led to the Springs down deeper into the small valley. Sidling up to the bank, Viktor sat down, placing his boat and crutch on either side of him. The water before him trickled pleasantly, softly lapping at the light beige stone. He fished the turnkey from his pocket, and pulled the boat into his lap. Nerves began to dance under his skin again, but this time in anticipation. It was time to see if his creation worked!

The small, metal key slid into the slot easily. Viktor turned it. The gears within clicked and clacked as they were supposed to, and Viktor’s concerns began shifting into careful elation. He turned it again. More lovely mechanized sounds issued from under the boat’s hull.

Viktor turned and turned and turned the key, winding up the mechanism that would spin the paddle wheels and propel the boat through the water. 

Next to him, the shadow of the rock ledge above grew and shifted. Viktor saw it in his periphery, and glanced up. He half-expected to see Katya, but instead a young girl peered down at him. A slip of a thing with tan skin, dark, unruly hair pulled back into a ponytail, and green eyes that glittered with interest in the day’s sun.

She didn’t say anything, and nor did he. The girl eyed him and his boat curiously, and he found himself unable to look away. He didn’t have any friends his own age. His throat went dry and his heartbeat quickened under her scrutiny. Nervous she’d stay; nervous she’d leave.

Under his fingers, Viktor felt the motor fight the last turn of the key. Wrenching it out, the boat vibrated lightly and whirred. The paddle wheels began spinning. He glanced down, a thrill rippling up his arms. Aware that the girl was still watching him, Viktor looked back up at her. Was she going to say something?

“Sky!” A voice called from over the cliffs. One of the other children back by the lagoon.

Sky’s eyebrows lifted, and she turned to climb back towards her friends. She threw him one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing over the other side of the rocks. Viktor’s chest deflated a bit. Equal parts relief and disappointment.

The boat shook gently in his hands, like it was begging to be placed in the water. He gave it one last look over, checking for any gaps or cracks in the metal.

Holding his breath, Viktor delicately put the boat into the stream, and let go. Just as he had designed, the wheels pulled his creation smoothly through the water. He bit his bottom lip, and grinned, feeling very pleased with himself.

Viktor grabbed his crutch and hauled himself onto his feet. He walked along the bank, following the boat, the intoxicating sense of accomplishment welling up within him as he watched it chug along.

Readily, the boat cut through the water, heading further and further downstream. Going faster and faster. Viktor’s own pace quickened, his weak leg dragging behind him as he went. But he cared little about his scuffed shoe, his inability to keep pace with the boat. All that he could hear in his head was “I did it!”

Until the gap between him and his invention widened. And widened. Panic that he’d lose the boat began to drown out the happiness he felt. The dissonance between his spirit and physical body became frustratingly apparent as he willed his legs to move faster, and they simply would not. 

After a few, sloppy, hurried steps, his legs tangled and he fell to the ground, crutch clattering out of his hand. And the boat kept paddling along, following the stream into a crack in a sandstone wall.

Embarrassment welled heavy in Viktor’s chest, threatening to keep him plastered to the dusty bank. He lifted his head, and glanced over his shoulder. Sky, nor any of her friends, were peering down at him. 

He was alone. 

Ignoring the stinging pain in his shins, Viktor gathered up his crutch, pressed himself up, and timidly followed the stream toward the gap in the rock. There was a tumble of gravel leading down into a cavern, the stream babbling next to it, his boat near the bottom of the slope. Gritting his teeth and crutch in determination, Viktor began down the rocks. 

The stream fed into a large underground pond. Pockets of glowing purple flowers lit the cavern eerily. Viktor’s brow furrowed. He remembered Papa telling him and Katya about this subterranean flora. About its fickle nature, and how above ground its phenotypic state morphed into that of an algae-like substance. He also remembered Papa saying that there was no apparent use for the plant. It wasn’t edible, nor did it survive beyond its natural habitat. 

As Viktor shuffled lower down, the air became cool and moist. It smelled of petrichor, aquatic funk, and . . . Something he could not put his finger on. A light, metallic sweetness. Something about it sent a shiver down his crooked spine.

So distracted by the environment, staying upright, and keeping an eye on his boat, Viktor hadn’t realized that there was someone seated on a boulder on the opposite bank of the pond. A man, Viktor could see. A great swath of daylight poured in from above where the cavern’s ceiling broke open. His heart stuttered in his chest. Looking from his boat, to the man, up to the opening in the rock from where he came, he steeled his resolve and crept closer. 

When the boat gently bumped against the boulder the stranger sat on, the man reached down and scooped it out of the water. He moved as if he were unsurprised. Like he’d been expecting the little boat to arrive. Viktor hunkered behind a stone peppered with the strange purple flowers and watched.

Suddenly, a large pink and purple waverider slithered out from behind the boulder the man sat on. It moved like water, slipping and flowing easily around the rock until it perched itself atop it. Viktor let out an unstoppable, fearful gasp, and pushed himself to his feet. Despite having no apparent ears, the creature responded to the soft sound, bracing in a protective stance. Appendages on its back and around its head flared up defensively, a strange barking-trill bleating from its throat. 

“Don’t be afraid,” the man said in a soft voice.

Viktor didn’t move. Nor did the waverider.

The man, gaunt and ghoulish-looking, held the boat up into the light and said, “You built this.”

He was pale with beady, but intelligent, eyes. His mouse-brown hair was cut close to his head and receding. Mismatched, ill-fitting clothes draped over his slender frame. Despite having no idea who this person was, Viktor felt an inexplicable and strange pull towards him. He swallowed, and nodded.

One of the man’s long, spider-like fingers tapped one of the boat’s rearmost paddle wheels, and it gently spun.

“Why aren’t you playing with the others?”

Warm anger and embarrassment pricked at Viktor’s cheeks. But he held himself up as tall as he could, and stepped forward, letting the sparkling sunlight present his crutch and handicap. He kept his eyes on the ground, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. The waverider keened as he took a few more hobbled steps closer. The man did not seem to react to Viktor’s body, nor reveal.

Instead, he said: “Loneliness is often the byproduct of a gifted mind.”

He lifted the boat in emphasis. Viktor took a couple more steps forward, curiosity growing. The sense of alienation that had been building up for months in his chest receded a bit. His eyes shifted to the waverider. The creature slid down the rock to peer over the man’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Viktor asked.

As if trying to answer the question itself, the waverider opened its mouth and squealed, a multi-tipped tongue flashing in its pink maw.

“This is Rio. She’s a rare mutation that I cultivated.” The man stood, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He withdrew one glowing, purple flower and offered it to Viktor. “Here. Go on.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. The pull of curiosity was too strong, and he limped forward, stepping over the shallow, lapping water to the bank the stranger and Rio were on. He handed Viktor the flower. It felt strange. Warm, somehow. And spongy. It was unlike any plant he’d ever come into contact with. 

Rio’s frills pulsed, her jaw smacking and head cocking as she eyed the plant in Viktor’s hand. He stiffened on instinct as she crept closer, but kept the flower held out. Her snout was cool and moist when it bumped against his fingers as she inspected the offering. Then, her mouth opened wide and that multi-tipped tongue slid out, and wrapped around his hand before pulling the treat in. Viktor giggled at the slippery sensation of the bifurcated muscle sliding over and around his fingers and palm. It left a viscous trail of saliva in its wake, and the smile on his face spun down in a grimace as the heavy ooze stuck between his fingers.

Pleased, Rio drew back, smacking her gums, and settled back against the stranger’s side. He placed a hand on her back, and gently stroked it.

“She’s dying,” he said suddenly. 

Despite having just met her, Viktor felt sadness and grief wash over him. Rio let loose a low, shuddering vocalization. 

“I am attempting to prevent that,” the stranger said, almost breezily. Then, more ominously: “The mutation must survive.”

Viktor watched the waverider, listened to the man. He sounded like a scientist, talking about mutations and cultivation. He’d discovered that Papa’s purple plant wasn’t so useless after all - 

“Can I help?” 

“You want to assist me?”

Viktor glanced down, thinking. He was so alone. And this man hadn’t looked at him pitifully, nor spoke to him like he was incapable. Or a child. He’d recognized Viktor as a burgeoning scientist, what with his boat and lack of friends. And in that recognition, he felt a small flicker of tantalizing belonging. 

He looked back up at the man, and hid a nod in the shrug of his thin shoulders.

“Very well.”

The stranger stepped forward, and handed Viktor back his boat. He held it tightly against his chest as the man placed a large, cold hand on his shoulder and leaned in: “We can be loners together.”

With that, he glided away toward a rusted metal door set cockeyed between slabs of rock. Rio scuttled after him, looking back at Viktor once more - her nictating membrane flashing over her bulbous eyes - before disappearing behind the door with a flick of her tail. 

Despite being left in the cavern, Viktor suddenly didn’t feel so alone. He held his boat tighter against his chest, and smiled. 

When Viktor got home, Katya was not there. He wasn’t sure if she still wasn’t back yet, or if she’d returned, saw he was gone, and was now scouring the Undercity looking for him. His stomach swooped guiltily at the thought of the second scenario. Not only did he not actually want to worry her, he didn’t want to get in trouble. Heart thudding in his chest, Viktor set his boat back on the kitchen table, retrieved some homework from his school bag, and waited for Katya to come home.

It was another few hours before the apartment door’s locks rattled, and Katya stepped in. Viktor, still seated at the kitchen table, went very still over his assignments. Waiting, praying, not breathing.

Then Kat sighed heavily. She buried her face in her hands for a beat before running them back over her head. Her eyes landed on her brother, and she smiled weakly. Viktor’s muscles sagged in relief. She didn’t know he’d been gone.

Kat slipped off her coat and hung it on its peg.

“Is everything okay?” 

She walked over, head bobbing heavily. Sliding into the seat next to him, she ran a hand through his hair. She looked tired, and a touch piqued, but glad to see him.

“Everything is fine,” she murmured. “My . . . friend is fine. She will need bed rest for a couple days - “ 

Her voice snagged in her throat. She cleared it, and then looked at Viktor’s boat. Her amber eyes grew bright and glossy.

“I am sorry we could not take your boat out today, Viktor.”

He squeezed the pencil between his fingers and chewed the inside of his lip.

Looking back down at his notes, he said, “It’s alright.”

“Perhaps we could try again tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “Sure. We can try.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kat’s smile tighten. Then she stood, and kissed his head.

“I am going to start supper.”

Viktor nodded, pretending to be absorbed in his homework. As she moved about the kitchen, he sketched purple flowers and thought about Rio the waverider. About how he was going to help save her. About how he now he had his own secret. And it made him happy.

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Coming Up Next: Grayson and Bone meet up, and Viktor's goes missing.

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 31

The Cost of Peace

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: The Children reel after Bone's visit. Bone seeks Viktor out.

Author's Note: HELLO AGAIN, ARCANE FANDOM!!! It's so, so good for all of us to be together again. And have new faces! I want to second @space-blue's sentiment from yesterday

I'm really excited that interest in the series is being reinvigorated by s2's premiere <3 That being said, several of us creators have put tremendous amounts of time, effort, and love into our art since s1. Please reblog and comment. We love 'hearts' and 'kudos' - but comments are really where the fuel to stoke the creative fires are at. Thank you <3

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 3.7K

The silence in The Last Drop vibrated. Like a violin string pull too tight; energy building from the inside-out, threatening to burst the container.

It was Sevika with the courage to break it.

“What do we do now?”

Her words broke the room from its trance. Bodies loosened, their gazes connecting with each other instead of the door. They murmured worriedly. Questions and concerns beginning to build.

“What if he tells the Enforcers?”

“What are we gonna do if Bone doesn’t support us?”

Then the anger rose up.

“Whatta fuckin’ traitor!”

“Topside lapdog!”

“Piltie fucker!”

“Never cared about the Undercity – “

“About Zaun!” a voice corrected.

Agreeing voices swelled.

“Oi! Aw’right! Settle, settle!”

Vander’s voice boomed over the lot of them. He stood, collected Bone’s glass, and went to lean against the bar next to Benzo. Silco rose as well. His eyes flicked to Kat in a quick quandary.

You’re alright?

Her lips flattened, in a failed attempt at a thankful smile. Instead, her brow firmed up, and her eyes hardened. A single curt nod was all the confirmation she was able to offer. Silco’s chin dipped, and joined his Brothers at the bar.

“We keep doing what we are doing,” Silco answered.

Despite not being as tall or as wide as his Brothers, Silco readily and easily drew the room’s attention. His zealousness and charisma just as – if not, more – eye-catching. He surveyed the room.

“This visit from our esteemed Councilor changes nothing. All it does is confirm what we already knew: That no member of Council has Zaun’s interest at heart. They even take our own, and mold them into pawns to keep furthering their agenda. To keep the Poor poor, and the Rich rich.”

The gathering rumbled in agreement, heads nodding.

“We should march across that Bridge, and storm Council!” a loud, ragged voice cried from the back.

Tolder, and the men near him, exuberantly agreed. Sevika wrenched her hand from Nasha’s, stomping forward, and threw her voice into the mix.

Vander’s eyes slid side-long to watch Silco’s face become edged and excited. Then the high whoops! of younger voices joined the crowd. The simmer of the room was slowly growing into a boil.

A panic clamped down on his heart. He thought about what Bone had said. And what Katya had said all those weeks ago. He smacked the glass down on the counter, and rose to his full height.

“We won’ be doin’ that,” he warned, voice a deep growl.

He gave the crowd a hard, pinning look. Vander could bluff. It was a survival skill he’d honed over many years. Just like mastering his fists. It was why he won at cards (save for when he played with Sevika). Why Silco did not know about his feelings for him. His stony face was a lie because his heart was battering his ribs, and his stomach had splattered to the soles of his shoes.

They didn’t have Bone’s support. It was never guaranteed, but having the Councilor condemn their movement shifted something in him. He supposed he must’ve held some subconscious, foolish hope that Bone, and his position on Council, would lend itself to a more easeful transition. One littered with less bodies. No more than necessary. If that was even a thing.

He hadn’t known the girl who’d been killed outside the Augmentation Alley scrap yard. She’d joined the cause recently. Riled up and hurt just like the rest of them. Frothing for change, and power over her own life. Just like the rest of them.

She should’ve been able to have it.

Instead, her name was added to the long, long list of Fissurefolk killed by Piltover.

The Undercity won’t survive a war with Piltover.

“Bone was right about one thing: we don’ have the means to take on Topside. Not right now. The augmenteers are crafting weapons and bullets. We have contacts now in Bilgewater who’re supplying us with firearms here n’ there. Smuggled alcohol fer fire-starters. An’ we’ll need all the time we can get.” He paused here, looked around the room. At Tolder and Sevika. Benzo and Silco. At Katya. “’Cause we all know that when Bone goes to meet Janna, Topside’ll come crashin’ down. He is the one thing between them n’ us right now, flimsy wall that he is. We build n’ prepare fer then.”

And hopefully something helpful comes up beforehand.

The energy in the Drop fizzled after that. The Children, angry and disappointed, mumbled into their drinks. When Tolder won his card game, he did not beam and gloat as he usually did. Sevika sat, arms cross, hunkered over her tankard; Nasha looking distant and uncertain at her side. Annie twisted through the crowd like smoke, eyes glossy and cheeks pink. Beckett pulled her into his lap when she wandered by, placing a grounding hand on her waist.

The Children left the Drop after finishing their drinks, too sour and foul-feeling to stick around. For the first time in a long while, Vander closed the tavern early. He, Silco, Benzo, Katya, and Sevika retreated to his private quarters.

Silco had not gone back to his drink since Bone left. Instead, he had begun chain smoking and paced feverishly around Vander’s kitchen. There was a manic flare to his eyes that Vander both sympathized with and watched warily.

“Well,” Benzo sighed after a while, tired of the silence, “there goes the plan of havin’ Bone’s support.”

“It was never a plan,” Silco spat, turning on heel and stomping back toward the sitting area.

“We have the whole of the Lanes!” Sevika proclaimed. Her silver eyes flashed. “Even Fissurefolk who haven’t officially joined the Children are standing beside us. None of them are taking down the graffiti, or eye-balling us weird. Everyone wants this!”

“Aye. Everyone does. But it doesn’ change the fact that we are still buildin’ up the means to protect ourselves,” Vander reminded hotly. “An’ even though everyone wants out o’ Topside’s shadow, they’re plenty who can’t defend themselves. We’ll need to be prepared for them.”

He hated that they did, but his eyes flicked over to Katya. She was leaned near the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She gave no indication that she had heard him, her amber eyes dull and unfocused.

Sevika scoffed. “Everyone in Zaun can fight. It’s what we’ve had to do since birth. Shit, Lu’s been pick-pocketing Enforcers since he was five. Even the old-timers will wield pick-axes and shovels. We need to show them we’re not afraid!”

“We’re not afraid,” Vander growled. He glared at Sevika, and she glared back. “We’re not afraid. And we can’t afford to be stupid. We keep doin’ what we’re doin’.”

He glanced up at Silco for confirmation. For back up. But his Brother continued to pace, face sharp angles and shadow under a plume of cigarette smoke.

“Fer fuck’s sake, Silco,” Benzo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sit down. Yer makin’ me seasick.”

Surprisingly, Silco did stop. He took the cigarette from his mouth – just a filter nub at this point – and smashed it in the ashtray on Vander’s table. He loosed a long breath, smoke shooting out through his nostrils, and curling about his face. A rageful dragon itching to crack armor and bones between its teeth.

“Sil,” Vander said. His voice was low, a plead humming beneath.

Finally, Silco looked at him. The wrath almost took Vander’s breath away.

“We keep moving forward as we have,” he said, voice gravelly with embers and cigarette smoke. “If they instigate further, we respond in kind.” He looked at Sevika, “We are not afraid.” To Vander, “We are not stupid.” To the room, “And we will not take peace as the prize.”

Like earlier, Vander’s stomach dipped. But he kept his face stoic and grim. Katya straightened and shoved her hands into her coat pockets, and stepped into the group’s circle.

“What say you, Sis?” Benzo prompted.

Katya’s jaw worked and her eyebrows furrowed.

Finally, she said in a hoarse voice, “Peace is not an option. I would rather die than have a peace that keeps us strapped to them. We deserve more than their crumbs and virtue-signaling. Freedom, or nothing.”

The silence grew tight again. The hairs on the back of Vander’s neck prickled, unease brushed against his gut. Silco looked at her with fierce, simmering pride.

“We should go,” he said quietly after a moment. “Mum’ll be waiting.”

Tentative fingers brushed against Kat’s arm, and she nodded.

“I should go, too,” Sevika said, pushing herself out from the table.

The darkness in her young face made Vander say: “Sev. No funny business.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” And she stomped from the room.

Silco and Katya made to follow her.

“Get home safe,” Vander said.

Silco nodded.

The silence followed Silco and Katya as they skulked through the dimmer, less traversed streets of Zaun. The sounds of the city were deadened by the blood rushing through their ears. Kat’s fingers squeezed and trembled between his. She’d only ever felt this angry at Heimerdinger.

You should be ashamed.

Her lungs froze remembering Bone’s words and his scathing glare. Painfully, her teeth gnashed together behind the tight line of her mouth.

How dare he . . .

His admonishment stabbed deeply. He knew what she, Viktor, and his constituents endured. And he had the nerve – the gall – to suggest that she should be ashamed for fighting for a better life for her brother? For herself? For the whole of the Underground?

Suddenly, Silco’s fingers slipped from hers. The absence sent a jolt down her spine, and she whipped around. Ugly fear shot through her, afraid she would see his silhouette fading away into the smudged shadows.

But he wasn’t. He stood, rooted to the cobblestones, his eyes an icy blaze cutting into the middle-distance.

“Sil?”

“I don’t want peace. I want freedom. We deserve no less.”

Kat searched his face carefully, eying the taut lines of light and dark that pulled his features into something fearsome. And desperate. She took a step towards him, and waited.

He swallowed. When next he spoke, his voice was ragged. Emotions reined in tightly, lest he snap and lose control.

“Zaun needs to be free. Not only is peace unacceptable, but it – it takes time if to be truly achieved. And it never is,” he added spitefully. “We have plenty of historical examples of that.”

Kat took another step closer. Her own anger tempered into something softer, preparing to help hold whatever it was he was slowly allowing himself to reveal. He still hadn’t looked at her, gaze still boring into an imaginary point ahead of him. The ice-hot fire in his eyes nearly glowed.

“Mum,” he started, voice growing horribly tight. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Mum won’t make it through the development and implementation of a peace treaty.”

Grief, heavy and sickly, weighed down Kat’s shoulders. Pulled her heart down to her stomach in a dead-weight.

Enyd was getting worse. To the point that she and Silco were beginning to help with her tailoring and bread deliveries. More days than not, she was too exhausted to travel outside of her home. And when she did, Zaun’s air choked her so much quicker than it used to. Already slight to begin with, she was losing weight. Her skin was growing duller, her hair thinning and turning limp.

She, nor Silco, nor Kat spoke about it. They only made the quiet adjustments necessary to keep Enyd as comfortable as possible. But Kat could feel Silco’s desperation beginning to grow manic. Willful denial a tantalizing balm offering to protect him from the harsh reality they were spiraling towards.

This was the first time Kat had heard him acknowledge his mother’s impending death. It had always been ‘she’s sick’ – never an out-loud admittance that she was dying. And, now, dying quickly.

Kat’s heart ached for him. The Blight, in her medical experience, did not have rhyme nor reason for how it progressed in a body. Some died within weeks of their diagnosis. Some got a few months to a few years. Very few, like Bone (Kat recognized that hacking sound he’d made. Wet and tearing and deep), got to live damn-near a full life.

Rage on Enyd’s behalf flooded through her.

It wasn’t fair.

Kat stepped closer, and took Silco’s face between her hands. He gave the smallest of starts beneath her touch, but the fury that had been building in his eyes quickly diminished. She didn’t say anything at first, just ran her thumbs over the jut of his cheekbones.

“Peace is not good enough,” she agreed quietly. We won’t make her wait for it.

The fire in Silco’s eyes rekindled, but this time it was more controlled. Strong hands came up, and hung themselves on her wrists. His thumbs brushed against her pulse point. The blood under Kat’s skin pumped steadily.

“You said you’d die before making peace with them. I don’t want that. I don’t want you to die for the cause. I want you to fight for it.”

The following day was beautiful. Powder blue skies streaked with whisps of cirrus clouds, the sun an intense, luminous pinprick high, high above. The air in Piltover was contentedly warm. Seats outside cafes were full, patrons enjoying their luncheons in the bliss of clear and comfortable weather.

Bone limped across the Academy’s campus with single-minded focus. He’d not seen Viktor since before Snowdown, and was hopeful that the boy would be taking his lunch outside now that the cold season had been blown out to sea.

His frail body thrummed and vibrated with anger and panic. He hadn’t slept a wink once he got back home from The Last Drop, his mind spinning with worries about what to do. How to best serve his people. How to protect them. How to keep them from harming themselves.

How to keep them from ruining everything.

Viktor had also not left his thoughts since leaving the Drop, either. He could not believe his sister would be so foolish. So selfish. Her involvement was jeopardizing everything for him.

Did he know? Was his sister stupid enough to use her brother as a mole for The Children of Zaun?

Bone’s blood boiled at the thought.

Finally, he spied the boy on his usual bench. Bone was surprised by the way his breath hitched at the sight of him. His sympathy for Viktor intensified, daring to transform into affection. In the span of twelve hours, he understood Heimerdinger’s want for Viktor to have a more secure spot on Piltover’s soil. Especially now. Especially now that it very much hung in the balance.

As Bone trudged up, he saw Viktor tinkering with a small mish-mash of metal in his lap. Per usual, his lunch sat untouched at his side. A fond smile tugged at Bone’s mouth.

“Mr. Slostov,” he greeted merrily, “fancy seeing you here!”

Viktor jumped, head whipping up at an alarming speed. His eyes were wide, bright, and owlish. He blinked and dropped his shoulders.

“Councilor.”

Bone smirked at him, cocking his head to one side. A small, self-conscious – but pleased – smile slowly spread across Viktor’s round face.

“Jarrot.”

“Better. May I sit with you?”

Viktor nodded, hurriedly adjusting his lunch and belongings. With a heavy groan and ungraceful plop, Bone took up the offered space. He stood his cane between his knees and rested his gnarled hands atop the tortoiseshell handle, giving a confident, casual air. A useful camouflage for his sensitive intention.

“What do you have there?”

Viktor looked down at the metal in his hands, turning it over. It looked like a set of wheels held together with a rubber band. Belatedly, Bone realized that there was a second, similar looking piece set on top of the paper that wrapped his lunch.

“It is a part of the motor mechanism for the boat I am building for Professor Heimerdinger’s class.”

“Ah.”

An awkward silence hung between them, too much time having passed since their last interaction to lend to flowing conversation. Bone gnawed the inside of his lip, pondering how to get information from Viktor without spooking him.

“We haven’t seen each other since before Snowdown,” Bone observed, casually glancing up at the trees that were beginning to bud. “Did the cold season treat you well?”

A shadow cast itself over Viktor’s face, and he shrugged in that way children do when they are upset but unwilling to talk. Whether it be because they don’t know how to voice their difficulties, or because they don’t want to get in trouble. Bone’s stomach churned, and he felt goose pimples appear on his arms.

“It was fine.”

“Was it? You seem . . . bothered by the question. If I may be so bold.”

Viktor’s mouth puckered and pulled to one corner, his brow furrowing as he tried to tug the rubber band to a gear tooth that was just too far away.

“I don’t like the cold. And Snowdown was in the middle of the week this year. I get off school, but Kat still has to work, so I had to stay on campus for the holiday.”

Bone’s hand tremored with the effort of keeping it from reaching out to cup Viktor’s shoulder. He knew the boy’s unique, lonely pain. The pain of having to exist on this side of the River in this time – under Piltover’s scrutinizing, prejudice gaze.

But he also knew that his and Viktor’s presences in varying esteemed circles were priceless cogs in the motor of progress to achieve equitability for the Undercity. They’d earned their stations so that, hopefully one day, other Trenchers would have much less of an uphill battle.

Bone hummed an understanding note, nodding sagely. “That is unfortunate. Especially right now with all the upheaval between our two cities.” He glanced sideways at Viktor to see if that garnered a reaction. His expression stayed stony, but did not deepen nor flicker. “Has your sister managed to stay safe while all of this is going on?”

The rubber band snapped out from between Viktor’s fingers, and whipped against his hand. He jumped and hissed. A small, angry, red welt began to grow on the web between his thumb and index finger. He shoved his hand into his mouth, sucking on the injury.

“Are you alright?”

Viktor nodded, and withdrew his hand from between his lips with a pop! He glared at the irritated reddened skin. A frown that was too-world-weary for such a young boy pulled his round cheeks down.

“Kat is – “ Viktor’s lips melded together, brows dropping. Bone waited on baited breath. “Kat has been keeping us home when I go back. I know she is just trying to keep me safe from what those people are doing – “

“The Children of Zaun.”

Viktor nodded. “Yes, them. Ever since they have appeared, she’s been keeping me home on the weekends.”

“To keep you safe?”

“That is what she says, but – “

Viktor paused, mouth clamping shut. Bone watched something fresh and hurtful flash in his eyes.

“But what, Viktor?”

Jumbles of thoughts made his brain hazy, words gummed up in his mouth, feelings thrashed inside his crumpled body. Viktor couldn’t decide what to say, how to say it, or what he was even feeling. In his mind’s eye, he saw Kat’s face – once full and kind – become dull and withdrawn. Nausea rippled across his stomach.

“I feel like something is going on.” Viktor hated how small and tight his voice had become. “She’s not telling me something. We’ve always been so close, and since before Snowdown it feels like she is going away.”

Suddenly, he hiccupped and sniffed. Hurriedly, horrified, Viktor set his invention down and wiped at his face. Shaking, he began to shove his belongings back in his satchel, embarrassment and confusion lighting his nervous system with the desperate need to get away.

Bone finally reached out to set a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, m’boy.”

“No. It is alright, Council – Jarrot. I need to head to my next class. There was something I needed to speak with Professor Holmgren about beforehand. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to – “

As he rambled, Viktor sloppily stood, knocking his lunch to the ground and nearly falling over as he unevenly braced himself on his crutch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, limping away. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

Wanting to spare the child from further discomfort, Bone let him go. The ache in his chest grew with each uneven step Viktor took away from him.

While Bone now felt certain that Viktor was not being used by the Children, he still felt deeply sorry for him. He was glad for what he had told his sister the previous night. That she should be ashamed. Her actions were already tearing at her little brother’s tender heart.

Bone knew it was an awful thing to be alone. He’d felt it every day since becoming Councilor. It painfully intensified as he was realizing his fellow Fissurefolk did not feel supported by his political efforts.

Viktor knew what it was like to be alone. A brilliant child, unable to exist in the world he was born into because of his handicaps; unable to exist in the world he’d worked tooth-and-nail to get into because of where he had come from. No friends. Only a sister, who was now sacrificing their relationship, and his well-being, for a cause that would not end well.

A breeze blew by, ruffling Bone’s thin hair. His breath caught, and he quickly pulled the pocket square from his coat. He managed to bring the fabric to his mouth before the hacking started. His skeleton bent and shook with the force of the coughing. Abdominal and back muscles contracted painfully, threatening to pull and spasm.

When it passed, he folded the pocket square up without looking at the contents. Gently, he patted his forehead with the dry edge of the cloth. Bone’s breath was a sharp, shallow rasp – like a dull knife being pulled along a whetstone.

He needed to speak with Grayson, he decided. What he would tell her, he still wasn’t sure. But time was running out. For everyone.

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Coming Up Next: Kat's busy, so Viktor's goes out by himself to take his boat for a spin.

Next Chapter

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[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 29 Sulphur, Saltpeter, and Charcoal

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Things between Zaun and Piltover go from bad to worse. Katya's attempts to protect Viktor do not land as intended.

Note: Thank you all for your patience with this chapter. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, life has been a lot lately. I truly appreciate all you readers and am humbled by all the kind words this labor-of-love of mine has recieved. Y'all keep me going 💗

CW: Canon typical violence, police brutality, gun violence, murder, brief allusion to 69-ing

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.5K

Snowdown season ended. And with it, Topside’s patience.

A week after the skies dumped snow on Piltover and Zaun, three of the Children’s contraband runners were intercepted by Enforcers. Their usual route was gobbed up with snow and slush, forcing them to take a more travelled path.

They were stopped outside Augmentation Alley’s scrap pit. Enforcer’s pressed their fronts against the chain link fence, and searched them. Despite the cold, the air sizzled with the heat of tension. Each of the runners’ bodies was taut with anger and fear. Quivering like cornered dogs ready to bite.

The four Enforcers found bottles of clear Freljordian liquor tucked into their coats, shirts, trousers, and boots. They gently laid them in a snowbank nearby. Excitement bubbled beneath their skin over the find. Over what it might mean.

One of the Enforcers snidely asked for the stamped paperwork that was meant to accompany such product. Of course there was none, and the runners stayed tight-lipped, fuming and trembling.

“If there is no paperwork,” the Enforcer had said, his slippery voice hollow in his mask, “where did this come from?”

The other Enforcers pressed their batons firmly against the runners’ backs, the chain link biting into their skin. They said nothing.

“You steal it?”

No answer.

The Enforcer questioning them jerked his chin toward one of his peers. They knocked one of the runners to the ground – an older teen boy with shaggy blond hair. He grunted as he faceplanted into the dirty snow. The other Enforcers hauled him to his knees and found a revolver in his face.

“We can make it so you actually can’t answer.”

Feeling cornered shuts down one’s prefrontal cortex and the amygdala surges forward. Rational thoughts and actions get swallowed up by the primal need to survive. Which is why one of the runners, still held against the fence, flailed suddenly, her elbow threading the space between the Enforcer’s mask and chest, smashing into his neck. He choked and staggered, and she made to run.

Melee followed.

The Enforcer with the revolver shifted his attention and fired. The bullet embedded itself in the girl’s back, and she fell. The teen on his knees leapt up and tackled him. The third runner bucked against the hold of the Enforcer pinning them in place, thrashing out of their thread-bare coat and escaping. They went to scoop up the fallen girl, but her limp, heavy weight felt like death and they left her, darting for the hellish glow of Augmentation Alley. Two of the Enforcers streaked after them.

The tackled Enforcer and older teen wrestled on the ground, hands clamoring for control of the revolver. It went off without warning, without knowing its aim. The Enforcer’s back exploded in a warm, red shower and the young man gasped, kicking his way out from under the dead body.

The remaining Enforcer screamed, leapt forward, and bludgeoned the suspect with his baton. Between the twists of arms, mists of blood, and crunching of bone, another shot from the revolver blared and knocked the Enforcer back. He hit the fence and crumpled, chest gaping.

Shaking, bleeding, gasping, the battered runner gathered as many bottles as he could and crawled toward the nearest alley. He nestled himself in a snowbank, pouring the clear liquor over his wounds and down his throat. He waited for death to come.

It didn’t.

At some point, a pair of strong arms had hoisted him up. Voices murmured and glass clinked. Then there was warmth. The smell of stale beer and sweat. And astringent. The sound of a deep rumble and a rolling whisper. Something soft wrapped around his head. Something sturdy held his arm.

It would be a week before Dustin became remotely lucid. And even then, his eyes remained dark and drawn. Crazed.

The other runner managed to give the Enforcers the slip in the hot maze of Augmentation Alley. Ran appeared at The Last Drop a day later, covered in soot and burns, to inform Vander and Silco of what had happened. Their usual monotone speaking pitch turned jittery with anxiety.

The Children had been unable to retrieve the other runner’s body. The Enforcers that had pursued Ran came back to the crime scene before they could get to her.

There was a raid of Augmentation Alley the next day. Shops were turned inside out. Owners and their families lined up in the narrow streets while an army of Enforcers ransacked their livelihoods and homes.

Pok attempted to stop his shop from being destroyed, and was struck to the ground. Before Mek could come to his father’s aid, an Enforcer’s knee ground into the older man’s back and wrenched his arms around, slapping brass cuffs around his thick wrists.

“You’re under arrest for obstructing law enforcement.”

“You can’t do this!” Mek raged, advancing on the Enforcer.

“Leave it, boy!” Pok wheezed. Their eyes found each other. Even from the ground, Pok could pin his nearly grown son in place. “Leave it. Take care of things.”

The old augmenteer was hauled to his feet and led away. He gave Mek one last firm look, and his son was sure ‘take care of things’ did not just mean their shop.

Take care of Topside.

Pok was taken to Stillwater and never made it out.

The upturning of Augmentation Alley did not produce the suspect Enforcers were looking for. It technically did not reveal anything of note. But LeDaird had already been feeling Council’s pressure to act, to produce results. And now two of his own officers had been killed. The terrorist attack was already personal, but now the threat of the Children of Zaun had threaded beneath his ribs.

Screenings of goods destined for the Undercity intensified. Suppliers were searched along with their loads. New documentation became required. Small and fast skips patrolled wider and longer sections of the coastline, watching for any unusual activity.

Three weeks after the raid on Augmentation Alley, there was an unheard-of assembly at Rynweaver’s mine. Confused and agitated, miners and other employees shuffled into the facility’s cathedral. The space was rimmed with masked and armed Enforcers. The well-hewn walls glowed with strings of chem-bulbs and flood lights blared. Shadows of stalactites, stalagmites, and thin columns crisscrossed over the floor and walls. Atop the lead foreman’s trailer, Rynweaver stood. He looked coldly down at the Trenchers ambling in. Their dirty faces and dull eyes gazing up at him distrustfully.

Kat hung on the outskirts, shoulder brushing up against Silco’s. He’d positioned himself behind a craggy boulder, and had pulled the kerchief he wore around his neck over his nose. It was a habit he had developed the few times he and Rynweaver ever habituated the same space; born of his mother’s desire to keep her son separate from his sire. Lessening the chance of Rynweaver’s greedy gaze finding her boy in a crowd, and putting two-and-two together.

Sevika also stood with them, thick arms crossed over her chest.

Rynweaver held up a gloved hand and the crowd’s murmuring reluctantly dwindled.

“I will make this brief.” His cognac-smooth voice reverberated off metal and stone, sending vibrations beneath his audiences’ skin. “In light of the terrorist attack several weeks ago, the murder of Enforcers, and the raid recently, this mine will be doing its part to flush out the Children of Zaun. If anyone is discovered to be a member of this terrorist organization, they will be immediately fired and arrested. If anyone is found to have information of them and has not come forth, they will be fired and arrested. If anyone is found in support of the Undercity’s freedom, they will be fired and arrested.

“Thanks to these terrorists, the restrictions and protracted wait-time on imports and exports is causing the mine to lose money. To compensate for this unfortunate turn of events, all workers’ salaries shall be diminished by eight-percent – “

At once, the crowd erupted. They jostled and shifted like a school of fish, scales made of pickaxes and shovels glinting in the light. Kat’s stomach dropped, Silco stiffened. Sevika gasped and trudged forward, throwing her voice into the wails of complaints.

The Enforcers on the perimeter moved as one, stepping closer and herding the crowd with the slender but deadly bodies of their rifles.

“Consider this,” Rynweaver called above the din, “motivation for helping Council ferret out these traitors.” The angry swell of voices ebbed. “The sooner they are exterminated, the sooner this nation of Zaun nonsense is laid to rest, the sooner things go back to normal.”

“Normal is unacceptable!” Silco roared later that night at the Drop, standing atop the bar.

The Children rumbled their agreement. Over the course of the recent weeks, their faces had morphed. Once shining and hopeful, now darkening and angry.

“What is normal for Topside is us breathing smog, rationing breadcrumbs, breaking our bodies to service their needs!” A few of the growls rose into barked agreements. Others nodded, eyes hard and glassy. “Their normal will kill us!”

Kat watched him from her spot next to Enyd, heart pounding furiously. It was different than her first meeting. Her blood didn’t run cold with fear. Now, it boiled with indignation and fury. Her body thrummed with Zaunite pride and a disdain for their Sister City. Her chest swelled as Silco continued railing against Piltover’s abuse. Warm, slithering, smokey tendrils of awe filled the spaces between her organs and bones. His unabashed insistent belief and zealousness wafted from him, feeding her. Feeding the room. Their value, worth, and deservedness served to them on a silver platter with his words. And the crowd gorged.

Kat could even feel Enyd’s slight frame puff with pride at her son’s words and command of the room.

Vander leaned against the bar, watching and listening to his Brother’s ire. His face was a craggy series of lines and shadows, as if he’d been hewn from stone. His own fury was palpable. For the first time since overtaking The Last Drop, he hadn’t been able to pay the building’s rent, nor the other taxes Piltover burdened business owners with. It meant a yellow letter and a warning. Never mind the fact that the reason he’d been unable to pay in full was due to Topside’s chokehold on products coming into the Undercity.

Despite this, Vander listened to Silco and watched the crowd with a small amount of caution, ready to temper any hasty suggestions that would get their movement killed before any progress could be made. His eyes found Katya across the room, irritated that it was always her voice in his head when he thought of his responsibility to the Children. To the cause. To Zaun.

Since walking in on her and Silco, he’d avoided her the best he could. If he had to speak to her, his words were brief and colorless. He didn’t know if she thought he was still embarrassed and cagey, or if she was able to pick up on the undercurrent of envy coursing through him. In any case, she did not let on that she was aware of any shift in him. She appeared too preoccupied with the bombastic unfurling of her and Silco’s new relationship. Rarely was one seen without the other, their fingers tightly intertwined.

“We should gut any Enforcer that dares to step foot in the Undercity!” Tolder roared, leaping to his feet and throwing a fist into the air.

Lu jostled at his hip, giggling and tossing his own dumpling of a hand up. There was a small, angry swell of impulsive assent, frothing and spectacular in its heat. But most of the Children remained a dull sort of red. Their frustration grayed – caked and cracked by many heavy layers of unfairness.

Vander straightened at Tolder’s outburst. His heart hammered as he shot a glance up to Silco. His Brother folded his arms across his chest, lips thinning into a tight line.

“They deserve it,” Vander agreed, stepping forward. “But goin’ after Enforcers recklessly ain’ practical r’ wise. Silco n’ me – “

“So what? We’re just suppose’ta take it? What’re we doing here?”

“No,” Silco said firmly. “We will not take it. Haven’t you been listening?” He hopped off the bar and stepped in line with Vander. “We will not return to their status-quo. Nor shall we be stupid and hasty with how we move forward.”

Tolder blanched at his words, but Silco held the older man’s gaze. Then looked around the room.

“We are still in the cold season. Resources are always scarce. Now is the time to lean on each other. Stand shoulder to shoulder as Brothers and Sisters. We shall not be rattled.

“In terms of action, Vander and I have discussed the following – “

He laid out the development for new safehouses – places those in need could go if Janna’s Temple was full. It had been an endeavor spearheaded by Enyd. She reached out to her clients in the marketplaces and on the Promenade. Calling in favors and utilizing her likability to convince them to shelter Children who needed to hide, eat, or sleep. Thereby curling them into the cause.

Smuggling would continue. It had to. The change there would be security detail. Vander, Mek, Sevika, and other brawlers would flank the smaller, faster runners and take out anyone who stood in the way of their route.

Beckett would head a small crew of other Children – those specifically familiar with the docks – and sabotage Enforcer skips. Cutting fuel lines and puncturing hulls. There was also discussion of luring skips to the coast where a few Children would hide in the shadows of the craggy rocks, and use the few long -range rifles they had smuggled in from a Noxian trader to shoot them down. Although, the practicality of that plan was hotly debated. For one, ammunition was scarce. For a second, long-range marksmanship was a skill, and if the Children missed it would cost more than bullets and gunpowder.

“Katya can shoot,” Annie chirped.

Heads swiveled towards the medic, and while her shoulders stiffened, her eyes remained hard.

“I have never been trained. And firing a pistol is different than firing a rifle.”

“To-MAY-to, To-MAH-to,” Annie countered flippantly. “The ends of both go BANG, don’t they?”

“It is not that simple,” Katya replied, keenly aware that she was not scoffing outright at the suggestion. In fact, she felt annoyed by the idea’s pragmatic blocks. A frown formed on her face.

“We can make ammo,” Mek growled. Since his father had been hauled away, the teen had darkened and grown up fast. His voice had sunk and a heavy black cloud settled over his shoulders. His small eyes shone with rage. “Augmentation Alley can mold bullets.”

Katya swallowed, jaw setting. Her eyes locked onto Silco’s, still standing at the bar, before shifting back to Mek. “What of the gunpowder?”

Unsure murmurs vibrated through the tavern. Then, the most unlikely voice answered.

“The mines have gunpowder,” Enyd said.

All eyes fell on her, and she recoiled under the attention. But she took a deep, wheezing breath and stood as tall as her four-foot-eleven frame allowed.

She looked to her son and Vander before continuing. “The black powder used to blow apart the rocks there is the same as gunpowder. It is a fairly simple compound, too. Charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur.”

Silco took a sharp breath in through his nose, remembering how that rotten-egg scent would linger on her clothes, in her hair.

“We have access to all of those things,” Vander said. “We could jus’ make our own. More work, yeah, but would be one less thing t’hafta smuggle.”

“We will do both,” Silco decided. His eyes shone as he looked at his mother. Possibility pulsed in his chest.

“There are sulfur pots deeper in the cave where the Springs are,” Kat said.

She nuzzled closer, her cheekbone rubbing against Silco’s neck, her left hand idly playing with the fingers of the arm wrapped around her shoulders. A low hum vibrated in his chest as he brought his other arm behind his head. He stared up at her bedroom ceiling in thought.

“Charcoal is easy enough to come by.”

“So is saltpeter,” he added. “It’s crusting every smokestack in Zaun.”

Silence fell between them. Then a thought curled Kat’s lips.

“It is ironic that Topside would shove us underground, only to give us the tools for their own undoing.”

A darkly amused sound huffed in Silco’s chest.

“They’ll choke on their own blood and hubris,” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”

The same warmth from the meeting swelled in Kat’s chest. It felt weighty with righteousness, her lungs struggling a bit under the emotion.

Suddenly, she sat up and made to straddle Silco’s waist. He started at her abrupt movement, but quickly settled back into the pillows. The blazing earnestness in her eyes held him in place. She hinged forward and kissed him, and he reached up to touch her cheek. When she straightened, the hand ghosted over her bare breast and rested on the ribs beneath it. She smiled at him, the dim green glow of the streetlamps outside cutting her into a beautiful shape. Then her smile lessened. Her eyes broke from his gaze and looked to the window.

“What is it?”

Silco watched the muscles in her jaw flex under the chartreuse light as she decided how to articulate whatever she was thinking.

“I have to get Viktor tomorrow.”

A low, short hum rumbled in Silco’s throat. His thumb swept over the mole beneath the swell of her breast. Kat disappeared from his side when she had her brother under her wing. He saw nothing of her between Friday afternoon and Monday morning.

“I will not lie,” she said, “the tenser things between Zaun and Piltover become, the more I am worried. I know there is no way forward without violence, but I am scared something may happen to him.”

Silco gently pet her flank, trying to decide what was best and truest to say.

“You cannot hide him from this forever.”

Kat’s brows pinched. “I am not hiding him. He knows there is unrest – “

“That’s not what I am talking about.”

She said nothing for a long moment. Then sighed, “I am not ready to tell him that I am a part of this. I am not ready to tell him anything.”

Her eyes sheepishly found his in the dark, the subtext of that statement settling heavy between them. She did not want Viktor involved in this part of her life – not the Children, not Enyd, not Silco.

Not yet.

Silco did not fight her on it. It wasn’t his decision to make. Viktor was her family, her responsibility. If Kat felt it was safest for him to be kept separate for the time-being, it wasn’t his place to insist otherwise.

Even so, he asked: “When will you?”

“When our freedom is on the horizon,” she said with a smile. Then, her expression sobered. “Or when I absolutely have to.”

Silco’s lips thinned and he nodded once, his eyes breaking away from hers. Kat reached out, running the back of her fingers down his cheek and over the scar on his lip.

“He is eleven. I want him to be a child as much as he can be. I know it is a privilege most Zaunite children do not get to have, but if I can offer some semblance of youth to him, I will. I want him to have better than I did. In every way. You understand?”

He did. Of course he did. A long sigh softened Silco’s body, and he leaned into her hand.

“I understand. I am selfish, and miss you on the weekends.”

Kat’s mouth quirked into a grin. She leaned over to kiss him, her hand threading through the ebony tangle of his hair.

How easily they fell into one another. Her plushness and his angles slotting together perfectly. How much sweeter would it be once Zaun was free, when their angst lifted and floated away on a sea breeze?

She could not wait.

“I miss you, too,” Kat whispered, pulling back. Then that mischievous, secret glint flashed in her eyes. “Shall I give you something to remember me by?”

Silco’s own eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing any of the faint light filtering into the room. A wolfish grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Like I said: I am selfish. I will gladly take whatever you’ll give me.”

“And then some.”

“And then some,” he agreed.

She matched his smile before spinning around, diving head first beneath the covers. Silco’s large hands gripped her hips firmly, and pulled her to his mouth just as her lips wrapped around him.

There was a promise of warmth on the edges of the breeze that fluffed Viktor’s hair. He and Miss Ivy stood by the Bridge’s attendance hut waiting for his sister. He hoped the warm season would begin sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than that he could take his lunch outside again. During the cold season he had no choice but to eat in the cafeteria with the rest of his class. They would shoot him prying stares and whisper about the stitches on his uniform and worn shoes. About how the button-up beneath his vest was a dingy grey color, instead of their pristine, crisp white ones. They’d hiss about how he was from the Undercity, and therefore made him a novelty. Not a novelty to be coveted, but one to be gawked at, poked and prodded. The other-ing had only gotten worse since that airship crash several weeks ago. The boys and girls in his classes plied him with taunts thinly veiled as questions. In more extreme cases, he’d be harassed as he walked across campus: older students yelling slurs at him, gesturing rude things.

He didn’t mention it to anyone. Professor Heimerdinger may have been willing to listen, but nothing would change. He had not seen Councilor Bone since before Snowdown. He didn’t tell Katya because . . . because something was off.

The sense of something being amiss he had had several weeks ago hadn’t ebbed. For weeks, his sister seemed a shell of herself. Attentive enough to keep his needs met, but there had been no light in her eyes. None of her smiles brightened her face. Then, the Friday after the Snowdown holidays, something had changed. Katya was bright again, but it didn’t warm him. She seemed happier, but still distant. Like her mind was elsewhere.

When she did not appear distracted, Katya was bubbling with frigid indignation about Piltover’s recent treatment of the Undercity. In the past, she kept their heads low and made a point to skirt around Enforcers. Avoiding them was not an option any longer, and Katya’s nervousness about them had transformed into anger. She kept her face hard when they walked through the Lanes back to the Sump, the grip she had on Viktor’s shoulder commanding and tight.

They had been stopped for questioning a couple of times. Where were they coming from? Where were they going? Had they seen anything suspicious lately? Katya’s answers had been short and sharp. Not rude enough to set the Enforcers off, but she left no room for them to think she would be any kind of helpful.

They’d been searched once. A perfunctory pat-down of Katya and a search of Viktor’s duffle bag. For a split second, he thought she might actually lash out when one of the Enforcers gently patted his body down. Of course, they had nothing on them, so they were allowed on their way. The rest of the evening, Katya stomped around the apartment, pots and pans clanging, her eyes – stuck in a perpetual glare – continually shot to the door and to the windows. As if she was expecting to see something there. She also kept lifting the collar of the shirt she was wearing – one he did not recognize – up to her nose, and breathing deeply. As if it brought her some sort of comfort.

The increased Enforcer presence in the Undercity also meant that he and Katya spent most of the weekend holed up in the apartment. No trips to the docks, the Oases, the Springs, or any of the marketplaces. And despite the close and constant quarters with his sister, Viktor battled a persistent, creeping sense of alienation.

His young heart twisted painfully in his chest as the ability to find solace on either side of the River dwindled.

“Here she comes,” Ivy sighed suddenly, pulling Viktor from his heavy thoughts.

He blinked his gaze back into focus, and saw Katya striding across the Bridge. She beamed at him, and Viktor desperately wished he could feel it. The gate attendant lifted the barricade, allowing him and Ivy to step through.

As usual, once Viktor was within arm’s reach, Katya gathered him up against her chest in a tight hug. Her nose buried itself in the fluffy folds of his hair, and her lips pressed against his crown.

“I missed you.”

Viktor knew she wasn’t lying. Yet, the sentiment seemed to bounce off his heart, unable to sink in.

“I missed you, too.”

She drew back and pet a hand through his hair. Her eyes gleamed as she took him in, an intense look of pride that strangely left him feeling lacking.

“Come. Let us go home.”

As had been the case for the past several weeks, Katya only acknowledged Ivy enough to take Viktor’s duffle from her.

“Have a nice weekend, Miss Ivy,” he offered before limping away.

The aide smiled sweetly at him. “You as well, Viktor.”

“Come along.”

Katya gently tugged on his coat, encouraging him to step away from Piltover. He gave Ivy a meek smile and she waved good-bye.

As they slowly traveled toward the conveyor car station, Viktor eyed the artwork and graffiti that now decorated buildings, walkways, fencing, and lampposts. Blue birds and ‘Zs’ scribbled in varying art styles and detail. Slogans of ‘FREE ZAUN,’ ‘WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY,’ and ‘FUCK TOPSIDE’ were written in manic zig-zags of chalk. It made him feel nervous. Dread brushed gently against his stomach.

The pair stiltedly ascended the few steps up to the conveyor car, and Katya flashed her Academy-issued badge. She and Viktor took their seats, and he fished out one of his steno pads from his school satchel. His sister smiled as he reviewed the notes he’d made that week in Professor Heimerdinger’s robotics class. Sketches of gears, cogs, and possible engine designs covered the pages.

“Still planning on a boat?”

Viktor nodded. “We will get to start constructing in a few weeks. We have to get designs approved first.”

Katya nodded. Her body jostled as the conveyor car began to slide down into the Undercity.

She pet a hand through his hair and said, “I am sure you will have no problem getting your plans approved.”

“I want to make an engine that is not reliant on traditional fuel. Like wood or coal,” he said, eyes glued to his notes and drawings. “Something that is sustainable and renewable. That way, maybe, it is something that can be transitioned to a larger scale. To help out the fishermen at the docks.”

Katya’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close. She kissed the crown of his head.

“That is a marvelous idea.”

Viktor kept his notebook close the rest of the night. Skimming through pages, adding notes and annotations. Adjusting sketches and scribbling new ones.

Gnawing on his lip, he sat back in his chair at the kitchen table. Katya stood at the sink, washing the dishes from dinner. He looked at his notebook, then Katya, then the living room window, then Katya again.

“Kat?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s getting warmer out. Do – do you think that we could go out this weekend to try and find materials for my boat?”

Katya stilled, the soft scrubbing of her sponge silencing. Viktor watched as her shoulders slumped. Disappointment began smoldering in his belly before she even turned around.

“I thought the Academy was providing materials,” she said, turning to face him. A hand on her hip, her mouth fighting a frown.

“They are. But . . . I want to use things from the Undercity. We could go to the scrap pit by Augmentation Alley. Just get scraps. We don’t have to even spend any money.”

Katya lost the fight with the grimace trying to spread across her face. Viktor held her gaze, but he could not understand why her emotions were being so fickle. He knew things were precarious in the Lanes as of late, but he was so tired of spending his weekends holed up in their apartment.

“Viktor – “

“Please!” he burst. “Please? Nothing will happen. We will not draw any attention to ourselves. Enforcers won’t bother us. Please? I want to go out. I want to find things for my boat.”

A heavy sigh blew through Katya’s lips as she hung her head. Viktor watched as the fingers on her hip tightened, the skin on her knuckles pulling white. His lower lips tucked itself under his incisors as he waited for her verdict.

“We can go – “ Viktor sat up and gasped “ – but if there are more than two Enforcers skulking about, we will come home.”

Her brother nodded emphatically, unwilling to press his luck. Katya’s eyes did not soften, and he tried to not let it bother him. He turned back to his notebook, pretending that his sister was just as excited as he was.

After a beat, Katya wiped her hands on the rag hung over the kitchen faucet before stalking over to her coat, hung on the peg by the door. Surprised, Viktor looked up as she whipped the garment around herself.

“What are you – “

“I need to go take care of something,” she answered, shaking the collar out around her head. “If I am not back before nine, get ready for bed. Yes?” He nodded slowly. “Good. I love you. I’ll be back soon. Do not open the door for anyone.”

Viktor’s brow crumpled as she whisked out of their home. The sharp sound of the door clattering into its frame echoed in his ears. It vibrated against his bones. It inspired loneliness to press against his chest. And frustration to bubble beneath his skin.

Katya kept her promise and they visited the scrap pit the following day. Relief sagged through Viktor’s body when he counted only two Enforcers in the immediate area. Eagerly, he scurried toward the bent and barbed metal gates. His eagerness was quelled as he saw a small pile of candles and trinkets piled against a section of fence a few feet away. There was a framed picture of a young girl leaned against half-melted pillar candles. Dread swiped a cold finger over his stomach. He ignored it and pressed onward. Clumsily, he sat before the nearest tangled heap of metal, and began scouring through it.

Katya lingered behind him, arms crossed over her chest, eyes continually scanning their surroundings. Her lack of interest made him feel self-conscious. A small voice in his head sneered that he shouldn’t have pushed for this. But when his hand landed on a large, uncorroded gear, that voice was drowned out by excitement.

“Kat! Look! I think this will be the perfect size for the motor’s main driver!”

Her head snapped back to look at him. Her eyes were wide and blank, confirmation that she was not actually there with him. She blinked and her gaze focused on the cog in his hand. She smiled.

“Very good. Are you going to put it in your satchel?”

He nodded. “It would be great if I could find another one. Or, at least, one of similar size. Will you help me look?”

The small pull at the corner of her mouth sent a bolt of shame through his chest. But before his face could fully fall, Katya knelt beside him. She held her hand out, and he gingerly placed the gear in her palm.

Inspecting it closely, she asked, “Do the teeth need to be the same, or just the size of the gear?”

“Ideally both.”

Together, they dug through piles of metal. Just beyond the scrap pit’s ridge, Augmentation Alley smoked and burned, its forges in full-force. When the wind picked up, Katya instructed Viktor to pull his scarf over his mouth and nose. The boy grimaced, but complied. He was already sweating. The day and activity proving too warm for the coat and scarf Katya had been insistent on. But his annoyance waned as they continued to sift through scraps together. Every now and then, she would present a particularly interesting looking twist of metal or clean gear, and ask for his opinion.

Slowly, carefully, ease dared to flicker in Viktor’s chest. The interaction between him and his sister leaning much more familiar than they had in several weeks. He held to it tightly, even when they would shift to a new pile, and her eyes would lift and the energy of her presence slipped for a moment. When she hunkered down again, Viktor would sneak a peek in the direction she had looked, expecting to see an Enforcer. There was none. Instead, a slender silhouette swaggered back-and-forth just beyond the scrap pit’s fence.

For some reason, that pricked at Viktor’s nerves more than any Enforcer.

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[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 23

The Dangers of Want

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Katya patches Silco up. Enyd is very distaught when her son comes home with a battered face. She becomes even more upset when she hears why, and decides to pay Katya a visit.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 6.1K

The silence in Katya’s head was quickly overtaken by the vicious and mighty rush of blood in her ears, the thundering of her heart in her chest. Her stomach twisted and squeezed.

She stared at where Kells had been, skin going cold. She felt an urge to crawl to the edge of the turbine blade and peek over. Was the pit deep enough that the shadows would blanket his body? Was the fall so great that he would be left down there, an extraction deemed too costly and unsafe to retrieve him?

The gentle call of her name pulled her from her clamoring thoughts. Her head snapped away from the blade’s edge over to Silco. He was propped on his knees and hands watching her intently. Katya’s eyes flicked over his head to see the entire fissure’s unit huddled along the edge of the turbine’s chasm, staring at them with dirty, pale faces and wide eyes. They were muttering amongst themselves, she realized. Their voices slid into her ears, crawled under her skin.

Silco called for her again, and her eyes were pulled back to him. She took in his bloody face, how his nose was bent, his eyelids and cheeks already beginning to swell and discolor. How blood dribbled freely from his mouth and nose. Despite all this, he looked at her like she was the one to be worried about. 

“What’s happenin’? Wha’s goin’ on?” Foreman Baz yelled, muscling his way through the crowd.

He stopped at the edge of the cliff, taken aback by the sight of the pair on the blade. Katya looked at him with a fearful, tear-stained, and scraped up face; Silco with his beaten and bloodied one. 

“One of the miners was attacking them!” a small voice piped up.

Both Baz and Katya looked over and saw the young teen she’d been called down there to patch up. His glossy dark eyes flitted to her and back to the foreman. Baz looked to the boy, back to Katya, then to Silco.

When no one refuted what the boy had said, Baz shifted agitatedly and ordered, “Help him up! Get them to medical!”

A few of the miners nearest to the blade stepped forward, and lifted Silco up by the armpits, hoisting him onto unsteady feet. One of them approached Katya, and she waved him away, scrabbling onto her own legs. She stumbled after the pair that had Silco slung between them. She kept her eyes on his back as she followed, keenly aware of the probing, curious eyes on her.

Katya did not remember the trek back to the medical clinic. One moment, she was in Fissure 27, the next she was in the cool light of the exam room. The miners who had carried Silco placed him on the table and whispered to him.

Belatedly, Katya realized they were members of the Children. She didn’t know them by name, but knew their faces. They assured Silco that they would make sure to spin Kells’s death in his favor; that there would be no trouble, no word about it after today.

They hurried back to the fissure, ready to fulfill the task before them. The room was quiet. The clock on the wall ticked and ticked.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Katya muttered, going to the small sink.

Her hands trembled beneath the faucet. The soap fell from her hands multiple times as she attempted to wash them. She tried to breathe, tried to steady herself. Closing her eyes, she gripped the soap like she might’ve gripped Kells’s throat had her body not locked in fear. Like when the Enforcer attacked her papa.

“Kat.”

His voice sent a shiver up her spine. She ignored him, drying her hands and riffling through the cabinets in search of her tools.

“You need to get patched up,” she mumbled, gathering gauze, a small splint, and rubbing alcohol. “Your nose needs to be set before it becomes even more painful to do so.”

“Kat. Kat wait,” Silco grit, his voice pained and nasally. 

He reached for her wrist and she lurched back, dropping the supplies in her arms. Silco retracted quickly, murmuring an apology. She gave a perfunctory nod before ducking down, and gathering her tools. She set them next to him.

“You are alright to sit up?” 

Her eyes were on him, but she wasn’t looking at him. Silco’s chest caved at the vacantness of her face.  He gave a small nod – it was as much movement his head would allow without causing spikes of pain to radiate through his skull. 

Katya softly muttered what she was doing while tending to him, but he only part-listened. Barely a wince pulled at his lips as she wiped away the blood on his face, as she inspected the gash across the bridge of his nose. She explained she couldn’t stitch it shut, that there was too little flesh to suture together. She’d use a butterfly bandage.

The sensation of the edges of his skin being pulled toward each other sent his insides crawling. It reawakened that small spark of rage that had risen in him when he’d first seen Kells holding Katya to the wall. He’d finished working the engine of the excavator, and jogged to the fissure over to see her. A group of sullen looking teens had pointed him toward a small crack in the rock near the turbine, and he went.

If he hadn’t went . . . 

His body shuddered with fury. Katya thought she did something and apologized.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he was quick to say. He noticed how speaking was becoming painful. How his teeth ached at the roots. His blue eyes, filled with cold fire, locked onto hers, and she finally looked at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

There was a long moment where their gazes remained tethered. Silco willing his words to sink in, Katya trying to let them.

“Your nose is broken,” she finally said. Her voice was hoarse and quiet. “I need to set it.”

Carefully and swiftly – her hands having stopped their trembling in the comfort of performing familiar tasks – she placed a small splint on either side of his nose, taped them down, and then covered the whole thing with a pad of gauze.

She turned her attention next to his mouth. A deep cut had split the left side of his upper lip. Blood was beginning to clot, but still dribbled down his chin in a bright crimson river. 

“I will need to sew this.” She eyed it carefully, assessing. “It’s most likely going to scar.” 

She gathered a sterile needle and thread, and an empty syringe. She stuck its needle into the membrane of a dark bottle and explained, “This is local anesthetic. Open your mouth slightly.”

Silco did so. He bit back a grunt when the needle pierced his swollen lip. Then the sense of his lip fuzzed out, and disappeared into the haze of the drug. He fought the urge to poke at it.

Katya brought thread and needle up to his mouth, and began suturing the split together with expert quickness. While he couldn’t feel his lip, he could feel the pull of the thread and pressure of the needle. The process didn’t hurt, but the ghostly sense of the thread’s pull and needle’s point made him feel nauseous. His mouth watered and bile rose at the back of his throat.

“Do you need to vomit?” Katya asked, watching his eyes fog over and shoulders sway.

Silco shook his head. A mistake, it turned out. The motion loosened the already shaky hold his stomach had, and he pitched over. Luckily, Katya was fast, and had placed a small wastebin under his face before the sick gushed from his mouth. As he retched, she held his hair back and stroked a hand up and down his spine.

When it passed, Katya let go of his hair and placed a hand over his heart. “We’re going to sit you back up now. Go slow.”

Silco’s vision swam as he was guided back up. He winced as the ache and pressure in his skull jostled and thudded during the movement. As if his brains had turned to jelly and sloshed freely and heavily in his skull.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not unusual for such a response after something stressful. You are also most likely concussed, which would cause that reaction, too. Here, I need to knot and clean those sutures.”

She doused a small cotton round with rubbing alcohol and gently pressed it to the stitches on his upper lip. Silco hissed and grimaced, and then winced further when the expression caused a great swell of pain to ripple across his face. 

Katya tossed the sodden pad in the wastebin, and finished tying off the small line of stitches. She then turned to the room’s sink, and filled a small cup with water, before handing it to him.

“Swish, then spit into the sink.”

It hurt, but Silco did so. He watched as blood swirled down the drain, and then sat back on the exam table. Katya’s hand at his back the whole time. But he wasn’t soothed by it. Despite her attentiveness, she felt distant. He knew, and understood, that it was an unconscious defense mechanism on her part; keeping her safe and separate from what had happened in the fissure.

Had his mother behaved similarly in the days following her own assault?

Silco muscled that thought back. It was too much. And he wasn’t the one who needed sturdiness right now. Katya was. 

But she was closed off. 

He could feel it. And he wanted in. Wanted to take care of her.

“Kat – “

“Open your mouth,” she instructed. 

Silco did so, and Katya leaned forward, inspecting.

“Your two front teeth have been chipped.” 

She stood back up, and turned to one of the upper cabinets. Reflexively, Silco ran his tongue over his teeth, and shuddered at the roughened edges of his incisors. Embarrassment joined the sickening ache in his body. 

“It’s not too bad,” Katya said, returning with a bottle of pills in her hand. She gave them to him and explained, “Painkillers. Take two as needed every four hours. Ideally with food. If you can, take the next few days off and keep the apartment dark. Avoid looking at or reading anything too intensely. It’ll help with the concussion.”

While he was grateful for her expertise, Katya’s perfunctory motions and monotone voice continued to madden and scare him. He could feel her slipping away. Retreating from him. 

Instead of grabbing for the pill bottle, he gripped her hands.

“Kat,” he pleaded. She jolted beneath his hold. He internally winced at it, but couldn’t bring himself to release her. She looked at him, her eyes big and glassy. He swallowed, unsure of what to say now that he had her attention. “Just . . . stop for a moment.”

She blinked. And then her body tensed. She didn’t want to stop. Doing her job allowed her mind to settle into the rut of monotony, instead of replaying what had happened in Fissure 27. Stopping meant having to feel the fear and shame rattle through her bones. Stopping meant having to listen to the hateful and disparaging voices pounding in her head. They became clearer the longer she stood still. Voices that insisted that what had happened in the fissure was her fault. 

Her fault because she’d deviated from the quiet, monotonous life she’d set up for her and her brother. She had stupidly stepped into the open arms of the Children of Zaun. Had gone from a solitary, anonymous life to one of community, and it had gotten her sexually assaulted. The tentative understanding and belief in her own value, her own hopes and desires were dashed. 

Were not worth it.

Were nothing. 

Silco gently pulled on her hands and she jumped back into the moment. She stared at him, no longer sure what she was looking at. He had brought her into the Children’s fold, and adamantly spoken of her and Zaun’s inherent value.

She didn’t blame him.

She blamed herself for not keeping herself safe. 

“Why did you come for me?” Katya heard her speak the words, but had no sense of doing it. They suddenly just floated in the space between them.

Despite his swelling eyelids, Silco’s eyes widened. His mouth gaped, those two newly chipped teeth peeking out from under his stitched lip.

He was hurt because of her. Tears began to burn at the corners of her eyes. Her heart began to jump and tap the longer she stood still. Her legs trembled.

“I – because,” Silco stumbled.

The clinic door suddenly creaked open. They both jumped, Katya ripping her hands from Silco’s hold.

“Katya?” Will called.

Katya busied herself at the exam room’s counter. “In here. With a patient.”

Silco watched sadly as Katya retreated, absentmindedly fussing with a canister of cotton balls. A moment later, Will peered into the room. He couldn’t contain his gasp when he saw Silco. 

“What happened?”

“A fight,” Katya answered, adjusting the jar of tongue depressors before turning around. 

She set her hips against the counter and folded her arms tightly across her chest. Will’s eyes widened as he took in her dirtied clothes and scuffed up face. 

“I just finished patching him, and giving the medication instructions.” There was a pause, and then she spoke in Silco’s direction. “You’re able to go. Do you think you can get home, or should I call for ‘Vika?”

Silco’s voice stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to leave. But he also did not want her cross with him. 

Finally, he mumbled, “I can get home on my own.”

Katya’s lips thinned and she nodded, not looking him in the eye. “Put ice on your nose and lip when you get home. It will help with the pain and swelling.”

Silco looked at her for a moment longer before gingerly slipping off the exam table. He limped passed Will, who watched him with careful, distrusting eyes. 

It was late enough now that Silco’s shift had ended. He didn’t care to go find Sevika or anyone else who could let him know what was happening in the way of Kells, and the story that was being spun. Slowly, he made his way for the lift, ignoring the mutters and looks that swirled around him as he went. 

A bone-deep ache settled into his body as he walked away from the mines. His hands throbbed and he winced as his back repeatedly squeezed in small spasms with every other step. But it was nothing compared to his face and head.

Nothing compared to the sinking feeling in his chest.

His feet carried him home, slow and sluggish. He leaned into the door as he shuffled inside the apartment. A warm, scratchy horn piece softly bled from the gramophone, his mother’s humming accompanying it. Silco slipped off his shoes and limped toward his bedroom.

“Silco?”

He knew it was pointless, but he didn’t answer her and tried to shuffle as quickly as he could down the hall.

“Silco? Are you home? – “

Enyd’s voice guttered and dropped as Silco hobbled past the doorway. She could see that something was obviously wrong with his gait, but her heart plummeted at the sight of his face. Hurriedly, she set her sewing aside, leapt from her rocker, and followed him down the hall.

“Silco!”

He grimaced, but kept the course to his room. Until his mother closed the space between them, grabbed a hold of his arm, and spun him around. She gasped and tears immediately welled up in her eyes.

“Wh-what happened?”

“I’m fine. I have medicine for it,” he muttered, gently shaking the pill bottle in his hand.

He went to turn away from her again, but Enyd reached up and gently cupped his jaw. Silco gasped in pain and dropped the bottle. It hit the wood floor with a thud and rolled away.

“What happened?”

“It – Just a fight at work.”

“You need ice. Come with me.”

Too hurt and tired to argue, Silco let his mother lead him back down the hall toward the kitchen. She scooped up the pill bottle as they went. 

She placed him on one of the dining table chairs, and flipped the overhead light on. Silco grunted and squinted at the brightness. His stomach curdled.

. . . keep the apartment dark . . .

Before he could say anything, Enyd was on him, worriedly inspecting the bandages over his nose, the stitches in his upper lip, and the intense bruising and swelling around his eyelids and cheeks. Her breathing was shallow and watery, her eyebrows pitched upward with intense concern.

“Janna’s sake, Silco,” Enyd whispered. Her eyelids fluttered, and the tears that had been shelved on her lower lids trickled down her pale cheeks. 

She turned and went to the icebox, pulling out a tray of frozen cubes. A clean teacloth from a drawer near the stove was fetched, and the ice was dumped into it. Pinching its corners up, she created a small sack, and brought it to him.

As she gently pressed it to his nose and mouth, Silco hissed at the biting cold and tried to jerk his head away. Despite the concern trembling through her limbs, Enyd stayed solid and held the ice to his face regardless. 

Silco’s hand quivered, and he propped an elbow on the table to steady himself. Slowly, his other hand reached up to hold the ice to his sore face. Enyd extricated her hand, and returned to the kitchen. She filled a glass with water, and brought it to the table, sitting in the chair next to her son.

“Mum,” Silco finally croaked, “would you turn the light off? It . . . hurts.”

Enyd stepped to the wall and slapped the light switch. Silco’s shoulders sagged in relief as the kitchen and dining area fell into shadow; the only light the soft, warm glow of the lamp by his mother’s rocking chair in the room over. 

“Silco,” Enyd whispered as she took up her seat again, “what happened?”

Her hands slid across the table, but stopped short of touching him. Her eyes were wide, fear threatened to collapse her lungs. Scared, angry voices began hissing in her ears – the same ones that had initially flooded her when she had learned of the Children of Zaun.

Today he came home with a broken nose and beaten face; what if next time he came home with a bullet wound? What if next time he didn’t come home at all?

Silco swallowed, his throat clicking. His breaths became shorter, shallower as he thought back to what he had seen in that small crack in the cave wall. Kells pinning Katya against the rocks, one hand tangled in her hair, the other snaked between her thighs. He had watched in rage and disgust as Kells’s hips slowly undulated against Katya’s backside.

Rage flooded him, sent his heart pounding. The wrath was not the same as the variety he wielded at Piltover. This was something different. Something somehow deeper, more personal. 

“Another miner assaulted Kat today,” he finally said. “One of the Children.”

Enyd’s eyes widened and her body went cold. She couldn’t find her breath. Her hands and feet began to shake. A memory flashed in her head. Of her and Katya sitting in one of The Drop’s booths after a meeting. She had sneered at a blond young man who had ogled back at her.

“I – I walked in on him holding her against the wall,” Silco recounted, his voice a low scrape. “Forcing himself on her.” He swallowed again and said, “I attacked him.”

Enyd wiped at her eyes, chin wobbling horribly. Her breath had come back, but in small hiccups. 

“I wanted to beat him into the dirt until he wasn’t recognizable,” Silco admitted, “but I knew I needed to get Kat out of there. Away from him.” He paused, mouth gaping for a moment before he quietly said, “I wished someone had done the same for you. Had noticed and come to help.”

A small sob burst through Enyd’s teeth and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Tears streamed down her face. She nodded. She wished that, too.

“But he got up and swung a length of track at us,” he rustled the ice against his face. “He got me. I – I went for him again, and – I don’t remember it happening – but we ended up on one of the turbine blades. He hit me with a rock,” Silco gestured to the side of his head where his hair was matted to his temple with dried blood.

Enyd sobbed, her fingers twitching horribly. They itched to gather him up, to do something.

“He tried again, but then Kat appeared and pushed him off me. Pushed him off the turbine.”

Enyd held her breath, her thrashing heart stilling, fingers going rigid. She watched as, even through the bruises and cuts on his face, a myriad of emotions washed over him. She could see him trying to snatch up any one thing to feel. 

He finally settled on anger.

“If he hadn’t fallen,” Silco grit, barely tethered rage seething through his bloodied teeth, “I would’ve killed him. I wanted to kill him.”

A shiver trickled down Enyd’s spine. She gawped at her boy. Part of her insisted that he was wrong, that this wasn’t him; but another part – a hurt and vengeful part – was irrevocably grateful for what he’d done. Him wanting to kill Katya’s assaulter soothed her, soothed the traumatized seventeen-year-old who had been left in a dark mine tunnel, her skirts ripped, a tearing ache between her thighs, and semen dripping down her legs.

She was proud of him. And that silenced the part that tried to assert his actions, his desire, was wrong.

Finally, Enyd took up Silco’s free hand in both of hers. She kissed his bloody and swollen knuckles before resting her forehead against them.

Will had tried to convince Katya to let him attend to her. He eyed her scratched face and disheveled clothes worriedly. She refused, promising that she was fine. And that Silco had nothing to do with the state she was in. 

Will was unconvinced, insisting that he help her. She had jerked away from his well-meaning hands, and yelled at him to leave her alone.

“I will not be in tomorrow,” was all she said before she grabbed her coat and left. Leaving behind all the supplies she had set aside for the Children and for Enyd.

She pulled the large lapels of her coat up around her head, using them as blinders as she silently walked home. She didn’t hear the city around her. She didn’t know if people called out to her. She didn’t even know if she passed any Enforcers. She focused on the feel of her boots striking the cobblestones, on the static filling her brain, on the scratch of damp fabric rubbing against her thighs.

She threw herself at her door when she arrived home, messily staggering inside. Relief washed over her, a heavy weight that pulled at her taut muscles, loosening them beyond function. She slammed the door’s locks back in place before crumpling to the ground, sobbing and shaking.

She didn’t know how long she laid there, the warped and rough floor scratching against the scuff marks on her cheek. Her tears, for the time being, had run out. Breathing came in raspy, raw gulps. Her head throbbed. She either couldn’t – or didn’t want to – feel her body.

She needed to get up. She didn’t want to spend the night on the floor in front of her apartment door. She wanted to get out of her clothes, and wash the whole, awful day from her body.

With a great amount of effort, Katya staggered to her feet and shed her coat, stumbling for the bathroom. With shaky hands, she peeled her clothes off and started the shower. Her eyes stared down at the pile while she waited for the water to warm. She wanted to toss those clothes, burn them. But that wouldn’t be practical. If she got rid of them, that just meant she’d need new ones; and she didn’t have the money for that. 

Warm steam began to float from the shower stall and she numbly stepped inside. Normally, she relished a hot shower, but now she barely felt the comforting heat of it. Water beat in uneven patterns across her back and shoulders, small rivulets trickling down her arms and legs. At least, that’s what she would usually feel. Now it all felt distant. Almost as if the shower didn’t matter. There was no way to wash away the events of today.

Katya reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes closing as water ran over her face. Suddenly, she was back in the small crevasse. Kells breath on her cheek. His dick pressing against her.

Her eyes snapped open. A great, shuddering gasp burst from her mouth, sucking water droplets down her throat. She coughed and sputtered, her hands gripping fruitlessly against the tiled wall as her legs threatened to give way. Coughing morphed into desperate cries, and Katya slid to the floor, curling up on herself as the shower beat down.

She wanted comfort.

But also wanted to be alone. 

Deserved to be alone. 

The luxury of community had gotten her here, an oily voice in her head jabbed. If she had just told Sevika, Vander, Benzo, and Silco to fuck off, she could’ve gone on living her lonely life with little incidence. 

Yes, she would’ve needed to find a way to deal with Viktor’s rising tuition cost. But she had always found a way before. She didn’t need anyone to step in and shoulder the load with her . . . however nice it had been.

I got you.

Silco’s promise rumbled through her head, agitating and temporarily dispersing the hateful voice.

Katya hiccupped, wiped her nose, and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t deserve to ‘be gotten’. He’d nearly been killed trying to ‘get her’. She didn’t want that for him. Silco’s endeavors were dangerous enough without having to worry about her. 

Her heart ached at the thought. That foreign sense of wanting and desire throwing an equally loud tantrum at the thought of pulling away from him.

Katya reached up and turned the shower off, forgoing soap. Water would have to do. She crawled out of the stall and reached for her scratchy towel. With little care, she dried herself. Before shuffling from the bathroom, she grabbed her father’s pocket watch from the heap of clothes. She left the rest. 

Despite the vile rhetoric in her head, Katya still opted to sleep in the shirt Silco had given her. A small keepsake of when she had dared to want for herself, she figured. She snuggled under her thick new blankets; another lovely item belonging had gotten her.

Her chest caved, the fragile muscle of her heart collapsing like a dying star.

She prayed for sleep to come hard and fast.

It must have, but it was not at all satisfying. It felt like a blink. The night passed so fast, in fact, that she was certain it couldn’t be the next day. But someone was knocking on her apartment door. And the watch she’d left on her nightstand insisted that it was 10 o’ clock in the morning. 

Her head pounded. And the insistent knocking at the door didn’t help. Katya threw her blankets over her head, and waited for whoever it was to get the hint and go away. In the dark nest she’d made for herself, she tucked her knees up toward her chest, grit her teeth and waited. 

Then someone called her name. Katya shot up, blankets pooling at her waist.

Her heart thudded as she gingerly got out of bed, body tired, heavy, and aching. She pulled the blankets around her like a great, puffy cape, and shuffled to the front door. The voice was familiar, but Katya peered through the peephole all the same. 

The sound of scraping, old metal filled her ears as her hands undid the door’s latches and bolts. Wrapping her hand around the knob, Katya took a deep breath in, and opened the door. 

Enyd and Sevika stood on her front step.

Katya felt her resolve waver at the sight of the two women. Her chin wobbled, and she choked on her own breath.

“Oh, Katya,” Enyd whispered, stepping forward and pulling the girl into her arms. “I am so sorry.”

Katya crumbled. She dropped her head into the crook of Enyd’s shoulder and wailed. The older woman did not buckle under the weight of the taller, thicker girl. She stood solidly and held her with strong hands. 

“Come,” Enyd whispered after a minute. “Let’s go inside.”

Katya couldn’t bring herself to deny them. She was too tired. And despite that voice working so hard the night prior to convince her of the safety if loneliness, she wanted their company. 

Enyd ushered them inside, and Sevika locked the door behind her. 

The next hour was a whirlwind.

After wiping her boots on the doormat – chips of white paint flaking off – Sevika steered Katya toward the couch. Enyd headed to the kitchen, and made her tea and something to eat. Once she delivered a steaming mug and a plate of toasted bread with butter, she scurried through the apartment, straightening up and cleaning. She gathered the soiled clothes from the bathroom floor and began scrubbing them in the sink.

While Katya timidly gnawed at her toast, Sevika told her about the fallout of the previous day – or lack thereof. It turned out Kells had no family. He was orphaned at some young age, and had grown up in the mine’s barracks until he had aged out. Having no family made his death easier for people to forget, easier for the mine to ignore. Even the sniveling troupe he ran with did not seem willing to put up much of a fuss. Sevika wagered they were too afraid to go against the rumor in the mines that Kells had attacked Silco first. Katya didn’t doubt her, but she also felt Kells’s friends were probably the types who had loose loyalties. 

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. If she pulled back now, wouldn’t that make her the same?

“I’m glad Silco went to go find you,” Sevika said quietly. Then, with a wry grin, “I almost feel bad giving him grief about it when he ditched me.”

The tops of Katya’s cheeks colored at the story. Then, ducking into her tea, she muttered, “I am glad he came, too.”

A moment later, Enyd strode from the kitchenette, Katya’s damp, but clean, clothes draped over her arm.

“Do you have a drying rack, Katya?”

She shook her head, dark fringe tickling her eyebrows. “I usually just set things up by the radiator.”

She nodded her head toward the old, woven pipes under the window. As if in response, they bumped and hissed. Enyd nodded and stepped forward, shaking out each piece of clothing, and laying them carefully around the warm metal.

“I may have a spare drying rack,” Enyd mused as she fussed with the clothes. “I think its broken, technically. But it would be safer than putting your things directly on or near a heat source. I can bring it over tomorrow – “

“That is very kind, but not necessary, Enyd.”

The older woman shushed Katya’s worries with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You’ll have it.”

“I should get going,” Sevika said, rising from the couch. “I promised to meet Nasha today. We’re playing hooky.”

Enyd looked wholly disapproving, but chose not to rebuke the young woman’s decision. 

“Just don’t push your luck.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” Sevika turned to Katya, before dipping down and giving her a warm squeeze. “I’m glad you’re okay, Kat. Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”

Katya’s throat swelled, and she glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep from crying. She looked up at Sevika and nodded.

“Bye, Ms E!”

“Good bye, Sevika. Be safe.”

Sevika smiled broadly and left. 

Silence seeped into the apartment. Katya trembled despite her blanket cocoon. Enyd eyed her, her face full of motherly concern. And understanding. She stepped toward the coffee table and bent to pick up the plate of crusts.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Silco got hurt.”

Enyd’s hand jerked away from the plate as if it had burned her. Her head snapped up, eyes staring at the bleary-eyed young woman on the couch. 

At once, Enyd rounded the table and took up the cushion Sevika had vacated, pulling Katya close.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Katya sniffed and choked, burying her nose behind the curtain of Enyd’s ebony hair. The decision to draw back, draw away, quickly dissolved as motherly comfort wrapped around her, warmer than her blanket.

“You did nothing wrong, Katya. And Silco is fine. Banged up, but fine.”

Katya keened into Enyd’s shoulder. Thinking on Silco’s mangled face, on how much worse it must look today. Her arms snaked out from the blanket folds and wrapped around the older woman, holding tight. Holding on as if Enyd was her own parent. Enyd held her back with equal fervor. 

“He’s home. Resting. Vander is with him right now.” A pause, and then Enyd whispered again, “It wasn’t your fault, Katya. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She pulled back to draw the young woman’s puffy and tear-streaked face between her hands. “Do you hear me? It was nothing you did.”

Katya hiccupped, her eyes – turned the color of sap by her tears – searched Enyd’s face.

“How long did it take for you to believe that?”

The older woman’s shoulders sagged. She ran her thumbs under Katya’s swollen eyelids, wiping tears as she went.

“Too long, considering it was not my fault,” she quietly answered, her voice hoarse with her truth and her illness. “Don’t let it be so long for you, sweetheart.”

Eventually, Enyd cleared the table and brought Katya a tall glass of water. Instead of drinking it, she slid horizontally on the couch, tucked herself deep into the burrow of her blankets again. Enyd sat with her, a thin hand resting atop her covered feet and ankles. 

She stayed when Katya drifted into uneasy sleep. She was there when Katya woke back up, feeling dry and sick. Clumsily, she reached for the glass of water – Enyd steadying it as she brought it to her parched mouth. The drink was necessary, but not soothing. It cut ravines down her raw throat and sat heavy in her stomach. Her nose wrinkled in a wince and she tucked herself back in her blankets, curling towards the couch’s back cushions. 

Sometime later, Enyd hovered over her cheek and whispered that she was leaving for the day, but that she’d be back the next. Katya tucked her lips between her teeth to keep her from pleading that she should stay. Instead, she nodded. Then, Enyd kissed her temple, and it was a staggering effort for Katya to not start crying again. She listened to the soft padding of Enyd’s light steps, the front door opening and closing, then silence. 

Thick, lonely silence.

In the quiet, thoughts grew like weeds. A contemplative garden taking root in Katya’s brain. She pruned through each thought. How joining with the Children put her more directly in Kells’s path. How Silco had sacrificed his safety to assure her own. How Enyd and Sevika had appeared unprompted on her doorstep, out of concern, out of love, out of a sense of responsibility for her. How other Children had spun the story to protect Katya and Silco from any scrutiny over Kells’s death.

Katya sighed and pressed her forehead into the lumpy couch cushion. 

She wanted Enyd to come back. She wanted Silco tucked against her side, so they could heal together. 

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted.

She thought on Enyd’s words. 

It wasn’t her fault.

Kells had tried to take something from her, and, perhaps, if she did pull away from these people, he would posthumously succeed: He would manage to take away her sense of belonging, the comfort of her community. The idea that she was worth something. And she wanted that. Badly.

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted.

Notes: Our poor baby girl, Katya 😔 She'll come around. Don't you worry.

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear yout thoughts in the comments or reblogs ❤️

Coming Up Next: Rynweaver pays Heimerdinger a visit. Grayson and Bone have a talk.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 28

Got and Have

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Silco and Katya baptize and sanctify there new relationship

Note: Special thanks to @sand-sea-and-fable for the character idea of 'Brixie' ❤️

CW: Frottage, oral sex (female recieving and male receiving), vaginal sex, unsafe sex, multiple orgasms

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.8K

Kat had never once thought to be concerned with what the other people in her tenement thought. This deep in the Sump, most kept to themselves. Too sick to talk, too distrusting to foster relationships, too strung out on drugs to care about much else. She and Viktor lived quietly, unassumingly.

Now, with Silco’s fingers hooking inside her, she was keening and moaning loudly. The realization that she had neighbors flashed on the periphery of her mind. Perhaps she should stifle the grunts and cries pouring from her. Then the heel of his hand circled her clit and she decided she didn’t care.

Earlier, when her apartment door came into sight, her heart’s beat became a furious patter. She squeezed Silco’s fingers, and she was certain she could feel the blood rushing through his hand quicken. Their feet kept the same pace, but the energy between them heightened. Buzzed like a struck tuning fork. They both kept their eyes on the door, for fear that if they glanced at one another they’d never make it inside.

Kat closed and locked the door behind them, and it was over.

Silco was on her before she’d barely turned around, pinning her to the door, mouth wide and eager. She met him with equal fervor, hands clawing at his back and shoulders. He wedged his thigh between hers and pressed up. Kat mewled into the kiss and rocked her hips over the saddle of his leg.

He worked her coat off her shoulders, and it fell to the ground in a heap. Unwilling to part in any meaningful way, they each thrashed and danced their boots off.

“It was so bloody hard to stay focused today,” he had breathed between kisses.

“I know.”

“I could taste you all fucking day. Smell you as if you were right under my nose.”

“I couldn’t – hng – stop thinking about your mouth. Having it on me. In me.”

Silco groaned. Her hands went for his belt; his grabbed at the buttons of her blouse. They stumbled toward the bathroom, locked together with greedy hands and sloppy kisses.

His belt had been freed first – flung haphazardly into a corner. Quickly followed by Kat’s vest and top. Silco knelt, shucking the trousers and underwear down her legs, as she twisted at the waist to turn the showerhead on.

A yelp burst from her when Silco mouthed at the crux of her thighs. She spun back and watched the man on his knees. Warm, calloused hands creeped up her legs and held them while he feasted. Intense, blue eyes stared up at her. A guttural moan rippled from her mouth as his tongue flicked her clit. Her hands tried desperately to find some kind of hold on the walls as her legs trembled.

Before she could tumble, Kat had pulled at Silco’s shirt and dragged him back up to standing. His lips latched hungrily onto hers, tongue prying her mouth apart as they undid the clasps of his shirt and tossed it away.

Then, Kat had dropped to her own knees. She held his gaze while she popped the buttons on his trousers, and pulled them and his undershorts down in one swoop. His cock bobbed free and smeared a string of precum on her cheek. She kept his gaze like he’d done her, and licked the underside of him from root to tip.

That same hot, feral need that had pummeled him in the morning hit him again like a chem-tank. The urge to have her, take her, fill her a near blinding thing. Kat’s tongue swirled his glans, gathering a new bead of arousal. He fought the jerk in his hips as her hands slid up the back of his thighs. She gripped his buttocks firmly and bobbed down the length of him. Silco moaned, chin tipping toward the ceiling, a hand threading itself through Kat’s thick hair. The heat and wet of her mouth felt like summer in Zaun. It made him see stars and forget to breathe.

She pulled off, and made to rise. Silco gripped her arms and hauled her into another fierce kiss, letting their tastes mix and mingle between their tongues.

Mouths linked and bodies pressed together, they had stumbled into the shower. Warm water sprayed in uneven spurts over them. The soot on their skin ran off in rivulets, and spun in gray whirlpools down the drain.

Silco pushed her against the tiles, his hands roaming hungrily. Palming her breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers, sweeping down and squeezing her ass.

Now, his fingers were inside her, the heel of his hand grazing the swollen nub at the apex of her labia, pulling wild sounds from her. Her lips couldn’t even pucker into kisses anymore, stuck in a slack-jawed position that allowed moans and whimpers of all kinds to slide out. Her breath came in wet huffs fanning across Silco’s cheek. He watched her intently (had he even blinked?), the muscles of his left arm flexing furiously as he worked her. His body glistened and rippled in the sheen of the water.

It made him look like a dream, Kat thought.

Silco’s free hand swept down her left thigh, drawing it up to hook around his hips. The shift in her pelvis opened her more, his fingertips curling, pressing. Kat cried out, trying to move frantically against him. The heel of his hand met her, moving in tandem with the swing of her hips.

“L-less pressure. Pull your h-ha-A-nd back a bit.”

“Always listen when they speak.” Another of Brixie’s lessons. “They will always know their body better than you do.”

Silco drew the heel of his hand back a scant, and after a few circles, Kat’s breath became increasingly shallow and ragged. The leg around him trembled. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, little crescent moons blossoming beneath them.

“A-almost . . . almost.”

Silco watched her intently, felt her deeply. The way her thick, expressive brows pitched up. The way the plush feel of her choked up around his fingers. She was beautiful, spectacular. He could not decide if he wanted to keep watching, or close the space between their mouths. To swallow up the sounds she’d make when she’d finally crest and tip.

Kat’s insides lifted and tightened as her orgasm skirted closer, licking at the base of her spine in teasing laps. Until it wrapped around her completely. She wailed, her hips slamming back against Silco’s hand and grinding feverishly against it. Silco listened to her cue and pressed firmly against her, hand oscillating frantically as his fingers arched and pressed as firmly as they could.

He didn’t blink as she broke apart over him. Utterly enamored and turned on by how her skin flushed, by how her face tightened into a plead before melting in relief. His hand slowed as her hips did.

The hold he had on her remained secure as Kat’s body softened and grew post-orgasm heavy. He bent down and kissed her, a moan vibrating against his lips as he withdrew his fingers. He brought them up as he drew back, and placed the pads against her kiss-bitten lips. Without hesitation she took them into her mouth and sucked, eyes hazy with satisfaction.

“You see how distracting you are?”

Kat’s lips curled into a drowsy smile around his fingers, before pulling back.

“I am not sorry.”

Silco smiled darkly, and closed the space between them. The head of his dick probed and pressed against the top of her cleft, brushing over her sensitive nub. Kat whimpered. His left hand gripped her right buttock, tugging at it firmly in instruction. She nodded, flecks of water flying off her head.

They moved in tandem: Silco stooping slightly while Kat bounced up. She wrapped both legs tightly around his waist, and he gripped her ass, her spine firmly pressed against the wall. While not broad and wide like Vander or Benzo, laboring in the mines for most of his life had laid deceptive strength in his long, wiry muscles.

Kat – now hovering a couple inches above him – ducked down, tingling lips hungrily sliding across his. Her body jolted at the first press of his cock against her. She canted her hips in his hands, bettering the angle. Silco tentatively thrust forward, and the tip of him nestled within her. They both gasped, bodies quivering, hearts racing. He drew back, and pressed forward again until he was fully sheathed. Kat keened; he gulped down a great breath, face pressing against the warm, wet skin of her throat.

She felt so good. Perfect. Warm, wet, and snug. His mind went blank. Part of him wondered if he could stay right here, forever in her hold.

Then the clutch of her pulsed around him, and Silco’s brain surged back online, suddenly remembering the need to move. His hips drew back, and he slid home. Again. And again. Kat’s breasts jostled against his chest. Water collected between them and then fell to the floor in a sharp, splashing rhythm as the connection between them met and broke over and over. The wall behind her shook. Neither could bring themselves to care.

If a whole building could be undone by a good fuck, so be it.

Kat pulled Silco back into a searing kiss. Mostly tongues, teeth, and shuddering breath. One of her heels slipped down his back. She quickly pressed into his tailbone to keep from falling further, less their union be broken. The pressure sent him deeper, and she moaned loudly when the head of him hit something so profound it sent sparks bursting behind her eyelids.

Her other heel hooked itself beneath the cut of one of his ass-cheeks and pressed up. His pelvis crashed closer, wiry pubic hair a near constant tickle against her swollen clit. She threw her head back and panted.

“Yes. Y-yes! Keep d-do-O-ing that!”

Silco renewed the grip he had on her, and firmed his feet against the wet floor, fucking her with single-minded focus. One of Kat’s breasts bounced up, and he caught its nipple between his teeth, and sucked hard. She cried out and clawed at his shoulders and back. Her body shook and rattled. She was a live-wire, primed to short-circuit in the best possible way.

“Keep going keep going keep going keep – oh! – “

Her second orgasm ripped through her with shocking intensity. A harsh cry blazed up her throat with searing heat. Her whole body went rigid, locked into itself as pleasure shook her from the inside out.

All the while, Silco dutifully kept his pace. It was as much for her as it was him. He could feel a similar release building in his own body; navel lifting, balls tightening. The excitement in his belly coiled as her cunt squeezed and pulsed at him through her climax.

When Kat sighed and began to sag, he quickened his pace.

He was close.

So close.

He kept a careful eye on that spool of pleasure – waiting, feeling for the first sign of his unraveling.

He pulled off her breast, and hissed, “K-kat.”

Even through the murk of her orgasm-addled brain, she heard and understood him. Her legs loosened around his waist. He pumped once, twice more before pulling out and thrusting forward, across her perineum and through the cleft of her ass. Silco gasped his climax, the sound transforming into a gravelly moan as his cock spurt ropes of himself onto the shower wall. He panted against her collarbone; his skin prickled with goose-flesh.

“Holy shit,” Kat breathed, head still tilted up against the wall.

Silco could only nod against her.

He gulped and managed, “I need a cigarette.”

Kat playfully slapped his shoulder, and let her legs slide down until her feet touched the wet tiles below. Silco’s hands stayed on her, keeping her close. He took in her glowing pink face, her eyes glittering like the hexes they’d stolen. There was nothing to do but kiss her. So, he did.

After, they actually showered; washing the last remnants of soot away with the thin bar of soap kept in the shower’s corner.

Kat gave Silco a towel to dry himself off with, and wear around his waist while his clothes were being laundered. Despite having just had sex with him, she still blushed when she donned the shirt he’d gifted her many weeks ago.

That thread in his chest vibrated as if it had been plucked. A chord of adoration thrummed through him at the sight. He tugged at the hem of the garment and drew her closer.

“The morning after you sewed up Benzo,” he said, “and I saw you in this, I wanted to say how good you looked wearing it.”

A bolt of joy shot through Kat. The fragments of it fizzed in her fingers and toes. Her face pinched in a pleased smile.

“Is that so?” Silco nodded. “Well, may I say that you look quite dashing in my towel.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he leaned forward to kiss her. It was an easy, intimate, sweet thing, and it made Kat happier than she could remember being in a long time.

“If you really need a cigarette, you can smoke one,” she said as they drew apart.

Silco cocked his head at her. “I thought smoking was bad for me.”

“It is. But . . . I want you to be comfortable here.”

“Such a gracious host.”

He kissed her again.

“Just do it by a window,” she insisted, to which he smirked and nodded.

They drew apart, gathered their dirty clothes – Silco pulling his cigarette tin from his trousers – and headed to the kitchen. A large pot of water was heated, and the sink was plugged and filled. They worked easily together. Kat dunked and sloshed clothes in the hot water. She rubbed out soot marks with the same small bar of soap from the shower, before handing them to Silco. He submerged them in the sink, rinsing and wringing the items out. She quietly watched the flex of his muscles as he twisted the sopping clothes, grateful she could hide the color rising in her cheeks behind the steam wafting off the large pot.

When the task was done, Silco took the damp garments to the living room to hang on the drying rack, and Kat went about making tea.

He spread the items evenly across the rungs, mindful of the rack’s uneven footing. As he gently tugged the fold out of his shirt, he noticed the stack of books behind the rack. Carefully, he pulled it back a foot, and knelt in front of the pile. His eyes roved the spines curiously. A finger reached out to gently brush over the embossed titles and ragged jackets. The texts’ subjects varied greatly; from the sciences to history to law to mathematics to the arts. He plucked out a slim book on empires and government. Cracking the small living room window, he lit a cigarette and leafed through the pages.

A couple minutes later, Kat rounded the corner, two steaming mugs in hand. She eyed the book he was thumbing through, and asked, “Ah. Which one are you looking at?”

“Ezra S. Flint’s The Rise and Fall of Runeterra’s Ancient Empires.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know if Papa ever got around to reading that one.”

She set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped on the couch. Silco stubbed his cigarette out on the bricks outside and shut the window. He settled next to her, book in hand. Kat swung her legs over his lap and nestled her head against his shoulder. She covered them in one of her new blankets, and eyed their clothes on the drying rack. She quite liked the sight of their things cohabitating. Warm and heavy with comfort, Kat’s body melted against his, and Silco looped an arm around her shoulders.

They picked through pages of Flint’s book, discussing points of interest. Taking note of what felled mighty nations and what bolstered them. Dreaming what might work for the future of Zaun.

But their coupling was new, and so it was not long before their mouths found one another’s again. Wasn’t long before their breathing became labored and the air between them became hot. Wasn’t long before Silco slid his hand up his shirt and fondled Kat’s breasts. Wasn’t long before Kat ripped open the towel around Silco’s waist and got onto her knees. Wasn’t long before they stumbled to Kat’s bedroom, their tea undrunk and forgotten, the book lost in the folds of the blanket.

Silco took her from behind, enthralled by the way the meat on her hips and thighs jiggled with each thrust. Kat savored the depth he was able to reach, the way his balls beat rhythmically against her backside. She shared her pleasure with affirming grunts and moans, hands curling tightly into her bedding. He snuck his clever fingers underneath, and worried at her clit until her back bowed and she cried out. He cupped her as she rut against him, other hand holding tightly to her hips as he rode towards his own high. When the tell-tale pleasurable swipes up his low spine intensified, and when he felt his balls begin to squeeze and lift, he pulled out. Cum streaked across Kat’s gluteal fold and down her thigh.

Their pants filled the air, each dazed and lost in their own completion. When Silco came to, he leaned forward and kissed the small of her back. Kat giggled, turning her head to look at him. She was iridescent, glittering like starlight. Something warm fluttered madly in his chest at the sight.

“Let me fetch a towel.”

He reluctantly peeled himself from her side and whisked to the bathroom, returning with a towel he’d dampened with warm water. With a tenderness Kat had never known in a bedmate, he cleaned her. That great ribbon of Desire wrapped around her throat, twisting and making it difficult to breathe.

“You can just toss it there,” she said softly, gesturing to a tattered, caned hamper near the dresser.

He did so, and crawled into bed with her. The mattress was thin in all regards: in thickness and width. However, the latter was of no concern to them; the less space between them, the better. Kat drew the blanket up around their naked bodies, and they knotted their arms and legs together in a puzzle of impossible closeness. Their body heat, the metronome of their breaths, and the fulfillment in their hearts led them into a gentle sleep.

For the first time in a long time, Kat slept through the quiet.

When she did rouse, she listened to it at first. The soft heaviness of it filling her head like thick fluffs of cotton. No tail-ends of mournful cries, or rattling of trash bins outside as someone sifted through the contents in search of food scraps.

 Just quiet.

Just peace.

Her eyelids peeled back and the hazy, warm dark flooded in. Silco’s neck was in front of her, his jugular a steady pulse against her cheek and temple. Kat tilted her nose into the cut of his jaw and breathed deeply. A tang of citrus, earthy terra, and the sweetness of tobacco leaf. Lazily, she kissed his neck and tightened her limbs around him.

A deep sigh, hoarse with sleep vibrated from Silco’s chest, and he drew her closer.

“Good morning, my lovely,” he rumbled.

The endearment made Kat’s heart flutter manically, and a bolt of heat shot down her spine and pulsed between her thighs.

“Morning.”

She lifted her head out from under his jaw and found his mouth. Their kisses were lazy and languid, as they’d been the morning before.

Unlike the morning before, they grew deep and heated without any tentative investigation of the other – verbal or tactile. Perhaps it was because they had already crossed the boundary of bodily intimacy; perhaps the smokiness of wakening made them pay less attention to the details of fore-play; perhaps they were concerned that someone would come busting through the door again.

In any case, it wasn’t long before sweet kisses turn breathy and wanting. Silco both rolled onto Kat, and was pulled on top of her by arms strong with Desire. He nestled in the cradle of her thighs, her knees lifting to secure around his waist.

With no other preamble, Silco slid inside her with a slow thrust. They both shuddered at the union, and Kat loosed a low mewl. Their lips found each other again, and he began a steady, burning pace.

She clawed at his shoulders, legs squeezing his sides as her hips rolled in tandem with his. When their mouths weren’t melded together, her breath came in wet, lustful stutters. Affirmations and curses tumbling out in between.

She was noisier than Silco had expected.

Kat had shown that she was by no means meek nor wilting, but her personality was not bombastic, either. She was solid, steady, and thoughtful. It surprised – and delighted – Silco to find that her bed-instincts leaned baser. Touching the more animal-side of human-nature and need, instead of the protected poise people learn. The sex workers he’d laid with purred crafted (but effective) scripts; the others seemed to choke down any utterance that had wanted to escape from their throats. It hadn’t bothered Silco, but now that he’d heard Kat’s coarse grunts, unabashed wails, and knowing directives, he greatly preferred it.

She felt like an equal.

Kat threw her head back, crown kissing the pillow, neck bared. Silco lunged forward and mouthed at her, teeth grazing, lips sucking. A delighted sigh blew from her, and her body squeezed him. His lips kissed a path back up to her lips, and she excitedly welcomed him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him close, fingers hooking into his hair.

A sumptuous heat warmed Kat from the inside out. Spreading slowly through her like a sunrise, toe to top. The drag of Silco’s cock pulling in and out of her was additional flint. The kindling of her insides curled and glowed. Until she finally sparked; that sunshine warmth crested, as did she.

Her orgasm was a full, slow wave. Spilling through her body like a wide ribbon of molasses, deep and cloying. It receded as waves do: steadily and evenly. Leaving her satisfied, but not rattled. A contralto-pitched moan pealed from her, a low chord that harmonized with Silco’s increasingly erratic breaths.

He was unwilling to peel himself off her, but it was unfortunately necessary as he felt his impending release tightening and tightening. With a grunt, he pulled back and out, sitting on his heels. His hand was quick to find himself, and took only three more pumps to spill onto Kat’s stomach. His abs flexed, and he gasped as tingles of pleasure and starlight-brightness zipped through him, stilling his mind and blotting out his vision.

The sight beneath him faded back into his eyeline with beautiful, real crispness. Silco brushed his hair from his eyes, and leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on Kat’s drowsy lips. He carefully unfolded himself from the blanket, and went to retrieve the spent towel from the night before.

As he stepped back to the bed, his gaze was pulled to the singular, small window in her room. He paused.

“It’s snowing.”

Kat clucked her tongue. “Is that what you call it? More like slush, perhaps.”

“No. I mean, it’s actually snowing. Look.”

Kat turned her head toward the window, and her eyes widened.

It was snowing!

A rarity for the Undercity. While the temperatures would drop in the cold season, precipitation usually remained damp; anything frozen melting as it passed through the warmed clouds of smoke and Grey that blanketed the Underground. Sometimes the Promenade got a dusting, but only just. As if the sky was a conservative baker rationing their sugar.

As such, the Undercity was ill-equipped to deal with such weather. Conveyor car tracks became deadly ski slopes. Stairways and bridges became treacherous ice rinks. Snow, heavy and wet, collected in banks throughout the Lanes, inhibiting any travel other than foot. And even then, most people ended up on their asses.

But most importantly – most excitingly – was that this sort of unusual weather event stalled mine production. The machinery struggled against the ice. Vehicles could not make it through the streets, deliveries could not be received nor transported. And Rynweaver was not about to pay people to stand around. He would also be a fool to run operations under unto conditions after the mudslide and tunnel collapse fiasco.

Silco and Kat shared a hopeful look. He hurried over and wiped her off before falling back in bed. Each relished the fact that now they had no where to be but in each other’s company.

Eventually, the pair managed to peel themselves from bed and shower, washing off the musty smell of sleep and sex. Silco’s clothes were mostly dry, and Kat gave back his undershirt to wear.

She looked away as she said too-coolly, “I wouldn’t mind another if you have any to spare.”

Silco chuckled, tucking his shirt into his trousers. He reached for her hand and drew her into his chest.

“I’m sure I could find something.”

He kissed her, the feeling of her lips growing intoxicating in their familiarity. Peeking over her shoulder as they parted, he reached around and picked up the two cold cups of tea they’d left the night before. He took them to the kitchen, grabbed a small saucepan, poured the liquid in, and went about reheating it on the stovetop. Kat skirted around him and prepared two bowls of oats.

She loved how easily they shared space.

After breakfast, once the dishes were washed and dried, Kat donned her coat and gave Silco her scarf to wear. Hand-in-hand, they traveled through the Sump and up into the Entresol.

Despite the inherent hazards the snow and ice brought to the infrastructure of the Undercity, it didn’t keep Kat and Silco from looking up in wonder at the fat, off-white flakes drifting from the Grey. Snow hadn’t reached the Undercity in over a decade, and they were not the only ones enrapt by it.

As they carefully meandered up the chasm of the Underground – only slipping once or twice, causing fits of yelping laughter – they passed other Fissurefolk. Children yelling and squealing about the snow, squatting behind steep banks of it and hurling snowballs at each other. Some adults seemed captivated by it, watching it fall, chuckling warmly at the children enjoying themselves. Other adults were, understandably, less thrilled; scowling as they tried to push snow off roofs with brooms and chip ice off their windows.

They passed alleys and squares where bins had been set ablaze, the chemical fluid used to light it and the trash within creating multi-colored flames that spewed bruised-colored smoke. Trenchers huddled around, sharing flasks of liquor that warmed them from the inside as much as the fires warmed their outsides.

Silco and Kat arrived at his and Enyd’s door rosy-faced and dusted with snow. They entered in a merry tumble of slush-slick boots and happy conversation. Surprised, Enyd looked up from folding and organizing laundry in the living room.

“You two walked here from the Sump? In this?” she greeted, hurrying over to them. While she tried to sound disapproving, her smile and the light in her eyes greatly defeated the effect.

“Blessed Snowdown to you, too, Mother.”

“Not even a coat, Silco!”

“I gave him grief for that as well,” Kat chuckled, brushing snow from her own coat before hanging it up.

“You’ll catch your death!” Enyd scolded. “And then what would happen with the Children, hmm? You’d just leave them in the lurch!”

Silco rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, mum. Look: A scarf. And a thermal.” He opened his shirt enough to display the white waffle-weaved fabric beneath.

The matriarch clucked her tongue. “Hardly enough for this squall. Go dry your heads. And, Silco, you go put on fresh, dry clothes. There are towels in the bathroom. I’ll start the kettle.”

Obediently, the pair took their boots off and shuffled toward the bathroom while Enyd went the opposite direction toward the kitchen.

Kat could not recall a more soul-soothing Snowdown.

Those she’d had with her own family, while precious and special in their own fragile way, were always tinged with loneliness. She’d catch the bleary sadness in her Papa’s eyes as he mourned another year without her mother. A sharp whip of anger would arc up her spine at the sight. The sting of abandonment too hot to ever temper into something like grief.

The cold season was also precarious for Viktor. Colds, flus, bronchitis, and other maladies lurked around every corner. Spreading through the Undercity like wildfire as the freezing temperatures encouraged closer quarters. The increase in proximity sent illness rates spiking. It was the only time Kat and Will were provided respirator masks at work, as they doled out decongestants and steroid shots to keep sick miners working.

She loved her father and brother more than words could ever express. She missed them with a bone-deep ache. And their relationships had been mostly defined by struggle and tragedy.

Comparatively, her connection with Silco and Enyd had been fostered under the lens of possibility. It was warmer, lighter. And comforted Kat in a way her life with Papa and Viktor could not.

Once their hair had been toweled dry and Silco had changed, they gathered around the kitchen table. Enyd set out tea cups, a small pitcher of cream, a bowl of cubed sugar, and a basket of bread she’d made the day prior. Conversation flowed easily, as it always had. Kat slathered a generous swath of butter and marmalade across a slice of bread, and savored each tart bite.

She savored the company more.

In the afternoon, Enyd pulled out a small wood case of dominos, and they played Noxian Train. Kat was unsurprised to learn that Silco was a very sore loser. She was surprised when Enyd smoked them both with a cool, cocky flare. Kat was pleased to watch her cheeks flush in triumph. It distracted from how they had sharpened from when she’d last seen the woman.

Late afternoon, Silco stepped out for a cigarette, and she followed Enyd to the kitchen and began helping her prepare dinner. The small woman pulled a goat shank nearly half her size from the icebox. Kat’s jaw dropped. She’d never seen such a large slab of meat.

“One of my Promenade clients gives me some ridiculous butcher’s cut every Snowdown as a gift. I’m always wary of preparing it because it is typically more than Silco and I could ever eat. I don’t want such a thing to go to waste. But, now that you are here – “

She gave Kat a loving smile that made her feel light-headed with gratitude.

They set about readying supper: crusting the meat in a melody of chopped herbs and lining its cooking tray with onions and heads of garlic; slicing and boiling a robust head of cabbage; pan-frying wedges of ruby tubers. It wasn’t long before Enyd’s kitchen smelled delicious and Kat’s mouth was watering.

When Silco returned, it was with a ruddy face and a bottle of dessert sherry in his coat.

“I thought you just went out for a cigarette,” Enyd exclaimed.

“I did. I just happened to go smoke outside a liquor shack that was open.”

“You didn’t need to spend your money on such a thing, Silco,” Enyd admonished, but, like when he and Kat had arrived in the morning, her lips drew into a pleased smile.

“I figured it would be in poor form to knock the place over on a holiday.”

With playful exasperation, she whipped a tea towel at him.

“Go on, both of you, set the table. I can finish this up.”

Kat wiped the table down; he set plates and utensils. Before long, the small table strained under the weight of a platter of roasted goat, a large bowl of cabbage, and a basket of crispy red chips.

Once voracious and excited hungers were sated, they sat back in their seats, plates peppered with gristle, strands of veg, and tuber skins. Silco rested his hand on Kat’s knee, and firelights fluttered in her stomach despite its new load.

When the groans about how full they were subsided, Silco got up and began clearing the table. Kat followed, stashing leftovers in smaller containers and slipping them in the ice box. He scrubbed the dishes. She dried them. Enyd watched, a strange shade of peace settling over her face. Silco poured three small glasses of the dessert sherry, and they toasted each other.

Afterward, they gathered in the living room. Enyd set a record on the gramophone. Soft, trilling music filled the space. She took up her rocking chair, and Silco sat on the nearby couch. He pulled Kat into his lap, and for a flicker fear lit up within her. Enyd quickly doused it.

“I was waiting for you two,” she said slyly, picking up her knitting.

Kat relaxed into Silco’s frame and he squeezed her waist, resting his temple on her shoulder.

Evening deepened and the snow lessened. Conversation drifted into amiable quiet. Nearing ten, Enyd’s throat began its nightly tickle, and Kat retrieved the medicine from the bathroom with a glass of water.

“Bedtime for me, I think,” she wheezed, handing the glass back to Kat. She lifted from her rocker with some effort. “Do not stay up too late. The weather is clearing. I don’t think the mine will be shut down tomorrow.”

“We won’t,” Silco promised, watching her shuffling carefully. “Good night, mum.”

“Good night, you two. Blessed Snowdown.”

“Blessed Snowdown,” Kat replied, also watching her movements with a discerning eye.

Enyd’s bedroom door opened, then snicked shut. Kat sighed and set the glass down, before returning to Silco’s side.

Nestling against him, the warmth that had filled her body all day began to ebb. The chill of regular life on the horizon. Struggle and responsibility.

Silco’s lips pressing against her hair tugged her back. She tilted her chin up, and gave him a small smile.

“It is alright if I stay? I should have asked.”

“I insist that you stay.” His hand curled around her shoulder possessively before kissing her. A heavy slide of lips and gentle glancing of tongue tips.

Kat sighed through her nose as they parted, her head filled the space between his chin and shoulder. Silco felt a foreign, but not unwelcome, pressure in his chest; a fizzing itch in his fingers. He gathered her closer, tucked his long legs up to thoroughly ensnare her.

In the dim of the room, in the quiet of a snowy evening, their words barely made a sound.

“I got you.”

“You have me.”

Notes: EEEEEE! They finally did it, folks! We made it! It only took 28 chapters 😆I hope the end result was satisying considering the wait. Let me know what you thought ❤️

Oh. And just to be clear: I am by no means advocating for the 'pull-out' method. My thought is the Undercity is too poor to spend funds on contraception. If there is any, it's exculsively at higher end brothels.

Comments, reblogs, and recommendations keep me and other author's motiviational fires burning! We love to hear what y'all are thinking.

If you are enjoying this story, and have the means to do so, please consider supporting me by visiting my ko-fi page!

Coming Up Next: A time skip to warmer months.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 25

Blue and Gold

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Vander is stressing the fuck out. Maybe a little giftie will calm his nerves. Katya dissociates like a champ.

CW: References to sexual assault, trauma responses, severe dissociation

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.8K

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a complicated whirlwind for Vander.

One afternoon, Sevika had burst into the tavern, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to the back of the house. She hurriedly whispered about what had happened in the mines: that Silco and Katya had gotten into a fight with Kells. Kells severely injured Silco, and Katya had pushed Kells to his death. It seemed to be undecided whether that had been an accident.

Silco confirmed the events when Vander went to see him the next day. Enyd had tubed Vander, asking if he could come sit with her son while she was out.

Of course he would.

He was not at all prepared for what he saw when he arrived.

His Brother’s appearance made Vander’s stomach drop to his steel-toed boots. Vice-like fear and anger clamped down on his heart. His silver eyes flitted around Silco’s face. The bandage across his nose, the stitches in his lip, the angry bruises and welts that covered his face . . .

Vander hoped that Kells knew – where ever his retched soul had wandered off to – how lucky he was that he was already dead. Otherwise, Vander would’ve hunted him down. Would’ve used him as the body to break his gauntlets in on.

Silco peered up at his friend from his languid position on the couch. His eyes glacier blue slits between the purple swollen folds of their lids.

“Make sure he stays still and drinks water and eats. His food may need to be mashed up a bit. Keep the apartment dark,” Enyd said as she pulled her thick sweater on. She wrapped a scarf around her head, and drew it up over her nose.

Vander nodded, but struggled to take the information in. He hadn’t realized just how badly the fight had gone.

Once Enyd left, Vander rushed to Silco’s side. He fought not to take up his Brother’s long, elegant hands. Even under the calluses and near-permanent stains of dirt, anyone could see that those hands didn’t belong wielding a pick-axe. They belonged writing policies and demands for Zaun; they belonged in big important buildings, shaking other important hands.

Vander very much wanted to hold them.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he listened as Silco told him what had happened. The whole story – from his perspective. Vander’s stomach roiled nauseatingly at hearing what Kells had been caught doing to Katya. The curdle deepened as he watched Silco’s face contort under the swelling: barely restrained rage flickering beneath. Dangerous fire.

“A couple of the Children carried me to the clinic,” Silco explained, his usually smooth voice rough and nasally. “They said they would take care of the story. There’s been no fall-out?”

Vander shook his head. “Nothin’. An’ no one’s gonna say nothin’. Kells wazza cunt who got what he deserved.” A beat, and then he asked, “How’s Katya?”

Silco melted back into the couch. The gesture felt more defeated than relieved.

“She’s . . . She didn’t seem okay when I left the clinic yesterday. When she told me to leave.” Silco’s chin dipped, “I should’ve stayed with her.”

Vander’s gut twisted. “Well, yer mum’s with her now. She’ll be okay.”

When Silco didn’t say anything, when his expression remained distant and forlorn, Vander became fidgety and added, “Don’ worry ‘bout it, Sil. Kells is gone, n’ no one’s tryin’ to make a fuss about it. Here. Just lie back. I’ll make you a cuppa, yeah?”

In the days following, it really seemed like the whole thing would blow over. That this mild wrinkle within the Children’s ranks had already been ironed out. Until one evening, about a week after Kells’s death, a small group of three older teen boys approached Vander in the early hours of The Last Drop being open.

Their timing was purposeful; only a small handful of beleaguered and elderly Zaunites were peppered around the tavern. Men and women who didn’t want to be talked with or entertained. They only wanted the momentary peace a rocks glass or tankard could offer before they had to get home, go to bed, and live another day. It was a time during working hours Vander was more available.

It was a time there were fewer witnesses.

“We need to talk,” one had said. His upper lip quivered as he took in the man-mountain before him.

Vander’s eyes narrowed, and he peered over the group. His customers appeared at ease, so he jerked his head, instructing the young men to follow him. His instincts fizzed as they trailed behind. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, his muscles coiled and braced.

Vander slid into one side of a shadowed booth. The others toddled in awkwardly with all the grace of new whumplings fighting for space in the nest, shoulders bumping and legs twisting together.

“What’dya need?” he asked once they were settled across from him.

His eyes cut from one face to the next. He recognized them as part of the gaggle that had orbited around Kells, but knew none by name.

“You heard about what happened in the mines a couple days ago,” the one on the right said. He was wiry with curly brown hair and pale skin. Dark green eyes blinked up at Vander under thick lashes.

Had his instincts not been priming his mind and body for some kind of fight, Vander would’ve thought him pretty.

“Aye. I have.”

“Well, what’re you gonna do about it?” The middle one demanded.

Vander’s nostrils lifted. This one had limp dark-blond hair, a pug nose, and too-round cheeks that were splotched angry-red.

“I wasn’ aware there was something to be done about it.”

“Silco killed Kells!” the one on the left hissed, his dark brown skin radiating vengeful heat. Black-brown eyes blistered beneath his thick, ebony hair.

Vander’s eyes flashed quick-silver. “He didn’.”

“He was going to if the medic he’s been eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!” the middle one said, pig-nose flaring. “They probably planned it together.”

Vander shot up from his seat, knuckles hitting the table with a crack! as he braced his arms and loomed menacingly. The three young men collectively jumped, and hunkered back into the booth. The vinyl at their backs crackled as if in warning. Gone were their indignant expressions, replaced by utter shock and fear as they beheld the behemoth lording over them. Vander’s body and wrath blocked out the little light that reached into the booth’s alcove.

“Listen up,” he hissed, his voice all growl and warning grit. He bared his teeth at them and loomed closer. “Kells died ‘cause he made a stupid, evil decision” – it wasn’t his place to speak about Katya’s assault, so he kept it firmly tucked down his throat – “n’ he got what he deserved, frankly speakin’.” He leaned closer, broad shoulders hunching up threateningly like hackles on a beast, “This conversation is over. ‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya tryin’ to rustle up more problems, you’ll be the first bodies I test my gauntlets on. Savvy?”

After a beat, all three reluctantly nodded and crawled out of the booth, scampering for the door.

Vander stalked back behind the bar rubbing his temples, mind spinning like a top.

It was one thing to fight with Topside. It was another for it to happen amongst the Children. The burgeoning rebellion wouldn’t withstand in-fighting. Zaun would bleed out, wouldn’t make it past its infancy, and be buried by Piltover again. The Children of Zaun needed to stick together, Brothers and Sisters arm-in-arm; an impenetrable wall of scrap metal, zeal, and will.

Then the threat he’d delivered to those three yellow-bellied malcontents . . .

“‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya . . . .”

A wince creased Vander’s face. He didn’t suppose threatening Brothers and Sisters did anything for morale or loyalty. There was the chance that he had just made things worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He needed to keep his temper in check.

That was difficult when his Brother was concerned. Vander was protective of Silco, loyal to him – perhaps even more so than he was to Zaun. Although, Vander felt they were often one in the same. Yes, they had dreamed up the idea together, small and squatted behind minecarts, but Silco latched onto Zaun like it was air. Cleaner and purer than anything in Piltover. He had always led the charge from there on out. And Vander was at his side.

“Yer as loyal as a dog to ‘im, Van,” Benzo had said one night, long before the Children of Zaun.

He had said it with a certain amount of distaste that had Vander’s brow curling questioningly.

“He’s my best mate. ‘Course I am.”

Vander’s heart and shoulders softened at the memory. But immediately tensed again when he recalled what the blond teen had said.

“He was going to if the medic he’s eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!”

Vander’s hand dropped heavy onto the bar top, gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins. The comment had been innocuous, and utterly meaningless. The shithead had only meant to implicate Katya. But that little throw-away barb had slid under Vander’s ribs as if expertly laced.

“Oi! Vander!”

A customer in need of a refill pulled the barkeep from his head. Landed him right back into the moment like someone dropping a melon off Old Hungry. Grateful for the distraction, Vander went back to work.

Then time flew fast and the cold season fully settled over Piltover and Zaun, like a great, chilled blanket. The Lanes became smokier than normal, Zaunites reallocating what little funds they had to purchase wood and coal for their stoves. Less food, more heat; the pendulum of necessity ever swinging.

The Children kept meeting, kept preparing. A squad was set up to track Enforcer movements; where they had been, what their routes were, who they had spoken with and what answers they were given. Another group became designated runners for the supplies that pirates, independent merchants, and other morally grey characters smuggled in, and were paid with Airship coin.

Other members volunteered their homes and businesses to house the contraband: small armaments, scrap metal that would be smelted and repurposed, bottles of liquor too strong to drink but could be lit and chucked at Enforcers for when the time came.

However, the chill and impending holiday put a firm hold on both Piltover and the Undercity, stymying plans and regular schedules. On either side of the Pilt, families and businesses prepared for Snowdown, the holiday’s sentimental pull too strong for anyone or anything to fully deviate from it.

It went unspoken, but there was a sense in the Lanes – in Zaun – that this Snowdown was more poignant than those before. The holiday was about gathering, gratitude, and looking to the promise of the new year ahead.

The promise that this coming year would be the birth of their sovereign nation. Or, at least, the true beginning of the labor process.

This would also be the first Snowdown at The Last Drop Vander ran entirely alone. He’d more or less run it the year before, but the old proprietor – sick and dying – had been back in the living quarters, able to offer instructions and advice in that deep, throaty voice of his. Vander would take the wisdom with him back to the front and resume hosting duties.

But he was dead now.

The barkeep sighed as he cleared the taps for the busy night ahead, looking around at the bedecked tavern. The decorations were meager, but festive. Annie had festooned the pillars separating booths with garlands of colorful paper, dolloped the jukebox with a tangle of tinsel, and had put fresh candles on all the tables. Beckett suddenly appeared from the back; his strong, freckled arms loaded with extra stools.

Vander was grateful for the pair’s help. In the past weeks, Benzo had finally healed up enough to get back to his own business. Cairn stayed on to help at the pawnshop, instead of returning to The Drop. Benzo needed the extra pair of hands – his injury notwithstanding – and Cairn enjoyed the trade more than busing tables.

Vander certainly couldn’t blame him for that, and felt no ill-will toward the young man. Besides, now he had Annie to help. And while she was spacy, loud, and intense, she was good at her job and the customers loved her. Beckett was an added bonus; because where ever the dark bluenette went, he followed dutifully.

“Just put ‘em anywhere, Van?” Beckett asked, craning his head over the seats he carried.

“Yeah. Jus’ pepper ‘em ‘round the walls if ya would.”

As Beckett nodded and hauled the stools off, Annie burst through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, her thin arms laden with more candles. Great, fat pillars this time. Vander sighed, although the woeful sound did not impede the young woman’s trajectory toward the booths.

“Annie. I think we’ve enough candles.”

She began stacking them artfully on the booth tables. “Nuh-uh. Never. They create ambience.”

“Ambience and drunk people don’ mix,” Vander said, a hand rubbing at his forehead.

“It’ll be fiiiiiiiiine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it, Van,” Beckett hushed as he carried the remaining stools over to the other side of the tavern.

Vander sighed, let it be, and continued prepping the bar’s stock.

A few hours later, The Last Drop was packed. Revelers young, old, and in-between stuffed the tavern to its gills. Most were members of the Children. Those that weren’t mingled with hope on their faces, intrigue glittering in their eyes like stars. The jukebox played on repeat, a long string of plucky, jovial tunes interspersed with the eager and happy chatter of the patrons. Ale and liquor flowed with abandon. Annie’s candles glowed and flickered invitingly. Vander had to admit that they did look beautiful. The soft, buttery glow of the flames brought a holy quality to the space. It inspired a bone-deep hope to flower in his chest.

Benzo and Cairn showed up about an hour after the bar opened for the night. The room burst into raucous cheers as Benzo threw up his meaty arms and greeted loudly, “BLESSED SNOWDOWN!”

Close behind the pair was Tolder and his brood, Sevika bringing up the end of the line. Once her younger siblings were inside, she whisked to the bar.

“Is Nasha here?”

“Haven’ seen her,” Vander answered filling a glass with caramel colored ale and handing it to a customer. “Bu’ she may be here n’ I haven’ noticed. Bit busy.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” she muttered, throwing her head around in search of the other girl. She smacked her palm against the bar top twice. “I’ll be back.”

Then she strode into the crowd, her head swiveling, eyes searching. A small smile crinkled the corners of Vander’s eyes as he watched her go. Then an empty tankard skittered across the bar and he fell back into work.

Sometime later, the crowd erupted again. Not as loud as when Benzo entered The Drop, but the swell of noise caused Vander to look up. His first full smile of the night spread across his face. Silco wove between tables, chairs, and customers, greeting people as he went with a small nod, or reserved wave.

“No Enyd?” Vander asked as Silco finally made it to the bar top.

His Brother’s lips thinned into a rueful, forced grin. He shook his head, dark hair fluttering about his face like curled shadows.

“No. She’s tired.”

The subtext of the message flicked at Vander’s heart with a mighty twang. Like it had been snapped with a rubber band.

She’s tired.

Her cough is especially bad. Has been bad. Is getting worse.

“What can I get ya?” Vander asked, hoping to distract Silco.

“Hmm? What?” Silco’s head – which had turned and was surveying the crowd – snapped back to Vander’s face. “Oh. Whisky. Please.”

Vander grinned and nodded. It was simple and quick, but preparing the two fingers of burnt amber liquor pleased him more than all the tankards of ale he had filled and refilled thus far. As he placed the glass in front of Silco, he was surprised to see a long, thin package on the counter between them.

“What’s this?”

“A Snowdown gift.”

Hot blush bloomed across Vander’s face. His heart swelled to the point of bursting. Then, honey-sweet hope once again dared to spread under his skin.

“Ya didn’ have to get me anything, Sil.”

Silco smirked and shrugged. “I wanted to.”

The blush on the back of Vander’s neck turned beet red as he sheepishly reached for the gift. It was wrapped in brown paper that had been crumpled and reused to the point of softness. Like thin suede.

Slowly, he peeled the wrapping away. A slender knife was settled in the worn curls and wrinkles of paper, its blade long with a gentle curve. There were a couple nicks in the metal that could be consider defects, but the worn appearance felt distinctly Zaun-ish to him. The handle was nearly half the length of the blade, wrapped in soft taupe-colored leather. The pommel was embossed with artful swoops.

Vander’s eyes roved over the knife, throat squeezing tight.

Then his gaze caught another detail: below the guard, on the first pleat of hide, the letter ‘V’ had been carved. The tightness gripping his throat intensified. Firelight wings beat and tickled his stomach to the point that Vander thought he might be sick with joy. Never before had he fought so hard to not reach for Silco, and draw him in close. To grab for his collar and pull him in for a kiss.

He refrained, though. Once again convincing himself that this wasn’t the time or place.

A small, love-hungry voice from deep inside cried out: “When will be the right time?!”

Not now.

Soon.

Hopefully.

Please.

Carefully tempering his expression in to one of bridled gratitude, Vander looked back up at Silco. His Brother eyed him with that smarmy, cocky half-grin and lifted eyebrow. Vander’s finger pads dug into the bar top to keep his hands from reaching out and grabbing for him. Everyday, it got harder and harder to do that.

Instead, he reached for the package and drew it closer.

“Ya didn’ hafta do that, Sil,” he murmured appreciatively.

“For when your fists get tired of beating Enforcers.”

An amused huff blew from Vander’s nose. “Thank you. I love it.”

Silco inclined his head, and lifted his glass to Vander. “Happy Snowdown, Brother. Next year may we be celebrating in a free nation.”

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a heart-straining, soul-sickening series of days for Katya.

The third day after her assault, another gut-wrenching meltdown pulled her under. She couldn’t decide, in retrospect, if she had been grateful that Enyd was there, or if she wished she could’ve crumpled in private.

She had been standing at the kitchen sink, washing a cup. Enyd was gathering their lunch dishes from the table. Suddenly, Katya’s mind played an incredibly cruel prank on her: a phantom pressure at the crux of her thighs. Where Kells had groped her. She started with a gasp; eyes peeled wide. The cup fell from her hands as her legs buckled, and she tumbled to the cracked linoleum floor.

Blood rushed in her ears.

It kept her from hearing the wail that ripped from her throat.

At once, Enyd was at her side, drawing her close. Despite being so petite, she enveloped the young woman in a way only a mother could, all love and comfort. She spoke, lips and jaw moving against Katya’s temple, but the sound couldn’t penetrate the rush of blood in her ears. Nor the pummeling realization that ghostly sensation had brought her.

“I killed him. I killed him. I killed him – “

“Shhhh . . . Breathe, Katya. Breathe – “

“I killed . . . I killed him. I didn’t mean – “

A wail ripped itself from the base of Katya’s throat. She hadn’t meant to kill Kells; just to get him off of Silco. She didn’t know if her memory was playing tricks on her, but now the scene that played in her head contorted Kells’s face into one of abject fear as he tumbled over the turbine’s edge, limbs scrabbling for help.

But she hadn’t helped.

She had pushed.

Then watched.

Despite how vilely he had treated her, she had been unprepared to punish him with such finality. Dread and shame cemented in her arms and legs. The weight making it impossible to escape from the scenario playing over and over again in her head.

Sevika had said he had had no family. That there would be no trouble for her.

No trouble from the outside world, perhaps. But her insides roiled with it. Tentacles of humiliation slithering in her veins. Regret stabbing at her like claws.

“Katya. Katya. Look at me.”

With more force than the mother probably wanted to use, Enyd gripped Katya’s jaw between her fingers, jerking her head to the side so their eyes could connect. Spit, snot, and tears dripped over Enyd’s strong hold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Katya. It was an accident. None of it was your fault. Do you hear me?”

Katya sniffled and trembled between the claw-grip. Her lips blubbered, an attempt to insist Enyd was wrong on the tip of her sob-thickened tongue.

Whip-fast, Enyd’s hand curled around the back of Katya’s head and tucked the young woman in closer.

“I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

Katya did not know how long they stayed, curled up on the floor. She didn’t remember moving, but when her conscious mind turned back on, she found herself back on the couch, blanket tucked around her. Enyd sat at the far end, a sewing project in her lap.

Katya’s insides felt like sludge. Her throat burning from having been screamed raw. She turned her head against the couch cushion, eyes falling onto the accordion-style laundry rack Enyd had hauled with her that day. It was broken – one side’s legs having to be placed very carefully, as the bracing brackets had broken off – but it worked. Just like Enyd had promised.

She closed her eyes. At some point the couch shifted as Enyd rose. Then there was the soft press of lips to her temple, a loving murmur in her ear. When next Katya opened her eyes, Enyd was gone.

She went back to work the next day. Unwilling to keep eating up Enyd’s time. Hoping that the monotonous tasks of the clinic would dull the edges of the past few days.

Will pestered her when she appeared. Asked if she was okay. What had happened. Said that he was going to put in a formal complaint against Silco.

“Don’t do that,” Katya snapped harshly. “He didn’t do anything. It wasn’t him. I will be fine. Leave it.”

Will’s shoulders slumped, but he made the wise choice to not argue with her further.

As he wrapped his ratty coat around him, he said, “I finished stocking the supplies. I didn’t know why you had put some off to the side, but I put them with the rest of the inventory. Hope that’s okay.”

Katya stilled.

Right. Before she had gone to Fissure 27 – she swallowed down the bile gathering at the base of her throat – she had put a few items aside to stock for the Children and Enyd. She’d forgotten about it.

“Yes. That is fine. Thank you, Will.”

As that first day back slogged along, Katya kept looking at the clinic door. She didn’t know if she was wishing Silco would step through, or not. Part of her hoped he was still home.

She saw him next when she dropped off a bottle of medicine for Enyd.

Her heart made a home in her throat as she approached their apartment. The same mighty war raged within her as she knocked on the door: she craved to see Silco, then inexplicable shame would swoop in and fell that desire.

She shouldn’t expect his company, his companionship. She couldn’t pay the cost. Didn’t deserve it. Regardless of how much she may want it.

Agonizing relief sluiced over her bones when Enyd answered.

“Medicine,” Katya whispered by way of greeting. Reaching into her coat, she produced the larger bottle of decongestant. “Use the dropper from the smaller bottle. You could start taking an extra dose in the morning right now, since the cold weather makes your symptoms worse – “

“Katya,” Enyd crooned, taking the bottle and bringing a hand up to the young woman’s cheek. There was a pause, and she said, “Why don’t you come in?”

Katya shook her head, taking a step back. She flashed what she hoped was a grateful, but apologetic, smile.

“I cannot, unfortunately. I’m on my way to pick up Viktor – “

“Mum? Who’s at the door?”

Katya choked as her heart beat wildly in her throat. Her muscles tensed as they tried to decide whether bolting or freezing was the best option.

Then Silco appeared behind Enyd’s shoulder. He looked better than he had on her exam table. Bruising and swelling still puffed and discolored his eyelids and cheekbones, but it had since gone down. The bandage on his nose was gone, but the stitching on his lip stayed in place.

Katya’s throat wound tight. She was so happy, so relieved to see him. His presence a soothing balm to her scraped up heart and psyche. Yet, her boots remained rooted.

“Kat,” Silco said in a tone that danced between relief and excitement.

“I was just dropping off medicine for Enyd. I can’t stay. I need to pick up Viktor,” she robotically repeated.

The thick soles of her shoes shuffled against the floorboards, preparing her exit. Despite her leg’s attempts to walk away, her head and shoulders stayed facing the doorway. Her eyes glued to Silco’s.

She wanted to stay.

Wanted to talk with him.

Wanted to be with him.

Wanted him.

But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. For reasons her trauma-addled brain couldn’t supply. Despite their lack of discernible motives, those thoughts won out.

“I need to go,” she said, and finally allowed her legs to carry her away. “See you both later.”

Like most of her movements of late, Katya didn’t remember getting to Piltover. The weight of the rucksack in her hand was the only thing that pulled her back online for a moment. She blinked. Her eyes fell on the worn canvas handle in her palm. She blinked, and then her eyes looked over and found Viktor. He looked back, open worry and confusion covering his face.

“What is wrong?” Viktor whispered to her when they took their seat in the conveyor car.

Katya pulled her lips into a reassuring smile. “Nothing. I am just tired. Long week, and I think I’m coming down with a small cold.”

The weekend past. On Monday, Katya took Viktor back to school.

The week past, too. A sludgy slog of colors and events that bled one into the next. Silco tried visiting Katya in the clinic, but she busied herself when he did. He stood dutifully near her during the Children’s meeting. His arms wrapped tight across his chest; fingers firmly tucked underneath his biceps.

Perhaps he was cross with her.

He should be, she figured.

Katya didn’t recall the meeting. Something about new supplies and updates on Enforcer activity.

She was, however, aware of the glances shot her way. The bitter, suspicious glares of Kells’s group of peers. Vander’s empathetic stare. He added a nod to it when she finally glanced in his direction.

Unwilling to linger, she slipped out just before the meeting ended; her bootheels a quick, snappy tap on the cobblestones.

“Kat.”

She froze, shoulders pitched up to her ears. This wasn’t the dream, but that call sparked the memory of it. Silco had called her then. Silco called for her now.

Slowly, Katya spun around, forcibly lowering her shoulders as she went. He wasn’t smiling like he had been in the dream. His face – which had become clearer in the passing days – was etched in an expression of deep concern.

In the dream, he had joyfully approached her. Now, he cautiously stepped forward. Like she was a wounded animal he didn’t want to spook.

She saw in his eyes that he wanted to say something.

“Can I walk you home?”

Yes. Yes, please.

“No, thank you. I can manage.” She gave him the same grin she’d given her brother, and turned on her heel.

“Kat.”

She stopped again. An unseen fist squeezing at her heart.

In the dream, the second time he had called, he’d come close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Now, Katya turned and watched him take a couple more steps.

“It is fine, Silco. Really.”

His footsteps stopped, the toes of his boots awkwardly scraping against the street. She heard the gulp he took, watched the way his hands flexed.

“Alright then. Get home safe.”

“Of course.”

Her legs carried her away. Something inside her wailed and begged to go back. It was promptly swallowed up by that beast that couldn’t stand the risk.

The weekend arrived, and Viktor came home. It past, and he went back to school.

Silco stood on Katya’s periphery all week. He would still stop by the clinic to check on her. He stood by her during meetings. But said very little, and Katya became acutely aware of how much she loved his voice.

Another weekend.

Another week.

Now, Katya sat on her couch. Her blanket cocooned her, as it had these past weeks. A great, fluffy shell that wrapped around her shoulders and haloed her head. The apartment’s light was dim. The air was quiet – save for the occasional clanks and hisses of the radiator. Despite it being the eve of Snowdown, she heard no celebrating outside her windows or door. There never was this deep in the Sump.

This year, the holiday had fallen in the middle of the week. Viktor was across the river. No doubt as lonely as she was.

She knew The Last Drop hosted a gathering for the holiday. It had for years. Even when her Papa had been a boy. Anyone who traipsed through the door was invited. She knew the Children would be there: Sevika and her siblings, Nasha, Benzo, Cairn, Annie, Beckett. Silco.

A vicious ache clanged through her. A yawning, angry emptiness that begged to be addressed.

But like when Silco had come after her that night to walk her home, the yearning was quickly gnashed between the pointed teeth of that same oily beast. Powerful, but slippery. Like it didn’t want to be looked at too closely. It simply wanted to swoop in, gobble up ridiculous things like desire, and retreat back to the shadows with little examination.

Just as the beast was about to recoil back into the vacuous recesses of Katya’s chest cavity, the yearning gave a mad thrash between its jaws. A powerful snap that threatened to crack the teeth that held it.

Katya’s heart swelled and lurched at the sensation. Sitting up straighter, she put a hand to her chest and pressed, as if that would dissuade any further tantruming from within.

The yearning jerked again, alive and insistent against the hold of its captor.

‘Go,’ it seemed to say as it attempted to pull itself from the serrated mouth that held it. ‘Go.’

A watery gasp blew from Katya’s mouth, and one of her feet dropped from the couch onto the floor. The movement, while not purposeful, finally caused the shadowy monster to scramble for a better hold. It braced itself against the cage of her ribs.

‘Don’t go,’ it hissed through a clenched jaw. ‘Don’t go.’

Katya blinked. Her shoulders dropped, as did her other foot.

Fear. That was the desire-eating thing. She knew it well. It had dictated most of her life until recently. Had kept her in-line until recently. Since her time with the Children – of feeling like she belonged to something, of feeling like she wanted something more – it had been skirted to the sidelines. Present, but not commanding. Kells, and what he had done to her had pushed it back onto the field, its stamina and intensity renewed from the break it had received.

Katya scooted to the edge of the couch, blanket dropping from her shoulders and gathering at her hips like soft folds of cumulus clouds.

That isn’t what she wanted. To let her desires decay and blow away in the wind. To let fear, Piltover, or anything else stomp out the inherent, wild value she had just begun to believe in.

The silvery slip of Desire caught in Fear’s jaws wriggled and thrashed excitedly. Fear strained, its claws losing purchase on her rib bones.

She wanted, she decided. She wanted to believe in her value, her worthiness.

Desire surged forward, most of its amorphous body slipping from Fear’s too-rigid teeth.

She wanted to trust in Zaun’s ability to pull itself out of the proverbial hole Piltover had made it dig for itself.

Desire whipped and twisted. Fear’s bite began to tire and give.

Katya stood and the blanket drooped to the floor. She wanted the same for herself.

With a final snap of its slender body, Desire broke free and gushed forward; just like how Katya’s feet strode for the door. Fear whimpered, empty jaws chattering, as it recoiled back.

Katya shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat from its peg, and burst out the door.

Her legs moved so swiftly that it felt like she was gliding, flying through the Sump and up into the Entresol. She wove around Snowdown revelers and underneath twinkling chem-bulbs single-mindedly, quick and swift as a canary.

It didn’t take long for The Last Drop to erupt in front of her, all merriment, togetherness, and neon green lights. Her heart thundered, and Desire serpentined inside her belly. Fists squeezing in her coat pockets, Katya surged forward.

As she anticipated, The Drop was packed, the patrons – Children and others alike – wonderfully happy in each other’s company. A few people raised glasses to her as she stepped inside, and she offered them careful smiles.

Over in a booth decorated with a ridiculous number of candles, Sevika beamed at her, and threw an arm up in greeting. Nasha was slung over her lap, preventing her from getting up. She gave Katya her own wave, and returned her attention back to twirling Sevika’s hair between her fingers.

Katya craned her head over the crowd as she shuffled closer toward the bar. Vander’s massive form flitted behind the countertop with grace that belied his stature. His face was ruddy with happiness as he addressed his customers.

Her eyes traveled down the long bar.

Looking.

Searching.

Her heart stuttered at the sight of Silco. Desire sang a song she’d never heard before.

He held a drink in his hand, his gaze cool and aloof as it traveled around the tavern. Then, like a homing missile, his eyes finally found hers.

Blue met gold.

Notes: AHHHHH!!!!!! Guys. Guys. THINGS are gonna happen in the next chapter. This slow burn is gonna pay off! EEEEE! I hope you enjoyed this piney-pining chapter!

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear yout thoughts in the comments or reblogs ❤️

Coming Up Next: Katya asks Silco to show her Zaun again.

Next Chapter

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