Note: It's been a minute . . . have a hefty update!
CW: There is a brief flash back segment that talks about infant death and suicide, and another that depicts labor. Just a heads up.
Jarrot Bone woke up in his usual way on Wednesday morning.
In a fit of coughing, his throat clogged with mucus and pus.
He rolled out of bed, bones rattling and muscles tremoring with the force of the fit gripping his body. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and stumbled into his ensuite. A particularly forceful cough bent his spine and he tripped into the porcelain sink. His fingers found a white-knuckle grip around the edge and his balding head bowed into the bowl. He knew he should try to make his way over to the toilet, but he couldn't guarantee that he would be able to lift himself off the floor once this fit had passed.
A shaking hand reached for the sink's handle and turned it. Cold, clean water gushed out of the spout and splashed into the sink. Bone set his feet and braced himself as firmly as he could. With a mighty contraction of his abdominals, he heaved and retched and sputtered.
Discolored phlegm was thrown into the sink, quickly washed down the drain by the running water. Bone wheezed and lurched as he was involuntarily taken over by an onslaught of more choking coughs. More mucus, more pus, some blood and stomach bile spattered against the porcelain. Bone's whole body trembled with the effort, his legs unsteady beneath him and cold sweat dampening his ashen skin.
Bone didn't dare release the death grip he had on the sink until he was absolutely certain the fit had passed. He waited for the bowl of the sink to be stark white before turning the water off. As the sound of the water washed away, his pained wheezing filled the bathroom. His chest heaved and ached. Sharp, stabbing pains that cut against his lungs like razor wire. The bellow of his diaphragm spasmed and cramped in the aftermath.
Slowly, so very slowly, Bone made to stand fully, his hands still gripping the sink for support. His vision started to become clear again, after having pitched and wavered like heat against pavement during his retching. After a couple steady breaths, he lifted his gaze to the mirror before him and it cruelly reflected his visage.
Jarrot Bone was old by Undercity standards. Having been dumped at Hope House as an infant he never knew his birthday, but he was around sixty, he supposed. Give or take.
Take, really.
He looked eighty, by Piltover standards. Ashy skin, creped by time, toxins, and years of malnutrition hung off his thin bones. What little hair he had left was white and cropped close to his head. His eyes, once chocolate brown, were now muted and milky and currently watering and red-rimmed following his morning fit.
He made to clear his throat and set off another string of hacks and chokes. The most unpleasant ripping and sucking sound emanated from Bone's chest and he hocked a congealed hunk of . . . something (blood? Lung, maybe?) into the sink.
He flipped the faucet back on and coaxed the object down the drain with the stream of water. Taking the cup from the shelf above, he filled it and greedily drank. The cool water both eased and stung at his marred insides. He set the glass down with a shuddering breath.
Working as a Slipper for all those years was finally catching up with him.
A couple weaker coughs rattled behind his ribs and Bone finally pushed himself off the sink and opened the medicine cabinet above. Plucking out the small, brown glass bottle he gave it a swish. To mix up the medicine and to assess how much he had left. The liquid inside gently sloshed within and Bone let out a hitching sigh.
He was almost out again.
He unscrewed the dropper top and squeezed the medicine up to the line etched into the pipette. With shaky hands, Bone lifted the dropper to his mouth and released the medicine under his tongue. Just as the Academy doctor had instructed.
Bone was conflicted if he wanted to go back and see the doctor. The woman had been sympathetic but realistic, that there was no cure for what ailed the Councilman and this medicine would only make him more comfortable. Of course, Bone knew that. He had watched plenty other miners (primarily Slippers, like himself) succumb to this respiratory disease.
When Bone had finally secured a seat in Council Chambers seven years ago, it afforded him access to the care so many of his peers had needed. He felt guilt at that. He wanted to do so much for his community. Give them what was now available to him as a Councilor. His political progress was slow, burdened by generations of classism and prejudice. His health had been sacrificed and he felt himself hurtling toward his end, accelerated by the same institutions that impeded the work he wanted to do.
Whether it was fear or stubbornness, Bone didn't know, but he felt the gripping need to hold on a little while longer. His work for the Undercity was not done.
He didn't want it to be done.
He decided he would see the Academy doctor again. Have his dosage upped and refilled.
Reverently, he homed the vial back in his medicine cabinet and went about the rest of his morning.
He had a standing early lunch with Professor Heimerdinger he didn't want to be late for.
Bone crossed the Bridge mid-morning, cane in hand and the sun at his back as he walked toward Piltover. He had moved to a decent loft on the edge of the Promenade soon after becoming a Councilor. Something else he felt conflict over: living so much better than he ever had, while the majority of the Undercity lay in squalor. His Council peers and the doctor had encouraged it for his health and new position. Cleaner air, shorter commute. Bone understood, but it did little to assuage the shame in his belly.
Bone slid his approval papers to the gate attendant. It was a formality he insisted on maintaining out of solidarity for his people. The attendant humored him by glancing at the papers, but they too quickly gave them back and waved him on.
The café district and adjacent mercantile streets were already in full swing for the day. Bone walked past, not tempted at all by the smells or sights. While he paid no attention to it, he knew occasional eyes would stare and sneer at him. His addition to the Council had been wrought with tension and there had been a mild upset among Piltover's citizens. The blatant hostility settled, but Bone knew that his presence on this side of the river was not welcome.
Which was fine by him. He wasn't here for Piltover. He was here for the Undercity.
He crossed the square and made for the Academy campus. The dean preferred his academic tasks to his duties as a Councilor, and Bone couldn't begrudge him that. The question was where would Bone find Heimerdinger? Oddly enough, his office was not a guarantee. The science lab? A better bet, although Bone hoped not since that building was a good walk away and his joints were already beginning to ache.
A warm breeze fluttered the leaves of the tall trees lining the broad walkway to the Academy's campus and Bone shivered. Not from cold. He still had never gotten used to the sweet, clear scent of the Piltover air.
The school bell toned loudly as the Undercity Councilor made his first uneasy steps onto the quad. A deep, rich, brassy note that quaked through his old bones. Soon, adolescents and teens began to trickle out of the surrounding buildings, books in their arms and bags slung across their backs. Older students, young adults in their late-teens and early twenties, were the last to meander out of their respective buildings, striding across the paths in front of them with great purpose and furrowed brows. The upper classmen paid Bone little to no mind. It was Wednesday and they had been at the Academy long enough to expect his presence on this day. The younger students whispered conspiratorially in small, scurrying clumps, eying the Councilor with a mixture of awe, confusion, and learned suspicion.
Bone sighed and steeled himself for the rickety walk toward the science lab. However, Janna seemed to smile upon him in a small way when Heimerdinger toddled out of a nearby lecture hall. His joyful and bright sing-song voice cut through the muted passing-period chatter like a chime. At the Yordle's side was a boy Bone recognized as the student from the Undercity. He was pretty certain his name was 'Viktor', but he had never officially met the lad. A gross oversight, Bone knew, considering he was the Councilor from the Underground and Viktor was the only student from there. They should've met long before this moment.
'Better late than never,' Bone thought as he ambled in their direction.
"Oh yes, yes, yes, m'boy," Heimerdinger chortled, "I do believe you will have the utmost interest in the upcoming section on robotics and mechanization we will be beginning in my class come next week. If your understanding of physics is anything to go by, you'll take to it swimmingly! Oh! Jarrot! I do hope I'm not late!"
Heimerdinger was pulled from his giddy tête-à-tête by the rhythmic sound of Bone's cane tapping towards him. His ears twitched and shot up in alarm as he scrambled for his pocket watch.
Bone chuckled. "No, no. Not late. Not at all."
His brown eyes shifted from the dean to the boy. He saw the student's large gold eyes flick to his cane and then up to his face. Bone's eyes crinkled when Viktor's hand gripped his own cane with a little more conviction.
Heimerdinger's ears drooped in relief as he pocketed his watch.
"Well, I'm glad for that," he sighed, "it would be like me to lose track of time talking about nuts and cogs!" A chuckle whistled from under his impressive mustache.
"Viktor," Heimerdinger said suddenly, "have you met Councilor Bone yet?"
The student shook his head, his creased eyebrows giving away his anxiety. "No, sir, I have not."
"Well! Isn't that a shame!" Heimerdinger gasped. "You know, Councilor Bone here is from the Undercity as well."
"Yes, I know," Viktor said quietly.
"Worked in the very same mines that your sister does," Heimerdinger continued brightly. "We brought him on the Council – what was it? – seven years ago? It's been very eye-opening and useful for Piltover to have an Undercity citizen in Chambers. We've been able to do a lot of good work."
Bone's smile strained, but he didn't think Heimerdinger noticed. Viktor pulled his lips into his teeth and nodded politely. Both Trenchers knew the Yordle meant well, but remained largely ignorant of just what life in the Undercity was like.
"Yes, we have," Bone agreed. He turned fully to the boy. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Viktor."
Bone smiled and gently dipped his head.
"P-pleasure to meet you, too, sir. Councilor," Viktor corrected quickly, nodding his head in return.
"Viktor is one of the brightest students in his year!" Heimerdinger gushed. "We are very lucky to have him and his capabilities on Piltover's campus. Definitely one of the most deserving recipients of the Academy's lottery."
Bone watched Viktor's fingers squeeze his cane a little tighter and a furious flush tinge his cheeks.
"Your sister works in Rynweaver's mines?" Bone questioned, trying to divert the boy's embarrassment. Viktor looked up at him through his mop of chocolate-colored hair and nodded. "What does she do there?"
"She works in the medical clinic."
"Ah," the Undercity Councilor breathed. The exclamation caught in the back of his throat and he wrestled down the cough that fought to rip through. "She must be very clever, too, then. To be entrusted to patch workers up with the little resources available to her."
Bone's eyes flicked to Heimerdinger, looking to see if he caught the under-handed comment. He didn't appear to.
"Yes, she's very smart," Viktor affirmed. "When I go home for the weekends, she helps me with assignments and studying."
Bone was unsurprised to hear that the student did not stay on campus permanently. There would be no way to afford it, even with the scholarship he was on.
Viktor's feet awkwardly shuffled from side to side. Whether it was from anxiety or discomfort in his bum leg, Bone wasn't sure. In any case, the boy spoke up.
"If you'll excuse me, Professor, I n-need to go to the Hall of History. Professor Holgren's exam is this afternoon and I would like to review more."
"Of course, my boy!" Heimerdinger sang. "Please, don't let two old men keep you from the pursuit of knowledge. Go on then! Off with you!"
"Thank you. Nice to meet you Councilor, sir."
Viktor dipped his head toward Bone again before hobbling away. His steps were hitched and painful at first, but smoothed out to a steady limp as his gait warmed up. The two Councilors watched the boy go.
"How is he doing?" Bone asked once Viktor was out of ear shot.
"He is the brightest the Preparatory school currently has," Heimerdinger admitted. "Perhaps even brighter than the upperclassmen in the Academy. Extremely promising."
Bone nodded, his eyes following Viktor's angled shoulders as he slowly made his way toward the Hall of History.
"How are the other students with him?"
Heimerdinger's pause answered Bone clearly, but he eventually said, "He is struggling socially."
Bone's jaw tightened. He knew Viktor wasn't struggling socially. He was struggling under Piltover's prejudice.
"Shall we head to my office?" Heimerdinger asked.
Bone nodded and the two Councilmen headed toward the Academy's Quarters for Administration. Heimerdinger's short legs and Bone's weary body kept pace with each other well. Bone's eyes drifted down to his peer as they walked through the campus. The Yordle was usually peppy and chatty, filling dead air with keen observations and science-based puns. Now, he was quiet, pensive. His small gloved hands clasped behind his back as they traveled.
"What's on your mind, Professor?" Bone carefully asked.
"Hmm? Oh, my. Apologies," Heimerdinger murmured, his twinkly blue eyes widening as he snapped back to the present. "Just . . . pondering."
Bone hummed and lifted his eyes to the path in front of him. He didn't press. He waited.
"May I tell you something, Jarrot?"
"Of course."
"This is between us, you understand," Heimerdinger started in a lowered voice. Bone nodded. After a moment, the Yordle sighed and pressed on.
"Thank you. This has been on my mind for a long while, so I appreciate you lending an ear," whether the little stroke along his own large ear was a joking gesture or a nervous tic, Bone wasn't sure. "I am very hopeful about Viktor's studies here, like I said. Myself and his other professors are extremely impressed by him and his skills. Truly remarkable given his breeding."
Bone's brows dipped at Heimerdinger's well-intended but still ignorant comment.
"I worry for him though," the professor continued. "He is not well, physically. Not just the limp. His immune system is compromised."
Another thing Bone was not surprised to hear. He knew a lot of children born with physical defects typically dealt with deeper, more internal maladies. Weak lungs, a heart that pattered too fast, reduced cognitive function . . . if the babe was even given a chance to grow old enough to present such unfortunate symptoms.
Bone remembered a time in the mine where he had helped to deliver an infant whose mother had gone into labor while chipping away at the rocks with her pick axe. The child had come out feet first, her shoulders peculiarly sloped and her head too small. The girl wailed something fierce, and he had watched a kaleidoscope of emotions sweep across her mother's face.
Relief and joy that the baby was not still born, even after a difficult labor.
Horror when she got her first good look at her daughter. Bone remembered that moment the most. It clenched his heart then. It clenched his heart now. The horror wasn't rooted in disgust. The horror was born of the realization of what it meant to have a child like that.
Grief flickered briefly on the woman's face before hollow resignation forcefully settled in.
"Please," the woman had whispered to him. She held her daughter against her chest loosely, afraid that if she dared to hold any tighter that she might never let go, and doom them both. "Please. I-I can't do it."
Bone couldn't bring himself to refuse her. He took the newborn off her chest and traveled many yards down the dark and sooty tunnel so the mother wouldn't be able to watch or hear.
He smothered the babe, and then put her small body deep into a waste trolley that would be emptied into one of the mine's incinerators later that day.
When he walked back down the tunnel, the mother was gone.
Later that week, he heard that a young woman had thrown herself from a turbine blade into the darkness below.
She had been doomed anyway.
Bone shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory as Heimerdinger continued.
"He would benefit from staying on campus permanently," he said. "It may also help with his socializing."
"But he can't stay on campus?" Bone asked even though he knew the answer.
The two men rounded a corner and the Administrations Building came into view.
Heimerdinger shook his head, his swirl of blond hair bobbing in the air. "No. His family can't afford it. And I have yet to convince the board to expand the funding for the lottery program. And they are not willing to make an exception to allot more funding to only one student."
Bone and Heimerdinger entered the ornate hall of the Academy's Quarters for Administration and made for one of the golden and glass lifts. An attendant opened the partition door and the two men stepped inside. Once alone, Heimerdinger spoke again.
"I - ," he began, seeming unsure if he should say what he wanted to say. He cleared his throat and started differently, "In Viktor's last parent-teacher conference, I floated an idea to his guardian – "
"His sister," Bone said.
"Yes, his older sister. I know she is concerned about his well-being, too. I – I made an offer to take Viktor on as a ward."
Bone looked down at his companion, eyes widening. This was a development he didn't expect. "You suggested she sign his care over to you?"
Heimerdinger nodded. "As his professor I cannot legally aid in funding his education and board. While there would be some red tape and gossip to muddle through, I could provide that assistance if the boy were under my care."
"I'm going to guess that his sister refused."
"Vehemently," the professor admitted. "I can't say that I don't understand her hesitation – "
Bone decidedly could say that Heimerdinger did not understand Viktor's sister's 'hesitation'. People of the Undercity were rightfully distrusting of Piltover politicians. And what was more, familial bonds (whether that family was blood or found) in the Lanes were sacred. When you had so little, you held tightly to what you did – your family, your friends, your community. It was something Piltover, what with their money, their things, their gluttonous abundance, could never truly understand.
" – but I am hoping she changes her mind. For Viktor's sake. He's too bright to be kept in the dark."
The lift chimed and the doors opened. As Heimerdinger and Bone stepped out, they were greeted by an agitated young aide.
"Oh! Professor Heimerdinger! Councilor Bone!" she gasped, struggling to collect the stacks of files in her arms.
"Good afternoon, Miss Banforth," Heimerdinger greeted brightly, his previous somber tone melting away. "Do you require assistance?"
"No no no no," Ivy breathed, catching a loose file. "I just – "she took a moment to steady herself and her load. She took a deep breath in and said, "I just hadn't realized the time. I needed to get these papers to Ms. Clotter in mailing and then have your and the Councilman's lunch delivered to your office."
Heimerdinger chuckled. "No rush my dear!"
Ivy smiled weakly in thanks. "Er – Professor," she said, "Mr. Rynweaver is waiting for you in your reception. I told him you were not available today – "
Bone's hand involuntarily flexed around the handle of his cane. So, Rynweaver had gotten the aide flustered, throwing his station around and intimidating anyone beneath him into a quivering mess.
"Don't fret, Miss Banforth," Heimerdinger assured. "I'll take care of it."
Ivy thanked him and skirted into the elevator he and Bone had just vacated. The two Councilors walked down the hallway to Heimerdinger's reception area and office, their footsteps muffled by the plush runner underfoot.
The suite that belonged to the dean was large and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Academy campus and parts of Piltover. The space was sectioned off into two rooms: the reception area where Ivy would greet and intake guests, and Heimerdinger's actual office which was sequestered behind ridiculously large ornate wooden doors.
A vacant, beautifully carved desk faced plump chairs. Thade Rynweaver sat in one of the them, his long legs crossed and hands primly folded in his lap. His dark blue eyes looked up at the sound of the hall door opening and a schooled smile cut across his lips.
"You have a jumpy assistant, Professor," Thade said. His eyes darted to Bone and the gleam in them sharpened.
"Miss Banforth is just very meticulous in keeping to schedule," Heimerdinger cheerfully explained. "She can get a little flustered when things don't go to plan."
Thade breathed a small, humorless chuckle as he made to stand up.
"I was hoping to speak with you, Councilor," he addressed only Heimerdinger, "about the next lottery. The Kirammans heard some rumors that the Academy is trying to raise the amount of funds again?"
Bone felt the Yordle stiffen at his side before he melded back into something pleasing and palatable.
"I'm afraid I don't have the time to speak with you about that right now, Mr. Rynweaver," Heimerdinger said kindly. "Even if I did, you know that is officially a Council matter and would need to be brought up in Assembly."
Thade eyed the Yordle with a passive look. Too passive to not be hiding strong feelings. Too passive to not be hiding something.
He shrugged, his structured coat shifting over his shoulders. "Very well. I had time, and thought I would go to the source. I shall gather my fellow benefactors and we will put in a request for Assembly."
Thade whisked past Heimerdinger and Bone without a second glance. "Have a lovely lunch."
Silco sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands fidgeting the small vial of medicine Katya had gifted him a day prior. He hadn't given it to his mother yet. He wasn't sure how he was going to.
She would ask how he got it. She would be afraid that such a gift would come with strings, that he had gotten himself wrapped up in some kind of trouble to acquire it. She would refuse the medicine under those conditions and insist that he give it back.
Would she think he stole it? Maybe. She would refuse it then, too. Scold him and tell him to get rid of it.
Would she think he bought it . . . somehow? That he had been putting cogs and hexes aside until he could go across the river and visit a pharmacy? Unlikely. She might, even then, still refuse.
He had tried to come up with a way to slip it to her without her knowing. Could he sneak a dose into her morning tea? Maybe . . . but then he wouldn't be around to make sure she took the midday nip.
Silco's tongue flipped inside his mouth in time with how he spun the vial between his fingers. His boot heel vibrated and his brain buzzed.
No good options.
Decidedly, he got up and left his bedroom. He strode to the kitchen to find Enyd sitting at the table sipping her morning tea. The false medicine. She eyed him questioningly as he took the seat across from her. Before she could say anything, Silco very purposefully set the small, brown vial in front of her.
Enyd's brow furrowed and her tea cup lowered. "What's this?"
"Medicine. Actual medicine."
Enyd slowly lowered her tea cup to its saucer, her gaze switching between the vial and her son, the confused crease in her brow deepening. Her mouth twitched, unsure of what to say or ask. Silco's knee began to bob nervously as he waited for her reaction.
"What do you mean actual medicine?" Enyd finally asked, staring at the bottle as if it might explode or jump at her.
"I mean exactly what I said – "
"Where did you get this?" came Enyd's sudden question, hissed through a tight jaw. Her teal eyes widened with worry and her brows scrunched and flew up to her hairline.
"It . . . it was given to me," Silco decided to say. A partial truth would do. "When I had my physical day before yesterday, I mentioned to the medic on staff performing the exam that you . . . were sick. Before I left, she gave me this."
Enyd frowned and bit her lip. "She shouldn't have done that, Silco. It wasn't hers to give. She could get into a lot of trouble if someone finds out. You could get into a lot of trouble – "
"No one will find out, mum," Silco promised, leaning forward. He licked his lips and fixed her with pleading eyes. "No one will find out."
"You don't know that!" Enyd snapped in a strained whisper, as if she were fearful Enforcers could hear from the streets below.
Silco's hands shot across the table and gripped hers. "Mum, please. No one will find out. Ka – The medic told me that she does the ordering for the clinic. She can account for this. They can spare it."
Enyd's eyes fell to the hands holding onto hers. Her son's hands were large and svelte, wrapping protectively around hers. She felt a tightness in the back of her throat that had nothing to do with her illness.
It seemed not so long ago that her hands dwarfed his. That when he reached for her, his small fingers curling needily around hers, his bright blue-green eyes would look up into her face silently asking for comfort, guidance, protection, affirmation, love. And she would always give it, whatever it was he needed. That was her job after all, as his mother.
Enyd had been surprised and grateful that her heart, body, mind, and soul fell so willingly and completely into loving her son.
Initially, she had been nervous and unsure that she could accept the babe growing inside her womb, given how he had been forced upon her. After the first couple of months, when it was clear that the pregnancy had stuck, Enyd's heart found a new home in her throat. Angry and ashamed how such a fate had befallen her; scared for her own well-being (birthing children in the Undercity was hazardous business); nervous and uncertain about what she was going to do with the baby when she bore it.
A large part of her – the part that jumped at shadows and woke up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and tears, the part of her that feared and hated the thought of facing a piece of him every day – was certain she couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't keep it. She steeled her nerves throughout the entirety of her pregnancy, preparing to dump the infant at Hope House the minute it passed through the birth canal.
And then . . .
Then labor began, deep in the rough fissures of a new tunnel. The fourth month of pregnancy had caused Enyd's abdomen to pop away from her waifish frame and she was temporarily relieved of her Slipper duties, and was transferred to a unit sifting for sediment used for smelting. Getting her out of the mine's crevasses was the one part of her condition she was grateful for.
Enyd's water had broken in an impossibly large gush, simultaneously clumping the soot underfoot like wet sand and wafting fine dust particles up into the already thick air. Contractions were upon her fast and strong, feeling as if her body was trying to rip itself in half. The unit Enyd had been placed in gave her a wide berth, save for two other women who ushered the laboring mother-to-be to an alcove in the rocks.
One was a Vastaya who did not speak the same language, but was a strong arm to grip to when Enyd's contractions crested into blindingly agonizing pain. The other was an old woman who began coaching the terrified young woman out of maidenhood. Her knobbily fingers pressed into Enyd's hips and gave her firm but empathetic instructions on breathing and positioning.
Between contractions, the older woman told Enyd that she herself had given birth to twelve children in her life time. That each birth was painful, but each one was also worth it. Enyd couldn't find the breath to tell her that she had doubts about the baby trying to make its way through her narrow hips.
Periodically, the crone would hike up Enyd's tunic to inspect her progress (her undergarments had long been shucked to the side). In what seemed like too short of time, the old woman shoved a rock under each of Enyd's feet.
"You're going to feel like you need to push soon," she had said, coming to grip the shaking arm not in the Vastaya's hold.
Enyd's heart moved from her throat to the back of her mouth and she choked on a sob. Her legs quivered with exhaustion and fear as she was held up. The bottoms of her dirty bare feet squeezed the stones beneath them.
She wasn't ready for this.
She didn't want this.
The feeling the old woman warned her about came, and a sound Enyd didn't know she was capable of ripped from her throat as she bared down. The animalistic cry bled into an anguished wail as Enyd's body forced an exhale. Her head lulled back on her shoulders as she cried openly.
The old woman ducked a hand between Enyd's wet and bloody legs. She then guided Enyd's own hand there.
"There. Feel that?" she had asked, pressing Enyd's palm to a firm, foreign object. "That's his head. Just a couple more big pushes and he's out. This is over."
"He?" Enyd sobbed. How could she be so sure of that?
The old woman didn't answer her. "Come on, girl, push!"
Enyd cried out, her haggard voice reverberating off the rocks around them. She braced her legs and abdomen and bared down again, her cry turning into a teeth-grinding growl. She felt the babe's head breach the birth canal and its soft mewling cries joined hers. The old woman once again guided Enyd's hands between her thighs and had her grip the back of the infant's neck.
"One more time. You can do it."
The sound of the baby and the feel of its soft, slick skin under her hands ignited something deep and primal within Enyd and she unleashed what could only be described as a guttural battle cry. She pushed hard, her thin face scrunching and turning scarlet; her molars gritting together. Spittle gathered and fanned at the corners of her dry lips and veins throbbed at her temples. She felt the infant's shoulders breach past her opening and she ripped her other hand away from the Vastaya to cradle the torso as it slid from her body.
A wail fell from Enyd's mouth as her body suddenly felt strangely light and empty. Without a second thought, she lifted the fussing newborn to her chest. The Vastaya and old woman guided Enyd carefully to the cavern floor, allowing her wobbly, numbing legs a chance to rest. Enyd panted as she leaned her back and head against the rock wall. Sweat plastered her dark hair to her forehead and the sides of her face, tears rolled down her cheeks and neck.
"It's a boy," the old woman confirmed with a smile, her tone much more soothing.
Enyd kept her head pitched against the rock, staring up. She felt the baby shift and fuss against her chest and her throat constricted. She didn't want to look down at it.
"Girl," the crone called again, "Look at your boy. Look at what you made."
Enyd squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. The bumpy rocks shifted and scratched behind her head as she reluctantly ducked her chin toward her chest. She opened her eyes and her heart gently grounded back down, deep into her chest allowing her throat and lungs to fully breathe for the first time in almost a year.
The baby looked up at her. He had her eyes. She remembered his eyes, and the ones currently peering up at her looked nothing like those horrible, deep-set black pools.
Her baby had her eyes.
Her son.
He watched her. His eyes searching her face for comfort, guidance, protection, affirmation, love . . .
A soft cry hitched at the back of Enyd's throat and she held her boy closer. Her finger tips gently grazed over his head, marveling at the soft, dark fuzz. As her hands caressed down his cheek, he flailed an arm up and firmly gripped Enyd's index finger in his small hand.
"Strong," the old woman murmured. "Like his mama."
He was perfect.
He was hers.
She was his.
Hope House was forgotten.
Enyd curled her hands around Silco's in return, her fingertips pressing and massaging against the meat of his warm palms. Her throat tightened further and a bitterness settled on the back of her tongue. The gradual reversing of their roles was difficult for her to swallow. To have him fret over her; to have him be the comforter, guider, protector . . .
She didn't want to be done with him needing her in those ways. She carried such tremendous guilt that she had ever hoped that she would miscarry and then giving him up prior to his birth, that loving him as intensely as she could was her way of trying to right those cruel wishes and thoughts. And the shifting of their dynamic once illness took hold of her ate at her heart like the blight ate at her lungs.
"Mum," Silco said quietly. Enyd's gaze lifted from his hands to his eyes. Her eyes. "Please. This is the least they can do," he nodded toward the vial. "Piltover can spare a vial or two of medicine after everything they've done. They won't find out. I promise. Please."
Enyd held his gaze for a moment longer before she sighed and lifted his hands up, resting her forehead on his knuckles.
"My perfect boy," she whispered.
"C'mon Kat," Sevika whined, as she paced the alley behind Babette's.
"I'm almost through it all," came a voice, echoing from within the confines of the open dumpster.
"Didn't you make all your deliveries last night? Don't you have enough coin for a new brassiere?"
Katya's head popped out from over the top of the dumpster. "Will you shut up, please?"
Katya glared at Sevika, and her gold eyes scanned the alleyway.
"No one's here," Sevika drawled.
"You never know who might be listening," Katya grumbled, as she dove back into the discarded clothes and trash.
She was aggravated with Sevika's loose lips and with the lack of selection in Babette's dumpster. She tugged on a promising looking piece of satin fabric, only finding it to be a stained robe. Her lips curled in disgust and she tossed it aside.
"We're gonna be late!"
"I didn't think revolutionaries cared about such things as timetables."
The next article of clothing Katya pulled on ended up being a very abused and damp pair of underwear. She flung it across the dumpster in revulsion. However, underneath those damaged undergarments had been a simple, sheer brassiere that looked to be Katya's size. Her breath caught in excitement as she lifted it up and inspected it. There was no sizing tag, but aside from a fraying strap and broken hook it looked to be in decent condition. Satisfied, Katya tucked it deep within her coat and hopped out of the dumpster. She dusted herself off and walked towards Sevika, who was leaning against the mouth of the alleyway, looking out onto the street.
Peering over the girl's shoulder, Katya saw two brothel workers leaning against the front door to Babette's, calling and reaching out to people as they passed by. The two women were beautiful. Long, shapely limbs draped in see-through fabric, slim waists cinched up in corsets that had the soft, pert flesh of their breasts and ass spilling out over the top and underneath. Sevika was staring at them, chewing her lower lip.
Katya rolled her eyes and snorted, causing the younger woman to jump. A rosy blush quickly bloomed across Sevika's round cheeks.
"Come on," Katya ribbed. "We're going to be late."
Too quickly, Sevika stalked away from the alley heading in the direction of The Last Drop, her shoulders hunching around her head in embarrassment. Katya jogged to catch up with her. Once they were in stride, she put a comforting arm on Sevika's shoulder.
"Sorry," Katya said as they wove through the night crowds milling about through the Lanes. "I did not mean to make you feel self-conscious."
Sevika looked down at her friend as they walked, her tight shoulders softening under Katya's warm gaze.
"It's fine," Sevika huffed, rolling her head to one side. "I suppose I deserve a little shaming after – "
"'Vika," Katya warned.
"I wasn't gonna say anything!"
Katya's stern look relaxed and she sighed. "You already apologized for telling . . . them," she gestured in the direction they were walking, "and I forgive you – "
"But you're still mad."
"I can be both. Mad and forgiving."
Sevika sighed.
"As long as you don't mention it to anyone else, I won't bring it up. I'm certainly not going to lord it over your head, nor shame you because of it. Admittedly, I may be more discerning with the information I give you."
A small smile tilted the corners of Sevika's lips and in a hushed voice she said, "That's fair, I guess. I am sorry, you know."
"I know."
The pair continued through the bustling streets in silence. When The Last Drop came into view, Sevika felt Katya tense beside her.
"You ready to meet some of the other Sons and Daughters?"
Katya pursed her lips and continued to cross the square.
"How did you end up convincing her?" Vander asked as he and Silco moved a crate of bottles against the wall.
They were in the basement of The Drop, preparing for a meeting for the Children of Zaun. They never knew how many Brothers and Sisters might show up, but it was a good idea to clear the floor just in case. They set the crate down and Silco wiped his hands on his pants.
"I just," he started, shrugging, "told her about our vision. About Zaun and all it deserves to be."
Vander's thick brows knit together. "That's it?"
"You didn't threaten her?" Benzo asked in a chuckle, stacking crates together.
"No, Benzo, I didn't threaten her," Silco spat.
"Not even with a good time?"
Vander jumped in before Silco and Benzo could hiss and spit at each other like alley cats.
"Well, whatever you told her," he said, clapping a hand to Silco's shoulder, "good work."
Silco's lips twitched and he nodded in thanks. Benzo heaved the final crate on top of the rest and muttered something about getting a drink before the meeting started as he trudged up the basement steps.
"You know he's just goading you," Vander said with a sly smile. "You don't always have to take the bait."
Silco pinched his face in a sour expression. "He's just so . . . insufferable. I don't understand why you like him."
Vander smirked and pulled a cigarette and book of matches out from his vest pocket. He stuck the filter between his lips and lit it. He took a drag before blowing a string of smoke out of his mouth and presented it to Silco between pinched fingers. "He's said the same about you."
Silco hummed and took Vander's offering. "And what do you tell him?"
"That you're my best mate. That despite this hard and bony outside," Vander poked Silco playfully in the chest. Hard.
"Vander, fucking don't," Silco hissed, cigarette smoke streaming out from behind his teeth, swatting the abusive finger away.
"You have a good heart," Vander continued with a fond smile. "You convinced me to leave those mines before the Pilties could kill me, didn'ya? You also 'ave more piss n' vinegar in ya than all of the Brothers and Sisters put together. You believe in Zaun in a way that can keep the rest of the lot motivated."
Silco took a second drag on the cigarette before handing it back to Vander. He found it difficult to keep his expression cool and collected as his Brother's words of affirmation washed over him.
"Zaun is our vision, Vander," Silco reminded as the other took the cigarette back. "It wasn't only me dreaming it up in the mines."
"Aye, I know," Vander agreed, placing the filter back between his lips. "But your passion about it convinces people. Rallies 'em. Makes 'em believe."
"Perhaps," Silco conceded. "It seems to scare as many people as it rallies, though."
Vander shrugged. "Leave that lot to me n' 'Zo."
"Ah, yes, the friendly-faces of the revolution," Silco grumbled, a fingertip absently swiping down his long nose. "Much more palatable."
Vander's face softened and he reach out to place a hand on the juncture between Silco's shoulder and neck. Without thinking about it, Vander's thumb swiped along the smooth skin of his Brother's collar bone. "Hey. Don' worry about it. I, for one, like your . . . intensity, let's call it."
Silco smirked and gently brushed Vander's hand off his shoulder. The taller man smiled back and took one last drag off the cigarette before tapping it out against the basement wall.
Instead of going through the front door of The Last Drop, Sevika led Katya behind the building to a basement walk-out. The teen rapped on the metal door in a string of intricately timed knocks, and the squeaky door was opened by Cairn the busboy.
"Are we late?" Sevika asked as she and Katya stepped down the darkened staircase.
"Haven't started yet, if that's what you mean," Cairn answered, closing and locking the door. He gave Katya a searching look as he followed behind them. "You the nurse?"
Katya's heart skipped a beat and her jaw momentarily locked before she said, "I suppose."
Cairn smiled widely, presenting a large gap between his front teeth. "Good. Sev's shit at stitching."
"Watch it, you clod," Sevika growled over her shoulder. Katya wasn't sure if she flexed her sculpted back on purpose or if it was a defensive reflex.
Cairn snickered and slipped past the two women. "Gotta get back upstairs," he said. "I'm manning the bar for Van."
"You're not staying?" Katya asked.
"Vander will catch me up later!" the busboy called as he leapt up a set of stairs. He opened the door at the top and the warm light and sounds of The Last Drop briefly streamed down to the basement hallway before shutting again.
"C'mon. This way," Sevika said as she directed their journey down a narrow hall to the left.
Katya was led through a door that blended seamlessly into the wooden wall and into a large storeroom. Her eyes widened and she gripped her fists in her coat pockets. The space was warmly lit, like the rest of The Drop, and there seemed to be as many people here as there were above.
Katya hadn't outrightly thought that Vander was lying when he told her that the Children of Zaun had decent numbers, but she was truly surprised at the size of the gathering. Sevika had been right: this wasn't just a few drunkards at the end of a bar moping and cussing about the future.
Most of the people in the storeroom looked to be late-teens to young adults. A few older individuals lurked at the sides of the room, quietly chatting with each other; and, to Katya's dismay, there were more than a few children weaving through the crowd, giggling and chasing one another.
At what appeared to the designated front of the room, Vander and Benzo were in conversation. Silco stood off to the side, his narrow hips leaning on a crate, cigarette dangling from his lips. As if sensing her, his eyes landed immediately on Katya. His lips tightened their hold on his cigarette and he lifted his head ever so slightly.
"Hey, Sevika!"
Katya jumped at the sudden and loud cry directed and her and her friend.
"Hi Annie," Sevika responded, hands coming to rest on her hips. "How did the observations go at the docks the other night?"
The young woman – Annie – was seated up on a stack of crates to Sevika's right. She was a pretty thing, with deep indigo hair swept back in loose braids. Her hazel eyes gleamed under the warm chem-lights. Butted up right against her side was a young man with freckled skin and blazingly red hair. His eyes were large and dewy blue.
"They went well!" Annie chirped.
"I'm pretty sure we're gonna go over it tonight," the young man added.
Annie's eyes slid over Sevika's shoulder to Katya.
"You're new," she said.
"This is Katya," Sevika introduced, stepping aside. "She's from the mines, too. Kat, this is Annie and Beckett."
Katya smiled at the couple and murmured a greeting.
"You're the nurse Sev's talked about?"
Katya looked up to Sevika, questioning. The teen shook her head, a promising look in her silver eyes.
"I work in the mine's clinic, yes," Katya slowly answered.
"Thank Gods!" Annie cried, rolling her head onto her shoulders dramatically. Her dark braids slipped over her shoulders and behind her back. "No one here knows how to patch and stitch. I'm surprised no one's lost any limbs yet!"
"Do – do people get hurt often?" Katya asked.
Beckett jumped in. "Right now, only from Enforcers who get their jollies from beating up Sump Rats. Nothing too bad yet."
Katya did not like the word yet.
Annie's eyes left Katya's face to look beyond her shoulder. "Hey Silco. What's the hold up? When can this meeting get started?"
Katya turned and saw the slender young man approaching their small circle. He gave Annie an unimpressed look and said, "Have somewhere else to be?"
Annie clicked her tongue against her teeth and rolled her eyes. "No. Just the sooner we get started, the sooner we get to bothering Enforcers."
Silco frowned. "You know this isn't just about bothering Enforcers."
"She knows, Sil," Beckett interjected. "Lighten up."
Silco's face tightened before turning his attention to Katya.
"May I speak with you?"
Katya nodded and followed Silco to a quieter corner of the storage room. Her eyes flitted nervously around the crowded space and her fingers worried a loose thread of her father's coat. She couldn't help but feel the mood was too light given what they were gathered there for. The interaction with Annie and Beckett, as nice as they seemed, put her more on edge.
"I just wanted to thank you again," Silco whispered, bowing his head towards Katya's ear. "For the medicine."
"Did your mother take it?" Katya asked, forcing her eyes to look away from the center of the room and up at Silco.
His face softened and he nodded. "This morning. And I told her about the dose to take in the afternoon."
"Good," Katya said. "And she was agreeable?"
A small smile tilted the corners of Silco's mouth, a lovely shadow curling around its corners. "It took a little convincing, but I think you can attest to my powers of persuasion."
Katya rolled her eyes, but smiled as well. "Yes, yes you are very good with your words."
"Oi! Silco!" Vander called from the front of the room.
Silco glanced over his shoulder to see his friend gesturing him over. He turned back to Katya and said, "Anyway, thank you – "
"Let me know when she needs more."
Like when she gave him the vial in the mine, Silco was lost for words. The grin that had faded from his face briefly returned, and he nodded before heading back toward the front of the room.
"Alright, alright," Vander called out over the crowd as Silco resumed his spot, lurking just behind the bartender's shoulder. "Quiet down everyone!"
Sevika appeared at Katya's side once more and lightly bumped her arm. The shorter woman looked up at her friend to find her smiling excitedly. Katya reciprocated the best she could before crossing her arms over her chest and directing her attention to the front.
"For once we have some news!" Vander continued, his voice and presence easily filling the large room. An excited murmur fluttered through the crowd before dying down again. "I know you lot have been waitin' for something to happen, something that the Children of Zaun can really sink our teeth into."
Affirming murmurs whispered through the room. Next to Vander, Benzo knowingly nodded his head.
"Well, now that our numbers are growin' by the day n' now that we have Brothers and Sisters with necessary skills and access," Katya could've sworn his grey eyes landed on her, "we think it's time to make ourselves known."
The crowd cheered. Katya winced and gripped her arms tighter.
"We've received word," Vander continued, "that there's gonna be a large shipment of weapons and artillery delivered to Piltover's – " a small flurry of 'boos' echoed around the room "– Enforcer's Headquarters this weekend. At the Southside docks."
"You're welcome for that intel!" Annie called from her crate. Beckett smiled and looped his muscular, freckled arm around her shoulder. Some of the crowd giggled at her outburst.
"Yeah, you n' the ginger did alrigh'," Benzo replied and took a swig from the mug in his hands.
The meeting quickly turned to planning. A small team was assembled to go with Vander, Benzo, and Silco the night the shipment was due to dock; others volunteered their homes and businesses for storing the boon; some children offered to run recon the night of to distract Enforcers and keep them off of the Children of Zaun's tails.
Katya watched from her corner. Mouth growing dryer and dryer.
Notes: Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying this labor of love, please consider leaving a comment 3 Have a good one!