I Hope Your Ego is as Bruised as My Spleen
Caitlyn wished desperately that everyone would stop referring to “it” as an incident. Like that night was life-altering, or something that should have left a mark on her soul when it did anything but. There was no incident. There was an accident.
“Well, dear, I don’t know what you expect. You burned your house down trying to make instant mac and cheese.” The words sounded improper, slipping past her mother’s lips around a cup of tea.
The young Kiramman heir blinked incredulously around the table. The mid-afternoon sunlight made her family look ethereal, otherworldly. Was this how others saw them? Flittered in gold and entirely too intimidating? Well. She understood now. Her stomach was roiling, and she’d barely even touched the spongey yellow cake in front of her.
There was kindness in her father’s eyes that was a stark contrast to her mother’s and Jayce. God, she had to swallow every urge in her body to kick Jayce in the shin. It wouldn’t wound him, she knew, just call more attention to herself. So, she took a steady breath and pulled her posture into something more Kiramman-like.
“Isn’t it quite unfair to discuss my life when we’re here to celebrate the strides in Mr. Talis’s?”
Jayce gave a shrug. “I don’t mind one bit, sprout.”
Oh. And now she did kick him. Hard enough to shake the cutlery on the table. She could blame it on the smoke inhalation that had seemed to go to her head, that gave her an unladylike rasp. That would suit her just fine. The whimper that Jayce let out was enough to satisfy her urge.
“Caitlyn!” Cassandra hissed.
“Reflex.”
“And to think! I brought you a gift on a day meant to recognize my upcoming strides in research?” Jayce mocked a pout, rubbing his leg under the oak table. Caitlyn thought she heard her father chuckle, but her muffled it through a bite of cake.
While both of Caitlyn’s parent’s had sponsored Jayce for years now, Tobias was much more hands on with his efforts. He’d been privy of the pair’s antics. He knew of Caitlyn’s silent ache for an older brother was well aware, grateful even, that Jayce had stepped into the role. A bushy eyebrow lifted as a card was passed across the mini tarts and poured champagne.
Caitlyn tried to keep her face neutral. The cardstock was warm from being in Jayce’s breast pocket. He had a smirk on his face that could otherwise be read as a kind smile. But Caitlyn knew Jayce and she knew that he was up to something and- Good fucking Gods.
“Private cooking lessons?” Her voice came out sharp and incredulous, eyes snapping up to the man across the table. “You have to be kidding?”
“Caitlyn the instructions were on the back of the box.”
“Yes, and had I been paying attention, I would have followed them expertly.”
“But you weren’t paying attention, were you dear?” Her mother chimed in from the head of the table, her chin resting delicately on her chin. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Jayce. Thank you for your kindness. I’ll make sure Caitlyn utilizes your generosity to the fullest.”
“And on top of that, there is no time for this! I don’t know who he thinks he is. Waltzing back in here after months in Ixtal with Victor. Like he’s so innocent. I’m sure mother wouldn’t have been so impressed if I hadn’t intercepted his letters when I did, oh no.”
Caitlyn was pacing the length of her childhood bedroom with fervor. Big brown eyes were tracking her with fervor. She begrudgingly didn’t have anywhere else to go, which was another knife in her gut. She was an adult woman- the sheriff of Piltover at that- and she was back in the home she grew up, spewing her thoughts to the only one that had the patience to listen to her.
“Suppose you want this back, huh?” She held up a tennis ball, slightly damp with saliva. Fender, a large German Shepard lifted his head from equally as massive paws, tail thumping at an even pace. “This is the only reason you love me.”
He didn’t object, and Caitlyn didn’t push it. Just watched as his jaws clamped around the ball with expertise when she tossed it in his general direction. To his credit. He’d watched multiple meltdowns since the literal melt-down of their home and hadn’t let out so much as a whine.
Caitlyn gave up on pacing and flopped down next to the creature, carding her fingers through his coat, simply enjoying the prospect of his company. She was lucky that the both of them had made it out of the blaze. Beyond lucky. It hadn’t just been luck, had it?
No, it had been luck and professionals who had also scolded her about the safety of having fire extinguishers on the premises. Which is something Caitlyn should have known. As a woman of the law herself, she should have known. But admittedly fire was the last thing on her mind when it should have at least been a top-five contender.
She sighed deep chest and draped her arm over her face, welcoming the constellations that danced across her eyelids from the added pressure. It had been mortifying. She was used to being watched, of course, by strangers. Growing up a Kiramman and then demanding the attention of the general public as Sheriff.
But this? Fuck. To add insult to injury, as her home crumbled under the cruel hand of fire, flashing red lights caught a crowd that had gathered from neighbors that she’d pointedly ignored for the past two years. Never once did she accept the invitations to barbeques, or block parties. She hadn’t the time. And now she was a spectacle.
Fender made it out before her, he had animal instinct that she did not possess. Caitlyn wanted to save as many work files as she could. It was naive of her. She would have perished for not an impossibly tender arm that wrapped around her mid-section, a muffled voice shrouded in a respirator. “Piltover Fire Department, I’m here to help you.”
Helping her consisted of picking Caitlyn up and hauling her over a broad shoulder like she was a bag of sand. Whatever breath she was holding onto squeezed out of her lungs, but that didn’t matter because the stranger had made quick work of exiting the crumbling structure. The smoke burned her eyes until tears streaked paths down her cheeks.
Caitlyn was dizzy, couldn’t catch her bearings and didn’t get a chance to, because the firefighter had plopped her unceremoniously onto the edge of an ambulance and a mask was slipped over her features by an otherworldly EMT that had freckles of gold. She figured she was hallucinating from lack of air; someone so beautiful wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. But Fender rested his head on her knee and let her hold on tight.
“Hell of a dog you got there.” The pretty EMT smiled while the brushed hair from Caitlyn’s face, who was suddenly so greedy for clean air. “Anything hurt other than your throat and lungs?”
She shook her head no, trying to focus on the girls soothing voice, the way her hands moved as she gently poked and prodded at her. The way Fender nosed into her stomach. Caitlyn wanted to ask her to take a look at him to but every time she swallowed there was a knife there and tears leaked from her eyes. It was unfair. It was weak.
“Good news Babygirl, I think you’re going to live. I still want to transport you to Piltover memorial for overnight observation You’ve got some pretty bad inhalation” Her gilded eyes flicked to the house. It creaked unnaturally. She didn’t’ say what she really wanted to, but it settled between them uncomfortably. “You can take fido with you.”
Caitlyn nodded, a little too eagerly, though, that was the last thing she wanted. She knew too many people at Piltover Memorial. Too many case workers and her father and his associates, the people who worked under the chief. But it was better than here, wasn’t it?
Her acquisition dismissed the EMT with a comforting squeeze of the knee and she was suddenly alone at the mouth of an ambulance with Fender. The steady hum of the oxygen tank and the mask pressed uncomfortably to her face. Her hand was trembling, eyes unfocused, stomach aching from the broad shoulder that had pressed into it earlier.
“You’re a good boy,” Caitlyn murmured behind the plastic, dragging her soot covered fingers down the length of the dog’s nose. He let out a huff in response.
“I’m not that good of a boy.”
She whipped her head up with too much speed. It made her ears ring and her head swim horribly. She’d dropped the mask and was quickly met with the scent of her own house burning. Caitlyn wanted to fall back into the cab of the ambulance and for a second she thought that she would. There wasn’t a grip on which was up.
But a warm hand was on hers and situating the mask back over her mouth and nose, holding it there with a gentle pressure. Caitlyn blinked a few times, taking a desperate breath. She was staring into nitrate eyes, something so grey they were almost silver. Tender. Playful. A woman slotted between her legs instead of her dog. Where the fuck was her dog?
Right- okay, the EMT was scratching him lovingly behind the ears and squishing his face. What a traitor.
“You should keep that on, princess. I didn’t mean to spook you. I just wanted to see how you were doing before you took off.”
Caitlyn wished she didn’t’ have to steady herself against the meat of this woman’s thigh, looping her hand around her beltloop. But it gave her clarity. This was the firefighter. The broad-shouldered woman who had tossed her around and she narrowed her eyes at the fact. Almost glared up at her.
Good Christ she was stunning. It must be the lack of oxygen, but her soot-covered face was so… so endearing. There was a wolfish smile on her lips and her helmet was covering a swath of pink hair so dark that it was almost a fiery red, which was ironic. She couldn’t tell but there might be a tattoo under her eye. Caitlyn was staring too long, she knew it.
She mumbled something under her breath.
“What was that, princess?” The firefighter offered.
“I’m not going to thank you. You bruised my spleen.” Caitlyn lifted the mask, just barely. “Don’t call me princess.”
The firefighter frowned, baffled. But the EMT let out a bark of a laugh that came from her belly, still carding her fingers through Fender’s fur, his pink tongue lolling out from the side of his mouth. He was enjoying this too much for Caitlyn’s liking. “About time someone took a stab at your ego, Vi.”
Caitlyn had to spend two days in the hospital for observation after that and when she’d woken up from a barely pleasant sedative nap on the second day there was a generic card from the gift shop with a boyish message scrawled at the bottom: Sorry about your spleen, Princess. Hope you recover soon.
She’d growled in frustration and ripped it to shreds then and there but admittedly couldn’t’ get the frustrating firefighter out of her brain since. Who did she think she was? Pulling her from a burning building like that… doing her damn job like that… teasing her. It was infuriating. It was arousing.
It was admittedly all Caitlyn’s fault.
Poked and prodded in her own home, Caitlyn couldn’t muster anything less than a lethal glare until she felt nearly blinded in her right eye by her father’s penlight. He was gentle with her, always had been from a young age. She blinked rapidly all the same, trying to clear away the white spots from her vision and gain her senses and he took stock of her vitals.
“Come now, Caitlyn, you act as if I’m torturing you.” His breath was warm against her cheeks as he peeled back her other eyelid and repeated the same process that had nearly taken her vision the first time.
This was torture. Her eyesight was just fine. It was her throat and her chest and even the roof of her mouth that was irritating her. Weeks after the blaze and she still had an annoying rasp to her voice. A heat that would squeeze at her uncomfortably in the middle of the night. Dreams that would have her wake, gasping for air and clutching at Fenders layered coat.
Worst of all, she hadn’t been cleared to return to the station yet.
It was hard for Caitlyn to breathe. The damage to her lungs was extensive, and had long-lasting effects. If not for her father being the Chief of Piltover Memorial, she wouldn’t be here now, in the comfort of her Childhood manor. She’d still be swimming in an uncomfortably white hospital room with a needle in her arm.
“Open wide, I need to take a look at your throat.”
She acquiesced, still blinking away spots from her vision. Caitlyn nearly choked on the dry taste of the wood, almost missed the displeased sound her father made as he shined the light around his intrusion before clicking his pen and tucking it into the pocket of his shirt. He leaned back and frowned at her. She frowned right back.
He sighed heavily “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling worse, Caitlyn?”
Her fingers found their way to the thickest part of Fender’s fur, right above his collar. She squeezed the dense mane and avoided the scrutinizing stare. Caitlyn didn’t’ liked to be fussed over, nor did she like to be admit when she needed help. A little throat discomfort wasn’t going to give her any grief.
“My darling, this isn’t something you can dismiss. It might just seem like your throat is hurting. But it could be your lungs.” He forced her to look at him, gripped her chin with the gentleness of a concerned father. “Caitlyn, please. I’m asking you to let me know if you don’t feel well. This is not a sign of weakness. I’m here to help.”
“Okay,”
She whispered, this. If not to get him to release her, but to soothe the ache in her own chest. Her dog whimpered to cut the silence in the room. To pull her from her whirlwind thoughts. She’d done her due diligence. Played the part and let herself get examined to the nine’s, safe for her lips being lifted and gums being poked for prosperity.
Her father acted as if he believed her. “Very well. Don’t you have your first cooking lesson today?”
“Unless I skip it and we both tell mother that it went as smoothly as possible.”
“Now, we both know that’s impossible. She has spies all over this manor.” He let out a laugh that came straight from the belly, filled with warmth and good intention. “Fine me again this time tomorrow. I’d like to take another look at that throat of yours, Catie.”
It was an easy dismissal, one that Caitlyn took with stride, a soft smile and the clack of Fenders nails against the glossed flooring. She hadn’t much time to kill before this professional chef showed up. Her mother, being so fond of Jayce’s idea, had made sure that the main kitchen was void of any staff and at their full disposal.
The lesson was meant to last an hour and a half for the next six weeks. By the end of it, she was supposed to know the fundamentals: Grilling, broiling, steaming and poaching. How to measure and how to follow directions to a tea. But even if the directions are available Caitlyn is meant to know how to whip something up with basic ingredients that are at her fingertips.
She must admit, she wants to prove people wrong. She wants to make that box of instant mac and cheese her bitch.
A gruff, three-toned, knock pulled Caitlyn from her thoughts and brought her heart into her scarred throat. Fender had settled onto one of the couches. It was sure to send her mother into a tizzy, but for now, Caitlyn allowed him to keep his head on his humongous paws. His tail thumped at the prospect of the stranger at the door. Some guard dog.
Caitlyn pulled her shoulders back, made sure her spine was straight, and her chin was pushed up to just the right angle. The angle that was predisposed for a Kiramman. There were no wrinkles in her clothing and her hair had no fly-aways. The perfect daughter in the perfect home. Sure, her voice was raspy and her skin was paler than usual. But she was still the same girl in the oil painting above the hearth. Just perfect.
When she opened the door, Caitlyn Kiramman fought the undeniable urge to slam in again.
“Oh, fuck no.”
The words just slipped out, but she didn’t make any move to take them back. The firefighter, the one who had unceremoniously hauled her over her broad shoulder, was on the front porch. She wasn’t covered in soot and sweat this time. A tight-fitted t-shirt hugged her fit form, a bag slung over her shoulder. Soft fuchsia hair that looked almost red hit the sun in a brilliant gleam. Intricate ink flitted down toned arms and the twinkle of a silver nose ring punched through one side.
Caitlyn hated to admit it, wouldn’t admit it, but she was attractive. There was scarring on her lip, and on other parts of her body that gave away her profession. Which begged the question: why the hell was she here? To check the fire alarms? Fortify the manor? It certainly couldn’t be to teach Caitlyn how to cook.
“Quite the mouth on you Princess.”
“Your lack of urgency is shocking to me. Isn’t there a fire somewhere you need to extinguish?”
“Depends, have you already started cooking without me?”
Caitlyn wanted to scream. She wanted to kiss that stupid smug smile off of this woman’s face and shove her off the porch and never see her again. Anything to get her out of her sight. Instead, her hand tightened on the wood of the door and her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed into a dangerously icy glare that could freeze the world around them.
Eventually, she stiffly stepped to the side and allowed the Firefighter, Violet, into the Kiramman manor. A low whistle was released. She was impressed by the sheer size of the place. It also beaconed the dog, who came bounding up with so much energy you’d think the woman was holding a squeaky toy and not a rolled chef’s kit.
She dropped to one knee with practice ease, roughly carding her fingers through soft hair, Fender absolutely enjoying the attention. “So, you’re the handsome guy that Mel won’t shut up about. You’re cute, but you kiss with a little too much tongue for my liking.”
“So, what? You’re a Firefighter and a chef, then?”
Again, she smirked, scratching Fender on the very top of the head. “Gotta pay the bills somehow. One’s a hobby, ones a career. Lucky for you I’m brilliant at both.” She hauled herself back to her feet. Caitlyn noticed she was taller. Reveled in the fact. “Besides, if I can prevent fires one house at a time-“
“You are so full of yourself.”
“Am I?”
The smirk turned into something softer, something genuine. They were toe to toe now, Vi leveled with a stare that often made Caitlyn’s men tremble and fold within seconds. She stood her ground firmly in her lazy style. Her beat-up combat boots and messy hair. Up this close, she smelled of mint and bergamot. Fresh yet rugged all at once.
“Leaving that card in my hospital room was… unprofessional.”
“Some would say courteous.”
“Tiresome.”
“Well mannered”
“Maddening.”
“Deferential.”
“Vexing,” Caitlyn raised her voice, stare hardening “Are you going to teach me how to cook or not?”
Instead of responding, Vi lifted an eyebrow and nodded. Caitlyn savored the silence, huffed with enough conviction to push some navy hair from her oceanic stare. With her hands folded into fists and her jaw clenched she kept her breath steady. She prayed to whatever gods existed that she could learn at least one functional thing from the snarky firefighter.
Yeah, she was going to make boxed mac and cheese her bitch.
But, maybe that wasn’t the only thing.