Chapter 10
The sitting room is quiet, aside from the soft scratching of Caitlyn’s pen against paper every now and then. A warm glow from the fireplace casts long, flickering shadows across the walls, bathing the room in amber light. Outside, the wind howls, carrying winter’s sharp bite against the frosted windows. Inside, though, it is comfortably warm, the fire’s steady burn keeping the cold at bay.
Caitlyn sits hunched over her desk, papers meticulously arranged in neat stacks around her. A deep furrow creases her brow as she pores over the dense text, skimming columns of figures and cross-referencing numbers in her mind. Her fingers glide over the pages as she notes small corrections, barely aware of anything beyond her work. She has been at this for hours now, moving with the kind of precise efficiency that comes naturally to her—methodical in every sense of the word.
Vi, on the other hand, is nestled into the corner of her arm chair, the one Caitlyn had brought up here specially, a book resting in her lap, its spine creased from its years of existence and use in the Kiramman library. She slouches, one leg tucked beneath her, an arm draped lazily over the back of the chair. She has read the same sentence three times now, eyes drifting away from the pages to the woman seated across the room from her.
Her woman.
She watches Caitlyn in silence, observing the way her shoulders tense slightly every time she comes across an inconsistency in the writing. The way she chews the end of her pen absently whilst she thinks, the way she tugs at her sleeve whenever she leans closer to the pages, as she tries to get her gaze to refocus.
It’s a familiar sight—Caitlyn so utterly immersed in her work that the rest of the world simply ceases to exist. Violet will always admire her focus, the unshakable determination she carries.
The fire crackles softly, breaking the silence just enough to remind Vi that the room is still alive, still filled with warmth.
Then, Caitlyn coughs.
It’s soft at first, a quiet, restrained sound that barely registers as more than a clearing of her throat. Vi wonders momentarily if she's going to say something, but she doesn't. Her eyes flick toward her, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she shifts slightly, stretching her legs out as she turns another page in her book. Another page she probably hasn't fully absorbed.
Caitlyn doesn’t acknowledge the cough either, her focus unbroken as she jots down another note.
But then she coughs again.
This time, it’s a little harsher, rattling in her chest before she suppresses it with a small sigh. Vi watches her more intently now, the crease in her own brow deepening. Caitlyn barely reacts—just tugs her jacket a little looser and keeps working.
For another long moment, she says nothing. Then, without a word, she closes her book and swings her legs off the couch, padding silently toward the kitchen.
The difference in temperature is immediate. The kitchen is colder, the absence of the fire’s warmth settling over her in a way that makes her shiver slightly. She rubs her arms absentmindedly as she moves toward the stove, reaching for the kettle.
She doesn’t need to think about what she’s doing. Her hands know the rhythm of it—filling the kettle, setting it to boil, retrieving Caitlyn’s favourite cup from the shelf. The routine is simple, automatic. A domestic thing she'd never expected to have in this lifetime, or any really. But that all changed with Caitlyn officially inviting her to live here.
She chooses chamomile, the one Caitlyn always drinks when she needs to unwind. She doesn’t add too much honey, just enough to soften the taste. As the kettle whistles to life, Vi leans against the counter, crossing her arms as she listens to the soft bubbling of the water.
She glances toward the doorway, the direction where Caitlyn will still be seated, still working, and now, still coughing.
Vi sighs, drumming her fingers against the counter as she waits for the kettle to finish boiling. This isn’t the first time Caitlyn has pushed herself too far, and Vi knows it won’t be the last. But something about tonight makes her chest feel tight, makes her stomach twist in a way that isn’t entirely unfamiliar, but still unwelcome. She only hopes it will pass as soon as it's come.
When the kettle finally signals its ready, Vi moves again, pouring the steaming water over the tea leaves, watching as the amber liquid swirls and darkens. She exhales slowly, letting the warmth seep into her hands as she lifts the cup. She doesn't pour herself one, she's not sure she'll ever fully adjust to the taste. But Caitlyn always seems to like it.
Then, with careful steps, she makes her way back to the sitting room.
Caitlyn hasn’t moved. Not noticeably anyway.
The firelight catches in her dark hair, framing her in a glow. She’s still hunched over the table, one hand resting lightly against the side of her head, the other gripping her pen. Her eyes flicker over the papers, sharp and focused, though Vi doesn’t miss the slight flush on her cheeks, the way her shoulders rise and fall just a little too heavily.
She doesn’t say anything at first. She simply steps closer, setting the tea down beside Caitlyn’s dominant hand with a quiet clink.
Caitlyn blinks, momentarily pulled from her thoughts by the unexpected presence of the cup. She glances at it, then up at Vi, her expression unreadable.
“You’re fussing,” she murmurs.
Vi smirks, crouching down so they’re at eye level. “Only ‘cause I know you won’t. You needed something to drink.”
Caitlyn huffs a quiet laugh through her nose, but it turns into another small cough. She picks up the tea, the warmth seeping into her fingers as she lifts it to her lips.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
Vi watches her for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. “Just make sure you actually drink it,” She nods to the other two discarded, half full cups on her desk. She presses a kiss to her hair and then turns to take her place back in the other corner of the room
And for a while, she tries to settle back into her book but there's something gnawing at her still. So she ends up just watching her from the couch, her book forgotten in her lap. Her elbow rests against the armrest, knuckles pressed against her temple as she studies Caitlyn’s movements.
There’s something rigid about her posture—more than usual. Her movements are methodical like always but lack their usual sharpness. She’s pushing through an invisible weight. She's definitely not feeling well. Atleast not as far as Vi can tell.
She lets out a slow exhale.
Caitlyn sniffles. Clears her throat.
She doesn’t even notice when she rubs at her own temple, or the way her fingers flex as though trying to will away the tension. Vi notices it all.
The second time Caitlyn’s shoulders twitch in a silent shudder, Vi sets her book aside on the coffee table, letting it thud to grab her attention.
"You alright?"
Caitlyn doesn’t look up. "Fine."
Vi hums, unconvinced. She leans back, stretching out her legs, but her gaze never leaves Caitlyn.
There’s something else—her breathing is different. Slightly heavier, just enough that someone who knows her well would catch it. Vi presses her lips together and watches a little longer. As long as she can reasonably wait, gathering every piece of evidence knowing all too well Caitlyn will protest.
The next cough is more than just a breathy exhale. It’s sharp, sudden, enough to make Caitlyn's body jolt slightly with the force of it. Vi straightens, a small frown tugging at her brow. Caitlyn recovers quickly, shakes her head as if to dismiss it, and presses back into her work.
But that's the final time. Vi moves then. Slow, unhurried, the way she does when she doesn’t want Caitlyn to argue.
She pushes herself up from the couch and shuffles toward her. Caitlyn barely acknowledges her presence as Vi perches on the edge of the armrest, close but not quite touching.
Another cough. This one deeper, rattling in her chest. Caitlyn brings a fist up to her mouth and exhales sharply, blinking as she refocuses.
Vi tilts her head. "Still fine?"
Caitlyn sniffs again, presses the heel of her palm to her forehead before dragging it down to pinch the bridge of her nose. “It’s just a cold, Vi.”
Vi doesn’t reply immediately. She waits, lets the silence settle between them, watches the way Caitlyn’s hand twitches over the papers.
She’s barely holding herself together with sheer force of will.
Caitlyn exhales, shoulders slumping slightly, and reaches for the edge of her jacket. She peels it off in one fluid motion, dropping it onto the chair behind her. Despite the season, a faint sheen of sweat clings to the back of her neck.
Vi’s frown deepens. "You're warm?" Vi reaches a palm forward to press against Caitlyn's forehead. For most of winter Caitlyn had complained about being cold, the fires had followed them around each toom of the house for most of the season. And even at night she'd curl closer to Violet, stealing her heat.
But she waves a dismissive hand, swatting her away. "It’s just the fire."
Vi knows better. She shifts, like she’s about to stand, and Caitlyn glances at her, distracted. Then, quick as a flash, Vi turns back and presses the back of her fingers against Caitlyn’s forehead before she has a chance to move.
Caitlyn bats her hand away instantly, scowling. "Vi—"
But Vi has already felt the heat beneath her fingertips, the fever that lingers against her hand even as she pulls back. Her stomach twists. Lips drooping into a sad pout.
"Caitlyn," she says, quieter now, a shade softer.
Caitlyn exhales through her nose and picks up her pen again. "Vi, please."
"How long have you been feeling like this?"
"I don’t know. I have this important meeting tomorrow, I—"
"You’re sick, Caitlyn."
Caitlyn tightens her grip on the pen, but doesn’t respond. She doesn’t look at Vi, just stares at the numbers swimming on the page. She blinks once, slowly, then swallows like it’s an effort.
Vi watches her carefully for a moment, letting her process the words. Then, with deliberate ease, she reaches forward. Her fingers brush against Caitlyn’s, light as air, before she gently tugs the pen from her grasp.
"Vi I can't be sick, I—"
Vi sets it down on the coffee table with finality. Then she gathers the papers she's currently been looking over, tapping them against her palm to neaten the stack, and places them beside the pen. She spins Caitlyn's chair round on its axel until she faces her. Then levels Caitlyn with a look, warm but unwavering.
"You need rest," she says simply. "Go to bed."
Caitlyn shakes her head, “Violet, I don't—"
Before she can finish, Vi stands and moves closer, Caitlyn barely has a second to react before Vi leans down, strong arms hooking beneath her legs and back.
"Vi—Vi, Violet!" Caitlyn’s voice rises slightly in protest as she’s scooped up effortlessly, her surroundings tilting as Vi lifts her against her chest. "Put me down!"
But Vi only softens into a smile, adjusting her grip as Caitlyn squirms. "You’re going to bed."
Caitlyn lets out a breath, exasperated but without real malice. "Violet, this is just unnecessary."
Vi chuckles, holding her securely. "You keep saying that, but your fever says otherwise. And don't Violet me."
Caitlyn kicks weakly, more out of principle than anything else. Vi lets her, the warmth of her arms steady against Caitlyn’s back, her initial resistance fading.
Then, without warning, she lets out another coughing fit. It wracks through her body, stealing the breath from her lungs, forcing her to curl inward slightly as she coughs into Vi’s shoulder.
Vi stills, her amusement flickering into concern. She waits, feeling the way Caitlyn’s body trembles faintly against her.
When Caitlyn finally catches her breath, Vi hesitates before speaking. "You okay?"
Caitlyn exhales shakily, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Vi’s shirt. "You’re an idiot."
Vi huffs out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well. You decided to let me in."
Caitlyn doesn’t respond. But she doesn’t pull away, either.
Vi watches her, takes in the slight flush to her cheeks that isn’t just from the fever, the way her breath still hitches. She softens, adjusts her grip, and turns toward the hallway.
"Let’s get you to bed."
Vi helps Caitlyn change into her pyjamas with gentle hands, moving slowly, giving her the space to do what she can on her own but stepping in whenever anything seems like the slightest too much effort.
She doesn't mean to hover, but she does.
Caitlyn sighs as Vi slides her arms free of her shirt, the warmth of her fevered skin meeting the cooler air of their bedroom. She mumbles something about being able to do it herself, but there’s no real fight in her voice. Vi just hums, helping her slip into a soft, long-sleeved satin pyjama top before pulling the blankets up around her.
“There,” Vi says softly, smoothing a hand over Caitlyn’s shoulder before stepping back. “Tucked in properly.”
Caitlyn gives a breath of laughter, too tired to do much more. Vi watches her for a moment, gaze flickering over the weary set of her features, the way her eyelids are heavy but still stubbornly open. Vi presses her lips together and leans in, pressing a kiss to Caitlyn’s hairline.
“Stay put,” she murmurs. “I’ll get you some water.”
Caitlyn doesn’t argue. She just shifts under the blankets, already curling into the warmth of their bed as Vi steps away. Vi moves quickly, padding down the hall, filling a glass from the kitchen.
But when she returns, Caitlyn is not in bed. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, the light spilling out into the dim bedroom. Vi hears it before she sees it—the quiet, miserable sound of retching.
“Cait?” Vi’s voice is gentle as she steps inside. Caitlyn is hunched over the toilet, one hand bracing against the cool porcelain, her hair falling into her face.
She glances at Vi with glassy eyes, offering a weak, rueful smile.
“What did you put in that tea?” she rasps, if not a little breathless. “I felt fine and now,”
Vi is at her side in an instant, setting the glass down before gathering Caitlyn’s hair and brushing it back with her fingers. “Yeah, pin it on me,” she says lightly, though her voice is tight with concern. “Laced it with rat poison. Thought I’d mix things up tonight.”
Caitlyn huffs a laugh before she wretches again, fingers tightening around the edge of the toilet seat. Vi rubs slow circles between her shoulder blades, murmuring nonsense, just something to fill the space, something to ground Caitlyn as she rides through the worst of it.
It doesn’t last long, but by the end of it, Caitlyn is somehow paler. Vi hands her some tissue, watching as she wipes at her mouth with trembling fingers.
Caitlyn leans back against Vi, with a tired groan, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “You should keep your distance,” she murmurs. “You’ll catch whatever this is.”
Vi snorts. “Yeah, not happening Cupcake.”
She helps Caitlyn to her feet carefully, an arm firm around her waist as she guides her back to bed. Caitlyn doesn’t resist, just leans into Vi’s warmth as they shuffle across the room. Once Vi gets her settled under the blankets again, she starts to move away. “Just going to change first,”
Once Vi joins her, Caitlyn immediately shifts closer, head finding Vi’s shoulder, her body curling toward her as if drawn only by instinct.
Vi exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to Caitlyn’s hair. “Try to sleep,” she whispers.
Caitlyn hums, her breath evening out slowly, the fever still burning at her skin, but Vi’s arms steady around her, letting her settle into a fever ridden, broken sleep.