Sheriff’s Reprieve
Chapter 7: Sheriff’s Reprieve
Mel stepped into her penthouse, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors. The faint scent of cinnamon lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of the city below that filtered in through the vast, floor-to-ceiling windows. The penthouse, usually a refuge of quiet luxury, felt unusually hollow tonight, its expansive spaces and muted tones doing little to quell the storm of emotions swirling within her. Fragments of the council meeting replayed in her mind—heated discussions, the weight of her mother’s crimes, and the strain of responsibilities that seemed endless. Added to that were her feelings about Jayce, their moment of vulnerability still fresh in her thoughts, a bittersweet ache in her chest.
With a heavy sigh, Mel shrugged off her black-and-gold coat, the fabric slipping from her shoulders and landing carelessly on the nearest chair. She paused mid-step, her gaze catching an unexpected figure by the window. Caitlyn. The sheriff’s tall frame stood silhouetted against the warm, golden glow of Piltover’s skyline. The crisp lines of her uniform were as sharp as ever, but the rigidity in Caitlyn’s posture betrayed her usual composure. Her shoulders were squared yet tense, her head slightly bowed, and her fingers clenched loosely at her sides, as though wrestling with an invisible weight that refused to budge.
The silence was thick, broken only by the faint murmur of the city below and the rhythmic tapping of Mel’s heels as she cautiously approached. The sheriff’s reflection in the glass revealed a face etched with exhaustion, her jaw set tight and her eyes distant, lost in thoughts that seemed heavy enough to pull her under. Even from a distance, Mel could sense the turmoil radiating from her—a palpable tension that filled the room like static before a storm. Caitlyn, so often the embodiment of discipline and control, looked unmoored, her usual strength eroded by something Mel could only guess at.
“Caitlyn,” Mel said softly, her voice laced with both surprise and concern. She hadn’t expected anyone to be here, least of all Caitlyn, who rarely allowed herself moments away from the manor or her unrelenting duties. “What are you doing here?”
Caitlyn didn’t respond right away, her focus remaining on the skyline beyond the glass. Her figure, illuminated by the warm glow of the city lights, looked unusually small against the vast expanse of Piltover’s grandeur. Her hands, encased in her signature leather gloves, were clenched at her sides. The faint creak of the material betrayed her tension, her fingers tightening and loosening in an almost unconscious rhythm. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and strained, barely audible over the hum of the city. “I needed… I needed somewhere quiet.” There was a pause, the weight of her words settling in the room. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
The admission carried an unexpected fragility, and Mel’s heart tightened at the raw honesty of it. Caitlyn, always the pillar of strength and determination, was unraveling before her. Stepping closer, Mel’s expression softened, her brows furrowing in worry as she noticed the subtle tremble in Caitlyn’s frame. The perfectly pressed lines of her uniform, the polished badge on her chest—everything about her outward appearance seemed a stark contrast to the turmoil beneath the surface.
“Caitlyn,” Mel began again, her tone more insistent now, but her words faltered when Caitlyn finally turned to face her.
The sight struck Mel deeply, like an unexpected blow. Caitlyn’s face, so often composed and resolute, was pale and drawn, her features etched with an exhaustion that went beyond the physical. Her blue eyes, shadowed by sleepless nights and endless worry, glistened with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. Her lips, slightly parted as though she were about to speak, trembled with the effort of holding herself together. It wasn’t just vulnerability Mel saw in her—this was someone who had borne the weight of the world for too long and was now standing on the edge of breaking.
For a moment, Caitlyn seemed to struggle with herself, her jaw tightening as if trying to force back the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. But the act was futile. The crack in her armor had widened, and it was clear she could no longer hold it all in. Mel remained silent, giving her the space to process, yet her presence radiated warmth and reassurance. She didn’t need to say anything; her steady gaze told Caitlyn that she didn’t have to face this alone.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Caitlyn said, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. Her grip on the windowsill tightened as though it was the only thing keeping her upright. The tears spilled over now, unchecked, carving streaks down her pale cheeks. “I’ve been holding it together for so long, Mel. For six years, I’ve been fighting, searching, hoping that somehow I’d find her and bring her back. And now that Vi is here—she’s back, she’s alive—I don’t know what to do.”
Her voice broke again, and her shoulders shook as a sob escaped her. Caitlyn’s usually measured composure was gone, leaving her raw and exposed. The vulnerability in her voice, the anguish etched into her features, struck Mel deeply, and for a moment, she was paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of Caitlyn’s pain.
Mel’s heart twisted painfully, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her as she watched Caitlyn unravel. She crossed the room slowly, her steps deliberate but unhurried, careful not to intrude too suddenly. Her presence was steady, offering Caitlyn the space to continue without interruption.
“She’s healing,” Caitlyn said, her voice rising, tinged with frustration and helplessness. Her tears came faster now, and her hands trembled as she gestured helplessly. “Physically, she’s getting better. But emotionally? Mentally? It’s like she’s not even there sometimes. I see it in her eyes, Mel—she’s so far away, and I can’t reach her.” Caitlyn’s breathing grew more uneven, her words spilling out in a torrent. “No matter what I do, it’s not enough. I sit with her, I talk to her, I try to be patient, but it’s like there’s this wall between us. She’s slipping through my fingers, and I’m terrified I’m losing her all over again.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned her gaze back to the window, unable to face Mel. Her reflection in the glass mirrored her turmoil—eyes red and swollen, her lips trembling as she fought to steady her breathing. “I love her, Mel,” Caitlyn whispered, her voice barely audible now. “I love her so much it hurts, but I don’t know how to bring her back. I don’t even know if I can.”
Mel reached out then, her hand resting gently on Caitlyn’s arm. The gesture was simple but firm, a quiet reminder that Caitlyn wasn’t alone in this. Mel’s eyes softened as she stepped closer, her voice low and steady when she finally spoke. “You’re not failing her, Caitlyn. You’re doing everything you can. Sometimes… sometimes healing isn’t about fixing someone. It’s about being there, even when they’re not ready to let you in.”
Caitlyn’s legs gave out beneath her as if the weight of her emotions had finally become too much to bear. She sank to the polished floor, her trembling hands covering her face as muffled sobs broke free. Each cry was raw, unrestrained, and heavy with the pain of years spent holding everything together. The sound pierced the silence of the penthouse, filling the room with a grief that Mel could feel down to her very core.
Mel knelt beside her, her movements deliberate and calm despite the storm raging in her own chest. Her hand rested gently on Caitlyn’s knee, its warmth a steadying presence in the fragile quiet. “Caitlyn,” she said softly, her voice low and steady, like a soothing balm against the weight of the sheriff’s anguish. “You’ve carried so much on your shoulders—more than anyone should ever have to. It’s okay to feel like this. It’s okay to break down.”
Caitlyn’s hands dropped slightly, revealing her tear-streaked face. Her eyes, red and swollen, were filled with anguish, guilt, and the exhaustion of years spent holding everything together. “But I can’t break down, Mel,” she choked out, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “Vi needs me. Jinx needs me. Even Piltover needs me. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart.”
Mel’s gaze softened, and her grip on Caitlyn’s knee tightened just enough to ground her. “You’re not a machine, Caitlyn. You’re human,” Mel said, her voice firm yet gentle. “And humans can only carry so much before they crumble. You’ve fought harder and given more than anyone could ever ask of you. But if you don’t take care of yourself, how can you be there for the people you love?”
Caitlyn’s sobs began to quiet, her breathing uneven but no longer as sharp. She lifted her eyes to meet Mel’s gaze, and for the first time, her vulnerability was laid bare. There was a quiet plea there, unspoken but unmistakable—a need for someone to give her the permission she couldn’t grant herself. “I don’t know how,” Caitlyn whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to let go of this weight. If I do, it feels like everything will fall apart.”
Mel exhaled slowly, suppressing the ache in her own chest. She wanted to pull Caitlyn into a comforting embrace, but she knew this wasn’t the time for that. Instead, she leaned in closer, her hand still resting firmly on Caitlyn’s knee. “Start with this moment,” Mel said, her voice steady but filled with quiet reassurance. “Right here, right now. It’s just you and me. No expectations, no responsibilities. Let yourself feel, Caitlyn. Let yourself be human.”
For a moment Mel’s words lingered in the air, Caitlyn sat motionless, her hands trembling in her lap. Then, slowly, she reached for her badge. The polished brass reflected the faint light of the room as her fingers brushed over the emblem, the gesture hesitant and deliberate. She held the badge in her hands, staring at it as though it carried the weight of everything she had endured.
“You and the council gave me this,” Caitlyn said, her voice breaking the silence. She hesitated, her thumb tracing the edges of the badge as if trying to anchor herself to it. “I knew you all expected me to fail while Vi was fighting to fix Zaun… I thought I did fail when she was taken. That the council would have their fall guy.” Her lips twisted into a bitter smile, and she let out a hollow laugh.
“Vi may have been taken, but I fought so hard to keep the peace with them. Ekko stepped up, and together, we—all of us, even the council—made peace.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, her words filled with quiet defiance. “And still, I wondered if it was enough. If it ever could be.”
Caitlyn extended her arm, holding the badge out to Mel. The gesture wasn’t abrupt; it was steady, deliberate, as though she had made peace with what she was offering. “Take it,” she said, her voice softer now. “I don’t know if I ever deserved it in the first place.”
Mel stared at the badge, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed Caitlyn’s words. Her fingers hovered just above it, the polished brass glinting faintly in the soft light. Then, instead of taking it, she gently pushed Caitlyn’s hand back toward her chest, her touch deliberate and steady. “No,” Mel said firmly, her voice carrying a quiet authority that left no room for argument. “You’ve earned this a hundred times over, Caitlyn. Not because of the council, not because of what Piltover expects of you, but because you never stopped fighting—for Vi, for Zaun, for everything that matters.”
Caitlyn didn’t flinch or waver. Her resolve was evident as she took Mel’s hand and placed the badge into her palm with a quiet but deliberate motion. “Consider this my resignation,” Caitlyn said, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of exhaustion. “You said it yourself, Mel. I need to take care of myself, and I can’t do that while I’m pulled in multiple directions.”
Mel’s fingers curled around the badge instinctively, its weight more than just physical in her hand. She stared at it for a long moment, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—understanding, concern, and a hint of defiance. The silence stretched between them, heavy and significant, before Mel finally lifted her gaze back to Caitlyn.
“I’ll only consider this a leave of absence,” Mel said firmly, her tone softening slightly but losing none of its resolve. “Nothing more, Caitlyn. You are the sheriff we chose—not as a scapegoat for when things go wrong, but because of everything you’ve been able to accomplish. You’ve proven yourself time and again, and that badge represents what you’ve built, not what you’ve lost.”
Caitlyn’s lips parted as if to argue, but Mel’s unwavering gaze stopped her. Mel’s fingers tightening slightly around the badge before she gently pressed it back into Caitlyn’s hands. “You’re not giving this up,” she continued, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’re just taking a moment to breathe. To find yourself again. And when you’re ready, Caitlyn—when you’ve taken care of yourself—you’ll come back. Because Piltover needs you. Zaun needs you. And Vi… Vi needs you more than she’ll ever admit.”
Caitlyn’s eyes filled with unshed tears again, her fingers curling around the badge as though holding onto it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “I don’t know if I can come back from this, Mel. I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.”
Mel reached out, her hand resting over Caitlyn’s, the badge held firmly between them. “You’ve always had it in you,” she said, her voice laced with quiet conviction. “And you always will. But for now, Caitlyn, take the time you need. Heal. Rest. Because when you do come back, you’ll be stronger than ever.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city below, the weight of Mel’s words settling over them both. Caitlyn’s shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension that had held her so rigid beginning to ease. She nodded, her breath unsteady but her resolve slowly returning.
“Thank you,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as she tightened her grip on the badge. It wasn’t just gratitude—it was trust, a quiet acknowledgment.
Caitlyn pushed herself off the floor, her movements slow and deliberate, as though testing the strength of her resolve. Her fingers brushed against the polished marble for a moment before she steadied herself, rising to her full height. Her uniform, though still sharp and meticulously pressed, now seemed to hang a little heavier on her frame. She took a breath, deep and measured, her hands tightening around the badge Mel had returned to her.
Mel followed suit, her movements fluid but thoughtful as she stood. She adjusted her golden-accented dress, smoothing the fabric out of habit, though her attention never wavered from Caitlyn. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passed between them. It wasn’t just about the words they had shared—it was about the unspoken bond forged through their mutual struggles and sacrifices.
Caitlyn broke the gaze first, turning toward the door. Her footsteps were firm but unhurried as she made her way across the expansive penthouse, the sound echoing faintly in the stillness. She paused just before the door, her hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, she stood there, her head slightly bowed as if wrestling with something unsaid. Then, without turning back, she spoke, her voice steady but soft.
“Take care of yourself, Mel,” Caitlyn said, the words carrying a weight that went beyond a simple farewell. It was a plea, an acknowledgment that Mel, too, carried more than she should. Without waiting for a response, Caitlyn opened the door and stepped out, the quiet click of the latch echoing in the now-empty room.
Mel remained where she stood, her eyes fixed on the closed door. The faint hum of the city outside filled the silence, but her thoughts were louder—echoes of Caitlyn’s words mingling with her own doubts and reflections. For a long moment, she didn’t move, her fingers absently brushing the fabric of her dress as though grounding herself in the present.
Caitlyn, meanwhile, descended the penthouse steps with a renewed sense of purpose. The weight on her shoulders hadn’t vanished, but it felt lighter, more bearable now. She clutched the badge in her hand, its edges pressing into her palm as a reminder of the responsibility she still carried—even if she had chosen to step back for now. Her steps quickened as she neared the street, her boots hitting the pavement with a steady rhythm that matched the beating of her heart.
By the time she reached the Piltover Headquarters, the city’s glow had dimmed into the soft hues of pre-dawn. Caitlyn didn’t hesitate as she entered the building, her stride purposeful as she moved through the quiet halls. The familiar scent of parchment, ink, and faint traces of oil from the machinery filled the air, grounding her in a place she knew better than her own home.
She stepped into her office, the door creaking slightly as it swung open, its sound echoing faintly through the stillness. The room stood as a chaotic testament to six years of relentless searching, each detail a monument to her obsession. Maps covered the walls, their edges worn and curling with age, littered with hastily marked notations—circles, arrows, and Xs that represented dead-end leads and abandoned hopes. Stacks of reports teetered precariously on her desk, their corners frayed from countless late nights and desperate reviews. Pins connected by faded threads crisscrossed the maps like an intricate spiderweb, each line a tether to her unwavering determination, and each break a reminder of failure.
Caitlyn’s gaze swept across it all, and a sharp ache tugged at her chest. This space, this battlefield of ink and paper, had been her refuge and her prison. The memories of sleepless nights spent pouring over every clue, every whisper of Vi’s whereabouts, rushed over her like a tide. She had clung to this room, this mission, as though it were the only thing holding her together. Now, it felt like a relic of another life—a life she was ready to leave behind.
Her eyes caught on a box tucked neatly near a closet, its cardboard stiff and untouched. With slow, deliberate steps, she crossed the room and picked it up, her fingers brushing over its smooth surface as though testing its weight. Then, with a quiet resolve, she began to dismantle her world.
The first pin she pulled from the wall made a faint ping as it fell into the box, its sound sharper than she expected in the silence. One by one, she unwound the threads, the once-taut lines falling limp as the web unraveled. Pins and thread clattered softly into the box, their collective weight far lighter than the burden they symbolized. Reports followed, stacked neatly inside despite the chaos they had represented in her life. Each document, each hastily scribbled note, had once felt urgent, vital—now they were nothing more than pages in a chapter she was finally ready to close.
Her movements were methodical but unhurried, as though giving herself time to process each piece she packed away. Her fingers lingered on a faded photograph pinned near the center of the largest map. It was of Vi, taken years ago—her hair unruly, her expression defiant, and her grin almost playful. Caitlyn’s hand trembled slightly as she unpinned it, her thumb brushing over the worn edges. This photo had been her anchor, her reminder of who she was searching for, even when the leads ran cold and the hope began to waver. She hesitated, the weight of the memory pressing down on her, before placing it gently on top of the pile in the box.
The room grew emptier with each passing moment. The maps were gone, the threads unwound, the walls stripped bare. The space that had once been so suffocatingly full now felt unnervingly open, its emptiness unfamiliar and unsettling. Caitlyn placed the box by the door, her gloves brushing off the faint layer of dust that clung to its surface. She turned back toward her desk, where her badge sat in the soft glow of the room’s light, its polished brass reflecting faint, fractured patterns.
For a long moment, she stood there, staring at the badge as though it held all the answers she had sought for so long. Her thoughts swirled, a maelstrom of relief, grief, and uncertainty. The years of searching had defined her, shaped her into someone she no longer recognized entirely. But now, Vi was home. The search was over. The realization brought both a sense of peace and a strange hollowness, as though the mission that had consumed her had left an emptiness in its wake.
Caitlyn exhaled slowly, the sound almost a sigh as it filled the room. The badge gleamed faintly under the light, a symbol of the duty she had carried with her through it all. Vi was home now. That was what mattered. The years of relentless pursuit, of pushing herself beyond her limits, were behind her. All that remained was to be present—to stand by Vi as she healed and, in turn, to allow herself the chance to heal as well.
She stepped back from the desk, her movements slow and deliberate, as though releasing herself from an invisible tether. The office, once a battlefield of desperate plans and unyielding focus, was no longer a place of conflict. It was quiet now—a space that waited, not for frantic energy or sleepless nights, but for the day she might return. Not as the woman driven by desperation, but as someone who had reclaimed herself, her purpose, and her peace.