Summary: In the color of their eyes, there is a set of numbers counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds to when you will meet your soulmate. It's never concrete, as people are always on the move, or poor luck could influence the two of you barely missing one another. And unfortunately, you just so happen to be in the latter-category. Over, and over, and over again... (Soulmate!AU)
Pairing: (Slow-Burn) Silco X GN!Reader
Warnings: SFW, language and mentions of violence/war. Blood, drowning and serious eye-trauma/injuries alluded to, but not described. Some background lore/world-building mentioned, but not necessary to follow the plot.
Wordcount: 1.5K+
Note: Or, give me that sweet soulmate AU where both are looking for one another, keep missing each other, and are both mutually frustrated and pining after their annoying other-half that. just. keeps. on. missing. them. 'Stop. Being. So. Hard. To. Track. Down.' This is going to be an Arcane-version of a romantic-comedy, I swear, eventually.
And finally, thank YOU for a 100 followers!
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You heard the shouts of warning as lightning flashed again overhead, between the cracks of Piltover into the undercity. Scoffs and insults at your apparent lack of intelligence or decent sense thrown out as you shoot like a bullet down pouring, already half-flooded streets, somehow managing not to slip and fall on your face in the downpour.
It had never rained so hard before, and if you were someone smarter, you would've ducked back into the nearest bar or club to wait out the rain, instead of racing to the docks with the speed of one racing to their future.
You'd been working there on-and-off for several months now, making a cheap, but decent living off the scraps of fishing. A halfway-decent fellow, which was hard to find around here, but even you told him to go bite-it when he asked you yesterday to return to help around his shack, giving a pointed look at the nearly-black clouds cutting into the polluted sky.
He started wearing you down, and despite the fact that you'd loathed the long-task ahead of drying out your clothes after the day was done, you started to consider the extra pocket-changed you'd make...
Then, you swore suddenly as you felt the flash of your timer hum urgently beneath your skin, your fingers quick to pull up your sleeve as you stared down at the flashing row of numbers, soon coming to a standstill with a lot more zeros than earlier. A lot more zeros than you had ever seen on your skin, as a matter of fact.
An hour prior, the timer had been in the hundreds-of-days away territory, not even worth paying attention to.
Now, it was counting down to a little-less than twenty-four hours.
"So you'll be back 'ere tomorrow, 'ight?"
"...Yes."
And that's why you were booking it to the docks, watching as six changed to five, then into a four. Your heart raced with emotion, and exhilaration from running, and also the fact your timer had never been this low before. You'd seen it jump from years to about roughly just under a month before, but solely just the hours? Literal minutes, getting closer and closer to the seconds that make the possibility more real than it had ever been in your life?
It makes your legs pump all the more faster on your race to work, and the prospect of laying eyes on your destined other-half.
All the while your mind was racing with the possibilities of your soulmate, a sailor maybe? Gods, you'd be blessed if your soulmate was one of the travelers, as cheesy as it sounds. An all-but-guaranteed escape from the never-ending Topsider conflicts, the daily toil and grind without a real future, and, well... frankly, you were curious to meet them, your soulmate.
The seafoam numbers on your skin were already appealing. As with all timers, numbers were in the color of your other-half's eyes, and based on the preview alone, you knew you would find yourself drawn to that shade within an instant.
The four-minute mark dropped to a three, as you turned the corner, immediately ramming into the hulking young man at the end of the alleyway.
He swore and whipped around as you stumbled, agitation clear with his wide eyes and heaving breaths as he faced you with a crowbar in hand, raised a bit in reflex before lowering. "Watch it! This way's closed, piss off!" You snarl up at him, opening your mouth to berate him, but then you distantly hear the echoes of twin yells of rage, screaming at the volumes that challenged the volume of the thunder overhead.
The sound made the man swear violently, whipping back around to stare down the mouth of the alleyway. You could see the confliction, the shaking distress clear in his body as his fist tightened around the metal weapon in hand. A glance at your wrist (two, Gods, it's never gotten down to two minutes...) makes you no more sympathetic to the man. "Listen, I have a job on the water, you have to-"
The attempt to shoulder past is met with a violent shove, and a snarl of "Children Business, shoo!" Suppressing a groan at the realization that this is the Undercities freedom-fighters, the so-called Children of Zaun, telling you off, you go to duck around him entirely...
Then you realize the distant shouts had stopped a while ago, because now only one comes back with a vengeance, and it makes you take a step back with the ferocity echoing through this side of the city. You feel that silent, urgent hum suddenly at your wrist again, and you're suddenly fighting to slip your soaked-sleeve back up, unaware of the man guarding the alleyway exit having run off, shouting urgently and questioningly.
And you ignore all of it, staring down in bewilderment, dismay and worry at your wrist. Because now the numbers are flashing too fast for you to track, and are far, far from being the two-minutes and counting you had left...
And part of that seafoam glow on your skin, was slowly, but surely turning into a dark, bloody red.
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000973.034617
000973.034613
000973.034609...
Minutes. It had been... minutes.
Digging the already dripping-red rag into his eye harsher, the dilated green eye glared down at the feverishly-shaking wrist limply laying on his leg. Harsh, sucking breaths between teeth as the young, clearly distressed man banged his head back on the wall behind him, hissing at pains both physical and not as his body shook with racing thoughts.
Did they watch?
Did they do nothing?
Did they turn away from his suffering, deeming it... deeming him unworthy...?
Clarity filled Silco's mind, and his trembling body went limp as he released a heaving breath, his green eye closing as he felt rain and blood trickle down the other side of his face.
No, that wasn't it.
No, the timer would've come to a stop the moment, the instant they saw him. They both would've known the instant they saw one-another. The fact that they had been literal moments, seconds away during his... during Vander's... crime against him, was a simple, tragic, and perfectly-Zaunite-branded coincidence.
One he hadn't needed, and certainly not in that moment, but then again, when had Gods ever been fair?
His half-gaze dropped back down to his wrist. The days solidly within the 900-reigion were... disheartening, to say the least, but it wasn't the first crushing thing he'd been exposed to today. Nor in his life.
Silco knew what he had to do now, even with mind half-clouded, and half-pouring out blood with enough flow to rival the rain. One-eyed, he saw his path more clearly, a future more sharp, brighter and closer than he'd ever saw with his fellow Brothers and Sisters of Zaun.
And yes, the road to that future was bloody. Yes, the road to that future was long, hard and dark. Yes, Silco mused with a half-bloody chuckle as he felt a warm, metallic flavor on his tongue, as his sliced upper lip dripped slowly.
Yes, he had a long, long path ahead of him.
And he couldn't wait a second later to get started.
But, as much as he wished it wasn't so, he saw his future didn't include them. Not yet. No, he couldn't afford to waste his time on the clock at his wrist.
Not yet, he mused dizzily as he raised his wrist up by resting his elbow on trembling knee. The glow of his soulmates eye color, formed into sharp, even numbers, gleamed in the nearing dark, stormy night closing in over the nation of Zaun, casting his dark, hooded seafoam eye in the faintest glow.
He raised his wrist ever closer, barely brushing scarring lips on the timer beneath his skin. "Later," he hoarsely breathed, the bruises around his neck making it sound like he was still being strangled, there and now. "When I have our nation... I'll have you."
He swallowed a pained gasp as he pulled the sticky rag from his face, yet he felt stronger, and less exposed, as he tightly wrapped that bloody rag around his wrist, hiding the numbers in the shade of your eyes from the world, from himself...
Until later, he assured himself as legs, shaky but strength slowly being reborn with new purpose, raised him from the crumbled spot against the alley wall.
Until he was ready, he vowed as he dragged a hand along chilled walls, teeth gritting in pain, and in a grim smile as he drew himself deeper within the shadows, sinking away from the light, and towards a brighter future.
Until he was no longer just a Son of Zaun...
(Blood now dribbles freely down the side of his face, from whatever remains of his lidless socket he has left, and he can only grin wider.)
(The ground beneath him is bumpy; the road ahead is nothing short of mountainous.)
Summary: In the color of their eyes, there is a set of numbers on the wrist, that are counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds to when you will meet your soulmate.
AO3 link
Wordcount: 3161 | Silco X Reader (Soulmate AU)
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Silco frowns, mix-matched gaze leveled. The air around is stiff and still, but soon filled with a flow of quiet laughter slipping from your mouth.
It’s not a happy sound.
Not that he blames you, nor did he expect anything different, but he frowns nonetheless as it reaches his ears. He isn't given a chance to make a single comment, observation or greeting, as you smile, strained and voice shaking as you hoarsely say the first thing your mouth could put together: an accusation.
"You kept me waiting ."
"... I am sorry."
A disbelieving huff of air, and a sarcastic edge in your tone as you murmur, "Oh yes, I'm suure you are-" "No. You misunderstand. I said, I am sorry , because I'm quite certain I must have heard you incorrectly." He closed his still-human eye, taking a short breath through his nose, feeling his teeth begin to grind with frustration. Unhealthy habit, but one that felt wholly warranted in this situation. " I kept…"
The tumbling cluster of frustration from the last hours, days, weeks. Years, if he wanted to pool it all together now. He might as well take every grievance of this life and let it all out now in one big, extended, and beautifully cathartic scream.
It's taking every ounce of him not to give into the urge, but he manages. Barely, but he's nothing if not stubborn, even, especially for himself.
The simulation of life, and how absolutely infuriating it was. Yes, he had fought and clawed and nearly died just to continue it, but if anything had been proven to give him the never-ending migraine of the century, in these last weeks, it was the tedious nature of life.
That, and the sheer, utter gall of his soulmate.
"I kept you waiting?"
Opening the one remaining again, the Eye of Zaun frowns a bit more when he notes you haven't lowered the gun.
The kingpin doesn’t attempt to duck, raise his hands to calm you or lunge to disarm. For one, you are too far away, and another, he has far too much dignity to scramble away from an irritated individual with a gun. Silco is also confident, truly, that you won’t shoot, but the symbolic nature of his soulmate holding a gun at him, still draws a pause.
He imagined a sting of betrayal would have accompanied the sight, if this were hours prior. He doesn't feel it now. Can't, really.
"Yes.” Unapologetic, flat, and the truth, as you finally respond to his dry-toned question.
That frown on the scarred-face gets deeper at the voice-crack you make when you take a step forward, hand reaching out half-blind to steady yourself on the railing. The gun jerks in your grip when Silco takes a step closer at the stagger you make, watching your bloodied nails curling into the rusty metal of the short railing. "You did. You know you did. You kept me waiting, and you took too long ."
The bottom of this pit is too far for any human eye to see, and the lights on the walkway are dim enough to cast darker shadows than normal. This mine is, for lack of better words, dreadful. Deadly even, given one wrong step, or one too-long inhale with unpracticed lungs. With the toxins of this mineral mine being as potent as death for one not used to breathing them in, even Silco, a man who was born inhaling them, distantly feels an urge to gag with every inhale he takes of this damned air in the depths of the Undercity.
He imagines the purple tinge in the haze in the air is adding to the effect.
Or maybe that’s just the smell of blood from his walk over here. He’s never been one to shy from blood, Gods know, but he admits, it’s been a while since the last occasion he had such a direct hand in a massacre such as this one. Worth it, every step, considering where it brought him, but regardless.
Or maybe it has something to do with the blood splattering you as well. It’s dry, most of it, but as your grip tightens on the railing, you pause to take a ragged breath, and a single trickle slides down from your temple, all the way down to your chin. You swallow, and he watches it drip onto a sagging shoulder as you bow your head slightly, looking defeated. From exhaustion, your beaten and bruised form, emotions or everything else, he’s unsure of the direct cause.
Silco would understand if it was all of it, and almost has to fight a rueful smile at the idea that you and him are both struggling to to scream out your every grievance.
Instead, you fill the long-standing silence between you and the Kingpin of Zaun with a single, simple question.
“Did you want it to end like this?” Silco can’t help the disbelieving scoff that escapes him, watching you step closer to him with the gun still pointed directly at him. You don’t respond. Instead merely looking up at him in a way that has the disbelief quietly evaporating.
“ Did you. Want it. To end like this ?” Your voice is trembling, but your tongue is sharp with every harsh, stabbing pause between words. Your gaze, wary and more familiar to him than anything else, is fixated on Silco as you await his answer, and he has to frown even more at the realization:
You’re being serious .
Going quiet, he lets out a small breath, not quite a sigh, but close. “ Obviously not-" "But you're going to benefit from it, finally 'have it all' ..." There's a broken note of mirth at your repeat of his earlier written words, not quite mocking, but clearly finding humor in them regardless. You know exactly what he wants - and it's not this.
Or at least, not in this fashion.
There were benefits from this, he can’t lie about that. Cayn‘s downfall, allbut a guarantee even if the pathetic bastard was nowhere to be found, was something he would relish for years to come. Perhaps almost as much as Vander’s had been, though it was no personal betrayal, it was getting rid of a thorn in his side that he would greatly find satisfying, the removal of yet another obstacle in his path...
This pathetic attempt at an... uprising would be quashed, the minerals would rebegin their way into his factories. Production has fallen behind from the actions of these last several weeks, but considering the literal mountains that had been locked and barricaded tight behind this mine, Silco had no doubt the numbers would even out soon enough. And Gods know that after this, he might just need Shimmer more than ever to keep other minor, and yet restless, foolishly arrogant players to heel…
And the biggest benefit of all, Silco also got you .
That alone was a benefit he could never sit back and ignore. Not anymore, despite how juvenile it was, in it's own way.
Even in the worst of it, he had wanted his soulmate. As childish as it was, if he could have you, Silco felt that truly he could begin to feel like he had it all.
After mulling this through, finally deciding on honesty, he starts slow, "Yes. I can't ignore the fact this made things much easier for me to settle. I can't ignore the fact that I receive a sweeter conclusion to this than that of your… partner ," The word felt dry, tough on his tongue, but he forced it out without sounding too bitter. He imagined you and Cayn were no longer on the same terms as you had been, but the thought you'd been at all, irked him.
"I didn't want this. But I know, and can be glad that I am going to... benefit from it. Just that I can't ignore that this will-"
"What about me?"
A pause, as he raises his green eye over to you, the other smoldering slightly as it runs over your form. The finger isn't even on the trigger, and the grip is shaking; disarming and overpowering would be ridiculously easy. Silco turns.
A brow raises, and softly, genuinely curious, "What about you ?"
He watches those eyes, eyes he's known all his life, close. Another drop of blood speckled your shoulder, and Silco edges a bit closer. "... do you have any idea what he did to me? Because of what I am to you-" "Of course I know," He muttered fiercely but quietly. A hesitation, born out of habit, before he admits truthfully, "I felt it too."
Eyes reopen, and they immediately glance down at his wrist.
He’s kept the damn thing covered for years.
Originally out of necessity, soon generated habit, which bred into normalcy. Silco freely admits that entire years have gone by, without giving it a single glance except in passing.
For you, Silco finds himself shifting the sleeve further up and turning it for viewing, watching your expression struggle to stay carefully closed-off at the sight of the ticking numbers, in your color. "... It stayed ."
"It stayed…" He parrots the words in agreement, catching your gaze again as you swallow thickly. You raise your chin a bit, still leaning on the railing, and still exhausted, but you meet his gaze head-on. "And you… felt it?"
"It was… unpleasant." A laugh at his observation. It sounds wretched, weak, but you smile with it all the same. It's just as twisted, and close to breaking as the sound that comes from your lips. Silco looks at it, and...
Silco is far from a good man.
Silco is far, far from a caring, kind person. Has hurt, tortured, bribed, blackmailed, kidnapped and killed. He regrets… a few things, yes, but has done everything in his life, to this very moment, without hesitation. Without a second-glance or a waver in judgment, unless to ensure his end goal remains in reach. Hesitation is something he couldn't afford, for it would cost him everything if he were to falter.
Perhaps it's the powers-that-be, the ones that gave humanity their flipping numbers to their skin in the first place, but when he looks at you - Gods, his soulmate .
He looks at you, sees that crumbling look behind hard eyes, and he hesitates . Breathes out nearly-silently. And then slowly speaks the obvious, even though there's so much more to, and probably should be said:
"You're in grief ."
"That's…" You squeeze your eyes shut, another titter of strained chuckling as you deny it with a shake of your head. Then, with your words at the loud silence he grants you from such an action, "You're right here … why would I grieve ?" Another crack in your voice, earning another hesitation from him. "Why would I be grieving now? You know how much I… I wanted this." He ignores the fact that you sound regretful about it.
It's not really about him , he understands that, and takes a step forward, again, hesitating.
"We both know why. You know what's making you feel this way… you know why your body is feeling the need to grieve," It doesn't need to be said. The wound is too fresh, but you understand his words without him needing to clarify further.
Silco lets out a small, tired sigh when the gun finally lowers, and a sharp movement of your throat as you swallow thickly. Stepping forward, your eyes crack open to watch him where he remains standing in place, only a step closer, his own green and blackened-red, familiar gaze calm as you now stand at an arm's-length. Silco doesn’t reach for you, but he doesn’t back away either.
This is the first time you've even been this close to one another.
The first time you're together.
Both of you are close enough to touch one another for the first time, and neither of you reaches.
"... I blame you for some of it."
"Understandable if you were to blame me for all of it."
A small quirk of your lips; it's a trembling smile. He expects that cleverness he's come to admire, the intelligence and sharp wit that he knows exists behind those tired, pained and bloodshot eyes. Behind those eyes, in your mind, and reflected in all those damn letters of yours… he is wholly unsurprised when you instead, rather crudely point out, "You're an asshole ."
The man tilts his head, giving a small hum, considering briefly. "I've heard worse… hearing it from the mouth of a soulmate is a new experience, I admit-" "But not incorrect." You tilt your chin in challenge, the wit finally flaring, as he looks over the arch of his nose calmly at you. A beat, and after his attention flicks to another drop of blood dripping off from your temple, Silco quietly concedes to move things along, for your sake.
"I suppose… in this situation, no. No, I don't think you're incorrect to think it."
You nod, more akin to a jerk. Another drop of blood drips down, and his gaze follows it.
"I am sorry." You raise a brow, likely thinking that he means for keeping you waiting. The man of crime shakes his chin, wishing he was better at this, and admits near-silently, "I'm sorry I didn't… we didn't find one another on-time." A blink and there's a harsh swallow and another jerky-nod from you.
There's a lot more he could apologize for. But it's a start.
"Yeah, well, um…" You square your shoulders. Wince at the action, and force a shrug despite the bruises he knows must make the action ache. "We seem to have… frankly, shit-luck with missing one another. By design or by purpose, so it… it shouldn't have been a surprise."
Voice is as taut and strained as your muscles are, he notes, and quietly calls your name. Looking up at him, with the same color that adorn his skin, he takes another moment to find his own voice before carefully. Cautiously saying the words he'd been practicing on uttering to his soulmate one day, for years and years now;
"I'm here now. And I don't intend to leave you again. I don't want to leave you again, and I… I won't leave you to this."
A blink, after he sees your eyes widen at the cutting words. The last part is ad-libbed, but fits the situation - it'd be cruel to abandon you now, he knows, even if he wanted to. And Silco doesn't.
You open your mouth, probably to reply in a calm, orderly fashion, and the first sob rips from you. For you, it's almost a shock, but Silco has already braced for it though the sound still makes him grimace. He's not one for tears, but he's largely uncomfortable with the fact it's coming from you.
And once that first cry tears itself out of you, it's far too late for the ones that follow to be contained. Even as you mindlessly leave the gun to clatter and echo onto the metal railway beneath you, reaching up with your palms to frantically stop the sound bursting from your lips, the tears are overflowing down your cheeks. There's apologizing, for the tears, the sounds, for both, or perhaps everything...
You shouldn't be, he knows this. Hardly any of it matters now.
Silco hesitates a single second more. But he just made his intentions known, and he is a man of words and action. So he hesitates no further to close the distance, and though stiff and unsure at the unfamiliar action, he's rewarded with you sagging, and then clinging desperately into the pitiful excuse at an embrace.
Sobbing, shaking and surely dotting his coat with blood, Silco holds his soulmate for the first time in his existence, and… It's funny.
He'd committed himself to not caring, or at least, saving that insufferable, internal want for his other half, to be accomplished in some other lifetime. Committed himself to other goals, giving it all to the vision he'd spent so much of his existence, given so much of his life to.
He remembered that day with his then-still Brothers, so many years ago. Benzo's had been symbolic, as his own timer had faded out not months prior, not running down, simply fading out in a way that had the other boys scrabble to assure that their own still remained bright on skin.
Besides Benzo, Vander had done it in tandem with him, wrapping a spotted, dirtied bandage over the marked skin, and burying the glow of his soulmate's eye color behind the thick layer of wrapping on his wrist.
"When we get our nation, we'll go looking for 'em," Vander had grinned, a front tooth missing then. And even in childhood, had bright, wolfish grey eyes Silco was sure was making Vander's other half eager to look at the real things, instead of flashing numbers on their skin. "Say we'd earn it at that point, dontcha think, Sil?"
Earned it.
Earned the chance to be with his soulmate.
Has he earned you? Silco imagines not.
A part of the Eye of Zaun is honestly surprised that you're even willing to cling to him in such a way now, though he can't complain as he cups the nape of your neck, guiding you to press your face into his shoulder. He couldn't have earned this from you, even if he tried - and he's only really started trying in these last few weeks.
You did most of this, did most of the work that brought the two of you together, knowingly or not - he's only reaping the benefits of it, though as your tears seem to soak through his coat, Silco knows there will also be plenty of repercussions to come.
They can wait. Even the ones that come from further in the mines, in the forms of yelling, fighting and occasional bursts of gunfire or explosions. Or the ones further outside, in his city, where the task of readjusting, strengthening his grip on the reins of this nation will be arduous, at best. At worst, he'll need assistance.
It can all wait though.
Because now, whether he's earned it or not, even with you broken and holding onto him like he's the last tether you have to cling for support, Silco has his soulmate. And though it's been too, far too long for him to consider the possibility of even being allowed to have you in his life in the first place, now, he has no intention of letting you slip from him. Not again. Not after all of this.
His timer, silent, and flashing in the color of your teary eyes, clicks on with ease at his wrist, to mark the occasion of the shared union.
Summary: In the color of their eyes, there is a set of numbers counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds to when you will meet your soulmate. It’s never concrete, as people are always on the move, or poor luck could influence the two of you barely missing one another. And unfortunately, you just so happen to be in the latter-category. Over, and over, and over again… (Soulmate!AU)
Previously: I
Pairing: (Slow-Burn) Silco X GN!Reader
Warnings: SFW, language and mentions of violence/war/death, a bit more darker and intense than last time, but nothing explicit. Some background lore/world-building mentioned, but not necessary to follow the plot.
Wordcount: 2.4K
Note: Welp, looks like this 3-4 part snippet story has been repurposed for my first multi-chapter fic! Hoping to pump these out every-other day (maybe with some bonus content set in the same universe in-between, don’t @ me, I make no promises) Hope y’all are buckled in tight for the ride!
You don't know where you might've heard the word, for it tastes far too refined to be passed from the mouths of fissure-folk, but you have a sense that it almost perfectly fits the situation you currently find yourself in.
You sit on a roof, staring out into the water between the Lanes and Piltover with a disgustingly forlorn expression that would get you laughed at, or punched, if anyone else was sitting with you. You guess that it's as close to pining, as you've ever been in your life.
And it feels like the most pathetic thing you've ever done in your life, mostly because... well, you're not actually doing anything.
Pining, at least in the way you've come to define it, includes not working, not moving, not doing much of anything but sitting on the rooftop, just overlooking the cleaner skies and that shining bridge with a look of want...
That bridge catches your eye again, for how could it not, and you frown at the pristine white marble faces. That damn bridge.
The damn bridge of progress. That damn bridge of hope, though it only causes anger and envy to all that you know. That damn bridge that will be marched on, tonight, if the whispers are to be believed, and the already growing-crowd you hear over normal bustling sound of the Lanes-side was evidence enough.
A march of the Children, the warriors, informants and supporters alike, some mutter beneath their breaths. United, to show their numbers, their strength and their willpower to see their fellow Brothers and Sisters respected as equals on the other side. It feels like a joke, though, because even you weren't blind to the so called 'united' front the rebels put on.
You didn't pay attention to politics, simply lived to keep your head down and on your shoulders, but even you could see the uncertain shifting in the last several months. Uneasy side-glances to one another. Mutterings and smaller, smaller groups of the Sons and Daughters gathering together. Rumor has it their meeting place was abandoned. Another says some have skipped town entirely, abandoning what some fear is a sinking ship in this endless pit of an Undercity.
You probably were looking into it too much, but you swear could almost pinpoint the first of these uncertainties beginning to emerge nearly three years prior. When your timer very nearly reached zero. Speaking of which, you tear your gaze from the waterline and the pristine bridge, and once more find yourself studying numbers.
"Two minutes..." You muttered in bitter nostalgia, raising your arm up, sleeves already pulled up to your elbows in the summer heat as you gave the ticking-time an unimpressed look. "You couldn't stick around two minutes more, huh? Not even for me?" You had looked; seafoam-eyes hadn't been in the area as you searched, while you pointedly directed yourself away from the distant, echoing bellows of rage and emotion in the distance.
Even just hearing the echoes of such howls, you felt safer the further away you were.
You had been at it for hours, peeking into alleys, racing up and down the shipping yard, and yet you hadn't found many people out in such a storm. Let alone the one you actually had wanted to find, and so, with a curse on your breath, a pain in your chest and rain caught stuck in your eyes, you had to call it a day and return home. Since then, the timer had remained unchanged, ticking down from a solidly 900-plus day mark, until right now:
000000.005607
000000.005604
000000.005601...
Fifty-six minutes, exactly.
You returned your gaze, still pining, to the open water beyond the bridge between the two cities, and let out a slow breath that shook at the end. Trying not to glance down at your wrist again (failing not-quite immediately, but a failure nonetheless) your eyes turn to that far, promising horizon on the water. And, with your eyes away from that damn bridge, you look out over the water and you hope.
...Even if you know you shouldn't get your hopes up.
Even though you knew you shouldn't get your hopes up.
Smarter ones wouldn't have even bothered.
But the last time it had been this close, you'd been near the water. And that idea, partially a dream by this point, that the long-passage of time between your last near-miss and this one was due to your other-half's profession on the sea, was one that never quite went away. Perhaps you were looking about this entirely wrong, and the universe was going to chortle at your idiocy later, but if a ship appeared in the horizon, you knew you would be on your feet in an instant.
You knew you would make that day of sprinting through the rain look like a pleasant stroll with how fast you would run.
You knew there wasn't a single force in all the Lanes, no matter how brawny or tough, crowbar or knife or gun, that would hold you back. And, if you were honest, you didn't know why.
Most go though their lives without meeting their soulmate, some don't even have a desire to. Some even rid themselves of their timers entirely, using painful, brutal ways that last maybe two minutes, before they return to their lives without another care for their other half in the world, and a single scar on their wrist in the place of living numbers.
At the mental image, your wrist twitches at the thought, and you run your fingers over the running-down numbers absently.
Eyes drop back down to your wrist, and you turn it in the steadily-dipping sun. The sun's orange rays are nothing compared to that familiar glow of green, and the shine of black and red that you trace you trace over gently. The new shades are still a surprised even after all this time, but you don't mind. A smile flickers on your lips, for as surprising as the duel colors were upon the first viewing, they grew on you...
A noise, finally, from the harbor.
But isn't a ship-horn, or the sound of the Piltover lighthouse cautioning a ship through its the waters. It isn't anything to alert you of the potential approaching presence of your soulmate, nothing that gives you a warmer feeling in your chest, despite the timer that continues to tick down as if nothing is amiss.
The timer continues to tick down without care, even as your veins begin turn to ice as the screaming begins to sound from the bridge, red smoke slowly filling the air around it...
--
Beneath the leather wrap he's routinely, daily wrapped over marked-skin, his timer ticks on:
000000.000332
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But Silco doesn't look, doesn’t need to. He subconsciously knows it's close, that internal, primal hum deep in his chest eager to remind him, and urge him to look, but he doesn't.
He can't. Not yet.
He's forced himself not to look for two and a half years. Somehow, he's succeeded more times than not. Silco is human, and human curiosity, lead to him peeking at the marked-skin between washings, or a quick glance when waking up in mornings to ensure you were still ticking on. His body knows you were, but his eye still would flick down and note the time nonetheless. Again, he suspects it to be a human weakness. But now is certainly not a time he can reach to you for comfort, no matter how human he is.
He can't.
He won't do those who are becoming Piltover statistics before him, the casualties of Vander's folly, the dishonor of turning away from the consequence of his brother's pride. Pride and foolishness, boldness and idiocy...
And ruthlessness. Silco smirks with the smile of the bitter, unavenged dead as he hears the echoes of a familiar roar, steel fists as loud as the next fired-shells. He almost wishes he could be up there, almost wish he could see the looks on his ex-Brothers and Sisters faces. Almost wishes he could watch as they seez not the warrior or the leader, but the monster he knows he could be.
Silco seen that monster, that one Vander could be, once upon a time. And he's seen it almost every night since then.
The man can't look away from the carnage he is witnesses on the bridge arched high above, not even for the slim comfort of numbers in the shade of you would bring him.
"Weaker men think they show strength by battling in the light." Still, blindly, reflexively, Silco turns his wrist on the railing he's been gripping, other hand coming up to smooth his thumb over the leather. It's a bit silly; he knows you've never been able to hear him. The ex-Son knows the shared numbers the two of you possess are the only connection he has to you at any given time, and forming a bond with a set of numbers instead of the person he shares it with, is ludicrous at best, mental at worst.
That doesn't mean he's ever been able to hold back these one-sided conversations between you and him, when he's alone.
"I disagree," He continues. "Our kind of monsters, the ones we fight, don't care if you fight against them in the light. I imagine they're only satisfied they get to watch and see as they make our blood run."
Another scream. Another shotgun shell.
A scream no more.
"I believe true strength comes from striking from the shadows. Becoming the monster in the darkness yourself, prepared to turn as dark as those you face. And not hesitating. Not faltering, but embracing." He paused, glancing behind him impassively.
There was no one else around to hear. Anyone with sense had taken shelter or raced away. He returns to his confessional with you, thumb tracing the edge of the leather wrap subtly. "There are moments where I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish I knew Zaun could arise from fire and light, blazing in the glory I know we could be." Another blast from above, and he closes his eyes, lowering his half-gaze from the doomed on the bridge, as he lets out a humorless chuckle. "But, we were born into darkness. I suppose it's only poetic justice that we claw out from it, snarling, thrashing, and fighting. And showing the world exactly what kind of monsters Zaun breeds."
The flight of shrapnel and predictable disaster are slowing. The failure is nearly at it's completion, he lets out a slow breath that only he will ever know shakes at the very end. Lips press briefly to that leather wrap. "I do apologize for what kind of darkness you'll find when we meet."
Then Silco turns, eye focused and cool again as he breezes away from the waterfront, gas-mask already pulled up and clipped onto his face as he feels the red-tinged smoke of the massacre dipping down, oozing into the air of the Lanes.
Further pollution, courtesy of the Topsiders on the other side of that pretty, gleaming bridge of hope.
There's too much to do now. Too much to plan, too much to prepare for. He can't afford to pay you any mind, and his thoughts remain on the shadows he willingly strides into, even as the numbers throb beneath leather with screaming urgency, demanding his attention at this exact place and time...
And he ignores it all, even as he passes directly under the roof you sit upon, watching the carnage he strides away from, to return to the shadows.
---
You remain. You wanted to turn away, turn and race off this roof and the awful, awful sights of what is unfolding on the bridge before you.
The sights were the worst, you thought when they started. It's the echos now, the sounds. It seems to roll over you faster than that blowing red smoke is, and surely twice as devastating, hearing the cries, the screams, the bullets-
You fight the urge to turn and take flight back down to the ground-level. Eyes never leaving the bridge, remaining seated on the rooftop, your thoughts remaining only selfish as you silently plead to any type of deity, that your soulmate not be on that ill-fated bridge. That they aren't one of those stupid, stupid Children dying so... so heroically before your eyes, throwing themselves like target-practice for a force they can't stop.
"Don't be a hero." A mantra at this point, so selfish but all you can think about as you watch the carnage unfolding. As you drag your limp arm up, enough to lean on your slumping-forehead on your palm, only able to stare and mindlessly plead as you catch another disappear swinging into the smoke, and never remerge. Your lips brushing against seafoam, black and red, and you whisper as though they could hear you, "I'll take you however you are... I don't care, just don't-"
Another battlecry. Another shotgun shell.
A battlecry no more.
You squeeze your eyes closed. "Don't be a damn hero, getting yourself killed." Hissing, you press you mouth directly onto the numbers, numbers you don't see dipping closer to a more-complete row of zeros than ever before in your life. "I don't care who you are, what you are... just don't you dare get yourself killed before I get to find you."
Breathing heavy, you keep your eyes closed. Feeling that hum of a whirling soul-clock beneath your lips, you jerk reflexively as another shot echoes
Then, silence. For a moment, you stop breathing, thinking the silence of the bridge looming ahead will soon reflect that of your clock...
Then you practically feel that familiar, whirring hum beneath your touch, and let out an involuntary, silent sob against your wrist in the beautiful loudness of a clock resetting. The numbers flipping as casually as if it were playing-card, changing as fate, destiny and the choices the two of you are going to make, change and redefine your paths to one another.
Later, you will once again know that weight of disappointment, which is annoyingly and painfully starting to grow in familiarity. It will hit you all over again, the thought of you once more missing them by minutes, a handful of seconds, and some part of you knows the length of time it'll take for the next opportunity to see them again will be painful, if what revealed on the bridge is a preview for how much darker light is about to get for all those in the Lanes...
But you don't care about that, not now.
Now, you only care about the fact that that clock didn't go out entirely, and it ticks on.
Summary: (Standalone) Alternative Ending to Timer Pt 1., in which there is no near-miss, and shared timers are allowed to reach zero.
Wordcount: 2.4K
Pairing: Silco x GN!Reader (Soulmate!AU)
WARNINGS: SFW Angsty, language, hurt/comfort, violence and descriptions of blood, injuries and eye-trauma.
"Watch it! This way's closed, piss off-!" You're turning and running back the way you came before he can even finish his bark of an order. Annoyed at the gall of the man, you snarl right back at him over your shoulder, something that sounds vaguely like a curse. You catch a glimpse of your wrist as you dip back onto the main street, a quick glance to either side as you mentally map out the next nearest shortcut, before resigning yourself to take the longer-way around to the docks, but you feel only exhilaration at the trek ahead of you.
Because it's two minutes.
Two minutes.
Thunder cracking overhead along with the sounds of shouting as you approach the bay. You worry you're going to utterly bowl over your missing-half, and subconsciously slow from a flight to a sprint, then down to a more casual fast-jog, but you just aren't thinking as you jump over a crate, weave around another corner, you can't even look at your wrist now, even though you must be so close-
000000.000003
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000000.000001-
Then, you slam into a figure running at a speed that makes your prior streak through the streets of the underground look like a pleasant stroll.
Soaking wet, reeking of blood and the docks. The toxic scent of the water immediately clogs your nose. You would gag at the chokehold it has on your senses, if the force of impact didn't send the two of you falling back, at the same instant that sound cuts out entirely for you both. All other senses are cut out as you tumble back with them, back into the alleyway you had been racing through, as... something clicks into place, and it takes you an eternity, and an single instant, to realize what it is.
000000.000000
If your cranium hits something, you never feel it. If a knee crashes against the ground, you don't process the hardness beneath, or the jarring pain racing through your spine as you fall to the ground, either. As the two of you finally come to a sprawled, tangled mess, the only sensation breaking though the thick silence that had suddenly cloaked in the minds between the two of you, is a faint sound of rhythmic ticking.
Not a heartbeat, not breathing, but the one sound you somehow knew had been there your entire lives, and you're only allowed to be hearing now...
000000.000001
000000.000002
000000.000003
Then a bloodied knife hits the ground with a loud clatter, from where it went flying on impact, and that perfect moment of that peaceful near-silence is broken by a loud, wretched screech as the man collapsed around you begins to yanks and tear in the effort to remove you off of him, or him off of you. "Hey, hey, wait-!" A loud yell of pain escapes through your lips as clawed hands drag over your skin, dig as they go to try and pull you away. Gritting your teeth, you throw yourself up with your own grabbing hands.
The man clearly is a fighter. You feel wiry, but iron-tense muscles under skin, and even in this feral state of him trying to get as far away as possible, each blow he manages to yield is direct, and meant to devastate.
At least, it would, if he didn't currently have the strength of a half-drowned rat.
Which, fortunately he does, so you're able to grab at those cloying forearms and brace him back, dragging him back into to the wall before, instinctively, you release one arm to brace around him to soften any further impact as you press his trembling body against the wall with your own.
His body still collides with a faint bang against the building, and it's overshadowed by the high-pitched, ragged shadow of a scream, barely louder than a whimper but somehow thrice as fierce, that sounds from him as fight evaporates off him instantly. And you're left swearing and trying to keep him upright, and yourself, as his legs give out.
Clinging both arms around him, you're left squatting with his head lolling forward against your shoulder, every torturous, rasping breath scrapping past your ear as his chest heaves against yours.
"I... it's okay," You attempt to find your voice, and let it be heard over his wretched breaths, and you think you fail. Then, after a beat, you feel him freeze, even his rapid rising and falling of his chest stilling in his hysterical panting, while you lick your lips, trying to be louder. "You're okay, i-its just... me, I-"
"...'o..."
You blink at the sound, that's akin like it's being dragged through broken glass, then tossed into lake full of even more shards, but its still a voice and it's attempting to form a word. "What?"
"... go..."
...go?
Go?
As...as in a dismissal?
Something snaps tight in your chest, and you fight back your own rasping as you gawk in astonishment, hurt and a bit appalled, as you go to pull away from him, feeling as though struck-
But then those lifeless arms are reborn the moment you go and begin to loosen your grip, and you're not afraid to admit that you let out a startled squeak as his arms lock around you like a vice, a strangled hiss as he presses his mouth directly against your ear to get every attempted-syllable out in one last, final bid:
"We need to go."
And with that there's a howl, human but mad, in the air. It's pained, angered, deadly and close. Those arms around you lock on tighter, in no shortage of terror and bracing for an inevitable you aren't aware of. No, you don't fully understand the situation, but still automatically find yourself accepting the role of being the strength that quickly brings the two of you rising back up again, nonetheless. Suddenly finding yourself agreeing that, yes. The two of you absolutely needed to leave right now.
The strength he had in his arms to lock you in place, is gone almost immediately after he finds his footing and slips a near-lifeless arm through the crook of your elbow as you take lead, but that missing energy must transfer directly to his legs, as both of you somehow manage to match in speed as you twist around back through the alley, and race through the Undercity.
At one point, you let out a wordless sound of protest and concern as he suddenly yanks himself away when together, you pass outside a shop. But he's returning to your side almost immediately, pressing close enough for you to feel every shuddering passage of air that makes it through tight, pounding lungs as the two of you run and run-
You honestly don't know how you both have the strength to keep going. Perhaps it's a side-effect of having found one another, but you never know, and you don't have the time to relish in the euphoria, the confusion or any emotion you'd thought you'd have at the moment of this fated union. Every time you blink, it seems you're racing through a new part of the city; everything constantly changing, except his presence beside remains, solid and unwavering, in your fleeing.
A blink, and you make another turn into yet another endless alley.
A blink, as you ignore insults and curses as you twist though a community of vagrants.
Another blink, and now... it's a building.
Dilapidated, with rot and dust clinging in the air, but for the first time since you stepped out on the streets (and eternity ago, surely? It feels like it, waking up this morning feels like a entire millennia ago...) you're not actively being soaked, you're not running, and you are utterly immobile against someone's arms.
Well, it's mostly immobility out of your own volition, as your body comes back to full awareness with aches, sores and bruises that'll surely last days. Price for the collision, and judging by the pulsating cramps you already feel racing up and down your legs, you also did your body no favors with the two rounds of extended sprinting you did today.
Pulling thoughts out of your own body, you start to familiarize yourself with the one around you. It hasn't changed, the barely-there arm that flopped onto your waist and hasn't moved. You still hear the rasping, stifling attempt to return to normal breathing, where apparently all the strength left in his body is going to, as you feel the chest you rest against still jerking with every deep, long inhale he manages to pull in.
You could probably send the grip around you halfway across the floor with a push of a hand, a finger, but instead you bite down your own groan of agony back as you work out muscles to move again, one hand creeping up to, gently as you could, tap your finger twice in his chest for his attention.
There's still flinch, like he'd just been stabbed, two times.
"Sorry." You swallow thickly, your throat making up in the dryness the rest of your soaked body doesn't possess. You still feel the rain clinging to you, oddly warm from where it had oozed down, some of it speckled on your cheek as you inhaled a hiss, carefully raising yourself up. "Sorry, I just-"
Suddenly, as you raised your head to look up at your other half for the first time, you found out why the rain had felt so warm.
You also found out that it was not in fact rain, and the cloth he had managed to snag from the shop during your dash of an escape, was dripping down onto you with the blood that coated the entire right side of his face. The loud, incredibly explicit exclamation you made at the sight was enough to once more make the otherwise-prone man flinch violently, but the moment your fingers touched his face, he once more came alive as if electrified.
"St-...hey, seriously, stop!" His attempts to throw or push you away was, again, fueled by a sort of hysteria and not actual strength in his state, and you quickly dodged another clawed hand trying to push you away to grip his shoulders. You almost recoiled at how hot his skin felt, fever already rising through under the layers of fabric, but forced your grip to stay, speaking urgently with a rasp of your own. "You are bleeding everywhere, I just want to help you... Gods, why didn't you say anything-!?"
You cut yourself off, and blinked. This was the first time you had taken him at face-value, you realized. The blood had been the first thing of note, of course, but your eyes roved over the arched nose, drenched dark strands of hair spilling everywhere...
Then you saw how he had turned away to press his injured side into the ground, jaw tight as a bowstring with how he was gritting his teeth, prepared for a blow. Finally, your eyes dropped to the large, purpling marks on his pale throat and your fingers snatched back as if burned.
"... hey." You were trying to be softer now, even as you are fighting back nausea at what you were seeing as you, slowly but determined, brushed your fingertips to his cheekbones. Something panged inside you at his wince, but your voice managed through, "Can you look at me?" A beat, then as gently as you can manage even with your voice cracking: "Please?"
In any other scenario, you would be thrilled as you finally got to see that green you'd had glow under your skin your entire life. Now though, as it glares at you half-dazed, half-resigned, and half-accusing, like he was waiting for the blow, Gods..., a part of you has to struggle not to turn away from the hooded eye of your other-half, boring into yours.
"I just want to help you," You breath as you look down at him, swallow thickly as you continue. "... please trust me in the fact that I want to make sure you're alright-" You're cut off by the thin, wisp of a noise beneath you, and you realize it's a laugh at your mention of having trust.
You take another breath; you force yourself not to gag at the stench of blood reeking around you. Before reaching down and pulling his limp-arm up, turning to hold the wrist over his face. "Look," You point a shaking finger at the numbers, in your color, on his wrist. His green flicks to it, back to your before slowly sliding back over to it. "...something out there put us together, okay? I don't know what that means for you, if it means anything to you, but you being connected to me means something. So please, just trust me to fucking help you."
Seafoam has slid back over to to your eyes during your shaky speech. It's fixated on you for a long moment when you finally stop, before slipping shut, dark marks rippling at his throat as he swallows a harsh breath before going still.
You fear he's finally lost consciousness. It's no relief when he merely turns his wrist into your hand, now gripping onto you like a lifeline, before he flops his head in the other directly, giving you access to the blood coating his face.
There's no relief from the action, but, now one-handed, you somehow manage your fingers to pull the cloth away, and keep stable as you do your work. You swallow back retching as the hot, sticky fluid quickly coats your hand, even as you pull away to catch the flowing rain-water that drips from holes in the ruined ceiling above, to pour over the wound and try to clean the area to work where it's needed the most. (Nails dig into your hand as you pull away, quickly earning your assuring whisper, "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, I promise...")
Somehow, you manage. Somehow, while the blood still runs, it's slowed as you press the rain-washed folded cloth over the worst of what his red-eye has become. You let out a breath, still holding his hand... before immediately slumping down back onto his chest, face pressed against his shoulder as you feel exhaustion, in every form, run through your being.
"We'll... get it... better later..." You mumble tiredly against him, emotions and the ability to form proper sentences fading as you mind gracefully begins to shut down. Your soulmate doesn't answer, and as darkness begins to ebb at your vision, you imagine, hope, that he's passing out as well, free from... whatever kind of ordeal he's been through, at least through the temporary peace of darkness.
Your eyes mercifully slip close, overwhelmed mind going blank to the sensation of a thumb slowly, repeatingly rubbing along your wrist, smoothing over numbers you both share.
Now together, seafoam, red and black steadily continue to count upwards along your skin...
Summary: When Enforcers come knocking, with accusations of your family supporting an Underground rebellion, the first thing on your mind is to confront this said-revolution, to undo whatever mess has already been set in motion. The second-thing on your mind, is the fact that this mess might just be unstoppable. Consitering the fact that the closer you get to it's base and it's leaders, the numbers on your wrist get closer and closer to zero. (Timer!AU)
3.5K+ | F!Reader/Young Silco
Warnings: SFW, soulmates (soul-timers), pre-canon, first-meetings, tension, banter, teasing, original side/minor characters, revolutionary-shenannigans, hint of a thing for voices, you can't judge reader, it's SILCO, Vander once more earning the best wingman award 👏
A/N: This is all @sweatandwoe doing, and also I took another look at young Silco. Not required read, but here's the OG Timer!verse for anyone interested in a good-old slow-burn Soulmate!AU
It took exactly a minute after the echoes of metal boots on metal floors to fade into silence, before noise was brought into the world again, starting, bluntly, with you whirling to the man sitting stock-still at his desk with a hiss of, “What the fuck have you done?”
Immediately, a frown joined the swift, disapproving snap of your name, “Don’t be crude. The gentlemen came, asked their questions, and found nothing. Therefore, there is nothing further to discuss-” “Nothing to discuss?” You sputtered, marching halfway over to his desk. “Those weren’t casual inspectors making their rounds, father. Enforcers, coming into our office, asking about your connections to the rebellion... That’s not exactly nothing!”
The frown on your parents' only deepened, casting deep wrinkles to appear on his forehead as he stood, abruptly grabbing the leather-bound ledger off his desk as he turned away. Striding to the huge portal to the sea-life outside, your father was illuminated in the deep blues of the deep underwater, and he called your name in a patient, patronizing tone that made you bristle.
For it wasn’t the tone of a father speaking to his only child, but like that of a foreman to an upset worker that he needed to return to business. His be-professional tone . “There is nothing to discuss with you,” He clarified, a rustle of paper as he flipped through his papers. “Any business I have with rebels, theoretically, and hypothetically of course, is mine and mine alone. It doesn’t affect the cannery, doesn’t affect our numbers and, by extension, doesn’t concern you.”
“And when it does?” You challenged, before your tone softened. “Father... dad, come on. This will come back around to me, perhaps not by Enforcers, but I’m your daughter. You know it’s going to come back to me, one way or another... Should I not be prepared?” In truth, you knew little about the apparent revolution, except the fact that there was a revolution.
And this was only evidenced by the raids further up, closer to the river-channel than the sea-harbor the Eastside canneries hosted, though that wasn’t to say that no one felt the stings from a distance. Shipments delayed, prices sky-rocketing, partners and associates suddenly seeking production from other, non-Undercity affiliated resources...
It didn’t matter if the Alcoves, or the Fridges as a whole, were still in full-sight of a sky. Ever since the breakout of fighting between Sumpers and Piltover officers, it seemed that all that mattered to the latter was what side of the Bridge you were on, in order for judgment to be passed like you were the former.
“I do you more favors by leaving you uninformed.” Again, you couldn’t help but bristle, hissing slightly, “I don’t need favors, dad. I’m not a child, I could help you, you know!”
There’s a sudden ripping sound that has you blinking. And a ledger, with freshly torn-out pages, shoved into your face, that has you gawking.
“You can help, by redoing the numbers on last weeks’ Skylight shipment. They appear to have been misplaced,” The man doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that he’s crumbling the ripped-out pages in his other hand, not even under your withering glare. Your father gives you one in response, only half as heated, but thrice as stern. “Do not argue with me. I’ll let you get tangled up with our business, but not with my business, understood?”
You have to visibly bite your tongue when you hold his look, one as fierce as his. But, he has decades of hardened experience on you and, bitterly, you have to glance away, breaking the battle of near-identical stern, demanding gazes between father and daughter. There’s a small sigh, both at your frustrated look and when you grumble as he presses a brief kiss to your temple, “I won’t let you do this alone. I can’t.”
Father counters with a tired, but resolved way. “And I won’t let you get dragged down with me if this all goes sour. I can’t.”
It should pacify you, this rare note of care, affection and protection in your fathers otherwise stern persona, even with you. But it only makes the sounds of your marching echo around the office-chamber as you storm up the metal stairs, swing-open the port-door, and nearly slam into your friend, Cayn. Back just in time from his supply-delivery to visit the aftermath of the Enforcer visist.
He’s known you since childhood, and vise-versa, so you only need to give Cayn one look. And he only needs to look once, before you’re both swiftly walking away from the office with arms interlocked and heads bent together.
“Just got shoulder-checked by a ‘forcer out here. Had to snatch up Decks and send him off with Nan, before he started swinging like he actually cares about me,” He reports, sounding annoyed at having to rescue his sibling, and you sigh furiously at your own experiences.
“Dad’s up to something, they think he’s supplying the Undercity. The rebels,” You clarify lowly under-breath as you cross the factory-floor. A glance around at the workers you passed, proved that the unexpected interaction with Topsiders had shaken them as much as it had startled you when they busted in. “They didn’t find anything...”
Cayn must hear the determined note in your voice. He knows you too well. “You want me to go find something?” Again, your friend knows you far too well, and blinks when you hesitate to answer immediately. “You want to go find something?”
Apparently all men are looking to annoy you today, for you bristle at the disbelief in his tone. “Why not? He’s my father, and it’s our business, someday to be mine. This affects both of those, I can’t just sit by, looking pretty while father Gods-know-what behind the scenes.”
“So what? You want to go play detective in the Lanes?” It’s a joke that you don’t laugh at. “... You’ve never even been past the Promenade.”
“But you have!” You said, and brought your other hand up to squeeze his forearm while you widen your eyes pleadingly. “Cayn, come on. They’ll hear about today’s search at any time and clam-up, but if we go right now, they might actually be willing to talk to me.” Getting your old-man to open up was a non-starter, and though you weren’t exactly jumping at the idea of speaking with members of a group causing so much grief to the Fringes and its associated territories, it was the best bet you had. Not only figuring out exactly how deep this apparent alliance went, between your father and the Children of Zaun, but also how to avoid any further trouble with it.
One less-than-friendly encounter with Enforcers was enough for you, you shivered at the idea of if, or when, they actually found something to connect the two. Better to sever this tie now, before it had the chance to knot the noose around you.
“The Lanes...” Cayn looked incredibly unsure at the idea. “The Lanes ain’t the Alcoves. We’re talking brawls on every street, mean eyes everywhere you look... Gods, I don’t even know if you’ll be able to breathe down there!” “Well, thank Janna you’ve got a mask and I don’t plan to stick around long enough for anything to develop in my lungs.” Your retort made him roll his eyes and scoff good-naturedly, but it was the squeeze on his arm that made him look like he was actually considering it.
So, you went for the kill. “You won’t have to watch your brother for the rest of the day~” Despite being an only-child, you could appreciate the power of a sibling-rivalry, as Cayn sighed slightly, but began to lead you to the exit.
You nearly stumbled when you did so, and subtly, pushed up the sleeve of your shirt to glance down at your wrist, and felt your breath catch as you exited the cannery, inhaling the crisp-cut seaside air.
The waves, normally a bit duskier in the natural pollution, were a bit brighter in the gleaming sunlight of the day. They were just as bright, and seagreen, as the twelve numbers on your wrist. Which were now steadily jumping from thousands of days into the future, to a mere three hours, before you would meet your soulmate.
-
It had taken Silco several seconds to start moving again, after the urgent hum beneath his wrist. It came so suddenly, and never-before so strongly, that his knuckles had gone white around his glass of morning-coffee before he felt comfortable enough to put it down on the counter, turn to his Brother, and very calmly inform him, “I believe today is the day.”
Vander had raised his brows, gray-eyes curious, until Silco sighed and raised his arm to wave his covered wrist pointedly, and they widened almost comically. About as humorous as Benzo immediately grabbing a bottle of whisky to spike-up his coffee, which Silco dismissed by covering the top of his mug up, “It could still change. They may just change their mind, or do something else that reverses it.” His insistence was weak, and the fellow young-men gathered at the bar could sense it a mile away.
“Nah, this is it, Sil. I can feel it,” The Hound of the Underground elbowed the slimmer-man with a grin, remembering that this was Silco’s day to run operations at the base, instead of in the field or on-the-job. “On ya day off too, and they’re coming to you. Universe must finally be paying back for those bad-teeth and lack o’ chin.” The scowl didn’t deter the teasing, as Benzo joined in the fun. “Must be an eager one, they comin’ straight for ya... think you’ll get a smooch in on the first meetin’?”
“Don’t get arrested for public indecency while we’re gone, Sil.”
“Or breakin’ tables, just finished wiping those down-”
The Son of Zaun rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, seeking guidance, and also wondering if he should take that shot of whiskey with his caffeine. “Perhaps we should switch,” He gritted out to Vander, once more earning the rapid-rise of bushy dark brows. “Gods know you love catering to newcomers and friends, a true man of the people. It would be a safer option, than letting you do recon."
"And let ya miss out on working on your people-skills?" Vander scoffed, but his frown softened to something concerned at he clapped his hand on Silco's back, only slightly jostling the smaller man. "Silco, this is your soulmate. Ya really want to weasel out of this, out of actually meeting them?"
Silco frowns, picking up his mug to swirl it slowly, glowering at the dark-liquid. "... we're at war. And I've done my best to meet every Brother and Sister in our forces, meaning the most-likely scenario is that this is a civilian." The idea you were an Enforcer wasn't even entertained - Silco didn't like to think that the universe loathed him that deeply. "And we made a pact, remember? After we earn our Nation of Zaun, then we talk about looking for our soulmates. Last I checked, we don't even have the Fringes in agreement to join the cause."
"Silco... we were tykes when we made that promise, and look at us." The young behemoth of the Children gestured around the base, The Last Drop milling slowly with the morning-gathered of fellow Brothers and Sisters of Zaun. "You really think we aren't practically halfway there already, halfway to freedom? Think if the universe wants the two of ya together, you gotta stop and listen." He jerked a nod to the leather band at his companions wrist, and Silco glanced at it with a small frown.
But not at the timer, the one thing that was undoubtedly, wholly his, that signified the existance of his other-half. But at the complications that came with it, complications that, being the other-one of the trio that still had his timer, could relate to. A simple glance was all that was necessary for Benzo to lay-off for a moment or two, again wiping down an-already cleaned counter while Vander leaned in close.
"You... still want them?" The question was a bit hesitant, but the answer immediate. "Yes."
Vander nodded, "Then that's all ya gotta worry about. You worried about them being a civ? Doubt you'd let them get a papercut, let alone clapped by Topsiders. Unsure 'bout if they want you? Pretty sure you'll be on 'em like fleas until they do...." Silco rolled his eyes a bit, glancing out of the corner of one with a dry, "Is this a pep-talk or a session filled with backhanded-assurances?"
Vander raised his hands defensively, placatingly, with a wide-set grin. "Can't it be both, Sil? Think 'm doing a good job with balancing out the reassurances and pointing out how damn clingy ya are."
Silco didn't need a knife in hand; his elbow into Vander's gut was nearly sharp enough to stab.
The next clap of a hand on his shoulder in response, really is enough of a blow to send the slimmer-man flailing out of his seat, but it's secure enough to keep him there as Vander's face takes a serious look. "I won't tell ya what to do. All I will say, is I think 'zo's sober enough at the moment to take the job by himself, so I can stay here to watch the door, and cover the counter if ya need to step away for a moment for... buisness."
Benzo glares over from where he cleans, but sighs and nods in consent. Unhappy to be covering a job meant for two, but begrudgingly, willing to assist in letting Silxo get a chance with his other-half. Silco doesn't find it too touching, because he knows he'll be hearing complaints about it for many, many weeks to come.
A squeeze on his shoulder brings him back. "They're coming to you, Silco." Vander reminds him. "Imagine that, you got a soulmate coming to you. That's nothin' to sneeze at, and nothing I would trade for a million years... I know ya never gonna forgive yourself, if you decide to make 'em wait longer than they want to." Another jostle, this one accompanied by a quirked smile. "So don't, alright?"
It's as close to permission as he's going to get, for the Son of Zaun knows that if he tries to drag this out further, the teasing will make an unwelcome return that might just send him running from the bar, soultimer be damned.
But... he doesn't want to drag this out. Silco knows, not deep down but in close-counciousness, that he wants this. Wants his soulmate, wants you.
The timing isn't quite ideal, but when has a timer ever gone according to ones personal schedule? Silco puts down his mug and gazes down on his covered wrist, trying and, judging by the snickers from his fellow Sons of Zaun, failing immediately to not look too eager.
He doesn't need to see through the leather band, to know more and more zeros are appearing on his skin, and despite bracing himself for another round of juvenile taunting, he feels a smile battling on his lips at the thought.
The thought of twelve zeros, soon to appear on his wrist.
-
From the moment you left the canneries, you had been waiting on bated breath. Not the wisest move, as you had donned the gas-mask Cayn had firmly fitted over your face while in the lift down from the topside Alcoves, down past the bustling Commercia and into the darker, clustered true Undercity, but you felt like you were holding your breath nonetheless.
It became easier when you once more latched onto your friend, nails gripping his forearm as you watched his jaw stiffen when you got off the opened-wall elevator down into the depths of the earth.
“Don’t talk to anyone, don’t answer anyone... hell, don’t look at anyone, okay?” If this were any other situation, you would follow his advice, but there was an instinctive need to glance up at the eyes of every passing stranger, most of which were narrowed, assessing as you kept close to the side of your friend.
You knew immediately that you stuck out like a glowing beacon among shadows. With your breathing mask against the Grey-clog of the air, your lack of Undercity pallor, and the fact that you had the nerve to hold eye-contact with complete strangers this deep Underground. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though, because the deeper you went, and the meaner the looks got, the louder and louder the skin beneath your skin started to hum.
“C’mon, they aren’t that scary,” He murmured under breath while passing a trio loitering a street-corner, guiding you around the thick wad of spit that hit the ground near your feet. “Ugly, need to practice using soap, sure, but they ain’t gonna touch you.” A beat, then, voice slightly strained, “So, you could think about easing your grip...”
Nails left deep imprints on his skin as you slipped your palm down to grip his hand instead, unable to respond to his questioning look with both the mask covering the lower-half of your face, and your inability to exhale fully accompanying an inability to speak as you drew nearer. You didn’t even have to look at it - you knew it was so close, feeling the reverb of time-ticking racing throughout your body with every pulsating beat.
The timer was, ironically, giving you no time to prepare before you and Cayn suddenly found yourselves in front of a bar. And there was a small hiss from your respirator as you let out a small chuckle, partially hysterical, very much anxious, and a bit exasperated already.
‘A day-drinker and a cannery-owner’s daughter,’ You thought dryly. ‘Won’t dad be thrilled.’
This is the base, from what you gather when you see the sight of more armored apparel beneath well-worn leathers and fraying fabrics. And the fact that a larger gentleman, possibly one of the largest you’d ever met, immediately steps in front of the two of you when you near the front door. “Don’t get many fisher’s swimming down here,” He comments in a drawl, slowly drawing his gaze over Cayn, before working over onto you as your friend steps forward. “Don’t get many ‘forcers asking around about what we’ve got to do with the Brats of the Undercity either, but I guess today is full of surprises.”
The man’s gray eyes widen, but not at Cayn’s abundance of scorn and clear disdain . But the fact that, as soon as he glances at your eyes, there’s a flash of recognition. Your breath catches more than it’s already caught at the realization, and there’s a buzzing in your ears that halfway deafens Cayn’s voice. “Just hear to ask ‘bout what business you got up on the Fringes, any deals you been making that could be causing us trouble.”
“Nothing else?” He knows. You don't know how, or particularly care, only focused on the teasing lilt his his booming voice, which makes your companion sigh in annoyance and you nearly vibrating along with the timer that's humming louder and louder beneath your skin.
Perhaps the large young man hears it, because he gives you a faint, lopsided smile, and tilts his head behind him. "Why don't ya go on in, lass? Think ya been kept waiting long enough." A mere glance over at your friend, coupled by a reassuring squeeze of your hand in his, is enough to quell Cayn's complains. His bright eyes narrow but he trusts you, and let's you go, murmuring out something you can't quite here.
For a moment, you think the pounding in your ears as you move around the Son of Zaun might be your heart, but no. Your heart is racing, but as you finally grip the door handle and push the door of The Last Drop open, you realize it's the in- rhythm, paitent beats of your soul-timer that is ringing though your ears as you step inside.
He's already looking at you, the moment to step through the door. From across the room and beyond the bar-counter, seafoam-green eyes are flaring wide as everything else comes to silence. It's mid-afternoon - there's few people in the establishment, but it might as well be empty. The world might as well have gone silent, for when you look at him, and he looks at you, the only thing that matters is you, him, and the steady, unending beat of your clocks, turning into twin twelve zeros on one-another wrists.
Someone blinks first. And when they do, everything else comes back in a rush, leaving you staggering forward with your fingers clumsily unclasping the mask from your mouth. You gulp in refiltered air, so different from the Grey-tinged atmosphere of the Lanes outside, but it might as well have been inhaling mustard-gas for all you cared about, with his eyes never once leaving yours.
You're standing right across from him, respirator clenched lamely in hands, and his eyes still haven't flickered from yours, not even to watch you swallow thickly before hoarsely greeting him, you soulmate, in a quiet, breathless tone. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting?"
"If you did, it's already forgiven." He pauses, then chuckles, mostly to himself, but also to the way your breath catches when you hear his voice. As if his didn't do the same. "Do you..." It trails off, and he tilts his head to the side, to booths lining the far wall towards the back-corner. You accept the invitation with a quiet nod, and finally, his gaze tears away when the man guarding the door strolls around the bar-counter.
"We're going to..." Again, another sentence that trails off, but the man you soon know as Vander only smirks, and elbows the tall dark-haired man that's yours, away from the counter. There's a teasing whisper that earns him a snarl, but you don't hear it as Cayn also joins you at the counter, also greeting you with a (much gentler) elbow to the side. "Go for the eye if he's a creep," Was all he said, clearly having been informed of the situation in private, and not looking particularly impressed as he trailed his gaze over the man fate had designed you with. But he looks to you, and offers a small smile of encouragement, gesturing you to follow your other half.
You don't need to be told twice, though your steps are still a bit slow until you find yourself seated across from him at a booth. Not from the anxiety that ate you from the walk down here, but... it's a lot. It's too much, in some sense, but you can't find yourself unable to look away as he sits from you, fingers laced with elbows on the table as he also,seems unable to look away from you.
Again, it takes someone blinking first to get words moving again.
"I need you to lay off the Fringes."
Wow. What a great first-impression.
He seems to agree, dark brows rising up to his hairline, before a bark of laughter sounds as he leans back, a low-smirk toying on thin lips as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Oh?" He says slowly, rolling the syllable out in a curious tone that has you swallowing. "Enlighten me, is there any particular reason for such a demand?"
"Enforcers swung by the factories today," You inform him, and part of that smirk fades. But not all of it, making you stumble over your next words, "I... my father, he owns Eastsides. He can't be caught affiliated with your organization, we have far too many workers that rely on us and our buisness, and they risk losing both if we're caught in league with your force, so..." You pause, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Treating this like a buisness meeting felt easier, and, almost in reverse-psychology, focusing on a calm beat on your timer helped soothed your racing thoughts, and heart, by the time you opened your eyes again.
"So, I need you to spare the Alcoves from the rebellion. I'll wish you luck, and hope you know what you're doing, but we cannot afford to get tangled up in your web. You might strangle us all, if you take us down with you," You say firmly, raising your chin as you meet his gaze full-on. Not as your soulmate, but as an opposing force on the opposite end of the negotiations table.
Your other-half seems to view this as something more personal though, because the faint grin (showing chipped front-teeth that are oddly, damnably, endearing) hasn't escaped him yet. "Is this all you came for?" He muses, half sincere as he tilts his head, inky-black locks brushing his shoulder as he raises a brow. "Nothing else, but critiques about how we should be running a revolution?"
You swallow. "No. Nothing else."
He grins, "Liar." And again, the men in your life apparently seek to exhaust you today, for your soulmate only chuckles as you bristle at the almost fondly-given accusation. "You know how I know you came for me as well? You haven't looked away from my eyes for a second, since you saw me."
Immediately, you go to look away, and just as quickly, there's a touch of a thumb at your chin.
You didn't even see his hand move, and the touch of it was so light, you wouldn't even think it was there, expect for the fact that your body freezes in place at it's sensation. The thumb also seems to freeze in place, with his own seagreen eyes blown wide, as if unexpected at his own actions, before they go hooded as you gaze at him again. "Not that I'm any different," He admits, one shoulder, guarded in leather, rising in a shrug. "But your admiration is a bit obvious, sweetheart. You spend a lot of time looking at those numbers?"
Your tongue, dry, seems to lose it's ability of sarcasm, as only the truth slips out of you at his gentle taunt. "We have skylights, at the cannery. I liked to stand at the walkway, on my toes or on the first-rung when I was little, to look out to sea." Wrist seems to prop up onto the table by it's own accord, and eyes that match the shade of the numbers on your wrist, glance away briefly to stare at the twelve-ticking numbers. "They... matched. The seaward horizon, I mean... your eyes are the same green," You finished, quietly and feeling more than a bit silly at your confession. Even though this was your soulmate, this was still a stranger that you were confessing such childish actions to.
"What about you?" You finally murmur when his hand lowers from your face, eyes releasing your gaze to look down at your hand resting on the tabletop. "What did you think of, when you saw my numbers in the color of my eyes?"
Again, it felt silly.
But, if you were honest, it was something you had just simply, wanted to know, when or if you ever got the chance to meet your soulmate. What was going through his mind, whenever he saw the sole-evidance of hisfate-designed connection to you.
And he answers just as simply, after reaching down and, almost tenderly, grazes the pads of his fingers over the timer beneath your skin. "I just thought of you. Everything, anything, nothing at all... whenever I stepped away from things for a moment, I pulled my wrap away, looked at the timer, and just thought of you."
There's a glance of that piercing seagreen onto your own gaze, questioning, and you find yourself numbly nodding your consent. His fingers slowly trailing before they loop under and around, a thumb left to gently stroke-circles onto your marked skin as he lifts it off the table surface.
"Silco." He says it so quietly, so offhandedly, that you don't hear it at first as he takes your wrist up, turning it just-so for him to examine it with slowly-roving eyes on your marked skin. It's only after he glances up from it, meeting your eyes, that you quickly murmur out your own name and...
The bastard, your soulmate - Silco, doesn't just repeat it. He relishes it, sounding out every syllable, every letter like it's a delicacy. Glancing from his eyes, your utterly transfixed at the way it moves to mouth out the name of his other-half... and remain transfixed as, he leans that mouth forward to brush his lips against your skin, barely trailing over the timer that is rhythmically ticking-upwards in the time you spend together.
For a moment, something tightened inside your chest, and you couldn't breathe.
Lips still to skin, Silco looked up at you in pure ease and relaxation, as if he had all the time in the world to do nothing but press a gentle kiss upon the soul-timer he shared with you.
And with that, you realized you were already well on your way to loving him, as if you didn't already.
'A rebel and a cannery-owner’s daughter,’ You thought, breathlessly. ‘Won’t dad be thrilled.’
That brought you somewhat back to the present, and you managed out a quiet reminder of the earlier discussion. "Hm?" The vibrations of his gentle hum rolled over your skin, raising goosebumps and causing shivers. "The... the Fringes." You murmured back, finding your voice despite a long thumb delicately soothing your prickling flesh. "The... they aren't ready for a rebellion."
"We can help get them ready," Silco said, again shrugging, but unmoving his hooded gaze from yours. "We're a bit rag-tag, sure, but we're halfway to soliders by this point. Any abled-body person on the Uppercity would be welcomed to our ranks." You swallow, thickly, "My... my family. I don't think it's best if we... if we ally ourselves with you. We have connections with the Promenade, even with Piltover-"
"You'd be protected. Enforcers won't lay a hand on you, they won't touch you under my protection."
The way he says it, with such a fierce, unyielding fire in his gaze - it's a promise. A promise from your soulmate, with such complete and honest devotion at the task of keeping you from any form of harm blazing in his bright, green eyes that you know in a color as well as your own...
You really were loving him already, you realized, and hoped it didn't show too badly on your face as you frowned, trying to get your barings. His lips had barely moved from your skin, and your flesh tickled when his lips brushed against it with every passing word.
"I... I will need to bring my father into this discussion. I-i know you probably spoken to him already, but... we need to iron out details." It's at this amendment that has him lowering your wrist from his face, and he nods, poking his tongue into his cheek in thought. "Level-headedness would be good to bring into the fold of our discussion... which I expect would continue, often, in the future?"
The brow-raise is meant to be innocent, you're sure, but find yourself biting back a smile with a small nod. Silco takes a bit of pity on you then, as his eyes soften into something more neutral, or at least more casual, as long fingers slip from around your wrist, and release you, only to hold out slightly. "I don't doubt that this isn't the end of our many, many thrilling discussions, " He drawls casually, again quirking a brow as he looks you down over the arch of his nose. "But for now, we should at least shake on the beginnings of a beautiful companionship, don't you agree?"
Silco's eyes become hooded, and, almost coyly, he can't help but add, "Unless, you wanted to seal this deal in a way other than a handshake?"
Your fingers freeze, just barely curled into his grasp as you just stare at him. Stare into eyes, in the color you've known all your life, but have only seen in the last several minutes in person. They're sharp, they practically see all, and it stuns you how willingly you drown into those bright, seagreen depths that are softening at your lack of response.
His fingers curl around yours, shaking you from the depths with their warmth, and you don't think.
Not about your father, nor Enforcers. No rebellion, no confusing future with you and the Children of Zaun. You don't think of anything else, except grasping his hand tightly with your own, and using it as leverage to raise yourself up, tug him closer, and tilt your chin just-so, in order to collide your lips to his to seal your deal, and your bond with your soulmate, with a kiss.
It's only then that you think. Think that perhaps this is too much, too swiftly. That he doesn't want this, not as much as you're rapidly finding out how intensely you wanted this. That your soulmate status doesn't erase the multitude of complications ahead of the both of you, or that the thoughts of what your father will think of this development will bring...
But then, Silco makes all those thoughts go away once more. Not with smooth, low words, nor in a piercing gaze you could happily drown in.
Silco makes everything else in the world fade away, by simply raising his palm to cup your face with such utter tenderness and desire, that you realize you're not on your way to falling in love with him - you're already there.
There, and as far as your concerned, no where else in the world.
No where, that doesn't include the three most important things to you in this moment,, and this eternity: you, him, and the sound of two timers, in unison, counting up with every second you are finally together.
Summary: The seemingly never-ending torture of having you in this existance, his soulmate, wasn't the fact that he had to wait for destiny to allow for the two of you to unite; it was the fact that he now had to wait on you.
A/N: Giving zero-fucks and posting a practice-drabble I've written between edits for my Timer series. Timer is a doozy, and it's gonna be a big-ride, but sometimes I just wanna sit down and play with my slow-burn enemies(?)-to-lover soulmates outside of their main storyline.
With that in mind, enjoy a largely contextless-drabble in the Timer Universe!
Warnings: SFW, power-dynamics, complex relationships, soulmate/soultimer AU, enemies-to-lovers, unresolved tension, background Zaunite politics, Silco thirsting and being cockblocked by his own soulmate, large time-skip in main Timer-universe.
Timer Prologue | AO3
"You are losing my interest," He muttered, eye narrowing while the other glowed. "And that can be a very dangerous thing." The only response he gets is a laugh, short and light.
"All I've ever had is your interest," You teased, but it's layered beneath indifference, and nonchalance. The same tone is in your eyes, which don't drop from his, even as you tilt your chin down. The wine swirls in your glass, reflecting your face in vinaceous. "We both know it. I could imagine it'd be refreshing to not be your obsession for a few minutes."
It's his turn to laugh, but Silco can only manage a snort. "I am not-"
"It's alright, it's flattering more than anything." You bring the red to your lips, slipping your eyes closed. Gracefully, you tip your headback instead of bringing the glass even closer to your face, and the view gives Silco a completely look at the expanse of your throat, which shifts slowly with the movement of your smooth swallow.
His own throat feels parched at the sight.
But reaching for a glass would be coinciding, and showing defeat in either words, or actions is not acceptable, not with you.
You part your lips audibly after draining your glass, still not yet used to the rich flavor, but you elegantly return it to the serving tray on the edge of his desk. "Flattering, but a bit presumptuous. You haven't even asked me out for dinner yet." "Because I don't want to," Silco replies, again shortly.
"Right," You say with a smile, and lie just as easily, if not as subtly, as the Eye does. "And you don't interest me. Have you ever thought about how dangerous that could be?" Silco feels just jaw tick with the clench of his teeth. It's difficult, really, to not tell you how that scares him to death every day. That one day, you'll grow bored. One day, you'll leave, and not return.
That one day, you'll return to the Alcoves, and never step foot in Undercity again.
And just like that, he's lost his soulmate.
Were you any other Zaunite, he could pull strings to keep you around, keep you Underground. And you know it, which is why you stand from your chair so casually, not waiting for his leave or permission to conclude this meeting.
Because, you are a queen in your own right. The only hold Silco truly has on you, is his ticking numbers on your wrist, while your hold over him only encapsulates ever further with every meeting. Even now, he feels it tighten around him when you smile, seemingly kind, but he sees that taunt behind the teeth.
"I think we both know, Silco, that we have our attention on one another. And it's not a fact that's going to change."
"Perhaps. That doesn't change the fact that if I am not losing interest, i'm losing paitence." An equally dangerous thing, he thought, but you were unphased.
You shrugged, noncommittal. "Tragic. We waited most of our lifetime though, surely you can wait another week until I get that report for you." A pause than, carefully innocently, "Or perhaps it will be longer until our next meeting. There is some business Topside I need to handle on my end... surely you understand, you aren't exactly my priority."
Leaning back in his chair, hands folded atop one another, he scowled at you. At your gall, of both existing and smiling like there's not a damn thing wrong with the image. The image of him having to wait on you for the next move. "Sometimes," He ponders aloud. "I think I liked you better, as just a set of numbers on my wrist."
His soulmate only laughs, and you smirk when you meet his eyes.
"I love that you think I can believe that."
You dip your chin at him, a nod of mutual respect between figureheads, before you turn on your heel. Nails bite into his hand as he watches you walk - he should be able to stop you. Should be able to order your return, to demand your attention, and, perhaps, ask you to stay...
But you're as powerful, as regal as he is, and even on his own territory, Silco is powerless to stop you from walking out the door.
Fist hits his desktop after a moment, his untouched glass and your empty one clinking together at the edge with his snarled curse. Frustration has never been new for him, especially not when it comes to the presence of his soulmate. Frustration of years and years, waiting, was something he grew used to as numbers counted down to the moment fate would allow your paths to cross.
Foolishly, he'd believed his frustration would cease upon meeting you. Upon your clocks reaching zero, and you would be united as one, and there would be no more frustration in terms of he and his other-half.
But you had a habit of only making his ire at waiting grow, and spiteful, he yanks at his sleeve until it pulls down, directing a mixed-glared down at numbers, stopped in their time:
000021.090923
Twenty-one days, and a little over nine hours.
That's the total amount of time Silco had ever been in the presence of his other-half, and with a withering sigh, he knew that even if that number grew, it would never, ever be enough for him.
Silco wouldn't lose interest though. Couldn't. Even with the wait, as asinine and grating as it was, as you were, he couldn't get you out of his mind. Perhaps it was only desperation, but Silco hoped that you were unable to get him out of your own as well. If only for the two of you to feel equal in yet another way, not just in soul and in positions of power, but in the fact that thoughts often felt wholly consumed of one another.
Which was exactly what infuriated him. That one person, could capture his attention and his want so wholly, and smile as if it were nothing. Smile, because even though you could surely see how you consumed him so, you enjoyed riling him up in such a way - to skip into his life, before becoming fleeting and just out of reach, but close enough to for him to hear your chuckles and see your smirks, as you always passed him, just out of reach.
His soulmate.
Taunting him.
The seemingly never-ending torture of having you in this existance, his soulmate, wasn't the fact that he had to wait for destiny to allow for the two of you to unite; it was the fact that he now had to wait on you. And you both knew it.
And, with the memory of your farewell-smirk clear in his mind, Silco finally shoved his sleeve back over his timer, and reached for his untouched glass. Because he knew, you were more than happy to make him wait as long for as you wanted, and far past the limits of his patience.
Silco took a deep, long swing of his wine, at the realization that he despised you, and adored you for it.
"In the color of their eyes, there is a set of numbers on wrists that are counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds to when you will meet your soulmate."
11,460 words | AO3
Prologue
Warnings: Soulmate AU, Slow-burn, Pre-Canon/Pre-Act 1, character exploration, blood, canon-typical violence, Enforcers being terrible
AN: Shout-Out to the lovely/amazing/perfect @sweatandwoe for her help with this chapter ❤
As the storm rolled in, casting thunder and darkness over the top-level of Zaun, Silco knew two things: that this would be one for the ages, a devastating storm that would breach the skies and flood the Fringes come morning, and that it was a sign.
A sign that the storm that was clouding the rebellion, was also about to reach its zenith.
Being the one who had triggered the storm, the Son of Zaun couldn't help but grind his teeth at the humor, dragging the cloth on the flat of his blade. Methodical, and useless, as the metal already shined. It kept his hands busy though, steady instead of shaking, even as the first roar of thunder sounded in the horizon.
He doesn't flinch, as the sound rolled over the exposed top-level of the Undercity.
Silco only wondered how it would happen, how this awaiting storm gathering over the Children of Zaun, would finally break.
He had spent weeks thinking about how it had originally occurred, these dark clouds hovering over the burning brightness of their rebellion. It wasn't hard to tell that shifts in the atmosphere were made, that smiles were becoming forced and blows made a little more harshly with every passing day. It was like a ripple throughout the entirety of Zaun.
Brothers and Sisters, rebels and civilians and perhaps even Topsiders, in unease not by weather or the ever-tightening noose of Enforcers, but by the Sons of Zaun, divided.
Such a thought had seemed impossible, not too long ago.
Silco probably would have even laughed at the idea of him and Vander at opposing ends.
Oh, there was the occasional argument, as with any young men. The overdrawn banter and the bouts of irritated silence between the two, and then added third-party that almost always took Vander's side. Benzo was nothing, if not predictable, and relentless as Vander's backup.
No partnership thrived on perfect-compatibility, two voices echoing one another in perfect unison. Silco and Vander complimented each other well enough that there was balance in their army, and in their Undercity. The leadership of the Children of Zaun had always been presented as a united front, two brilliant, eager and equally fierce minds to be the face of their Nation, as they led Zaun to independence.
Two men, united as one. In trust, in respect, and in their dream.
Until Silco challenged Vander. In front of the entirety of the Children of Zaun.
His thumb caught the end of his blade, but Silco didn't even react to the pain that followed, glowering onto the horizon. 'If we show weakness now ,' His own words echo in his head. 'Then they end us .' Is that what Vander wanted? To slow down, to pull back their strength, was to admit their vulnerability and the fact that they were not the strong Nation that Piltover should've learned to fear, to respect , generations ago?
Silco squeezed the sliced thumb between two fingers, making the single drop of blood bubble to the surface of flesh, and slowly run it's way down. Narrow sea green eyes watching it roll down his calloused pad, before dripping off onto the ground far below, as he sat just-off the roof of one of the abandoned warehouses facing the east.
How could Vander not see?
How could Vander not see?
Piltover was strong , but Zaun was of many . Piltover was superior in equipment, but Zaun learned to use their fists and teeth years ago, if all else failed. Piltover outdid them in training, true, despite how much effort the Children had put into their coordination, but there was no changing the fact that together, Zaun had the numbers . The numbers to truly make it count, to make a blow so devastating that Topside could never recover from.
All they had to do was gather everyone. Any, and all able-bodied, and it could be done. And when it was done, they could be freed.
The Nation of Zaun was in reach, and all that needed to be done was for its people to unite, as well as it's leaders had. A Nation, united as one. In trust, in the dream, and in victory .
But his Brother said no.
His Brother, not by the blood in their veins, but by the blood they have split for the dream of their Nation, said they didn't need to strike harder - that they needed to pull back.
Even Benzo had looked bewildered at such a command, but Silco felt rage.
" Draw-back ? Are you thick in the head?" He had snarled, with Vander growling right back. "Every blow we deal with, and every Enforcer we knock back, they take out two of ours, and at least one civilian." He said this hoarsely, but Silco could laugh. When was war bloodless ? More importantly, when did Vander shy away from it?
"You forget brother, we fight before we die," Silco said, tilting his chin up to meet Vander's gaze squarely. "Any true Zaunite, Children or civilian, holds the same skills of survival that kept us alive, even in the darkest depths of the underground. I think you'll do well to remember that we're much more durable then Piltover gives us credit for."
The murmur of agreement around them, from the gathered forces of Children, only made that frown turn even lower. "Durable for what ? We risk running ourselves ragged by throwing ourselves at them, again and again and again . We need to pull-back to gather ourselves, to regroup, and build strength. Crossing our fingers and hoping that everyone would even answer the call now , just isn't going to work." Saying this around them, the Hound seemed to meet the gaze of as many as possible before, in the last sentence, he turned to meet the gaze of his fellow Brother, and narrowed his piercing grey eyes. "We can't lose strength by rag-tagging together. Not lose what strength we do have, by trying to prove a point."
"The point is to not appear weak ," Voice was now raising, and a sharp turn of his heel as Silco began to pace. "We show weakness, and they sense it, that is it ."
"It's not weakness to stop and recalculate what we have-"
"It is! We show even the slightest of weakness, and they end us." Silco had to resist very hard not to throw his hands up. "Is that how you want it to end? Not on our own two feet, side by side with Sons and Daughters alike, poised to fight for our future, our freedom ? Instead cowering, hoping that Topside suddenly grows a new sense of patience while we sit around, doing nothing ."
Silco sees a dark cloud, darker than the storm gathering now over the Alcoves, cross Vander's face. He opens his mouth, but Silco can't stop himself.
"We have suffered, we have bled and fought. To show weakness now, would mean to fail, to give in, to lose . To lose our nerve now, to pull back from our full strength, would mean to admit our defeat, and crumble back into dust beneath Piltover's boots..."
A pause, and Silco... tried . He tried to hold it back in, but closing his eyes, he couldn't ignore it. Ignore the foolishness of Vander, to even suggest that they stop, now, after everything...no.
No, how could Silco not be disgusted by that? And he could not hold back the words, as he opened his eyes, and finished his damnation of Vander's hesitation with a hiss, "And if we were to continue to follow a leader as weak as your becoming, Vander, maybe we would deserve it ."
He regretted saying it, immediately. There was a clear rumble, sharp intakes of breath among the crowd of Children around them, and the largest of the leading Sons of Zaun widened his grey eyes.
Then they narrowed, and for the first time, Silco saw the full-wrath of the Hound of the Underground fully, and mercilessly fixated on him.
A chuckle in the present, as Silco opens his eyes to pull him away from the vision of his past.
He'd almost forgotten the terror that his Brother could truly be. It was about time he'd gotten a reminder, though he did indeed wish it'd been directed at any other but him...
And that it didn't leave him with such uncertainty, that when the footfall of leather sounded as someone reached the top of the side-ladder, Silco had to hide back his wince.
"Brother," The call came, but the uncertainty didn't leave him. He didn't know that voice. Swiping his thumb off on his shirt, he smoothly pulled his legs back from over the edge and rose while holstering his knife as he gazed upon his visitor. Clearly she was one of Vander's forces, the broad-shoulders a dead giveaway along with her wide stance, clearly inviting a fight with her body, if not with her narrowed grey eyes. They studied him as much as he watched her.
Smoothly, he laced his fingers behind his back, tilting his chin up as he faced this Daughter of Zaun. Vander must've pulled her straight from training, he imagines. Silco pities her, seeing that she's not thrilled at one of her first missions is to play messenger. She has the body, the muscle of a field-fighter, and Silco finds himself distantly curious to see her in action one day. "Sister," He acknowledges, taking a couple smooth strides closer. "I expected Vander."
"Yeah, well, Vander expects you."
Silco raises a brow, and she sighs. "The docks. Noon, tomorrow," She clarifies, and he can't hide his frown, turning his hand over to rub at his wrist off-handedly behind his back. The Upper Level of the Undercity was still a gray-territory, almost entirely neutral, save for a few handfuls that snuck below-ground to fight.
A pity, as their numbers were many with the abundance of fresher-air and open-space - healthy masses, a sorely-needed resource in the Underground forces. Talks had been arranged with the self-appointed leader of the top-level of the Undercity, to discuss numbers and how to pull the Fringes, and by extension the Alcoves levels, into the forces the Nation of Zaun needed.
But, regrettably, he had died a year earlier.
Bad timing, wrong place at the wrong time.
And now, de-facto leaderless, the Top Level was a silent, neutral-party in a time when there simply couldn't afford to be a neutral party.
The fact that Vander thinks to meet here, where so few of the Children are stationed doesn't shock Silco, but does make him raise a brow. He doesn't ask questions though, as he sees the Sister already turning to return down the ladder, clearly glad for this job to be done. "You were at the meeting, weren't you?" He calls.
The muscular young woman turns, grey eyes narrowing as she looks over her shoulder at him. "And what about it?" She gruff, sarcasm clear on her lips. "Are you looking for a standing-ovation?" Silco feels one corner of his mouth quirk up, "No, but a sort of review of my words would be appreciated... particularly in what you reckon should be our move."
Taking a step closer, she doesn't turn back to him fully, but he has her attention now.
" Reckon, that you should show up to that meeting. Vander seemed like he needed you there." That quirk lowers, and he takes another step forward. "I'm asking you what you think," He said coolly. "I'm asking if you think we ought to pull back like dear Vander believes we should, or if we should fight. Strike now or wait, yet again, for it to all work out."
There's hesitation. He sees it, and knows Vander must've seen it too. Perhaps that explains why he chose a neutral-ground, without the hesitation of their fellow Brothers and Sisters to sway them.
Just him, and Vander.
Like it had been in the beginning, even before Benzo. They had done well since then, despite this last hiccup… perhaps it was a good idea after all, for them to speak on neutral ground, and rekindle their union without the interference of third parties, or even their forces of Children.
The young woman hesitates a second longer, clearly rolling his words through her head, before turning and stomping to the ladder. "Think you should grab a coat for tomorrow, Brother," She said gruffly, taking the first step down and meeting his gaze once. Silco holds it, and the Sister's grey eyes falter, before she redirects her attention down to watch her step as she climbs.
The Son of Zaun doesn't call after her, or ask for a name. He saw the hesitation in her, and knows that eventually, she'll be on his side.
Their side, he corrects himself, letting out a slow breath with a hint of a smile on his lips, the first in weeks. Since his self-exile, in waiting for Vander to cool down and for Silco himself to get himself together, Silco can now admit it to himself that he misses his Brother. Even Benzo , he misses, as insane as the thought is. He might even just crack a smile at the first insulting nickname the stubborn brute comes up with upon their reunion.
Silco can also admit to himself, now that he feels clearer and more at ease than he had been for weeks, that his hand has gotten more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute. With a small grunt, he brings both his hands to the front, giving a glance to the thumb that he had been rubbing along his wrist.
The blood was already cleared, and with a small jolt, he realized the thrumming ache wasn't originating from his recently-sliced thumb.
It was from under his leather-wrapped wrist.
Sea-green eyes blink once, and a bit ridiculously, he feels the urge to look around a clearly barren rooftop. Recalling a time when Benzo would all but pounce if Silco so much as glanced at the damn thing, the dark-haired man halfway expected to see both him and Vander peeking over with smirks at his changed demeanor, teasing already filling the air until something even more foolish caught their attention.
Sea-green eyes blink once, and a bit ridiculously, he feels the urge to look around a clearly barren rooftop. Recalling a time when Benzo would all but pounce if Silco so much as glanced at the damn thing, the dark-haired man halfway expected to see both him and Vander peeking over with smirks at his changed demeanor, teasing already filling the air until something even more foolish caught their attention.
It's slight. One would have to squint to see it, but there's a definitive change in Silco now.
A change that doesn't think about the Nation, or his current row with Vander, but of something much more simple. There's a natural hesitation as his fingers reach for the buckle, but only one borne from habit. And it's quelled quickly by the urgent thrumming beneath his skin, demanding his attention and all but ordering his fingers to move, to unwrap and to see it…
Silco soon peels the leather band off, the covered skin beneath a couple shades lighter than his already pale skin tone. It makes the set of numbers, in a color he's never quite been able to see before, despite the many he's met in his life, stand out.
It's the color of his soulmate's eyes, and right now it tells him he has a little less than twenty-four hours before he meets them.
Silco glances up at the sky, but though it's thick with clouds, he makes the calculation nonetheless. It's roughly noon now, meaning it will be roughly noon when he meets them. His natural inclination for suspicion comes to life, even as his thumb slowly traces the ticking, glowing numbers on the inner-part of his wrist.
He meets with Vander at noon, and if his timer to them is to be correct, the one fate-designed to link him to, will also be in the immediate area at the same time. Meaning fate has decided he shall meet his other-half at the same time as his reconciliation.
Unless, of course, things change.
Silco tries not to hope, and scowls himself for hoping anyways. A soul-timer changes whenever actions or events change the world around you, forcing your steps on a different path that diverges from theirs. It's not even a guarantee Silco will see it near any closer to zero tomorrow, though he admits, this is the first time he's ever seen it hit below a days' time…
There's no guarantee. Nothing, but chance, fate, and whatever actions that will lead him to his soulmate, and vice versa. And this timer.
Those aren't the greatest odds.
Silco shouldn't hope. But there's a faint smile on his face regardless, as he traces the methodically-ticking numbers one last time on his skin, before he re-wraps the appendage to hide it from the world. Not from shame nor undesire, for he fears Benzos teasing from their earlier childhood were correct. There was something that always attracted him to the idea of a soulmate, romantic or otherwise.
Despite the Gods never doing much else for him, they granted him something, someone . They gave him permission to them, a sort of guide to them and it was permanently fixated on his skin. The idea that he was on someone else's, sends a small thrill through him as well, though he makes sure to keep his face passive as he tightens the wrist-wrap just before the point of pain.
There's no guarantee, he reminds himself firmly. But there's hope, nonetheless, even as the cover of clouds finally crack, and the first drops of rain begin their assault on the Alcoves. If there is hope for him and Vander tomorrow, Silco supposes it's not too much of a stretch to home that perhaps, fate will clear the path for he and his soulmate to unite.
To unite, with his Brother and soulmate on the same day?
Silco shouldn't.
But he hopes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
The deep inhale you took was tinged with salt, and the faint hint of electricity in the air. Lightning storm - always a favorite. Perhaps not for many others on the Fringes docks, as you had seen many faces full of gritted teeth and weary expressions over the upcoming downpour for most of the morning.
Perhaps it was foolish. But you liked the wait before every strike, the unpredictability of flashes across a dark sky. Sudden, sharp, and leaving you wondering if it was ever there at all as the sound of rain refills the shocked air left behind.
Yes, it was foolish. If only for a split-second. You could afford a moment of foolishness, now and again. Could use it in fact, and imagined you would welcome it when the downpour came on the morrow.
Exhaling, you blinked your eyes open and turned to look at your companion beside you, your normally passive expression smoothing into the ghost of a smile at his own bright, inviting grin. "Still thinking about the look on her face when she rang up our total?" It was an innocent question, and he let out a bark of laughter at it; he knew you too well.
"You are an evil-genius," He started, but you corrected him quickly. "No no, I'm just good with numbers ." The blonde beside you only snickered again, adjusting the hold on the carrying crate in hand. It was filled with some essentials, but you'd thought it best to haggle for a new tarp, oil, extra rations. Necessary items for survival, but unfortunately, there were no handouts in the Top-Level, especially necessities in these times.
Such items weren't cheap, almost a luxury, but you had bought it all for half-price.
"Nah, I think you're some sort of mastermind," Cayn said with a grin, flashing his pale blue eyes at your flat expression with a tease, "Oh, don't hide it, that's what makes you fun to hang around with." An eye-roll as you elbowed him, and the blonde pretended to stagger. "Careful! She's not likely to let me back at her stall for weeks after this, I don't want to crawl back for replacements." They'd probably be twice as expensive now, thanks to your earlier efforts.
"Me?" He blinked, grunting slightly but able to raise the supply box up and over his head, on his palms. " Careful is my middle name, you know me better than that." And that was true, you'd known Cayn nearly all your life.
Which is why you became insistent, scolding him to put down the damn box before he sent your hard-earned supplies into the dirt...
" Hard-earned ? You just scrambled her own words 'round until you liked the price-"
"It's not as easy as it looks, you know."
"I dunno, you do make it look easy…"
"Cayn, Nan will never let me hear the end of it, give it back…!"
A huff, and soon you were stretched on your toes to try and snag it back for yourself while Cayn continued to hold it over his head, smiling. Your face hurt a bit, because you hadn't been smiling much before Cayn returned to the Fringes, but you welcomed it. Wanted to hold onto it for a little while longer; you even let out a small laugh at his ridiculousness, making his grin widened with the accomplishment.
Then the sound of metal crunching on dirt-ground sounded, from just up ahead. Leather was more common for fellow citizens of the Fringes district, more comfortable, less likely to rust and easier to tread the streets in peace, during unpeaceful times, but no. The pair marching on the two of you wanted to be heard, and be feared.
Cayn immediately placed the crate onto the ground, wide and faint smiles gone in an instant. Unsubtly, he hissed as he patted himself down, "Got anything that'll get us arrested?" You smoothed down your vest with a brief shake of your head, pressing the flat lump closer to your abdomen. Your friend had no time to reply, before the Enforcers were on you
A long time ago, this would have been rare.
Maybe a checkpoint near the docks, when foreign ships came to port. Shipments for Piltover obviously, but there was only so much space on their docks. And those of the Fringes, and the main and most profitable shipyard of the district as a whole, could hardly complain when business got a boost . Even if that meant some more heavily-armored Enforcers, a few brief searches to ensure a merchants visit was uneventful.
Still, even in your teen years, you remember a time where Piltover forces would at least be civil to their neighboring districts, just across the harbor.
In the present, they don't even hesitate to shove you both to the wall, but you don't waste time either.
"We're coming from the Boundary." You reported in a calm tone even as your back slams painfully into the backwall of the brick alleyway. Surely leaving bruises. "Chat with the redhead at General, she'll remember us." You see Cayn swallow back a grunt as the forearm pressed against his throat, a warning to keep still while gloved hand roughly patted along his clothes. Mentally, as a baton presses sternly to your sternum to keep yourself in place, you pray that he has enough sense to let you do the talking.
"Occupations?"
"I'm a… dock-worker, he's a supply-runner."
This didn't pacify them, and now Cayn became their center of attention. " Supply-runner , eh?" The scoff couldn't be masked by the thick helmets fitted over the officers face. It was strange, seeing an Enforcer wearing a gasmask under open skies, considering they were still Topside.
Must've just come from patrolling the Underground , you thought grimly. Lucky us .
"Have you ever run supplies down to the Lanes?" Cayn shrugs as much as he can, keeping his face blank and eyes fixated on a point over the decorated helmet. "Sometimes. Been thinking about a profession change though, it can get stuffy down there."
"With so much vermin running around, not surprised." Finished with their search of the young man, you stay stiff as thick gloves begin to frisk over your form. "Thing is, we see two young, able-bodied Undercity cretins with extra supplies running around, acting innocent… you can see how we'd be suspicious." You resisted a sigh as you heard Cayn grit his teeth at the unspoken accusation, and the intentional insult.
You had to admit to yourself, it was exhausting to constantly be paired with the rest of the population on this side of the bridge. If Piltover was day and the Lanes were night, the Alcoves and Fridges were permanently fixed at noon.
Up until recent years, it was common for Piltovians to commerce into the markets or business above the true Undercity, and some Uppercity folk even had the opportunity to cross the bridge to Piltover. No one would bat an eye if you crossed the bridge, for most of those in the Upper-Level could almost pass for Piltover citizens, if a less fashionably dressed and sharper-tongued. But of course, recent raidings suddenly made anyone who was crossing from this side receive sudden glares or muted whisperings.
Thievery shouldn't be enough to drive away those grossing from the Fringes into Piltover. It was the first direct attack on an Enforcer squadron, down in the bottom-level Sumps mines, that closed the bridge to most of those on this side of the bridge. Some who had familial or business connections made a complete shift, joining the Piltover side, but for most of the middle-to-low classes of the Fringes and Alcoves, they were stuck here.
So many restrictions followed, a tightening noose around the entirety of the Upper-Level districts as those rebelling from further below, kept escaping the knot. Obviously, with all the trouble the actual undercity dwellers caused, it was maddening to be linked to them based on the side of the bridge you resided on. Cayn, who made constant trips down into the lower levels, even a rare trip to the shadowy Lanes, complained about it often.
"You know what I'm saying, right?" He had grunted as you had pressed the cloth to his nose, the blood rushing from it once more, even though it was its second-day into healing. "Like, that isn't our fight. Shit's not great down there, sure, but they don't have to drag us into their problems."
"Right," You conceded. You had never even gone past the Promenade, so you had to take Cayn's word for how decent it was further down, into the mid and lower levels of the Undercity. "But maybe don't say that to the faces of the fissure-folk. They might break your nose again." An attempt at a quiet joke was ignored, as Cayn's eyes flashed.
"Enforcers never gave us shit before this whole self-governing spiel started going around." He said lowly. "The second they started causing trouble for the Enforcers, they started causing trouble for us ." A beat, and you hoped he didn't say it. For your sake, you hoped he wouldn't bring it up.
But he did. "And look what it's cost us."
"Yeah." You pressed just a bit harder on his nose, watching the red gush from beneath the cloth, staining your fingers. "I've noticed ."
"We aren't with the rebellion," You said firmly in the present, your outer-vest yanked open after a palm passed over the firm-lump against your side. Fingers hooked on the inner pocket there, and pulled out the leather-bound book with a snort at your rehearsed explanation: "My bosses ledgers, I do them in my free time. Partial-blind, she can never do them on her own."
It was half-true, as half of the book was indeed reports and calculations that could be best described as business-notes. But for a 'dock-worker' to do the ledgers? It was an excuse that didn't quite stick, but thankfully, the officer seemed more amused in the fact of your literacy than the holes in your story, "Might have to petition the Academy for this one. It apparently has a brain ."
Indignity aside, you felt relieved as some of the tension seemed to melt away. Cayn was released, looking infuriated on your behalf at the insult, but neither of you dared to move from the wall. His icy-blue eyes softened when they met yours. There was no smile, and he didn't dare to escalate the situation by reaching for your hand, but just looking at him was enough to bring you some sense of peace.
It meant you weren't alone in this.
And you'd been feeling alone without him for a while, you realized suddenly. His next supply trek to the undercity was coming soon, and you suddenly realized you weren't sure how you'd do without him.
Alone, again.
You never realized how alone a person could be, but the last year seemed intent to prove how solitude suddenly seemed to gnaw on you. Even with the daily visits to the docks, to friendly, familiar and painfully sympathetic faces to surround you as you made your rounds, the constant pressure of loneliness was like a hand squeezing you.
On some days, the worst, it hurt so bad you couldn't even leave your dwelling. Those that were still offering advice, when really it was you that should be offering more, told you it was because the pain was still fresh.
Grief was burning in your heart. Flaring loudly, and demanding your attention while you felt compacted to feel its fire directly.
With Cayn, you could almost feel once more at a normal temperature, like you weren't moments away from being burnt up. But you knew it would be a fleeting feeling, and once he was gone again, that chill that filled your bones would soon return to the heat that was searing your heart.
So, for the moment, if only to keep feeling normal and like you weren't about to melt, you held Cayn's gaze and managed to smile.
And then, you were roused from your gnawing thoughts by a clatter, and promptly grabbed by the Enforcer before you fully realized what had happened.
It had been a thin slip of metal, undecorated, and sharp-enough to leave a pink-line if applied to skin. Hardly deadly. A letter-opener, left between the pages of your book.
Technically, it classed as a weapon, which had been strictly prohibited in the Alcoves for months. One of the many new restrictions, a byproduct of the rebellion after a Demacia ship had nearly been blown sky-high.
Not even the Commercia had been spared from the weapons-raid. Blades, guns, all manner of self-defense tools and even family-heirlooms that could pose a threat, were taken into custody by Enforcers.
All efforts to quell a rebellion that wasn't even on this level of the city.
But it didn't matter, anything classed even remotely suspicious was taken, and for those caught with anything that could be classed as weaponry, were to be given no warning. The order hadn't been placed long enough for anyone to find out the length of sentencing, but judging how harsh and immediate the condemnation was, you imagined it was a long time.
There was no time to even curse at your stupidity in the choice of a bookmark, as you were thrown against the wall, arm wretched behind you, and up . Flashes of pain danced across your vision as you felt your shoulder scream at the effort, and distantly, you heard Cayn let out a shout of protest and outrage at your plight. It was deafened by the dooming clink of cuffs.
"It's…below a four-inch blade !" You managed to gasp out as, with particular vengeance, the wrist wrapped in leather was seized tightly enough for sparks to flare up your spine. They danced behind your eyes as you gasped, halfway begging them to check the damn opener, "I-it's three and a third, check it, please!" There was a beat, and you closed your eyes as you heard a short scuffle of hand reaching into the dirt, and pulling out the slip of metal that had a large chance of sending you to prison.
"... alright." It sounded hesitant, almost disappointed that it was just-below the limit; it was somewhat hysterical, to think that they were upset that they wouldn't meet their monthly-quota. Your shoulder would be black and blue for an entire week.
"But we still have no proof you aren't with the dissenting forces-" "Those morons are causing us hell, you really think we'd side with them for anything ?" Cayn snarled, voice strained with apprehension at the situation, and the fact he was helpless for you. You were suddenly glad for his rant, one that you could almost echo as he growled in low, dark tones at all the damage the real-Undercity dwellers were causing.
"They raid ships, cause mayhem in the damn streets, and bring all the trouble to us before they duck underground-" A bark of mocking was his only reply, "Get in line if you want to complain, we have no proof she isn't-"
"Her old-man owned the Eastside canneries. She would not be with the… the Kids of Zaun or whatever the fuck they call themselves now. They're the ones that got him killed."
There was a lengthy pause.
Then, as your throbbing arm was released, you were given a final, harsh shove into the wall from the officer. Apparently, your reputation only went so far in terms of polite-treatment. Your cheek scraped and started to leak red from the action, but you had the good-sense to keep your jaw shut. A barely-audible warning, to mind the Alcoves-curfew, sounded before Cayn immediately reached out to you the moment you were given the all-clear to resume your normal business.
You turned to watch through teary eyes as the damn letter-opener was snatched up from the dirt-ground, and the two Piltover officers started to turn and walk away. Like nothing had happened. There wasn't even dust on their perfect uniforms to confirm the event took place, meanwhile your arm throbbed and wrist felt bruised black beneath the wrapping, as you held it close to your chest.
Except, the taller of the two turned slightly, and said shortly, and without respect but only curt acknowledgment to you, "Sorry for your loss."
You squeezed your eyes shut, and didn't dare to trust yourself to respond. This time, not out of your good-sense, but out of the pain that filled you at the reminder. Once their metal steps finally faded, and all was quiet for a minute more, Cayn's hand squeezed your un-aching shoulder with a hoarse, weak chuckle, "...Didn't know a dead-dad was a good excuse to avoid arrest."
It had been a combination of his decent luck finally running out, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Enforcers weren't the only ones to occasionally mutter condolences for the man, he'd made himself notable enough that he could be remembered. Strictly of the middle class, but he had helped to reorganize the lowest part of the Fringes into something that could resemble respectability, progress. Fair, smart man, full of many ideas and hopes for the people of the Uppercity… even the rebels sent an apology, after, but none of it ever helped.
Your heart still felt like it was rubbed-raw with salt most days, and there were many others you woke up with your chest aching, no, burning . Those were the days that you couldn't get up, and get out of bed in your mourning, but nothing ever changed, especially not that feeling that enclosed around your heart as it burned .
Like it does now, just at the mention.
You shoved your friend away from you, thunder rolling in the distance as the storm continued it's path across the skies. "Hey, wait-" You ignored his apologies, snatching and shoving the leather-bound book back into your vest as you reached for the supply crate. Barely slowing at the call of your name as you heaved it up into your arms, the anger suddenly helped to make the heavy-lift almost weightless.
"C'mon, you know I didn't mean it like that," Cayn said, grabbing your elbow before you could storm off. "... that was fucked-up." You muttered lowly, and you felt him wince, but hold you tighter, surely able to feel the fury coursing through you. He held on anyways. "I know, I just… I didn't know what else to tell them."
A beat, then you felt knuckles brush at your scrapped-cheek. You winced, but his touch was gentle, and it gave you courage to lift your eyes to meet his apologetic, pale eyes. "I'm sorry ."
Holding his gaze for a moment, you finally sighed, feeling drained. "Just... take the crate, you dick," You muttered, reaching up to dab at the spots of blood on your cheek. "It's heavy."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
To the Enforcers, you had labeled yourself a dock-worker. It worked, as you didn't have the more well-off look that merchants, or those able to drift into the populace of Piltover had. Not exactly rough like a true bottom-dweller, but far from a proper Piltovian - just another face that could slip into the perfect neutrality that the Alcove docks prided itself on.
Said middle-ground docks, which face the channel that breaks into open-ocean, didn't invoke a sense of fire that started to burn you from the inside out. They were a safe-space for you to pick up odd jobs and, more importantly, take care of those that had worked at the Eastsides, before it had fallen apart at the current conflict with Children of Zaun and Piltover.
The south-eastern Fringes docks were a mix of rusted metal and half-rotted boardwalks, but it was a sturdy location, with the Bridge just off in the opposite horizon. Full of fisher-folk when they were free of the smaller merchant or import-ships, which hadn't sailed into port in several years now, meaning that the old generations of fishing-folk could gather and glare at the darkening skies in peace.
Your heart sang at the view of the imperfection, that made you feel peace. It felt like home, or something close to it. And best of all, even after the frosty encounter from the Enforcers, you could almost feel normal .
You couldn't smile after the event with the Enforcers, but nonetheless, something inside you lightened as you walked beside Cayn, turning to go towards the row of fishing shacks lining just-off shore and duck inside. Cramp, with a forever-pungent fish-stench, but you gave a satisfied look to the still-stable cot-bed you had provided before grabbing the pail of fresh-water near the door.
"Back!" All smiles, Cayn was, while you immediately dunked a rag into the pail before pressing the boiled-clean water to your cheek with a sigh.
"Guess who got us a killing at the marketplace?" Suppressing another sigh, this one of annoyance for being singled out, you poked your head out of the door of the shack to manage something close to friendly to face those gathered.
Pity flickered in the faces of those that had gathered for the distribution of extra essentials. " Horrible , dear, what happened?" You glanced at the young woman recalling her with a nod of recognition. She'd been a front-liner at the main cannery, you remembered, in the times where father had let you roam the main assembly-lines and factory floor, she had always offered a small smile and pleasant how-do-you-do, even before you could walk the lines.
One of the many familiar faces, from the factory and now living on the slump-docks.
These were the ones left without jobs after your fathers death - the employment market wasn't exactly overflowing in the middle of the unnecessary war against Piltover. These were the population that was left alone in the Fringes without guidance, fighting for themselves while the Undercity folk continued in only making the situation worse for those who had no hand in the rebellion.
You were your fathers-daughter, and tried to help those that had been in his service as much as you could. Shoving as much money as you could spare, and that their pride would allow them to take, also giving your time and services that they didn't dare to refuse. The least you owed them, after their years of service suddenly cut-short, was any help you could offer, even if it was just the basic tools of survival.
"Eh, got clumsy," Cayn said after you were silent a second too long. "We took the roofs back to take a look at the view." The lie came easy to Cayn, who only shook his head at your questioning look, before he passed off the tarp to the grateful woman, with her three children clinging to her.
You could understand the reason for the smooth lie, hiding the incident with the officers. Most still had relatives or friends across the Bridge, you faintly recall that one ex-employee of the canneries had a cousin working at Stillwater. Connections to Piltover was still there, even if there were some who would rather forget, or even despise their neighbors across the water.
One of said some, you realized with another glance around the fishing-yard, was suspiciously out of sight. Despite the fact that his brother was here, the one person he preferred to avoid even when Cayn returned to the Uppercity, you figured Decky would at least bother to say hello to you.
As if on cue, a slip of forever-tousled blonde caught your eye after you turned, it's owner failing to slip back around the shack you had emerged from, to the short docking-port where a dinghy was held. "Hey. No, get over here."
Shoulders jumped at your stern tone, but he turned immediately with a scowl on his face, eyes narrowed as he tried to play it cool, fists at his side with jaw squared. Looked like an angry ferret that way, but you imagined he thought he looked like the toughest kid on the block. "...Who, me?" "No," You said just as flatly as you poured the last of the oil into the tin, reminding them to secure the cap. "The other brat who's trying to sneak off with his friends , instead of work."
Raising your voice, you saw a brief shuffle behind the crates further back near the dinghy. Masters of stealth, the kids of the Fringes were-not.
"You're not actually trying to go out before a storm?"
"No." He said, too quickly, and you scowled as you heard Cayn approach behind you, " Decky… " The younger boy immediately squared his shoulders to a stiff line just from the sight of him, and you resisted the urge to step between the two fools, with an eye roll. Glad, suddenly, that you had thought to grab the extra gauze in case the brothers came to blows.
"Deckard, the fuck's wrong with you? You'd capsize out there." Insisting, the blonde boy shakes his head, "No, I've got a whole crew! You said every ship needs a crew, and I got three others!" He looks at you when he says this, pale blue eyes narrowed even as you sigh. "Just because you've got the numbers doesn't mean you won't sink. It just means more of you fools risk drowning out there."
This kid took your advice in the worst ways, either to its extreme or ignoring it entirely. Knowing his relationship was strained at best, when he had come-of-age to start working, you had suggested that perhaps it was best if Deckard remained closer to the Alcoves, rather than joining Cayn down in his trips to the Undercity.
Decky hadn't stepped below the Promenade in two years.
And your advice didn't even seem to help mend based on the body-language of the boy and man. Tense, glaring, and with Cayn particularly, looking ready to shake his little brother.
"Yeah, a crew is a good idea for sailing, not to go out in the middle of a damn monsoon. What do you even plan to do out there?" Scuffing his toe on the wood-boards, Decky shrugs, giving a helpful, "I dunno, thought it'd be fun."
To be fair, fun was in rare supply on the Alcoves these days, but that didn't make his excuse any less stupid.
Rolling your eyes, you took the crate from Cayn as another, deeper roll of thunder sounded overhead. With everyone on the docks settled for the storm, you seriously just wanted to wrap up your trip, and go home. These two could figure themselves out, and you told them as much, "He's your brother, you deal with it."
Both blondes whine at you, almost hilariously sounding identical, if not for one well-past puberty, and the other not even close to it. But you had the ability to shut them both up with a stern pitch in your voice as you advised,"There's two of you to debate, and two of you to work together to fix the issue." Despite their thick-heads, you hoped they could do without you to delegate between themselves, without coming to blows.
You shouldn't, but you hope.
You pretended not to see Deckard's friends huddled behind it as you passed to the stationed boat. The other three 'crewmates' grumbled as they scampered off, and you bit back a smile at hearing Deckard whine after for them to wait.
Again, fun was in short-supply these days. The kids had to stick together or else they would go insane, and make all others suffer for it.
"I hope they didn't bother you too much, Nan," You said aloud as you propped yourself onto the end of the dockway, legs hanging over the side. Even tinged with the haze of leaked-chemicals, you could taste that salt-air on your senses as you took a deep inhale, closing your eyes. The electric hint of the storm was growing closer too, and despite it's ferocity, you felt excited. And prepared , you assured yourself, recalling how all seemed pacified with the supplies you had brought.
" Never a moment of peace," A croak assured your question, and you snorted as you slung the rag over your shoulder, letting your cheek dry before it started to rain in truth, pulling out the book from your vest.
"What happened?" Resisting a sigh, you flicked open the book, rolling your eyes over the page. There's an indent where the cutter had lay, and you ran the pad of your finger over the slight crease in the worn, but still sturdy pages. "Enforcers," You admitted, casting a glance behind you to ensure you weren't overheard. "They just… it got bad , quick. I just had a letter opener, and they almost dragged me away for it."
"Ooh." Dry. " Deadly ."
You snorted, but she continued, "Wasn't your daddy's, was it?"
The pause was loud and long from you, as you suddenly felt the need to smooth out a wrinkle in the book.
"You idiot," It's not venomous, and more pitiable than anything. "Why'd you bring it around with you?" You shrugged, "Asking myself the same question, I can assure you." You murmured, flicked through your book, arm and wrist still throbbing at the memory. There was a deep groan as the aged woman shoved herself up, deep crackling noises from nearly every joint as she stretched. "Arresting you for a two inch -" "Three and third." "Whatever… Wouldn't have happened in my day." A beat, then you felt a hand land on your shoulder, squeezing once. "You good?"
You raised your head slightly, meeting the narrowed eyes of the elder. Nan knew you well enough, better after the enforced closing of Eastside, so you could only shrug your shoulders in assurance. "I'll be fine. Cayn said the right thing at the right time… guess they knew my father."
"Knew of him, they never would've cared to find out more than a name, and how your daddy went out," You gritted your teeth at the blunt correction, just shy of stinging. "Yeah, well… , we got out of it fine, and we'll work on taking the main roads next time." A small grunt with an approving nod came from her. With an expectant look, she made a small gesture to you and the book in your hands, clearly already moving on.
Slipping back into business-mode, you were oddly grateful that Nan knew you well enough to free you from these kinds of discussions, after only a bit of her scathing, reprimands.
"Right… well, we made good sales and better deals, and got everyone settled for the stormbreak," You said, nodding behind you to the small community of shacks. "We'll get that roof set correctly after the storm, the tarp will hold out until then. I'll calculate the gold-earnings tonight for an even monthly distribution once I hear home…"
A nod here, an approving grunt here as you continued to make your report. Sales were decent in the fishing-industry, even for these smaller communities here, but with your natural gift of business, it was clear to everyone you would be of most help doing the sales necessary for survival.
The ledgers you held weren't the thick, factory-sized ledgers you had worked with only years prior, but it kept your mind busy. From both the siblings' behind you, clearly in the middle of a tussle but not yet outright screaming at one another, the dull ache of your cheek, the throbbing pain of your arm and the weight of everything else in the world on your shoulders.
Paperwork was a good-kind of busy. You'd take simple numbers, over the weight of everything else the world could offer, anyday.
Simple, organized and keeping everyone's problems as minimal as possible. Or at least much more understandable in number-form. It made you feel the most useful, in a life that had suddenly gotten so far out of your hands, you weren't sure when you would get a grip on things again.
Nan knew this. Appreciated it in her own way, but apparently, she thought there was more work you could be doing, and said as much when you finally finished with a self-pleased gleam in your eye as you shut the book. "Good, good… so you're okay with helping me out tomorrow?"
" What ?" A blink, and you raised your non-aching hand towards the sky, feeling the other throbbing still from the pain of the grab, radiating from your wrist. "It's going to pour tomorrow-!"
"We know, and we'll need all the help we can get. Storm-fishing ain't easy, and that boy will kill us both if I take him out on the water," She said, nodding over her shoulder. Decky was technically her assistant, keeping him on the surface while Cayn worked throughout the levels of the Undercity during his supply-runs. Keeps the kid busy, and with the promise of food and occasional coin to keep him from running off.
But the kid wasn't exactly meant for the fishing-life, if his ridiculous apprehension of fish, and desire to do little else but run around to wreak havoc and annoy the folks on the Alcoves with his friends regardless of his earnings, was any inclination.
You sighed, reaching up to pinch your nose, "I know, Nan, but he tries -"
"Oh, yeah. He tries our patience ," She scoffed. "Restless boys like that, they live to tire the rest of us out. Thankfully, you seem like the kind to make things slow, careful, which is what I'm gonna need out there on the sea during the storm." You hadn't even agreed to go, but she already acted like you did. Tilting your head back, you glared up at the dark-grey sky above, before sighing, and lowering your chin back down after taking a moment for yourself.
"I'll pay you double," She added, and gave you a harsh look not to question it when you opened your mouth to sputter. You did not need whatever meager funds she could offer, but she wasn't going to take a no here.
And really, you weren't finding many excuses not to.
Being out on sea wasn't something you'd done in a while, and though being out in a storm would sound suicidal to most, Nan had the weathered confidence about her that you could count on.
"I… I guess I could convince Cayn to actually watch his brother for a day." And hope they lived to see the night, you thought, once more giving a glare over your shoulder at the two.
"Atta girl," Resisting a sigh as you tucked the book back into your vest, you winced as the throbbing of your hurt-arm seemed to grow more and more with the smallest of movements. "Again, I'll be paying double. Storm-fishing ain't that hard when you get used to the rocking and the rowing, but the storm is when all the mutations come out, so you gotta-"
There was a needy, pounding throbbing beneath your skin as thunder crackled overhead, and you reached down to suddenly grip your wrist-wrap. Breathing out a curse, you suddenly worried how tightly the officer had gripped you earlier.
"Oh shit ," You hissed, suddenly wrestling with the leather wound around your wrist. It was common-place, out of protection, but also out of desire. You hadn't felt the desire to look what lie beneath it, especially when you saw the dark-purple bruising on your skin from the Enforcers hand.
That, and another bright coloring adorning your skin, that immediately caught Nan's attention as she leaned close, and whistled at the sight.
You could only manage to stare.
Flashing green, the numbers are only a few shades from a true blue shade. Seagreen, like the waters on the farthest horizon towards the sea. As a child, you had stood on your toes with your wrist raised, glancing between the numbers and the far-off waves to compare the two before someone reminded you to get off the cannery walkway. People had to work.
With six numbers on one side of your veins, and six on the other, they flare and flash in a way that brings goosebumps along the rest of your body, before slowly, they start to settle.
Before, they'd easily been in the hundreds, nearly thousands of days category. Barely worth paying attention to, and you were used to the numbers only ever growing, not actually reaching a hopeful-amount of zeros.
And now, as the first drops of rain begin to come down, the timer now counts down to less than twenty-four hours until you meet your soulmate.
Everything else dulled, or softened to a buzzing-quiet around you. The color of your soulmate's eyes, flashing with every tick of the downward racing clock, held your entire world of attention, and you were only distantly aware of Nan's words, "Looks about the time I'll need you here… guess I'll be seeing you, won't I?"
After a moment, you gritted your teeth behind your lips, as you very much wanted to say no .
Almost reflexively, you really wanted to say no because there was just… a lot. A lot going on, and a lot left to deal with.
Enforcers. Cayn finally back and almost make things seem, or at least feel right, and he is already getting ready to leave you again. Ensuring that the loyal workers of the abandoned canneries didn't starve, the kids being themselves and looking for trouble every day, not to mention that fate-damned ache in your wrist…
You were quick to ignore the half-forbidden thought, about how you could have used your soulmate sooner. Needed them sooner, on the worst days, on the half-way decent, the busiest, and even just when you needed someone .
But ignoring the timer itself did no good; you were looking at the damn thing and it was already humming with urgency, as if the clock was telling you to hurry up, while it ticked away in a patient rhythm.
For a moment, you could almost hate your soulmate, for adding this new weight onto your shoulders. How could you have the time to indulge fate, let alone for something as shaky as this?
This was a stranger . A stranger, really, that fate decided on a whim to throw together with you. A stranger who didn't know your life or your burdens, just as they had no idea of yours. They didn't know of the daily struggles you had, to work on keeping others alive and thriving, while some days finding your body so inflamed, that you couldn't get out of bed...
It was stupid. You wanted to hate them, but, beneath all the outrage at their poor timing, the more logical, naturally curious part of your mind, couldn't help but ponder if there was a reason .
A reason for a soulmate. A reason as to why this was happening now , and why fate was only now planning on driving you together. A reason that a soulmate was part of your life at all, or why it continued to be a part of your life, when it didn't need to be. Your life was complex enough, without the added weight of a stranger, that the universe decided you simply had to meet.
You shouldn't.
You knew you shouldn't, but, stupidly, and part of you wondered .
You wanted to hate your timer. Not slowly, almost tenderly stroke a thumb over it, face twisted slightly in conflict. Slowly blinking down, twelve numbers, in the color of their eyes, the hours, minutes, and seconds until fate would give you the opportunity to meet.
Opportunity. Fate wasn't that kind, to make it a guarantee.
But there was hope, wasn't there?
Or perhaps not hope, but chance .
For the first time in a while, something besides a burning, and ache or a chill in your chest at the idea. The idea of a chance, or a change. Change seemed promising, even though you didn't know for what … perhaps because it was different?
Perhaps the chance of something different was enough for you?
You could take it differently, with ease, at this point. You wanted things to be different, to change, and if it was with someone who destiny decided to pair you with…
Regardless of the reason, as the rain started to come down in earnest upon the Alcoves, you found yourself answering both your question, and Nan's, though with a small sigh on your lips in natural weariness.
"Yes."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
But then, a little after dawn the next day, the storm broke.
It was truly a downpour, water-levels rising
A little under an hour before noon, feeling his timer closer than it had ever been before in his life, a drenched, dark-haired Son of Zaun stepped onto the docks, with hope to meet his Brother, his soulmate, and perhaps, destiny.
Only two of his hopes were correct. And he would wish they hadn't been.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"What is wrong with you?" You snarled at the man who had the nerve to block you. Bulky, growing mutton-chops and not moving an inch, making you regret taking the alleyway, even if it offered some slightly protection from the downpour. And Gods, was it a downpour - Decky would be drowning if you didn't have a firm grip on his shoulder, partially to keep him from running off, and also floating away as entire walkways were forming into puddles.
"We have to work down by the docks-" "In this weather?"
The kid behind you sloshed his booted-feet around and in front of you, nose up in the air as he glared at the man, "Yeah, you got a problem with it?" " Deckard …!" The day the kid passed your height, was the day you'd trust him not to immediately get rocked when he strode up into someone else's face.
You towed him back around behind you, again wishing you hadn't sent Cayn early to work. Or rather, given him an excuse to head out early.
Managing to get the two to agree to come back to your place for the night, not trusting the youngest to sneak away onto the dinghy at night, and wanting to spend as much time with the eldest before his return underground, it had been on the walk home that you had shown Cayn your timer.
He'd seen it before, and you had seen his on occasion. Just like you've see that fleeting, but undeniable look twist on his mouth as his eyes narrowed slightly.
" Now? Really?" Your technical reminder that it was 23-hours away only made that look on his face grow. It was like the time he'd been around to see a triple-headed mutated fish be pulled from the water - Cayn had made that face, and told Nan to toss the bizarre thing back into the water. "Just, go ahead of us tomorrow, alright?" You had asked, a bit exasperated with yourself for caring so much but, the chance , and your timer, still hummed at you with the possibilities. "If you see anyone, just ask them to wait a couple minutes. Get a name, address, anything . Please, Cayn?
Your friend's sour-tasted look had melted, and while he didn't look like he was tasting anything sweet, Cayn had sighed but nodded. As promised, you had woken up to only Decky left in your apartment, shoving through an almost barren-pantry and no Cayn in sight.
And still no Cayn in sight, not with this asshole blocking the way. There was a grim set in his mouth, but it was his superior stance that raised your ire.
"Seriously, we have work to do, buddy. Not the time to get in our way…" Again you moved to duck-around him, but again, he side-stepped your attempt. "Much as I'd love to let you fisher-folk get back to where ya belong," For some reason, the way he scoffed out the common-term for Fringe civilians made a burning sensation begin to fill you. "Piss off. This is Children's business."
You could almost laugh in his face as you felt that burning start to fill your chest again; didn't bother hiding the scoff because, of course. Of course, of all days, they would show their face around here.
"Up here to bust another shipment again?" You found yourself snarling over the roll of thunder over ahead as you stepped up. "Enforcers aren't around in this storm, you plan on knocking around us instead?" Goading wasn't the smartest idea, you could already see some underlying fire in his eyes as he matched your step, teeth flashing with the lightning that flashed overhead, making hairs rise. "Listen-"
You didn't get the chance to.
It suddenly got very loud, several things at once, but at least two you could discern. Being only a block from the dockline, the echoes of a sudden, furious and pained roar rolled in from the distance of the shore, immediately snatching away the Son of Zaun's attention.
You would look closer to try to find out why he pales so suddenly, turning as reaching at his side for the crowbar that hangs at his hip, but then comes a second clap of lightning. It's so close that you feel your friend's brother suddenly latch onto the back of your legs, sending you halfway against the wall and making your shoulder, purple from yesterday's events, scream when you brace against it.
Any yell at Deckard - for apparently being brave enough to even consider going out into a storm, but spooked to shaking at lightning - vanishes at the next round of sensations, not just sounds.
The sound you do hear, is the echoing call of a name and pounding footsteps out of the mouth of the alleyway, " Vander , what's-"
Another roar of thunder; almost dwarfed by another enraged, almost sub-human yowl of anger and pain in the distance. And by the child babbling quickly in your ear as you feel your legs give out, sending you sliding down and into the puddle of water below. He's apparently over his instant of fright. Or covering it up, based on how squeaky his voice got, "...-at had to have hit us, did you hear it?!"
For a moment, you almost agree, considering your wrist now feels like it is on fire.
Like the burning in your chest transferred straight through your veins, coiling through you in a lightning strike of pain that suddenly has you curling in. Fist to chest as you huff out one sharp breath, then two, then nearly suffocate on your third as something is burning beneath your skin.
Your name sounds at the same time as another distant call of a name, one close and the other nearing the docks…
" Go ," You managed out through gritted teeth. Gods-forbid Cayn ran into those fools from the Children, but knowing the way your luck was going, you could imagine those pained yells coming from whatever brawl he was getting into…
That almost made your heart come aflame. But then your wrist became volcanic, and you half-shrieked out the command again. "Decky, go . G-get Cayn, and…" You didn't even know what was happening anymore, the nerves in your wrist feeling like they were being eaten by fire.
A hint of understanding. The timer .
"A-are… you okay ?" Deckard, who couldn't go three seconds without generating a scowl or squinty eyes to seem tougher, actually looked his age with his blue eyes wide. It was tempting to make fun of him for it, or even ruffle out the water that was cascading through his pale blonde locks, but then another stab of magma seemed to radiate up your arm, and your voice dipped into that sterner, lower pitch once again. "Deckard. Go-get-your-brother."
Perhaps remembering your fathers voice being just as stoic in his orders around the warehouse, for the young kid loudly clacked his top and bottom teeth with how swiftly he shut his mouth closed. You finally allowed your eyes to squeeze shut when you heard him partially scramble, partially splash up and off the alley floor before speeding out.
Of course, any hope he would take this as an opportunity to exercise subtly or caution, died the moment you heard, possibly for the first time in his life, frantically calling out for Cayn.
Bringing your knees to your chest, you finally sucked in a breath to force your eyes open, pulling your shaking arm and inflamed wrist out to examine if perhaps the kid had a point, and maybe you had been struck by lightning…
Just beyond the alleyway, the muted shouts drew near, one pinched in agony, the other wary, both furious.
" Where did he …!"
"-w did ya lose 'im?"
Shock began to rivet through your body as rain continued its downpour, and your wrist , your timer…
As a child, with fewer worries and more time to care, you liked to watch your wrist. Not only because it was undeniably yours, but also because you enjoyed the color. And it was much more interesting, ironically, than the numbers your father would be showing you at the time..
A deeper, warm but stern voice showing you the numbers on pages, leading to a deep sigh when you shrug your sleeve up to look at your own numbers, and watch them tick in rhythmic glee.
Though not that much glee, because even your young mind was quick to calculate, much to your fathers chagrin, mirth and pride.
"That's over a decade!"
"You don't feel like waiting for them?"
" I'll always wait for them."
In those times, still a child and too sick of studying the ledgers, you'd immediately return to watching the numbers flick on your wrist, a small smile on your face as you thought of the day it would reach zero, and watch the moment happen before raising your gaze to meet that of your other half.
You had been watching, late last night, as twelve hours passed.
Six, when dawn broke this morning, and the rain started.
The seagreen had broke into ten minutes when you had dragged Deckard behind you out of the apartment, too busying looking at your marked-skin to admonish him for breaking out the last of your break from the pantry and cramming it into his mouth.
It had never gone down into ten minutes. Nor the eight, six, five, four, three that followed…
It was how you had run into that Son of Zaun, who marches with another right past your alley, but the world feels muted as, once again, you are too busy staring at your timer to notice your surroundings. But not in slow, but gaining hope as you watch zero become more and more of a possibility. Not in a faint sense of completion beginning to fill you, as proximity between You and Them closed. Not even in hope.
Because now, you don't stare at your timer in hope.
You stare in more than a little fear, bewilderment, and incredible concern as the world dumps yet another worry onto your shoulders, as your timer, in the color of your soulmate's eyes, runs too fast for you to even begin to decipher its time…
And part of it begins to melt into a dark, dark blood-red.
Love how they're begging Silco to 'not be a hero' while he is like' no way MY soulmate is stupid enough to be there NOoooo i know they're built different
Timer (Part 2) is basically:
Reader: omg, please don't get yourself killed doing some noble-hero bullshit
Silco, about to build a drug/murder/kingpin empire: bet
