Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine.”

~William Wordsworth

Jayce’s mind was reeling. The raid sirens had begun blaring just before dawn, and he’d startled awake, his every muscle sore from yet another night spent hunched over his desk and snoring into the mess of schematics and empty bottles. He hadn’t meant to get so drunk, especially not while he was working, but… when did he ever mean to slip into the downward spiral of liquor and repressed memories? And he’d tried to go a little easier on the booze in recent weeks, he really had—what with Caitlyn expressing her worry multiple times, and following it with veiled threats of an intervention.

But… every time he stepped foot in that empty lab, his voice and chalk scribbles reverberating into complete and utter silence, he was reminded of the absence… of the glaring wound in this place that still hadn’t healed, six years later. His hands itched to reach out and grasp that familiar shoulder, his ears rang with the ghost of that familiar voice, hushed and dulcet but so excited and passionate. His heart ached in those moments, and nothing short of drowning it in alcohol seemed to help.

So when the raid sirens shook the walls and rattled the bottles, he’d nearly tripped over himself in his haste to pull himself together and respond—button the coat, straighten the cravat, soothe down his cowlicked mess of hair… and the hammer, where had he put the gods-forsaken hammer?

Nothing about the attack made sense. It had been the Herald, because of course it was—just what Jayce needed on a day like today; battling a raging hangover and aching from head to toe from sleeping at his desk again. Viktor had gone straight for the suspension cables, systematically severing enough of them to compromise the stability of the bridge, and all before the enforcers on the other side even had time to react. But Viktor had attacked alone; which was monumentally and unbelievably stupid, and while the Machine Herald was many things, stupid certainly wasn’t one of them.

All of this, though, had been explained to Jayce later, because he never even made it to the bridge before the secondary, higher-pitched alarms began blaring from behind him… the Hextech Laboratory alarms.

And the moment they did, he’d known it had been a trap; one he’d walked into face-first like a cobweb. The first attack on the bridge was a set up to get Jayce away from his lab, that much was clear almost instantly. They’d pulled Jayce away so that whatever… or whoever was poised to raid it could do so without encountering resistance. So with a defeated and disappointed sigh, he’d skidded to a halt in the middle of the street, spun around, and headed back for the laboratory with a frustrated growl, the Mercury Hammer swinging in his grasp.

But he didn’t make it there in time either—both attacks had clearly been precisely timed down to the second, and all Jayce found upon his return was a group of flustered enforcers, a door that had been blasted from its hinges, and a completely ransacked laboratory. And to add insult to injury, the burn pattern on the door lock was familiar—the soldering iron built into Blitzcrank’s revolving arm of gadgets, no doubt. Viktor didn’t usually send his golem on retrieval missions, preferring to keep his prized creation within Zaun city limits, but… he’d obviously made an exception today.

The rage that roiled up inside him was probably a bit unfounded, as his lab was getting raided by Zaun constantly. But that didn’t stop the sting of it—fucking idiot, maybe if you hadn’t drank yourself into oblivion, you wouldn’t be so easy to take advantage of. You’re a mess, you’re pathetic, and they fucking know it.

He’d been angrily kicking and tossing about the debris in his lab, taking stock of what he’d lost this time when Sheriff Kiramman came jogging in, her breath a bit labored and her uniform singed black at the shoulder. Vi trailed behind her, the enforcer’s uniform looking every bit as out-of-place on her as it had on day one.

“Mornin’ pretty boy. You look like shit,” she drawled, leaning against the ruined doorframe and crossing her arms sanctimoniously—only slightly hindered by the bulk of the Atlas Gauntlets.

“What did they take?” Caitlyn asked in a huff, ignoring Vi’s teasing as her sharp eyes jerked around the room to glean for herself.

“Don’t know yet,” Jayce snapped, flinging open the ornate chest at his feet to find it completely empty. “At least these six gemstones, that’s for sure.”

Caitlyn sighed in defeat, but the silence that followed was suspicious—she usually fired off into her explanations, laying out what had happened, why, and how he could assist. It was practically a tick of hers, filling silences, and it was glaringly obvious when she didn’t.

“What?” he asked skeptically, pausing his fishing through of the debris to level her in a curious, prodding glare.

“It’s… the attack, on the bridge. It was V—“

“I know who the fuck it was,“ he hissed, releasing the instant tension of nearly hearing his name by kicking the empty chest and watching with some kind of sick glee as it skittered across the floor like a frightened Poro underfoot.

“Yes, but… we… we were able to subdue him, and… and he’s been… taken into custody.”

“What?!” he practically yelled, taking an unconscious and slightly intimidating step toward her, but she didn’t budge.

Viktor was never subdued. He either won, or calculated that he was going to lose, and fled long before he could. He wasn’t swayed by pride or personal ambition to beat his foes at all costs, no, he was smarter than that. He understood that fleeing did not make him weak—it provided an opportunity to learn what he’d done wrong, correct it, and come back harder, faster, stronger. It was what made him so formidable; where most people would get frustrated and make crucial errors in their desperate bid to win, Viktor was cool, collected, and calculating. But then again, he wasn’t people anymore, was he?

But if he’d been caught, something was wrong—either this was all another trap (in which case Jayce needed to weed it out before they suffered any more losses), or… or Viktor had actually been overpowered. Which seemed unlikely, but on the off chance he was truly injured…

Jayce’s heart slammed in his chest, that age-old worry that he’d locked away but never quite banished beginning to swell and claw at his lungs and throat.

“Take me to him,” Jayce snapped, sweeping up the Mercury Hammer as he strode with purpose toward the door.

“Jayce…” Caitlyn drawled, her tone a warning.

“Cait,” he hissed back, more clipped and hostile than he’d intended to be toward his oldest friend, but he didn’t have the energy or the patience to argue this right now.

“Do you think that’s wise?” she asked, unfazed by his attitude and apparently dead-set on arguing.

“Of course not,” he responded, his heart clenching as he was unhelpfully reminded of a time when Viktor had said those exact words to him—are you sure this is safe? Of course not. But before the Sheriff could argue with him further, he hoisted the hammer onto his shoulder and walked with purpose from the lab, leaving her little choice but to follow.

It was a long, silent, tense walk to the jail (a relatively new addition to the lower east side of Piltover—they’d needed something more immediately accessible than Stillwater, ever since the war with Zaun began). It seemed Caitlyn kept trying to speak, to say something, anything, but she always closed her mouth again and bowed her head, continuing to walk quietly at his side. In the past, he might have paused, reached out to hug her, prodded for what was eating at her, but… bitterness had chipped away at his empathy for so long that he’d started to wonder if he had any left. It was at the point now that numb was his default state—he couldn’t manage to drudge up his old boyish curiosity, couldn’t breathe new life into his previous zeal for collaboration, for love, for magic. He just… wanted to get this over with and go have a drink.

He walked straight through the dull, lifeless foyer to the cell hall after barging through those too-intricate wrought iron doors, completely disregarding the warden as the man pointed to Jayce’s hammer and began firing off demands,

“Uh, s-sir? Sir?! You can’t… you can’t take that inside, it’s against our… weapons… policy… oh… okay, I guess…”

Caitlyn must have waved the man away or pulled a cautionary face to warn him off, but Jayce didn’t care enough to thank her—he would have taken it inside regardless, it might have just… had some blood and nasal cartilage on it.

He was greeted by a single deputy, who already appeared to know where to take him, because she met his stride and led him down the long hallway to the more secure cells—the ones they used to hold the most violent and vicious of perpetrators… or the ones that couldn’t be held in any old run-of-the-mill jail cell.

“How the hell did you catch him?” Jayce asked, actually curious—the method used would tell him all he needed to know to ascertain if this was one of Viktor’s traps. If there was anything sloppy, any mistake or apparent miscalculation on Viktor’s part… then it was. While Viktor wasn’t completely infallible… he hardly ever miscalculated.

“The enforcers sedated him, actually,” the deputy (Hastings, per her name badge) replied shortly.

“Sedated?” Jayce snorted, disbelieving. “He can’t be sedated, he has blood filtration systems. I know, I’ve tried.”

“Not with chemicals,” Hastings said, coming abruptly to a halt as she fished in a pouch on her belt, and Jayce was forced to stop as well. “With one of these.”

Hastings pulled a small, soft point bullet from her belt and held it up between them—she pinched the tip to hold it steady, then twisted the base, and the whole thing began to glow and release a rhythmic and repeating pop pop pop, like severed electrical wire.

A cold chill rolled down Jayce’s spine, and he felt his hands go clammy and his throat close up as he stared down at the seemingly innocuous little thing. He reached out to take it, but Hastings pulled back, eyeing his gloved hands.

“Don’t let it touch your skin while it’s active, this little bugger could jump-start an airship,” she said, relinquishing the bullet and letting it plop into Jayce’s proffered palm.

It was giving off a charge, that much was immediately clear, but it seemed to be mostly contained within the casing. But… the soft tip… of course. The spire point was meant to shatter on impact, exposing the target to the full force of the electrical charge within. Jayce might have been impressed if he wasn’t increasingly horrified.

“And…” his voice caught in his throat as that worry that had been building and building within his chest began to constrict around his lungs like a hungry Python. “Y-you… you got him with one of these?”

“Yep,” Hastings replied, far too chipper considering the subject matter. “It’s ingenious, actually. The Machine Herald has this… walk with me… he has this pattern of systems within his augments. One feeds off of another, which feeds two more. That’s why it’s so difficult to take him down…”

Take him down. Like he was some kind of rampaging monster thundering through the city, and not…

Not the sweet but endearingly chaotic young man he’d been all those years ago, not the brilliant inventor, not the generous lover nor the kind-hearted soul, trapped in the shrinking cage of a brutal illness and slowly falling down an isolating spiral of existential dread and terror… with no one, not even Jayce to pull him out.

Jayce was forced to clear his throat as it nearly closed up, and without even looking over his shoulder at her, he could tell Cait gave him a somber and pitying look.

“… but this,” Hastings went on, apparently blissfully unaware of the miniature crisis Jayce had just had. “This changes everything. It disrupts that cycle within him. Think of it sort of like… like a cybernetic circadian rhythm. And this interrupts it, sending him into a sort of… dormancy; suspended animation, almost. It really is innovative, Sheriff.”

Jayce ground to a halt and spun to level Caitlyn with the full force of the shock and disgust he was feeling.

“You did this?!” he snarled, and she met his hostility with her own.

“Well… gods, Jayce, what was I supposed to do? He’s been grinding us under his boot heel for months! We can’t keep up with him; he’s too strong, too fast, and apparently impenetrable. I’ve lost enforcers to his raids, good men and women! What was I supposed to tell their families—that I can’t bring them justice because the Defender happens to still be in love with him?!”

“Watch it,” he hissed, stepping into her space and pointing accusingly at her. Her words cut to the quick, and his voice shattered in his throat as he tossed a glance back at Vi. “It’s real easy to look down on the rest of us from cloud fucking nine.”

She sighed, deflating a little as she held up her hands in a show of surrender.

“I’m sorry Jayce, that was uncalled for,” she said, soft and contrite. “But as I said, I had to do something. It won’t cause any lasting damage, I promise. It just… slows him down.”

Jayce sighed, all the fight draining from him in that single breath and leaving him feeling like a stuck balloon.

“Just…” he turned back to Deputy Hastings, pinching the bridge of his nose and doing his best to ignore the barely-disguised judgment on her face. “Take me to him. Now.”

Jayce wasn’t sure what he expected, knowing that the indestructible Machine Herald had been subdued, but it wasn’t this. The large cell was positively dwarfed by Viktor’s size and mass, his battle-damaged armor gleaming in the low light and making of him a rather gruesome and terrifying sight. Shackles shone from his wrists and ankles, all secured by impressive steel chains bolted into the ceiling and floor, which kept him hanging limply by his outstretched arms. There was also a thick metal collar of some kind clamped around his neck, and that too was secured to the ceiling by a long chain link tether. The Hexclaw seemed to have been curled down and around his front, fastened with the laser’s barrel snugly against Viktor’s chest—making it impossible for him to use it without first maiming himself. His mask had been removed, and Jayce shuddered to think how enraged he would be, were he conscious to know it.

His head was sagging against his chest, and those unnatural glowing eyes of his were closed, and if he tried, Jayce could convince himself he was merely sleeping. But he could hear the rhythmic popping of the bullet, wherever it was lodged, and every time he did, he noted the jerk that went through Viktor’s entire frame, rattling the chains.

“Janna, Cait, was all this really necessary?” he asked incredulously. The amount of restraints was honestly overkill, and they would have to come off before Jayce got anywhere with him.

“Yes, it was,” Caitlyn replied, stepping forward to stand next to him and eyeing Viktor’s nearly lifeless visage. “We weren’t sure how long the cyberbullet would last, and we weren’t exactly keen on him leveling the place.”

Jayce sighed, trying and failing to fight off the decade-old protectiveness that was still festering somewhere deep in his ribcage. Their caution was probably… scratch that, definitely founded—if Viktor woke, he certainly wasn’t about to comply or behave himself. He would, as Cait predicted, level the place.

“Alright, well… I need to talk to him; try to figure out what the hell this was all about, see if I can get him to tell me who raided my lab. I have a feeling I know, but…”

He allowed himself to trail off, deciding that exposing Blitzcrank without due cause was probably irresponsible, at this point. Besides, for all he claimed to be emotionless and unreadable… without his mask, Viktor did have his tells. Only Jayce knew them, but still. It was something.

Hastings pulled a ring with a heinous amount of keys from her belt, shuffling through it for a moment before pulling a simple brass one free and leaning in to unlock the cell. She pushed the rolling door to the side then, motioning for Jayce to step inside. He did, first lowering the Mercury Hammer and propping it up against the bars.

“S-so… how do you reverse the effects of the cyberbullet?” he asked as he approached, still analyzing Viktor’s frame as he drew nearer and failing to find the entry wound. “Do I gotta go dig it out of him?”

“Oh, no. We can control it remotely,” Hastings said casually as she joined him inside the cell, pulling a square contraption from her belt which bore a simple red button in the middle. “See?”

And she pressed it.

Jayce’s blood ran cold, sheer panic flooding through every inch of him.

“No, wait!”

“Jayce… what is it, you know you can ask me?” Viktor cooed, curling onto his side in the bed and raising his hand up to caress his thumb down Jayce’s cheek, and Jayce shuddered with the lightness of the touch. Typically, with his circulation issues, Viktor was cool to the touch, but not now; now he was bed-warmed and cozy, and his skin was like newly-laundered fleece.

Jayce didn’t know why, but he still, even after all these years, struggled to ask for what he wanted. Perhaps it was a lingering remnant of the trial that had nearly stripped him of everything, or perhaps it was simply part of who he was—brimming with hopes and dreams and ideas all ready to share, but… terrified to ask for anything for himself. His throat closed up and his hands began to tremble, and all at once he felt like he was fifteen again, standing before the Academy Board and shaking like a leaf as he made his admittance presentation. He’d practiced in the mirror, he’d practiced in front of his mother… but that was the trial run. Now there were stakes, and they made him freeze up and choke.

“Jayce,” Viktor said again, somehow both stern and so very gentle. He paused to lean in, pulling Jayce’s head down with the hand at his nape, placing a simple kiss to Jayce’s forehead.

His lips were a balm to Jayce’s anxiety, and their warm pressure against his skin soothed away his apprehension and settled a heady, reassuring blanket of contentedness over him, prompting him to sigh and sink into the bed, into Viktor’s arms.

He reached for the handsome burgundy rope that was coiled between them, fiddling with it as he finally looked back up into Viktor’s familiar honeywine eyes.

“Well… I was… I was wondering if… maybe… you’d wanna…”

Clearly taking note of Jayce’s ever-present discomfort, Viktor stroked his finger over Jayce’s cheek again; a gentle prodding for honesty, for trust. Jayce smiled bashfully— silently appreciative of his continued and constant patience.

“I was thinking… I could… tie you up this time?” he finally admitted, feeling the warmth in his cheeks as he blushed.

Viktor snickered, snaking his fingers up into Jayce’s hair and gripping lightly, and Jayce felt himself riddled with goosebumps in response.

“Is that all?” Viktor asked sweetly, his smile absolutely angelic in the warm morning light that was filtering through the curtains. He leaned in and placed a slow, chaste kiss to Jayce’s lips, his fingers scratching pleasantly at Jayce’s scalp. “Of course, sluníčko.”

He didn’t say another thing about it; merely rolled away to lie on his back, raising his arms up to the barred headboard in offering and tossing Jayce the most coy, provocative grin imaginable.

Heat flared through Jayce’s every muscle as the mere suggestion, the mere thought of it sent intense, skin-tingling arousal firing off to his groin—Viktor, splayed out beneath him and writhing in ecstasy, his wrists and ankles held securely in place and ensuring he couldn’t escape the onslaught of pleasure Jayce would rain down on him. His alabaster skin a lovely and stark contrast beneath the wine-dark rope, and his fluffy chestnut hair a wild mess against the pillow as he threw his head back and moaned at the ceiling.

“H-how… how should I…” he began, shifting to straddle Viktor’s hips and uncoiling the rope, his words catching in his throat when Viktor rolled his hips up against Jayce’s bum.

“Do you know how to do a slip knot?” Viktor asked, following it with a sultry bite to his lip, and Jayce was certain he was going to melt on the spot.

He nodded, not trusting his frog-besieged throat, and leaned in to begin looping the end of the rope through the bars of the headboard and around Viktor’s wrists. Viktor watched him with steely, hawk-like focus, his golden eyes so fiery in their ferocity that it was like two pools of pure midsummer sunshine.

Jayce paused to admire once he’d secured both of Viktor’s wrists, his eyes roving down over the slim lines of Viktor’s arms, the artful curvature of his ribcage as it expanded with increasingly excited breaths.

“Is it okay if I do your legs, too?” Jayce asked, punctuating the query by tracing the pads of his fingertips down Viktor’s chest from sternum to bellybutton, and Viktor positively shuddered, goosebumps rising on his arms and his breath leaving him in a huff that devolved into a barely-stifled whimper.

“Mmhmm,” Viktor replied, grinding his hips up against Jayce again, and this time there was a significant bulge in his underthings.

Jayce beamed with pride, retrieving the second coil of rope and slowly beginning to descend Viktor’s body. He couldn’t resist dropping errant kisses, bites, and licks as he went—first at Viktor’s stomach, then his sharp hip, then his upper thigh, torturously close to where he obviously wanted it. Viktor’s alluring noises only increased in frequency and volume as he did, and Jayce cherished the opportunity—cradling beneath Viktor’s bad knee and bending it slightly so he could place yet more kisses there.

He had to rise from the bed in order to give himself room to spread Viktor’s legs out how he wanted them, and Viktor released a dissenting, petulant whine at the loss.

“So needy,” Jayce teased as he looped the rope around Viktor’s delicate ankle, pausing to lightly run a single finger up the ticklish bridge of Viktor’s foot and delighting in the way Viktor squirmed and mewled.

Once he had Viktor’s legs secured, Jayce crawled back onto the bed and straddled him again, his mind salivating at all the possibilities a fully restrained Viktor provided—typically Viktor was the one in control. And while being tied up didn’t make him not the one in control… it provided a certain tipping of the scales Jayce hadn’t really experienced yet; Viktor, at his mercy.

So he started slow, as he usually did—prowling in on top of Viktor and worshipping him with his mouth. He trailed a path of kisses and gentle bites down Viktor’s neck to his collar bone, all the while soothing a flat palm over the expanse of his chest and stomach—assaulting his skin with soft, careful touches. He knew Viktor to be an impatient man, preferring to just get to the point in all aspects of his life (including lovemaking). But that’s what was so beautiful about having him restrained—he was going to have to do things Jayce’s way for once… slow and precise, almost tantric.

But Jayce was so focused on his task that he didn’t immediately note the change… or perhaps he thought it was a good sign that Viktor’s breathing was quickening, his body shaking.

But what came next couldn’t have made it any clearer.

“Opal! Opalopalopal! Jayce, take them off, Jayce, pleasetakethemoff!” Viktor cried, his hands beginning to yank against the restraints in a decidedly distressed manner, and though the use of their word had surprised him (as he’d thought things were going swimmingly), Jayce launched into action.

He did it as fast as he could—yanking on the loose end of each slip knot to free him, but in the time it took to do all four, Viktor had descended into full-fledged panic.

Even before the final knot was fully loose, Viktor was violently kicking back and crab-crawling up the bed, his back slamming into the headboard as he reached out and grabbed a pillow—yanking it in front of himself and hugging it to his chest like a shield. His eyes were unfocused and manic, and those heavy, panted breaths quickly devolved into brutal coughing fits that shook his entire frame.

Jayce’s heart shattered—it felt like a black hole had opened up within him and was slowly gobbling up his organs one by one. Viktor was fearless… in a way that was almost counterintuitive to self-preservation. Jayce had never once seen him shy from an argument or back down when someone tried to intimidate him. But this—cowering against the headboard and shivering violently with terror—this went against everything he was, and… and it was Jayce’s fault. He did this.

“V, I’m… I’m so sorry, I—what did I… are you…”

He reached out then, fingers barely brushing Viktor’s forearm where it was gripping the pillow, and to his horror, Viktor yelped and pulled away even harder, the force of it rattling the headboard against the wall.

“N-not yet, p-please, Jayce, just give me a m—“

His voice caught harshly in his throat, and he jerked, his shoulders bunching as he swallowed hard.

“Shit, I’m going to be sick…”

Viktor tossed the pillow aside and rocketed to his feet, a hand flying out to grab his cane where it was leaned between the bed and nightstand. Jayce was nearly torn in two by his conflicting desires; to give Viktor the space he’d requested and the urge to reach out and scoop Viktor into his arms, to hold him tight and repeat it over and over like a hymn screamed at the heavens—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, Gods I’m so sorry…

Jayce’s focus was pulled back as he heard the thud of Viktor’s knees against the tile, the metallic crash of his cane, and the subsequent splash of vomit hitting the toilet bowl. He hurried in after Viktor, immediately taking note of the near-violent shiver wracking Viktor’s entire body, and although he was aware it likely wasn’t from cold, he reached anyway for the terry-cloth robe that was hung on the back of the bathroom door and gently draped it over Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor made a pitiful sound of tortured appreciation, propping his elbow on the toilet seat and resting his forehead in his palm. His breaths were still extremely labored, catching every so often on a stifled gag, and his skin had gone so sallow that it was almost ghastly.

Jayce crouched down next to him, reaching out and cautiously soothing his palm back and forth on Viktor’s back. A thousand questions were swirling about in his brain, but only one seemed pertinent—if Viktor had known, he would have told him.

“You… you didn’t know?” Jayce asked softly, yanking a bit of toilet paper from the roll and handing it out for Viktor to wipe his mouth with. He took it in a terribly trembling hand, nodding his thanks before raising it to dab at his lips.

“N-no,” he said, tossing the wad into the bowl almost angrily. “I… I’ve never… trusted anyone enough to allow it. My previous partners, they… they weren’t… they were never…”

He trailed off, his face twisting into a grimace as his hand strayed down to grip at his bad leg just above the knee. Jayce deflated, his heart aching at seeing Viktor like this; in pain and reeling from a fear he’d planted there.

“It’s not your fault, Jayce” Viktor said suddenly, as if he’d read Jayce’s mind. “It’s no one’s fault. You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me?”

Jayce sighed, nodding somewhat bashfully before he tipped to the side and sat on the cool tile floor—leaning back against the far wall and beckoning with a hand for Viktor to follow.

He did, scooting over with a grimace and throwing his legs over Jayce’s thighs as he leaned his shoulder against Jayce’s chest. Jayce tutted with sympathy as he wrapped one arm firmly around Viktor’s shoulders, and used the other to very cautiously begin massaging at his bad leg—it was definitely going to be sore later, with how hard he’d fallen to his knees in front of the toilet.

“I’m sorry,” he said into Viktor’s fluffy hair, punctuating it with a kiss.

“Jayce, it’s not your fault,” Viktor said, somewhat stern in tone—almost chastising.

“No, I know… I just… I’m still sorry it happened,” he clarified, squeezing Viktor’s shoulders and planting another kiss into his hair for good measure.

“Oh,” Viktor admitted, falling silent as he reached out and gently redirected Jayce’s hand to where he wanted it—just above the kneecap, where muscle met bone. “Yes, me too.”

“Give me the keys,” Jayce demanded lowly, holding his hand out toward Hastings but keeping his eyes trained on the Herald.

Viktor had jolted hard the moment the cyberbullet’s influence wore off, and now he was slowly waking—his body shifting as his systems rebooted one by one; a strange, ethereal hum beginning to fill the quiet of the cell.

Hastings flustered at his side. “What?! I’m not giving you the ke—“

“I do not have time to explain what a grievous error you’ve just made, give me the fucking keys,” Jayce growled, frantically flexing his hand in front of the deputy as Viktor’s augmented eyes began to strobe back to light.

“Give him the keys, deputy.” The voice was Caitlyn’s, and it sounded worried, cautionary—she could hear the barely contained hysteria in Jayce’s voice, no doubt, and knew to trust that it was warranted.

Hastings sighed dramatically, stepping forward and beginning to loudly shuffle through the key ring. “Alright, but each shackle has a different ke—”

Viktor jerked again, his fists flexing in the cuffs, and that was when he went stone-still. The air left Jayce’s lungs, leaving him feeling like he was holding a time bomb… which had just ticked its last tock.

He knows.

“V…” Jayce whispered carefully, his voice shattering as that image of Viktor—sweet, kind, human Viktor cowering against the headboard and shying away from even the gentlest of touches—began to eat its way through Jayce’s heartstrings. He held a hand out toward him in offering, like he might to a fearful animal. “I’m gunna get you out, I just… I need you to stay calm…”

Viktor had a suppressor on his amygdala, maybe… maybe his fear response would be moderated…

But given that his augmented eyes were still strobing and struggling to come back on… it stood to reason that his suppressor had also been knocked out by the cyberbullet. And likely his cybernetic eardrums too, meaning…

Meaning he couldn’t see Jayce, couldn’t hear his pleas for calm—Viktor was waking to complete and utter helplessness, and it was all compounded with one of his worst and most extreme fears. And if Jayce had learned anything about the man that the Machine Herald was, it was this; all his modifications, all his amputations and augmentations… each one was part of a desperate bid to seize back control of his own body. And it was the one thing he refused to surrender, the one thing he’d sooner die than relinquish.

“Fuck,” Jayce gasped in the single second before it happened.

Viktor positively erupted—thrashing violently and yanking against the chains so hard the metal began to creak and groan. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling, as the bolted fastenings on the end of the chains were put to the ultimate test by Viktor’s near-seismic strength.

Sparks flew immediately; Viktor’s frenzied and rabid flailing causing the shackles at his wrists and neck to begin cutting into his more delicate wiring. And through the cacophony of grinding metal and shorting circuits, Jayce could hear that odd snap and resounding tink that he was all too familiar with—twisted, ruined metal giving out and snapping. Or perhaps it was bone… Viktor didn’t have many left, but he did have a few; the delicate radius and ulna of his right forearm. The cervical vertebrae at the base of his skull. Those angular hips that Jayce still, after all these years, found himself admiring—even in the heat of battle, even with blood gushing from wounds Viktor himself had inflicted.

So even though Hastings was practically tossing the keys into his hands as she hurried to back away, Jayce turned and flung himself from the cell, diving for the Mercury Hammer.

“Get clear!” he cried as he swung it upright, yanking on the handle to open the hammerhead and charge the plasma cannon. With hands that had begun to tremble from the stress, he aimed it at the most crucial target—the plating in the ceiling that secured the chain to the collar around Viktor’s neck. He could weather damage to his wrists and ankles, in fact he’d probably relish the opportunity to finally amputate that strange, Hexcore-augmented right hand. But there was a host of delicate hardware in his neck… multiple suppressors, his air filtration vents, the motherboard that connected his brain to his augmented spinal cord, to the Hexclaw. He’d of course reinforced all of it, due in part to lessons learned in bouts against Jayce, but… like diamond, the only thing that could typically hurt Viktor… was Viktor himself.

Jayce exhaled slowly as Caitlyn had taught him—willing his hands to stop shaking as he leveled his sights at the chain plating. It was going to have to be a perfect shot, with Viktor flailing and panicking the way he was, and… he wasn’t masked. If Jayce’s shot was even a few inches off, he could do something he’d never intended to do, not even on his darkest days, not even when heartache and rage made him swing the hammer directly into Viktor’s chest.

“Please,” he whispered despite his shattered faith, closing his fingers around the l-bar trigger and pulling.

By some small miracle, his shot was spot-on; the plasma ball connecting with the steel plating and shattering it, sending the chain flopping against Viktor’s back. The collar remained, but at least there would be no more resistance as he violently thrashed against the remaining restraints.

So Jayce went for those next—aiming his sights on the plating that secured Viktor’s more fragile right arm and blasting that too from the ceiling in a single shot.

But the plasma blasts must have been felt by Viktor, startled him even worse, because his flailing intensified—to the point that Jayce heard an awful snap, followed by a shower of sparks and luminescent fluid from Viktor’s augmented left elbow.

Time seemed to grind to a halt as that sound met Jayce’s ears… the familiar, high-pitched whine that signaled the charging of the Hexclaw. The claw made a wretched grinding sound as it twitched and attempted to spin, but it failed—still secured as it was against Viktor’s chest… the left side of his chest, just over his heart.

“V, no!” Jayce cried helplessly, tilting the Mercury Hammer down and preparing to aim it at the HexClaw’s elbow joint... Viktor would despise him for destroying it, but it was better than the alternative. He just needed… a decent shot… if Viktor would just… be still…

But it was too late.

The entire cell lit up with shades of fiery orange, and Jayce could do little else but watch in stunned terror as the light collected between the claw and Viktor’s armor, sizzling and intensifying until, to Jayce’s abject horror, it broke through with a sickening crack.

The wet sizzling of seared muscle and filament as the beam tore completely through him and embedded into the far wall was immediately overshadowed by Viktor’s modulated and blood-curdling scream.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Jayce couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—Viktor’s heart was augmented, and it was strong… so much stronger than his failing human one had been… physically, at least. But was it strong enough to withstand a Hexclaw blast straight through? And oh gods, what if… what if it wasn’t??

“V…” Jayce asked in a withering gasp, mortally terrified of the answer and watching as Viktor went completely limp in the one remaining chain suspending him from the ceiling. There were still the sounds of a struggling machine gurgling within him-an arrhythmic thump combined with whirs and clicks and the sizzle of sparks—but he was totally and terrifyingly still.

Without wasting a second more, Jayce leveled the hammer at the final chain, blasting it from its mooring and feeling the concussive force of it in his lungs when Viktor’s fully armored form dropped as dead weight to crumple on the floor.

“Vitya…” Jayce croaked, desperately trying to get his feet to move, to do something, anything. Gods, no no no no, please, I’m not ready, I haven’t… there’s still so much I haven’t told him, still so much I have to say… I have to… tell him I’m sorry, at the very least.

The hammer crashed to the ground to his right, and in a daze, he finally managed to shuffle forward, to stumble and careen to his knees before the heap of metal and oil and blood and sparks.

“V-Viktor? Please…” he gasped, reaching out and resting a violently shaking hand on Viktor’s shoulder…

Viktor erupted into panic again at the touch—viciously kicking away from him, but hindered by the chains that remained around his ankles. His breaths were labored and unnatural, like ragged pistons in an overheating engine, and each one came with a gurgle of red-black liquid from the gory wound in his chest; barely visible beneath the Hexclaw where it was still fastened against his armor.

“V, please, it’s me, it’s… it’s Jayce, let me help you…”

He was absently aware that Caitlyn was now in possession of the keys, and had bolted forward into the cell to begin frantically unlocking the shackles on Viktor’s ankles, Vi hovering worriedly just behind her. But his attention remained wholeheartedly on Viktor…

His eyes… his augmented eyes were still dark and void of color, so… so he was likely still deaf and blind, in the aftermath of the cyberbullet. He still couldn’t hear or see Jayce, still thought himself under threat and helpless and restrained.

How… how could he get Viktor to understand, if he couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t make him see that I’m here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you?

Jayce looked him over, disheartened when all he found was metal—bent, dented, twisted metal, and…

His hand… his purple Hexcore-augmented hand. Jayce didn’t know if he could still feel with it, wasn’t sure if it retained sensation. He’d never had the opportunity to ask, before Viktor’s exile. But if it did…

Jayce struck for it like a snake, unthinking, and Viktor violently startled, the Hexclaw beginning to whine again as if in preparation to fire, so Jayce acted fast—yanking Viktor’s hand forward and slamming it down over his bracelet. The one he never took off, the one that stood as a symbol for everything Jayce was, everything he held dear… the one Viktor himself had handed back to him that fateful night that he’d handed him back everything.

The Hexclaw quieted immediately, and Viktor stilled—almost statuesque as he simply breathed (however haggard and strained it was) and soothed his thumb back and forth over the Hexite shard embedded in the bracelet, his trembling and fluid-covered fingers barely questioning at wrapping beneath Jayce’s wrist.

“Jayce?”

Viktor’s metallic voice was small and broken and so full of the fear and pain that hadn’t plagued him in almost a decade that Jayce felt like his heart was going to shatter into a million pieces. He gently wrapped his hand around Viktor’s, squeezing it against the bracelet in what he hoped was a reassuring affirmative—it’s me, I’m here. I know you have every reason to hate me, to distrust me and pull away from me, but please believe that this isn’t what I wanted, I’d never wish this on you, please, please, please let me help you.

The metal clang distracted him momentarily as the first of the shackles on Viktor’s ankles was removed, the keys jangling as Caitlyn fumbled for the next one, but he kept his focus fully on Viktor.

He didn’t speak, but he also didn’t move—merely staring blankly ahead with wide, unseeing eyes as his chest rose and fell in rapid, noisy, hyperventilated breaths that caused the wound to hiss and gurgle. Steam was seeping out from below the collar that was still locked around his neck, and the popping sound was becoming more pronounced by the second.

This was too much… it was too much damage. Even if they did just up and let him go right now (which was unlikely) he wouldn’t make it to his lab back in Zaun. And even if, by some miracle, he did make it, he’d have to operate on himself blind.

“Blitzcrank,” Jayce blurted, tossing a look over his shoulder. “Did anyone apprehend the golem?”

Blitzcrank was created to assist Viktor, and had developed what humans might hazard to call an emotional connection with their creator. They could help… they could fix this.

“No, we didn’t even see it,” Caitlyn mumbled, turning the key on the final shackle and popping it open.

Blitzcrank had probably returned to Viktor’s laboratory in Zaun, and likely with strict orders to wait there until Viktor returned. And given that Jayce had been trying to find Viktor‘s base of operations for years and had only ever dug up dead ends… that wasn’t looking likely.

Viktor obviously felt it when he was freed, and Jayce startled as he scrambled away—kicking back with a labored huff and a yelp when his back slammed into the stone wall. Jayce followed, reaching not for his hand this time, but for the binding securing the Hexclaw to Viktor’s chest.

“Keys,” he demanded gruffly, wary of taking his eyes off of Viktor for a single second as he threw an open hand behind his back, closing and opening his fingers in a frantic “gimme” gesture.

There came a muted sigh, followed by Caitlyn’s voice, somber but clearly anxious, “Jayce, I know you want to protect him, but are you sure that’s…”

“He just fired through his own heart, Cait,” Jayce snarled, flexing his hand again. “One more shot, and it’ll be the end of him. And he’s clearly not in his right mind. Are you prepared for the shitstorm that will rain down on us if he dies in our custody? You know who he works for, right?”

No more than a second passed before he felt the weight of the keys hit his palm, and he had the wherewithal to grumble a short, clipped ‘thank you,’ as he raised them up to analyze the ring.

“Which one is it?”

“The small one. Silver, tarnished,” Hastings hurried to answer from wherever she was cowering.

Jayce hurried to flip to the correct key, noting with steadily rising panic that Viktor was struggling to draw breath—his heavy metal body slumping against the wall as he began to choke and cough up viscous black fluid that stained his lips and chin.

Jayce moved slowly as he went for the padlock securing the chains around the Hexclaw, but before he did, he carefully tapped Viktor’s shoulder twice in warning. And while Viktor still startled, it was merely a short jerk, followed by a gasp and brutal cough that rattled in his lungs and sent yet more black fluid spraying from his lips.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Jayce chanted as he yanked the chains off, freeing the Hexclaw… only to find that Viktor didn’t move, didn’t even adjust the claw. “This is bad, I don’t even know if I can get him back to my lab in time…”

“What do you need?”

The voice was Vi’s this time, and Jayce appreciated her habit of shoving emotion aside and going straight for how do we fix it.

I need my lab, Jayce thought irritably. I need tools, I need space, I need light…

“The Hexcore… Viktor’s staff, he had to have had it, where is it?” he snapped, tossing a vicious look over his shoulder at Hastings.

“Confiscated. It’s locked up in th—“

“Go and get it,” Jayce snapped, tossing the keys blindly to the ground before shuffling forward and reaching for the wound in Viktor’s chest. He lifted the ruined left breast plate slightly in an attempt to get a better look, but the gloom of the cell made it impossible to see anything but twisted metal, the glow of exposed wiring, and a mess of black fluid.

Viktor choked again, but this time he struggled to recover—his inhales short and gasped, his still-sightless eyes widening as a hand flew up and began to frantically tap at the base of his throat. A wordless communication of I can’t breathe.

“Fuck!” Jayce yelled, tossing a panicked look over his shoulder at Vi. “See what’s taking Hastings so long.”

Luckily, she forewent her usual sass—‘I don’t take orders from you, pretty boy’—and simply obeyed; turning and rocketing from the cell with all the bravado that only Vi-on-a-mission could.

Jayce quickly rearranged, spinning until he was at Viktor’s side and slotting himself under Viktor’s arm so that he could pull him forward and up onto his knees. Perhaps, if he was more upright, any obstruction in his airway would shift, and allow him just a few relieving breaths, just until Jayce could get him back to his lab.

But the movement had Viktor seizing up, his free hand flying to cover the wound in his chest as something hissed and whirred, followed by that arrhythmic thumping that Jayce now realized with shock and horror was his augmented heart—it was exposed by the wound, and whatever the Hexclaw had done to it… it wasn’t beating normally. Jayce had no idea how most of Viktor’s inner machinations worked, but… it stood to reason that the heart was just as vital as it was in humans. And like any damaged machine… it could only struggle for so long before it failed.

Viktor sagged, and Jayce was forced to let him go again—his not-inconsiderable weight sending him collapsing back against the wall, smearing it with what looked to be a mixture of oil and blood.

Unsurprisingly, only Vi returned with the staff—she’d probably yanked it from Hastings’s hands and took the task upon herself; sprinting through the halls with it held tightly in an Atlas Gauntlet.

“Here,” she said, breathless and panting as she jogged into the cell to meet Jayce as he stood, and shoved the staff into his hands. The Hexcore twirled menacingly from its pinnacle, seeming to brighten and spin faster once it was within reach of its master. And though Jayce had never liked the thing, not since its true, monstrous influence was revealed, he wasted no time in taking it.

The Hexcore throbbed, releasing a menacing thrum and a pulse of bluish-purple light, and Jayce wasn’t sure how, but he got the distinct impression that it didn’t like him.

Fucking get over it, if you want him to live, he thought to himself, aware of how insane it was, speaking to the thing like it could hear him, hear his thoughts. And perhaps it was just his stress-addled brain, but… the Hexcore seemed to settle, returning to its lazy spin and ambient hum as if it had heard him.

“Back up,” he said sharply, walking forward and backing both Vi and Cait from the cell.

“What are you going to do? You can’t take him, the council will never agree to his release. Can that thing help?” Cait asked in a rapid-fire, her critical eyes scanning over the Hexcore with no small amount of doubt written across her features.

Jayce sighed as he stopped in the doorway, gripping the staff hard for courage and feeling the vibration of the Hexcore’s energy through his fingertips as it responded to him.

“I’m sorry, Cait. I have to.”

With that, he grabbed the cell door and slammed it closed with a grunt, trying his best to ignore the look of shock and betrayal on Cait’s face.

“Jayce! Jayce, you can’t, he’s a war criminal, do you have any idea of the consequences of freeing him?! The council will have you exiled! Jayce!”

Jayce did his best to ignore her impassioned pleas as he turned his back, raising the staff in front of him and closing his eyes. It was difficult to focus, with Vi now going at the bars with the Atlas Gauntlets, but he did his best—recalling the series of gestures the mage had performed all those years ago, in the thick of that fateful blizzard. As the same rune sequence that the Hexgates utilized, he knew it like the back of his hand, could practically scribble them in his sleep at this point. But to execute them personally, in a way that was clear, concise, and error-free? As a true mage would?

That was another thing entirely.

But he’d done it once before, that night more than a decade ago in Heimerdinger’s lab—closing his eyes and letting memory, letting intuition guide him as he activated the crystal. And hopefully… lightning could strike twice.

The splintering of a cell bar in an Atlas Gauntlet shocked him from his reverie, and into action. The Hexcore fed off of him, beginning to spin and hum with power before he’d even moved to form the runes, and once he did, it was almost effortless—the forces of gravity and aerodynamic drag apparently eliminated by the Hexcore’s awesome (but frightening) power, and allowing it to slice through the air like a hot knife through butter. The runes came second nature, as Jayce had hoped they would; the lavender light signature from the Hexcore forming them in the air before him and flashing bright white as they were successfully executed. The sonic boom that shook the air with each successful execution made his ears ring, his ribs ache—it was as if he was standing in the launch bay of a Hexgate, feeling the concussive force of it down to his very bones. And as the matrix progressed, he felt himself beginning to lift from the ground, saw Viktor’s limp body do the same in his periphery. He was vaguely aware of the yelling—Cait and Vi both screaming at him to stop, to put the Hexcore down, that they could figure this out if he would just listen.

But he couldn’t. He didn’t have time. Viktor didn’t have time. And if Jayce had learned anything in the ten years he spent at Viktor’s side, it was this; better to ask forgiveness than permission.

He exhaled hard as he began the long, sweeping gesture required for the final rune, and with it came a single breathy gasp aimed only at Cait…

“I’m sorry.”

And then his world spun, roared, and blinked out of sight.

Chapter Text

Traveling this way (without the protection of an airship’s steel hull) was much more raw and visceral. He didn’t recall it being this brutal and jarring when he was a child, but then again… his bones weren’t so ravaged by age, violence, and alcohol back then.

It took only seconds. Seconds of twisting, blinding color, dizzying speed, and an uncomfortable pull at his internal organs that had him dry heaving by the time he materialized in his secondary lab. He wasn’t nearly as graceful as the Mage had been in his arrival—his knees buckling as soon as he snapped back to reality and sending him sprawling clumsily onto his ass next to the soldering table. It took him an extended moment to get his bearings; to ascertain if he had, in fact, arrived where he’d meant to.

He couldn’t go to the main Hextech laboratory, that’d of course be the first place they would look. And he’d created this space for himself in those early years, right after Viktor’s exile. He couldn’t stomach being in that lab without him, couldn’t bare the rancid, guilty thoughts that swirled around in his head and in the deafening silence—you did this, you’re the reason he’s gone.

So he’d ran one night, his heart ready to burst from his chest with grief. He wasn’t even sure what he’d been doing, where he’d been going, he just needed to get away. Away from the whispers, away from that wide-spanning and agonizingly empty room.

He wasn’t sure what brought him to the old cellar below the Talis Forge that night… he simply knew he used to hide down there sometimes to read his astronomy books when his father brought him around to teach him all the inner workings of the place in the hopes Jayce would follow in his footsteps. And Jayce had made a home of it, of sorts, over the years—somewhere he could be alone with his thoughts, somewhere he could hide away so that the council, the city… Cait couldn’t see him drowning in tears, in whole days spent wallowing on the floor and crying out at the reinforced steel girders how fucking sorry he was. The city needed their strong, unbreakable Defender, and it wouldn’t do to see him unraveling at the seams every time Viktor’s mere name was mentioned.

It wasn’t quite as large as the primary Hextech Laboratory, and didn’t have nearly the plethora of tools and supplies, but it was secret, safe, so it would have to do, for now.

He groaned as he rocketed to his feet, abandoning the Hexcore to rattle to the floor, and stumbled to his wall of tools, his head still spinning from the journey as he groggily thumbed through them. And his search was made all the more desperate when he heard the choking, gurgling gasps from behind him.

“I know, I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying,” he chanted, more for himself than anything, as he was painfully aware that Viktor’s augmented ears were still out, and he wouldn’t hear a single word of it.

He finally located the bolt cutters he’d been searching for, yanking them from the wall and rushing back to Viktor’s side. His bones burned when he crashed to his knees, but he disregarded the pain as he hurried to settle the mouth of the cutters at the clasp keeping the collar closed. His muscles still felt like jelly from the unprotected journey, but with a desperate cry, he slammed the bolt cutters closed, slicing through the metal and opening the collar.

“There!” he exclaimed, tossing the bolt cutters away and hurrying to yank the collar free…

Except Viktor was still choking, still gasping and grasping frightfully at his neck.

“Fuck, I… I don’t…” Jayce muttered, completely out of his element and beginning to panic—he knew machines, but he didn’t know augmented ones. He didn’t know how they’d been integrated into Viktor’s anatomy, didn’t know how he could even safely go about helping him. He could end up doing more harm than good.

A haggard, animalistic cry left Viktor’s gasping mouth, his trembling fingers beginning to claw at the vents in his neck…

The vents! They were bent and collapsed, and each time he tried to draw breath, they clicked but didn’t move, didn’t open.

“Okay. Okay, one sec!” Jayce yelped, pushing to his feet again and launching himself back to his wall of tools to retrieve his needle-nose pliers. The collar must have dug into the thin, sheer metal when Viktor had begun thrashing, and the vents had collapsed; stuck closed and unable to flap as he attempted to draw breath.

So with very little grace, Jayce jammed the pliers between them, his hands so slick with nervous sweat inside his gloves that they slid free a few times before he ever got a decent hold. But the moment he did, he yanked them upwards, bending the vent slats back outward and opening Viktor’s airway.

Viktor gulped for air when he finally could, a small, helpless whine on his exhales, and Jayce sagged with relief…

Too soon, it seemed. Within seconds, there came a heavy, wet thunk from inside Viktor’s chest, and his entire body began seizing; his augmented limbs spasming as sparks flew from points at his neck, wrist, and that busted elbow joint.

“Fuck!” Jayce screamed, tossing the pliers away as well and throwing himself down to scoop Viktor up and hoist him onto the soldering table. But Viktor was heavy (of course he was, he was more metal than man, now), and Jayce struggled and stumbled, eventually shoving Viktor up onto the table in a heap of quaking metal.

It wasn’t looking good. He didn’t know what cardiogenic shock would look like in someone whose heart wasn’t organic, but he had a feeling it looked something like this—Viktor’s skin deathly pale in the places it shown, his organic muscles quivering from low blood supply, and his augmented ones jerking rhythmically with insufficient power. Viktor’s chest rose and fell in increasingly rapid, unnatural breaths, his eyelashes fluttering and his teeth bared and grinding.

“Here… here,” Jayce begged frantically, ripping his glove from his right hand and wadding it up so that he could slide it between Viktor’s teeth, protecting his tongue (Jayce happened to know it was still organic, and probably always would be, as Viktor’s frankly adorable obsession with Sweetmilk would keep him from ever augmenting it… unless he figured out how to simulate taste buds).

He went next for Viktor’s armor, not bothering with the buckles and simply slicing through the leather straps with his switchblade. It took far too long for him to get everything removed and thrown to the floor—shoulder pauldrons, left breast plate, right breast plate, plackart—and in the time it took, Viktor’s condition worsened severely.

His tremors had gotten so bad that the table was rattling beneath him, and the arrhythmic beating of his damaged heart had begun to slow—Jayce could hear it. Each time he expected a beat, it came just a little more delayed than the last, and Jayce descended further and further into complete and utter panic. This could be it… this could be how it ended.

He shoved those treasonous thoughts to the back of his mind as best he could, tearing through Viktor’s undershirt and revealing the wound. It didn’t resemble any wound Jayce had ever seen, but then again, it wouldn’t—Viktor wasn’t so much flesh and bone as he was steel and filament. Luckily, it wasn’t as gory as Jayce was used to, but that didn’t make it any less gruesome—the layered metal and mesh that made up Viktor’s chest was blown open, torn to shreds that almost resembled ripped paper as they caved inward from the force of the Hexclaw blast. But he wouldn’t be able to do much as it was, so Jayce swallowed down the sudden nausea and reached for the series of half-moon latch hasps located near the center of Viktor’s chest, which had clearly been installed to make maintenance easier. It felt bizarre, in a macabre and sickening kind of way; opening Viktor up as easily as a furnace to peer inside. But, with a terribly shaking breath, Jayce grasped the breast plate, and slowly eased it open around the damage.

The cavity which housed Viktor’s heart seemed like it was supposed to be a dry chamber, but there was red and black fluid—blood and oil—leaking into it from both the entry and exit wounds. To Jayce’s immense relief, the steel Viktor had used to replace his bones was only singed black, and not a single one appeared cracked or broken. His heart, though, was a different story.

Jayce felt breathless and strange, staring at it—it was Viktor’s lifeline, his power source, his core. It was a technical marvel, a wonder of engineering, and so distinctly Viktor in its design; it had two independent yet intertwined pumps, two functions, with one side beating at almost double the rate of the other—one, it seemed, to generate and disseminate electricity to his augmented parts, and the other to pump his blood to the places that required it. It beat in an almost musical triple-rhythm; two fast, one slow, and Jayce had to chastise himself when he briefly paused to gawk at the beauty and ingenuity, the sheer brilliance in craftsmanship.

It was all this, and yet… it had replaced the heart that Jayce had come to love. For this thing to exist, Viktor’s real heart—the one so full of kindness and empathy, compassion and love—had to be torn from his chest and discarded, thrown away like so much refuse. It made Jayce physically ill to think about, but with a shudder, he swallowed it down, vowing to be disgusted later.

Right now, he had to fix it.

The two sides of Viktor’s heart seemed, at first glance, fully independent of one another. But on closer inspection, the pistons powering both sides were connected to a single crankshaft at the bottom, and that appeared to have taken the brunt of the damage—it was loose and bent, its circular rotations hindered every time the twisted metal raked against its housing. The pistons struggled each time the crankshaft caught, which explained the delay in Viktor’s heartbeat… and the thudding sound Jayce had been hearing since it happened.

But… how in the hell did he fix it? In a normal engine, he would just power it down, remove the crankshaft, repair or replace it, and power it back up. But… he couldn’t power this one down; it was literally keeping Viktor alive. He supposed he might be able to reroute the power… but to what? And even if he did, he’d have to know the acceptable range in rotations per minute each individual side of Viktor’s heart required, or risk putting him in cardiac arrest.

Before he could even begin to parse out solutions, Viktor’s heart made a new sound—a subtle grinding as the piston on the left (the quicker one, supposedly the one powering his augments) caught, jittered in place, and then sluggishly resumed motion. Viktor’s whole body seized up, to the point that his back arched up off the table, and then multiple alarms began sounding from somewhere—shrill, repeating squeals that definitely rang out with an air of extreme urgency.

“Nonono, V… Vitya, stay with me, please…” Jayce cried, his hands hovering helplessly in midair as his mind raced.

Don’t just stand there, do something! But… what?! What do I do, I don’t know what to do, I need help, I… I need Viktor…

But his frantic thoughts were interrupted by a hiss and a click, and in his periphery, Jayce noticed a hatch on Viktor’s augmented forearm pop open, revealing the glowing presence of two vials of Shimmer. One of them shifted, moving upwards toward Viktor’s elbow, and then what appeared to be a syringe pump suddenly shot the entire dose from the vial and into Viktor’s bloodstream.

It took a moment for the effects to become clear—the triple-beat of Viktor’s heart immediately quickening to an almost indiscernible hum, the pistons working overtime and the crankshaft grinding that much louder as it struggled to keep up. Jayce could see the progression of the shimmer as it flooded his system—his veins going ultraviolet beneath the skin that remained… in his face, his right arm. And it apparently affected his augments too; the glow that usually shone from his neck blinking back to full brightness, and the Hexclaw rising from the table where it had been laying limp to begin spinning indiscriminately. And Viktor’s eyes (which had been black and sightless ever since the incident) shot open, those ethereal orange irises glowing so brightly that they swallowed up the sclera and pupils alike.

And then, muffled by the fabric of Jayce’s glove, Viktor screamed.

Chapter Text

“Cait… Cait!” Vi prodded as she tossed a paranoid look over her shoulder, her tone a bit accidentally harsh, so she softened when Cait finally stopped grumbling and looked at her.

“We’re going in circles, what are we doing? Where are we going? I know you have a plan, you mind sharing it with the class?”

Caitlyn sighed as she came to an abrupt halt, her shoulders drooping.

“Sorry, Vi,” she said, reaching out and squeezing Vi’s forearm where it protruded from the Atlas Gauntlet. “Yes, we’re going in circles to make sure we’re not being followed.”

“You know where he’s gone, then?” Vi asked, beginning to walk again and holding a hand out to suggest Cait lead the way. The city alarms were blaring again, and the streets were being flooded by Enforcers—their indiscernible yells echoing off the high walls of Piltover’s ostentatious architecture. They knew Jayce wouldn’t risk leaving the city, but considering he’d used magic in order to flee, there was no trail to follow, no footprints or breadcrumbs to speak of that might provide any kind of clue as to where he’d gone.

Except one. His best friend, and Piltover’s very own Sherriff. Who was currently once again grumbling to herself and clenching her fists.

“Ugh! He just makes me so mad sometimes!” she blurted, her fists flying wildly through the air in a vaguely ‘I could just strangle him’ gesture. “Does he have any idea the position he’s just put me in?! Does he even care?! No! He just does what he wants, and lets me handle the fallout. They know that I’m the most likely person to have intel on his whereabouts, so now he’s started a manhunt for both him and me!”

“Not that I’m trying to defend him, but… I don’t think he was actually thinking that far ahead…” Vi tried, watching as Caitlyn finally broke their pattern of circles and turned west, toward the Pilt.

“No! He never does! He just… acts, without a care for who it affects, who it hurts!” Cait was practically shouting now, and Vi took a moment to carefully pat her back, her slim frame rather comically dwarfed by the Gauntlet.

Cait nodded her thanks, keeping her voice down when she continued,

“He didn’t used to be like this. He was thoughtful, and kind, and sweet, and he was always looking out for others. But… ever since he lost Viktor, he’s just… he’s a completely different person. He’s just so bitter and angry. And I’ve tried to help him, you know I have. But he doesn’t want help; he doesn’t want to be saved. He just wants to drown, and pull everyone who cares about him down with him!”

Vi considered for a moment, mentally chastising herself when her first thought was Gods, she’s sexy when she’s mad.

“What if it was me?” she asked, grabbing Cait and yanking her into a side alley when she heard the telltale thump of an Enforcer’s boots approaching.

“What?!” Caitlyn hissed, watching as the random Enforcer jogged obliviously by.

“What if it was me in there? Wouldn’t you do what you had to do to save me, and damn the consequences? I know I sure as shit would.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes and sighed again, stomping back out into the street when she was sure the Enforcer was gone.

“Vi, I don’t need you to be playing devil’s advocate right now, I really don’t,” she said, taking a sharp right and forcing Vi to jog to keep up.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Vi said, finally catching up and keeping stride with her. “I don’t know Jayce as well as you do. He may be a mess, he may be doing his best to drink himself into an early grave, but… he’s not stupid. I don’t think he’d do this unless it was warranted, unless he absolutely had to…”

Cait clearly didn’t have an answer for that, so she merely answered with a few grumbled curses under her breath, and Vi just grinned—there was no talking her down when she was like this. Cait was a veritable firework when riled up; a quick, brilliant display of fiery sparks, followed by a fallout of rational thought and calm. She just… needed to be explosive first. So Vi trailed along, happily catching the sparks until she fizzled out.

“The… the Talis Forge?” Vi asked incredulously as they rounded a corner. “But… won’t this be the first place they look?!”

“Second,” Cait said, pausing to quickly look around before bolting to a side door and pulling a large, intricate key from her bag. “They’ll check the Hextech Laboratory first. But they can tear this place apart, and they won’t find him. He has a…”

She paused to grunt as she yanked the heavy door open, pocketing the key again and beckoning Vi inside. Luckily, it was just about lunch time, so the main floor was completely empty, save for the gaping maw of the furnace.

“… a secret lab here. He’s not aware I know about it, I don’t think. He comes here when he doesn’t want to be bothered. To drink, to wallow… you know. Shit he doesn’t want anyone to see.”

“But… you have?” Vi asked, following closely behind Cait as they weaved through the giant warehouse.

“Yes,” Cait replied, leading them past the great forges to an alcove beyond. “I was… worried about him, so I followed him one night. I thought he was…”

Her voice caught as she suddenly paused, turning to face Vi with an air of surrender about her, and Vi thought she could see tears beginning to gather on Cait’s lovely, long lashes.

“I thought he was going to… hurt himself, or worse. But he just… he came here and buried himself in his work, so I left it alone, let him have this. I didn’t think my compassion would bite me in the ass!”

Aaaand the anger was back.

Vi couldn’t help but chuckle, the whiplash of Caitlyn’s flurry of emotions making her dizzy. Cait led them to a dark corner sequestered behind the furnace, where she dragged a metal work desk away from the wall to reveal a square trap door in the floor. She spared one last look around to ensure they weren’t seen, then yanked the trap door open and did a fire brigade slide down the ladder below.

“Jayce, what the fuck?!” Cait’s voice rang out as Vi followed, pulling the door closed behind her and leaping the rest of the way down.

She did an immediate once-over of their surroundings, noting that this was indeed a cellar of some kind—no windows, no doors, and no exit except the one they’d come through. Not ideal, but… so long as no one found it, it wouldn’t be a problem.

It wasn’t anywhere near as grand and impressive as the main Hextech lab—the low ceiling and confined space making it feel horrendously claustrophobic, and the walls lined with tools of all shapes and sizes gave off butcher shop vibes. In the center of the room was a long metal work table, where the looming and lifeless form of the Machine Herald was laid. Jayce stood beyond him, his palms braced against the table and his head bowed, obscuring his face.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Cait yelled, taking a single step forward and throwing her hands out helplessly. “There’s a manhunt on for you, Jayce. There are whispers of exile, or worse; Stillwater. I sincerely hope he’s worth it, because you could be joining him in th—“

“Cait,” Vi interrupted gently, stepping forward to approach the table and noting that Jayce was trembling like a leaf, glittering tears flowing down his face to fall with a subtle tink against the metal of the Machine Herald. Jayce’s breathing was quick and manic, unnaturally so, and his white-knuckled grip on the table seemed a hairsbreadth from denting it.

“Jayce?” Vi asked softly, as if addressing a skittish street dog. She moved slowly as she loosened her grip on the Gauntlets, letting them slide easily from her hands to rest on the floor. She’d never known Jayce to be violent man, but… when under extreme stress, calm people made violent mistakes. This, she knew intimately… because you’re a jinx, do you hear me?!

“Jayce, are you alright?” she asked as she rounded the table and reached out to rest her hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, but otherwise didn’t even seem to register she was there. And in her fingertips, she could physically feel the stress and tension in him; his whole frame quaking like an engine ready to blow.

She spared a brief glance down at the Machine Herald, her own anxiety beginning to fester, as the first thing she noticed was the telltale violet glow of his veins where she could see them; Shimmer. His entire metal frame was shaking, causing an ominous rattle against the table, and that Gods-forsaken Hexclaw (which just hours ago had fired directly at her head) was squirming wildly, like a worm in vinegar, occasionally banging against the table and making Jayce startle every time it did. The Herald’s eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to be conscious—his eyelids fluttering over top that frightening orange glow, and his head occasionally giving a violent jerk to the side, as if with an electric shock.

But that wasn’t the worst part; his chest was open… open like the hood of one of those fancy Piltie motor carriages to reveal the moving parts within, and even though there was nothing particularly gory about it, Vi felt herself shudder. She could see into a man’s chest cavity, see his fucking heart beating. Even if it was mechanical… it was still a gruesome sight.

She looked to Cait then, trying to silently communicate—this is bad. Maybe save the anger for later? And of course Cait picked up on it—the hard set of her brows softening and her eyes widening with worry.

“J-Jayce?” she asked, her voice suddenly very small and quiet.

Upon hearing her voice, Jayce crumbled; his breath leaving him as if he’d been punched and his whole body falling forward until he was propping his elbows on the table, his hands digging into his hair and gripping hard.

“I… I don’t… I don’t know what to do, Cait,” he sobbed, and Vi didn’t think she’d ever heard him sound so absolutely shattered. “It’s… his heart is failing, and I… I don’t know if I… I don’t think I can fix this, I don’t know how. I don’t know how! But I’m the only person who can, and if I don’t fix it, he… he’s gunna… oh Gods…”

Another bone-rattling shudder passed through him, and his breathing quickened again, almost hyperventilated, his knees very nearly buckling.

“Hey!” Vi barked, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him upright. “Breathe. You can’t help him if you’re freaking out. You take all that panic, and you lock it away. You can let it out later, but right now you need to think. You’re the best damn engineer this city’s got. Don’t think of him as Viktor, think of him as a machine. You know those. What would you do if it was just another engine?”

Jayce didn’t really settle, but his eyes seemed to focus slightly, so that was progress.

“I… I’d power it down and make the repairs, but I can’t do that! I can’t turn off his fucking heart, Vi!” Jayce yelled, nervously pushing his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead.

“Okay…” Vi replied, feeling horribly out of her element but vying to still try. “Can… can you reroute the power?”

“To what?” Jayce cried, throwing his hands up with dejected surrender and letting them slap back to his thighs in defeat.

“I don’t know, you tell me! You built the Hexgates for Janna’s sake, you’ve gotta have something around here that can power a man-sized machine!” she clapped back, peering around for anything that looked like it could generate power.

“Even if I did, I can’t just power one side… he’s got two! One for the augments, one for the flesh…” Jayce groaned, burying his face in a still horribly trembling hand and trying but failing to get his breathing under control.

“So find two power sources,” Vi said, her better judgement telling her he’d obviously thought of that already. “What’s that?” she went on, pointing to a large circular contraption resting on a rolling tray near Jayce’s tremendously messy desk.

Jayce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just a centrifuge, it’s for filtering liquids, it can’t…”

“But it spins, right? Just like that piston?” Vi asked, tossing a finger out toward the Herald’s exposed heart. “Set it for the same RPMs…”

“It doesn’t have a power output, Vi! It’s not meant to be a power source!”

“So make one! You’re an engineer, aren’t you?!” Vi yelled back.

Jayce looked like he wanted to be offended for a moment, but it was quickly overshadowed by a look of dawning realization.

“I… suppose if I could… re-wire the…”

“Don’t tell me, I’m not gunna know what the fuck you’re talking about,” she interrupted. “Just do it.”

“Right,” Jayce said, his eyes already going distant as he stumbled to the centrifuge.

“Is… is there anything we can do?” Cait asked, her soft tone an obvious attempt at an apology for her earlier callousness.

“Uh… yeah. Grab that stopwatch on my desk. The silver one, not the black; black one’s broken. Time the beats of the right side of his heart, the one that’s moving slower, and tell me how many rotations occur in a minute,” Jayce snapped, speaking so quickly his words were almost jumbled.

“I’ll time, you count,” Cait said as she approached, and Vi nodded, propping herself against the table and setting her focus on the right side of this thing Jayce kept calling a heart.

“Ready?” Cait asked, Vi nodded, and Cait pressed her finger down on the stopwatch. “Go.”

It was increasingly difficult to keep time, as the piston kept occasionally stalling, and Jayce was loudly working in the background. But after only needing Cait to start over once, she had it.

“106!” she yelled over to Jayce.

“That seems high…” he mumbled back, his hands still moving in a blur as he used a pair of pliers on the inner wirings of the centrifuge.

“Well, the dude is dying…” drawled Vi without thinking, and she was reprimanded with a slap to the arm from Cait.

“Vi!”

“What? I mean that’s what we’re trying to avoid, but it’s still true,” she said with a shrug.

Cait rolled her eyes, but somehow it wasn’t vicious; on the contrary, she managed to make her annoyance look fond.

“Zaunites,” she huffed, setting the stopwatch down and crossing her arms primly.

“Hey, now that’s a generalization!” Vi scoffed with mock-offense. “Not all of us are assholes. I’m just exceptional at it,” she finished with a wink.

Cait pursed her lips, but Vi could tell she was fighting off a smile.

“If you two are done flirting, can one of you hand me that soldering iron on my desk?” Jayce snapped, pointing to a small, spear-like contraption hiding in his mess of papers.

Vi kept an eye on the Herald as Jayce worked, noting that the purple glow of his veins was beginning to die down, signaling that the Shimmer was wearing off. His heart was starting to struggle worse now, the beats stuttering and stalling far more often, and steam was beginning to rise from the damaged vents in his neck. She didn’t want to distract him, as he was certainly working as fast as he possibly could… but Jayce needed to know.

“Uh… Jayce? I think you’d better hurry… he’s not looking so good,” she mused.

“Fuck,” Jayce growled as he tossed a look over his shoulder. “I should have known he’d start overheating. There’s an icebox just over there, and some canvas pouches on the counter next to it. Fill them with ice and place them around his head. He gets much hotter, and he’ll suffer brain damage.”

Vi didn’t voice the reflexive thought that bubbled up—he still has a brain?—and instead she and Cait bolted for the icebox to hurriedly fill the pouches, both of them finishing at the same time and sprinting back.

“Lift his head,” Cait asked, motioning that she was going to slide hers beneath it, to the back of his neck.

Vi did as she was told, taking the briefest of moments to study the face of the Phantom of the Lanes.

The stories in Zaun made him out to be monstrous—an insane machinist who’d replaced nearly every part of himself in search of elevating the human form to flawlessness. Rumor had it, he also took the downtrodden off the streets against their will to perform his gruesome experiments on them, but… that part might have just been a rumor.

Regardless of all of that, he wasn’t what Vi was expecting. She’d never seen his face, just that flat, soulless mask, and it was… gentler than she thought it’d be. Even with the augmented eyes strobing black and orange, he maintained a rather… disarming handsomeness that was certainly a contradiction to all of those nasty rumors. He didn’t look like a monster, he just looked… like a man. One with a lot of upgrades, but… all things considered, Vi had definitely seen worse.

“Vi?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” she replied, settling her canvas bag of ice over the Machine Herald’s forehead. She couldn’t be sure, as there was a lot going on presently, but she thought she might have heard him whimper appreciatively.

“Alright, back up,” Jayce barked, dragging the rolling tray over when they obeyed and backed away. The center of the spinning centrifuge had been ripped open; a single wire soldered to a port at the heart of it, and the other end of it was pinched delicately in Jayce’s gloved hand.

He leaned in over the Herald’s open chest, intently considering the ‘heart’ for a moment before he moved to connect the wires.

“Of course you thought of this,” Jayce mumbled, a withering and regretful smile spreading his lips as he looked up at the Herald’s unconscious face, and from that one gesture alone, Vi could feel it like a kick to the gut—he really does love him.

She couldn’t help but look to her own love, offering up a somber grin as she reached for her hand and weaved their fingers together. Cait squeezed it, turning back to watch Jayce as he exhaled hard and leaned in.

He used a pair of pliers to delicately wrap the end of the wire around a terminal on the right side of the Herald’s heart, and secured it with a quick tap of the soldering iron. The loud snap of it made all three of them jump, the tension coming to an obvious crescendo as the time came to actually do it.

“Okay… here goes,” Jayce whimpered, his voice once again uneven and weak, and Cait squeezed Vi’s hand once before releasing it to step forward and rub Jayce’s back.

“It’ll work,” she promised softly. “I know it will.”

He swallowed hard, offering up a jerky nod as he looked back at the centrifuge.

“106. Right.”

With that, he reached into the cavity housing the Herald’s heart, his finger hovering at a switch there and beginning to tremble.

“It’ll work, Jayce,” Cait said again, squeezing his shoulder once in reassurance.

Jayce exhaled hard, yanking his hand back without flipping the switch—instead, he reached for the Herald’s face, brushing the ice pack away and leaning in to place a kiss to his forehead. And the gesture was so painful, so intimate, that Vi suddenly felt the urge to look away—to give Jayce a moment of privacy as he contended with the possibility of losing the man he so clearly loved.

And without wasting another second, he leaned up, reached into the cavity again, and flipped the switch.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn held her breath as that rhythmic three-note melody began to slow—three beats… three beats… three… two.

The piston on the right side of the Herald’s heart (if it could be called such a thing) came to an unceremonious and grinding halt, and Cait felt her own raging pulse in the tips of her ears as Viktor’s body went completely still—his chest stopped rising and falling with those hyperventilated pants, the Hexclaw stopped squirming, and the strange, otherworldly orange glow of his mechanized eyes flickered and went dark.

For all intents and purposes, he looked… he looked dead.

“No…” Jayce gasped at her side, his eyes gone owlishly wide and his hands gripping desperately into the shredded and torn-open fabric of Viktor’s undershirt. His body was like stone beneath Cait’s hand, beginning to shudder and quake the longer the silence dragged on.

“Nononono, what have I done, what have I done…” Jayce chanted, his voice shrill and stricken with pure panic as his hands started to twist in Viktor’s shirt. “Please, no. Please come back to me, please V, please!”

Cait squeezed his shoulder once, tears of her own beginning to form as she mentally prepared herself for what came next… attempting whatever comfort she could possibly bring to her best and oldest friend as his soul shattered, as his heart was torn from his chest. She felt it as Vi approached; gently rubbing her hand on Cait’s back in support and leaning in against her. As always, Vi’s presence was an anchor, a balm that soothed Caitlyn’s aching, and she only wished she could be that for Jayce. But she couldn’t. If this was real, if he’d truly lost Viktor once and for all… there would be no healing.

And the seconds dragged on, with Cait willing Viktor to move—please, if any Gods are listening, and you’ve even an ounce of mercy… don’t do this to Jayce. Please don’t do this to him. Please…

She sighed, long and heavy. “Jayce, I…”

There came a loud click and a hiss from somewhere within the Herald… within Viktor, and suddenly his chest was rising and falling like a metronome, his body jerking and his eyelashes fluttering as a small, mechanized whine escaped his blood and oil-stained lips.

Jayce crumbled; releasing an anguished and desperate cry of such immense relief that it seemed to sap every remaining ounce of strength he had left, and then his knees were buckling and sending him crashing to the hard cement floor with a heavy thud. Cait could do little else but follow; sinking to her knees and wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders as best she could, squeezing and rocking him as she spoke,

“Shhhh, see? I knew it would work. Shhhhh.”

She soothed her fingers through his hair, tossing a withering look back up at Vi that she hoped said everything she was feeling; I had no idea if it would work, I really thought he was gone there for a second, and I’ve no idea what to do if Jayce loses him.

Vi returned the withering smile, sparing a moment to look over the Herald and deflating a little with discouragement, reminding Cait that it wasn’t over yet.

“Hey. Look at me,” she prodded gently as she turned back to Jayce, using a single finger beneath his chin to force him to look up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks puffy and tear-streaked; he was a mess, and her heart broke for him. “I know. I know you feel like you’ve been put through a blender. But you’re not finished. He still needs your help; you’ve still got to power the other side of his heart. What else can we use? What do you need me to do?”

Jayce nodded shakily, swallowing hard and raising a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, the tears from his cheeks.

“Um…” he started, his voice wavering in the middle. “I’ve got a… a wood lathe that could do it. I just need to… figure out how to route the power output…”

“Alright,” Cait said, rocking back and pushing onto her feet, holding a hand out to him as she did. “Let’s get to work then.”

So, for the next hour, Jayce worked like a madman. Vi, with the help of the Atlas Gauntlets, helped him to unbolt the lathe from his work desk and lift it onto a rolling one so that they could cart it over to where Viktor was laying. Then he spent the better part of that hour hunched over it in a shower of sparks as he worked with the soldering iron and a plethora of pliers, wires, and sheet metal.

Switching over the power of the other half of Viktor’s heart was no less harrowing than the first time—the ethereal glow in his augments going completely dark and that ambient hum falling deathly silent for far too long as Jayce shook like a leaf, watching. Waiting.

But, just like the first time, Viktor began moving again, slower this time, weaker, and Jayce didn’t spare a second to break down—he merely went back to work, taking up the soldering iron and working to patch the gaping wound in Viktor’s chest as best he could. He couldn’t close it, but he was able to seal the leaks and stop the loss of oil. The blood was a different story, as it was baffling—Viktor didn’t appear to have anything organic in that area, so where was the blood even coming from?

But, with more grueling work (and Vi using the gauntlets to pull Viktor onto his side so Jayce could examine the exit wound) Jayce had it figured out—Viktor had routed the blood flow around his augmented heart with a series of tubes embedded in the artificial fascia in his back, and the blast had severed or damaged a majority of them. So Jayce went for those next—sealing any leaks and repairing or replacing the severed ones. He mumbled something about Viktor judging his handiwork when he eventually woke, and Cait didn’t have the heart to speak the words that came to mind—at least he’s going to wake up, Jayce.

After that, it became clear that although Jayce had fixed the cause of the blood loss, too much had already been lost—Viktor’s skin, where it still existed, was noticeably pale, and he was showing signs of hemorrhagic shock; his breaths were quickening again, and his temperature had now plummeted to the point that Cait could feel how cold the metal was from several inches away.

So Vi removed the ice packs and began covering him in blankets, while Jayce retrieved a needle and tubing, plus a long piece of twine to form a tourniquet. And though Cait was desperately curious to know why Jayce had everything necessary for a field transfusion in his secret workshop, she knew now wasn’t the time.

He wasn’t trained on them though, and she was. So she sat him on a high stool to Viktor’s right, and silently thanked whatever God cared to listen that Viktor still had one flesh and bone forearm… otherwise she’d have had no idea how to get him the blood he needed.

“You’re the same type?” she asked, following it with a muted sorry when Jayce flinched as the needle sank into his vein.

“Universal,” he replied flatly, cringing as his blood began to slowly flow through the tube, and electing to look away… to look up at Viktor’s unconscious face as Cait placed the other needle into Viktor’s arm.

The care and devotion in his eyes as they fell on his former partner was devastating—it was so clearly, painfully obvious that he loved Viktor just as passionately as the day he lost him. All the years of fighting, of bloodshed and carnage… and Jayce would still do anything for him.

“I… want to apologize, Jayce,” Cait said softly, leaning to prop her bum against the table. “I should have considered what… what that bullet would do. Not just to him, but… to you…”

Jayce tore his eyes from Viktor to look up at her, and suddenly his years of grief, of regret and devastation were never more clear—she could see it in the subtle crow’s feet of his eyes, in the way his lips seemed permanently tipped into a frown. It was in the angled set of his brows, like he was constantly and forever in pain.

“No… no, this isn’t your fault,” he said, his voice quiet and broken. “The bullet did hurt him, I’ll give you that. But it didn’t do this. This was a combination of… his fear, and… the restraints, and…”

His voice caught, and he swallowed hard against it, pursing his lips in thought.

“It was just… the perfect storm.”

He paused again, scoffing bitterly.

“That’s what I am to him, now. The perfect storm. He was once half my heart, my second soul. And now… now we just hurt each other, go at each other’s throats like clockwork. Gods, and how fucking sick am I, that I crave it? Every broken bone I’ve suffered in the last six years bears his signature, but I wear them like a badge of fucking honor. Because at least, for the briefest of moments, some part of him was touching me again…”

Jayce broke into another heart wrenching sob, his free hand rising to cover his face, and Cait hurried to push away from the table and rush to his side—pulling his head in against her chest and soothing her hand through his hair.

“Alright, I think that’s enough,” she said, dodging the raw anguish of what he’d said and focusing on what he needed right now—the clock on the wall was reading half past 8. He’d been at this all day, sustained panic and grief and desperation clawing at him and chipping away at his sanity for a solid ten hours. He needed a break, he needed rest.

So she unceremoniously pinched the tubing to stop the flow of blood, gently sliding the needles from both Viktor’s and Jayce’s arms before pulling the tourniquet free of Jayce’s bicep. He hissed, but moved to pull away from her and reach for his pliers again.

“What are you…” she began, incredulous.

“I think he broke his augmented elbow joint, I… need to fix it. And he might have damaged his wrists and ankles in those shackles, I have to…”

“Jayce, no, you have to rest…”

“No, Cait, I need to fix this, I need to help him, I need to make sure he’s…”

“Jayce!” she barked, raising her voice slightly and forcing him to go quiet. “Is he stable?”

“I… I mean… yeah, I guess, but I have no way of knowing what…”

“If he’s stable, the rest can wait. At least for a few hours. Look at you, you’re exhausted, you’re five steps from collapse. Please, just… come lie down. Just for a few hours. And then you can run yourself ragged to your heart’s content.”

Jayce sighed, but it was clear he already knew this wasn’t a battle he was likely to win—they’d played this game of verbal cat and mouse before, and she almost always came out on top.

“Fine. A few hours. And then I’m getting back to work.”

“Fine,” she quipped back, strolling over to sit on the cot in the corner and slapping her leg expectantly.

“I don’t need you to mother me, Cait,” he grumbled.

“Someone’s got to,” she said without thinking, her heart aching when he flinched—the wound of his mother’s recent loss obviously stinging him. So she softened as she went on, “If I don’t, you’ll just get up and go back to work. Come on. I’m tired too.”

She smiled as he conceded and bent to collapse onto the cot with his head in her lap—it was a tactic she’d learned long ago… from Viktor, actually. Asking Jayce to think of himself hardly ever worked; he disregarded his own physical and emotional needs, often at an alarming and detrimental rate. But if she made it about herself, activated his innate need to protect and nurture those around him… he caved. Every time.

He settled with a groan, obviously feeling the fatigue as he finally released the tension he’d been carrying all damn day. Cait smiled sadly down at him, dragging her fingernails through his hair in that repetitive rhythm that always sent him right to sleep.

“Vi, would you do me a favor, please?” she asked after a time, voice low as Jayce’s eyes were already closed and his breaths were evening out.

“Anything, Cupcake,” Vi said, approaching to kneel directly in front of her.

Cait grinned, her heart fluttering like it always did when Vi’s voice took on that soft quality it did, only for her.

“Would you go to my father’s, make sure he knows I’m safe? Ever since mum…”

Her voice caught in her throat, that haunting vision of black robes and purple flowers assaulting her eyelids again and stealing her breath, but it was beaten back when Vi’s hand tenderly gripped her wrist and squeezed once in reassurance.

“Since mum, he just worries about me so much, and I know he’ll have heard what happened today, and he hasn’t heard from me, and…”

“Cait,” Vi interrupted her breathless rambling, squeezing her wrist again. “Yes. I’ll go. Anything else you need?”

Caitlyn considered for a moment, looking back down at a now dead-to-the-world Jayce, hooking that curl on his forehead in a fingernail and pushing it back.

“Maybe something to eat?”

“You got it,” Vi said, rising to her feet and leaning in to place a quick kiss to the top of Cait’s head, settling the last of her nerves. Vi turned then, donning the Atlas Gauntlets as she sauntered to the ladder.

“Make sure you’re not followed?” Cait called after her, anxiously biting her lip.

Vi scoffed. “I’d like to see ‘em try.”

Chapter Text

Click… boom.

Jayce’s blood ran cold when he heard that sound—Gods, he hated that sound. There really was no point to it, other than to scare the absolute piss out of whatever sad sap had the unfortunate displeasure of standing before the council. It was far too similar to a gunshot, and the fact that it even still worked after Jinx’s bomb was a cruel irony—the windows had yet to be replaced, the iron sills were still mangled and bent, and there remained a distinct scent of charred wood, hot metal, and spilled blood. And yet that sound still rang out, that beam of light that singled out the accused, made them feel exposed and so, so alone…

Viktor.

Jayce was standing beside him where he was sat… no, not sat, precariously propped on one of the unused councilor’s chairs under that horrid beam of light, barely holding himself upright and breathing so hard that every exhale came out a strained wheeze. The bandages on his face and left hand were beginning to stain through, and he was shaking so badly that it seemed he might vibrate from the seat.

There were only five councilors present, with Mel still in the hospital and councilors Hoskel and Kiramman laid to rest only six hours previous. Heimerdinger had been called back and reinstated on an emergency contingency, but Jayce was still the de-facto head.

He wasn’t sure why it didn’t bother him, that Jayce was staring at himself, sitting in that seat. It should have felt weird, this out-of-body experience, but instead… instead he was just glad to be standing at Viktor’s side.

Councilor Shoola was talking, her voice echoing strangely through the half-destroyed chamber.

“…cused of treason and sedition; aiding the Undercity in the months leading up to the attack, providing them with Hextech weaponry that would eventually come to be utilized in the bomb that hit this very chamber, do you deny it?”

Jayce turned to look down at Viktor, and his heart broke—he was leaning hard against his crutch where it was propped in front of him, his once vibrant eyes dull, distant, and so very marred in hopelessness and despair. He didn’t immediately bother to respond, but for the first time, Jayce noticed it—his gaze barely lifting for several seconds to peer with shriveling hope up at Jayce… the other Jayce, the one seated in his council chair with his head buried in his hands.

“No,” Viktor mumbled, dropping his gaze again as he deflated and leaned his forehead against his crutch.

“No… no that’s not true, Viktor, tell them!” Jayce cried, throwing a hand out. “Tell them that you weren’t smuggling weapons, you were just… you were helping with the water treatment facility. And yes, it was unsanctioned, and yes, you took Hextech prototypes into the Undercity, but… they weren’t weapons! They were for filtering toxins from the water, you were… you were trying to help!”

His voice seemed to go unheard, as Councilor Shoola went on without pause,

“You are also accused of violating the ethos with your unsanctioned, immoral, and quite frankly repugnant experiments involving the Hexcore, which led to the death of your assistant and a ghastly maiming of your own body, do you deny it?”

“Sky.”

“What?” Shoola barked.

“Sky,” Viktor said again, his voice breaking and his fists rattling his crutch as he gripped it harder. “Her name was Sky.”

Jayce crumbled, falling to his knees with a gasp beside Viktor and reaching out… but his hand seemed to be repelled somehow, like he could reach but never touch.

“Hm,” Shoola said, waving her claw-like hand dismissively through the air. “Do you deny the accusation?”

Viktor took a single despondent breath in, his whole ribcage stuttering with it, then let it out slowly, flinching as any number of unnamed pains accosted him.

“No.”

“You also stand accused of crossing a council-mandated barricade, smuggling Shimmer—a dangerous, illegal chemical drug—into Piltover from the Undercity, and utilizing it in more of your deadly experiments. Do you deny it?”

“No.”

“Then we move to a vote,” Shoola rampaged on, and Jayce began to panic.

“No, please, he’s just… he’s hurting, and hopeless, and he’s… he’s all alone, just give him some time, you’ll see! He had nothing to do with the attack, just let him defend himself, please!” Jayce cried, his voice falling on deaf ears once again… including his own—that lifeless dead-eyed visage sitting in his chair, doing nothing, saying nothing.

“Those in favor of Stillwater, raise your right hand. Those in favor of exile, raise your left,” Shoola said, immediately lifting her right hand. A red beam of light highlighted her, that God awful sound ringing out through the chamber, and Viktor visibly jerked—his eyelids fluttering and his face twisting into a grimace as if it had physically hurt him.

Next came Bolbok’s mechanized right hand, and another beam of red light.

There was a long pause as Heimerdinger eyed Viktor critically, his bushy brows seemingly set in a merciless silhouette. But soon he was softening, his mustache twitching as he released a long, heavy sigh, and raised his left hand.

The beam of light that bore down on him was blue, turning the glow reflected on Viktor’s broken, dejected face an eerie shade of purple… almost… Shimmer purple.

Councilor Salo followed suit, raising his left as well and dousing the room in yet more blue.

And now it came down to Jayce. Other Jayce, who finally raised his head to level Viktor in an emotionless, pitiless glare, the burn scars on his neck still bandaged and the hair still buzzed at his temple where he’d needed stitches. Jayce hardly recognized this version of himself—he was flat and soulless, and… not himself at all. He didn’t know this man; this hard, callous expression and those cruel, dead eyes.

“Don’t…” Jayce whispered at himself, rising to his feet and stepping forward to approach the circular table. “Just don’t. You’re not yourself, something… something’s wrong, you’re in no shape to be making this decision, delay it… do something! Say something!”

Behind him, Viktor softly whispered,

“Jayce, please…”

But Councilor Talis said nothing. Did nothing. Nothing, other than clench his left hand against the armrest of his chair before raising it and bathing himself in blue.

“No!” Jayce and Viktor both cried out at the same time, and Enforcers immediately began to move in—grabbing Viktor by his arms and forcing him to his feet with an agonized cry. Jayce rocketed to his side, attempting to rip their hands from his partner, but… he couldn’t grab them, couldn’t get a hold. It was like they were intangible, made of something gaseous and impermanent.

Tears poured down his face as Viktor was dragged from the council chamber, his eyes sad and teary but… not at all shocked.

“Don’t let them do this, Jayce, snap out of it!” Jayce screamed, stomping back to his other self and wildly waving a hand in front of that nearly-comatose face. “You’re still the de-facto head of the council, they’ll listen to you! Please, what is wrong with you?! Do something! Do something!!!”

“Jayce!”

The cry was Viktor’s, and he seemed to finally be fighting, to be pushing back against the Enforcer’s hold… that unnatural right hand of his beginning to glow brighter and brighter as he struggled.

“Viktor!” Jayce cried back, turning and attempting to follow… but his feet wouldn’t move. His feet wouldn’t move, and they were dragging Viktor from the room, and he couldn’t follow, why couldn’t he follow?!

“Viktor! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Viktor! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Jayce… Jayce…”

“Jayce!”

Jayce startled awake, his heart racing as he stared up at the looming faces of both Caitlyn and Vi, shock and concern plain to see.

“Hey,” Cait said, that irking hint of motherly worry in her voice. “You were…”

Crying? Screaming? Both?

“Yeah, yeah,” Jayce interrupted, waving her off with a groan as he pushed from her lap to sit up, rubbing the sleep and the lingering panic from his eyes. “I’m fine. How long was I out?”

“Couple of hours,” Cait said, reaching out to him, likely to do as she always did—soothe her hand down his arm, scratch her nails through his hair… just some form of touch that she’d come to realize he craved, and could use to coddle him.

He grumbled to himself, pulling away and pushing to his feet so he could stumble to the table where Viktor was still lying, cords and cables fed into his chest cavity like some kind of corroded battery.

“How is he?” he asked, blinking away the sleepy haze in his brain and analyzing Viktor from head to foot.

“He’s fine, I just checked on him. Still breathing, still unconscious,” Vi said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Or whatever the equivalent of unconscious is, for a machine. Dormant?”

“He’s still fucking human, Vi,” Jayce snarled without looking at her, reaching up to cup Viktor’s cheek in the palm of his hand and feeling his pulse race in his fingertips—he hadn’t been permitted this for six long years, hadn’t laid a single touch to Viktor that wasn’t vicious and damaging.

“R-right. Yeah. Sorry,” Vi said, the tone making it obvious that she’d been silently goaded into the apology by Cait, but Jayce didn’t have the stomach or the energy to argue semantics with her. Viktor still retained his mind, his memories and values (though that last one was debatable), so in Jayce’s book, at least… as long as he had that, Viktor would always be human.

“I brought some food, you need to eat something,” Vi went on, and Jayce heard the rustle of a paper bag as it was set dramatically on his desk.

“I cannot stress enough how little of an appetite I have right now,” he grumbled back, the thought of food nauseating as he stared down at Viktor’s wide-open chest, his unbeating heart.

“You haven’t eaten in over twelve hours, Jayce,” Cait barked, and suddenly she was at his side, snaking her arm under his and coaxing him away from the table. He resisted for a few tugs, but only on principle, and then surrendered—allowing her to lead him back over to his desk, where Vi was unloading containers of something that… yes, now that he got a whiff smelled extremely tempting.

“What is it? Please tell me this isn’t that gruel you call food down in Zaun,” he asked, plopping onto his stool.

Vi narrowed her eyes at him, the expression wholly petulant as she continued to unload boxes.

“No,” she snapped back irritably. “Even though you Pilties have zero sense of flavor, I went a different route. Friend of mine down there used to say—fried shit feeds the stomach and the soul.”

“And the blood pressure,” Cait said back, tipping one of the boxes open to peer at what looked to be double deep-fried meat of some kind.

“It’s one meal, Cait,” Vi retorted with a fond eye roll. “Besides…”

She stood then, bringing one of the meat strips to her mouth with one hand, and using the other to grab a healthy handful of Cait’s ass.

“I wouldn’t mind a little more meat on your bones, Cupcake.”

Cait jumped, a brilliant blush coming to her cheeks as her eyes flitted self-consciously over to Jayce.

“Viiii,” she chastised, pulling away with very little conviction.

Jayce chuckled, just shaking his head.

“You don’t have to pull away on my account, Cait, I’m not that fragile. And anyway…”

He decided to cave, reaching for one of the meat strips, dipping it in whatever sauce Vi had peeled open, and taking a hearty bite.

“I like seeing you happy. One of us should be.”

He chewed in silence, already feeling that instant guilt from dropping a depressing emotional bomb on their conversation, but unable to conjure up the dedication to care or try to fix it.

They ate in companionable (if a little exhausted) silence, the consequences of the day clearly weighing on all of them, but no one could muster up the courage to say it—what the fuck do we do now??

And before anyone had to… there was a metallic rattle from the table, followed by a weak but tangible groan.

“Viktor…” Jayce gasped, his body frozen in shock for a moment before he tossed his food down and rocketed to his feet so that he could hurry to Viktor’s side.

Cait and Vi both joined him as he watched—Viktor was slowly waking, squirming a little as he tested his freedom of movement, his limbs and augments. But within seconds, his eyes snapped open wide to reveal that otherworldly glow, and then he was erupting up off the table—sitting up and scrambling away, the metal groaning and rattling as it bent and gave under the force of his augmented leg. Sparks flew from his left arm as he put his weight on it, and Viktor yelped, yanking it up to cradle it against his stomach as he continued to push away. Vi reached out, as if to grab hold of him, and Jayce struck—gripping her hand hard to still her.

“Don’t. Don’t hold him down.”

“But, the wires, he’s gunna…”

It would be a lie to say Jayce didn’t have the same concern—that Viktor would back away in his panic, reach the end of the lines currently powering his augmented heart, and break the connection. But Viktor reached the end of them and froze—clearly feeling the limitation—and looked down critically at his split-open chest to eye the wires with what looked like disdain.

“V… Viktor?” Jayce asked, his voice unused to speaking that name without venomous anger in it, without regret. He waved his hand in front of Viktor’s face, testing his response, as his eyes and ears hadn’t been working when last he was conscious.

Viktor slowly looked up at him, his expression surprisingly… blank. He didn’t really react at all; his breaths remaining constant, his eyes unblinking… perhaps he still couldn’t see, couldn’t hear?

“V, can… can your hear me? Can you see me?” he asked, taking a single step closer and leaning in, hoping to get a better look at the aperture in his augmented eyes; perhaps he could get a better analysis from that…

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, the Hexclaw was clamped around Jayce’s neck, squeezing and lifting until Jayce was on his toes and fighting not to lose his footing. His head throbbed immediately, his eyes feeling like they were about to pop from his skull, and when he gasped for air to a whole mouthful of nothing, his fight response kicked in—both hands clawing desperately at the obstruction around his neck. It didn’t do any good, however, and instead prompted Viktor to squeeze tighter, and through the ringing in his ears, Jayce could hear both Cait and Vi yelling—pleading with Viktor to release him, to let him go.

Ultimately though, it was an Atlas Gauntlet firmly locked onto the Hexclaw’s forearm that made Viktor pause, his grip loosening just enough for Jayce to gulp a tiny bit of air.

“Remove the claw from him, or I will remove it from you,” Vi snarled, the Gauntlet tightening on the Hexclaw and making the metal groan as it prepared to snap.

Viktor released a sound that could only be described as a metallic growl, and then the Hexclaw unceremoniously let go.

Jayce crashed to his feet, his knees unsteady and forcing him to throw a hand out to brace against the table. He reached for his neck as he choked and gasped for air, already feeling how tender the muscles there were. It was going to bruise something spectacular.

“…ayce? Jayce?! Are you okay, are you alright?” Cait was firing off rapidly, bending to look closer at his neck and poking and prodding at him. Pain flared from the spot she was poking, so he hissed, grabbing both of her thin wrists tightly to stop her.

“I’m alright, Cait,” he said… or attempted to say. It merely came out a wheezy, grating rumble, and he choked again, swallowing hard and trying again, to better success. “I’m alright.”

He dared to look up at Viktor, finding those glowing eyes downturned and visibly irritable; his lips barely parted as he ground his teeth in anger.

“V, we didn’t mean for this to happen, okay? Trust me, I don’t want you here any more than you wanna be here—“

Quite possibly the biggest lie he’d ever told…

“—but… you were in trouble, okay? You fired the Hexclaw directly at your own heart, and it… it was failing, I had to do something.”

“That would be a first,” Viktor hissed, his accent thick and dripping with venom, and Jayce felt his blood boil.

“Okay, you know what…”

Before he could finish that sentence—‘fix it yourself then, you ungrateful prick’—Viktor’s entire metal frame shuddered, and he recoiled as if he’d been electrocuted—his mouth falling open in shock and his eyes slamming shut as his face twisted in pain.

“V, what… what’s wrong?!” Jayce asked frantically, all hint of irritation immediately wiped out as he stepped forward once again and reached out to gently place his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor’s breaths quickened substantially, pained whines beginning to accompany every exhale until he was nearly hyperventilating.

“I don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong, I… I don’t know how to help you, V…” Jayce whined, his hands hovering uselessly in the air between them as he tried with desperation to figure out what was wrong—had the cables come loose? Was there damage to his lungs or trachea?

But soon Viktor’s hand was rising to the back of his head, to where a small square hatch resided to the left of his cervical vertebrae, just below the hairline. His hand was shaking so badly that he failed to unlatch it, but… it was then that Jayce knew.

“Oh, Gods… his pain suppressor…” he gasped in horror.

He’d knocked it out only once; a solid Mercury Hammer hit to Viktor’s upper back damaging the control panel there and knocking out power to his suppressor. Or so Jayce had figured out, when Viktor dropped like a sack of bricks and began writhing on the ground and screaming like a banshee. Jayce had been so shocked that he hadn’t been able to move, and it had been Blitzcrank who swooped in and scooped Viktor up, carrying him away and out of sight… presumably back to his lab, where the golem would immediately fix the suppressor.

“Shitshitshit, one sec,” Jayce pleaded, hurrying around behind Viktor and batting his wildly trembling hand away from the latch. With steady hands (well… steadier than Viktor’s), Jayce was able to get the latch unhooked and the control panel open, but he sagged in defeat when he did.

He could tell which one it was; there was an auxiliary cable running from up top, presumably wired to Viktor’s nervous system, but the metal node was horribly bent, and definitely wouldn’t be sliding back into the socket without some serious work. And Jayce had seen just how quickly Viktor’s unabated pain became unbearable.

“Someone hand me my needle-nose pliers and the miniature clamp. They’re all right there on the tray, please hurry,” he begged, watching as Viktor cried out and curled in on himself, his augmented hand flying out to grip at the table’s edge so hard that the metal caved like it was aluminum foil.

“Nonono, come on, sit up, I’ll fix it, just breathe…” he cooed as a Vi slapped the tools into his hand. Cait went for Viktor, wrapping an arm around his front and forcing him back upright so that Jayce could reach the control panel. Viktor’s cries only intensified, and with each one Jayce felt his heart break a little more—the knowledge that there was constantly this much pain, and Viktor just couldn’t feel it.

So he poured every ounce of focus into the task—using the clamp to get a good hold of the base of the port, and the pliers to bend the node, to straighten it out. But it was small, too small to get a good grip on, and his pliers kept sliding free.

“Fuck!” he growled, leaning in close and attempting to grab it again. Viktor was all-out quaking now, his screams barely bitten off as he started to convulse with the sheer magnitude of the pain. Cait did her best to keep him still, to keep him upright so Jayce could work, but it was clearly a daunting task for her—it didn’t matter how strong she was, Viktor and all of his metal augments outweighed her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds.

After what felt like far too many attempts, Jayce was finally able to straighten the node out, and he wasted no time when he did—tossing the pliers and clamp onto the floor with a clang and jamming the node back into its socket.

Viktor cried out one final time, but this one was so clearly out of sheer relief; the whip-fine tension in his body releasing, and then suddenly he was collapsing back against Jayce’s chest, his eyes fluttering closed and his chest rapidly rising and falling with those hyperventilated breaths. Jayce was stunned still for a moment, the position so intimate that it was causing a myriad of flashbacks to roil inside his head—sitting in the bath together with Viktor’s back to his chest as he easily passed the washcloth over Viktor’s skin… lying in bed with his arms wrapped tightly around Viktor’s chest and pulling him impossibly close… standing at the chalkboard and hooking his chin over Viktor’s shoulder as he pressed wholly to Viktor’s back, his hands on Viktor’s slim waist and squeezing playfully.

Jayce loudly cleared his throat as he battled back the images, but he still reached out to envelop Viktor in his arms—holding him as he sank back into unconsciousness and ensuring he didn’t go toppling over the side of the table in his weakened state. Jayce felt an undeniable urge to press a kiss into Viktor’s hair, but he resisted—Viktor wouldn’t want him to, were he more aware. In fact he’d probably start strangling him again.

“Here, let me help you lie him down…” Vi said, stepping forward and reaching out with an Atlas Gauntlet, and something desperate, something wild snapped within him.

“No,” he snarled, pulling Viktor tighter against his chest and burying his face in those soft, familiar locks.

“Oh—okay,” Vi said, throwing her hands up in surrender and backing away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into Viktor’s hair, unable to fight the urge to nuzzle into it. “Just… this is as close as I’ll ever get to holding him again. Just let me have this… please.”

Cait pursed her lips sadly, stepping forward and reaching out to squeeze his shoulder once.

“Of course, Jayce. Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”

Chapter Text

Jayce stood there holding him until his feet went numb, until his knees started to shake and his spine began to ache, and then he held him for a few hours more—arms wrapped tightly around him and chin hooked over his shoulder. Viktor would occasionally jerk in his sleep; perhaps the effect of severed electrical lines Jayce had yet to fix, or perhaps the ghost of his pain disrupting his dreams… if he still dreamed at all. But Jayce would squeeze him tighter, just like he used to all those years ago as they lay in bed together, Viktor’s spine and leg settling for the night and accosting him with a myriad of both relief and pain.

And for the first time in six long years, Jayce was permitted the opportunity to look on the face of his old friend. The scars from Jinx’s attack were still highly prevalent, but far less severe—the pockmarking of his burned right cheek reduced to a dark and uneven blemish, and the places where he’d been sliced by debris mere discolored hatch marks. His right eyebrow still bore a gap in the middle, the scar that accompanied it quite a bit darker than the rest, but…

He was still so, so beautiful. Even with the metal from his neck rising to cover a portion of his cheekbones, even with the noticeable scarring that had occurred when he augmented his eyes and ears. Those cute moles that Jayce had kissed so many times remained, and his lips… his lips were painfully unchanged—thin and perfect, with the lower one just plush enough and practically begging to be taken into Jayce’s teeth.

But with a frown, Jayce noticed the blood still staining them, and the oil too; and it wasn’t just marring his lips and chin, it was everywhere—all over his ruined chest, his broken left arm, his wrists and ankles. So Jayce gently relinquished his hold, carefully sliding Viktor down until he was lying on the table once again.

He retrieved a washrag and soaked it in warm soapy water, and returned to Viktor’s side to begin reverently clearing away the mess. It took at least another hour, but Jayce hadn’t felt this calm, this at peace in well over six years—just soothing the rag over metal and skin alike, almost in an act of worship. And the repetitiveness of it put him in a near-catatonic state of relaxation.

So naturally it scared the shit out of him when Cait’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She and Vi had been curled up on the cot for a few hours, obviously worn out from the long day they’d had, and Jayce had been content to just let them. In fact, the guilt was starting to gnaw at him; that he’d dragged them into this. He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. And now Cait and Vi—Piltover’s Sheriff and Zaun Ambassador—were marred in controversy right alongside him. He could stomach his own, he always had. But he hated that his mess had become theirs.

“It’s, er… it’s 3am, I think Vi and I are going to head out,” she said, eyeing Viktor for a moment before looking back up at Jayce. “Hopefully there will be fewer patrols out, and we can slip by without notice.”

“What…” Jayce began, but pain flared through his neck, and his voice came out wheezy and weak. He cleared his throat, immediately disregarding Cait’s instant worry and plowing on,

“What are you gunna do? What are you gunna tell them?”

Cait sighed, looking back down at Viktor and laying a hand on his unmoving arm. She hadn’t known him well back then, but she had known him—interacting at the rare Council party that Viktor deigned to attend, and at the Solstice dinners Jayce’s mother used to host. They weren’t friends by any means, but… they got on. United, Jayce suspected, in their mutual love of him.

“I’ll say we looked all night, but never found you,” she said simply, as if it was obvious. “I’m sure they’ll have their suspicions, but… they know you’re my friend. It stands to reason I’d be out searching well past the others.”

Jayce nodded, swallowing hard and wincing when the action was difficult—stunted by swelling.

“I’ll try to keep them off your trail for as long as I can,” she continued, Vi approaching behind her, stretching and yawning dramatically. “Just… take care of him. And take care of yourself, do you hear me? Get some sleep when you can, remember to eat…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jayce said, absently aware that it sounded dismissive, when he hadn’t meant it to. “I… I’m sorry Cait. Both of you. I didn’t mean to drag you into this; this is my mess, and it should have stayed my mess.”

Cait frowned, reaching up to cup his cheek, and he was helpless but to lean into it.

“You can’t do everything alone. You’re right, it is a mess. But I’ll do what I can to help you. Alright?”

Jayce’s throat closed up, tears threatening, so he quickly pulled away, looking down at Viktor’s motionless body and nodding rapidly.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he said, needing to clear his throat again when the emotion and the swelling threatened to steal his breath entirely.

Cait pulled away, turning to Vi and jutting her head towards the exit.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can to check up on you,” she continued as Vi strolled sleepily to the ladder. “Be careful…”

Jayce kept his eyes on Viktor, the thought of being alone with him suddenly soul-crushingly terrifying… for more than one reason.

“Yeah. You too,” was all he said before the trap door thudded closed and doused the workshop in a dreaded silence broken only by the machines keeping Viktor alive. In fact, the shadows seemed to move in, crawling from the cobwebbed corners and empty spaces, the whispers not even necessary—you destroy everything, you hurt everyone you love. It’s inevitable. Sooner or later, you will push everyone away and all you’ll have left is us.

So he rocketed into action—yanking down his shop light from overhead, retrieving his clamps and pliers, and pulling up a stool so that he could go about removing the damaged crankshaft from Viktor’s heart.

And again he was struck by how incredible it was—the engineering, the design, the functionality. Viktor had always been a proponent of function over form, often completely disregarding the aesthetic of an invention in exchange for usability. But whether he’d meant to or not, he’d created a marvel of both—it was a perfect machine that was built to perform its duty flawlessly and for extended periods of time, but it was also beautiful.

Well… Viktor’s heart had always been beautiful. And it always would be, organic or not.

Jayce grumbled to himself at the sappy thought, chastising it—it’s not, though. He threw out his humanity and empathy, doused it like water onto a flame. Now his passion for function over form was more of a twisted delusion of perfection than a lofty humanitarian goal. Humans weren’t meant to be flawless—they were meant to make mistakes, grow, learn, adapt. Love.

But they could perhaps discuss all that some other time, if Viktor deigned to refrain from killing him when he woke. For now, Jayce needed to fix him. Well… fix his augmented heart.

But the moment he went for the crankshaft, electricity shot up his arm, his whole body spasming and his jaw locking up. Luckily he was able to pull away before it did any real damage, but he still hissed in pain and grasped at his now-buzzing right hand.

“Security measures,” he grunted, massaging the feeling back into his palm. “Should have known. Asshole.”

So he limped to his desk, retrieving a pair of rubber gloves and donning them with a few more mumbled curses.

Removing the crankshaft wasn’t remotely as simple as he’d thought it would be—the damage had bent it so severely that it was wedged into its rotators, not to mention parts of it had actually been welded together by the heat of the Hexclaw blast.

Jayce spent the better part of an hour gently chipping away at it—using his pliers to attempt to bend it back into shape and his soldering iron to weaken the welding. It was a grueling task, with Jayce sweating through his protective goggles by the end, but finally, finally, he was able to jar it loose.

“Yes!” he exclaimed quietly to himself, the habit of sharing his successes still not fully beaten out of him, and he set his tools aside and carefully reached into the cavity to begin lifting the crankshaft from the connecting rod.

But he froze when the fully-charged, menacing glow of the Hexclaw slowly crept into his field of view, pointed directly at his temple.

He cautiously pulled his hands back, holding them aloft in a show of surrender.

“I’m not sabotaging you, V, I’m just trying to he—“

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Viktor snarled, the four digits of the Hexclaw spinning in a threatening manner when he spoke.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m… I’m just trying to fix it, alright? The crankshaft is bent beyond repair, I just need to…”

“Rip my heart out for a second time?!” Viktor growled, and then the Hexclaw fired.

I’m dead… I’m dead, my head’s been blown to smithereens, and my body is still sitting on this stupid stool like a decapitated porcelain doll…

But he blinked his eyes open to find that Viktor had fired mere centimeters to the right, the blast (an obvious warning shot) embedding harmlessly into the far wall.

“Ok, point made, V… Viktor,” he said softly, keeping his hands cautiously held up. “What do you want me to do, huh? Your heart is wired into these machines; they’re the only thing keeping you alive right now. I can’t let you go back to Zaun to fix it yourself, unless you wanna cart both of these fucking things up the ladder and through the streets of Piltover like some kind of colostomy bag!”

Viktor released a mechanized growl deep in his throat, and Jayce was horrified to find that it didn’t scare him, not in the slightest. Instead, his heart fluttered, and his stomach did backflips, and his groin felt hot…

So he cleared his throat and squirmed in his seat, powering on,

“If you wanna tell me where your lab is, I’d be more than happy to go and get everything you need, get Blitzcrank…”

“Fuck you.”

Jayce sighed, exhausted and in pain from having been strangled and electrocuted, and he sagged, letting his hands drop with a slap to his thighs as he looked up at Viktor’s face (ignoring the way the Hexclaw moved closer).

“I just saved your life, V. Twice in one day, I might add. And you still don’t trust me?”

“No,” Viktor snarled viciously. “I don’t.”

Well… walked right into that one.

Jayce sighed again, shaking his head.

“Fine. But I’m fixing this. Shoot me, for all I care, honestly you’d be doing me a favor,” he said dejectedly, leaning back in and waiting for the inevitable sound of the Hexclaw firing.

But it never came—just that tense, heavy silence as Jayce reached back inside Viktor’s heart chamber and began loosening the crankshaft.

And damn his traitorous lips for never catching the things that should remain unsaid.

“This is not how I imagined being inside you again.”

Despite the hum of the machines powering Viktor’s heart, you could have heard a pin drop in that lab as Jayce felt Viktor’s eyes burning into the side of his skull.

Jayce blushed, and he shook his head apologetically.

“S-sorry. Bad joke,” he said, gently pinching the crankshaft and lifting it carefully from Viktor’s body.

For a moment, Jayce expected the next sound he heard to be the Hexclaw tearing a hole in his ear canal. But it never came. Instead, it was only Viktor’s voice—surprisingly calm and light.

“Not bad. Poorly timed, maybe.”

Jayce snorted laughing, probably a little too a hard, but it was all he could do when his voice was burdened with all the stress and anxiety he’d been carrying for the last… Gods, how long had he been at this? Twelve hours? Twenty-four? With no windows in this dreary underground workshop, the time was starting to blur together at this point.

He raised the crankshaft up into the light, his stomach twisting—there would be no repairing this. It was too mangled, and far too important of a part to gamble on its stability, even if he did manage to bend it back into shape. It would have to be replaced.

“Well… this is done for,” he said, lowering it and letting it drop with a clang to the metal table. “I can pour another if you give me the specs. Or, since I assume you have spare parts in your laboratory, you can just tell me where your fucking lab is…”

“Are your ears busted, Jayce? Fuck. You.”

They had a brief moment there between insults, but… brief moment gone.

“I can’t wave my white flag any higher, V…”

“I told you to stop calling me that!”

“Fine! Viktor!” he hissed back, throwing his hands up in anger. “I’m not your enemy today! Today, I’m the guy that’s gunna make sure you actually walk out of Piltover instead of being delivered in a box to your Baroness!”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed into an icy glare, and then three of the Hexclaw’s digits were curling, leaving one of them extended, and the absurdity of it sent Jayce spiraling into manic, uncontrolled laughter. It might have been the exhaustion (it was definitely the exhaustion) making him delirious, but the errant thought was unbearably funny—‘if it only has four fingers, which one is the middle? And is it always the same one, or do you keep them on a rotation? Or is it more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants situation?’

Clearly Viktor had expected any number of responses, and maniacal laughter hadn’t been on the list. He was visibly thrown off guard, his head recoiling in shock as he leaned up to prop himself up on his elbows, staring back at Jayce in bewilderment.

“You’ve gone mad,” he said under his breath, and yet again, the unsaid became said,

“Without you? Uh, yeah. Where’ve you been?!”

There. Anyone else would have missed it, but it was as clear as a lightning strike—Viktor softened for the tiniest of moments, his brows pulling in with pity and his lips falling open as if he was going to speak.

But instead they just stared at each other in uncomfortable silence, until the intensity in those familiar and yet completely foreign eyes made Jayce look away—idly fumbling with the crankshaft.

…and that was when a subtle glow caught his eye, and he held the crankshaft up into the light again to analyze closer.

“This… this is chem-treated…” Jayce thought aloud, deflating as the hopelessness sank in. “I can’t replicate chem-treated steel…”

“What, you haven’t found a way to do it with Hextech?” Viktor said in a mocking tone, spitting the last word like it was vinegar on his tongue.

“Not without turning you into a human-sized grenade, no,” Jayce quipped back, leaning in even closer and examining the glowing, thread-like emerald striations in the steel. “Is there… an alternative I can use, just for a little while? Will tempered steel hold up against the strain?”

When no answer came, Jayce cut his eyes over to find Viktor just staring back at him, his expression blank except for a certain fiery wrath in his augmented eyes.

“You wanna help me out here?” Jayce asked, incredulous—this really was no time for the attitude.

“And why would I do that?” Viktor snapped, narrowing his eyes.

“Uh, I dunno, maybe because your life depends on it…”

“Bit late for you to start caring about that now, don’t you think?” Viktor hissed with a sneer, and Jayce sagged.

“Oh, Janna wept, you really wanna do this now?!” he shrieked, dropping the crankshaft back to the table dramatically.

Viktor bristled, his upper lip curling into what Jayce could only call a snarl.

“Well the ideal time would have been six years, four months, and twenty-two days ago…”

—he… he counted the days?—

“… but seeing as how neither of us has perfected time travel yet; yes, let’s.”

Jayce groaned, burying his face in his hand—it was only a matter of time before this conversation started, but he’d hoped for a little more time to gather his thoughts.

“They… they gave me a choice, V,” he said, cringing when he realized he’d used the nickname and expecting the Claw. But Viktor was just staring at him expectantly—apparently willing to forego the hatred in exchange for Jayce’s… justification… excuse?

“It was either Stillwater or exile, and exile wasn’t even on the table at first—they didn’t wanna risk sending you back to Zaun and taking all your knowledge with you. I made exile an option, because Stillwater would have been a death sentence…”

“So was exile,” Viktor hissed, his fists balling and causing a brief spray of sparks from his busted left elbow. “You were offered a choice between two death sentences, and you chose the one that would kill me slower… forgive me if I fail to see how that’s mercy.”

“No, that’s… that’s not…” Jayce started with a defeated sigh. “That’s not what I was doing, I thought… maybe… if I bought you a little more time, then I could… pick up where you left off with the Hexcore, figure out a solution…”

“And you were going to tell me any of this when?” Viktor growled, jerking to sit up straight and looming over Jayce. “Instead of letting me rot in that cage they put me in, alone and terrified and hanging on every second that you would come to me?”

Jayce cringed. That one regret had been eating away at him for six long years. Well… eating away at him more than the countless others.

“They wouldn’t let me see you… they said you were smuggling Hextech into the Undercity for years, that… that they suspected you had planted yourself as a mole in the Academy…”

“And you believed that bullshit smear campaign?!” Viktor roared, leaning forward threateningly and blocking out Jayce’s shop light, dousing him in Viktor’s shadow. “You woke up next to me almost every morning, you kissed me and told me you loved me! You said I was your second soul, and you believed them the moment they tried to turn you, my one true ally, against me?!”

“No!” Jayce yelled back, but his voice was trembling. “I mean… maybe… they had evidence, and… I wasn’t… I wasn’t right, I… Councilor Kiramman was dead, Hoskel was dead, I thought Mel was too…”

“Ah, yes, I knew your mistress’s name would be bandied around eventually.”

“She wasn’t… that’s not what happened, and you know it!” Jayce barked, pointing accusingly at him. “You pulled away from me! You disappeared, you stopped talking to me, you stopped…”

Touching me. Holding me. Kissing me…

“Every touch was agony, Jayce!” Viktor practically screamed, the mechanical moderator in his vocal cords buzzing with the intensity of it. “You think it was easy for me?! To make that choice?! To lean into you when your fingers felt like fire, when the very bedsheets made me feel like I was dying of a thousand stings?!”

“But you made that choice without talking to me, you didn’t tell me what was wrong, you didn’t… you didn’t talk to me!” Jayce cried.

“Ah, yes, because Councilor Talis was famously so easy to talk to! I would have had to make a fucking appointment!” Viktor snapped, and his augmented eyes glimmered as he rolled them.

“I would have made time for you, I… I always made time for you!” Jayce tried, but felt the bitterness of the lie as it saturated his tongue.

Viktor scoffed. “I can see I don’t even need to dignify that obvious lie.”

Jayce sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back up at Viktor.

“I had no choice, V. I really didn’t. It was those two options, Stillwater or exile. And they made it clear that if I tried to abstain from the vote, they would have me removed from the council, and removed from Hextech. It was practically owned by the investors at that point, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have even had a leg to stand on…”

“Gods forbid you lose your cherished position of power on the council…” Viktor hissed.

“I hated that shit, and you know that!” Jayce replied, raising his voice again. “But I thought… I thought if I played my cards right, I could… I could steer them. I could use my position to help you…”

“Mm, and how did that work out for you? Stuck around just long enough to send your dying partner into a life of squalor, and then be removed from the council anyway?”

That one stung.

“I didn’t know they were going to do that,” Jayce mumbled dejectedly. “They… they needed an uneven number of participants in the vote, they… they used me.”

“Aaah, now we’re getting somewhere,” Viktor seethed. “Isn’t that what they always did? You were never anything more than a puppet in their political games, Jayce, and you played right into their hands. All it cost was everything.”

You don’t think I know that?! You think I haven’t been trying to drown that regret in alcohol for six fucking years?!

But the fight had drained from him. He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t stare down Viktor’s heartbreak and act like it wasn’t justified. Like Jayce hadn’t fucked up. Like he hadn’t done exactly as Viktor said, and played right into their hands.

He deflated, releasing a final, despondent sigh.

“I was trapped, V. What did you want me to do?”

“I wanted you to fight for me!!” Viktor screamed, rocketing to his feet in front of Jayce so fast that he had no choice but to rise and begin backing away. He was quickly backed against the nearest wall, the rolling trays holding the machines that were powering Viktor’s heart simply rolling along with him, and suddenly the Hexclaw slammed against Jayce’s shoulder and pinned him there. Viktor loomed over him, his eyes on fire with rage.

“I wanted you to fight for me, Jayce,” he repeated, beginning to press with the claw and making Jayce wince when his bones began to ache. “Fight for me, like I fought for you. Risk everything, like I risked for you. Or at the very fucking least…”

“V, you’re hurting me…”

“…come with me! So what if they took Hextech from you, we would build something new together. Something better…”

“V, please…”

“…and even if we never built anything ever again, at least we’d be together. At least I’d have you, and you’d have me. I would have loved you until my last breath, Jayce. I would have followed you anywhere. It’s just a shame that this was what it took for me to realize that you wouldn’t do the same for me!”

Perhaps it was the pain, perhaps it was his fight or flight response activating, but Jayce refused his better judgement, and snapped back,

“You’re one to talk—selling your soul, your values, your fucking humanity to the most dangerous woman in Zaun….

“Don’t you dare turn this back on me!” Viktor positively growled. “You think this was what I wanted? You think I enjoy being the monster that Zaunites use to scare their children at night? You think I wanted to become the very thing I fought so hard against with Hextech—to become a weapon?! You think I enjoy having my marionette strings tugged by a woman I despise, for causes I vehemently oppose?! No! I did what I had to do to survive, no thanks to you. None of this was easy! None of this was cheap! But I wasn’t exactly swimming in options, Jayce, again—no thanks to you. She made me an offer, and the alternative was a slow, agonizing, lonely death. And I was scared, Jayce! Gods, I was terrified! And all alone. So I accepted.”

He emphasized the point by pressing impossibly harder with the Hexclaw, and Jayce yelped when he felt something pop. He reached up and grabbed the Hexclaw and attempted to push it back, to alleviate some of the pressure, but to no avail, and Viktor was unfazed,

“So don’t you dare act like I made this choice lightly; I knew exactly what it would cost me, and I fucking paid it! I did, me! I didn’t let anyone else pay the price for my hubris! Especially not the man I claimed to love.”

Jayce hardly felt the pain in his shoulder, hardly noticed his collar bone was a hairsbreadth from snapping. Those words hurt a thousand times worse.

“V, I’m sorry, please…”

Viktor released an aggravated growl, shoving away from Jayce and leaving him to whimper in pain again—rubbing his shoulder as Viktor paced miniature lines in the confines of the cables running into his chest.

“I don’t want your apologies, Jayce,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “I don’t want anything from you anymore. Now, seeing as I’ve only got this four foot radius to work with, I suggest you walk away before I do something I will regret.”

Well… at least he’d regret it.

Jayce sighed, a thousand apologies swirling around in his head, and yet none of them remotely good enough. I fucked up, I know I did. I was weak, I let myself be manipulated, and it cost me the one thing I thought I’d never lose. And I know you don’t want to hear it, I know none of it will ever justify what happened… what I did to you. But… please, I just need you to know how sorry I am, and that I love you, I love you, Gods I still love you so fucking much that it hurts to breathe when you’re not there.

But Viktor was practically vibrating with rage—kindling just begging to catch—so Jayce turned on his heel, grabbed the half-full bottle of liquor from his desk, and headed for the ladder. He didn’t care if he was seen—the room was suffocating, closing in on him and making him feel claustrophobic under the weight of the guilt. The regret. The grief.

Chapter Text

The roof of the Talis forge was a magnificent place to watch the sunrise… not that Jayce was even really paying it any mind. He was too enamored in his bottle to care all that much.

He used to come up here with his father, before he passed; eating lunch with him on his breaks, watching the sunset at the end of a workday, and on the rare occasion, at nighttime to gaze at the stars and listen as his father told the constellations’ stories—Jenora the Huntress, whose exploits were legendary and earned her a place amongst the stars. Chiara the wolf man, who longed to be in the company of the moon he howled to in life. And Ammirus, the Traitor—who betrayed his lover for status and wealth, and was doomed to spend eternity in the stars, to watch and listen as his world moved on without him. As his legacy was reduced to that one simple error; his name smeared and cursed. His lover scorned and doomed by his betrayal and Ammirus, ridden with guilt, could do nothing but shine his light ever brighter down on his countless mistakes.

“Ugghhhhh!” Jayce bellowed up at the fading stars, grabbing one of the many empty liquor bottles and tossing it with gusto over the edge of the building, his ears pricking for the satisfying shatter.

He’d really made a mess of things this time—likely destroyed his own name and legacy, and for what? To do what should have been done six years ago? It was far too late to make amends now, that much was abundantly clear. Viktor hated him. Hated him with all the fire and passion that he’d once loved him with. And it was justified, that was the kicker. Jayce had betrayed him. He should have fought, just like Viktor said. He should have fought for him, should have threatened to bring down the entire city if they took Viktor away from him. The Hexgates were the pillars of their economy, he could have… he could have sabotaged them, and held the council ransom for Viktor’s life. Something. Anything.

And he could try to claim that Viktor wasn’t completely blameless—he did violate the ethos, and it cost Sky her life. He mutilated his own body, made himself a shadow of the man he’d once been—his very blood weaved into the fabric of the Hexcore, ensuring that it would have its Void-borne feelers permanently embedded in his psyche.

But there was always the why—Viktor had done those things for a fundamentally human reason. He was dying—in agony every second of every day, and fucking terrified that it could all just end before he’d accomplished all he wanted to, before he’d managed to claw his way out of Jayce’s shadow.

And Jayce just… hadn’t noticed. He’d been so busy, so preoccupied with council duties and the ceaseless fucking bureaucracy, that he hadn’t even noticed that the man he loved was spiraling into desperation. All Viktor needed was a little help, a little consideration—a hand reached out as he slipped below the surface, to pull him back, to say I love you, don’t do this. I’ll help you, I’ll be here for you, whatever you need.

“I could really use your advice right now, dad,” Jayce mumbled, kicking a leg out to nudge another bottle and watch as it spun across the roof. “I know I should just let him go, but… I can’t. I always thought Hextech was the one thing I couldn’t lose, but… it was him, too. They’re one and the same, and I… I fucked it up—tore him out like a bad seam, and… now I’m just making it worse. The city’s after me for breaking him out, there’s whispers of exile, and… all along, I should have done this six years ago, when it would have fucking mattered. When it could have helped him, when… when he… still…”

Loved me.

Jayce’s throat threatened to close up, so he flooded it with liquor.

“I mean… it’s too late now! I’m risking everything, and for what?! For him to go on despising me? To live every day knowing that I was willing to risk it all for him, just… not when he fucking needed me to?!”

He paused to look up at the stars, at the cluster that made up the eye of Ammirus and the eternal tears streaming down his cheek.

“I know what you’d say, if you were here. And when I was nine, it sounded great—all you can do is all you can do. Which… what does that even fucking mean?! All I can do isn’t fucking good enough! Not for any of them. Not for Piltover, not for Cait, and certainly not for Viktor…”

He sighed again, taking another long swill of liquor and grimacing as it went down—he actually hated the stuff, but… it got him shitfaced the quickest, so…

“You built,” he said miserably, his voice breaking in the middle like warbling sheet metal. “You were a builder. You made things. And all… all I’ve done is tear it down. I wanted to live up to your legacy by creating my own, but… I couldn’t do it alone. And the one person that believed in me, stood by me when I was ready to throw in the towel… and I signed his death warrant! It doesn’t matter that it didn’t end up killing him. I… I still signed it. And it’s a stain on my soul that’ll never come out.”

The stars had barely begun to fade now, silent as ever as their light was overshadowed by that faint orange glow on the horizon—a glow reminiscent of Viktor’s augmented eyes.

Just great. Another grief-stricken, liquor-drenched morning. Just like the last six years, four months, and twenty-two… twenty-three days.

“Thanks for the words of wisdom,” he drawled sarcastically, pouring a shot out to splatter against the roof. “Insightful, as always.”

He stumbled back to the ladder, polishing off the rest of the bottle and tossing it to join its brethren in their ever-expanding glass graveyard, and slid unsteadily down it. His knees and ankles burned as he landed hard at the bottom, but he just added them to the list of pains to ignore as he made his way back to the trapdoor leading to his secret workshop. Maybe… maybe he could handle Viktor’s hatred better when he was drunk.

Viktor had returned to the metal table that had been his prison since Jayce… ‘rescued’ him, his legs dangling off the side and his palms propped on his knees. In the dimly-lit space, his eyes should have been a haunting sight—two molten pools of fire simmering in the darkness, but… yet again, Jayce’s body elected not for fear, but for the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. It was intimidating, thrilling; like beholding liquid steel as it was poured and knowing that it was pure potential in this form—it could be either danger or progress, depending on the time, the patience it was given.

Viktor sat up straight as Jayce entered, all the rage and ruin gone from his handsome face. Now… now he just looked resigned. Defeated.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Jayce grumbled, his voice unsteady and slightly slurred in this, his latch-ditch effort. “Hell, I wouldn’t forgive me. You don’t even have to stop hating me. You just have to stop hating me long enough to let me help you, so that you can come back to kick my ass another day. Alright?”

Viktor stared back at him for an uncomfortably long time—so long that Jayce worried he might not respond at all. He might just hold his anger close to his chest like a dagger, vowing to strike as soon as Jayce drew near.

But when he spoke, it was with despair in the flat tones of his dulcet, mechanized voice,

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

He used the Hexclaw to pluck at one of the cables that was running into his chest, wiggling it dramatically before releasing it again.

Jayce smiled sadly.

“There’s always a choice.”

And once again… to the untrained eye, it would appear Viktor didn’t react at all to being fed the very line he’d spoken to Jayce all those years ago. But Jayce saw it—the way his thick brows twitched with pleasant surprise, the way his lips just barely tilted into a grin at the corner.

He blinked languidly then, something about it reading as tentative surrender, and then he was nodding—his shoulders sagging and his clenched fists going lax.

Jayce nodded, suddenly regretting the booze—handling heavy machinery while shitfaced had never worked out all that well for him. So he detoured to the sink, where he doused his face in cold water and chugged the half-drank, probably-week-old coffee in the mug that was still sitting there.

“Right,” he said, turning back to Viktor and throwing a hand out to steady himself when the room spun. Viktor cocked an eyebrow—goddamnit why was it so sexy when he did that—but didn’t comment.

“So… the crankshaft. Does it have to be chem-treated steel?”

Viktor nodded, watching like a hawk as Jayce returned to his stool and plopped down heavily onto it.

“Yes,” he said, his voice flat and betraying nothing of how he felt. “The rest of the structure is chem-treated steel, and you can only use chem-treated metal adjacent to chem-treated metal—otherwise the untreated metal rapidly breaks down. Think of it like termites in wood foundations. Not quite the analogy I’m looking for, as the laced chemicals make the steel stronger and more resistant to strain, as opposed to weaker and brittle, but… you get the idea.”

“Mmhmm,” Jayce agreed, not sure yet if it was a lie or if his drunken brain was just stumbling along like a toddler wearing his father’s shoes. “So… so that means I’ve got to replace it with chem-treated steel… which I don’t have access to. And I’m assuming, even though you’ve agreed to not kill me for a little while, that you’re still not going to tell me where your lab is?”

“You would be correct.”

Before Jayce could sigh dramatically and roll his eyes, Viktor went on,

“But I know where you can steal some.”

“Oh, you’re gunna make me a criminal, now?!” Jayce asked, unable to keep the playful tone out of his voice.

“You’d be stealing from a Chem-Baron, I hardly think you’d be offended by the task,” Viktor deadpanned back at him.

Jayce shrugged, his idle hands itching for something to do, so he reached for his pliers again and gestured for Viktor’s left arm. Viktor hesitated, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, but soon enough he complied—straightening out his busted elbow and twitching when it caused an electrical buzz from within.

“Which Chem-Baron?” Jayce asked as he carefully cradled Viktor’s arm and raised it up so that he could get a better look at it.

“Not mine,” Viktor said flatly, assuaging Jayce’s worry on instinct. “His name is Petrok Grime. He’s one of the more prominent Chemtech suppliers.”

“And… how likely is he to hold a grudge over petty theft?”

Viktor shrugged, his arm shifting slightly when he did and causing a small shower of sparks from his elbow, but it was just as well—now Jayce knew precisely where the damage was.

“I provided him with upgrades to his prosthetic arms, so he usually lets me take what I need from his stock. But I don’t think he’ll even notice. The factory has been shut down for about eight months. One of the smokestacks collapsed in a chemical fire, killing twenty-six people, so he’s been understandably marred in local outrage. I…”

Viktor’s voice caught, and he shook his head dejectedly.

“I did what I could for the survivors—performed a number of emergency augmentations on the mortally wounded.”

“Hm,” Jayce hummed thoughtfully, “and I assume you got everyone’s consent to be modded beforehand?”

Viktor’s fist balled with anger, more sparks raining down onto the floor, and Jayce ignored the threat as he dove in with his pliers to begin rewiring the busted connections.

“It’s a little hard to get consent from someone who is actively bleeding out. Mostly, they just scream,” Viktor hissed, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. But his fight fizzled out fairly quickly, only to be replaced with hopelessness. “But it’s just as well, because I lost most of them anyway. I… I got ambitious, tried to save those with the most grievous of injuries. Should have just gone for the dismemberments…“

Jayce paused to look up at him, finding more emotion, more sorrow in those gleaming eyes than he’d seen in a very long time.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Truly, I am,” he cooed, fighting the urge to reach up and cup Viktor’s cheek. He had a feeling he might lose his hand if he did.

“Mm,” Viktor grumbled dismissively, his eyes darting about and his shoulders squaring when he realized he’d gone off on a rather emotionally charged tangent. Jayce didn’t think he got emotional anymore. But then again… what had his earlier rage been, if not emotion? Perhaps he’d deactivated his emotional suppressor. Or perhaps, like his pain suppressor, it had been knocked out by his violent thrashing in the jail cell, and needed mending. So Jayce made a mental note, adding it to the ever-growing list of things needing fixed.

“Anyway,” Viktor went on with a quick, sharp inhale. “Grime’s storeroom is still kept at the factory, and the part is fairly common. He should have plenty on hand.”

“Am I likely to run into security?” Jayce asked, pulling on one of the wires that was raining sparks and accidentally making Viktor jolt from the shock of misguided electricity it caused. “Sorry.”

“He’d have to be immeasurably stupid not to have security in Zaun,” Viktor replied, his voice a little clipped.

“You can just say ‘yes,’ you don’t have to be condescending,” Jayce barked, intentionally pulling on the same wire again out of spite, but immediately feeling guilty when Viktor yelped.

“Yes,” Viktor hissed, voice dripping sarcasm. “But it’s nothing the great Defender of Tomorrow can’t handle.”

Jayce rolled his eyes. “I fucking hate that name. Don’t even know where they got it from.”

“But it’s so noble, so regal,” Viktor said, and although it was clear he was mocking Jayce again, it… didn’t sound entirely vicious. His voice sounded like it used to, when he would tease Jayce in that playfully competitive way that had a tendency to make Jayce blush more than anything.

“Shut up,” Jayce said with a grin, reaching for his roll of electrical tape. “This line is busted. I’m gunna wrap it, but you’ll have to replace it as soon as you’re able.”

Viktor hummed again, the double-tempo of it sounding like it wanted to be a ‘thank you,’ and Jayce took it as a small victory.

“So where is this factory I have to rob, anyway?” he asked, using his pliers to begin bending the metal at Viktor’s elbow back into a semblance of its intended shape.

“On the docks, by the old cannery,” Viktor said, his eyes critical as he watched Jayce work.

“The cannery? You mean the…”

“Yes. That one,” Viktor interrupted, and Jayce shuddered; the cannery where Jinx had been, where she’d fired her bomb, where… everything went to shit.

“Shit,” he said idly, going next for the loose cogs that allowed Viktor articulation in his arm. “Okay.”

He worked diligently for a while, tightening bolts and cogs as the ambient hum of the machines powering Viktor’s heart filled the silence. And while he should have felt nervous and on-edge, in the company of his mortal enemy of the last six years… he didn’t. In fact it felt like a return to normal, just quietly sharing the space with him. Listening to him breathe. It felt like a familiar blanket, like a beloved and well-worn chair he refused to get rid of even when the springs busted. It felt like home.

“What about the, uh… the bullet?” he asked after a time, his ragged voice slicing through the silence like a rusted blade.

Viktor nodded an affirmative, jutting his purple, Hexcore-augmented thumb over his shoulder.

“She shot you in the back?!” Jayce asked, pushing to stand so that he could give Viktor room to do the same. “That’s… not like her…”

“In her defense, there was no clean shot of my front,” Viktor said plainly, pushing with a grunt to stand before Jayce. He took a bad step as he started to turn, and Jayce noted the whirs and clicks and sparks that spilled from his metal ankle. Likely also damaged by the shackles.

“Can’t really blame her for making the difficult decision in the moment,” Viktor continued, leaning forward to brace against the table. “Disregarding how she knew you’d feel about it, and taking the shot anyway. It’s commendable, actually. Practical.”

“Says the guy with a cyberbullet embedded in his vertebrae,” Jayce quipped back, leaning in to study it.

Cait really was an excellent shot—she’d managed to get him just to the left of his augmented T5 and 6 vertebrae, sparing the structures themselves of the impact but ensuring the nodule that would deliver the electricity struck the wiring that stood in for a spinal cord. It would have sent the charge directly into his control panel, compromising his movement and dropping him like a sack of bricks.

“Alright, stay still, I’m just gunna…” he trailed off, pinching the body of the bullet with his pliers and squeezing hard so that he could pull it free.

Viktor groaned uncomfortably. “Careful of the power cell, it could have a residual cha-“

The bullet crunched, and Jayce could both hear the crackle and see the arc as it bolted up Viktor’s spine, and Viktor wailed, his knees buckling and sending him crashing to the floor at Jayce’s feet.

“Fuck!” Jayce cried, dropping to his knees and abandoning the (thankfully rubber-dipped) pliers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Viktor’s entire body spasmed, his hands (and the Hexclaw) tensing and releasing with the remnants of the shock. Jayce reached for him, just to hold him, comfort him, something…

“Don’t!” Viktor yelped, yanking away and curling in on himself, and the guilt began to gnaw behind Jayce’s eyes again, like a migraine.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t—“

“D-don’t touch me, unless you’re looking f-for a dose of e-electroconvulsive therapy,” Viktor interrupted, gasping and grimacing in pain as the spasms very slowly receded.

“Okay,” Jayce said uselessly. “Your… your pain suppressor, shouldn’t it have…”

“It’s a suppressor, not an eliminator,” Viktor growled. “Some pains cannot be suppressed.”

The way he said it was… accusatory, and Jayce puzzled, rocking back to sit on his haunches and wait. Well… the same must go for the emotional suppressor. A dam can only do so much against a tsunami.

He was forced to wait as the electrical current was slowly absorbed by Viktor’s organic parts, and it took a painfully long amount of time. But finally the spasms relented, and Viktor sagged against the floor with a sigh of relief, his eyes sliding closed as he ground his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce said again, reaching out but pausing just before he could touch. “Can I?”

Viktor cracked an eye open, the intense orange glow somehow more of an admonishment than any words would have been.

“Yes,” he said, short and clipped.

Jayce gently lifted Viktor’s arm and draped it over his own shoulders, tipping back and struggling to his feet. And though it was obvious he tried to stifle it, Viktor released a pitiful whine as he settled on his feet, so Jayce guided his hands back to the table.

“Here, lean on this. I’ll… I’ll be more careful this time.”

Viktor looked like he wanted to reply with something snippy, something sarcastic or maybe even cruel, but his eyes were lidded and his lips were parted to allow for his strained breaths. So he simply nodded, letting his head sag as he grumbled an inaudible affirmative.

Jayce was much more cautious this time—careful to not put too much pressure on the power cell, and pausing to readjust if he noticed any collapsing. And after four attempts, the bullet finally popped free. Viktor grunted uncomfortably, arching away from it, and Jayce was viciously accosted by memories of a time when he could make Viktor’s back arch like that for a completely different reason.

Luckily Viktor was turned away, so he didn’t see Jayce blush.

“Alright, sit back on the table, let me take a look at your ankle,” he said, depositing the bullet with a clink onto one of the rolling trays.

“You really don’t have to do that—it’s minor damage. I’ll fix it when I get back to my lab, all I need is my heart repaired…”

“Is the prospect of me touching you really so repulsive?” Jayce snapped, and Viktor snapped back just as quickly,

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Jayce just rolled his eyes and motioned impatiently at the table. “Just sit on the fucking table, you unimaginable pain in my ass.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes, and for the first time, Jayce realized something peculiar—the Hexclaw seemed to feed off of his mood; twitching, spinning, or extending on a seemingly subconscious level. Almost like a dog’s ears, a cat’s tail swishing back and forth. And while it was meant to be threatening… Jayce just found it maddeningly endearing.

Viktor begrudgingly complied—pushing himself up onto the table as Jayce retrieved his rolling stool and positioned it in front of him. Viktor was quiet as Jayce cradled his augmented calf and propped Viktor’s foot on his thigh. And that steely expression gave little away, so it was difficult to tell if he too was grappling with latent… romantic feelings, for lack of a better word, or if he was contemplating murder.

Once he had the greave removed, it was easy to see why Viktor had trouble walking—the entire ankle joint (comprised of a series of cranks, cogs, and delicate wiring) was bent and collapsed inward from the pressure of the shackle. Jayce tested the articulation, angling Viktor’s foot up and down, and watched as the ridges of the cogs snagged and caught on the sheet metal. He hummed thoughtfully to himself, mostly just impressed with the engineering again, and reached for his pliers so that he could get to work.

But it wasn’t so easy to focus on the task this time—his still somewhat inebriated mind kept stumbling down dangerous paths. The curvature of his calf is different to accommodate for the inner machinations, but… no less elegant. The heat of the moving parts is actually fairly similar to body heat, and it’s… it’s nice. I can even make those ridiculous augmented toes curl, if I tightened a certain bolt just so. And it would be so easy… too easy to shove Viktor back til his spine hits the table… raise that pretty metal ankle up and prop it on my shoulder, place a kiss to the plating as I rip at the tassets of his belt…

It was the hard, unforgiving pressure of Viktor’s modded hand grabbing Jayce’s chin like a vice that eventually tore him from his daydreaming.

“Ow, what the fu-“

“Look at me,” Viktor hissed viciously, and suddenly a long-dormant part of Jayce’s brain was activating with a vengeance… yes, sir. How do you want me, I’ll be good… I’ll be so good… please…

But Viktor wasn’t playing.

“Don’t think for a second, just because I’ve agreed to refrain from killing you, that I will hesitate to sever those wandering fingers of yours. Don’t test my patience.”

“Alright, jeez,” Jayce barked dismissively, attempting to yank his head free of Viktor’s grasp but failing. “I’m just being careful—“

Another lie.

“—are you really so paranoid that you think any act of tenderness is an act of manipulation?”

Viktor squeezed until Jayce’s jaw ached, leaning down until he was mere inches from Jayce’s face, and…

Oh fuck. Ohshitohfuckohshitohfuck. It would be so easy for that thumb to meander up to Jayce’s mouth, to split his lips and force its way inside. For the taste of metal to burst across his taste buds as it pressed against his tongue. For Viktor to growl as he slowly slid his cock inside… ‘that’s a good pet. So hungry for me. Take it all, take it into your throat… be good for me…’

“Yes, that tends to happen when one has been scorned and betrayed.” Viktor was angry… looming over Jayce and holding his chin, his foot sliding free of Jayce’s thigh as he leaned ever closer and pressing… pressing at his…

Jayce rocketed up off the stool so fast that it went skittering across the workshop, one hand shoving Viktor’s grasp from his face and the other scrambling for purchase as he hurried to get away. Get away, get away, before he sees, before he figures out how pathetic you are…

Jayce practically ran for the small bathroom at the back of the shop, slamming the door behind him and rocketing to brace against the sink.

“Shitshitshit,” he mewled under his breath, gripping the porcelain so hard that it creaked and trying not to hump the pressure of his pants, trying not to think about it…

His hands tied securely behind his back and that tight leather collar around his neck providing a heady, reassuring pressure. Viktor tugging on the leash and sneering down at him. ‘Look at you, leaking all over the floor already. I haven’t even touched you. You’re pathetic, Defender. Get on your knees and beg for it, if you want it so bad.’

“Fuck!” he growled, raising a fist and slamming it back down hard as he looked at up at his own panic-stricken face in the mirror.

You really are pathetic, look at you. He hates you, he’s actively threatening you, and you’re hard. You’re fucking hard because you’re so desperate for his touch that even when it’s violent, it turns you on. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic!

“Jayce.”

It wasn’t yelled, it wasn’t even remotely loud—instead it was calmly, quietly demanding, as one scolds a toddler. But when Jayce didn’t answer, it got louder, more stern; a warning hiding in the notes of his voice like a wind chime in the breeze.

“Jayce!”

“Yeah, just… just give me a second,” he called back at the closed bathroom door, horrified to find that Viktor’s tone was making him impossibly harder.

“No, you don’t get to walk from me again,” Viktor snapped back, and the sting of it prompted Jayce into action.

He first turned the tap and splashed some cold water on his face, then went about making himself more presentable—readjusting himself in his pants so that maybe… maybe Viktor wouldn’t see, maybe… he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Jayce felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he walked back out into the shop—sheepishly averting his eyes as he approached but staying well out of Viktor’s reach.

“S-sorry, I—“

“I see what the problem is here,” Viktor said flatly, almost disinterested as he stood and walked to the end of his lines—the wires going taut as he came to a halt a mere foot in front of Jayce.

But Jayce had forgotten to calculate for the Hexclaw. He yelped as the claw suddenly lurched forward and grabbed his cravat, yanking him forward so violently that he stumbled—throwing his hands out and catching himself against Viktor’s hard, steel chest.

And suddenly Viktor’s right hand was slammed against his groin, gripping and groping and obviously finding the proof of Jayce’s humiliation. Jayce yelped, attempting to pull away, but… not really wanting to. It was sick, and twisted, and fucking pathetic… but he wanted it, wanted the pain. Wanted Viktor’s touch so bad, it didn’t matter how…

“Bit distracted, are we?” Viktor purred menacingly, pulsating his hand once and making Jayce fight off a moan.

“Typical,” Viktor went on, tilting his head like a curious puppy as he repeated the motion, his eyes emotionless and critical as he analyzed each wince and grimace on Jayce’s face. “Always letting yourself become distracted. Well…”

He paused and… oh Gods, his unnatural eyes raked down Jayce’s body like he was examining a prize piece of meat at the butcher, and Jayce tried, he truly did try not to rock into Viktor’s hand. But he failed.

“Let’s get this over with, then,” Viktor sneered, and before Jayce even knew what was happening, he was being bent and shoved down face-first against the table, the metal ringing with the force of the impact. The Hexclaw came down to clamp hard onto the back of Jayce’s neck and hold him down, and for some bizarre reason all Jayce could think was… at least the bruising will be symmetrical…

He yelped as Viktor’s hand ripped at his belt and his pants, getting them undone in record time before he roughly shoved them down to expose Jayce’s ass to the cool air.

“This is what you wanted, right?” Viktor hissed, and Jayce’s response—‘not quite… I want to kiss you and hold you and run my fingers through your hair’—was swiftly silenced when Viktor’s right hand slithered around and into his underwear, unceremoniously taking him in hand, pulling him free of his pants, and beginning to stroke.

Jayce howled against the metal, his fists uselessly balling against it as six years of longing immediately began to uncoil in his gut.

“This is the fantasy?! That I would touch you again, and all would be forgiven?” Viktor went on in an increasingly infuriated snarl. “Newsflash, Jayce…”

He paused, and Jayce shuddered when he clocked the sound of Viktor spitting forcefully into his other hand. Yes, yes, please, I don’t care if it’s for the wrong reasons, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care…

Viktor’s metal fingers weren’t as cold as Jayce was expecting when they questioned at his hole, but he still yelped when Viktor began to circle his rim, spreading the saliva.

“I’m your enemy now,” he hissed, his lips suddenly brushing the shell of Jayce’s ear as he leaned in close. His strokes were quickening, and Jayce couldn’t spare the energy to be embarrassed that he was already leaking all over Viktor’s hand. He simply began pumping his hips to the motion, desperately following the rhythm and using his body to beg for those fingers that were still ghosting over his twitching hole.

“I’ll never be anything to you but fodder in your political games,” Viktor continued, and if Jayce’s brain weren’t being flooded with thoughts of more, yes, faster, harder, please, he might have said something along the lines of that’s not true, you’re everything, you’ve always been everything, and I’ll never stop fighting to make it right, to do right by you…

Viktor hummed thoughtfully before speaking again, and the dulcet tone of it went straight to Jayce’s cock—he twitched hard in Viktor’s hand, pleasure shooting up his spine as he felt himself spilling precum over Viktor’s knuckles.

“And you’ve no one to blame but yourself…”

With that, Viktor’s finger was sliding easily inside, his rounded metal fingertip just barely nudging against Jayce’s prostate, and that was all she wrote.

He wailed as he came, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over him and making his entire body seize and release, seize and release. The metal table groaned with each powerful spasm, and just when Jayce thought it was starting to wane, Viktor tugged to the tip of his cock, squeezing just beneath the sensitive head. It might have just been an extension of the first orgasm, or it might have been a second weaker one, but regardless—Jayce nearly screamed, his hips pumping with aftershocks so powerful they rattled the table and threatened to make his legs give out.

“Already?” Viktor asked flatly, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “You really are pathetic. Now get yourself cleaned up, I grow tired of playing mouse in your trap.”

Jayce sagged against the tabletop as Viktor abruptly pulled away, leaving him to gasp and choke in the thick, smog-like air of shame. He read you like an open book, and he found the climax disappointing. Pathetic is right. That’s what you are.

Jayce stood up straight, his legs unsteady and weak as he righted his clothes, and turned away so that Viktor wouldn’t see him wipe the tears away.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know about you,” Vi drawled as she followed close behind Caitlyn. “But that was entirely too much beefcake for my liking.”

Cait snorted, eyeing the swarm of forge workers they’d had to sneak past—Jayce could have at least picked somewhere a little more remote for his secret hideout. Getting in here during working hours without being seen was a hair short of a miracle.

“Keep your voice down,” Cait said as she hurried into the alcove where the trapdoor was hidden. “Or it’ll all have been for nothing.”

“What, you don’t trust that I could charm us out of trouble?” Vi quipped back as she followed, tossing Cait a smarmy grin that she couldn’t help but fawn over.

“Vi, I love you dearly. But no.”

“Everybody’s a fuckin’ critic,” Vi drawled playfully as she pulled on the trapdoor with an Atlas Gauntlet, motioning with her free hand ‘after you.’

Cait skipped the rungs of the ladder again, sliding down the rails instead and releasing a grunt as her boots hit hard cement. Vi followed, closing the trapdoor behind her as quietly as possible. Jayce wasn’t initially visible in the cramped space, probably in the bathroom or something, but… Viktor was.

He was sitting up on the table, his hulking metal form blocking out numerous lights and making of him a rather haunting visage. The cables from the centrifuge and lathe were still hanging from his open chest, the whirring sound filling the workshop like eerie midwinter wind. And his eyes—those unnatural orange orbs like molten metal—gleamed in the low light when he raised his head to look at her.

“H-hello, Viktor,” Cait said cautiously as she took a few steps nearer. He was a ghost of his former self, but there were figments that she recognized from before—his thick brows always slightly pinched in thought, and his slow, deliberate way of moving. “It’s, er… it’s nice to see you… well.”

“Well is not the descriptor I’d use,” he said with a scoff, hooking one of the cables in a finger.

Before Cait could respond, Vi chimed in boisterously,

“She means ‘it’s nice to see you’re not dead,’ metal man, but she’s too nice to say it.”

Viktor’s eyes rolled languidly as he set his sights on Vi, and something about it made Cait’s hackles rise—like the barrel of a gun had just been leveled at Vi’s face. So she sidestepped once, ensuring she was shoulder-to-shoulder with her… just in case.

“Where is he?” she asked, hoping that changing the subject would dissipate some of the tension in the air.

Viktor didn’t immediately respond; instead, his eyes roved back to Cait, sizing her up like a particularly disappointing meal.

“Zaun.”

“Zaun?!” Cait nearly yelled.

“Did I stutter?”

Cait was certain smoke was billowing from her ears. “You let him go to Zaun alo—“

“I didn’t let him do anything, Sheriff. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m stuck here—tethered to these machines like a rabid street dog. What would you have me do, chain myself to hi—“

“Use your fucking words, Viktor, they’re sharp as a blade and they cut twice as deep. He’ll listen to you,” she snapped back, taking an infuriated step towards him and trying to ignore the way the Hexclaw spun maliciously, following her every move.

“Since when?” he asked with a bitter snort.

Something snapped.

“Listen here, you little shit!” she roared, stomping closer and pointing accusingly in his face. “He loves you. He’s still in love with you. Even after all the burns, the bruises, the broken bones you’ve given him over the last six years. He made a mistake, he cost you everything, and he knows it! You don’t think he knows that?! He’s spent every waking minute since he lost you destroying himself over what happened. He went looking for you, and he tore apart a decent portion of the Undercity doing it. He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat. Hell, his mother and I had to take shifts watching over him in the beginning because I found him with my gun in his mou—“

Her words caught on the guilt. That’s not your story to tell.

She sighed, rerouting but not losing steam.

“He’s quite possibly just thrown away his entire life saving yours, and all in a desperate attempt to make right the wrongs of his past. And the shitty part is he doesn’t even care if you forgive him! I mean he does, but that’s not his main objective; he just wants you to be safe. He just wants you be happy, whether that involves him or not! So hate him all you want, but know this—any harm comes to him as a result of your indifference, and I will tear you limb from limb.”

“I’d like to see you try, Piltie…” Viktor snarled, pushing to his feet and staring her down as the Hexclaw came forward and started to whine as it charged.

“Whoa whoa whoa, everybody take a breath,” Vi barked, shoving herself between them and using the gauntlets to push them apart. And while Cait kept her fiery, unflinching glare aimed at Viktor, she couldn’t help but break when Vi turned and placed herself directly in its path.

“Cait, Cupcake… while I find the whole avenging angel routine incredibly hot, and I would literally pay anything to watch you teach this overpowered sewing machine a lesson in humility…”

Viktor released a mechanized sound from deep in his chest which resonated like some sort of inhuman growl, but Vi valiantly ignored it and powered on,

“Now’s not the time. We should go after him, yeah? Jayce? Your friend, who’s definitely fucked down there, all by himself?”

Cait sighed, her anger fizzling out at the thought—Jayce, likely stumbling and delirious from lack of sleep… everything about him screaming easy target.

“Right,” she agreed, shelving her anger for now but still narrowing her eyes accusingly at Viktor as she turned to go…

But halfway to the ladder, it all began to boil up again—how distraught and panicked Jayce had been as he hunched over Viktor’s unmoving body, his pitiful cries as they waited with bated breath for the machines to take over powering his heart; “no, no, no, what have I done, please…”

So Cait whirled back around, nearly bulldozing a very surprised Vi.

“You know, you could try to be grateful that someone up here still cares about you enough to save you in the first place, or you’d be nothing but a hunk of junk lying in that jail cell right about now.”

“Grateful? Grateful?!” Viktor snapped, walking to the end of his lines and jerking when they abruptly brought him to a halt. “Should I also be grateful for the sepsis that set in not twelve hours after I was unceremoniously dumped on the streets of Zaun like refuse? Should I be grateful that I was forced to amputate my own hand to put a stop to it, without so much as a bandage to stem the bleeding? And I suppose I should be grateful that the men who found me bleeding out in a putrid back alley decided not to kill me, and instead recognized me… dragging my frail, broken body back to their boss, who happened to be one of the more vicious Chem-Barons. And I should be grateful that she leveraged my desperation against me, my pain against me, to extort from me the secrets of Hextech so that she might do with them the one thing I fought so desperately against here in Piltover—build weapons. And I should definitely be grateful to have learned my own limits; to understand exactly how bad it has to be before I shatter and give her everything. To spend weeks strapped down to an operating table, screaming his name over and over and over until the walls, the very lanes of Zaun echo with it? To wake in agony, all alone and utterly terrified, knowing in whatever bones I have left that it will only get worse. To attempt to fucking lobotomize myself when I can’t take it anymore, when the sound of his voice in my head won’t leave me alone, when the ghost of his fingers on my skin burns like wildfire. When I slice more and more of that skin away, so that I can stop… feeling him… everywhere.”

He growled every word, slamming his fist down on the metal tray with an ominous bang to emphasize the severity. But he didn’t lose his momentum,

“And then to spend every waking moment staring up at the city, the people that did this to me, and try to convince myself not to burn every last inch of it to the fucking ground, because in the end… no one deserves to feel pain like that. Not even those who saw to it that I did.”

He finally seemed to lose steam, deflating a little and lowering his eyes as clear and obvious sorrow made him sag, defeated.

“Yes… yes, you’re absolutely right, Sheriff Kiramman… I should be grateful.”

Cait felt like her heart had plummeted into her stomach… she’d known it had been bad… (had she though? Had she really known, or just assumed? Never thought too hard about it, because he was alive, wasn’t he?) Hearing it out loud, with his voice cracking and breaking as he relived it, seeing the grief in his eyes, clear as day even through the augmentations… hearing the rattle of metal as he trembled against the onslaught of his trauma.

She sighed, sagging as she took a tentative step back toward him.

“V-Viktor, I—“

“Just go,” he snarled, but very suddenly all that rage seemed to vanish, and he slumped onto the rolling stool, curled in on himself, and buried his face in his hands. “He’ll be needing your help down there, all alone.”

Caitlyn’s heart broke for him—like you needed help. And no one came. Not Jayce, not even me; a supposed protector of the people. All people.

She took another step back toward him, intending to lay a hand on his shoulder, rub his back… something so that he knew that while she still believed his anger was disproportionately aimed at Jayce… she could understand it. It wasn’t unfounded. It was valid, it was justified.

But an Atlas Gauntlet came up to gently stop her, pulling her attention back to Vi—who was shaking her head sadly. Her eyes, those wonderful pools of glimmering ocean blue, said it all; he’s not in the right place to accept your sympathy right now. Let’s go find Jayce, and maybe… maybe you can try again later?

So Cait nodded, looking back dismally at Viktor one last time.

“Where’s he gone?” she asked, soft and prodding.

Viktor did not raise his head to look at her when he responded—instead speaking into his palms in a muffled monotone, “The Grime Chemical Depot. The docks, two down from the old cannery. I believe you had a tea party there once.”

While the jab stung, Cait was intimately aware that it wasn’t so much meant to hurt her as it was to save face—to turn his obviously overwhelming grief outward. To find an outlet for the awful memories he was now drowning in, and turning to the only one he felt he had left—anger.

“I know it,” Vi said carefully, tugging on Cait’s shirtsleeve. “Come on, we gotta go. The Grime punks are notorious for their, um… ruthlessness.”

Right. Jayce.

Cait desperately wanted to say something… I’m sorry being the one dancing on the tip of her tongue, but… in the face of what Viktor had just shared, it felt like the world’s most useless platitude. How does ‘sorry’ heal the pain? How does ‘sorry’ fix it, make any of it better? So she sighed, turning and following Vi up the ladder and out of the Talis Forge.

“Did… did you know him? Back then, I mean?” Vi asked softly as they descended the hard way into Zaun—they couldn’t risk taking the Bathysphere, couldn’t risk being seen. “Obviously I’ve only known the Machine Herald, and really it’s just been… what I hear in whispers throughout the lanes.”

Vi paused as she leapt from one rooftop to the next, making it look effortless. Cait followed, knowing it wasn’t as clean of a jump or landing, and feeling inexplicably embarrassed about it.

“Well, I… I knew him in passing before he and Jayce… well, before he and Jayce,” she replied, following as Vi curled around the corner of a building, walking on a rickety railing like a tightrope before she crouched and swung across to an opposing balcony.

“Him being Heimerdinger’s assistant, and all…”

“He was Heimerdinger’s assistant?!” Vi asked incredulously, her eyes wide. “How did he land that gig?!”

“I don’t actually know,” Cait replied, thinking back fondly. “He told me something different every time I asked, it… it was sort of a little game of his; telling me wilder and wilder tales and seeing which ones I believed. I suspect at some point he did actually tell me the truth, I just… didn’t believe it.”

Vi scoffed. “Doesn’t really seem like the joking type; gives new meaning to the phrase steel-faced.”

“No, I suppose he’s not… not anymore,” Cait continued sadly, her ears still ringing with the metallic sound of his trembling. “But he was. He was rather quiet, before you got to know him—reserved, contemplative. But, naturally, when he started working with Jayce, I saw a lot more of him, and…”

She smiled, thinking back to the nights they’d all spent at Ms. Talis’s, drinking wine and talking of magic.

“Oh, he was sharp, and witty, and… he kept up with Jayce like no one I’ve ever seen. But he was also so intuitive, and he read people very well. And… and he was kind.”

Vi had stopped to stare at her, disbelieving.

“I know, he doesn’t seem like it now,” Cait continued, her arms flailing for a moment when she almost lost her balance, but Vi reached out and pulled her back. “But he was. He was always looking out for people, Jayce especially. And behind everything he made for Hextech, there was this… this passion for helping people, helping Zaun. He just wanted to improve the lives of the people here, Gods, he wanted it so bad…”

She had to stop to let out a grunt as the two of them slid down a metal embankment and onto an unsteady walkway that rattled precariously as they landed.

“And… he loved Jayce. He loved him so much. I remember the day I figured it out; he was just… listening to Jayce talk, and gazing at him like… like…”

She looked back at Vi to find her smiling dopily, her eyes half-lidded and glittering as she listened to Cait’s voice.

“Like that,” Cait said with a giggle, slapping Vi’s arm playfully to get her attention, get her to keep going.

“They worked well together—two halves of a whole, and all that. They complimented and contrasted each other in a way that… well, it just worked. Even when they argued, they did it with understanding. Well… until they didn’t.”

Vi held out a gauntlet for her to grab as they finally reached the Entresol, and she took it gratefully, leaping down to walk beside her and smoothing out her clothes.

“When he got sick… well, sicker,” she corrected, “Jayce was already elevated to the rank of Councilor, and he… he was busy, distracted. And he let people get inside his head, steer him and Hextech down a path that he never intended it to go. And… I guess… Viktor didn’t feel like he could talk to Jayce anymore, or he was afraid to, I… I don’t know. But he used one of his inventions—the Hexcore that’s now part of his staff—to experiment on himself, to attempt some kind of… cure.”

“Ah,” Vi said with a nod. “So that’s what’s with the…”

She raised her right hand, wiggling her fingers to indicate Viktor’s purple one, but it was slightly ridiculous with the gauntlet still on, and Cait couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes,” she replied as they wound through back alleys toward the docks. “I don’t really know the mechanics of it, but… Jayce said he… fed the Hexcore his blood? And it transformed him…”

“Mmm, gross,” Vi recoiled in disgust, her nose scrunching up in a way that was positively adorable.

Cait just nodded, but she couldn’t help but frown sadly over the image that popped into her head—the photograph of Jayce and Viktor that had made the front page of the Piltover Press the day after the Distinguished Innovators Competition. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Viktor smile like that—uninhibited and wide and toothy, and so… young. Young and full of hope. And Jayce, with his big personality and boyish glee, one arm wrapped tightly around Viktor’s shoulders and the other thrust high in the air as he celebrated their victory. They were so happy, so perfect together.

Cait sighed, feeling the sting of threatened tears.

“I can’t help but think how different things would be if… if they’d just talked to one another. They pulled away from each other, there at the end, and… I think it’s what destroyed them. Jayce was the head, and Viktor was the heart, and without the other, they’re just… they’re just ghosts.”

Vi paused, pursing her lips sadly as she turned to face Cait.

“If Sheriff doesn’t work out for you, you’ve got a promising future in romantic poetry,” she said. And while, to anyone else, it might have seemed dismissive or blasé, Cait knew—this was just Vi’s way of opening up, of being vulnerable. It said all of the things she wanted to say, behind that tough exterior—your view of hope and love is beautiful. A little overly-optimistic… but beautiful nonetheless.

“Thanks, Vi,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingers through that soft pink hair. Vi leaned into it, closing her eyes contentedly for a moment and Cait felt like her heart was going to burst through her ribs.

But it all sank as they rounded one last corner, and… there it was. The cannery was still just as ruined and cavernous as the last time she’d been there—her head on fire with pain as she limped through the debris, one arm slung over Vi’s shoulders and watching with stunned, hopeless horror as Jinx’s bomb tore through the night sky and ripped a hole in the city, in Caitlyn’s whole world.

“Hey,” Vi said softly, and suddenly her hand—her bare, gauntlet-free hand—was soothing down Cait’s arm and drawing her attention back. “It’s just rubble—don’t let it get to you. We’ve got a job to do, remember?”

Yes, Jayce… Jayce was in trouble. Real trouble, not these specters hiding in the shadows of a decrepit old cannery.

“Yes, right. Sorry,” she said, shaking her head to rid herself of the haunting images.

“Don’t apologize, it’s completely normal,” Vi replied, donning the gauntlet once more and starting forward. “Hell, I can barely step foot in a single part of this city without remembering who it hurt, who it… took from me. But you just… you gotta keep walking, or it’ll eat you alive, y’know? When I was young, Vander used to call them lily pads—those places that hold bad memories. You can stop, you can take a minute to mourn, but… you’ll sink if you stay too long.”

Cait grinned fondly. “Hm. Lily pads. I like that.”

Vi smiled sweetly at her, but it didn’t last—the sounds of a violent clash erupting from beyond the cannery; the concussive booms of Chemtech weaponry, crumbling foundations, and screaming.

Jayce.

Chapter Text

Jayce’s legs were shaking, for more than one reason—first and foremost, the harrowing descent into Zaun which had, on at least three occasions, nearly killed him. And reason two… that bone-shaking, back-breaking orgasm.

But it was wrong, wrong, wrong; everything about it had been so, so wrong. He’d wanted it, Gods had he wanted it—he’d wanted it for six long years. And he’d tried to move on, tried to find someone else, tried to find happiness, to find peace. But the more beds he’d found himself in, the more empty, sweaty, hollow, soulless dalliances, the more it became glaringly obvious—there was only one place he’d find peace, and it was never ever returning to him.

But then Viktor had touched him, and he’d just… shattered, every inch of him. He’d known it was happening for the wrong reasons, that Viktor didn’t want him anymore, didn’t want to be touching him. He’d done it… why had he done it? To be cruel? To torture him? To remind him of what he was missing so desperately? (As if he needed reminding… as if he hadn’t spent hundreds of sleepless nights touching himself to thoughts of Viktor’s hands, as if he hadn’t failed to find release hundreds of times because his mind was a sloppy, pathetic recreation of the real thing.)

But there was this… poor, pitiful thing in Jayce’s head that had desperately clung to hope, reached for it like he was drowning… that Viktor did still want him, still needed him, still loved him. And maybe he expressed it differently, viciously, but… maybe he was still in there, somewhere.

But fuck, now what? Now how was Jayce supposed to walk back in there, repair Viktor’s heart and just let him go? How was he supposed to live with that one small taste, when his skin was burning for it? When his heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest with the aching, with wanting, with needing?

“Fuck!” he shouted up at the sky (or whatever noxious grey cloud of toxins stood in for a sky down here). He didn’t care who heard; after all, this was Zaun. Someone stumbling through the lanes drunk on cheap booze and cheap tricks while screaming curses into the Grey was par for the course, around here.

He angrily spun his dagger in his hand, absently aware that the jewel-encrusted hilt made him a ripe target for mugging (it had been a gift from Camille Ferros, when her clan had become the largest investors in Hextech—spoils of a deal well-struck, she called it. He hadn’t understood the point of it at the time; after all, he had his hammer. But the woman loved blades, so he’d accepted with grace and then allowed it to gather dust in his workshop until now). And at this point… he honestly didn’t care if he got mugged anymore. Viktor hated him. Really, truly hated him enough that touching him meant nothing; nothing but a hollow conciliation, like tossing treats to a dog that has marginally behaved itself. And Jayce eagerly gobbled up the scraps…

Pathetic.

And perhaps it had actually worked to his benefit, how pathetic he looked; he’d been too easy of a target for the villainy of Zaun, and that was the only reason he made it to the docks without so much as a ‘spare some change, sir?’

“This is stupid, this is stupid…” he chanted to himself as he rounded the ruins of the cannery and laid eyes on the Grime Depot. This was rash, and unplanned, and just generally an all-around terrible fucking idea; robbing a Chem-Baron armed with nothing but a decorative knife and a broken heart. But what choice did he have? Other than using the dagger to extricate said broken heart, so that maybe he could think straight.

He sighed heavily as he crawled up a stack of empty crates beneath a shattered window on the north end of the building, grumbling miserably as he did. He really should have asked Viktor for a lay of the building; where’s the store room, is there a safe way in, where will the Chempunks be gathered? Anything.

But he’d just needed to get away; get away from that rancid cloud of indifference before it suffocated him. Being in that room with him, watching him wipe the cum from his hand with disgust clear to see in every twisted, angry line of that once so-soft face… it had nearly broken him. He didn’t even know he had any hope left to lose, but… somehow Viktor had sniffed it out and pounced like the world’s most efficient and terrifying bloodhound.

“Ow, shit.”

Of course he’d been so distracted when he went to crawl through the window that he’d placed his hand on a pane full of broken glass and sliced his palm open.

“Just fucking great,” he mumbled, rocking back and shrugging from his coat so that he could lay it over the glass. “Peachy. Just pile it on, he can take it. He’s the Defender of Tomorrow.”

He grunted as he dropped the ten or so feet into the warehouse, cradling his bloody hand against his abdomen. At first glance, the place looked deserted—nothing but a cacophony of storage bins and crates, all of them broken open (likely by looters) and painted with graffiti. Off in the distance, he could barely make out the sounds of the waves as they lapped at the dry dock portion of the building, and he took a moment to lean against a crate and examine the wound in his hand.

It wasn’t awful, just bloody. Nothing he couldn’t handle, at any rate. So he fished what looked to be shredded curtains from the floor beneath the window, and used the dagger to cut himself a sizable portion to use as a bandage… all the while hoping it wasn’t so filthy that it would cause an infection.

Now… if I were a heartless Chem-Baron who values product over the lives of my employees… where would I keep my shit?

But he didn’t have to wonder for long.

“Oooo hoooo, look-y what we got here, boys,” came a shrill, grating voice as a single man appeared between the crates, twirling what appeared to be some kind of Chemtech brass knuckles on both his pointer fingers. He wasn’t tall—at least a full head shorter than Jayce—but his spiked mohawk definitely aided in the intimidation tactic.

“If it isn’t Piltover’s Golden Boy, pokin’ around in our neck of the woods. Shit, if I’d known, I’d have spruced up the place for ya. Wouldn’t wanna stain those fancy boots with Zaunite filth, would you, Defender?”

Before he could even begin to formulate a response that wouldn’t get his jaw rearranged, they came out of the woodwork—at least ten more of them, all sporting some kind of piecemeal, junkheap weaponry that glowed in the darkness of the factory like molten lead.

“Now, hold on, I’m not here for any trouble,” he tried, holding up his hands slowly as they closed in from all sides like prowling wolves. He felt exposed, naked without the hammer. Its sheer size and bulk provided, if nothing else, a visual deterrent to most fights. It was big, it was intimidating, it was dripping with raw Hextech power. But this sad, piddly dagger? Didn’t exactly instill fear.

“There’s a part I need. I can pay. I can overpay,” he tried, coming to an abrupt halt as he was backed against a wooden crate.

“I don’t know, guys…” Mohawk said, continuing to spin his brass knuckles as he meandered casually closer. “What do you think is more valuable to Petrok? One sale…”

In one fluid movement, he caught the brass knuckles, halting their spinning and sliding the rest of his fingers into them.

“… or a necklace made from the teeth of the guy who singlehandedly destroyed his last shipment?”

Fuck.

“Look, I was just doing my job,” Jayce tried, his hand tightening on the hilt of the dagger. “Just like you are now. There really is no reason for bloodshed. I’ll just take the part and go.”

“I dunno, Golden Boy, you’re all alone down here… and without your big hammer to boot. I’m likin’ our odds,” Mohawk jeered, just before he lunged.

By some miracle, Jayce was able to block the first blow—knocking the fist (and the brass knuckles) that had been rapidly closing in on his face to the side with his forearm. But the second he didn’t catch, and it hit him squarely in the gut, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to double over.

Next came the knee to the ribs, and though he valiantly swung the dagger blindly upward, he still went down to his knees comically fast.

What came next was a flurry of blows and manic dodging, scrambling, and lunging. He did his best to protect his head, but a number of hits still made it through—one particularly bad one caught him at the eyebrow, sending a steady flow of blood into his eye and clouding his vision. He did manage to get back on his feet, but they were almost immediately swiped from under him again by one of the other goon’s weapons, and he went toppling over backward—the back of his skull slamming into the concrete and sending fuzzy black and white spots dancing through his blood-stained vision. The room spun and duplicated in his sight, but he did his best to shake it off as Mohawk leapt at him—flying through the air, teeth bared and brass knuckles gleaming as they closed in on Jayce’s face.

Jayce kicked at him, his feet planting hard in the man’s stomach and sending him spiraling back through the air and taking out one of his buddies like a bowling pin. Jayce grinned to himself, but not for long—the next punk was diving in, this one with some kind of glowing Chemblade, and by Jayce’s calculations… there was no scenario in which he managed to dodge it. He’d have to roll completely, exposing his back to the group, and… that would likely be the end of it. So he did what he thought was best—crossing his arms in front of his face for protection and bracing for the pain.

But all that came was the sound of a single gunshot echoing through the factory like a cannon blast, and the subsequent wet thud and pained cry. He took a chance, lowering his arms to find his attacker on his back and gripping his right shoulder, the rest of them staring up past him in stunned disbelief. So Jayce followed their gazes, finding none other than Caitlyn, clearing the chamber of her rifle and preparing to fire again. Vi leapt effortlessly through the window to her left, landing perfectly on her feet and doing a dramatic gorilla-slam with the Atlas Gauntlets, shattering the cement before her into a giant crater.

“Hey fellas,” she said with a grin, sparing a moment to wink at Jayce. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“Gods, am I glad to see you,” Jayce gasped, using the brief respite to push to his unsteady feet and scramble back to join her.

“Don’t be,” she replied, tilting her head to the side and cracking her neck as she raised the Gauntlets in front of her and clenched her fists. “I have a feeling the Sheriff is about to tear you a new asshole.”

He cringed, not daring to look up at the aforementioned Sheriff.

“I probably deserve it,” he muttered, shaking his head. He could hear it now—‘what the hell were you thinking, Jayce, going down there all by yourself, and without the hammer?! Not only is it unbelievably stupid, but there’s a manhunt on for you! You could have been caught and arrested by Enforcers, and I wouldn’t be able to help you! And then where would that leave Viktor, huh? Did you even think about that? Are you so averse to asking for help that you’ll even risk him?!’

All good questions, none of which he had the answer to, other than perhaps the truth—he makes me crazy, in both the good and very bad sense.

“Jayce, get up here!” Caitlyn yelled as she loosed another shot, and another Chempunk dropped. The others charged, all at once, and Vi launched forward with a vicious battle cry.

Jayce jittered on the spot, unsure if he should actually help her… or if he’d just get in her way.

“But I didn’t get what I needed!” he yelled back, gripping the dagger and preparing to join in Vi’s fight.

“I don’t care, we’ll have to come back!” Caitlyn called, firing another shot that whizzed right past Vi’s shoulder and took out another goon. “More are on the way, too many. Vi, wrap it up, let’s go!”

“Aw, but I was just getting started,” Vi crooned, putting emphasis on the word with an uppercut to the punk in front of her, sending a quite frankly comical amount of teeth raining through the air.

And she was holding her own… if she could just hold them off, Jayce could go in search of the part, this wouldn’t have all been for nothing…

“Jayce! Now!” Caitlyn yelled, and Jayce saw what she had probably seen long before him; at least twenty more goons closing in, these donning Chemsuits and wielding giant axe-like weapons that looked like they could cleave through an airship.

“Fuck,” Jayce barked, turning and attempting to ignore the way his head throbbed as he began climbing up a few crates so that he could reach the window. Caitlyn paused her shooting to offer him a hand, yanking him through with a strength that surprised him before she once again leveled her rifle and began systematically wiping out the approaching Chempunks so that Vi could make her exit.

And she did so with Vi-typical bravado; using the punch-thrusters in the gauntlets to launch herself up to the window instead of clumsily climbing the crates as Jayce had. And he had to hand it to her—she’d come up with more ingenious ways to use those gauntlets than he’d ever thought possible when he built them.

“We’ll come back, I promise,” Cait said as she folded her gun and slid it into the holster on her back. “But we need to leave, before the Enforcers show up. You get arrested, it’s game over.”

Jayce hated that she was right—and he could just see that glowing, mechanized eye roll from Viktor when he realized Jayce had failed. One task. One simple task in Zaun, and you can’t even accomplish that. Truly, you are the worst savior I could have asked for.

They had to sprint all the way to the Pilt, with the sounds of trailing Chempunks echoing off the Undercity’s steel facade like a howling wolf pack, and by the time they reached it, Jayce was having difficulty breathing—his ribs aching from the many punches he’d taken and his sight twirling and blurring as his raging pulse made his head feel like it was full of rocks.

“Hold on, hold on…” he gasped as they reached the edge of the Entresol—a high, sheer wall of metal they would have to scale to get out.

Caitlyn jittered on the spot. “Jayce, we don’t have time, we have to…”

“I know, I know, just… I need a minute…” he gasped, doubling over to brace on his knees and feeling the telltale pressure of nausea clawing at his throat.

He heard an Atlas Gauntlet hit the ground, and then Vi’s hand was fishing through the hair at the back of Jayce’s head.

“You’re pretty bloody back here, think it’s a concussion?” she asked, her finger trailing over something that sent pain flaring behind his eyes and the nausea pressing harder.

He hissed, pulling away and doing his best to swallow down the gag reflex. “Maybe.”

“Can you make the climb?” Cait asked, her voice slightly gentler.

“Don’t have much choice, unless one of you would like to give me a piggy-back ride,” he joked, leaning back upright and spitting out a mouthful of blood as he wiped at the cut on his eyebrow.

“Why are you both looking at me?!” Vi barked, donning the gauntlet she’d dropped and propping both fists on her hips. “I’m not fucking carrying you.”

So they got to it, and with Cait and Vi’s help, he only suffered two near-death experiences as opposed to three. Then it was just a matter of sneaking up the riverbank and through back alleys until they reached the forge.

By the time they reached the workshop, Jayce was feeling like he’d been dropped from a three-story building and run over by a train—his vision swirling, his ribs aching, and his legs about ready to give out. In fact, he’d all but forgotten about the cut in his palm; that is, until he went to climb the ladder down into the shop, and he felt something crunch in his hand, and on instinct he recoiled… and fell the rest of the way down, landing hard on his back.

“Shit, Jayce, are you alright?!” Cait asked as she hopped down next to him. “Come on, get up.”

He whined as Cait grasped his wrist and leveraged her whole body as she yanked him to his feet, and once again he was forced to fight off the gag as the nausea traveled ever higher in his throat.

“Ugh, you’re a mess, come here,” Cait continued, grabbing his shirtsleeve and practically dragging him over to the sink, where she wet a washcloth and began using it to wipe away the blood from his eye, cheek, and hand.

Jayce spared a moment to peer over at Viktor as she fussed—he was simply watching from his perch on the table, his eyes intense as a hawk’s as they minutely followed Caitlyn’s movements. His expression was unreadable, but then again… wasn’t it always?

“Oh, this is filthy, how did you get this cut?!” Cait bristled, removing the makeshift bandage from Jayce’s hand and making him yelp.

“The glass on the… ow! On the window,” he said, pulling back as she wiped at it and something caught, shifting in the wound and sending sharp stings of pain throughout his palm and fingers.

“I… I think there’s glass in the wound, do you have any tweezers?” Cait asked, peering around frantically.

“For Janna’s sake, come here.”

The voice was Viktor’s, and it made all three of them pause—looking back at him owlishly as they all fell silent.

Viktor sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “If I was going to hurt you I would have done it already,” he snapped shortly, his eyes meeting Jayce’s and making him blush. I would have done it when I had my hand down your pants.

“So what do you call strangling him, then?” Cait snapped irritably, still holding Jayce’s wrist and keeping him there.

Viktor narrowed his eyes, and Jayce was shocked to find that he could still see it—that smarmy sneer that always predated a snide comment.

“That’s how we say hello in Zaun, you didn’t know that?”

“I know he’s just being a dick, but… he’s not technically wrong,” Vi said with a shrug, releasing the gauntlets to let them rest on the floor with a boom.

Cait rolled her eyes, reluctantly letting go of Jayce’s wrist. “Fine. But when he inevitably hurts you again, don’t look at me.”

Jayce gave her a withering smile that he hoped said everything he couldn’t—thank you. For saving me, for looking out for me, for protecting me. I know I do nothing but make it harder for you, but… I’m gunna take a chance and trust him. It goes both ways, and… I need him to know…

He limped over to the table, turning slowly and hissing in pain as he lowered himself to sit on his stool, his back and legs screaming with agony. He then cautiously raised his bloodied and mangled hand between them.

Viktor was surprisingly gentle when he cradled Jayce’s hand in his purple one, raising it up so that he could analyze the damage, and something warm and fluttery blossomed in Jayce’s chest; Viktor was stunning, when he wasn’t seething with rage. The black sclera of his augmented eyes gleamed like an oil slick, and his lips were positively pouty as he pursed them in thought. And even with the scars, his skin was smooth and touchable; without the usual snarl, he looked soft.

“You still have full range of motion in your fingers?” Viktor asked quietly, but it still startled Jayce from his gawking.

“Oh, um…” he started, looking down and wiggling his fingers. He winced when the action sent a bolt of pain through them, but did his best to stifle it. “Yeah.”

“Good. That means there’s no nerve damage,” Viktor continued, sounding more critical, more sterile now.

Then his augmented hand whirred and clicked, a tiny needle suddenly emerging from the tip of his metal pointer finger, and before Jayce could fire off his questions, it had plunged into the mound of his hand.

“What’s that?” he barked, hissing in pain and trying not to pull away while the needle was still inside.

“Local anesthetic,” Viktor replied plainly, retracting the needle and hiding it away. “I need to remove the glass, and it’s not going to be pleasant.”

He then angled his hand back, and a small nozzle popped from his wrist, spraying some kind of mustard-yellow liquid directly on the wound, and Jayce yanked his hand back as panic set in.

“What’s that?!” he yelped again, half-considering wiping it off, even though it would definitely hurt.

Viktor leveled him in the world’s most unimpressed glare. “Oh you haven’t heard? It’s my newest invention; spray-on augments. Really simplifies the process.”

For a moment Jayce just stared at him. There were two possibilities here; one, he was telling the truth, which was just ridiculous. Or… he was fucking with him. Viktor. The Machine Herald—‘emotions are a scourge on humanity and must be systematically eliminated if we are to evolve,’ that Viktor… was yanking his chain.

“It’s an antiseptic, Jayce, to prevent infection,” he finished flatly, and Jayce felt himself color with embarrassment as he sheepishly extended his hand again.

“Oh.”

Viktor was quiet as he cradled Jayce’s hand again, raising his augmented hand as his pointer finger and thumb extended to form two tiny tweezer-like points.

“I remember how squeamish you can be, you may want to look away,” Viktor said, and it didn’t go beyond Jayce’s notice that he remained still—not moving to pull the glass out until Jayce had obeyed.

It might have been too much to hope that Viktor was acting with reverence as he carefully extricated the shards of glass from Jayce’s hand, but at the very least, he was certainly gentle. But it didn’t do much to quell Jayce’s nausea, especially when he could feel a vague pressure in his palm every so often, and he knew what it was—his mind unhelpfully filling in the gaps and painting gruesome pictures for him to gag at.

“Jayce, give me your other hand,” Viktor snapped out of the blue, and although Jayce was dying to ask ‘why,’ he was certain that if he opened his mouth, he would throw up. So he simply raised his uninjured hand, offering it up as his breaths came faster and faster.

Viktor abandoned his injured hand to cradle his other, that strange purple thumb of his pressed to the inside of Jayce’s wrist and gently squeezing.

“Look at me,” Viktor demanded, and Jayce was helpless but to obey. “Deep breaths. Slow.”

Viktor demonstrated; inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, then letting it out slowly and evenly. And while Jayce subconsciously mimicked it, he was much more enraptured with the memories that accosted him—lying there, completely overwhelmed by a rather intense session in the bedroom, and Viktor, cool and calm as always, removing the blindfold or cuffs or rope, and gently taking Jayce’s chin in his hand… ‘look at me. You did so well, pet. Breathe. Breathe with me.’

Jayce wasn’t sure what had done it—the pressure on his wrist, the breathing technique, or the sudden and intense lust, but the nausea all but dissipated.

“What… what did you just do?” Jayce asked, genuinely curious as he peered down at his wrist where Viktor was still squeezing.

“Acupressure point,” Viktor said, releasing Jayce’s uninjured hand and returning to work. “Stimulates the nerves in the area, stemming nausea.”

Jayce averted his eyes again, and it had him looking directly at Cait and Vi just in time to see Vi rapidly slapping Cait’s arm, the implication painfully clear—CaitCaitCait, the boys are having a moment.

Jayce narrowed his eyes viciously at her, barely shaking his head in warning and hoping Viktor didn’t see it.

“When did you learn so much about anatomy?” he asked of Viktor as he turned back, and before he’d even finished the sentence, he knew it had been a mistake.

“When I was forced to dissect my own,” Viktor replied plainly—his tone more matter-of-fact than Jayce had been expecting. He’d been expecting more anger.

Instead, Viktor just worked diligently, and Jayce was mesmerized, watching him—he seemed calmer, almost… at peace; his breaths slow and deep, his eyes lidded and serene. And once he had removed all of the glass, he impatiently gestured for the first aid kit sitting on Jayce’s desk, and Caitlyn was too stunned to do anything but hand it (and the washrag she’d been using) over.

“The cut could use stitches, but it’s in a precarious location—the natural flexion of your hand will tear them open when you move. So I’m going to bandage it, but you’ll have to be careful. Some tingling in your fingers is to be expected, but if it persists for more than a day, you’ll need to…”

He paused, and Jayce could hear the unspoken words that caught on his tongue—come see me again. But, if everything went according to plan… he may not be here in a day. And that thought alone made Jayce’s heart plummet into his stomach. I don’t want you to go. I don’t care if you’re attacking me, I don’t care if you’re insulting me and degrading me and making me feel generally like a piece of shit. I want you to stay.

Viktor didn’t finish the thought—instead clearing his throat and reaching for a piece of gauze from the first aid kit, and… no, there was no way Jayce was just imagining it; Viktor was so careful as he laid it across the wound, almost tender to the point of not being felt at all. Next came the bandages, and Viktor was precise to a fault—slowly wrapping them around Jayce’s hand and ensuring they weren’t too tight.

By the time he sliced through the bandage with a blade that had popped from somewhere in his augmented hand, Jayce had almost been lulled to sleep—the exhaustion and pain and heartache all finally catching up to him and making him waver dangerously on the stool.

“What else?” Viktor said, his mechanized voice shattering the silence and startling Jayce again.

“Um, I…”

Before he could go on, Viktor had leaned in to inspect his eyes, placing a finger just beneath Jayce’s right eye and pulling down on the eyelid slightly.

“No concussion, but I wouldn’t go banging your head against any walls. And this cut could use cleaning…”

He leaned back then, and Jayce watched in enamored awe as the aperture in his augmented eyes expanded, making the orange glow spill out into the black as his pupils widened. He looked over Jayce’s whole body then, and… was he… did he have… x-Ray vision?

“Your ribs aren’t broken, but a few are bruised. Try not to get punched.”

Something about the way Viktor could so easily see inside his body made Jayce feel exposed… violated; Viktor could probably hear his pulse quickening, see his heart as it pounded against his aching ribs. So Jayce couldn’t help but squirm uncomfortably, recoiling and covering himself with his uninjured hand.

Viktor’s brows went flat, and his eyes narrowed; the very picture of unimpressed.

“I’ve seen you naked and bound in leather, and you’re embarrassed that I’m looking at your bones?”

Vi snorted. Jayce was sure his cheeks were on fire.

“Viktor.”

“What? They both knew; to act like they didn’t would be prudish.”

“Janna help me,” Jayce groaned, burying his face in his good hand and willing away the fiery blush.

“Well… on that note,” Caitlyn said, and when Jayce looked up, she had approached and was leaning in to place a kiss into his hair. “There’s a council meeting later this afternoon to discuss… you. I’m going to attend; see if I can steer them into giving us a little more time.”

She pulled back then, jutting a finger out in Jayce’s face accusingly. “And you are not to return to the Undercity until we get back, do you hear me?!”

“Yes, mom,” he said, to which he got a playful slap to the arm. “You think you could try to get my hammer back from the jail?”

Cait sagged, pursing her lips in thought. “I doubt it—it’s probably in evidence, and I’m fairly certain that no one, not even the Sheriff will be allowed inside lockup. But… I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Cait.”

Jayce watched them go, his entire body beginning to scream with aches and pains, and he groaned as he slowly turned back to Viktor.

“Here,” Viktor said, the washrag held in his right hand as he used his metal one to tip Jayce’s chin up. Jayce complied, not at all feeling a wave of heat in his groin in response to the intimate nature of the gesture… definitely not.

“Ah!” he yelped as Viktor dabbed at the cut over his eyebrow, and he couldn’t help but notice the way Viktor eased up—pulling back slightly and pressing lighter.

And his face was so close—at this distance, Jayce could watch the way his augmented eyes focused, watch the way his brows barely tipped in concentration. He could follow each little indentation in his slightly chapped lips, like watching ripples in a pond. It would be so simple and yet so ill-advised to just lean in and kiss him.

So Jayce fought the urge the only way he knew how—by filling the silence with words.

“I, um… I wasn’t able to get the part.”

“I noticed,” Viktor replied simply, pulling back to fold the rag so that he had a clean, bloodless surface to work with, and leaning back in to dab at Jayce’s forehead again.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” was all Jayce had left, his voice breaking as he looked down at his bandaged hand.

Viktor went still, frozen in place as he just stared back at Jayce.

Say something! Say you despise me, say I’m a failure, say you can’t wait to get away from me, to leave me in the dust like I deserve, for what I did to you…

But Viktor said nothing, and instead raised the rag up and around to press it to that spot on the back of Jayce’s head that had hit the concrete. Jayce hissed at the contact, his vision fuzzing over with spots as pain flared behind his eyes. If this didn’t end in a migraine, it would be a miracle.

“I should not have let you go,” Viktor said, shifting the rag a little (presumably to clean the blood from Jayce’s hair) and sparking new jolts of pain.

He did not elaborate further, and Jayce’s heart felt like it twisted in his chest. Gods, Viktor was infuriating sometimes. Scream, cry, hit me, do something. Don’t just stare at me with that cold, detached, empty look on your face, that… that hurts worse. Like I’m not even worth your anger anymore. I’m just… nothing.

And suddenly it was all hitting him at once—the gravity of it all. His life as he knew it was likely over, but what kind of life had it been, anyway?! Stumbling around like a specter through the city, constantly half-drunk on cheap liquor and feeling that hollow, gnawing pit in his chest like an anvil embedded between his ribs. That empty space, adjacent to his heart, where Viktor used to live. And every time he swung the hammer, every time his weapon contacted steel, the pit grew a little bit bigger—chewing on muscle and sinew, until he could feel it everywhere. Until Jayce ceased to be, and only that void inside him remained. And perhaps the alcohol could bring him back for a little while, let him out of his cage. But it never lasted; by morning, the booze always wore off, and he once again sank below the surface.

The sob that tore from his throat was wild and vicious, and he could do little else but fall forward—prop both hands on Viktor’s thigh and bury himself there as he desperately tried to make it stop.

Fucking pathetic, knock it off. He doesn’t want your crocodile tears, he didn’t want them then, and he certainly doesn’t want them now. And where were you when he needed a shoulder to cry on? Where were you when his world fell apart? Where were you?!

But it wasn’t so easy to stop, now that he’d started. The tears just kept coming, the gasping sobs, the stutter in his lungs as he tried desperately to catch his breath. He was barely aware that he was twisting his fists into Viktor’s pants, barely aware that he was soaking the fabric with sweat and snot and tears. He just knew that Viktor was here, he was solid and real for once—not a half-formed phantom haunting Jayce’s waking nightmares. But he was going to lose him again, no matter how he spun it. If it wasn’t to the separation of cities, then it would be to Viktor’s continued loathing.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he said again, managing to take one, two relieving breaths as he fought to make the tears stop. He leaned back upright, wiping the tears away with his good hand and smoothing out Viktor’s clothes where he’d gripped them. “Sorry.”

He meant so much more than just I’m sorry I cried on your pants. He meant it all: I’m sorry for how I acted, I’m sorry it panned out the way it did, and for my part in it. I’m sorry that you needed me, and I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you; that I just watched them throw you away like garbage. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

He dared to look up at Viktor then, finding his head turned and those ethereal eyes of his seemingly transfixed upon a random point over by Jayce’s desk. And it was once again difficult to read him—was he affected at all? Angry? Annoyed? Or just… emotionless.

“You should… get some rest,” he said, his voice betraying nothing—like Jayce hadn’t just completely shattered in front of him, like his clothes weren’t stained with blood and tears. Like he just… didn’t care. And it made Jayce feel an idiot; like he’d just poured his heart out to a wall and watched it splatter against the bricks.

“Ahem, y-yeah,” Jayce said, clearing the frog in his throat and pushing his rolling stool away—away, and out of that suffocating cloud of indifference.

Chapter Text

Jayce woke feeling like he’d been put through a meat grinder. No matter how he rearranged, it felt like he was lying on a thousand needles. His head was pounding, his ribs ached with every breath, and his spine was on fire where the pressure of the cot was biting into it.

He groaned as the realization sank over him that there would be no going back to sleep—pain had woken him, and it was going to keep him awake.

He couldn’t help but yelp as he slowly sat up, a whole new host of tiny agonies firing off through his legs and arms. He peeked his eyes open, squinting against the harshness of the shop light… and found Viktor, sitting at his usual spot on the table and staring at Jayce with an unnerving intensity.

“Morning, honey,” Jayce joked, his voice grating from sleep and pain.

Viktor scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You get nightmares often?” he asked plainly.

Fucking great. Just woke up, haven’t even had my coffee, and now I get a heaping dose of emotional vulnerability.

“What, you don’t?” Jayce deflected, pushing to his feet and very nearly collapsing when it felt like a hot knife plunged through the vertebrae in his lower back.

“No,” Viktor replied simply, his eyes still glued to Jayce as he slowly limped across the lab. “I have a dampener on my brain activity if and when I choose to waste my time sleeping. But I don’t choose to very often.”

And wasn’t that just a pisser—the man with the loftiest, most ambitious dreams in the world, and he just… turned them off.

“Fucking morbid, thanks for that,” Jayce grumbled with a wince as he came to a stop in front of the sink. Unfortunately he’d mounted a small mirror above it, and he looked even worse than he felt—the cut over his eye had swollen and discolored, and his cheek was a sickening shade of yellow-blue where he’d taken a hit from those brass knuckles. His neck was still black and blue from where the Hexclaw had strangled him, and his stubble was grown out and haggard. He was truly the messiest of messes.

“I can take care of that for you,” Viktor said, and for a moment Jayce forgot what they had been talking about—take care of what? The bruises? You gave me half of them…

“The nightmares,” Viktor went on, and Jayce released a heavy, disapproving sigh. “I could make it so that you don’t dream at all.”

I’d rather have bad dreams about you than no dreams about you.

“No thank you,” Jayce snapped irritably, turning the tap and leaning down to cup handfuls of water and pour them over the blood-crusty hair at the back of his head. It stung with the force of a hundred bees, and he couldn’t help but yelp, bracing against the sink with his other hand and watching as a bright red cascade filled the basin.

When the water finally ran clear, he pushed himself upright, yanking his cravat off and going for the buttons of his shirt—if he was going back to Zaun again for the crankshaft, it wouldn’t do to be covered in blood. He’d be even more of an easy target than he’d been the last time.

And he made the mistake of peering in the mirror as more and more of his chest was bared…

“Fuck,” he whimpered, the mere action of shrugging his shirt from his shoulder sending a bolt of pain down his spine like lightning.

“Do you want my help, or do you want to keep struggling like a worm on a hook?” Viktor barked, and Jayce hesitated for a moment—the memories of last night buzzing through his brain. Of collapsing against his former partner and sobbing until his lungs burned, of that cold, distant, uncaring look on Viktor’s face.

But he didn’t have the energy to formulate something witty or sarcastic to throw back at Viktor, so he merely limped closer and spun when Viktor motioned for it. And Jayce was acutely aware of those cool metal fingers as they curled beneath the collar of his shirt, gently dragging it back and removing it—acutely aware of the way his knuckles kissed Jayce’s skin so lightly that it sent tingles down his arms, all the way to his fingertips. And he might have been mistaken, it could have just been a natural sound that Viktor’s machinations made, but… he thought he might have heard Viktor tut with pity.

“I’m actually surprised no ribs were broken…” he hummed thoughtfully, and then came the pressure of fingers against Jayce’s ribcage.

He was only able to appreciate the gentleness for a split second, and then the pressure worsened, and the intensity of the pain had him crying out and tossing his hands out to brace against one of the rolling trays when his vision danced and his knees wobbled.

“Ow, can you not?!” he snapped over his shoulder.

“Don’t be such a baby, I’m just checking for hemorrhaging,” Viktor snapped back, but his touch did soften.

Jayce opted for silence for a moment, just bracing against the tray as Viktor checked out his plethora of bruises. And though he knew it wasn’t meant to be soothing, Viktor’s touch still was—it was a ghost of those tender caresses he so often offered up in the past, but… it was something.

“Cait better get me that Hammer back, otherwise there’s no way I’m getting that part from Grime,” he said finally, the silence starting to grow heavy and uncomfortable.

“Hm,” Viktor agreed, his finger prodding beneath Jayce’s lowest rib and making him tense again. “Well… there is a much more pressing matter looming.”

Jayce scoffed, doubtful. “More pressing than your broken heart?!” he asked, noticing the unfortunate double entendre far too late.

He was grateful he was facing away, as it allowed him to cringe at the slip-up without Viktor noticing. And though there was a very weighty pause before Viktor spoke, he did not comment on it.

“Yes.”

There was something desolate in his tone that gave Jayce pause, and he turned slowly to face Viktor.

He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before, but something was very wrong—Viktor’s skin was sallow and pale where visible, and there was a thin sheen of sweat at his brow and hairline. He was trembling, but it was more than that—subtle little jerks and jolts going through his augmented parts at an alarming frequency, reducing him to near-vibration. He kept convulsively swallowing, the action all the more obvious by the way the augments in his neck seemed to catch every time, making it look like a gag.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” Jayce asked, his voice rising in pitch as panic began to set in. He whipped around, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he frantically checked the machines powering Viktor’s heart. “Is it… are they still working, did I set the RPMs wrong, what if I…”

“It’s not that,” Viktor said, sounding like he was trying to raise his voice, but instead it just grated in his throat. “It’s… my… Shimmer supply.”

He extended his augmented arm, and a compartment popped open to reveal one empty vial and one with little more than a quarter left.

Jayce deflated, his immediate response being years-old anger—anger that the man he’d loved; the brightest, kindest, most no-nonsense man he’d ever known had fallen to something as paltry and beneath him as a drug addiction.

“So what?” Jayce hissed irritably. “Let it run out, then maybe I can talk to the real Viktor for once.”

Viktor hardened, his expression molding into a scowl as he leveled Jayce in a burning glare.

“Alright, first of all, you’re the last person in this miserable city who has any right to lecture me on addiction,” he snarled, but soon thereafter he softened, averting his eyes again. “And second…”

He raised his augmented arm up in front of him, the still-broken elbow joint whirring and clicking loudly as he eyed the compartment in his forearm that housed his Shimmer supply.

“It’s not… it’s not an addiction. I mean… it is, but in the same way that you’re addicted to oxygen. My augments, they… my body, it’s…”

He paused, swallowing thickly and shaking his head as he fought against the obvious weight of whatever he was trying and failing to say. And though Jayce wanted to remain angry, wanted to be disappointed in his old friend, he dared to reach out, gently cradling Viktor’s augmented wrist, just below the Shimmer compartment and soothing his thumb back and forth against the latch. And for the first time in a very long time, Viktor didn’t pull away—instead, he sagged in defeat, and released a heavy, burdened breath.

“My body, my human body, it… it naturally rejects the augments—treats them as foreign invaders. My blood starts to congeal in my veins, my blood pressure and temperate skyrocket; my body fights them like it would an infection…”

He scoffed, both fists quickly balling and releasing in an obviously bitter tick.

“And isn’t it ironic—never bothered to fight the illness that was slowly killing me, but as soon as I take back control, do something to improve my body… that’s when it decides to fucking fight…”

He took a moment to temper his breathing, his head bowed.

“The Shimmer counteracts that—forces the seamless integration of flesh and metal. Keeps everything… in stasis.”

Oh.

“And…” Jayce began, his tone careful so it wouldn’t sound like an accusation. “You didn’t… think to have more than two vials on you at any given time?”

“I never have more than two at any given time,” Viktor snarled, clearly still taking it as one. “Ms. Glasc provides me with a per diem. It…”

He paused, grinding his teeth—once again visibly agitated.

“It keeps me on a short leash. Ensures the longevity of her investment.”

Jayce could tell from inflection alone that this was a direct quote from the infamous Chem-Baroness, and his heart ached for Viktor—that he so clearly felt trapped… and Jayce had, by some extension, sent him directly into her open arms.

He sighed, the realization sinking in that he was likely going to have to negotiate with her, barter with her. And there was a saying around Zaun—Renata Glasc does not have customers, she has prey.

“And… how much do you have left? How long will it last you?” he asked carefully, still cradling Viktor’s wrist.

“That depends if my life support systems think I’m dying again,” he started, and that must have been what happened when the latch shot open and fired an entire vial into his bloodstream… it was a failsafe, for when his life was in imminent danger, and Jayce shuddered to think he’d been that close to losing him forever.

“I’ve been rationing it; I started yesterday, when it became clear that I’m going to be stuck here for longer than anticipated. At the current drip rate, I have… sixteen hours? Eighteen, if I begin shutting down lesser systems.”

“And…” Jayce began, fear rising in his throat like bile. “What… what happens when you run out?”

Viktor hardened, his brows going flat and his lips thinning into a scowl. “What do you think?”

“Shit.”

“Yes. Shit.”

Jayce looked him over, wadding up his bloodied shirt and raising it to dab at the sweat on Viktor’s brow. And Jayce’s heart did a few quick, fluttery beats when, instead of pulling away, Viktor just barely leaned into it, blinking languidly as he did.

“So… this is just…” Jayce went on, eyeing the tremble in Viktor’s hands.

“The beginnings of withdrawal,” Viktor replied, again averting his eyes and staring blankly at a wall. “Manageable. But… the less I have, it will… start to…”

He swallowed again, his eyes sliding closed and his jaw going tight with tension.

It will get worse. A lot worse.

“Shit,” Jayce said again, saving him from having to finish that sentence.

This changed things… he thought he had time—time to heal, time for Cait to retrieve the Hammer, just… time. But now that time was rapidly running out; he had less than a day to get back to the Undercity and steal the part from Grime, and now he also had to add bartering with the infamous Renata Glasc to the mix. And if he failed, if he made a single misstep… it was Viktor who would suffer. Again.

Jayce sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he tried to formulate a plan. Cait had told him not to return to Zaun without her, but… she was attending a council meeting, Gods knew how those could drag on. And every second that ticked by, Viktor’s condition would worsen.

So Jayce made a decision then—he would give Cait two hours and then, no matter if she had returned or not, he was going back to the Undercity. But for now… all he could do was wait. So he traversed back to his desk, grabbing one of the containers of now-cold, day-old food.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, returning to the table and holding it out. “It’s not Malachi’s, but… it’s something,” he finished as he took up a piece of meat and bit into it, his mind taking him back to that one bodega they always agreed on; the Undercity man who brought his cooking skills to Piltover and made it palatable to them while somehow retaining what the Zaunites loved about it.

“I… don’t… really eat anymore,” Viktor said, his face doing that scrunching thing it did when he expected to be judged, and Jayce swallowed his bite of meat to drown the butterflies.

“Of course you don’t,” he teased gently, placing the container onto the table and turning for his icebox. “Let me guess—automated nutritional augment?”

He rinsed his one good glass, then filled it with the Sweetmilk he kept in the icebox, returning to Viktor’s side and holding it out—a veritable olive branch on offer. And he didn’t miss the subtle way Viktor’s lips tipped into the barest of grins when he reached out and accepted.

“Something like that.”

The first hour wasn’t so bad—aside from the shivering and cold-sweats, Viktor didn’t appear to get any worse. But as the 90-minute mark approached, it was clear that he was struggling; the shivers had slowly devolved into all-out quaking, his breaths now strained and choppy. The ambient glow radiating from all of his augments had begun to blink and strobe, and as time went on, the limbs started to jerk and seize up—most notably his left hand and the Hexclaw. Occasionally something within his neck or shoulder would whir, and his head would violently jerk to the side, accompanied by a haggard wheeze and stifled whine.

The Hexclaw was the first to go. Viktor didn’t waste the energy to speak, to explain what he was doing, he simply did it—the low hum of the Hexclaw dying down as it went lax and fell limp against the table. And it was only another few minutes before the glow in Viktor’s left leg went dark, his augmented foot dangling lifelessly and the embedded brace creaking as the tension fully released.

Jayce did all he could to help, but… there wasn’t much he could do. He kept a set of ice packs on rotation, nestling them against Viktor’s forehead and the back of his neck, but Viktor’s temperature steadily continued to rise. The steam releasing from the dented vents in his neck came heavier and heavier, his inner machinations beginning to overheat within him. And eventually the effort of sitting upright became too much, and Jayce gently enveloped him and eased him back to lie on the table once more.

His heart ached as he cradled Viktor’s head so that it wouldn’t hit the table, as he lifted Viktor’s now-dead leg and settled it in a way that would hopefully be comfortable for his still flesh-and-bone hips. Viktor cringed under the harshness of the shop light, and Jayce quickly reached up to douse it—flipping the switch and adjusting to the near-darkness of his little makeshift lab.

And when he went to remove the ice pack behind Viktor’s neck to refresh it, the subsequent whimper that met him nearly shattered his heart.

“Come on, Cait, where are you…” Jayce groaned, cutting his eyes up to the clock above his desk.

Two hours. Time’s up.

Jayce sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then hurdled into action—he retrieved some of the civilian clothes that he thankfully kept here, for those nights when he just needed to get away for a little while; get away from the title of Defender, get away from the pressures of Hextech… get away from being Jayce. And once he’d donned those, he did his best to tidy himself up—smoothing his raggedy hair down, cleaning any residual blood away, and doing his best to disguise any visible bruises. He couldn’t exactly go waltzing into Renata’s place looking like half-masticated meat just ripe for the pulverizing. He needed a semblance of control if he was going to…

“And just where do you think you’re going? I thought I told you to wait for me?” Cait barked as her boots thudded against the hard concrete.

Jayce gave her a rapid-fire once-over, disheartened when the hammer was nowhere to be seen, but not deterred.

“Zaun, now,” Jayce snapped back, looking around frantically for his dagger… where the hell had he dropped it when they came back?!

“Whoa, easy,” Cait said, slowly approaching him. “Slow down, don’t you want to know what the council had to sa…”

“Tell me on the way, we gotta go,” he said, grunting with frustration when he didn’t find the dagger on the countertop or desk.

“Sheesh, what’s with tin man?” Vi asked from where she was now standing by Viktor’s side, eyeing him suspiciously.

“His Shimmer supply is almost out, I’ve gotta get him some more before he…”

“Whoa, back the fuck up. Shimmer?!” Vi nearly yelled, her earlier nonchalance now completely painted over with rage. “Jayce, you know how I feel about that shit. It ruined everything… took everything from me. And you expect me to just waltz back in there and help you exacerbate the problem?! Fuck that, do it yourself.”

“Vi, you don’t understand…” he tried, his voice weak with desperation—he didn’t have time for this. Viktor didn’t have time.

“No, you don’t understand, Golden Boy,” Vi snarled, taking a single deliberate step toward him. “That stuff wiped through the lanes like a plague. It poisons everything it touches, everyone. I watched it eat my family from the inside out. Turned innocent people into bloodthirsty monsters. I’m not doing it, Jayce…”

“He uses it as a stabilizing agent, Vi,” Jayce barked, spinning back to face her. “Without it, his body rejects the augments. Without it, he will slowly boil alive in his own skin, and it’s going to happen in the next… fourteen hours. It’s already started…”

He paused, striding back over to the table and reaching out to feel of Viktor’s forehead. Just from the heat of Jayce’s hand, Viktor yelped, yanking his head away and releasing a pitiful groan as he squirmed and convulsively swallowed a gag.

“I know what I’m asking, Vi, I do,” he went on, his voice going soft and somber. “And I hate that I have to. You both have done enough for me, risked enough for me… too much. But I have to do this. I have to. If there was an alternative, I would take it. But there isn’t, and I can’t stand idly by while he suffers, I can’t, I won’t, not again. So I’m doing this; I would appreciate your help, but I’m going, with or without you.”

“Now… just hold on a minute, let’s talk about this…” Caitlyn tried, stepping forward to stand at Vi’s side.

“He doesn’t have time, Cait, look at him! If this is how bad it is now, what happens an hour from now, two hours from now?! Every second I waste arguing the ethics of his treatment method, he gets worse. Now please, if you’re not coming with me, get out of my way.”

“You still need that part from Grime’s place, right?” Vi asked, her tone rather flat and unreadable.

Jayce deflated, sighing as he did the math in his head—at best, it would take him two hours to get down there, get to Grime’s storeroom, get the part, get to Renata, haggle with her…

“Yes.”

“I’ll go to Grime’s,” Vi said, clenching her fists in the gauntlets. “It’s likely to be a dogfight again anyway, and let’s face it, you’re no Rottweiler. I’ll go, I’ll get the part, you go to Glasc’s; she’ll be all bureaucracy and politics anyway, not really my jam. Play to our strengths, right?”

Jayce couldn’t help but recoil with pleasant surprise.

“You’d… you’d do that?” he asked, disappointed at how small and weak his voice sounded.

“Sure, why not,” Vi replied with a nonchalant shrug, despite the weight of the gauntlets. “Been needing a good tussle anyway, Pilties these days just don’t know how to throw hands.”

“I’ll go with you, provide sniper coverage…” Cait said, reaching over her shoulder and pulling her gun free of the holster, but Vi reached up to still her,

“No. He needs you more.”

“And let you walk into a Chempunk fight all alone?! Absolutely not, Vi, no,” Cait bristled.

“Cait, Cait, cupcake…” Vi said, softening as she turned to face her more directly. “I can handle these guys, they’re essentially just junked-up puppies. Jayce? He’s walking into the lion’s den—Renata’s not to be trifled with. She rose to power after my time down there, so I don’t really know all that much about her, but from what I hear… you should never approach her alone.”

Cait deflated, her worry obvious in every hard angle of her face, but she clearly saw the logic.

“How… how will I know you’re okay?” she asked, gripping her gun with one hand and reaching out to caress Vi’s arm above the gauntlet.

Vi gave her a debonair grin, leaning into her hand.

“Aw, come on. You know me. I’ll be fine. Honestly it’s those punks you should be worried about. They’re not gunna know what hit ‘em.”

“You… you weren’t able to get my hammer?” Jayce asked, loathe to interrupt, but the clock was ticking.

“No, I’m sorry. They’ve got it in impound, and there’s round-the-clock security. They’d know something was up if I took it…”

Jayce sighed, looking around hopelessly for anything he could use as a weapon.

“J-Jayce…”

The voice was Viktor’s, haggard and weak, and Jayce looked down at him immediately. Even in the low light, it was clear how deathly pale his skin was, and the sheen of sweat at his brow was never more obvious. Jayce reached out, using his shirtsleeve to blot it away, but even that minimal contact had Viktor whining and pulling away.

“T-take my… my staff. Th-the Hex…core,” he said, his words broken by gasps and gulps for air.

Jayce turned, eyeing the thing where it had been disregarded on the floor ever since they escaped the jail.

“I… I don’t think it likes me very much, I doubt it will cooperate,” he replied, but turned and bent to retrieve it.

The Core thrummed as he did, spinning once and releasing a gentle pulse of violet light.

“It w-will. It unders-stands the consequences. I am its h-host. If I die, it d-dies. It will do what it m-must.”

It understands. There was far too much to unpack there, and they didn’t have the time, so Jayce made a mental note to question Viktor about it later. Yes, later. Because there will be a later. There has to be.

“Right…” Jayce said, gripping the staff more confidently and watching as the Hexcore responded—enlarging and spinning and releasing a low rumbling sound like a growl.

“Use Eihwaz for d-defense, K-Kenaz for offense. G-go on, try it,” Viktor instructed, his head lolling weakly to the side as he attempted to watch.

Eihwaz. One short downward angle to the right, a long straight line up, and another downward angle. Simple, straightforward. Jayce released a nervous breath as he turned away from the group, closed his eyes, and held the staff out in front of him.

He could feel the power begin to resonate as he formed the rune in midair—felt it in his palm and forearm like a subtle vibration that penetrated down to his very bones. And when he completed the rune and opened his eyes, his heart leapt into his throat with the thrill of it; a large, semi-transparent shield had formed in front of him, the edges tapering off like frayed fabric.

“Whoa…” he gasped with an undeniable grin, that long-dormant boyish glee sparking within him.

“G-good,” Viktor said, and Jayce tried to ignore that bolt of satisfaction that ran down his spine at the praise. “Now invert the rune to r-release it.”

Jayce did as he was told, tracing the shape of the rune backwards and watching as the shield dissipated like early morning fog.

“And the other…” Viktor said, but his voice broke into a pained gasp at the end, and Jayce paused to look him over. But Viktor waved him off, his purple hand weakly jerking through the air, so with no small amount of worry, turned back around.

“Kenaz…” he whispered to himself, forming the shape in his mind—it was another simple one, just two lines forming an arrow that pointed to the left, and Jayce briefly wondered if there were better, more complicated hexes, and Viktor was only picking the simplest ones. But he didn’t have the time to be offended—he needed to learn this quickly, and that was the best way.

This one felt different on execution… intense. Jayce could feel the power as it surged through his muscles like an electric shock. The Hexcore thrummed and spun, the pulse of it weaving into the very fabric of Jayce’s own heartbeat… quickening with it, mimicking the awe and the fear and the thrill. And he could see it, feel it as it radiated from within him, working its way from his chest to his shoulder and down his arm, the hairs standing on end as tiny, microscopic arcs of power leapt from goosebump to goosebump. And when it reached his hand and released, his breath physically left him in a rush—a fiery substance of purple and blue shooting from the Hexcore in a targeted beam, hitting the far wall and shaking the foundation of the entire forge.

But the longer the blast went on, Jayce could feel himself being sapped of energy, his veins giving off the sensation of begging run dry, so with a fearful yelp, he quickly inverted the rune and extinguished the hex.

“W-wow…” he gasped, his knees suddenly feeling weak and his entire body sagging like he’d just run a marathon.

“L-law of equivalent… exchange…” Viktor said, pausing in the middle to inhale hard. “All magic requires energy, and the Core is just a conduit. In order to give… it must take something back. And you only have so much to offer. Use it wisely.”

Jayce nodded, taking a deep breath as he tore his eyes away from the mighty form of the pulsating Hexcore and back up at a visibly struggling Viktor. He had leaned up onto an elbow, but he was panting weakly, his shoulders tensing with every labored breath.

“Y-you must be careful n-not to invert Kenaz when casting—only do so when releasing the Hex. If you i-invert it while casting, you will f-fire on yourself,” Viktor said, his eyes sliding closed and his tongue darting out to wet his chapped, dry lips. “F-found out the… the hard way.”

Jayce gave him a bittersweet grin, recalling the many singed eyebrows and burned lab coats they’d gone through as they worked out the kinks in their Hextech prototypes. The bashful smiles they tossed at each other, and the flustered, repentant expressions that clearly said ‘oops.’

“This…” Jayce started, taking a step back toward his former partner; reaching out to gently grip his shoulder with one hand, and raising the Hexcore up between them with the other. “This is incredible, V. You’re… you’re a self-made mage. You’re… my dream, realized. I… I’d, um… love to pick your brain about it… sometime.”

Viktor just breathed for a moment, his expression unreadable… aside from the clear and obvious pain.

“Perhaps,” he said, something almost… coy, playful hiding in the hardened lines of his handsome face, and Jayce couldn’t help but desperately cling to the hope it gave him like a lifeline.

“Is there… anything I can do for you before we leave? I have painkillers…” he asked, feeling the way Viktor’s entire body was quaking beneath his fingertips.

Viktor somberly shook his head. “Blood filtration, won’t work.”

“What about your pain suppressor, are you able to control it…”

“Already on the highest setting,” Viktor interrupted, jerkily shaking his head. “Just go, I’ll be fine.”

Jayce sighed, squeezing Viktor’s shoulder once before he released it.

“I’ll be fast, I promise,” he said, turning to Cait and Vi and nodding toward the exit.

“Jayce.”

And oh, how he’d always been powerless against that particular tone, the way Viktor said his name like that—stern and demanding, but also sweet, and gentle, and reassuring. A question and an answer, all wrapped in one enigma of a word.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful with Renata—you must maintain a balance of submissive, but not weak. Respect her authority, but don’t let her see fear. She’ll string you up and bat at you, if you let her. And those claws are lethal.”

Jayce nodded, swallowing down the dread that gurgled up in his throat at those words.

“Yeah, I’ll… I will.”

Chapter Text

The silence was heavy and thick as smog between them—Cait morose and worried, and Jayce feeling that constant needling, ever-increasing guilt.

He’d tried not to rush them as Cait and Vi said their tentative goodbyes, whispering in hushed tones to one another and sharing one, two, three kisses before eventually tearing reluctantly away. Cait had turned back more than once as she followed Jayce north along the Pilt, watching with obvious concern as Vi’s silhouette slowly faded from sight in the distance.

And Jayce tried to think of something to say; something, anything that wouldn’t fall flat—she’ll be fine, she can handle herself, you’ll see her again in no time.

But they were all useless platitudes, empty reassurances with no real weight to them. Because they all knew that Vi could be reckless sometimes—overestimating herself and getting caught up in things she couldn’t handle alone. That was where Cait usually came in, balancing the scale and tipping things back in Vi’s favor (either with a well-reasoned warning or a flawlessly-aimed bullet).

And Jayce knew intimately what that absence felt like, had been drowning steadily in it for six years. There were no words that could assuage the anxiety, no gentle touches that could whisk it away. Cait would only feel better when Vi was back her arms, so Jayce vowed to make this as quick and painless a trip as he humanly could.

“So, the… the council?” he asked, not really in the mood to hear what they thought of him at present but falling victim to his own morbid curiosity.

Cait sighed, shaking her head.

“I’ve done everything I can, Jayce—had their deliberations delayed twice. But… they’re going to hold a trial tomorrow afternoon, with or without you. Which means Stillwater is a certainty. So whatever happens down here today, good or bad, you have to be at that trial tomorrow. My word only goes so far without you there to defend yourself. And you… you don’t really have any other allies anymore.”

Yeah, don’t remind me. Everyone who would have fought for me is either dead… or hates me.

“Camille might speak, but I doubt it. She likes you, but… not enough to stake her entire clan on you,” Cait went on, her eyes sweeping back and forth over the lanes in front of her as they descended further and further into Zaun. “Just… please promise me you’ll be there?”

Jayce scoffed. Yeah, because my promises go so far—‘you have to destroy it… promise me…’

“I promise,” he said, the bitterness unavoidable. “I, uh… I think you should wait outside, let me talk to Renata alone,” he continued in low tones as they entered the more polished area of the Entresol, where the air was just starting to become thicker.

“What?! No! What was the point of us separating if I’m not going to stick with you, protect you?!” Cait bristled, her nose scrunching up like it always did when she was trying to temper her anger.

“I just think that if I come waltzing into Renata’s place with the Sheriff, it kinda sends the wrong message,” Jayce tried, keeping his voice even and calm so that this didn’t escalate into a fight—the last thing he needed was to get into a screaming match and draw attention. “Think about it—would you feel like negotiating with someone if they showed up with a personal mercenary?!”

“I’m not your personal…”

“You know what I meant,” Jayce cut her off in a hiss. “I don’t imagine that she’ll be feeling very altruistic if I open with a veiled threat. We can approach together, let them know you’re there and ready to act if you must. But I think it would be a gesture of good faith if I agree to speak to her alone. Especially because I’m going to be asking her to hand over a very illegal drug, and by extension a confession of her involvement in its continued production.”

Cait sighed so hard through her pursed lips that it ruffled her hair, but she clearly saw the logic.

“Alright, but the moment you sense any danger, anything feels off, you call for me. I can only do so much when I’m coming into a fight late and unprepared.”

“Thank you,” Jayce said softly, always appreciative of Caitlyn’s more rational side. “Now this is her Cultivair, so it has a huge glass dome overhead. You might be able to find some high ground to perch on—use your rifle scope to spy on us. You know… just in case.”

Cait nodded, pulling her rifle from her holster and unfolding it. And not a moment too soon, as the gleaming emerald-tinted glass came into view. Jayce had met her in battle a few times… well, met her gang—typically, Renata did not get her own hands dirty. It wasn’t that she was incapable in a fight; on the contrary, rumor had it she was quick and cunning, and would have already mortally wounded you before you ever even saw her coming. No, she simply preferred to boast of her numbers—showing up in droves when the need arose, and all in a very obvious and effective show of force.

And speaking of force, the number of sentries she had posted at the entrance to her Cultivair was quite frankly overkill—six heavily augmented individuals, all with some kind of glowing magenta chemical flowing through their clearly-weaponized limbs.

Of course, they all saw him coming—he didn’t exactly have the element of surprise, what with the Piltover Sherriff at his side and a gleaming, thrumming Hexcore announcing his arrival like a charging Hexcannon. The six of them took a defensive arrangement, forming a triangle of rows of three, two, and one. The sentry at the front was an intimidating woman of massive build, half of her face replaced with machinery and what looked to be a sickle blade welded onto her forearm.

With a sigh, Jayce offered Cait a wary glance, and approached slowly with his hands held up in surrender.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said, very aware that the people littering the surrounding street were scattering as if in the path of an avalanche. “I just need a word with Renata.”

“Ms. Glasc is busy,” the woman at the front snapped, eyeing him like a prize steak before turning her gaze on Caitlyn. “And if you ain’t want trouble, what the fuck’s she doing here?”

Jayce took a moment to toss Caitlyn a look that said ‘see, told you so,’ before shaking his head gently.

“She’s my escort—just ensuring I made it here and back safely,” he tried, and for some reason the Hexcore thrummed and spun… almost like a lie detector.

“Some special ponce that has the Sherriff for an escort…” the woman sneered, turning her gaze back to Jayce, who scoffed.

“I mean… have you not seen my face on all the posters?” he asked with a sly grin, hoping his playful nonchalance was doing a decent job of disguising the tremor running through every muscle.

The woman snorted derisively, taking a step toward him and making Caitlyn’s gun creak as her grip tightened on it.

“Watch your tone, Golden Boy, there’s a fair share of people down here what would pay good money for your head—body optional.”

Jayce gulped, but before he could respond, one of the other sentries stepped forward to join the woman, leaning in to speak to her as he pointed at Viktor’s staff.

“Don’t that belong to, eh… him?” the man asked, seeming almost afraid to speak Viktor’s name.

The woman eyed the staff, nodding jerkily.

“What you doin’ with the Machinist’s weapon?” she asked, her tone clipped and short.

“I’m here as an emissary for him, he’s…”

He paused, finding it unwise to spill all the details of Viktor’s predicament, should it come back to bite him in the ass.

“He’s been held up in Piltover, and… I’ve come on his behalf to… negotiate… something… with Renata…”

Eloquent, Jayce, real eloquent, he thought bitterly to himself.

“What’s your bis’ness with Ms. Glasc?” the woman asked, her cybernetic left eye spinning as she eyed him with suspicion.

“I’ll be happy to divulge that information… to Ms. Glasc,” Jayce said, and he didn’t miss the way all five of the other sentries were fanning out into a semi-circle.

“Now listen here, Piltie,” the woman snarled, raising her sickle blade and taking an intimidating step forward.

But before she could continue, the Hexcore made a sound like a growl, lifting slightly from its perch and releasing a powerful pulse of energy that Jayce could feel rattling his ribcage.

All six sentries took a step back, their eyes wary as they seemed to cower at the display. And though Jayce was fighting the urge to grin, he couldn’t help but wonder why they all reacted this way…

V, what did you do.

“Show some decorum, lads, don’t you know who this is…”

The voice was sickly sweet and effeminate, dripping with raw sexuality and commanding every single one of the sentries to freeze up into an en-garde stance.

Renata.

At some point during the argument, she had slithered through the ornate stained glass doors, weaving her way through her Chempunk goons to place herself directly to the right of her lead sentry.

She was as buttoned-up and pristine as ever—her pure white pantsuit pressed and flawless and her silver hair pulled half-back with nary a flyaway to be seen. Her augmented left arm ticked and bubbled with magenta chemicals, giving her entire left side a dark, blood-like glow. And her eyes… though similar to Viktor’s in their build, gave the distinct aura of a predator stalking in the night—bright, luminous circles of pink in a dark, oily pit of black. She was beautiful… in the same way that all of the world’s most deadly flora were beautiful—best enjoyed from a distance.

“S-sorry, Ms. Glasc,” the sentry said, her eyes wide with worry. “Just making sure that—“

“Shhhhh,” Renata cooed, the sound more snakelike than human. “Mummy’s talking.”

The sentry slammed her mouth shut, nodding emphatically as she took a single long step back and left Renata face-to-face with Jayce.

“Come inside, Defender, you must be suffocating,” she purred, her eyes hardening as she looked over at Cait. “But leave your lapdog here, I don’t allow Enforcers inside… too much blood on their boots.”

Cait narrowed her eyes and sneered at her, but thankfully didn’t comment—instead turning to begin anxiously pacing the alley. Jayce mouthed an appreciative ‘thank you’ at her as he cautiously followed Renata inside, and Cait gave him an eye roll that clearly said ‘just make it fast, I don’t like this.’

The interior of Renata’s Cultivair was breathtaking—flowering greenery lining every wall of the spherical structure, with sprawling ivy and sporous tendrils climbing up the glass dome like reaching, desperate hands. Every ten feet or so were hung opulent lanterns the size of the Mercury Hammerhead, all emitting a deep purple glow (likely Ultraviolet light). And stationed beneath every one of these lanterns were more sentries—at least twenty more. It did not do well to assuage Jayce’s worry that he was walking of his own volition into an ambush.

“Fancy this, the Defender of Tomorrow, waltzing into my little hole in the wall, and so… alone,” Renata drawled as she rounded an ornate oak desk, dragging the talon-like fingers of her augmented hand over the surface with a delicate scritch. She poured herself lithely into the chair beyond, motioning for Jayce to have a seat. “I wish I’d known you were coming, I would have worn my nice blood-stained suit.”

“Cut the bullshit Renata, I’m not in the mood for your posturing,” Jayce grumbled, tentatively lowering himself into the opposite chair and already making his exit strategy—Cait would likely have taken a perch to the south, so she’d have the goons at Renata’s back covered. That left him with the rest of the semi-circle… and Renata herself. Perhaps if he went for her augmented arm, used the Hexcore for offense… that chemical inside it was probably flammable… right?

“Hm. Indeed,” Renata interrupted his scheming, her glowing eyes narrowing at him. “So to what do owe this most-esteemed pleasure, then?”

Jayce puzzled, eyeing the collection of goons around the room—he didn’t relish spilling Viktor’s dirty laundry in front of all of them. And as if reading his mind, Renata pulled what appeared to be a stopwatch from her waistcoat, raising it up in front of her blood-red lips. She pressed a button in the center of the contraption, and the series of cogs within it began to spin and hum.

“All but Gryff and Moira, leave us,” she said in a flat, commanding monotone.

The contraption flashed with magenta light, and suddenly that same light was answering from small, circular augments embedded into the temples of every single one of her guards. They all nodded, frighteningly in-synch with one another, and then in a military-style march, all but two of them left the room.

“You like it?” Renata asked, drawing Jayce’s attention back as she twirled the device in her sharp fingers. “Viktor made them for me. I can override their free will with the press of a button. See? Gryff, take out your knife…”

The male guard behind her reached into his belt, retrieving a long, thin blade and holding it up.

“Slit your wrist.”

“Renata, that’s really not necess—” Jayce yelped, but he was too late.

The guard, apparently Gryff, dragged the blade across his still-flesh wrist, blood spilling out and beginning to drip down the man’s fingers and onto the floor.

“It is necessary, and you may address me as Ms. Glasc,” she growled, pocketing the contraption again before leaning back confidently in her chair. “He’s no longer that bright-eyed, bushy-tailed boy that you threw away like garbage, Defender, and you’d do well to remember that.”

Don’t let her see fear, don’t let her see fear.

“I’m aware,” he replied, keeping his tone intentionally flat. “And I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

Renata was quiet, merely watching him as the silence was filled with the macabre, wet drip drip drip of the chempunk’s blood onto the floor.

“I, um…” Jayce started anew, steeling himself for the admission. “I need… I need Shimmer.”

Renata simply stared back at him for an extended moment, and then a positively chilling grin was splitting her painted lips.

“Ahhhh, so that’s where my pet’s gotten off to. I trust he’s behaving himself?”

“He’s not your pet,” Jayce snarled, immediately chastising himself—she’s trying to get you riled up, don’t play into her hands.

“Isn’t he though?” she snapped back. “He’s loyal. Obedient. He comes when I call, he bites when I command it. Rather the definition of a good pet, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Only because you’ve got him cornered in debt to you.” Jayce, what are you doing, just say yes and shut the fuck up.

“Is that what he told you? Hm,” Renata went on, reaching out to begin rapping her knife-like fingers against the desk. “You don’t think he enjoys the control? The power? After so much time spent cowering in your shadow, you don’t think he relishes the opportunity to make someone else tremble with fear?”

“No. No, Viktor’s not vindictive like that.” For fuck’s sake.

“Perhaps your Viktor wasn’t. But mine is,” Renata said, her claws curling into the wood grain and threatening to scratch it. “He’s an animal when he needs to be. Truly vicious. Unless you were thinking something of a more… carnal nature, which… for the right price, he’ll do that too. Doesn’t put much value on his body these days…”

“Enough!!” Jayce practically screamed, raising Viktor’s staff and slamming it back down, and the Hexcore released a pulse of energy so strong, every plant in the room shuddered as if with a strong wind.

The two guards behind Renata produced guns out of nowhere, the clockwork weaponry humming and clicking as they set Jayce firmly in their sights.

“Ah ah,” Renata chastised coolly, standing from her chair and slowly rounding the desk, dragging her claws over its surface once again as she went. She leaned against the front side of it, perching elegantly like a deadly bird of prey. “I’ve only just laundered the last idiot’s blood from this rug. I’d hate to have it sent in again so soon.”

Jayce forced himself to take a deep breath, shaking his head and attempting to get his bearings back.

“Look Renata—“

“Who?!”

Jayce ground his teeth. Respectful. Be respectful.

“Ms. Glasc.”

“That’s better.”

“Viktor’s been… detained in Piltover,” Jayce growled, fighting the urge to set fire to her desk. “He’s… injured, and unable to return to Zaun. His Shimmer supply is dangerously low—I just need to retrieve his per diem, and I’ll go.”

“And where is this sudden altruism for the poor and downtrodden citizens of Zaun coming from, hm? Unless… unless it’s not for Zaun…” Renata cooed with a satisfied, knowing grin. “Ohhhh how delightful, don’t tell me you still care about him?!”

Fuck. She’d strung him up like a mouse on a string, and was preparing to pounce, just like Viktor warned.

“No, I’m just not real inclined to manslaughter,” he tried, but he knew it was laughably transparent.

Renata chuckled, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Your timing is astounding, Defender,” she drawled. “Have you any idea how many times he woke in the night, sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe? Cracked a rib from it, actually; gasping and choking and screaming your name? Have you any idea how many handkerchiefs he stained with his blood and bile? How many bedsheets? And yet he still cried out for you. Can you imagine? Can you imagine that kind of pain, Mr. Talis? The kind that eats away at your mind and body, the kind that slowly drives you insane with desperation to make it stop? It’s like a poison in the blood; leaping from blood cell to blood cell, until nothing is left uncorrupted. Until nothing is left at all.”

Jayce couldn’t help but cringe. He’d spent so many nights in those early days wondering where Viktor was… was he in pain, was he scared, was he waiting for Jayce to come back for him? Did he cry like Jayce did, scream like Jayce did, put a gun in his mouth like Jayce did?

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so broken,” Renata continued ruthlessly. “Which is saying something, considering… I do most of the breaking, down here.”

“I know,” Jayce snapped, desperate to make her stop. I know, okay? I know what I did to him, I know how I hurt him.

“No. No, I don’t think you do,” Renata barked. “Do you know what the first thing he augmented was? Was it his ailing lungs, hm? Was it his failing heart? Was it that esophagus, so ravaged by coughing at the end that he was effectively mute?

“No. It was his emotions. He put a suppressor on his emotions, because the ruination you wrought on his mind was more painful to him than anything his doomed body could do. Of course, the heart came next; a lovely little trophy he gifted me, as a token of his appreciation…”

She trailed off, pushing away from her desk to approach a tall bookshelf nestled into the plants, and to Jayce’s abject horror, she retrieved a large, liquid-filled glass jar…

Containing a human heart.

The nausea was immediate and overwhelming as Renata placed the jar on her desk in front of him—Viktor… Viktor’s heart… that beautiful thing so full of hope and love, now lifeless and suspended in formaldehyde, adorning a Chem-Baron’s office like just another decoration. Like a trophy, a prize that Renata could boast of to her clients—‘and here, the heart of the Machine Herald… oh don’t worry, he wasn’t using it anyway.’

Renata either didn’t notice that Jayce was a hairsbreadth from vomiting on her floor, or didn’t care, because she powered relentlessly on,

“A little macabre, to be sure, but I suppose he knows my taste in interior design all too well. After that, it was the lungs… the arm, the leg. And all of it on my dime.

“Some say I did it because there’s a shred of humanity left in me, that I sympathized with him. That I must have been scorned by my own treacherous lover, and took pity on his circumstances…” she trailed off, beginning to pace in a semi-circle until she disappeared from Jayce’s view. He tensed, torn on what to do—if he flinched, turning to watch her, he gave away his fear. But if he didn’t… it left him with his back turned to Renata Glasc.

Ultimately he remained still, trusting the Hexcore to warn him if she dared to try anything.

“Others say… I only saw the opportunity. I’d like to think, as with most things in life, that the truth lies somewhere in the middle…”

Suddenly her hands were squeezing on his shoulders, her knife-point fingers barely beginning to press just below his collar bone.

Don’t fight it, don’t fight it, don’t fight it… just let her have her moment of intimidation, you’ll be fine…

“There is potential in pain, Mr. Talis. His. Yours.”

First came the small pop of the fabric as Renata’s claws punctured it, and then came the pain—it was tiny and insignificant, like that of a needle, and it startled him more than it actually hurt. But he couldn’t help but hiss, yanking away from her.

“Alright, if you’re quite finished fucking with me, can we discuss the matter at hand? Because if you continue wasting my time, you’re gunna have to come collect his remains from my lab,” he growled, tossing her a burning glare over his shoulder and noting when he did that the Hexcore was spinning like a top, letting out rhythmic and somewhat sinister hums.

Renata released a sound like a purr, taking a step back and continuing on with her pacing until she was in front of him once more.

“Certainly,” she said, as if she hadn’t been toying with him for the last five minutes. “So you want to collect Viktor’s per diem of Shimmer?”

“Yes,” he said plainly.

“And you come to me with this request with the Sheriff by your side. Do you think I’m stupid, Mr. Talis?” she asked, returning to her chair and sitting in it.

He swallowed, knowing this was going to be an issue.

“I know how it looks,” he tried, beginning to nervously rock the staff in his hand but noting that the Core was still vibrating. “But I can assure you, my interest is only with Viktor. You will not be implicated for the production or proliferation of the drug; I give you my word…”

“Forgive me, but I have a very reliable source who has told me, in no uncertain terms, to never trust your word,” Renata interrupted shortly.

Jayce sighed. “I know,” he admitted, offering a rare display of vulnerability and hoping to the gods that it conveyed some level of sincerity. “But believe me when I tell you that unless I get this Shimmer to him in the next fourteen hours, you’re not getting your greatest weapon back. So if you have an alternative that doesn’t implicate you, I’m all ears. But the clock is ticking, Ms. Glasc.”

He said her name with an inflection that one might hazard to call mocking, and she clearly noticed—her eyes narrowing and her clawed hand stilling on the armrest of her chair.

“Well now, this is a predicament, isn’t it?” she asked, resuming the tapping of her augmented fingers. “If I give you the Shimmer, I incriminate myself with no recourse for defense. But if I don’t, I lose the largest and most lucrative investment I’ve ever made.”

Jayce was rather proud that he managed to keep the following thought bottled up—he’s not just some investment, he’s a living person and the love of my life, but sure, if that’s what helps you give him value.

“How about a trade, then? Temporary, of course…” she drawled, and oh, Jayce did not like that tone.

“What did you… have in mind?” he asked cautiously, his hand tightening on the staff.

The satisfied glimmer in her unnatural eyes was almost lustful as she raised her clawed hand and pointed delicately… at Viktor’s staff. The Hexcore.

“That.”

Fuck. Something was telling him that Viktor had likely worked diligently to keep it out of her hands. If she was his benefactor, and he was drowning in debt to her… she probably would have asked for it in payment long ago. And given that it was still in Viktor’s possession… that meant he had opted to put himself into years of debt and servitude rather than hand it over.

“It’s…” Jayce began, looking up at the Hexcore, which was still spinning wildly and releasing a near-constant hum. “It’s not mine to give.”

“Mm,” Renata replied thoughtfully. “And the Shimmer is not yours to take. So it would seem we are at an impasse.”

Jayce sagged. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but… handing over one of the most dangerous Hextech weapons ever created to one of the most dangerous Chem-Barons in all of Zaun?

“I would return it to him when he is returned to me, of course,” Renata continued, making a display of nonchalantly eyeing her own claws. “I’m not asking you to give it to me permanently. It’s just… collateral.”

“Yeah, collateral that you can use to do unknowable amounts of damage in the meantime,” he replied, weighing his options. This was probably the one and only thing she was willing to barter for… there likely wouldn’t be an acceptable alternative.

Renata shrugged, grinning victoriously.

“You’re asking me to take a risk, Mr. Talis,” she said flatly. “So I’m asking you to take one in return. It’s just good business.”

Jayce sighed, leaning to rest his forehead against the staff and feeling the anxious vibration of the Hexcore against his skull.

How much damage could she do with it, in a day? After all, he’d seen how it could misbehave when it didn’t want to be used by someone. And the plan was to return to Viktor with the Shimmer and the crankshaft, get him mended and on his way as quickly as possible. Hell, he could be back here in less than three hours to take it back, if all went according to plan…

“And I have your word that you will return it to Viktor’s possession when he returns to Zaun?” he asked, meeting her eyes and watching for any flinch, any fault in her facade.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. “But if it will make you more comfortable, I would be happy to put it in writing. Unlike some people, I always honor my contracts, Mr. Talis.”

He was already in enough trouble in Piltover as it was; he didn’t exactly need a paper trail connecting him to a drug deal with a Chem-Baron.

“No, that… that won’t be necessary. But I expect you to honor your end of the deal, Renata,” he said, intentionally using her first name as a veiled threat.

She hardened, her upper lip curling into a snarl.

“And I, you, Defender,” she hissed, pushing herself to her feet and rounding the desk, offering her left hand, her augmented hand to shake on it. “Do we have an accord?”

Everything within him was screaming at him to stop—no, no, no, this is bad, you can’t do this, you’re handing over a powerful magical weapon to someone who will only use it for ill. Viktor would never do this; he would find a way out.

But therein was the problem. He was doing this for Viktor, and he didn’t have any other choice. It was this… or let him slip away. Again.

“Yes,” he said, pushing to his feet and reaching out to take her hand.

Chapter Text

“So? How’d it go?” Caitlyn asked, eyeing the way Renata’s sentries watched Jayce’s back as if they wanted to chew on it.

He approached slowly, lingering anxiety clear in his short, clipped pace. But he produced two glimmering vials of Shimmer, wiggling them triumphantly.

“Got it,” he said, but his tone was… guarded.

Cait motioned for him to follow as she turned to get away from this place as quickly as possible.

“But?” she asked plainly—there was no way Renata Glasc just handed it over out of the goodness of her heart. There had to be a catch.

Jayce sighed, pocketing the Shimmer and raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“The Hexcore,” he replied, voice breaking. “She took it as collateral.”

Caitlyn felt like her heart plummeted into her intestines.

“The Hexcore? A magical weapon that’s limited only by the wielder’s imagination, you… you gave it to her? You sure that was wise?”

“No, Cait, unbelievably stupid is what it was, but I don’t exactly have a lot of options here. Our only chance to limit her use of it is to get Viktor better and returned to Zaun. She said she’d give it back to him…”

“And you believed her?” Cait asked, not intending to sound so harsh and cringing as the words left her lips.

“I don’t fucking know anymore Cait, but at this point, it’s not my problem. I just… I just need to save Viktor, and then he can deal with it.”

If Renata managed to use the Hexcore, and indeed refused to return it to Viktor, then it was definitely going to become Jayce’s problem down the line. But right now, he couldn’t see the forest for the trees—his one and only focus was on Viktor, and… Cait really couldn’t fault him for that. She’d be doing the same thing, in his unfillable shoes.

And just as her mind was slipping back into thoughts of Vi, and all the ways her mission at Grime’s place could go terribly, horribly wrong…

“What took you two so long, been waiting here for ages.”

Vi casually meandered from a side street, a devastatingly attractive smirk on her face as she tossed the crankshaft into the air and caught it. There was a cut on her cheek and a blemish on her upper lip that would likely become a bruise. The left shoulder of her jacket was singed black and smoking, and there were sparks flying from one of the gauntlet’s fingers. But otherwise, she looked no worse for wear, and Cait couldn’t help the heavy sigh of relief she let loose as they approached.

“You got it!” she exclaimed, folding her gun and practically tossing it into her holster so that she could begin checking Vi over—patting at the smoking shoulder, moving her clothing around to check for any hidden injuries.

“I… I did, those guys are pushov—Cupcake, will you stop fussing?! This is a regular Tuesday night for me. I’m fine, really,” she said, catching Caitlyn’s hand where it had been prodding at her sore lip.

“Right… sorry,” Caitlyn said, pulling back and feeling the warmth of a blush in her cheeks.

“Thank you,” Jayce said breathlessly, and before Caitlyn even registered the movement, he had flung his arms around Vi and was wrapping her up in such a tight embrace that her feet came off the ground.

Her eyes widened owlishly, and Cait couldn’t help but chuckle as Vi awkwardly patted Jayce’s back.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, Jayce, put me down,” Vi grunted, stumbling slightly when Jayce released her and using a flustered hand to fix her hair. “Just make sure Tin Man knows he owes me one.”

“I will. Let’s go,” Jayce said, nodding toward the Pilt.

The three of them picked up a brisk jog toward the Entresol’s upper decks, Cait scanning for Chempunks and Enforcers alike as they went and trying not to become panicked. Now, not only was her best friend a wanted man, but he had also likely just turned the tides of an entire war by handing over one of the most dangerous weapons ever created to a Chem-Baroness… and not just any Baroness… Renata Fucking Glasc. This could all go very wrong very quickly. But first thing’s first, they had to get Jayce’s head back in the game, because he (understandably) couldn’t focus while Viktor suffered.

Crossing the bridge guaranteed to be just as daunting a task as it had been the first time—they’d had to scale the belly of it, as there was now a barricade specifically tasked with searching for Jayce. But they’d done it so many times at this point that it was practically second-nature, so Cait was simply going through the motions as she folded and stowed her gun again, donning her gloves to try and avoid the inevitable blisters.

“Let’s make this quick, I want Renata to have as little time with that thi—Jayce? Are you alright?”

He had fallen behind and was stumbling as he approached, his breaths coming more and more labored by the second.

“Jayce?” she asked, facing him more squarely and watching as he lost his balance, stumbling harder and just barely righting himself in time, his arms flailing with the effort.

“I… I d’no, I f-feel… weird…” he mumbled, shaking his head and wavering dangerously, as if heavily intoxicated. “S-s’like… head… ache… ‘n… I c-can’t…”

She bolted forward, reaching out to steady him and study his face; he was sallow and sweaty, his eyes unfocused and his pupils so dilated that his eyes were almost wholly black. There was a slight tremor affecting his entire body, and he was nearly hyperventilating—his breaths rasping and rough in his throat.

“No…” Caitlyn whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. “Nononono, Jayce… look at me. What did she do, did she… did she hurt you?! Please, Jayce, think…”

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Vi asked as she approached.

Jayce began shaking his head, the movement jerky and sharp, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he merely gagged and began swallowing convulsively.

“I think she… she did something to him,” Cait said, her voice going shrill with panic. “We have to get back to Viktor right now; he’ll know what to do. Jayce, love, can you walk? Please?”

His eyes were horribly unfocused, as if she’d spoken another language, but then he was nodding and attempting to take a single step forward. He dropped hard, falling toward Vi, who just barely managed to use the gauntlets to catch him. His eyes were beginning to roll back, his entire body convulsing as he sagged, nearly lifeless against Vi.

“No, nonono, please Jayce,” Caitlyn tried not to sob, tears stinging at her eyes and her heart feeling like it was about to burst from her ribs with worry.

“I’ve got him,” Vi grunted, matter-of-fact as she slung one of Jayce’s arms over her shoulder and gripped his waist with the gauntlet. “Let’s go.”

Cait didn’t waste a second—turning to face the bridge and steeling herself as she yanked her gun back out and held it aloft.

“Straight through,” she commanded, double checking that she was fully loaded. “I’ll lead, clear a path. Don’t stop for anything, even if I fall…”

Vi bristled. “Cait, you can’t expect me to…”

“Vi, please. I’m the Sheriff, they won’t hurt me. If anything, they’ll just detain me,” Cait barked, attempting to be gentle in her tone but failing. “But you need to get Jayce to Viktor right now. I don’t know what she dosed him with, but I don’t suspect she’d utilize anything that isn’t deadly. Understand?”

Vi hardened, nodding somberly and pulling Jayce tighter against her side.

“Good,” Caitlyn sad, beginning to track through a plan. “Give me all of your sling cuffs.”

Vi jutted her head down. “On my belt, take ‘em.”

Cait reached out and took them—they each carried three, which left her with six… and there were considerably more than six officers manning the barricade. She was going to have to think her way through this one, if she didn’t want to be opening fire on her own officers.

“Alright, I think I know how to handle this, let’s go,” she barked, clipping the extra cuffs to her belt before heaving a sigh and rocketing for the bridge.

“We’ve apprehended him, open up!” she yelled as they jogged toward the barricade.

“Sh-Sheriff!” the lead officer (Byron, if memory served) yelped with surprise, but to Cait’s immense relief, he gave the order—three officers began hauling the barricades out of the way.

Byron seemed flustered, but he still fired off into action. “We’ll escort you to the council chamb—“

“No,” Cait snapped, slowing to a halt but giving Vi the ‘don’t stop’ side-eye. Vi nodded, briskly walking Jayce along toward the barricade.

“Vi and I can handle this. He could have accomplices behind us, stay here and protect the bridge,” Cait said, her heart hammering so hard against her ribs, she was convinced Byron could hear it.

“But Sheriff…”

“That’s an order, Enforcer,” Caitlyn snarled, already feeling guilty for the look of shock on Byron’s face. But Vi was already past the barricade, and that was all that mattered…

“Ma’am!” Byron confirmed with a nod.

Oh my gods, this might actually work.

But the Enforcers on the north side of the bridge had begun to notice that Vi was turning West, toward the forge, and not heading straight on to the council. So Cait spun on her heel, attempting to exude confidence as she strode quickly past the barricade and the confused chatter.

“Sh-Sheriff?” one of the Enforcers called out, his tone prodding and hesitant, and hiding in the wavering notes of it… suspicious.

“Vi, go!” Cait yelled, reaching for one of the sling cuffs on her belt and tossing the orb hard at the feet of the nearest Enforcer. Luckily, he was too stunned by the action to avoid it, and the cuff popped open, sending the cables twisting around his ankles and felling him like a sack of bricks.

All hell broke loose then; every Enforcer on the bridge took off after them, a flurry of sling cuffs whizzing by Cait’s hands and ankles. But by some miracle, she managed to dodge them, and together she and Vi rocketed toward the Talis forge.

“Viktor!!” Cait screamed down into the lab as she yanked the trapdoor open and ushered Vi inside. Vi nodded her thanks, doing her best to hold onto Jayce with one hand as she leapt through the hole, using the other gauntlet on the ledge of the door frame to swing herself lithely onto her feet.

Cait followed, slamming and bolting the door behind her, blocking out the yelling of the pursuing Enforcers.

“Viktor, please, R-Renata, she… something’s wrong, you have to help him!” Cait practically wailed as they approached, panic making her hands wildly flail through the air.

Viktor’s head lolled weakly to the side on the table, but his eyes widened when they landed on Jayce—the ambient glow of his augments in the relative darkness strobing like a broken neon when he attempted to move.

Cait launched herself forward, offering her shoulder to lean on as he swung his legs over the side of the table. But he clearly forgot that he’d cut the power to his left leg, because he yelped, falling hard against her as she did her best to prop up his considerable weight.

“Here, Vi, put him on the table,” Viktor croaked, following it with a strained whine as something hummed within him and his left leg powered back up. But it visibly drained him—his shoulders sagging and his eyes fluttering as if he might pass out.

“The Shimmer, take it!” Cait barked, doing her best to keep Viktor upright as she reached out and fished in Jayce’s jacket pocket for the vials he’d stowed there.

But Viktor shook his head, the gesture halting and slow as he raised his purple hand to weakly push the vials away.

“I need to s-stay clear-headed. The Shimmer, it… it puts me in a state when first administered, and…”

He trailed off, pushing away from Caitlyn and approaching the table as Vi gracelessly plopped Jayce onto it with a metallic bang. Viktor reached up to yank the chain on the shop light, dousing Jayce in harsh artificial light so that he could look Jayce over, his entire body wavering dangerously as he did.

“Renata, did she touch him? Her claw, did she…”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Caitlyn chanted, beginning to frantically pace in tight lines at Viktor’s back and trying not to look at Jayce’s now-convulsing body. “He thought it would be best if he speak with her alone…”

“Kurva, you let him go in there alone?!” Viktor positively growled, reaching out with his purple hand and pressing at the pulse point in Jayce’s neck.

The stress turned to fury, and Cait threw her hands in the air helplessly.

“He insisted, what did you want me to do, chain myself to him?!” she yelled back, quoting Viktor’s own words back at him and yet feeling none of the satisfaction.

Viktor made another animalistic sound, grabbing Jayce by the chin and forcing him to look at him.

“Jayce, listen to me,” he demanded, leaning in over him and staring him down. Jayce’s eyelids fluttered, but otherwise he seemed completely unresponsive. “Did Renata strike you? With her claws, Jayce, did she puncture the skin?”

Jayce’s entire body jerked, and when his lips fell open, he barely managed to mumble a single word…

“M-mom?”

Cait couldn’t help the sob that tore from her throat, but Viktor merely loosed another frustrated growl, releasing Jayce’s face before beginning to systematically check over Jayce’s exposed skin.

“How long ago?” he asked, yanking Jayce’s shirt collar down and checking his neck. “If she did, how long ago would it have been?”

Cait’s mind was a haze of panic, and suddenly she couldn’t sort out the chain of events, how long it might have taken.

“I… I don’t know… twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes?” she said, thankful that Vi had hurried to her side and placed a reassuring hand at the small of her back.

“Fuck!” Viktor snarled, and suddenly he was ripping Jayce’s shirt open and sending gold embossed buttons spraying down onto the floor with a delicate yet macabre tink.

And there, just below Jayce’s left collar bone, there was a small, nearly insignificant pinprick. But sprawling outward from it was a circular pattern of deep purple Lichtenberg scars, which seemed to be crawling further and further in every direction by the second.

“What… what is it?!” Caitlyn yelped, blindly fishing through the air and taking hold of Vi’s hand so that she could squeeze hard for purchase.

“Renata’s claws are laced with a synthetic venom,” Viktor said, pushing Jayce’s shirt up off of his shoulder, and Cait didn’t like the way he sagged in defeat. “But I never thought she’d be this bold…”

“Well… there has to be an anti-venom, right?” she said back, the rising cold chill making her shiver as she continued in a desperate plea, “there has to be…”

Viktor sighed, propping his outstretched arms on the table as his head drooped.

“It must be synthesized to the individual victim’s DNA… I… I helped her design it…”

Suddenly there came a massive, rib-cracking boom, the entire foundation of the forge shaking beneath Cait’s boots.

“The Enforcers, they found us,” Vi remarked, looking up with weary eyes at the thankfully still in-tact trapdoor.

But they couldn’t worry about the Enforcers right now… right now, all that mattered was saving Jayce.

“Can you make it?!” Cait practically yelled at Viktor’s back. “Viktor, please, can you make it?!”

“I have a synthesizer back in my lab in Zaun,” Viktor said, but there was something dejected and forlorn in his voice. “But Cait…”

“No… nononono, I don’t want to hear it…” she wailed, the tears finally beginning to fall and her lip starting to tremble.

“From envenomation to death, it’s… it’s less than an hour…” Viktor finished, his hands tightening on the table and making the metal groan.

Cait hardly noticed the next boom of the Enforcers at the door; her heart feeling like it had just plummeted into her stomach. Not Jayce… not that dashing smile, those crushing bear hugs… that big, boisterous laugh that could shake any melancholy…

“Cait… Caitlyn!”

It was Viktor, he was… he’d been yelling at her…

“…what?” she asked hopelessly, her legs feeling like melting jelly.

“The tubing and needles he used for the transfusion, I need them!” he snapped at her, all the while yanking a compartment open in his chest, next to the already ajar heart cavity. “And the part from Grime, did you get it?!”

“Yes, here,” Vi said, hurrying to his side and slapping the crankshaft into his hand.

Cait forced herself to move, even though she felt like a zombie—her mind unhelpfully spinning images of what her life would be like without Jayce… who would she go to for that brotherly advice? Who would buy her ice lollies on those hot summer afternoons? Who would show up at the station out of the blue because he needed someone to eat lunch with? Who would spend the solstice with her, sitting on a cold tin roof and watching the moon with awe…

“Caitlyn!”

Viktor was practically screaming now, an angry snarl stretching his thin, scarred lips.

Vi hurried over to her, sparing the briefest of moments to reach up and cup her cheek.

“It’s okay, he’s gunna be okay. I need you to focus, alright? The tubing, come on…”

Cait didn’t really even register that she’d grabbed it, but she numbly turned back to Viktor, hanging on Vi’s soft answering smile like a lifeline.

“I can use my blood filtration system to slow the venom’s progress,” Viktor was saying, his voice sounding muffled in Caitlyn’s ringing ears. “But it will buy me time, only. I have to get him to my lab. My staff, where is it?!”

“She…” Cait said, her lips and tongue feeling numb. “She took it as collateral.”

Viktor released a vicious string of what could only be curses in his native tongue, and then proceeded to tear the sleeves from Jayce’s shirt and toss them away.

“Then we’re going back to Zaun. But I only have so much power left; I can’t carry him and fight off an army of Enforcers…”

Time… he could buy them time… and maybe… maybe Jayce could…maybe he could survive this…

“I’ll clear the way,” Vi replied, the gauntlets hissing as she donned them once more.

The Enforcers… they were just doing their job… many of whom were rookies, just inducted last week… Caitlyn had met their families, ensured them that the officers were in good hands…

“I… I can’t open fire on my own officers…” she said, finally feeling the haze begin to lift as a plan settled into place.

“Then you’d better ensure they’re out of my way, because I won’t hesitate,” Viktor snarled, and then he was crying out as the Hexclaw powered back up, lifting from where it had been lying limp against his back. He stumbled, his eyes nearly rolling back as it drained yet more of his very limited power, but he didn’t let it stop or even slow him—holding the crankshaft and leaning upright so that the Hexclaw might install it.

The claw curled down and worked at breakneck speeds, opening latches and turning cogs inside Viktor’s chest, and Caitlyn might have been repulsed if she wasn’t so awestruck—Viktor may have been mad, he may have had his morals and values corrupted by years of ceaseless trauma, but… he was a modern wonder, that much was abundantly clear.

Almost as soon as the claw pulled back, Viktor was jamming the piece into his chest cavity, closing the latches and unceremoniously yanking free the cables that had kept him alive for the last week. He screamed as he did, his eyes and other augments going dark for a split second as his body fell forward against the table.

Luckily Vi was close enough to leap forward and catch him, and soon enough his heart was beating on its own—the loud triple thump of it filling the lab and causing Viktor’s augments to blink unsteadily back to life.

“Jayce…” Viktor murmured, pulling the needles and tubing from Cait’s proffered hand and carefully attaching them to a nodule within the open compartment in his chest.

“Jayce, open your eyes, look at me.” His voice was harsh, but hiding within the shaky, unsteady notes was something kind and soft—something desperate and frightened.

Somehow, Jayce did—his eyes barely sliding open and tears gathering on his lashes as he gazed up at Viktor’s face where it was hovering mere inches from his own.

“Mm… m’sorry, Vitya. I’m s-so so sorry. I… I love y-you, I’m sorry…”

“No, no, no! Stop it!” Viktor screamed at him, violently slamming a fist down on the table. “Don’t you do that, don’t you dare say your goodbyes. You fight! Do you hear me?! Fight it!”

“H…hurts, V…” Jayce whimpered, his face twisting into an agonized grimace.

A sound like grinding metal rose from somewhere deep in Viktor’s chest, and then his hand was rising from the table to swipe Jayce’s sweaty hair from his forehead with what Cait could only hazard to call reverence.

“I know,” he whispered, grinding his teeth. “I’m going to fix it.”

Jayce simply smiled up at him, a hand rising weakly and reaching for Viktor’s face as the tears broke free to roll down his cheek.

“M’sorry…” he mumbled one more time, and then his eyes were rolling back as his entire body started to seize up with awful convulsions.

“Fuck!” Viktor cried, leaning back and none-too-gently jamming the needles into Jayce’s arms at the inner elbow.

Bright red blood began to flow through them immediately, the sound of hissing pumps and turning pistons meeting Caitlyn’s ears as she watched in stunned silence—the seizing of Jayce’s body noticeably weakened, but he did not move or wake.

“Alright, then; back to Zaun. Where we going?” Vi asked matter-of-factly, turning to face the trapdoor just in time for another, more powerful boom to send dust raining down from the ceiling.

“Emberflit, the southern face—last door on the right,” Viktor barked flatly, reaching out and ensuring the lines were secure before sliding his arms beneath Jayce’s shoulders and knees.

“No shit, the Grimmoire house? That’s you?!” Vi said with a victorious grin as she raised the gauntlets and popped the vent slats open to charge the thrusters.

“Indeed, and you’d do well to forget it,” Viktor growled back, lifting Jayce easily and turning to face her.

“Yeah, yeah, you get a pass,” Vi replied, rolling one shoulder. “How you wanna do this?”

“I’ll blast the door open with the Hexclaw, scatter the Enforcers” Viktor said, but he spared a moment to pause, looking down at Jayce’s completely limp form in his arms. And though it would have been easy to read his flat, unmoving expression as emotionless, Cait could see it…

The slight tremble in his jaw, the way his fists closed tighter to grip at Jayce’s clothing, the way he subconsciously pulled him closer…

“Vi, you’re next; clear a path with the gauntlets. I’ll follow, and Caitlyn, you bring up the rear. I don’t care how you do it, but you keep them away from me. I do not have the strength for delays.”

Caitlyn steeled herself, reaching back and pulling her gun from the holster, double-checking as she did that Viktor’s Shimmer supply was safely stashed in her belt.

“Got it,” she said with a nod, and both she and Vi covered their ears as the Hexclaw started to whine, Viktor striding forward with purpose and aiming it at the door.

Chapter Text

The chaos that erupted the moment they left the forge was stifling—the blast from Viktor’s Hexclaw had done a decent enough job of scattering the Enforcers waiting on the other side of the trapdoor, enough that they were able to push through in the ensuing confusion. But soon thereafter, the city alarms were triggered, and mass amounts of Enforcers were swarming them from all sides.

Vi stayed close to Viktor, using the gauntlets to clear his path. She tried not to actually hurt the approaching Enforcers, as she knew many of them personally—either by compromising their weapons or simply sweeping their feet out from under them. And for a little while, it seemed like they, too, were opting for non-lethal force (likely due in large part to hers and Caitlyn’s presence).

But when they approached the bridge, all of that changed—those still manning the barricade blew the charges, filling the area with blinding, suffocating smoke. And not long after, the telltale rattle of the retracting suspension cables met Vi’s ears.

“Fuck,” she coughed, fumbling for her gas mask—the gauntlets were great in a fight, but they didn’t do too well with gripping small, delicate things. “Cait, Viktor, where are you?”

The smoke had lowered visibility to no more than a few inches, which would actually work in their favor if they wanted to avoid getting shot. But the bridge… they had to make it across before it rose too high.

“Here, I’m here!” Caitlyn’s voice echoed through the smoke, followed by a haggard cough. “Viktor?!”

Viktor did not answer. Instead, a bright yellow beam of light cut through the smoke like a hot knife, aimed straight upward into the sky. The Hexclaw.

But it had also caught the attention of the Enforcers, and they had apparently decided to abandon non-lethal rounds. Gunshots rang out through the smoke, followed by the familiar tink of bullets ricocheting uselessly off of the Machine Herald’s body.

“No!” Caitlyn cried out, her worry clear in the thin, stretched quality of her voice. “Don’t shoot, please!”

Vi inched closer to the sound of her yelling, releasing a relieved sigh when she finally found her.

“They’re not following your orders anymore, Cupcake, I suggest we—”

“Get down.”

The voice was Viktor’s as he appeared like a specter through the smoke, and his tone was low and dangerous… reminiscent of a wolf’s angry growl.

“No, wait!” Caitlyn tried frantically, but the claw was already whining as it charged.

Vi reached out and enveloped her in the gauntlets, shielding her head and yanking her in close as she dropped to her knees.

The sound was explosive as the HexClaw’s beam tore into the bridge not four feet from them, shattering the cement as easily as glass. The concussive force of it knocked Vi and Caitlyn back, their arms flailing out and scrambling for purchase, but it had likely done the same to the Enforcers on the receiving end of the blast, so this was their chance.

“Come on, on your feet,” Vi yelled through the ringing in her ears, grabbing Cait’s arm as gently as she could with the gauntlet and pulling her up. She spared a brief moment to check her over, to ensure she wasn’t injured, and then yanked her along toward Zaun.

And luckily for them, Viktor’s blast was apparently so powerful that it damaged the lifting mechanism within the bridge, because it had rattled to a halt, the chains below releasing an ominous creak as they stalled.

The gap was only a few feet wide, laughable on Vi’s scale of ‘things I’ve leapt over that I probably shouldn’t have.’ So she went first with no hesitation, landing lithely on the angled surface at the other side and reaching out to grab the lip of the bridge for stability.

“Come on, we haven’t got all da—“

She was cut off by the sound of a single gunshot, and suddenly Viktor was crying out and falling to one knee on the other side of the bridge, his augmented left leg spraying what appeared to be oil from somewhere near his calf.

Caitlyn snarled, spinning around and placing herself between Viktor and the Enforcers, directly in the line of fire, and Vi could have sworn her heart leapt into her throat.

“I said…” Cait yelled angrily, raising her rifle into her sights and firing three consecutive shots, which all slammed into the concrete mere inches from the feet of three different Enforcers.

“Hold your fucking fire.”

Vi couldn’t help but smirk—even when their loyalty was in question, that take-no-shit tone of Caitlyn’s managed to bring every single Enforcer to a stunned halt. Caitlyn huffed a perturbed sigh, using the opportunity to spin around and crouch next to Viktor.

“Are you alright? Can you go on?” she asked softly, her hand resting gently on Viktor’s fully metal shoulder but her eyes locked onto Jayce’s limp form in his arms.

“No, yes,” Viktor growled, answering both questions at once. “Help me up, I… I c-can’t…”

He was sagging dangerously, his breaths so wheezy and loud that they could be heard above the chaos. His left leg rattled and hissed as Caitlyn did her best to pull him to his feet, but once he was, every single one of his augments strobed weakly.

“Go, go on,” Cait prodded, reloading her rifle and slowly turning to face the Enforcers. “I’ll hold them off.”

Vi bristled. “Cait, you can’t…”

“I’ll be right behind you, go!” Caitlyn barked with a curt nod, raising her gun once more.

Viktor wasted no time—swerving to the edge of the bridge and using the Hexclaw to reach across and grab the suspension cables. He stumbled as he made the leap, steam puffing from the vents in his neck when he struggled to regain his footing. And although she’d fought against him on this very bridge a week ago, Vi stepped forward, reaching out with a gauntlet and steadying him.

“Easy,” she breathed, helpless but to notice the way his entire body was quaking like an engine ready to blow. The heat coming off of him was tangible—like standing mere inches from a roaring flame—and his skin was sallow and slick with sweat. Vi desperately wished she could do something to help, but with the tubing running into Viktor’s chest to filter Jayce’s poisoned blood… there was little she could offer besides an encouraging word.

“Halfway there,” she said, noting the cringe on Viktor’s face. “Come on, you got this. He needs you…”

Viktor ground his teeth and released an anguished cry, clearly in an attempt to motivate himself, and then he was pushing forward—his heavy metallic footfalls echoing through the suspension cables.

“Cait, let’s go!” Vi called, turning back to narrow her eyes at the shrouded form of Caitlyn in the heavy blanket of smoke. She had yelled something to the Enforcers, and whatever it was… they didn’t pursue as she whipped around and gracefully launched herself over the gap in the bridge, her boots sliding on the concrete and sending her happily crashing against Vi.

“The fuck did you say to them?!” Vi asked as she reluctantly released her and stepped back.

Cait snickered as she folded and stowed her gun. “Something that would make my mother turn in her grave.”

Vi just beamed at her, clapping her gently on the back before spinning to follow Viktor into the dense grey smog of Zaun.

Following Viktor on the descent was like watching a steam train barreling off the tracks—his breaths were loud and labored, and with each one came a long puff of grey-black steam from the vents in his neck. His left leg kept faltering, oil still oozing down his calf from the bullet that had ruptured a line there, and Vi had to watch out for his oil-slick footprints lest she slip and fall.

But Viktor did not let his precarious condition slow him down; on the contrary, he seemed to be pushing harder and harder with each arduous step—his balance thrown off by his damaged leg, which sent his shoulder occasionally scraping against the walls with a metallic screech. Sparks rained each time he did, creating eerie flashes of light and long, ghastly shadows that swam through the smog ahead like the midnight ghouls in those stories Vi’s father used to tell to keep them from roaming the lanes after dark.

But it was too much to hope that this could go down without a hitch—just as they were traversing through the thin lanes on the south of the Entresol, Viktor stumbled. He’d done it plenty, with his damaged leg slowing him down, but this time he didn’t recover—a harsh, grating yelp escaping from somewhere deep in his chest as his knees hit the ground hard. Jayce’s limp body sagged in his arms as his torso fell forward, the Hexclaw weakly reaching out and just barely keeping him propped up before he went toppling over forward.

“Viktor!” Caitlyn called anxiously, running past Vi and sliding to her knees next to him. Vi stood her ground, peering behind them and listening for the thundering of the trailing Enforcers.

“Viktor, what is it, what can I do?!” Cait practically wailed, her hand hovering uselessly in the air between them.

Viktor shook his head, and in that selfsame moment Vi took notice of a repetitive, stalled clicking sound coming from Viktor’s augmented left forearm. He sighed, forcing yet more blackened steam from the vents in his neck.

“I… I’m r-running on f-fumes,” he said quietly, his mechanized voice buzzing as if it was preparing to fail. His entire frame was shuddering, the metal rattling against the streets of Zaun and sending an ominous roar through the hollowed-out gangway leading down to Emberflit.

“You may have to… take him from here,” Viktor choked the words out with obvious effort, his head sagging as he struggled to draw in a breath. “B-Blitzcrank can he-help you.”

Cait clicked her tongue in pity, reaching out to rest one hand on Viktor’s shoulder, and the other on Jayce’s. Her eyes wandered past them to where the sound of encroaching Enforcers was drawing ever-nearer, their azure depths marred with anxiety and worry.

“He wouldn’t leave you like this,” she said, her hand sliding over the vents to cup his cheek, gently forcing him to look up at her. “And I won’t either. Vi, come help me—one on either side.”

Vi hurried to comply, grabbing Viktor’s upper arm with the gauntlet as Cait positioned herself on his other side and leaned against him in preparation to support his considerable weight.

“On three,” Cait said, likely more for Viktor’s sake than Vi’s. “One… two, three!”

Viktor cried out through bared teeth as he laboriously forced himself back onto his feet, and Vi couldn’t help but groan as the heat and the weight of him had her straining against the gauntlets. But he stood fast, despite wavering precariously, so Vi gave Caitlyn a curt nod, and the two of them slowly but surely began inching him forward. It was sluggish and jarring, and the Enforcers were getting far too close if the eerie echoing of their boots was anything to go by, but Vi understood—Caitlyn wouldn’t leave him, even if it meant salvation for her dearest friend. If they’d learned anything with certainty over the last week, it was this—if Jayce’s life came at the cost of Viktor’s, then he wouldn’t want it. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

By the time they reached Emberflit alley, Viktor’s breaths came like screeching sheet metal—his augments so hot to the touch that Vi swore she could feel it through the gauntlet. He leaned on both of them with every step, his heavy footfalls uneven and shuffled as he approached the eerie, shadow-shrouded door to the Grimmoire house. And once there, he didn’t bother with any locks—simply leaning on Vi and kicking the door in with a deafening crack.

The interior of Viktor’s lab was organized chaos reminiscent of Ekko’s old hideouts he used to build from Sump scrap—a glowing and mismatched rat’s nest of gadgets that probably would have made most people shudder with fear, but… it felt familiar to Vi. Homey. Like she was back in the basement of the Last Drop, surrounded by Powder’s pieces-parts and smiling from ear to ear as she watched her baby sister tinker away with them, that lower lip bitten in a tooth as she focused.

“Blitzcrank!” Viktor called into the depths of the house, his voice buzzing again with the volume and startling Vi from her reminiscing. “Charge up the synthesizer, I need it!”

Viktor clambered to a nearby work table, one fairly similar to the one he himself had been lying prone on for the last week… except that this one was bolted into the floor and bore dark, rust-like stains and a drain in the center, all of which Vi did not care to examine any closer.

Viktor whined with exertion as he approached, unceremoniously dumping Jayce’s quaking body onto the table before leaning over him to brace against the edge and take a few very strained breaths. Caitlyn rushed around to the other side of the table, reverently repositioning Jayce’s arms and legs before reaching up to brush her fingers through his mess of hair.

“Janna wept!” Vi yelped as two glowing yellow eyes appeared from behind Caitlyn, and thundering metallic footsteps started to shake the very foundation of the house.

“Maker, you’re back. I was worried when you did not return t—“

“Not now, Blitz. The synthesizer,” Viktor barked, and Vi held her breath as the golem crouched beneath a doorway and entered the main lab, rising up to its full height of nearly nine feet tall. She’d never been this close to Blitzcrank, having only seen them from afar in skirmishes within the depths of Zaun. And while she’d known they were big, she hadn’t quite grasped the enormity until she was standing before them, watching their head tease at the exposed beams of the ceiling.

But the golem paused, their spherical head titling to the side—oddly reminiscent of a curious puppy.

“Your major systems are failing, Maker,” they said, something like worry ringing from the somewhat monotonous syllables of their mechanized voice. “Your blood pressure and temperature are critically high—I suggest immediate corrective action if you are to—“

“Not! Now! Blitzcrank! The synthesizer!” Viktor snarled, pushing himself upright and beginning to remove the tubing from his blood filtration columns. Jayce jerked as the needles were yanked from his arm, his head lolling to the side and his eyelashes fluttering as a small, pitiful whimper escaped his trembling lips.

The golem turned without another word, reaching out to grab a large oblong machine and haul it over as easily as lifting a box camera.

“Pardon me,” Blitzcrank said, bizarrely polite as they nudged Caitlyn out of the way so that they could place the synthesizer to Jayce’s right.

“Yes, s-sorry,” Caitlyn bumbled, rerouting to the head of the table and continuing to reflexively claw her hand through Jayce’s hair.

“I am Blitzcrank,” the golem said plainly, turning a small switch on the synthesizer and watching as the machine shuddered and came to life—emerald green chemicals beginning to bubble from a series of tubes and beakers within.

“C-Caitlyn,” Cait introduced herself with a sniffle, reaching up to wipe a tear from her reddened cheek. Viktor was hard at work next to her—attaching nodes and nodules to Jayce’s body before flipping on a series of small contraptions high overhead. Beeps and buzzers galore began to fill the space, all of them somehow resounding with alarming urgency, even though Vi had no idea what they meant.

“He was envenomated by Renata,” Viktor hurried to explain to the golem, flipping on a shop light and dousing Jayce in harsh, artificial light. “Nearly an hour ago. The injectors are in the sterilizer, get them.”

Blitzcrank obeyed, turning and stomping away across the small lab, and Vi used the opportunity to rush to Caitlyn’s side, disregarding the gauntlets as she went. She wrapped Cait up in her arms, stroking through that smooth indigo hair and doing her best to calm the trembling.

“He’s gunna be okay,” she tried, not daring to look down at Jayce—afraid that she might watch as those quick, hyperventilated breaths suddenly came to an abrupt and unceremonious halt. “If anyone can save him, it’s Viktor…”

Cait sobbed, her entire body jerking with labored, gasping breaths. “Why, why, why did I let him go in there alone, I… I shouldn’t have let him go in there alone…”

“No, hey! Don’t do that to yourself,” Vi cooed, burying her nose in Caitlyn’s hair and pulling her close, losing herself in that familiar scent of lavender and rosewater. “This is not your fault. It is Renata’s, you hear me? She did this…”

She trailed off, watching as Viktor worked—he had retrieved three sickeningly large syringes, all but one of them empty. Using one of the empties, he quickly sank the needle into Jayce’s arm, pulling back on the stopper and filling the vial with bright red blood. Without a word, he shoved the syringe over the table and barked a simple “Blitz!”

The golem took it, their massive body turning to face the synthesizer and place the syringe into an open compartment. They slammed it shut, flipping a switch and causing a raucous gurgle to fill the small space as it worked.

And then Viktor was taking up the filled syringe (which was brimming with a translucent blue liquid) and before Vi could ask what it was, he was jamming the needle into Jayce’s arm and injecting the entire dose.

“What is that, what are you doing?” Cait mumbled, clearly attempting to pull herself together but failing.

“Adrenaline,” Viktor replied sharply, tossing the now-empty syringe away and reaching for an empty one. “The venom is attacking his upper respiratory system, slowing his heart rate and depleting the oxygen supply to his brain. This will temporarily increase his heart rate and counteract those effects—at least long enough to synthesize the anti-venom. Unfortunately, it will also wake hi—“

Vi startled as a brutal scream tore from Jayce’s lungs, his entire body arching up off the table and his hands wildly flailing through the air. A look of sheer terror befell him as his eyes snapped open, his pupils blown wide as they stared up at the shop light overhead, unblinking and distant.

Cait sobbed again, harder this time, and then she was pushing away to lean in over Jayce and cup both sides of his face.

“Shhhh,” she cooed, her voice wavering and barely audible above the chaos. “It’s gunna be okay, you’re gunna be okay.”

He didn’t seem to even register her presence, his eyes slamming shut as he loosed a second, weaker scream through bared, grinding teeth. His left hand was still fishing frantically through the air, but soon enough it found something—Viktor’s wrist, his still flesh-and-bone one.

Jayce latched on like a vice, and Viktor actually stumbled with the strength of it—his metal frame yanked down to lean in closer, and for the briefest of moments, Vi watched as Viktor’s eyes scanned over the place where Jayce’s skin met his. And then, his movement slow and deliberate, he shifted to allow Jayce’s hand to join his own.

The whimper that followed was pitiful and weak, and Vi’s heart nearly shattered when Jayce managed to stifle his agonized screams to form a single word.

“Viktor?”

A sound like grinding metal rumbled from deep in Viktor’s chest, the noise sounding almost wounded.

“I’m here,” he replied, and Vi whipped around with shock—the modulator was gone, and she was hearing the raw, human voice of the Machine Herald for the very first time. And it was no wonder he used that thing—his natural voice was surprisingly gentle; soft and dove-like in a way that sent her mind spiraling down dusty, cobweb-covered alleyways to a dreary old shop… you have a good heart. Don’t ever lose it… no matter how the world tries to break you.

“I’m here, Jayce.”

Jayce’s breath stuttered in his chest and released like a heavy sob, but a small, bittersweet smile stretched his sallow, colorless lips. He blinked lethargically, his head lolling weakly to the side as he looked around.

“Y-your lab… I… I’m in your… lab…” he said, each word pushed out through harsh, hard-won gasps. “Th-thought I’d…n-never see the… day…”

Viktor released a single bark of laughter, more like a scoff really, his head bowing suddenly as he stared down at their joined hands. His purple fingers shifted within Jayce’s, extending slowly and then curling back down to reverently caress at Jayce’s knuckles.

“Neither did I,” he fairly whispered, his tone burdened with years upon years of longing, of regret and sorrow and pain—Vi knew it intimately… that tone was a dear old friend, well acquainted with every single poor, wretched citizen with the unfortunate fate of having been born in Zaun.

Jayce jerked, grimacing against an unseen pain, his fingers appearing to attempt to squeeze at Viktor’s but really just faintly twitching.

“S’good,” he choked, swallowing convulsively. “S’good… that you’re… here. Wouldn’t w-want it… any… other…”

His eyes fluttered closed then, his lips stilling and a single strained whimper escaping as his entire body went still.

A cacophony of alarms began ringing out from whatever contraptions Viktor had hooked him up to, and Vi watched as Caitlyn’s breath physically left her—her shoulders sagging and her whole body deflating as her fingers gripped desperately into Jayce’s hair.

“Nononono, Jayce… Jayce!” Viktor cried, yanking his hand free and rocketing into action—launching himself around the foot of the table to approach the synthesizer.

“The injectors, give them to me,” he demanded of Blitzcrank as he began tearing open a compartment in the synthesizer and retrieving a small vial of canary yellow liquid.

Blitzcrank handed over what looked to be a pair of metal guns equipped with small glass chambers on the spine, and with hands that he struggled to keep still (Vi didn’t even know he could tremble), he jammed the vial into the glass chamber.

“The second dose is not finished yet…” Blitzcrank said plainly, their strange mismatched eyes glowing as they analyzed the still-gurgling form of the synthesizer.

“I don’t care,” Viktor snapped, plunging the needle into Jayce’s arm with haste and pulling the trigger.

The entire dose rapidly fired into his bloodstream, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fast, and for a moment Vi could track its progress through glowing amber streaks just beneath the surface of his rich tawny skin. The deafening sound of the alarms was all that filled the lab as they watched, as they waited—waited for some sign that this hadn’t all been for nothing…

The rhythmic blaring of the alarm suddenly shifted to a flat, screeching, singular tone, and then Viktor was stumbling back, all of the air leaving his lungs in a single violent gasp as if he’d been punched. His glowing eyes went owlishly wide, his mouth falling open and his lip beginning to tremble… and it was suddenly very clear. Devastation.

Vi felt the weight in her stomach like she’d swallowed a bucket of river rocks… Jayce. One of the kindest men she’d ever met, someone who loved without limit, who genuinely wanted to change this shitty, broken system they were all born into. Someone who, along with Cait, had helped to completely change Vi’s negative opinion of Pilties—he was a pillar of both cities, and… how much would crumble without him? Certainly Caitlyn…

Vi reached out and rubbed her hand over Caitlyn’s back, her heart breaking as Cait shattered—collapsing over Jayce’s unmoving form and resting her forehead to his.

“Jayce, please…” she sobbed, her fists closing harder in his hair.

“No…”

The voice was Viktor’s, but it wasn’t sad or somber… instead, it was defiant. Determined. Furious.

“No…” he said again, stomping forward and grabbing the other injector. “You don’t get to take the easy way out…”

He tore the other vial from the synthesizer so fast that the compartment snapped as it was opened, green fluid beginning to spill from the machine and splatter haphazardly onto the floor.

“The second dose is not complete…” Blitzcrank said again, the golem’s eyes strobing and somehow giving them a look of confusion.

“The Shimmer, give it to me,” Viktor snarled at Caitlyn, and Vi could see the determination in her eyes as she shot upright—she didn’t doubt or question, she simply plunged her hand into her belt pouch and slammed the vials into Viktor’s waiting hand.

“But… those are for you…” she mumbled, reaching up and tentatively wiping away the tear streaks from her cheeks.

At breakneck speeds, Viktor had popped the stopper on one of the vials of Shimmer, and was now pouring what little anti-venom had been synthesized into it.

“I’ll make do with one,” he snapped as he jammed the vial into the injector and relinquished it to the control of the Hexclaw.

The Claw moved at such blinding speeds that Vi could barely keep up—injecting small amounts of the chemical mixture into points all over Jayce’s body and absolutely flooding him with it. The sound of the injector was a little macabre—rapid and rhythmic hiss-clicks reminiscent of an overworking turbine—but slowly, like ice thaw on those early spring mornings, that telltale purple glow began to slither through Jayce’s veins, inching toward his heart from points on his arms, shoulders, and chest.

Viktor tossed the injector away with abandon, quickly leaning in and placing his hands over Jayce’s heart in an x-shaped formation and beginning compressions.

“Come on…” Viktor growled between movements, his glowing eyes trained on Jayce’s slack, lifeless face. “Come on, you stubborn bastard…”

Caitlyn sobbed at the speaking of those words, turning and burying herself against Vi, and Vi could do little else but wrap her up and stroke her back—there was nothing she could say to comfort her, nothing that could alleviate the panic. So she simply squeezed her tighter, nuzzling into her neck and placing a soft, somber kiss there.

“You do not… get to end it like this…” Viktor growled, and Vi could hear the shaky, hollow grief in his so very human voice. “You do not get to leave me again…”

Vi felt her throat close up as the wave of nostalgia and grief flooded through her… that shrill, desperate cry of why did you leave me, and she couldn’t help but grip ever harder at Caitlyn, her fists twisting in Cait’s clothes.

With the force of a bomb going off, Jayce erupted from the table, sitting up and gasping for breath as if he’d been drowning. His Shimmer-tinted eyes were wide with terror, and suddenly he was scrambling backwards on the table, clearly disoriented and afraid. Cait hurried to push away from Vi, leaping back toward him to stop him from tumbling over the side and doing her best to hold him still.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay…” she chanted, holding him fast with one arm and raising the other to comb through his hair in soothing, rhythmic motions. He started to calm almost instantly, clearly recognizing Caitlyn’s voice—his whole body gradually relaxing against her as those manic panting gasps began to slow.

Caitlyn released a sigh of relief so heavy and burdened that Vi was convinced she would float away. But she couldn’t help but smile at her—just overjoyed to see that Cait hadn’t lost her best friend after all.

“Thank you…” Caitlyn said, her voice breaking in the middle and her lip trembling as she leaned in and rested her head against Jayce’s. “Thank you, Viktor, for saving his life…”

Vi looked to Viktor then, worry making her bark a frantic “oh shit!” when she found him stumbling back against Blitzcrank with a metallic crash, his eyelids fluttering weakly as he sank to his knees. But Blitzcrank reached out with those long clockwork arms and held him steady (the digits of their hand so large they covered nearly half of Viktor’s torso), and then they reached for the one remaining vial of Shimmer.

“Stay with him,” Vi said, patting Caitlyn’s shoulder as she circled behind her and slid to her knees before the hulking form of Blitzcrank. “Here… let me.”

Blitzcrank looked down at her for an extended moment, and she was surprised to find that they were sizing her up—considering if they could trust her. A golem… deciding to trust. And to her complete and utter shock, despite knowing absolutely nothing about her, they did; reaching out and gently placing the single vial of Shimmer in her waiting palm.

She was conflicted about holding the seemingly innocuous little vial in her hand—her first instinct to raise it high overhead and smash it against the concrete, as images of Powder’s… Jinx’s glowing purple eyes accosted her mind. But ultimately it was the weight of Blitzcrank’s trust that spurred her into action—leaning in to pop open the compartment in Viktor’s augmented forearm and slide the vial into place with a final, deafening click.

Viktor gasped, his augmented eyes strobing bright neon orange before his entire body began to hum and whir with activity. The steady cloud of steam that had been rising from the vents in his neck for the better part of an hour slowly started to dissipate, and somewhere deep within him, something hissed as it cooled. He shuddered, grimacing against the obvious power surge, and Blitzcrank’s large, overwhelming grasp settled in a little tighter.

“I’ve got you,” they said softly, and Vi was struck by just how much affection she could hear in the golem’s voice. She offered them a solemn, bittersweet smile, then reached out and gripped Viktor’s shoulder in camaraderie, still feeling the burning heat of the metal under her fingertips.

“You did good,” she said, watching as his eyes finally slid closed. “Rest. We’ll take it from here.”

Chapter Text

Jayce woke feeling like he’d been stung by a thousand bees—every inch of him burned, even his eyelids. So he didn’t dare open them yet, but began trying to parse out what happened, and where he was. Last he remembered, he was walking out of Renata’s Cultivair, feeling cocky and proud… a little too proud.

No, that wasn’t the last thing, there was more… but it was distant and foggy, like a half-remembered dream. He remembered pressure, like he was being carried; he remembered muddy, shapeless voices and blurry, bleeding colors. And the pain… he remembered the pain. It was as if he’d been skewered with countless red-hot pokers, his muscles seizing up so hard he could feel them threatening to break his bones… like he was being sabotaged by his very innards.

He remembered screaming, someone screaming and crying. He remembered how hard it had been to breathe, how he’d considered giving up entirely—it was just too hard to keep fighting. But there was a voice… a familiar voice swimming through the chaos, and he’d felt that… if he just reached for it, held onto it, then everything would be okay.

And that was it, then it was just… oblivion.

Jayce groaned as he attempted one small movement—just barely curling his arm, and he hissed in pain as the drag of fabric against his skin made it feel like it was on fire again. So he took a different approach, since moving was off the table—he warily blinked his eyes open, and squinted as he found himself in near-darkness.

But it was beginning to come into focus, the longer his eyes adjusted. There was a collection of liquid-filled, lantern-like devices hanging from the ceiling above him, each of them giving off a very weak glow of varying colors… yellow, pink, green, purple. There was a cacophony of ambient mechanical noises filling the room, almost like a clock-maker’s shop—clicks and whirs and muted whistles—and in the retreating darkness, he could make out a wide range of moving pieces-parts. Pistons, hydraulic lifts, crankshafts, cog rollers.

No… it couldn’t be. This can’t be… Viktor would never…

Jayce dared to attempt to sit up, yelping quietly when his abs revolted against the movement and almost sent him sprawling back on the…

Bed. This is someone’s bed.

There was a heavy, thick blanket draped over him, and to his left was a small, obviously hand-welded nightstand big enough only for a single skinny lamp next to a cup of water and small glass vial, with a scribbled note attached that Jayce had to lean in close to read.

For the pain.

~V

Viktor. Viktor’s lab. Viktor’s lab in Zaun. He was in Viktor’s lab in Zaun.

But the shock and glee would have to wait—it felt like his mouth had been stuffed with cotton balls, so he frantically reached for the water and gulped it down in mouthfuls so large, they hurt to swallow. And after that, he reached for the vial.

A week ago, he might have been skeptical of any liquid Viktor tried to give him. But with the week he’d had, the peppered conversations and fights… he knew something about Viktor that… well, he should have never doubted—Viktor wouldn’t give him something he knew Jayce wouldn’t approve of.

So he popped the cork off and downed the substance, fighting off the gag at the bitter, metallic taste that saturated his tongue. Movement caught his eye then, and he rose unsteadily to his feet to find himself staring into a dingy, cracked mirror that had been haphazardly propped against a wall.

He was wearing only his torn and bloodied slacks, and the rest of him looked rough—the cuts and bruises on his face from the scuffle at Grime’s warehouse remained, as well as the bruising on his neck from the Hexclaw. And it only got worse from there; pretty much his entire torso was a hodgepodge masterpiece of abrasions and bruises, and it was very clear that he’d been injected with something at his right inner arm… many somethings, if the considerable bruising there was anything to go by. But it was also clear that someone had taken good care of him—the bandages on his hand from the glass cut had obviously been refreshed, and there was another taped just below his collar bone. And when he felt of them, he found that a strange, waxy substance had been spread on a majority of the bruises, likely a numbing agent judging by the slight tingle.

He was just brushing his finger over the healing cut over his eye when he heard it—crying. Loud, shrill crying interspersed with pitiful yelps of “ow, it hurts, it hurts, stop, stop!”

Jayce leapt into action, ignoring the way every muscle screamed in protest, and began frantically looking around for something he could use as a weapon. He found only a small pry-bar on a messy desk against the wall, so he wielded it, turning next for the pulled fabric curtain that separated this room from the screaming. Cautiously, he reached out with a single finger, the pry-bar raised in preparation to strike as he nudged the curtain aside.

In the neighboring room were three figures; first and foremost, the source of the crying—a young girl of maybe nine, sitting rigid on a high work table as her fully-prosthetic legs dangled over the side. Seated on a low stool in front of her and leaned in with a soldering iron and clamp was Viktor…

He looked… better. He didn’t appear to be in pain at all, unlike the last time Jayce had seen him. In fact he looked good—clad only in a sheer shirt that did little to hide the glowing, mechanical parts of his chest and back, and slim, becoming black trousers. He was wearing his mask, however, as he leaned in with the soldering iron and went back to work.

The third person was a woman (quite obviously the girl’s mother, if her anxious, worried vibrations were any indication), and she chewed at her lip as she looked back and forth from the girl to Viktor.

“Ow! That hurts!” the girl cried again, sniffling thereafter as tears poured down her puffy, reddened cheeks.

“I know, child, I’m almost finished,” Viktor replied flatly, his head still bowed as he focused on the work…

But the claw… the Hexclaw came forward to begin gently plucking at the girl’s hair, once, twice, three times before moving on to her clothing—pulling repeatedly at a leather strap on the girl’s shoulder and letting it fall.

And gradually, the distraction worked—her cries slowly quieted, her gaze following the claw like they might a butterfly, and her eyes brightened as a tentative smile spread her lips.

“Stop it!” she giggled, swatting at the Hexclaw, but it dodged. It went next for her other shoulder, and the girl headed it off—blocking the attempt and positively squealing with pride.

Jayce couldn’t help the fond smile that stretched his own lips as he lowered the pry-bar and let the curtains back down to hide himself. He stayed where he was though, quietly watching the scene unfold.

“There,” Viktor said calmly, leaning back to analyze his work. “Move your legs.”

The girl looked back at him in surprise, obviously having forgotten about them completely. She kicked them with fervor, her grin growing ever wider as she did.

“No pain?” Viktor asked, setting his clamp and soldering iron onto a tray and watching the articulation of the girl’s small legs.

“Nope!” the girl yelped happily, kicking her legs even harder, to the point Viktor had to put a hand up to deflect them.

“Rhaena. Rhaena! What did I tell you about climbing?” Viktor continued, the modulator in his mask making his voice sound threatening and ominous. But the girl, Rhaena apparently, was completely unfazed as she leapt from the table and began bouncing impatiently on her metal feet.

“I knowwww, no more than twenty feet,” she groaned dramatically.

“That’s right,” Viktor replied, his focus on the girl but the Hexclaw once again moving behind his back—pulling the lid off of a porcelain jar and reaching inside to retrieve what appeared to be a sweet in a twisted metallic wrapper. The claw came forward then, dangling the treat in the girl’s face to pull her attention but then rising up just out of her reach.

“Your legs are not big enough, not strong enough yet to withstand impacts of more than twenty feet,” Viktor said, pulling the claw up higher when the girl jumped into the air, attempting to grab the candy.

She pouted, stomping one of her prosthetic legs and actually making the adjacent wall of tools rattle.

“But you said metal is perfection!” she whined.

Viktor froze, his head just barely tilting to the side as he peered up at the girl’s mother, who just gave him a fond, pursed smile that clearly said ‘what now, huh?’ And though his face was covered, Jayce could just see that expression—guilty and caught, with a slight blush of embarrassment on his high, angular cheekbones.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Viktor replied, relinquishing the sweet and allowing the girl to leap up and tear it from the Hexclaw’s grasp. “But perhaps you shouldn’t put the cart before the horse, hm?”

“Whassat mean?” Rhaena barked as she pulled at the wrapper.

Viktor puzzled a little before answering, “It means… best not put your ambition before your ability.”

The girl sagged, as it obviously wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“And be that as it may… I don’t think perfection should be the goal, myška,” Viktor continued. “I did once, but…”

He paused, and this time Jayce died to see his face—what was he thinking, behind that mask? Where did that lofty dream of perfection go, and what made it flee?

“Perfection… true perfection… is unattainable. And to strive for it is to seek out madness.”

The girl seemed oblivious to his words as she ravenously tore free the wrapper and popped the sweet into her mouth, but then she was replying (around the mouthful),

“If pewfection isn’t the goaw, what ishh?”

Viktor stilled, his head bowed for a moment and his purple hand clenching as he stared down at it.

“Better than yesterday, I think,” he said simply, and Jayce felt like his heart was about to burst from his chest; he knew this Viktor—this hopeful, quietly optimistic man who spewed poetry even when he didn’t mean to. Jayce had thought that man was gone; dissected and tossed into a formaldehyde-filled jar on Renata Glasc’s shelf of trophies. But he was here. He was weak and broken, in desperate need of mending… but he was here.

Rhaena shrugged, and then spun on her heel and rocketed out the front door with impressive speed.

“Rhaena… twenty feet! Rhae… she’s not listening, is she?” Viktor asked as he sagged in his seat, shaking his head fondly.

“Welcome to my world,” the woman said with a chuckle as she stepped forward to rest her hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “Thank you, Viktor. You are a saint, truly.”

Viktor shook his head again, turning away from the woman to peer out the wide-open door to where Rhaena was skipping back and forth down the darkened street.

“I’m no such thing. I am simply a scientist…” he tried, his voice flat and unreadable.

The woman squeezed his shoulder. “A benevolent one, which… down here? Is saintly.”

Viktor did not respond—instead silently standing and walking to his wall of tools, where he went about hanging his clamp and soldering iron.

“I… I’m afraid I… I can’t… I can’t pay you today,” the woman said solemnly, raising a hand to rub her temple. “Grime has yet to pay me for last month, and I… I didn’t budget for…”

“It’s alright, Clem,” Viktor interrupted, turning back. “Pay me when you can. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t come to me.”

Clem choked on a sob, but quickly shook it off and regained her composure.

“But… what about…”

“You let me worry about Ms. Glasc,” Viktor barked, his voice hard and almost vicious… but it wasn’t aimed at Clem. “I have some choice words for her anyway.”

Clem nodded, taking a single long step forward and throwing her arms around Viktor’s much larger form. Viktor froze, and yet again Jayce could perfectly envision the face behind that mask—shocked still, and unsure of what to do.

“Děkuji za dárek, Viktor,” she murmured, her face buried against his metal chest.

He awkwardly raised a single hand, placing it on her shoulder and patting twice.

“Rádo se stalo,” he said back, his voice so low that his modulator almost turned it purely into a hum.

And while Jayce didn’t know what they had said to each other, gratitude hung heavy on every syllable. Clem nodded one final time as she pulled away, wiping her face of a few errant tears before quickly following her daughter out of the lab.

Viktor watched them go, still and silent as a statue for a time—until that modulated voice was once again filling the lab,

“Feeling better?”

Jayce startled, peering over to find the haunting ochre glow of the Machine Herald’s eyes now staring him down through that empty, soulless mask.

“Y-yeah…” Jayce started, suddenly feeling like his mouth was full of cotton again. “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just… I heard… crying…”

“Mm,” Viktor responded flatly, beginning to slowly meander closer. “Yes. Rhaena is an accident-prone child, but… she is resilient. Which, she will need to be, to survive down here…”

Jayce eyed him warily for a moment, uncertain of his mood, his current temperament.

“What… happened?” he decided to ask, raising a hand to rub weakly at his temple; the melded, kaleidoscope of images and sensations still making him dizzy and slightly nauseous.

“Renata poisoned you,” Viktor replied plainly, as if discussing the weather. “The anti-venom is doing its job, but… slowly.”

Jayce nodded awkwardly, pursing his lips and letting his eyes wander around the lab. It was darker than the Hextech laboratory, and much, much smaller, but… in its organized chaos, it was familiar. He’d never stepped foot in it, but… it felt like home.

“Wh-where are Caitlyn and Vi?” Jayce went on, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and electing to relinquish the pry bar onto a nearby tray. Small talk had never suited them, but… he wasn’t ready yet for the big talk.

“Our descent into Zaun was an attention-grabbing one. You were… in a precarious state, so the Sherriff wanted to ensure that attention went elsewhere,” Viktor replied, his tone still even and matter-of-fact.

They both fell silent then, and Jayce felt the weight of it on his chest like an anvil. So he bashfully looked away, his eyes finding the now-childless table and stool.

“You’re good with them. Kids, I mean,” he tried, aching to meet Viktor’s eyes as he looked back at him and finding only the emotionless surface of the mask.

“Mm,” Viktor grunted noncommittally. “Children are a blank canvas—they haven’t yet been marked with our biases, our prejudices and irrational fears. To them, I am just a man. A metal man, but… they have no reason yet to fear me, to… find me monstrous. And I’m certainly not going to give them one.”

Jayce chuckled, daring to take a step forward. “I had forgotten how poetic you can be, sometimes.”

He didn’t let Viktor rebut that statement—instead cautiously raising both hands to ghost over the edges of Viktor’s mask, his fingertips soft as they traversed the hard angles to question at the clasps.

Viktor tensed, and Jayce froze in response—ready to lower his hands if Viktor’s answer to the unspoken question was no. But Viktor did not protest; did not jerk his head to the side or back away. So Jayce continued, barely pressing into the lock slides before carefully pulling the mask away.

Viktor was as breathtaking as ever, but he looked tired. Exhausted, even. Jayce hadn’t seen his face much in the last six years, but when he did, he was actually glad to find that the dark bags under his eyes were gone. No matter Jayce’s opinion on Viktor’s augments, he would always be grateful for that. But it seemed they had returned, the events of the last week taking a clear and obvious toll on him.

“Y-you’re…” Jayce started, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he bashfully looked down at the mask in his hands. “You’re not monstrous. Not to me.”

Viktor’s eyes slid closed, a heavy, burdened sigh leaving his thin lips. He simply marinated in the statement for a moment, his body almost statue-still; not a single twitch or flinch giving him away.

And when he opened his eyes again, the glare he leveled at Jayce was intense.

“What am I to you, then? A week ago, I… I thought I knew. You have me exiled, and then spend the next six years coming up with new and innovative ways to hurt me. You paint me as a villain and a maniac, to the point that even Zaunites fear me, and then… then you go and do this?! Care for me, risk exile for me, risk your life for me multiple times… help me understand, Jayce. Because I just… don’t.”

Jayce sighed, lowering the mask until it settled against his thigh. Viktor was right. Everything he said was right. And what excuse could there be for behaving that way? How could he justify what he’d done to Viktor? How?!

Jayce just shook his head sadly, turning back and wandering, aimless and hopeless into what passed for a bedroom. He watched the numerous machines throughout as they went about their rhythmic, reliable patterns, his head scrambling for something other than I still love you.

“I… I still make coffee for two in the morning,” he began, turning the mask over and over in his hands. “I still sleep on the left side of the bed, even though the right is closer to the bathroom, because… because the right is your side. I keep sweetmilk in the icebox, even though I hate the stuff. I open all the windows when it rains, because you always liked the sound, the smell...”

He paused to head off the shaking in his voice, holding the mask in one hand and wrapping himself in his other… but it was empty support.

“I never write on the second chalkboard in the lab, and… it was two years before I even touched your desk, and when I did I… I had a panic attack trying to put everything back just the way it was, the way you left it.”

He took a deep, wavering breath as he shook his head against the onslaught of emotion.

“Everything I do is in service of a ghost…”

His voice finally shattered, and he bowed his head as the tears started flowing.

“You haunt me, Viktor. You’re in everything I touch, everything I see, everything I am. And yet, you’re… you’re not. Your absence is this… this hole in my chest, and it… it hurts to breathe. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I messed up, I made mistakes, I let them play me, and… let them take you away from me. And you hated me, I knew you’d never forgive me, so I… I guess I took my self-loathing out on you. It didn’t make any sense, but every time I met you on the battlefield, I got this… this high from being in your presence again. So I sought it out, fabricated reasons to fight you. Because… at least for a little while… it stopped hurting so much—it became physical, something else I could focus on, other than this… this pit inside me that’s slowly consuming everything I am. And I don’t know what will be left of me when it’s chewed me up and spit me out—certainly not the man you once loved. I don’t… I don’t even know what’s left now.”

He sniffled, shaking his head again sadly.

“Maybe it’s penance,” he went on. “Why I… did what I did; trashed my own legacy, threw away my entire life in a desperate bid to save you. It’s… it’s what I should have done then. And I know, I know it doesn’t make up for what happened, what I did to you. Nothing ever will. But… at the very least, it was worth it—whatever they decide to do with me… exile, Stillwater… you’re worth it, a thousand times over, you are.

“And I need you to know that… this wasn’t some… some elaborate scheme to make you fall in love with me again, I didn’t… I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. I was just… worried about you, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand idly by as they hurt you again. I just… I just wanted you to be okay… I wanted you to be okay. That’s all…”

He trailed off, his barrel of excuses finally dried up. He brushed his thumb back and forth over the precise welding lines in the mask, imagining that it was Viktor’s actual cheek, that soft, supple skin beneath his fingertip.

He listened for Viktor’s response, for any sign that his words had hit home… but for the longest time, it never came. Not even the mechanical hum of Viktor’s breathing—just the chaos of clicks from the various moving parts filling the small room.

And then, finally, Viktor spoke.

“I never said I hated you.”

Jayce briefly considered retorting, ‘I’ve got a lovely set of Hexclaw scars that beg to differ,’ but instead he just waited—waited for Viktor to explain, if he would.

The sound of Viktor’s bare metal feet against the cement met Jayce’s ears, coming one, two steps closer behind him. But he was afraid to face him, afraid of what he’d find in those glowing augmented eyes—he wasn’t sure he could handle the indifference, the rage and betrayal hiding along every scar, every sharp angle of his handsome features.

“I was angry,” Viktor continued, his voice flat and unreadable. “Gods, was I angry. I used to carve your name into my skin before an augmentation just so that I could slice it off…”

Jayce cringed, the gory image burning into the backs of his eyelids as he blinked.

“In fact, when I removed my heart, I… I almost sent it to you,” Viktor went on, and Jayce actually flinched—he could only imagine the booze-soaked bender he would have gone on if that had happened.

“But hate?” Viktor continued, a few more steps filling the air until Jayce could tell he was mere inches away. “Hate is an acquired taste, and—“

Viktor scoffed, the sound somewhat bittersweet, like it wanted to be a laugh.

“—you know me; sweet tooth.”

Jayce chuckled right back, daring to half-turn, so that he could look Viktor in the eyes but still keep his shoulder turned, keep himself guarded.

Viktor met his gaze not with rage, not viciousness… but something soft and prodding, something open and vulnerable.

“And I was prepared to stay angry with you…” Viktor said, averting his eyes and looking down at his mask where it was loosely clutched in Jayce’s hand. He reached out, taking the mask into his purple hand and gently prying it from Jayce’s grasp. He stared down at it for a long time, the strange, exposed-fascia look of his hand providing Jayce with the unique opportunity to watch how it moved, how certain ‘muscles’ glowed brighter when he did.

“But,” Viktor paused, swallowing hard and causing a whir from within his neck. “In the last week, I’ve come to realize something…”

He exhaled long and hard, the sound vaguely disappointed.

“I… built up this image of you, in my head… crafted it as a coping mechanism in the violent aftermath of my exile. It was… my comfort, my lifeline—this bastardized, half-formed monster I made of you. It was something I could…”

His purple hand rose up slightly between them, curling into a fist that began to glow and shake.

“Something I could grasp when the pain became too much, when… when I shredded my vocal cords from screaming…”

Jayce gulped hard, every muscle twitching as he desperately fought the urge to fling his arms around Viktor and hold him, hold him so tight that their bodies become one.

“But…” Viktor continued, releasing the tension in his hand and allowing it to slowly return to his side. “That man was a figment of my imagination—a myth, a fable. I lumped all of my rage and grief onto him, and formed a one-dimensional villain that I could easily paint a target onto…”

His eyes slid closed then, his lips just barely trembling.

“And I knew he wasn’t real, knew that I was oversimplifying the situation in order to make hurting you easier. Because I never wanted to… it’s not in my nature… but it was agony to even be near you… I had come to associate the sound of your voice with the bone saws, the color of your eyes with… with the… the machine that kept bringing me back when my heart gave out…”

Jayce couldn’t fight it anymore—he fully turned, taking a single step forward until he could feel Viktor’s breath on his cheek, and dared to begin reaching out. But the action seemed to startle Viktor, and he quickly moved away, shaking his head as his eyes went dark with confusion, the mask hitting the floor with a jarring, metallic clang.

“It’s still there, Jayce,” he said, his voice going shrill with terror and his eyes darting about like a spooked animal. “And I don’t… I don’t know what to do with it, it’s… I want to let it go. I want to let go of this anger, but I… don’t think I can, I don’t know how; it’s all I’ve held onto for six long years, and without it, I… I’ll drown…”

“Viktor, please, let me…” Jayce began, but at the sound of his voice, Viktor took another unsteady step back, his thighs hitting the desk hard as both hands came flying up to clap over his ears, his purple one beginning to glow so bright it illuminated the entire room. So without saying a word, and against his better judgement, Jayce launched himself forward and pulled Viktor in against him.

Viktor immediately struggled—pushing against Jayce’s chest and scrambling backward, colliding once more with the desk and loudly jostling everything on it. Then the jumbled, nearly-incoherent words came spilling out,

“N-no… stop it, stop it, stop… I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want this, S-Silas, please…”

Jayce didn’t know who this ‘Silas’ was, but it was very clear Viktor was suffering a very visceral flashback. ‘I had come to associate the sound of your voice with the bone saws’—Jayce’s voice had triggered this, so he remained silent, holding fast and rerouting one hand to cradle the back of Viktor’s head, lightly scratching at his scalp like he used to do… like he did on Viktor’s bad days, spent lying in bed with heat packs nestled against his leg and lower back, tears streaming down his face as he fought desperately for any lying position that might bring relief.

It took a long time, and though Viktor still shook like a leaf, he slowly went still in Jayce’s arms—his organic muscles going lax and his metal parts settling heavily against Jayce’s chest. A deep, stinging pain began to throb from a point near his collar bone, but he ground his teeth and ignored it—pulling Viktor tighter and beginning to stroke lightly up and down his back. Jayce didn’t know if he could even feel it, given that a majority of his back was metal, but he didn’t care. He just kept soothing Viktor’s trembling form, listening intently as the manic pumping of his (apparently now fixed) heart began to slow, as the panicked breaths gradually calmed.

But when Viktor shifted, his arms sliding up between them, that throbbing pain fired off through Jayce’s nerves like a bolt of lightning, and he couldn’t help but yelp as his knees threatened to give out. Viktor pulled back, the ghost of his panic still lingering in his wide, wary eyes, but his focus was on Jayce’s chest.

“R-right, yes, the… the wound, I… I should… I have a… topical…”

He was stuttering and struggling for words, and Jayce cursed this awful pain, that it had torn them apart, ripped a hole in the brief moment of comfort they’d stolen through the chaos…

“I’m fine, V, really, it’s nothing…”

Viktor violently flinched at the sound of Jayce’s voice, wildly waving his augmented hand in a vague ‘please stop talking’ gesture, so Jayce quickly slammed his mouth shut and watched as Viktor retrieved a new vial from his desk and pulled the stopper.

He did not meet Jayce’s eyes as he turned back to face him—he simply leaned in, plucking at the bandage and tilting his head with curiosity as he analyzed. And Jayce couldn’t help but share it, craning his head down to look at the now-exposed wound.

There was a small, aggravated pinprick mark beneath his collar bone, no larger than a silver cog. But radiating outward was a brilliant magenta Lichtenberg scar that stretched up out of Jayce’s view toward his neck, and down toward his ribs.

Viktor was immeasurably gentle as he began to spread the ointment over it, the very tips of his purple fingers glowing brighter each time they came into contact with Jayce’s skin… and it was mesmerizing—like miniature fireworks bursting just beneath the surface… or whatever substance his hand was now made of.

Moving slowly, deliberately, Jayce raised his arm and very carefully laid his fingers atop Viktor’s knuckles, delighting in the way a new, more subtle glow accompanied his touch.

Viktor froze, his fingertips still hovering over Jayce’s chest, and Jayce dared to trace the pad of a single finger down the back of Viktor’s hand—his eyes transfixed on that glow beneath the surface as it followed his touch.

“I… I never got to ask you about it… before,” he said, keeping his voice in as low a whisper as he could in an attempt to avoid triggering Viktor’s earlier panic. Luckily it seemed to work, because Viktor remained still, his eyes following Jayce’s finger as it began to form repetitions up and down, up and down his hand.

“Can you… feel with it? Is there sensation?” Jayce asked, placing his thumb beneath, in Viktor’s palm, and lightly pushing it away so that he could analyze further—those strings of deep violet moving and shifting like muscle but hard and cool to the touch like metal. Like living metal…

Viktor swallowed hard again, the vent slats in his neck opening to release a single hiss like a forced breath.

“Mmhmm,” was all he managed, the sound grating and mechanical in his throat.

“What does it… feel like?” Jayce asked, sliding his thumb up to the base of Viktor’s pointer finger and then all the way up to the fingertip in one slow, fluid motion. The glow beneath intensified as it followed, and Jayce was starting to get the distinct impression that, with more study, he could begin to parse out what it meant—how certain intensities could provide insight into what Viktor was feeling, what he… what he liked.

“It’s…” he started, his voice sounding a little weak. “It’s difficult to explain. It’s a little bit… backward—that which would cause pain in flesh, I barely feel; blades, bullets… hammers.”

The look that accompanied the word was devilishly coy, and Jayce found that his cheeks warmed.

“It feels a bit like… like my hand has fallen asleep—fuzzy, almost. Distant. But ehm… this…”

He tilted his hand to the side minutely, prompting Jayce to slide his fingertip down between Viktor’s fingers, and he didn’t miss the strange way that every augment in Viktor’s body shuddered and strobed, like a power surge.

Viktor blinked rapidly, his tongue peeking out to wet his… very tantalizing lower lip.

“This… light touches… it’s almost like it… it overcompensates. I feel it like a gunshot.”

Jayce grinned, ideas firing off wildly in his mind but a needling anxiety catching on all of them—careful, you don’t know how he feels about this just yet. He’s vulnerable and flayed right now, handle with care.

“And… if… if I, um…” he murmured, gently pinching Viktor’s hand in between his thumb and pointer finger and cautiously raising it toward his lips. He kept his eyes trained on Viktor’s face, watching for distress, for any sign of discomfort or panic, but instead he just found fetching, doe-eyed curiosity.

So with all the reverence that had been simmering within Jayce’s chest for six long, agonizing years, he carefully pressed his lips to the tip of Viktor’s pointer finger.

Jayce could almost track the path of the shudder as it went through Viktor—traveling the length of his arm and into his shoulder, down across his chest to his hips and on to his knees, which rattled dangerously. And while Jayce almost tossed him a sly, victorious grin, he was suddenly accosted with flashes of a memory…

Staring up at an assault of blinding lights, Viktor’s silhouette looming over him. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything, Viktor, I love you,’ he’d tried to say, but his lungs felt like they were in a vice, his throat felt like it was being ravaged by acid. ‘Don’t, don’t you do that, don’t you dare.’ Viktor’s reply was shattered and petrified, his hands shaking and his eyes wide with unmistakable terror. ‘Don’t you say your goodbyes…’

Jayce jolted with the visceral memory, the ghost of those fiery pains surging through his bloodstream. And he had, he’d saved the apology…

“You didn’t let me finish, earlier,” he said, moving on to Viktor’s middle finger and softly pressing his lips there too. “I… I am so sorry for what happened to you, and for my hand in it. Nothing will ever make up for the pain I caused, but I will try every day…”

He paused to move on to the next finger, watching ravenously as the glow followed when he placed his kiss and continued.

“And I need you to know that you’re under no obligation to reciprocate—pity’s not what I want. I want you to be happy, whatever that looks like.”

He moved finally to Viktor’s pinky finger, pressing his kiss to it and simply staying for a moment to feel the texture and the pressure of that strange, ethereal substance against the sensitive skin of his lips.

“And if your ‘happy’ doesn’t involve me, I… I can live with that. It’ll hurt, I’m not saying it won’t. But… I can love you from a distance. I… I have been for the last six years…”

Jayce was distinctly aware of the pounding sound of Viktor’s augmented heart, the pistons thudding hard in his chest like a speeding train engine. His eyes were laser-focused down at his own hand, the pulsating glow still radiating from the last place Jayce’s lips had touched.

“J-Jayce, I…” he paused to swallow again, barely shaking his head. “How can I… how do I reconcile this… this war within me? How is it that I can still be so angry with you, that I can still feel these violent, vicious urges… and yet…”

Jayce’s heart could have crashed to a halt in his chest when Viktor’s fingers very slowly began to curl, weaving through Jayce’s until their hands were fully joined. And when Viktor spoke, it was barely a murmur—the slamming of his mechanical heart nearly dwarfing it,

“I held you in my arms as you were dying, and I… I did not feel satisfaction or vindication. It did not feel like justice. Instead it felt like… it felt like that first time I woke without my heart. It felt like something important, something vital had been savagely ripped out, like a phantom limb—one more piece of myself gone. But I… I’ve conditioned myself out of loving you, unlearned it. And I… I don’t know where that leaves me…”

Viktor’s voice was shaking worse now, his lower lip trembling as he broke their eye contact and peered down as he released Jayce’s hand and reluctantly pulled back. So Jayce raised both hands, cupping either side of Viktor’s face, his fingers grazing the metal plating on his cheeks as he gently forced Viktor to look at him.

“Knowledge is like energy, V,” Jayce said simply, staring into those glowing orange eyes as he soothed his thumbs over the seam where metal met skin. “It cannot be destroyed—it just changes form. And I can…”

He had to pause and swallow the awful lump in his throat, tentatively taking a single step forward as he did, until he could feel the heat of Viktor’s moving parts against his skin.

“I can help you change it back,” he pleaded in low tones, hoping against hope that it didn’t sound too presumptuous—does he even want that? Am I misreading him? What if he wants to keep the anger, the rage…

So Jayce continued, his voice barely more than a whisper,

“If… if you’ll have me…”

The light show that occurred in Viktor’s augmented eyes was breathtaking—the aperture opening and causing his artificial pupils to expand like a cat’s as his eyes roved so slowly down Jayce’s face until… until they stopped at his lips.

“I…” Viktor said, voice breaking. “I can’t forgive you…”

Jayce felt like his heart had plummeted into his stomach, hitting every rib on the way down. He was certain… he’d been so certain that he’d seen hope catch like dry timber, that he’d seen Viktor’s walls coming down… but perhaps he’d just been too bold… it was too much to hope that the sum of his mistakes could be so easily solved. Too much to hope…

“But,” Viktor went on, his purple hand rising and those thin, spindly fingers gently wrapping around Jayce’s wrist, his fingertips coming to rest on the wildly beating pulse point.

“Perhaps… it’s possible… that I don’t have to…”

Jayce could have sworn his entire soul left his body as Viktor’s lips slowly met his—six long, agonizing years of devastation, of grief and misery and longing finally coming to an end in this one simple act. And for a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t think—the kiss still and stunted, as fear began to flood through his already-delicate veins. Fear that if he moved, if he dared to reciprocate, that he would frighten Viktor off, that he could shatter this fragile chance like he’d bitten into a glass barometer.

Soon Viktor’s hand was rising up to tentatively wrap around his nape, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, and it was like getting back on a bike—that familiar second-nature impulse that kicked in, screaming I know this. I’ve never known anything more intimately than this. But when the pressure changed on his neck, Viktor barely squeezing with those strange augmented fingers, Jayce found himself startling—visions of his dreary lab beneath the forge, the bite of hard metal against his cheek as he was roughly shoved down… that vicious snarl as Viktor clamped the Hexclaw onto the back of his neck…

Jayce yelped, pulling back and barely taking a half-step away… he didn’t want to. Gods, he felt that he would die if he pulled away, but…

“Don’t…” he whispered, his voice so broken he barely managed to eke out the unsteady, pitiful plea. He kept his eyes firmly shut, unable and unwilling to see the look on Viktor’s face right now. “Don’t do this if you don’t want it… please… I know you have every right to hurt me, but… not like this… please… I don’t think I can survive it.”

The silence hung in the space between them like a newly-sharpened blade, and Jayce simply waited, his whole body trembling… run me through, I don’t care. Just please, please don’t do this to me again, please…

“Oh, Jayce,” Viktor cooed, and the sheer dove-like tenderness in his voice had a sob tearing from Jayce’s throat—but he did his best to catch it, to stifle it. For better or worse, he needed Viktor’s next words… needed them like he needed oxygen.

“Don’t you know…”

And suddenly his lips were pressed to Jayce’s once more, that hungry but timid kiss saying it all… don’t you know I never stopped loving you? Through the pain, through the anger… the distance and the heartache? I never stopped, not once, not even for a moment. And it nearly killed me…

The temptation was just too much; despite the fear, the absolute terror that this was just going to bring more pain, Jayce kissed him back—cautiously tilting his head and moving his lips to the rhythm Viktor had already set.

That was when Viktor went off like a gunshot—his body crashing against Jayce’s as he pulled them violently flush, his kiss becoming hard and desperate, breathless and unhinged. And Jayce could do little else but whimper into it as he was hastily backed toward the bed.

Chapter Text

Jayce’s heart was hammering so hard against his ribs by the time his back hit the bed that he was convinced he was having a miniature heart attack. It had hurt, of course it had, with his plethora of injuries, but in comparison to the frantic and constant thoughts running through his head on repeat—oh my gods, this is happening, this is really happening, oh gods, oh fuck—he hardly registered the pain. And with Viktor prowling on top of him, those ethereal glowing eyes making Jayce shudder with anticipation… there wasn’t much room for pain anyway.

The whimper that escaped when Viktor’s body slotted against his, heavy and reassuring and real, was quite frankly pathetic. And it only worsened when Viktor’s mouth met his once again, those lips as soft and supple and sweet as he remembered, as he’d fantasized and lusted after for years. Jayce drank him in ravenously, unashamedly plunging his tongue against Viktor’s and feeling a rush of intense heat travel straight to his groin when Viktor eagerly reciprocated.

But Viktor rerouted then, his mouth finding Jayce’s still-sore neck and very cautiously delivering a series of licks and kisses to the pulse point. Jayce did what he could to hold on for dear life—his fists closing on handfuls of Viktor’s thin shirt and twisting until he swore he could hear the seams starting to go. Viktor growled in response, and Jayce could do little else but throw his head back and moan, desperately trying to get his frantic, nearly-hyperventilated breaths under control. He was already getting lightheaded, and at this rate, there was a very real possibility he would pass out before they even got anywhere.

And it certainly wasn’t helping that Viktor’s leg had slotted between Jayce’s, those slim hips ever-so-gently grinding down against his groin, and… Jayce didn’t think he’d ever gotten so incredibly hard so fucking fast. Which didn’t really help the lightheadedness either…

“V… V! S-slow down, please, I… I need a second…” he whimpered, sliding a hand between them and not pushing Viktor away, but just… grounding himself.

Viktor chuckled as he pulled back, the sound mechanical and ominous and so goddamned hot, which made Jayce’s hips give a totally involuntary jerk against Viktor’s.

“A moment ago you were ravenous, and now you want me to slow down?” Viktor positively purred, cruelly grinding his hips again as torturous punctuation.

Jayce whined at the pressure, slamming his eyes shut and biting his lip, hoping the pain could stem the back-breaking lust that was overwhelming his poor, recently-poisoned heart.

“I don’t always know what’s good for me, V…” he tried, swallowing hard and still holding fast to Viktor’s clothing.

“Yes, tell me something I don’t know…” Viktor mused, the jab somehow simultaneously annoyed and playful, and Jayce couldn’t help the nervous snort of laughter that escaped.

Viktor used the pause to push himself back up onto his knees, a hand rising to unhook a series of clasps at his shoulder so that he could remove his shirt around the Hexclaw. Jayce watched hungrily as Viktor’s chest was bared to him, his heart doing a little hummingbird flutter when he found it fully mended from the blast that had caused all this.

“Y-your… your heart, it’s…” he started, reaching out and pressing his palm flat over top the now-closed compartment that housed his mechanical heart. And he was surprised to be able to feel it, just like a human heartbeat—that persistent and energetic three-pump rhythm thudding beautifully against his palm like music notes.

“All better,” Viktor said, his purple hand rising up to rest atop Jayce’s, pressing it against his chest and keeping it anchored there. “I think I may be the first person in history to have his heart mended by the very man who broke it.”

At that, Jayce couldn’t help but frown, his fingers curling against the metal, almost possessive; like he could reach inside and hold that incredible, cherished heart in the palm of his hand one more time.

“Oh, don’t pout. We can’t have the Defender of Tomorrow getting frown lines for his pretty pictures,” Viktor continued, his accent thickening as his voice went husky and rough, and then he was gripping Jayce’s wrist and dragging his hand down to place it squarely on the buttons of his trousers.

Jayce wanted to offer up a retort—some witty comeback to spare himself the hit to his ego, but… with the impressive bulge he could feel beneath his fingertips, thoughts in general were becoming few and far between. There was only the heat of Viktor, the scent of him, the taste of him lingering on Jayce’s tongue…

Jayce locked eyes with him as he curled his fingers into the waistband and began to pop the buttons through the eyelets, and Viktor stared back with hawk-like intensity; that amber glow reminiscent of flames in the low light. And Jayce gulped when he finished with the buttons, Viktor placing his hand atop Jayce’s and encouraging him to begin rubbing at the hardness beneath the fabric.

“Mmmm,” Viktor hummed, letting his eyes flutter closed and his head tilt back in luxuriating pleasure. “I won’t lie… I missed these hands… their strength… their warmth…”

Jayce gulped again, stifling a needy whine as he pressed just a hint harder at the bulge beneath his palm, his throat nearly closing up when Viktor groaned and began to rock his hips into Jayce’s hand.

Yet again, words failed him. There was so much he wanted… needed to say, and yet none of it was remotely good enough. None of it accurately summed up just how goddamn sorry he was to have destroyed what they once had. I missed you too… I missed you so fucking much. I still miss you, even as I’m lying here beneath you, because I know you’re changed, I know that I hurt you and I can never take it back. There were whole nights in the beginning that I spent with my head buried into your pillow, screaming into the cotton and desperately trying to hold onto your fading scent. I searched for you, I swear I did. There were entire weeks I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. I would have given anything to hold you one more time, to wrap you up and never let you go again. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I couldn’t…

Panic rose as he found Viktor’s heady weight retreating, and for a moment he almost screamed; don’t go, don’t go, please don’t go, don’t leave me again…

But he was just standing to remove the rest of his clothing, and Jayce suddenly found himself fighting off a bashful blush—that would have been humiliating, screaming at him not to go as he was only stepping from his underthings.

And he felt all that blood drain from his face as he found Viktor standing before him, fully nude. He’d seen his chest plenty in the last week, even been elbow deep in it on more than one occasion. But he hadn’t seen the rest of Viktor’s body, not since long before Jinx’s attack that fateful Spring evening all those years ago.

His right leg was very similar to his right hand—clearly augmented by the Hexcore and glowing with unknowable, magical energy, and the seam where it met flesh and bone resided high on his thigh, almost to his hip. Those slim hips that Jayce had so adored were still flesh—a thin patch of familiar pale skin dotted with that treasured patchwork of moles, which all stretched up to join the metal of his augmented ribcage. His left leg had been amputated just below the hip, and Jayce wasn’t sure how, but the seam where it met the now-metal limb was precise and clean—almost like he’d found a way to stitch skin to steel. Morbid curiosity almost had him blurting out questions, but by some miracle he managed to stifle them—his eyes first hungrily taking in the sight of Viktor’s mouthwatering erect cock before looking to Viktor’s face.

He’d clearly taken note of Jayce’s gawking, and for a split second, an almost childlike fear flashed across his features. Then it was hardening into something defensive, something guarded and leery as he broke Jayce’s gaze and peered down at himself with an uncertain eye.

“Do I frighten you?” he asked, his tone flat and almost timid.

Jayce softened, his heart aching at that look of utter insecurity.

“Yes, but… not in the way that you think,” he replied. He wasn’t frightened of what Viktor could so easily do to him… well, he was, but not in a bad way—instead, his mind was spinning filthy, filthy images of Viktor’s hips as they pumped like an iron piston, of that unfailing heart as it kept him hard for hours and hours and hours. Could he just keep going? Would his augmented spine keep him thrusting until Jayce was crying and screaming and writhing to escape the onslaught of ceaseless pleasure? Would Viktor even get tired? Or would they only stop when Jayce was reduced to a sobbing, shaking, wrung-out mess of cum and sweaty flesh?

But he’d seen that tiny flash of hurt on Viktor’s features when he said ‘yes,’ so he hurried to explain in a hushed, unsteady whisper,

“It scares me, how badly I want you like this.”

Viktor settled, offering up that crooked half-grin that always used to make Jayce’s stomach flutter with butterflies.

“Mmmm, metal fetish, how serendipitous for me…” he said in a coy murmur, his confidence returning with each step as he prowled back to the bed.

“Shut up,” Jayce barked, but it had very little conviction to it—Viktor crawling between his legs and flattening his palms against Jayce’s thighs, teasing them up toward the fly of his trousers.

“Did you think about it?” Viktor purred as he slowly, sensuously began unbuttoning. “When we clashed on the battlefield?”

The first pop of a button actually had Jayce startling, anxiety and excitement flooding his veins in equal measure. Heat blossomed low in his gut as he watched Viktor’s hands, so close and yet so far from where he was growing desperate to have them.

“Did you return home, bruised and bloody and unable to think of anything else? Did you touch yourself…”

He’d now gotten the fly fully undone, and he tossed Jayce a mischievous grin that hit like a gunshot as he slid those strange purple fingers inside Jayce’s pants to begin rubbing at him through his underwear.

The whine that escaped was completely involuntary as Jayce was quickly overwhelmed by the pressure. He bit his lip again, his fists twisting into the bedsheets as he allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow. It was good, so good—the heat and the pace and the pressure on the sensitive underside of his still-clothed cock. It was a tease, to be sure, but at this point, Jayce wasn’t sure he could handle much more than this without coming to a very premature climax.

“Did you wrap that big, warm hand around yourself and imagine it was me—the heat of battle-worn metal, the smell of steam and hot steel…”

Suddenly Jayce felt his underthings being slowly, deliberately pulled down, and what followed had him nearly howling at the ceiling—a single finger wrapping around his cock and holding it upright, and those soft, irresistible lips pressing against the head in a filthy kiss.

“Yesyesyes, I did… I did…” he gasped, the words coming out with all the penitence of a sinful confession as he fought against the trembling of his thighs, the impulse to buck up into Viktor’s mouth.

But Viktor pulled back, leaving Jayce to whimper in his absence as he rocked back onto his haunches and pulled Jayce’s pants and underthings down and off. He tossed them away with hapless abandon, offering Jayce a coy, knowing grin as he leaned over toward his nightstand and retrieved from within it a small vial of lubricant.

“I figured as much. You always were a bit of a masochist,” he said as he pulled the stopper and tipped a healthy amount onto his purple fingers.

“I only enjoyed pain when it was inflicted by you,” Jayce quipped back, absently aware of how whiny and defensive it sounded.

“Doesn’t make it untrue,” Viktor replied, and suddenly he was prowling back down, propping the Hexclaw just above Jayce’s shoulder and pressing his metal palm to the bruising at Jayce’s ribs.

Jayce gasped, tensing as fear and pain flooded his already jittery muscles, but very quickly Viktor was easing up, his eyes lidded as he lowered himself down and began pressing a series of gentle, reverent kisses to the sensitive skin there. There was something almost apologetic in the way he traversed from injury to injury, laying kiss after kiss to each one like a balm.

“Hmm…” he hummed against Jayce’s skin, and Jayce yelped when he felt Viktor’s other hand slide down between his legs, ghosting over his already achy balls before prodding at his hole.

“This isn’t one of mine…” Viktor continued, and for a moment, Jayce couldn’t formulate the mental fortitude to figure out what the fuck he was talking about. So he craned his head down, finding Viktor’s lips hovering over the long-healed scar just above his hip.

“Oh… y-yeah, that’s…” he tried to explain, but his head was buzzing with excitement—Viktor’s fingers working in slow, soothing motions to spread a bit of the lube at his hole and driving him to hazy distraction.

“That’s from Camille Ferros… sh-she was… giving me a… a demonstration of how her bladed prosthetics work, and I… I got too… close… hah!”

He tensed as a single finger slid inside, that strange malleable metal of Viktor’s right hand slightly cooler than flesh.

“Mm,” Viktor grunted by way of a response, trailing his lips up Jayce’s chest to another old scar just below his pectoral muscle.

“But this one was me. I still remember it clearly, that fight on the north shore; you got cocky…”

He emphasized the word by beginning to pump his finger deeper, and Jayce whined as the metal warmed inside him.

“You damaged the Hexclaw with your hammer; thought you’d won. But in your haste to boast of your victory, you lowered your weapon, lowered your guard. And I used the jagged metal of the severed claw like a blade…”

Jayce jerked, the memory coming back to him with sickening clarity—the smell of ash and ozone, the heat of the overused hammer in his gloved hands. The rattle of Viktor’s misaligned parts and the rrrip of his leather bandolier… and the stinging, burning pain that followed.

“If it’s any consolation, I regretted it later…” Viktor continued, dragging Jayce back to the present by carefully adding a second finger. The living metal digits had less give than flesh, so the stretch was a little more intense than Jayce was anticipating. He let loose a groan, locking eyes with Viktor as he forced himself to relax into it.

Viktor’s gaze was intense and fiery as he began to pump his fingers, curling them once fully buried and beginning to tease at Jayce’s prostate. And then he was angling down again, pressing a line of kisses from that scar all the way up, until he was pausing to suckle at Jayce’s nipple.

The tingle of it shot down his spine, his whole body beginning to shiver and shake under Viktor’s attentions, and he could do little else but dig his fingers into Viktor’s soft, fluffy hair and hang on.

“I regretted… every fight… I ever had with you, V,” he whimpered up at the ceiling, waves of pleasure rolling straight to his cock as Viktor’s fingers kept up that steady building rhythm against his prostate.

“Certainly not all of them…” Viktor mused, migrating to Jayce’s other nipple and delivering more maddening laps of his lips and tongue there.

Jayce’s hips bucked, the throbbing need in his now painfully hard cock starting to bleed out into his entire body—to the point that his mind was going foggy with urgency. All of what, what were we talking about? Just touch me, touch me, please never stop touching me…

“Easy,” Viktor’s voice cut through the haze, and Jayce was absently aware that he’d zoned out for an extended moment—so lost in pleasure and need that he hadn’t even realized Viktor had added a third finger and was now truly working to stretch him open.

“Stay with me,” Viktor whispered, his voice on the cusp of doting as he rose up to hover over Jayce, and those three simple words shattered something fragile within him—his breaths quickening as an irrational panic began to mingle with the desire. He’d reached this point so many times in his dreams… Viktor’s body a soothing weight on top of him, his lips the sweetest pressure. And each time he dared to reach out, to hold on, it all slipped away only to be replaced with a cold, empty bed and tear-soaked pillows. A silent apartment and the echo of desperate sobs. An aching, hollow pit where his heart used to be.

“Jayce, Jayce, breathe…” Viktor cooed, worry crisp on his words. “What’s wrong?”

Jayce sagged into the bed, averting his eyes to a point near Viktor’s sternum so that Viktor couldn’t meet them.

“I… I’ve had this dream a thousand times,” he croaked, twirling a finger through the hair at Viktor’s nape before continuing in a barely audible sigh. “And… I’m terrified I’m gunna wake up.”

Viktor clicked his tongue in pity, his metal hand rising from Jayce’s chest to cup at his cheek, that hard steel thumb soothing so carefully beneath his eye and wiping away the tear tracks.

“I am no dream, sluníčko,” he said, gently pulling his fingers free of Jayce’s hole and repositioning—planting his knees a little wider and situating Jayce’s thigh securely against his ribcage. “But I can prove it to you, if you wish…”

There was so much Jayce wanted to say—yes, yes, yes! Prove it, please! Prove it until I’m begging you to stop, until I’m screaming from overstimulation, until I can’t think or breathe or speak anything but your name…

But he didn’t trust his voice to do much else besides whimper, so he simply nodded, the movement so jerky and enthusiastic that it shook the bed. The look of affection on Viktor’s face morphed to one of lusty determination, the fiery orange color of his eyes only adding to the effect. And Jayce’s entire body shivered with goosebumps as Viktor reached down out of view, took himself in hand, and pressed the head of his cock to Jayce’s twitching hole.

The relief that washed over him as Viktor slid so slowly inside was overwhelming—like leaping into Lake Oshra on those sweltering summer days… like that first sip of crisp water on a parched throat. In fact he couldn’t help but cry out, the tears pricking at his lashes again as he threw his head back into the pillow and squirmed with the force of the overwhelming pleasure.

His breaths came out in quick, punched-out pants as Viktor pushed deeper and deeper and deeper. Jayce felt like he could feel him in his lungs, at the base of his throat, making each frantic inhale more of a struggle than the last. His hands worked of their own accord—balling into fists where they were still buried in Viktor’s plush hair, and it must have hurt, it had to have, but Viktor didn’t react. Instead, he expertly read Jayce’s near-frantic state of overwhelmed bliss, and bent the Hexclaw so that he could lower himself even closer, his lips pressed to Jayce’s cheek and his breath ghosting over Jayce’s ear when he spoke in a dulcet whisper,

“Breathe, pet. Nice and slow for me…”

In that selfsame moment, his strange purple hand wrapped around the base of Jayce’s neglected cock, squeezing deliciously as it started to stroke. Jayce could have screamed from the bolt of pleasure that shot through his pelvis and into his spine, and he was helpless against the way he bucked into it—planting a heel into the bed and angling his hips up to wordlessly beg for more, more, more, please.

Viktor chuckled again, the sound victorious and smug, and then he was pulling almost all the way out and ramming back inside with a force that made all the air leave Jayce’s lungs. He gasped, repeating Viktor’s words to himself in the hopes it would keep him from cumming on the spot—breathe, breathe, breathe…

But the onslaught just kept coming—Viktor’s hips developing a rhythm that was familiar, and yet so very new. Viktor’s lovemaking in the past had always been marred with a certain fear, a hesitation in his thrusts that was borne of his pain. But that hesitation was now gone; to be replaced with bold, unyielding surety and confidence, and Jayce was certain it was going to be the death of him. And when Viktor’s hand followed suit, milking a frankly embarrassing amount of precum from him on every stroke, Jayce had to bite his cheek to keep from losing it.

“Poor thing—close already, aren’t you?” Viktor purred, biting playfully at Jayce’s earlobe and making another tingle rise in Jayce’s throat.

“Yes… I am, I’m close V, I’m close…” Jayce admitted, guilt and embarrassment making him slam his eyes shut again, his mind racing through that checklist of squicks that would keep him from cumming—freezing winter nights, the sting of hot metal on unprotected skin, the smell of antiseptics…

He didn’t have the heart to tell Viktor that he hadn’t been with another man in the last six years, that he hadn’t been fucked this good in so, so long. He’d tried, Gods how he’d tried. But he’d been seeking out the impossible—that liberated, floaty feeling he always got with Viktor, the butterflies, the nervous jitters even after years of sleeping together. It was something they’d cultivated together, and any attempt at replication just became bastardization.

Jayce was rocked from his reminiscing as Viktor’s hand on his cock stilled, the thrill stalling and making Jayce loose a desperate cry—he could feel himself throbbing in Viktor’s hand, yet more precum spilling onto his abdomen.

“V, please, please don’t stop, please…” he begged, attempting to hump Viktor’s fist but finding that his hip was being clamped to the bed by Viktor’s free hand.

“Hands above your head, Defender,” Viktor demanded, ignoring Jayce’s pleas but accompanying it with a torturously good pump of his hips that had Jayce seeing stars.

He couldn’t even muster the strength to ask why, to feel that age-old pang of excited fear—he simply obeyed, releasing his hold on Viktor’s hair and letting his terribly shaking hands hit the pillow. Viktor rearranged, lifting the Hexclaw from the bed and bringing it down to trap Jayce’s hands as they were. And while it could have hurt, somehow it didn’t—the pressure of the claw just right to keep him restrained and helpless, but not in pain.

“Good boy,” Viktor crooned, a devilish smile splitting his lips as he once again started to move—his cock perfectly angled to begin teasing over Jayce’s prostate and his hand once again stroking at Jayce’s length.

Warmth burst through Jayce’s lower extremities, and he could do little else but give in to it—pressure building in his balls as the heat came in wave after wave after wave. And of course, as he always had, Viktor read him like a wide open book—his hand rerouting to squeeze at Jayce’s balls, and suddenly the heat erupted, and Jayce hurried to fire off his warnings,

“Oh fuck, I’m close, V, I’m so close, I don’t think I can…”

He was forced to trail off; it took every ounce of focus he had in him to stop himself from cumming. He felt those tiny, pulsing, miniature contractions as he spilled yet more precum onto his stomach, but by some miracle, he managed to hold off.

Viktor had stilled the movement of his hand again, but now he was leaning in to chuckle against Jayce’s neck, his tongue a hot and heavy pressure against the wildly hammering artery.

“I don’t recall you ever having such little stamina,” he purred, the vibration of his lips as he spoke sending a shiver all the way to Jayce’s toes.

“It’s been a while, so sue me,” Jayce croaked back, attempting not to sound defensive and failing miserably.

Viktor chuckled again, his hips quickening.

“Oh, I’ll do much worse than that.”

Viktor mercilessly started up the barrage again—his hand returning to Jayce’s cock and stroking to the rhythm of those perfect, flawless hips. Then the weight of the Hexclaw intensified, and Viktor’s other hand lowered—until he was using both hands on Jayce’s cock, and the thrill of it, the danger suddenly hit him like a sack of bricks—in this state, hands firmly restrained, legs spread by the breadth of Viktor’s hips, and those hands (both of them weapons in their own right) wrapped around his cock and stroking so good that Jayce felt like the air was being milked from his lungs on every thrust… he was completely and utterly powerless. At the Machine Herald’s mercy, and how did Viktor use that power? To hurt him, or exact his revenge? No, he used it to take Jayce apart—his cock spearing Jayce open and pounding into his prostate with devastating accuracy, and those powerful, incredible hands remaining gentle and true as they slowly built up a raging fire in Jayce’s balls that was just bursting to be set free.

He tried to speak; throwing his head back as the intensity of the pleasure had his legs shaking and squeezing at Viktor’s hips in an attempt to hold out.

“Fuckfuckfuck, Viktor, I can’t… I can’t take it, I’m gunna cum…”

“Not yet,” Viktor demanded, that age-old tone of quiet authority cutting straight to Jayce’s nerves like a switchblade and making him quiver with recognition and desire. But it did very little to quell how close he was…

“I can’t, I can’t, please, V…” Jayce kept begging, each hard thrust of Viktor’s hips sending him into the fucking stratosphere.

“You can,” Viktor purred, his lips a ghost of a touch at Jayce’s jugular. “Don’t you want to be good for me… like you used to?”

Jayce wailed, the desperation and determination getting lost in the overwhelming waves of sheer ecstasy pumping through him to the rhythm of Viktor’s strokes. He’d always enjoyed Viktor’s taste for edging, but… he’d waited long enough. Nearly seven long, agonizing years. Years spent writhing in his empty bed, the sheets burning against his aching, lonely flesh, his body screaming for a touch it couldn’t find. So, through brimming tears, he whimpered an unsteady, emotional plea,

“I can’t wait any longer, V… I’m not strong enough…”

A grating, metallic sound rumbled deep in Viktor’s chest, one that echoed with melodic, wind-chime notes of sympathy. And then, his shoulders sagging and his hips stuttering, Viktor released a low, hot sigh against Jayce’s neck, his arms extending so that their eyes could meet.

“Go on then, lásko,” he cooed, his hips slowing but the angle remaining so goddamn perfect. “Cum for me.”

And that was it—Jayce abandoned his attempt at control, finally allowing those rhythmic waves of bliss to wash over and consume him.

He couldn’t be sure, as his vision went fuzzy and his ears started to ring, but he was fairly certain he screamed; his orgasm hitting him with all the force of a freight train. He was vaguely aware that he could track his spend as it marked his stomach, his chest… his neck and chin. And he could feel it everywhere—his entire body wracked with devastating and mind-numbing spasms that had him gripping at Viktor however he could… with his hands, with his thighs. And Viktor expertly pulled him through it—gradually slowing the movement of his hips and hands and milking every last drop from him before he finally, mercifully, went still.

Jayce’s lungs burned in the aftermath, but there was no relief in it. Instead, it felt like he’d been drowning—kicking, clawing, fighting for the surface for years and years and years. And for the briefest of moments, he’d finally done it; burst through and gulped a single, desperate breath. But now he’d plunged back into the depths, that crisp taste of fresh air serving only to make his whole body ache for more.

“Again,” he gasped, gripping so hard at the Hexclaw that his fingers hurt. “Again, please… it’s not enough. It’s not enough, please…”

Viktor chuckled through his own exertion, gently releasing Jayce’s softening cock to prop his palms against the bed but leaving the rest of his body a reassuring weight on top of Jayce.

“Insatiable thing,” he teased, but it was fond—the Hexclaw releasing Jayce’s hands and reverently brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead. “Alright. Just… ah!”

He yelped with sensitivity as he pulled out, and Jayce could tell from the grimace on his features that he’d been very close to reaching his own orgasm.

“Here… lay back,” Jayce cooed, pushing against Viktor’s chest and silently requesting that they swap places. Viktor obliged; his considerable weight toppling backward and making the bed frame groan from the strain as his spine hit the bedding.

Slowly, his every muscle still reeling from the power of such an overwhelming climax, Jayce followed—errantly swiping the cum from his chin and neck and preparing to wipe it on the sheets.

But Viktor reached out, catching his wrist and yanking him forward, bringing Jayce’s cum-drenched fingers to his lips and sliding them into his mouth. Unblinking and determined, he held Jayce’s gaze as he sucked them clean, his warm, wet mouth working at Jayce’s fingers and making another spike of arousal stir in his gut so suddenly that his hips gave an involuntary jerk.

“Fuck,” Jayce whimpered with a gulp, watching as Viktor lasciviously pulled Jayce’s now sucked-clean fingers from his perfect, velvety lips with a lewd pop.

“You’re gunna be the death of me, V,” he croaked past the frog in his throat as he settled his knees between Viktor’s legs.

“I thought we’d already established this,” Viktor quipped back, those augmented eyes of his burning so bright with lust that they almost lit up the room.

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

With that, Jayce pounced—bracing his hands to either side of Viktor’s ribcage and attacking his lips. Heat flared down his spine at the taste of himself on Viktor’s lips and tongue, but he didn’t stay there for long; trailing his kisses to the metal plating on Viktor’s cheek, the still-dented vent slats in his neck.

They were hot to the touch, and Jayce found himself intensely turned-on by the idea—his lips baring subtle little burn marks from the metal, the sensitive skin there delivering visceral reminders of the harrowing kiss each time he ate or drank anything. The lovely sting of it as he brushed his fingers over his lips to remind himself…

But that was for later. Right now, he had a hypothesis he wanted to test.

He meandered rather quickly down Viktor’s body, recalling what Viktor had said about his Hexcore-augmented hand. ‘This—light touches… I feel it like a gunshot.’

So he put it to the test—leaning in and delivering a long, slow lick to the seam where his augmented leg met the skin of his hip. The taste of metal burst against his taste buds when he did, but there was something so distinctly Viktor about it—something sweet and sparky and magical.

Viktor yelped as if he’d been wounded, his cock twitching hard and spilling a steady stream of precum onto his abdomen as his entire leg spasmed and kicked into the bedclothes.

Jayce pulled back, offering up his most deviously smug grin.

“That’s what I thought,” he drawled with pride, leaning in once more and laying a path of kisses down the seam—drawing closer and closer to where Viktor was clearly growing desperate to have him. “Sensitive here, aren’t you?”

But it was a rhetorical question, so Jayce didn’t give him the opportunity to respond—he simply leaned back over, took the base of Viktor’s cock in hand, and took him into his mouth.

He couldn’t help the salacious, indulgent moan he released around Viktor’s length—the taste and the weight on his tongue so beloved and familiar, like those heavy, sugary sweets they used to keep in a ceramic jar in the lab. And just as irresistible. Viktor’s hand came down immediately to dig into Jayce’s hair, the pressure vaguely controlling—guiding Jayce down onto his cock and pulling back up to set the pace. And Jayce wholeheartedly gave in, his mind going hazy as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked…

Yes, yes, yes, use me, please. Show me how you want it, and I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you… gunna have all this metal quaking by the time I’m done with you…

And it certainly didn’t hurt that Viktor had been close to begin with.

“Oooohhhh Gods, Jayce, how I missed that mouth…” he positively moaned, and Jayce felt his cheeks warm—you did miss me, you did think of me…

Viktor’s hand released Jayce’s hair then, sliding down to cup the side of his face, and Jayce didn’t waste a second—opening his mouth a little wider as he plunged down and angling slightly so that Viktor could feel himself bulging through Jayce’s cheek.

Viktor hissed in a quick, sharp breath, his mouth drooping open in ecstasy and his head falling back against the bed. So Jayce picked up the pace, speeding up slightly and following his own lips with a fist. With his free hand, he decided to get creative—sliding his palm up Viktor’s thigh and beginning to softly stroke back and forth with his thumb over that sensitive seam.

Viktor’s entire metal frame shuddered like an engine ready to blow—his leg kicking out again and his fists spasming as if he’d been electrocuted.

“C-careful, Jayce…” he stuttered, his hips jerking hard and sending the head of his cock into Jayce’s throat.

Jayce desperately wanted to retort ‘or what’, so instead he implied it—stroking back over the seam relentlessly as he plunged down on Viktor’s cock and stayed there, the gag reflex making his throat grip and tighten at the head.

Tears sprang to his eyes as his air was surreptitiously cut off, but he didn’t care. Viktor was a breathtaking sight—his back arching from the bed and his augmented parts visibly strobing and quivering. A string of what could only be curses spilled from his trembling lips, the lilting notes of his mother tongue only spurring Jayce on. He pulled off for a brief moment to gasp for air, taking up the slack with his fist, and his eyes caught hungrily on the beads of precum that spilled from the slit and rolled down his knuckles with each and every stroke.

“Been starving for you, baby,” Jayce purred, squeezing a little tighter with his fist. “Never thought I’d taste you again…”

With that, he plunged back down, relentlessly sucking at the head and beginning to twist his fist.

Viktor howled, both hands and the Hexclaw gripping and twisting into the sheets. “Kurva! Jayce, Jayce, Jayce!”

Jayce stilled so that he could enjoy every lewd second—Viktor’s cock throbbing against his tongue as ropes of hot, heavy cum painted the back of his throat. Viktor’s hips jerked with each devastating muscle spasm, his breaths leaving him in quick, punched-out gasps and the sheets shredding in his metal hand so easily they might as well have been parchment paper.

“Mmm,” Jayce hummed as he pulled off, expertly swallowing what remained on his tongue and gently releasing Viktor’s still-twitching cock to rest against his abdomen. He prowled up Viktor’s body, watching the way his fully-augmented ribcage expanded as he breathed, the way the delicate pieces-parts in his neck rolled as he gulped against the waning pleasure.

Jayce planted his palms to the left and right of Viktor’s head, grinning mischievously down at him and waiting until Viktor’s eyes languidly opened to speak.

“Again.”

Viktor released a single, exhausted huff of laughter, but he did not refuse—instead he raised a single eyebrow, his gaze rolling down Jayce’s body to where he’d once again grown hard. He couldn’t help it; the sight of Viktor writhing beneath him, the sound of his own name spilling from those swollen, kiss-bitten lips… it was too much to bear.

Viktor reached out and tapped Jayce’s arm, requesting he move it. Jayce did, angling back and propping on his other, and Viktor began rolling over beneath him, the movement slow and stunted in the aftermath of his release. But he managed—settling on his stomach as he fished in the sheets with the Hexclaw and retrieved the vial of lubricant. The claw rotated, turning backwards and dangling the thing in front of Jayce’s face.

“Y-you sure?” Jayce asked, tentatively taking the vial and recalling the many times Viktor had pulled away after their lovemaking, his body so sensitive in the afterglow that he could hardly bear the brush of fingertips. “So soon after?”

Viktor poured himself into the sheets; releasing a long, relaxed little mewl as he stretched his arms and tilted his hips up suggestively.

“Yes,” he said simply, his hands curling into the mattress like a cat sharpening its claws. “You’d be surprised by what I can handle, now.”

Jayce gave him a bittersweet smile, bending his elbows so that he could place a delicate kiss to that sensitive patch of skin below Viktor’s ear.

“No I wouldn’t,” he purred, nuzzling his nose into Viktor’s neck as he spoke. “You were always the stronger of the two of us.”

“Hm, good of you to notice,” Viktor teased right back, and Jayce felt a wave of fondness that had him playfully nibbling at Viktor’s neck. Viktor let out a yelp, but it was more flirtatious than anything—his hips tipping up more and grinding against Jayce’s groin.

Jayce groaned, closing his eyes for a moment and simply losing himself in the friction of Viktor’s ass against his cock. But he had an idea, one that involved a different kind of self-indulgence.

So, despite Viktor promising that he was fine to go again, Jayce crawled down his body once more, leaving the lube in the bedding to the left of Viktor’s hip, and reached out to take an ass cheek in each hand—kneading at them with his fingers and reacquainting himself with their soft, perky weight in his palms.

Viktor squirmed, tossing an impatient look over his shoulder. “Jayce, you really do-oh fuck!”

Jayce didn’t let him finish that statement—diving in, spreading Viktor’s cheeks, and laving his tongue heavily over Viktor’s rim. The puckered muscle twitched beneath Jayce’s lips, a wild, unhinged whine escaping from up north, and Jayce grinned victoriously.

That’s one way to shut him up.

So he went to town—alternating between licking, kissing, and sucking at Viktor’s rim, and he could tell by the muffled quality of Viktor’s whimpers and mewls that he was biting into the bedsheets.

He kept going until Viktor was a whiny, shivery mess, then finally reached for the lube, thoroughly coating two fingers and pulling back slightly to ease them inside. Viktor moaned into the sheets, his hole hungrily swallowing up Jayce’s fingers and making a renewed spike of arousal fire off in Jayce’s gut.

“I think it goes without saying, but…” Jayce started, trailing his lips over the smooth mound of Viktor’s ass as he started pumping his fingers.

“I missed you. I missed you so much,” he whispered against the skin, punctuating the statement by lightly biting down. Viktor jolted, his hole clenching on Jayce’s fingers, and Jayce gulped in response, heat blooming in his groin and making his cock twitch between his legs.

“I used to dream of this, dream of us—touching you, tasting you. And there were times I woke up so fucking hard that just moving against the sheets had me cumming all over myself.”

With that said, he started gently scissoring his fingers—twisting and pumping and enjoying the heat and pressure of Viktor’s body as he relaxed into it. Then he kissed that crescent-shaped bite mark he’d left on Viktor’s left cheek, and started migrating north—kissing and licking at Viktor’s bony hip before following the protruding, fin-like nodules that had replaced his vertebrae.

And while he’d expected to be horrified by it, he found himself deeply appreciative… humbled, even. This augmented spine had done away with the agony, those crisp winter mornings that made Viktor’s bones ache so badly that he couldn’t even make it to the bathroom. It had allowed Viktor to stand tall, to twist and run and… writhe against the mattress without any pain.

“Jayce, I… I’m ready,” Viktor groaned, the stunted syllables muffled in the sheets, and Jayce just grinned down at him.

“Still as impatient as ever, I see,” he mused, curling his fingers down to that familiar spot and stroking over it a few times.

The heat erupted through Jayce’s veins as Viktor squirmed, an awe-inspiring pattern of clicks and whirs resounding from somewhere deep within him—as if Jayce had caressed the very core of what made him tick.

“Jayce…”

There was a hint of warning in Viktor’s tone, and Jayce knew better than to test it. It was a lesson he’d only had to learn once, early on in their relationship… a month of ruined orgasms making it nearly impossible to even sit at his desk, let alone think about anything other than how badly he needed relief. So he gently pulled his fingers free, sliding his knees up under Viktor’s spread thighs so that he could position himself. And without wasting a second more, he took himself in hand, nudged the head of his cock to Viktor’s twitching hole, and began pressing inside.

Both of them moaned in tandem as Jayce slowly, gently sank deeper and deeper. It was a minor feat, not fucking hard into him—the pressure and the heat practically sucking him in and driving him mad with want.

And with a sigh of immense relief, he stilled—desperately attempting to calm his wildly beating heart as it fluttered with lustful excitement—to give both of them a moment to adjust… this is real, this is real, I finally have him…

Once Viktor released a contented sigh, Jayce tipped forward, reaching out and pressing Viktor’s hands into the bed as he propped himself on them, his fingers curling between Viktor’s to lock them firmly together. Then, heart still beating out of control, Jayce started to move.

The surge of pleasure was instantly overwhelming; Jayce’s legs already shaking from the intensity and his head pleasantly buzzing with satisfaction. But his body was tiring, so he lowered himself down, gently slotting his chest against Viktor’s back and delighting in all those hot little pressure points of the metal as they barely scraped the skin.

He hooked his chin over Viktor’s shoulder, inhaling hard of that familiar bergamot scent—he still uses the same shampoo—and pressed his lips to Viktor’s temple.

“I swear, I’ll never have enough,” he grunted, curling his hips and drinking in the breathless gasp that left Viktor’s lovely lips. “Even now, I want you so bad it hurts.”

Viktor’s hands spasmed on the next thrust, telling Jayce that he’d done something right, so he repeated it—curling his hips exactly the same way, the same depth, the same speed.

Viktor keened, turning into Jayce’s lips and letting his eyes flutter closed in luxuriating pleasure.

“You have me,” he whimpered, the Hexclaw curling up and around to grip the back of Jayce’s neck and pull him impossibly closer. And what a difference it was, from that first violent encounter against the table in his makeshift lab. Where before there had been resentment and spite, now there was only saccharine tenderness—the claw noticeably docile as it squeezed him a little harder on every thrust.

And those three little words touched something deep within Jayce which had been screaming for attention—his rhythm stuttering as a choked-out half-sob tore from his lungs.

You have me, you have me, you have me…

“I’m never letting you go again…” he breathed into Viktor’s hair, tears pricking at his eyes again and his hips quickening on instinct.

But it still wasn’t enough—he needed their bodies welded together, needed to be physically inseparable. He needed his heart to sync up with that beautiful, harmonious three-beat rhythm of Viktor’s, needed his fingers forever entwined in those thick metal digits. Because their respective cities guaranteed to tear them apart again, and the thought was unbearable torture…

“Jayce…” Viktor groaned, his hips tipping up and wordlessly communicating ‘lift me up.’

So Jayce did—releasing Viktor’s hands and leaning back to a kneeling position, taking that slim waist in his grasp and lifting so that Viktor could plant his knees into the bed.

Viktor moaned as he settled, his left hand gripping into the sheets and his right disappearing beneath him to touch himself. Jayce allowed it for a few strokes, developing a new rhythm in the position and hungrily eyeing his own cock as it pumped in and out, in and out. But then he relinquished Viktor’s waist, bending and snaking his hand around to swat at Viktor’s where it was tugging at his cock.

“That’s for me,” he whispered, his voice husky and strained as he wrapped his hand around Viktor’s mostly-hard length and began stroking over the plush, swollen head to the beat of his thrusts.

Viktor yelped, slamming his hand back into the bedding and gripping it hard, his back bowing as he leaned into Jayce’s thrusts. The action sent Jayce’s cock impossibly deeper, and Jayce nearly lost his rhythm entirely as the new sensation made spots dance in the corner of his vision.

But the fatigue was beginning to catch up to him—after all, he wasn’t 24 anymore—so his thrusts began to slow, his thighs quaking from the strain and his breaths coming out in harder and harder gasps.

“What’s the matter Defender, losing steam already?” Viktor taunted over his shoulder, and Jayce could just barely make out the way Viktor’s plush lower lip was caught in a tooth, and he almost came on the spot.

“N-no,” he lied.

Viktor grinned, the crooked tilt of it coming off self-satisfied and smug, and then he started to rock his hips at a mind-numbingly good tempo, picking up the slack and riding Jayce’s cock in earnest.

Despite not wanting to come across like he’d been proven inadequate, Jayce moaned—abandoning his attempts at thrusting his hips and instead focusing on stroking Viktor’s dick. He began twisting his wrist each time Viktor plunged down on him, polishing the head and teasing at the sensitive frenulum with a finger… that one simple motion had always driven Viktor wild in the past.

And Jayce was relieved to find that it still did—Viktor’s thrusts stuttering and a strobing effect passing through his glowing augments. His hole spasmed and clenched on Jayce’s length, and suddenly Jayce found himself flirting with his climax again.

“Oh gods, yes, just like that, V. Fuck, you feel so good, I… I’m getting close…” he stuttered, little electric jolts of pleasure beginning to fire off through his every muscle and making him tremble.

“Mmmm,” Viktor hummed, his head sagging against the bed and the Hexclaw reaching out to grab the footboard and push, aiding his thrusts and sending him harder and faster onto Jayce’s cock.

“Gunna fill me up, pet? Show me what that human body can do…”

Jayce’s ability to form words was rapidly dissipating—his brain filling with nothing but that tight, pulsing heat. But he managed to eke out a single word, endlessly repeated as the pressure built and built and built,

“Uhn, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor!”

Viktor’s hand flew down to join Jayce’s, stilling him just in time to feel Viktor’s cock throbbing in his hand, hot spend spilling over his knuckles and coating his hand. His entire body seized up in brutal waves, his augments hissing and buzzing like an overheating engine and his hole squeezing relentlessly at Jayce’s cock, and that was all he could take.

“Ah, fuck!” he wailed, thrusting his hips hard to meet Viktor’s, the pleasure erupting through his every muscle and sending him crashing down against Viktor’s fully-metal spine. His hips continued to give spasmodic, miniature thrusts as he filled Viktor up with pulse after pulse of his spend, the warmth of it making him groan with satisfaction.

He simply breathed into Viktor’s neck for a long time, reveling in the moist heat of the steam releasing from the vent slats in his neck with every labored exhale.

But what happened now? The thought of pulling out, pulling away was unbearable. He never wanted this to end, didn’t want to face what came next—unavoidable separation, that pit in his chest returning and making his lungs ache with every breath he didn’t share with Viktor.

“Again,” he whined, desperate and pleading as he nuzzled into Viktor’s soft and slightly sweat-damp hair.

It’s the third time he’s said it, and he’s not even sure he means it—his entire body exhausted and achy from overexertion.

“Jayce…”

Jayce could hear the scolding in Viktor’s voice—that same motherly tone Ximena used to employ when it was time for Jayce to stop sorting his river rocks and go to bed. And he couldn’t bear it, didn’t want to hear it—that he had to pull away, that he had to stop touching Viktor and kissing him and holding him.

So, clingy as a frightened child, he slid both hands beneath Viktor’s augmented chest, pulling their bodies impossibly closer as his ears pricked at the lovely rhythm of Viktor’s steady, augmented heart.

“Again,” he repeated, kneading at Viktor’s chest plates as if he could claw them open and crawl inside. “Please Vitya, please…”

“Jayce, you’re exhausted…”

“No. Nonono, m’fine.” His words were slurred as he lied through his teeth. He could barely keep his eyes open, barely keep his head up.

“Jayce.” Viktor’s voice was harsher this time, more stern. “You’re still recovering from a near-fatal poisoning, you need to rest…”

“No. No. The only thing I need is you,” he demanded, tilting his head and pressing his lips to the warm metal of Viktor’s right shoulder.

Viktor gave him a soft, bittersweet sigh, the Hexclaw curling back to begin combing soothing strokes through his hair.

“A touching sentiment…”

Jayce could tell he was being brushed off, so he simply closed his eyes and buried himself against Viktor’s angular shoulder blade, the welding line biting into the skin of his cheek.

“Viktor, please…”

Viktor sighed again, this time with an air of pity, continuing to stroke rhythmically through Jayce’s hair.

“This is not your last chance, Jayce,” Viktor said in a sweet, gentle whisper, reading Jayce’s mind. “Rest now. And if you’re still not sated in the morning, I will have you again… and again…”

He pushed to the side, angling a shoulder down so that he could turn his head and crane back for an awkward but perfect kiss.

“And again. Alright?”

Jayce released a final, surrendering sigh, drinking in the taste of Viktor’s kiss before breaking away, pushing up onto weak, unsteady arms, and gingerly pulling out. The sting of overstimulation made him yelp, but Viktor quickly soothed it away—reaching out and pulling Jayce back down to lie next to him on the bed before pressing their lips together in a lazy but passionate kiss.

“Don’t move,” Viktor said after breaking the kiss, and then he was rolling away, out of Jayce’s reach, and though he knew it was irrational and childish, Jayce panicked.

“No! Nonono, please…”

“Shhhh, Jayce, I’m just going to get us cleaned up. I’ll be right back.”

Jayce did his best to settle, but his nerves stayed put—flaying his veins until the moment Viktor returned to the bed with a warm, damp washcloth and a glass of water.

“Drink,” Viktor asked plainly, holding out the glass to Jayce before stepping back. Jayce obeyed, not realizing how parched he actually was, and downed more than half the glass in two uncouth gulps.

Before returning to the bed, Viktor took care of himself, and Jayce was mesmerized and comforted by it—watching him wipe the sweat and cum away, his body wholly different but still as unbelievably beautiful as when Jayce had watched him do this in the past.

When he’d finished with himself, Viktor returned to the bed, gently taking the glass from Jayce and setting it on the nightstand before leaning in with the rag. He was calm and reverent as he wiped away the proof of their lovemaking, and in the course of Viktor’s doting, Jayce’s fatigue hit him like a roundhouse to the temple—he could barely keep his eyes open, his whole body now shivering from overexertion and an unavoidable whine escaping on his exhales. Little aches and pains were starting to creep back into his consciousness now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and he couldn’t help but grimace.

“I know,” Viktor cooed as he reached around Jayce’s backside and very gently passed the rag between his cheeks a few times. “I’ll get you some more painkillers…”

Before Viktor could pull away to retrieve them, Jayce used the last remaining strength he had to reach out and grab Viktor’s arm, pulling him back in close.

“It’s not that bad. Stay. Please.”

A bittersweet smile spread Viktor’s lips, and then he nodded—tossing the rag onto the floor and fully settling on the bed next to Jayce.

Jayce cozied up into his chest, wrapping an arm around Viktor’s waist and pulling them flush, and the heat radiating from Viktor’s augments threatened to send him tumbling straight into a deep, unshakeable sleep. But he fought it, curling his other arm between them and rhythmically petting at the panel housing Viktor’s heart.

“I never got to ask you,” he said, needing to clear his throat when it came out scratchy and broken. “What you were doing breaking into our lab, that day that… all of this started. What did you want the gemstones for?”

Viktor just breathed for a while, his hand beginning to rub up and down Jayce’s back, and Jayce once again had to fight to stay conscious, it felt so good.

“I’ve been searching for alternatives to Shimmer as a stabilizing agent,” he said finally, his breath ghosting over Jayce’s forehead. “I had exhausted all chemical options, so I thought… maybe…”

“Maybe you could do it with Hextech,” Jayce finished for him, tipping his head back so that he could look into those luminous apricot eyes.

Viktor nodded, his handsome face melding into something almost fearful—as if he thought Jayce would deny him, take the crystals back.

“That’s a good idea,” Jayce said, squeezing Viktor’s waist once in reassurance. “Keep them. And if it works, we can… we can come to some kind of… arrangement, something sort of… clandestine…”

Viktor smiled, soft and sweet, and then leaned in to kiss Jayce’s forehead.

“We’ll figure it out some other time,” he said, his lips moving against Jayce’s hairline. “Sleep now, lásko.”

Jayce settled, snuggling into the crook of Viktor’s neck and closing his eyes.

“You’ll stay? All night?” he asked, voice a little unsure.

“Yes,” Viktor replied, sighing into Jayce’s hair. “I will be here when you wake.”

The smile wrought by those words stayed plastered to Jayce’s lips as he sank heartily into Viktor’s embrace, the oncoming charge of sleep settling over him like a beloved, long-lost blanket.

Chapter Text

Jayce stirred awake, warmth and comfort and security making him feel dizzy and so relaxed it was intoxicating. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept so soundly—his cheek warm from drool and his right hand buzzing with numbness where he’d apparently been lying on it. He was loathe to lose this—to break this heavenly atmosphere by cracking an eye open. But he did it anyway.

He was half expecting to wake in his dark, empty apartment, alcohol on his breath and a deflated, over-snuggled pillow pulled tight against his chest. He expected the echoes of a half-remembered dream and the sudden, soul-crushing sobs that followed.

But instead he found himself wrapped up in strong, warm arms made of steel, the heady weight of Viktor’s body cocooning him in a tight, unbreakable cage of rigid limbs. There was a single blanket thrown over the both of them, but Jayce must have kicked out of it sometime in the night—one leg thrown fully out and curled back over top of it. The cacophony of clicks and whirs from Viktor’s assorted gadgetry filled the room with a pleasant, numbing hum, and the light that poured in the single window was gentle and faded.

The light had always been weak, this far down in the depths of Zaun—true rays of sunshine hardly ever penetrated the thick layers of smog above to reach the shady lanes below. But it was nice; Jayce’s eyes allowed to gradually adjust to the morning glow, adjust to being awake. And in that hazy flaxen light, he could gaze happily on the sight before him.

Viktor was out like a light, his lips slightly parted and slow, rhythmic breaths escaping to whisper against Jayce’s cheeks. His augmented eyes were a strange sight—the radiance remaining behind his closed eyelids and giving his entire face a fetching, youthful glow. That single streak of grey in his hair was more pronounced in the brighter light of day, and Jayce found himself desperate to touch it, feel the tingle as it slid through his fingers—soft, tangible proof that despite it all, Viktor was still human.

So he reached out, slow and careful so as not to wake his love, and gently combed his finger through Viktor’s hair. He reveled in the achingly familiar texture as he soothed his hand farther back, but he should have known better—Viktor had always been a light sleeper.

Those breathtaking eyes groggily blinked open to reveal the magnificent glow beneath, the aperture shrinking as he focused on Jayce’s face. He inhaled, long and deep, groaning in comfort as he let it out and squeezing Jayce in closer.

“I thought you said you don’t waste your time sleeping anymore,” Jayce whispered, playfully mocking as he began scratching his fingernails lightly against Viktor’s scalp, just the way he always liked.

Viktor’s eyelids fluttered as if he was fighting to keep them open, a convulsive swallow going down his augmented throat.

“I said I don’t very often,” Viktor replied, his voice ragged from sleep and his accent as thick as poured honey. His hand moved from where it was draped over Jayce’s waist, flattening out on his lower back and just resting there. “I dislike empty beds.”

The wave of fondness that came over Jayce was almost overwhelming—Gods, me too, any bed without you in it is useless to me.

“Makes sense,” Jayce conceded, angling his head in and resting their foreheads together. He allowed his eyes to slide closed again, just wallowing in the heat and the closeness and the safety.

“Sleeping in your arms is like sleeping in the world’s most fortified stronghold. Feels like… feels like no one can hurt me,” he grumbled, tipping his hips in so that more of their bodies were touching.

Even with his eyes closed, he could feel Viktor smile.

“And no one will.”

Next came the sweet press of Viktor’s lips to his, and Jayce hummed pleasantly into the kiss—lazily reciprocating as comfort slowly morphed into heady, blossoming desire.

Jayce whimpered, trailing his hand down Viktor’s body to his hip, easily locating that sensitive seam between augment and flesh and beginning to stroke at it. Viktor shuddered, and Jayce was pleasantly surprised to see that his glowing eyes strobed as if losing power—the color briefly blinking to black a few times before resuming their natural, ambient shine.

Jayce grinned victoriously, repeating the motion as he spoke in a low, almost-pleading tone,

“You promised.”

Viktor released a chuckle which resounded in his chest much more like a purr, that metal hand on Jayce’s lower back beginning to pull him in closer; their bodies now wholly flush. Jayce curled his hips against Viktor’s, just stoking the embers of arousal in the hopes they would catch.

“I did, didn’t I?” Viktor replied, cool and collected as he nuzzled his nose next to Jayce’s, teased his lips over Jayce’s, but never followed through—simply sharing in his space, his heat.

“Are you amenable to my hand?” Viktor asked, and Jayce couldn’t help but snort a laugh at the formality of Viktor’s words—like they were negotiating a contract of some kind.

“Very amenable,” he replied, pausing to squeeze affectionately at Viktor’s bony hip.

So Viktor went to work turning him on—that living metal hand of his tracing light, barely-there touches up Jayce’s ribcage, his arm, his shoulder and collar bone. Until finally it landed at a nipple, his fingertip gently passing back and forth, back and forth. Jayce shuddered, that tingle at the back of his throat spreading outward like a catching flame and the hairs on his arms pricking up in interest.

And although he couldn’t exactly do the same for Viktor (as there was very little skin left to tease at), Jayce reciprocated—soothing his thumb over that sensitive seam in a repetitive pattern that had Viktor’s hand trembling and steam rising from the vents in his neck.

While Viktor’s light caresses did feel spectacular, it was the sight of Viktor himself—relaxed and grinning with contented arousal—that had Jayce growing hard. He was still so beautiful, as beautiful as the day they met, standing in Jayce’s half-destroyed apartment and waxing poetic with optimism. And most people would probably label Viktor as anything but nowadays, but Jayce could still see it—hiding behind the scars, the scowl that was more of a mask than his metal one. The hope was still there. He hid it well, but it seemed to be the one thing he could never quite amputate.

Viktor’s fingers shook Jayce from daydreaming, those electrifying Hexcore-augmented digits trailing up his jaw to begin softly soothing over his lips. Jayce sighed through his nose, allowing his eyes to slide closed as he lazily kissed those smooth, print-less fingertips.

“Open,” Viktor commanded in a soft, dulcet whisper, and Jayce was completely helpless but to obey—opening his eyes once more to gaze in awe at those luminescent depths as he allowed two of Viktor’s fingers to slide into his mouth.

He gasped as the metallic taste burst over his tongue, but it was more than that—memories of a night so very long ago, when the two of them had drunkenly decided to find out ‘what magic tastes like.’ They’d been celebrating; the successful beta test of their Hexgate prototype sending Heimerdinger’s beloved pet Poro across the Pilt and into his waiting arms. The two of them had polished off two (or was it three?) bottles of imported ice wine, very high end stuff, and decided they were going to put a Hexite gemstone in their mouths. It had been horrendously ill-advised, not to mention the sort of idea one should most definitely not make while inebriated, but it hadn’t turned out all that bad.

It had felt like licking a severed electrical line—cold and crisp and shocking, but in the best of ways. It made their tongues tingle and the hairs stand up on their arms. It made both of them feel wired and rejuvenated—their muscles twitching with magical energy that they’d then spent all damn night taking out on each other… ravenously.

This was an almost identical experience—an electrifying jolt of energy passing over Jayce’s tongue and into his throat, down his spine and into his groin. He couldn’t help but release a wanton and pitiful moan, the knowledge that he couldn’t hurt Viktor with his teeth spurring him to close his lips around the digits and suck, hard.

The sound that rumbled in Viktor’s throat was wholly inhuman—like grinding gears and hissing hydraulics. It resonated like a growl, and the danger of it had a shudder rolling down Jayce’s entire body. But it also filled him with a sense of determination… to make Viktor make that sound again… and again… and again.

He began alternating between sucking at those slim fingers and laving his tongue all over them—testing how he could alter the intensity of the electric sensation with differing pressures. And Viktor watched him, a look of passionate hunger descending over those thick brows as his eyes lustfully stared at Jayce’s lips.

Warm, invigorating pride exploded through Jayce’s chest as he noted that now-beloved three-beat rhythm of Viktor’s augmented heart quickening, his own erection now brushing against Jayce’s. And that was when Jayce had an idea.

He grinned as best he could around Viktor’s fingers, moaning dramatically to distract him as he slowly reached up and wrapped his fingers around Viktor’s wrist—his thumb placed perfectly atop that sensitive seam right at the pulse point.

The first stroke had Viktor releasing a half-surprised, half-aroused little yelp; his entire body shuddering and his augmented eyes strobing to black for a split second before powering back up. So Jayce tested it again… and again… listening intently as Viktor’s heart began to slam so loudly that Jayce could feel the percussion in the bed frame. That ambient glow hiding behind the artificial fascia in his hand started to pulsate to the rhythm of Jayce’s thumb, and to Jayce’s immense satisfaction, so did Viktor’s hips—grinding against Jayce almost desperately.

Viktor only allowed it for a few seconds longer, then he was rather frantically pulling his fingers free of Jayce’s mouth and stilling his hand between them, his hips still giving tiny, aborted thrusts against Jayce and making his grin widen.

“Are you trying to end this early?” Viktor croaked, his voice almost gone with arousal.

“No,” Jayce replied, the smugness in his tone unavoidable. He trailed his fingernails lightly down Viktor’s forearm, steering clear of the seam for now and giving Viktor a moment to come down. “Just had a hypothesis I wanted to test. Turns out I was right.”

“Hm,” Viktor hummed, his saliva-soaked hand disappearing between them and making Jayce tense with anticipation. “And what’s that?”

Viktor punctuated the statement by gently wrapping his hand around both of their cocks, squeezing them together and just barely beginning to stroke.

Jayce gave himself a second to answer—his eyes rolling back as the webbing between Viktor’s thumb and pointer finger caught on the swollen head and sent a jolt of warmth through his pelvis.

“That I can still make your heart race,” he whispered back, licking his lips and fully giving in to the heat and the pleasure.

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, clearly mulling over a response as he picked up a torturously slow, lazy pace with his hand.

“Yes,” he finally responded, his eyes lidded but fiery in the hazy light of morning. “I should have known you would forge your way into whatever heart I make for myself.”

Jayce felt like his chest was going to burst from the rush of adoration—no matter what Viktor did, no matter how much he amputated and sliced away and replaced, that poetic romanticism still remained. It had to be stoked, gentled and encouraged, but it was there.

“I missed your early morning poetry, V,” he mused sweetly, leaning in and finally pressing their lips together.

Viktor’s hand stilled as he breathed Jayce in, his lips still but heavy.

“And I missed how easily thrilled you are by it,” he said against Jayce’s lips, returning to the kiss thereafter and picking up the movement of his hand again.

Jayce melted into it, but no matter what he did, no matter how he clawed and arched and whimpered, he couldn’t get close enough. So he pulled his leg up under the blanket, throwing it over Viktor’s thigh and using it to pull him ever closer.

Viktor made that sound again—that low, rumbling, reverberating growl—and Jayce couldn’t help but shudder. He could feel it in his spine, in his ribcage, in his hard, throbbing cock. It felt wrong somehow, taboo and forbidden, how acutely aroused Viktor’s less human mannerisms now made him. He should have been scared. He should have felt threatened. He should have felt any number of responses spurred by self-preservation and logic.

But instead his ears felt hot and his toes curled. Instead, his arms flared with goosebumps and his breaths began to quicken. Instead, he reached down and let his own hand join Viktor’s; his heart leaping into his throat at the mixed sensations of saliva and metal and swollen flesh.

“Gods, V, how do you do it? How do you still know how to hit every nerve that drives me fucking wild?” he gasped, swallowing hard when Viktor’s hand pulled deliciously over the head.

Viktor smirked, his hand slowing even further and making Jayce almost violently desperate for more—harder, faster, tighter, please…

“Years of study,” he replied, cheeky and confident. “Fucking and fighting can show a man exactly what buttons he needs to press…”

He managed a particularly earth-shattering stroke, and Jayce’s whole body shuddered in response, his thighs beginning to shake with the effort of not rocking his hips, not forcing Viktor to give him more—he knew from experience that Viktor would stop if Jayce tried to take control. Ah ah, pet. Behave yourself.

“For example, I know that time and the weight of that hammer have worsened your back pain—your right shoulder specifically,” Viktor continued, and Jayce was so enamored with that lovely, serene face that he didn’t notice the Hexclaw curling up and over him until it was pressing to that always-sore spot between his scapula and spine.

The first hint of pressure came with pain, like it always did, and Jayce whimpered, grimacing as his whole body arched away from the touch and into Viktor. But Viktor took it in stride, the ‘hand’ of the Hexclaw beginning to gently—so gently—knead at the muscle in his back.

Relief was hot on the heels of the initial pain, and Jayce’s groan quickly devolved into a loud, uninhibited moan. But it was more than just the actual touch, it was how badly he’d been needing it, anything like it, and hadn’t realized. For anyone to be gentle with him, to cherish and hold him, to see what he needed and fucking give it to him. He’d spent so long, so fucking long since Viktor’s exile just scrambling to keep up with the chaos and the rapidly changing landscape of his world. Supporting Cait in the loss of her mother, making arrangements in the months before he lost his own. Burying himself in work and fighting, drinking himself into oblivion and hauling around so much more than just the hammer. And he felt like he could just shatter in Viktor’s arms, and Viktor would be there to catch it all, to keep all the pieces straight until he could stitch him back together.

“Jayce? What’s wrong?” Viktor cooed, his hand stilling on their cocks and making a jolt of need fire off through Jayce’s hips. In fact, he abandoned his attempts at control, and rocked into it until Viktor conceded and started moving again.

“I just…” Jayce croaked, interrupting himself with a groan when the combined touches made him go dizzy with arousal, the ache in his back almost completely gone now, under Viktor’s attentions.

“I missed you so much. So much, V,” he whispered, slamming his eyes shut and doing his best to compose himself—they were having a lovely, relaxed, sexy morning, and here he was breaking down in the middle of it. Pathetic. Still so fucking pathetic.

“I know,” Viktor replied, his tone so very soft. “I could see it in the way you lost your breath when we met on the battlefield. The way you hesitated at every strike. The way you would intentionally stumble at the last minute to avoid truly hurting me. The way that, even when you won, when you beat me, you would turn away and sigh.”

It was then that Jayce felt Viktor’s lips on his cheek, their warmth pressed just beneath his eye and kissing away the tears.

And it all became too much—Viktor’s solid metal frame, hulking and warm and real. The pressure of the Hexclaw at his back, soothing him into the kind of relaxation and comfort he hadn’t felt in ages. Viktor’s hand on their increasingly hard lengths, quickening and starting to milk rivulets of precum from both of them to slick the glide of his unnatural fingers.

Jayce attacked Viktor’s lips with his own, inhaling hard and desperately breathing in the scent of him—something familiar and yet new, something he ached for and ached to learn. Crisp, clean metal. Steam and sweat. Bergamot and vanilla. Chemicals and magic.

He clawed at Viktor’s body, desperate to be closer—his fingernails catching on jagged metal edges and his thigh stinging where a cog was biting into the muscle. But he didn’t care. I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go. That place is not my home, those people are not my home. You are.

Viktor responded—groaning pleasantly into the kiss and quickening his hand even more, making little spots dance through Jayce’s vision. It was otherworldly, how good it felt; his abdominal muscles trembling worse and worse on every stroke, his head spinning with overwhelming pleasure. He could feel those miniature contractions like bolts of electricity radiating from his balls, could feel himself twitching in Viktor’s hand as he spilled more and more.

“Oh gods, close, V, I’m close…” he barked as he pulled back from the kiss, throwing his head back against the pillow and working to regulate his breathing.

Viktor used the opportunity to lean in and press his lips to Jayce’s exposed throat, his teeth barely beginning to scrape at the delicate, bruised skin there.

“Count us down for me, pet,” Viktor hummed into Jayce’s neck, and the vibration against his Adam’s Apple made him shudder with anticipation.

They used to play this game. Viktor had gotten so good at reading the signs of Jayce’s pleasure that he could usually time it down to the second. And he often waited until just after the point of no return to make Jayce start counting—testing his resolve while also heightening the thrill and the excitement and the pleasure and oh gods I’m not gunna make it…

But he had to try. He had to be good.

“T-ten,” he uttered, the very idea that he would soon get to cum making his whole body sing with exhilaration.

Viktor hummed again, his lips opening against Jayce’s neck and his teeth just barely nipping at the pulse point, and Jayce struggled to fish through the haze of pleasure in his mind to recall the rules. Two strokes, count, two strokes, count. That was it… right?

Those two strokes were electrifying—Jayce’s spine tingling with it as he impatiently listened for the slick squelch of Viktor stroking over the head and plunging back down.

“Nine.”

Viktor’s head curled in over Jayce’s shoulder, his teeth finding an area that wasn’t recently injured and biting down—just the right amount to hurt so good that it made Jayce yelp and buck into Viktor’s hand. Viktor chuckled triumphantly, kissing the now very sensitive bite mark and sending a lovely sting radiating down Jayce’s arm, goosebumps following in its wake.

“Eight.”

Jayce could feel it building—the heat and the pressure and that heavenly ache in his balls—and he knew then he wasn’t going to make it. Maybe to three. Possibly two. But definitely not one.

“Seven!”

It came out strained and almost panicky, his whole body tensing as Viktor’s hand relentlessly stroked again. Jayce whined, gripping Viktor’s metal ribcage so hard he was certain he broke several nails.

“Six…”

Viktor clearly read the shrillness of Jayce’s voice, and slowed his strokes way down, but at this point, it didn’t really help. Just sent Jayce’s mind spiraling further and further into desperation. Where was I?

“Six…?”

“Five,” Viktor corrected with an amused chuckle, his lips as they moved against Jayce’s heated flesh feeling like tiny little red-hot pokers.

“F-fuck. Five,” Jayce repeated, biting his lower lip and trying not to scream. I need to cum, I need to cum, please let me cum…

“Four!”

Viktor’s lips turned back up Jayce’s neck, his teeth toying just beneath Jayce’s ear. “That’s it pet, doing so good for me, so good…”

Don’t praise me, please, I can’t take it, I’m gunna cum…

“Th-th-three… I c-can’t, V, imgunnacum…”

“No,” Viktor replied simply, his hand stalling at the base and squeezing.

Jayce wailed, the muscle contractions already starting and a mess of precum spilling all over Viktor’s sheets.

“Two!”

“So close, moje lásko, so close. Just a little more for me,” Viktor positively growled, his hand starting up again, and Jayce tracked every agonizing millimeter as it pulled over the head and paused there.

“Nonono, keep going, pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop V…” Jayce cried, his thighs starting to cramp and quake from the tension. He could feel himself leaking cum, his body desperate to let go as the muscle contractions grew worse and worse and worse.

“One,” Viktor said for him, his breath hot and dense on Jayce’s cheek. “Cum for me…”

The sound Jayce made was more of a violent, gasping sob—his sight buzzing with spots and his ears ringing as the wave of ecstasy crashed over and consumed him. It licked every muscle, every vein and bone; until his entire body was just shapeless matter to be molded by Viktor’s skilled hands. And it just kept coming—until it felt like his entire body had been drained from his cock and then it drained him some more.

The pleasure began to vaguely become too much—an achy, stinging sensation resonating from the place where Viktor’s hand was still wrapped around him. Clarity followed, and Jayce was never more thankful, as it provided him the opportunity to watch as Viktor found his release.

He stilled, mouth agape and lips trembling as his cock throbbed against Jayce’s, hot cum shooting into the limited space between them and marking Jayce’s stomach. Jayce basked in it, adoring every small jerk of Viktor’s hips, every breathless gasp that accompanied the spasms. And when it had finally finished with him, he sagged against the bed, his eyes sliding closed in exhaustion and his hand releasing them.

Jayce couldn’t help the fond bark of laughter that escaped; it was practically involuntary—the overwhelming contentment just bursting from every pore. He scooped Viktor up, pulling himself in closer and burying his nose in Viktor’s hair. Just breathing with him as the two of them came down, as their racing heartbeats (one much louder than the other) slowly calmed.

But as he always did in the aftermath of such relief, Jayce started thinking—the gravity of the situation gnawing at him like a splinter under the fingernail. He sighed heavily, inhaling of Viktor’s painfully familiar scent before speaking in a wavering, broken whisper,

“I don’t wanna go.”

Viktor went statue still against him, his chest too, as if he was holding his breath, and Jayce couldn’t bear the logic he knew was coming.

“I don’t wanna go,” he said again, voice unsteady. He reached up and buried his fingers in Viktor’s hair, scratching through it and desperately trying to commit it to memory… just in case he never felt of it again.

“Fuck Piltover, fuck Hextech,” he tried, that gods-forsaken frog in his throat making it sound pathetic and weak. “They’ve already pretty much stolen it from me anyway. And they’re just gunna throw me in Stillwater, I…”

He was forced to stop as his throat closed up, tears threatening again. Goddamnit, I’m so tired of crying. I just wanna be happy. I just want this. Why is that too much to ask?!

“I don’t wanna go back. Please let me stay…”

Viktor released a very burdened sigh, the heat of it warming Jayce’s bare chest, and then he was pulling back—propping himself up on one elbow and waiting until Jayce finally looked him in the eyes.

“You know you can’t do that, Jayce,” he said, and although Jayce had known it was coming, Viktor was a man of logic and reason after all, it still stung like a blade through the lung. “Hextech is still yours…”

“Ours,” Jayce interrupted harshly, shaking his head. “It… it’ll always be ours.”

Viktor swallowed, but did not comment on that little addendum.

“You have to fight for it,” he went on, the Hexclaw rising up and soothing down Jayce’s arm. “You’re the only one good enough to steer that kind of power. Can you imagine what they would do with it without you standing at the end of the barrel?”

Jayce’s mind immediately went down dark, morbid paths—images of plasma cannons and azure lightning… an entire city wiped from existence in an instant. He sighed again, bowing his head and staring down at Viktor’s chest. I don’t want that responsibility anymore. I did the best I could, and it wasn’t good enough. Let someone else take the reins for once…

“Jayce, look at me.”

He was helpless but to obey, looking up into those harsh but somehow very gentle eyes.

“You have to. You are Hextech. If you don’t fight for it, who will? You are a scientist; in your absence, the hands that grab for it will be those of warriors and profiteers. And in their hands, both cities are doomed.”

Jayce offered up a sad, bittersweet smile. “Stop making sense,” he teased, reaching up and weaving his fingers through those of the Hexclaw’s. It should have felt weird or bizarre, and he supposed on some level it did, but… it was simply an extension of Viktor, and he loved whatever shape that took.

Viktor chuckled back, the digits of the Hexclaw squeezing at Jayce’s fingers once in reassurance.

“And I assure you one thing,” Viktor went on, pulling the Hexclaw free, planting it on Jayce’s back, and using it to pull him in close.

“You are not going to Stillwater,” he said, his eyes breaking from Jayce’s to wander down very intentionally to his lips. “Even if that’s how they vote. I will not let that happen.”

Jayce felt himself blush, but it quickly flushed away, leaving him frowning at the thought—still willing to do that which I failed to do for you.

“But you have to at least try,” Viktor went on, interrupting Jayce’s gloomy thoughts. He went quiet then, staring Jayce down with an intensity that was a little intimidating. Try. You gave up once, and look where it got us both. Just try.

So, a hollow weight settling between his ribs, Jayce nodded.

“That’s more like it,” Viktor said playfully, his lips sealing the deal by pressing so sweetly to Jayce’s that his teeth ached. Jayce returned it, committing that too to memory—the plushness of Viktor’s lips, that scarred indentation on the lower one, the taste of metal and sweetmilk.

“What time is the trial?” Viktor asked softly, settling back into the pillow and just gazing at Jayce.

“Cait said afternoon, and I’m likely first on the docket. So… right after they break for lunch, I’m sure,” Jayce replied, anxiety already stirring at the thought of once again standing in that harsh ray of light, surrounded by haughty councilors who couldn’t give two shits about him.

“Hm,” Viktor hummed thoughtfully. “Then we have plenty of time. Come here.”

He pulled Jayce even closer, wrapping him up in an unshakeable embrace of bed-warmed metal and settling his head onto the same pillow. He sighed, rearranging slightly to get comfortable (the Hexclaw curling to rest at his back), and closed his eyes.

Back to sleep, then. What the hell. Might get banished this afternoon, what’s one last lazy morning?

So Jayce scooted in close, fully utilizing the chance to just gaze at Viktor. He used to do this a lot, actually, in the old days. Viktor had always had trouble sleeping, with the ceaseless pain in his leg and back, so when the very rare occasion arose that Jayce woke before him, he would leap at the opportunity to watch him. To watch his eyes moving behind his eyelids, and wonder what he was dreaming of. To watch how his wild mess of auburn hair fanned out fetchingly against the pillow. To watch those lovely thin lips fall slightly lax as he just breathed.

And the longer he laid there staring at his long lost love, it started to soothe away the anxiety of what was to come. For some reason, he wasn’t quite so worried anymore. If they banished him, fine. He would come to Viktor. If they voted for Stillwater… Viktor would come to him.

So he closed his eyes, laid his head down, and fell back into an easy, dreamless sleep.

He woke with a start, panic telling him you’ve overslept, you’re late for your own funeral. But he squinted over at the modified clock hanging above the desk, struggling for a moment to figure out that he was actually looking at a barometric pressure gauge before landing on the actual time.

12:23. Just enough time to make the trek out of Zaun and turn himself in.

He sighed, turning back and finding Viktor still dead to the world—his mechanical heart beating at such a slow, melodic pace that it almost sent Jayce tumbling right back down with him. But the anxiety was back, and it wasn’t going anywhere this time. So, extremely carefully so as to avoid waking him, Jayce pushed away from Viktor, slid a pillow in against Viktor’s chest, and rose from the bed.

He shivered as his bare feet hit ice cold concrete, and he hurried over to where his clothes had been so haphazardly disregarded the night before. And as he slid each item on—underthings, pants, socks, shredded and bloody shirt—he let his mind spin him into nausea.

Do I wake him? Do I not? And if I do… Gods, how do I say goodbye? I can’t, I can’t say goodbye. Goodbye makes it real. Goodbye means there’s a possibility I won’t be back, that I won’t… I won’t see you again.

But he didn’t have time to play these mind games with himself; his future and the future of Hextech was on the line. So he forced himself into action; quietly fishing around in Viktor’s desk for a pen and a piece of paper… and then he stared at it for far too long.

‘I have to go?’ No, he knows I had to leave, he’s the one that convinced me. ‘Sorry I left you again?’ Gods, no. Opens up old wounds. ‘See you soon?’ Quite possibly a lie. ‘I love you?’

I love you. Yeah.

So he scribbled it all out.

Fuck goodbyes. I love you.

~JT

He leaned in to leave it on the nightstand, but as he set it down, his eye caught on his bracelet. He’d had it for decades now, and the leather was stained and falling apart. The gemstone fragment was chipped in a few places, where he’d drunkenly whacked his arm against desks and doorframes. The gold embellishments were faded and tarnished, and the clasp would likely have to be replaced soon.

But he could still recall that night in his blown-up apartment, staring down at the street below and preparing to meet it. He could still recall the metallic tink of that cane against the hardwood; the gentle, playful voice that cut through the silence—am I interrupting? He remembered the soft, careful fingers placing that bracelet into his palm, handing him back everything. And he remembered the way his heart skipped a few beats when he realized that this man who knew nothing about him was willing to risk everything for him. For his dream.

For their dream.

So, without thinking twice about it, he unclasped the bracelet, left it on the nightstand atop his note, and turned for the door. But he should have known better—Viktor had always been a light sleeper.

He heard it before he felt it—the whir and subsequent metallic clamp before his shirt tightened as if hung on something. He deflated, letting his head sag against his chest as he turned on his heel. The Hexclaw released him, but hovered in the space between them like a gavel ready to fall.

“I… I didn’t know how to say goodbye,” Jayce said, voice breaking halfway through.

Viktor looked up at him, his eyes still lidded from sleep but shining with clarity.

“So don’t,” he replied simply, beginning to retract the Hexclaw.

Jayce struck for it—reaching out and grabbing it before it could retreat, and he smiled as he bent and kissed it like he did the hands of those fancy ladies he met at those ridiculously frivolous council parties.

Viktor grinned that crooked, smarmy grin, and Jayce’s heart felt like it was going to leap from his ribcage and splat onto that cold concrete floor.

“Okay… I won’t,” Jayce finished, finally releasing the claw and watching with pride as Viktor pulled it back and touched it to his own lips… as if transferring the kiss to them.

“Good luck today,” Viktor said, his gaze finally breaking and falling sadly down at Jayce’s shoes.

“Y-yeah. Thanks.”

In his mind he was ripping his clothes back off and flinging himself back into those body-warmed sheets, those strong steel arms. He was gripping that strange magical hand, weaving their fingers together and holding tight, won’t ever let go. He was leaning in and kissing Viktor like his life depended on it, like oxygen ceased to exist and Viktor took its place within his lungs. But he knew, he knew that if he felt that touch again, breathed in that scent and tasted those lips… he would never leave. He wasn’t strong enough to resist that particular temptation.

So, throat tight and chest heavy, Jayce simply nodded, turning for the door and not looking back.

Chapter Text

Axel was tired of Sump diving for parts, tired of coming home covered in bruises from fighting over scraps. Tired of haggling with seedy bottom-dwellers and selling her wares for far below market value, because feeding her brothers was more important than her pride. She was tired of using secondhand junk to repair her prosthetic hand, only to have it bust a week later. She was just… tired.

Working in the top brass for a Chem-Baron was like royalty down here. It came with its risks of course, but… no more than wading through Sump waste in nothing but some flimsy makeshift armor she’d welded for herself in the wee hours of the morning, when her brothers were sleeping.

And they had begged her not to go—Val in particular pleaded with her to let them work instead. That working for Renata Glasc was just too risky, and that she didn’t have to go that far. They would figure something out, and please, don’t go to her. Anyone but her.

But that was the thing about Zaun, good fortune didn’t just fall from the grey, ashen sky. Destiny was what you made it down here, and if she didn’t do this, then they’d just end up another pitiful punchline for the survivors to jeer at over a drink at the pubs—three more orphans that couldn’t cut it.

And besides, from what Axel had heard from that weird talking rat thing, Renata was one of the better ones. That she provided discounted upgrades to her loyal followers, allowed them free rein of her stockpiles so long as they were respectful and obedient… alright, so obedient hadn’t always been Axel’s best quality, but… she could fake it. For her brothers? Yeah… she could fake it. Probably.

She wasn’t nervous as the heavily-modded foot soldier silently led her through an enclosed, musty back-alley. She wasn’t nervous at the sight of his arm… er, sickle blade as it swung back and forth, a morbid ring echoing off the high metal walls when it occasionally swiped against his fully augmented leg. She wasn’t nervous listening to the mechanical hiss and whistle of his breaths, like those roving automatons that sometimes patrolled the Sump. She wasn’t. Nervous, that is.

She knew they were getting close when the smell hit her nostrils—an overpowering and almost sickly-sweet floral odor that might have been nice on it’s own, but… combined with the smog smelled more like rotting flowers.

She muttered to herself as her escort rounded a corner and approached an offensively ornate door made of stained glass and iron that twisted and curled in a manner more suited to crawling ivy than metal. Axel had spent all night scribbling out talking points for this… it couldn’t really be called an interview. It was more likely to be an interrogation, if anything, but regardless, she’d notated all the brainstormed buzz words that might please Renata.

Loyal. Discreet. Hard-working. Ruthless. Aggressive. And I don’t ask questions.

It would probably come off sounding like every other groveling street kid that was desperate for a job, but… she didn’t really know what else to do. It wasn’t like she’d ever had a face-to-face with a Chem-Baron before.

“You address her as Ms. Glasc, you understand?”

The man’s voice was so loud and unnatural that Axel startled, and she hurried to nod with feigned enthusiasm.

“Mm,” the man grunted. “Keep it short and sweet. Do not speak unless spoken to, do not answer questions that haven’t been asked. Ms. Glasc’s most valuable asset is her time, and you’d do well not to waste it.”

“Yeah. Got it,” Axel snapped, not particularly intimidated by the man’s attempt at scaring her. She’d faced rats bigger than him down in the Sump, and cooked them up for dinner.

The man grunted again, leaning in and pushing that fancy door open, and when he motioned for Axel to enter, she had to duck to avoid his sickle blade. That same overwhelming scent hit her like a punch to the gut as she stepped inside the Cultivair, and without the gasses and noxious fumes of Zaun to cut it, it was almost suffocating. She couldn’t help but let out a haggard cough, deciding to breathe through her mouth for the duration of her stay.

“Yer one o’clock, Ms. Glasc. Er, what was yer name again, kid?”

“Axel…”

“Axel! Says she wants a job er sum’tin.”

With that, the man slammed the door in her face, his thundering footsteps receding as he stomped away.

“What a fucking peach,” she mumbled to herself, turning to face the interior of the Cultivair…

Axel didn’t think she’d ever seen so much unbroken glass—the entire domed structure made up of differing shades and shapes, clearly repurposed from elsewhere. And the precisely welded lines of lead holding it all together… she could barely fathom the skill and the time it would have taken to even get it done without shattering the whole thing to pieces.

The beauty was offset, however, by the presence of a frankly heinous amount of sentries posted around the base of the dome—probably ten or more heavily modded guards, all staring Axel down with unblinking and unnerving intensity. And now that she looked closer, she noticed identical implants in their temples, the same glowing magenta light spilling from each of them. Neural adapters. Likely for hijacking their minds and overriding their free will. Great… that’s… that’s great.

The chuckle she was met with as she stepped further inside was as sickly sweet and pungent as the smell permeating the vast circular room, and despite her best efforts, Axel shivered.

“Yes, he is a bit of a brute, isn’t he? But men like him do have their uses, don’t they?”

Renata was not seated at her desk—instead, she was standing off to the left, that trademark white suit as pristine and finely pressed as ever. She was holding something, a staff of some kind, and at its pinnacle was… a pulsating, jittery orb made up of throbbing violet light and what looked to be muscle tissue. It hummed as it moved, sending eerie shadows crawling up the stained glass walls of the Cultivair, and as Axel took a step closer, it appeared to notice her—releasing a louder, more ominous hum and loosing a much more expansive flash of light.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” Renata purred, her eyes transfixed on that orb as she nonchalantly waved her augmented arm in the general vicinity of her desk. “Have a seat.”

Something was telling her not to turn her back on the orb, so with a huff, Axel tilted the chair Renata had motioned to, plopping into it and attempting to appear calm and relaxed.

“M’not afraid,” she tried, tossing a leg over the armrest. Maybe if I come across apathetic, it’ll work in my favor.

Renata peeled her eyes from the orb for a moment, those shining magenta irises glaring sharply down at Axel’s leg.

Guess not.

She sat up straight, lowering her leg and crossing them politely at the ankles instead.

“Um… what is that?” she asked, the foot soldier’s words echoing in her head just a little too late. Do not speak unless spoken to. Fuck.

But Renata seemed pleased by the inquiry—a crooked and haunting smile spreading her blood-red lips.

“This, my darling, is the quill that’s going to etch my name in the history books…”

She gripped the staff in the middle, tipping it forward and just barely touching the orb to the massive flowering plant in front of her—the striking but highly toxic Blackbane Lotus, if memory served. Renata muttered something under her breath then, the syllables strange and flowy like birdsong, and then the orb was reacting.

A burst of white-violet light filled the large room, almost as if lightning had struck, and the orb began to spin violently on its perch. The Lotus flower shuddered, recoiling against the glass wall beyond and making each pane groan as if they were preparing to shatter. Axel gulped down her immediate fear as the flower rapidly expanded before her eyes; blooming so quickly and so violently that the blossoms touched the ceiling within seconds.

Renata moved quickly but with grace—abandoning the staff against her desk and procuring a small glass vial from a pocket within her waistcoat. Then, with the sharp, talon-like point of her thumb, she gently punctured the bulb of the flower, watching with rapturous awe as a viscous, glowing yellow nectar oozed from the puncture and into the proffered vial.

It wasn’t much—maybe an ounce or two at best—and soon after she’d harvested it and popped the stopper into the vial, the plant made an awful screeching sound… a sound Axel had only ever heard dying animals down in the depths of the Sump make. Then the giant bloom was shrinking and shriveling, petals curling in on themselves as they rapidly rotted before her eyes, and within seconds, it was reduced to little more than a dry, wilted husk at Renata’s feet.

But Renata did not look remotely upset by this. Instead, her eyes had gone somewhat maniacal as she stared down at the seemingly innocuous little vial. She twirled it in her hand, watching with glee the way it shimmered and shined within the confines of the glass, then she smiled—a wicked, twisted thing—and unceremoniously plopped the vial back into her pocket.

“Uh… what does that… do?” Axel asked as Renata turned and started meandering closer to her desk, the clack of her heels a rather jarring noise in the newfound silence.

Renata chuckled, the sound smooth and rumbling like the growl of a wildcat, and shook her head.

“That, my dear, is privileged information,” she drawled, that same mad, delighted glint in her eye suggesting she was just itching to tell, to brag—‘ask me, ask me again, and I will spill all the gory, gruesome details.’

This was it, Axel’s shot—it had been set up perfectly, now all she had to do was dunk. So she offered up her most convincing, haughty grin, inclining her head and doing her best to exude confidence as she spoke,

“Then you’re in luck, because I would like the privilege of worki—“

She was interrupted by a rib-cracking boom, her words catching in her throat as the concussive force hit her in the back with all the momentum of a chem-cannon. On instinct, she threw herself forward onto the ground, taking shelter behind her now overturned chair and immediately taking stock—am I hurt, what’s happening, where’s the threat, what are my exit options?

She was forced to wait to analyze her surroundings; shielding herself against a downpour of shattered glass and debris that rained into her hair and clothing. But once it slowed, she carefully peeked over the chair, coughing against the plume of smoke that was billowing in from the doors… or rather, where the doors used to be—now there was only a jagged, gaping hole and the sound of distant yelling. And through that smoke, approaching with all the looming ferocity of the misshapen and toxin-feral creatures that lurked in the Sump, came two eerie glowing eyes and the thundering of heavy, metal footfalls.

The Machine Herald.

Axel knew only what the many rumors said about him—that he was a mad, morally corrupt scientist who regularly stole unsuspecting people from the streets of Zaun to run his grisly experiments on them. That he had completely eliminated his emotions, and was now a hollow shell of a man with little to no empathy left. That each day, he sliced more and more of himself away in an attempt to eliminate the weaknesses of human flesh, and that one day very soon, he would replace his brain with fully-weaponized Chemtech. That one day very soon, everything human about him would cease to be.

Axel froze in her hiding spot, a chill of fear rolling down her spine as the Machine Herald stalked inside the Cultivair with menacing, predator-like focus. His glowing orange eyes pierced through the chaos of the blast, and lurking just over his left shoulder resided the smoking gun—a strange third arm with four sharp digits and a miniature plasma cannon embedded into the palm. It moved seemingly of its own accord, like a cat’s tail might; jerking and twisting in response to the Machine Herald’s daunting footsteps.

Every sentry posted around the Cultivair rocketed into action—raising their assorted Chemtech weapons and charging at the Machine Herald, but he did not react. Instead, he simply pulled a small circular contraption from his belt, raised it to his lips, and spoke in a low, venomous growl,

“Drop your weapons and get on your fucking knees.”

The implants in the guards’ temples lit up in response, a buzzing sound ringing from each one of them, and then like clockwork… every single guard disregarded their weapons and dropped to their knees.

He hijacked Renata’s neural adaptors. Fucking hell.

“Viktor,” Renata cooed from the other side of the desk, her voice oddly calm considering the state of things. “You’re back, I was curious whe—“

Axel yelped as the plasma cannon in that roving third arm fired, the sound so loud and powerful that she could feel it in her ribs, in her lungs. She cowered for a moment behind the overturned chair, but morbid curiosity eventually had her leaning up to peek over the desk; her eyes landing on a visibly stunned Renata Glasc, mostly unscathed except that the hair at her left temple was smoking.

The Machine Herald (whose real name was apparently Viktor) stalked toward Renata, his heavily modded left hand held out intentionally to the side. The staff containing that odd pulsing orb Renata had been using suddenly lifted from its resting place against her desk and rocketed through the air, slamming into the Herald’s hand and releasing a loud, ominous hum.

“I would like to make something abundantly clear to you, Ms. Glasc,” Viktor positively growled, stepping so close to Renata that she had to crane her head back to look up at him. But, admirably, she appeared completely unfazed—her handsome face set into a relaxed (if slightly annoyed) scowl as Viktor went on,

“I am the pillars that support your empire. Your army was built with my tech, your riches were won with my tech, the very air you breathe was cleansed with my tech. I supply your weapons, I mod your sentries, I even designed your neural adaptors and chem-venom, despite finding them utterly reprehensible. I have followed your orders. I have been loyal. But for some reason you’ve decided to test me…”

Renata rolled her eyes, the very picture of cool and calm. “Oh, don’t be dramatic Viktor, I was merely pu—“

“Shut up.”

The orb thrummed atop its perch, releasing another pulse of violet light, and suddenly Renata had been lifted from the ground and suspended in the air before the Machine Herald as if by invisible gantry crane. She appeared to attempt to struggle, but her arms and legs seemed to be held motionless by an unseen force.

“At some point my debt to you will be paid. I think it would be wise, Baroness, to ensure that the engineer of every single weapon that has kept you in that chair for the last five years… isn’t your enemy.”

Renata deigned not to speak, but one of her thin, elegant eyebrows raised in silent questioning.

“Jayce is mine, do you understand? Mine. If anyone is going to end his life, it will be me. If anyone is going to otherwise maim, torture, or poison him, it will be me. You do not breathe, blink, or glance in his direction without my say-so. Do I make myself clear?”

Renata sighed, somehow still calm, and licked her ruby-red lips.

“Of course, Viktor, I would ne—“

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Viktor roared, his voice modulator cracking and buzzing with the volume and that plasma cannon in his third arm whining as it began to charge.

Finally, Renata flinched.

Viktor stepped even closer, his mask mere inches away from her face.

“I am not one of your ignorant, gullible clients. You cannot charm me with those candy-coated platitudes you intend on breaking the moment I walk away. I will not hesitate to end you and your entire operation. Right. Now.”

Viktor paused then, a rumbling, abyssal sound echoing from deep inside his chest and making Axel shrink back down against the chair.

“Do you… understand?” he finished, his voice low and sharp and absolutely terrifying.

Renata released another sigh, but this one rang with an air of surrender.

“Yes, Viktor. You have my word. The Defender is yours.”

Viktor stared up at her for a long, tense moment, the glow from his augmented eyes casting deep shadows over the Baroness’s face, and Axel frantically looked from one to the other; desperately attempting to ascertain if a gang war was about to erupt before her very eyes. But soon enough, Viktor stepped back, swishing that staff through the air as he went and releasing Renata from her floating, invisible prison. She landed lithely on her feet, only managing to take a single stumbling step as she regained her footing and yanked at the hem of her waistcoat to right it.

“I was unaware your quest for revenge was so singularly consuming,” Renata mused, passing her palm over her suit coat to ensure it was returned to its pristine and wrinkle-free state. “I thought you’d have the deed done by any means necessary.”

Viktor had turned as if to walk away, but at the speaking of those words, he paused. And there was just something about his body language—the way his shoulders went square and tense, the way his fist tightened to the point of shaking on the staff. The way his chest stopped moving as if he was holding his breath. There was something else there, something much deeper and more emotionally charged than just revenge.

“No. I won’t,” Viktor responded, and where before his voice had been hard and frightening, now there were barely-there notes of gentleness, of compassion. It almost sounded like… like he cared about this person he was claiming to want to kill. But that… that couldn’t be right. The Machine Herald had no emotions, no emotional ties left to humanity… right?

Axel startled at the sound of his heavy metal footsteps, and suddenly she found herself staring directly into those haunting ochre eyes. She froze, instinct telling her that maybe if she stayed still, made herself small and unassuming, the threat would pass her by. She didn’t know enough about him to know how he would react to having an eavesdropper (even if it was unintentional). Would he write her off like street vermin? Would he be angry? Would he decide that this conversation had been for Renata’s ears alone, and blast her head from her shoulders with that weird third arm??

He stared at her for only a few seconds more, then reached into a pocket buried somewhere in his finely-welded armor and procured a coin of some kind, gracefully flicking it down to her. She caught it in her prosthetic hand, turning it over curiously to examine both sides.

She’d seen it before, plenty of times—it was a Deadeye Token, carved from repurposed river flotsam, and despite being monetarily worthless, it was never useless. They were exchanged at the Deadeye Club; used not to purchase goods, but to buy someone’s time. You could find all manner of riffraff there, if you played your cards right—assassins, Sumpsnipes, back-alley apothecaries, Chempunks, the works. Axel usually steered well clear, and kept her brothers away too; that place wasn’t worth the trouble you’d get into by walking in.

She narrowed her eyes down at it, passing her thumb over the intricate cog-and-gunscope design before peering back up at the Machine Herald.

“Ask for Ekko,” he said simply, and then he turned for the gaping hole where the doors used to be, nonchalantly waving that third arm at Renata. “I’ll be back at week’s end to collect my per diem. Good talk.”

And then he was gone, leaving Renata’s Cultivair in an eerily silent and smoke-filled ruin. Axel dared to look up at the Baroness, finding what could only be described as seething rage on her ruffled but still-stunning features. She huffed, her movements clipped and angry as she reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a circular contraption similar to the one Viktor had used to hijack her guards, and raised it to her lips.

“Get up. Fix this mess. And you…”

Axel startled again, looking up to meet those chilling magenta eyes.

“You were saying?”

Axel was struck silent for a moment as the bustle of brainwashed sentries stirred around her—scooping up shattered glass with their bare hands, their eyes fixed and distant and empty. And she could just picture it now—her own hazel eyes, which she’d always been told were just like her mother’s, blank and void of life. Her mind and body hijacked, and for what? Some Chem-Baron’s bottom line? Sure, the tech Renata disseminated amongst her loyal followers was free… but it came at the cost of their freedom. A much higher price, in Axel’s opinion.

“Um…” she grumbled, standing on unsteady legs and shaking the glass shards from her hair to tinkle quietly onto the fancy rug beneath her feet. “I…”

She smoothed her thumb over the face of the Deadeye Token again, thinking back to the encounter with the Machine Herald. Was he trying to get her killed? By all accounts, it didn’t make any sense… if he wanted her dead, he could have easily blown her to smithereens right then and there, save himself the trouble. So what was the point then, giving her this token and letting her go? The only remaining assumption was that he’d been trying to get her away from Renata. Was he just trying to cut Renata’s numbers, send potential talent away to a competitor, so that when he did inevitably attempt a coup, she’d be easier to defeat? Or… or was it possible that he was actually considering Axel’s best interests? That he was offering up an alternative, with no strings attached, just for the hell of it? Again, it seemed unlikely, but… there was just something about him. Something disarming that, even though his face was entirely hidden, made Axel want to trust him. Take a chance on him.

“I’m… yeah, I’m gunna go. Thanks for the opportunity.”

She didn’t wait for Renata to respond—she simply turned on her heel and ran, through the smoky hole the Machine Herald had left and out toward the east end of the Entresol, where the Rising Howl would take her down into the Vent Stacks.

So… the Deadeye Club. Ask for Ekko.

Chapter Text

It was morbidly ironic, being placed in the very same jail cell Viktor had been held in, little more than a week ago—the floor and ceiling were still damaged from his violent thrashing against the chains, and there was a sizable crater in the back wall from the Hexclaw blast. And down at Jayce’s feet, iridescent in the low light of the cell, were the telltale splattered stains of oil and blood.

It was worth it, he kept telling himself, his eyes hyperfixated on those gruesome stains. Whatever happens today, it was worth it. He needed me, and for once I wasn’t a coward. I acted. In the end, that’s what matters.

Nevertheless, he was about to vibrate out of his skin with nerves—anxiously bouncing a foot and picking at the cuffs around his wrists with his fingernails. He’d hoped to at least surrender to Cait or Vi, get off on the right foot by speaking with someone close to the situation… someone who knew him and understood his motivations, and that they were good. Sure, the execution was a little… okay, a lot sloppy, but… he’d just been trying to save a life, one he knew he was capable of saving. Wasn’t that the important thing?

But it was apparent that Cait and Vi were in just as much hot water as he was—both of them had apparently been placed on indefinite leave, and a Lieutenant named Percival Desmond had been appointed Interim Sheriff. Jayce had met him once, when he stopped by the station to steal Cait away for some lunch, and wasn’t all that impressed—the man was hardened by years of service as a patrol unit down in the lower levels of Zaun, and he tended to see the worst in people. Doesn’t exactly bode well for my chances…

He’d also asked for a shower and a change of clothes, and been denied that too; the best they were apparently willing to do was a jacket to cover up with, a bucket of lukewarm water, washrag, and shaving kit. So he did his best to gather his thoughts as he shaved his face—the truth as it stood had never really swayed the Council. You had to know how to play them, charm them. You had to use certain buzz words to appeal to their fiscal obligations, because gods knew appealing to their humanity would get you nowhere.

But to churn this whole situation, twist it to make it more palatable to a council full of high-and-mighty bureaucrats… it turned Jayce’s stomach. How do I turn heartbreak and grief, love and passion into a fucking selling point? Why should I have to?! ‘I love him and I won’t see him suffer’ should be reason enough!

He grumbled to himself as he unceremoniously tossed the straight razor into the bucket with a splash, and used the rag to wipe away the shaving cream. He didn’t have a mirror, so it was probably a shoddy job, but considering how battered, bruised, and torn the rest of him was… maybe it would work in his favor, make him pathetic and pitiable. Well… more pathetic and pitiable.

It wasn’t but five more minutes when the portly silhouette of Sheriff Desmond appeared on the other side of the bars, the keys jangling with purpose in his hand.

“Right. Trial time, Golden Boy,” he grumbled through his bushy mustache, his demeanor so laid back it was almost bored.

Jayce sighed, standing from the small bench seat and approaching the door. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to a time nearly seven years ago, when Viktor must have been facing the very same fear, the very same indifference. He must have been in so much pain, must have been so very scared… and clinging to that one last hope that Jayce would save him.

Jayce cringed, vowing to apologize again when… if he saw him again. If he managed that small miracle, he would never stop apologizing, never stop trying to make it right. But first came the trial.

He found himself desperately trying to script something in his head as he was led by Desmond down the long, winding halls—penitence… penitence is key. I know that I acted rashly, I endangered peoples’ lives, I destroyed property. But I believe my actions were justified… no, don’t say justified, that’s their judgement to make. My actions were… necessary? Yes, necessary to preserve life. The life of a Zaunite, which you all have deemed less than worthy…

“Oh hey. Fancy seein’ you here.”

Jayce startled as he found himself walking beside Vi, who was quickly followed by Caitlyn—they weren’t cuffed, but it was very clear from the Enforcer escort that they too were in custody and being led to the Council chamber. But before Jayce could even ask, Vi went on,

“Nice hickey, how was the makeup sex?”

Jayce felt his face run hot and, as quickly as he could with them cuffed, he raised his hands to cover his neck and feel for the tenderness.

Vi smirked, beaming at him and leaning in to playfully knock shoulders with him.

“Gotcha,” she teased lightly, tipping him off that there was no hickey, but now he’d as good as admitted.

“Asshole,” he grumbled, twisting his right wrist uncomfortably in the cuffs as he lowered his hands back down. “And why the hell am I cuffed and you two aren’t?”

“Vi can be very persuasive,” Cait chimed in from behind them, and Jayce tossed her a timid smile of greeting over his shoulder.

Vi shrugged. “Told ‘em if they wanted to keep their hands, they could keep their handcuffs. And seeing as how they all still have hands…”

Most of the Enforcers surrounding them rolled their eyes, but none commented, and Jayce couldn’t help but fondly chuckle.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Why were the two of you arrested? You were…” he paused to think on how to phrase it so that he wouldn’t implicate them. “…just helping to locate me.”

“Mmmm, not quite,” Cait piped up again, quickening her gait to place herself at Vi’s side. “We were… until you were poisoned by Renata. You probably don’t remember much, but… I was forced to open fire on the bridge blockade, I had no choice; if they had managed to stop us, your death would have been a certainty. And I’m going to make that abundantly clear to the Council.”

Jayce hummed thoughtfully, trying to think back on it. She was right; he didn’t remember much… just the debilitating, excruciating pain. But there were bits and pieces here and there; the pressure of Viktor’s arms around him, the echo of gunshots and screaming. The loud, thundering boom of the Hexclaw. Soft, sanguine reassurances… ‘you’re going to be alright, Jayce. Breathe…’

He almost gagged at the memory, his muscles still aching with whispers of remembered pain. He would have given anything to delay this whole ordeal, even if it was just by one day. One day to have a shower, to release his anxiety, to organize his thoughts and center himself. After all, in the last week he’d been excommunicated, brutalized, poisoned, and arrested for treason. It was a little much to come to terms with. But that was the thing about the Council—you operated under their schedule or not at all.

By the time they reached the council chamber, Jayce could hardly breathe—his mind weaving horrid concoctions of every nightmare that played out here. Blood-curdling screams and the smell of melted metal and blood. Smoke-stung eyes and the harsh, rasping choke of all-consuming panic. The thundering boom of a verdict falling and the screams that followed… Viktor’s screams, screams for mercy, for help, for Jayce.

“Hey.”

The voice was Caitlyn’s, and Jayce startled as he found that he had paused in the doorway to the council chamber, and couldn’t make his feet move, couldn’t force himself to step inside; he hadn’t been back here since Viktor’s trial, couldn’t stand it. Every second that ticked by in this place crushed him like an anvil, and every second he spent under its weight drained more and more air from his lungs, more energy from his muscles. It felt like being underwater, like clawing for the surface and merely sinking deeper.

“Jayce.”

It was Caitlyn again, and this time she strode forward, faced him, and threw her arms up to wrap him in a suffocating hug.

“Breathe,” she said, her voice muffled as she buried her face against his shoulder. “You’re alright, it’s going to be alright. You just have to explain your actions as they were. You did all of this for the right reasons, and you need to make them see that. Ok?”

She pulled back to stare him down, and he did his best to nod, to swallow down that jittery, tight feeling in his lungs that was typically a precursor to a panic attack.

“Step forward, Jayce.”

This time, it was Heimerdinger that spoke, his pitched voice slicing through the deafening silence of the council chamber and echoing off the high, fortified walls. The gathered crowd seemed to be holding their collective breath, their eyes boring into him like hundreds of glowing, molten-hot blades. He’d never understood what the point of having an audience was—trials were already terrifying in their own right, but allowing hundreds of Piltover’s elite class to sneer at the accused… it was honestly just cruel. It was one of the many things he would have liked to accomplish in his time as a Councilor… ratify the witness requirement. Witnesses were one thing, a gawking audience getting their rocks off on someone else’s misfortune… that was another. But like every other goal he’d set for himself at the time… it fell short.

Jayce did his best to stay calm as he was escorted by Sheriff Desmond to the very table he’d once sat at, as the shadows crept ever closer behind him—the sectional dome cranking closed high overhead. And this irony was not lost on him either… standing before the Council and pleading for his life nearly fourteen years to the day after he’d done it the first time.

His nerves were so flayed at this point that he didn’t even possess the presence of mind to be startled as the peak of the dome snapped open and doused him in that awful and familiar pillar of light. And it seemed Heimerdinger, once again occupying the Head Seat, didn’t have the energy either.

“Here we are again, my boy…” he said with a sigh, his eyes downcast and solemn. “It seems this is a habit of yours.”

It was delivered like a morbid joke, but Jayce couldn’t find the mirth in it—fighting for what I believe in? For what’s right? And being condemned for it? Yeah… I guess it is…

Heimerdinger finally looked up at him, his sea-foam eyes glittering with sadness, with regret. Whether it was because he was planning to show mercy or deliver ruthless justice remained to be seen… but his past verdicts did not inspire confidence.

“Jayce Talis…” Heimerdinger began, pausing to cringe slightly—his mustache ruffling as he gently shook his head in disappointment. “You are accused of unlawfully releasing a prisoner, aiding and abetting a war criminal, endangering the lives of citizens, and misuse of magical technologies against the betterment of the great city of Piltover. All of which is tantamount to treason, in time of war.”

He sighed again, clasping his hands together in front of him and leaning forward into the light.

“You are a pillar of our city, Jayce. Our name is synonymous with yours. And at one time, I considered us friends… or rather, I hoped we were. I know you to be a good man, with… hm, mostly good intentions. These charges are egregious, and we here at this table have only one option available to us—Stillwater Prison. So, in light of this, please… explain yourself.”

The room fell deathly silent then, but Jayce hardly noticed past the painful slamming of his heart, the ringing in his ears. He could feel the panic inching its way through his veins, like he was standing in a pit of flames and boiling alive. What the fuck do I even say? I still love him, and I had to save him by any means necessary. It’s as simple as that. Is it selfish and immature and wildly irresponsible—that I would do it all again in a heartbeat; destroy property, threaten lives, risk my own—yeah. But I guess that’s who I am. And if this Council can’t accept that, then throw me in prison, I guess. Because I’m done lying to myself to appease you.

But to say that would be to doom himself right out of the gate, and he’d promised Viktor that he would at least try. And he was also done breaking promises, especially to Viktor.

He inhaled hard, attempting to calm himself and gather his thoughts—reaching by force of habit to his wrist, to the gemstone bracelet he always went to for support… but his wrist was bare. He’d left the bracelet for Viktor. And while the absence would have had him panicking in the past, for some reason it was reassuring—that perhaps Viktor was wearing it right now. That perhaps the leather was bound atop that strange, sensitive seam between magical augment and skin. That perhaps the weight of it made him pause, made him think of Jayce. Perhaps he was habitually reaching out, just as Jayce did, and soothing his thumb over the rune-etched surface of the gemstone. And perhaps that loud, mechanized heart of his would quicken, the harmonious three-beat rhythm of it thumping against his metal ribcage. Jayce desperately clung to that sound in his mind, synching his breaths with it—1, 2, 3, breathe in. 1, 2, 3, breathe out.

“What is progress, without empathy?” he asked, finally looking up and meeting Heimerdinger’s resolute, waiting eyes. “By all accounts, progress for the city of Piltover would have meant letting the Machine Herald die. It would have certainly solved a lot of problems, perhaps even swung the war in our favor. But then where does that leave us, hm? Sacrificing our humanity for the sake of easy? Allowing a man to die right in front of us when we have the means, the knowledge to save him?”

He paused again, allowing his eyes to rove around the court to old and new faces alike—Shoola, Bolbok… Camille Ferros.

“Look at all we’ve accomplished in a few short years—just in my lifetime, this city has propelled itself decades into the future. With the advent of Hextech, Piltover has become one of the greatest powers on this planet. But, I think, in our haste for that progress, we’ve become blinded to its cost. We split off from our sister city, went to war with them. We used our knowledge and ingenuity to create weapons that we then turned on the very people who were once our neighbors.

“This isn’t to say that Zaun is innocent—it’s a complicated and complex situation, filled with intricacies that I, a humble scientist, don’t claim to understand. But in our bid to find fault in our enemies, we seem to have forgotten the most crucial facet of progress—empathy. If we blindly pursue innovation without regard for the human cost, then we’re no better than a steam train barreling down the tracks without any brakes. We must remember that behind every Chemtech weapon pointed in our faces… there is a person. Even those who seem lost, even those who… hurt us the worst…”

He paused once more to look over at Vi, a maelstrom of images going through his mind of Jinx’s bright magenta eyes, that mad, empty stare. Vi nodded, bowing her head to disguise it when her lower lip started to tremble.

“That’s still a soul worth saving,” Jayce continued, turning back to face Heimerdinger. “And that’s exactly what I did. It’s no secret that I lo-“

His voice caught in his throat, the overwhelming emotion threatening to shut him down completely. But he swallowed it down, his jaw set hard—try, you have to try.

“That I cared about Viktor; that I still care about Viktor, despite our differences, despite the years of war and bloodshed. I saw that he was mortally wounded, and as someone with heavy modifications, he required specialized knowledge to save his life. Not a doctor, not a nurse, but an engineer. And that, I do claim to be. As time was of the very critical essence, I acted. I saw an opportunity to save a life, and I took it. I know… I know that my actions were rash and risky, and I endangered peoples’ lives. I know that I destroyed property, misused Hextech. But I can assure you, treachery was not my intent. I still love this city, I am still loyal to this city, as it’s Defender…”

His voice wavered again, and he was forced to stop, to take a deep breath as he soothed his thumb back and forth on the underside of his wrist, where the gemstone used to be.

“I am loyal to the city that took my humble family of trade workers and propelled us into a life of safety and stability. I am loyal to the city that took a risk on me, took a risk on Hextech, but first weighed the human cost. That city… that city put empathy before progress, which is precisely why I acted accordingly—brushing aside differences, old animosities, and simply doing what I thought was right.”

He could see the weight of his words in Heimerdinger’s widening eyes, see the crumbling rigid postures of several Councilors as they collectively sagged with realization.

“I regret the damage done and the resources wasted in hunting me down,” Jayce continued, shaking his head with remorse. “In that regard, if the council sees fit to do so, I volunteer myself and my tech in the cleanup process. It is only right that I dedicate myself to making right the wrongs I committed along the way—at the jail, at the forge, and on the Piltover Bridge.”

He looked then to Caitlyn and Vi, the distant echoes of gunfire and panicked voices in his mind reminding him what they had risked for him, for Viktor.

“I, um… I’d also like to apologize to the Sheriff and her partner for involving them. They acted with grace and compassion in an otherwise impossibly chaotic situation, and… myself and Piltover are lucky to have them. That being said, I ask that any consequences for the events of the last week fall solely on me, as they were only doing as the duty of their station demands—protecting the citizens of Piltover.”

He took a final, unsteady breath, closing his eyes and searching for strength in his memories of that morning—Viktor’s ash-ember eyes in the hazy light of morning, his gentle, doting touch. The warmth of a shared bed and soft, supple lips.

“And if this Council sees fit to send me to Stillwater—“

His voice broke, his heart slamming in his chest as fear flooded his veins and nearly overwhelmed him. A majority of the prisoners in Stillwater had been put there by him, and it was highly unlikely that they would have pity on his shared fate, even if it was only for a day as Viktor worked out the logistics of breaking him out… that is, if he hadn’t changed his mind—seen reason and realized he still hated Jayce, and would relish the opportunity to let Jayce suffer as he did…

Jayce gulped down the dread, attempting to convince himself—no, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t lie to me, wouldn’t break his promise. He’s not like me…

“I will understand. The consequences of what I did are grave, I know that. And I also know that the blood of every person harmed by the Machine Herald in the future will be on my hands. I just… there is a time and place for eliminating our enemies, and it is not when they’re supposed to be safely in our custody. It is a dangerous precedent to set; recusing ourselves of any responsibility for the well-being of our prisoners of war. We must put empathy before progress…”

He trailed off, suddenly feeling like a stuck blimp and just about ready to crumble to the cold stone floor. He’d said his piece, there was nothing more to it—he gave it his best, however paltry that was, and his fate was in the hands of bureaucrats now.

Heimerdinger let out a long, surrendering sigh.

“Your logic is sound, my boy,” he started, but it didn’t sound relieved or happy… it sounded like the precursor to a ‘but…’

“And I too once cared for Viktor—he was a fine, dedicated young man with aspirations of a greater world. It is difficult to know how I, how any of us would have responded if put in your shoes. Ten years ago, I would have been certain. But in recent years, starting with my initial removal from this Council under your leadership—“

Jayce warmed, thinking back on it—yet another instance of allowing his feelings for Viktor to cloud his judgement.

“I’ve spent time in the Undercity, learning what daily life is like and the struggle that all Zaunites face as they strive not just for survival, but to thrive. It is true we are at war with our sister city, but the fact remains that she is our sister regardless.”

Heimerdinger paused, his eyes downcast and his mustache twitching as he pursed his lips in thought. The next voice to break the silence was not his, however, but Camille’s,

“We were all assuming, but no one has asked—were you able to save him? The Machine Herald, I mean?”

Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and Jayce was never more thankful to have struck up a tentative friendship with her, to have sold a majority interest in Hextech to her clan.

“After a very strenuous couple of days, as well as life-threatening injuries of my own… yes. I was,” he replied, tossing Caitlyn a side-eye that he hoped expressed his immense gratitude.

“Hm,” Camille grunted back, the tone unreadable and flat.

“You’ve put us in a difficult position, Mr. Talis,” Councilor Shoola interjected, tapping a single sharp finger repeatedly against the marble table as she thought. “If we excuse you, we are effectively sending a message that your actions—which are still treasonous regardless of intent—are permissible in the eyes of this council. And if we send you to Stillwater, we are exemplifying the very inhumanity you’ve accused us of today.”

Yeah, that’s the point. Shit isn’t as black and white as you’d like it to be, Jayce thought irritably to himself, and he was fairly certain the thought played out on his face. But the Council merely went silent, all looking to Heimerdinger for guidance. Jayce’s ribs ached from the force of his wildly beating heart, and suddenly he was very aware of what could only be the remnants of the venom in his blood—his knees feeling weak from standing and his muscles beginning to quake from the strain.

But Heimerdinger called his attention back with a long, drawn-out sigh.

“I propose two options,” he said, his voice smaller and weaker than usual. “The first; Stillwater…”

Jayce felt like his heart plummeted into his stomach, hitting every rib on the way down, and the nausea that accompanied it was sudden and intense. He did his best to remember what Viktor had said, that day in the lab when he was caring for Jayce’s wounded hand. Look at me. Breathe, slowly. Acupressure point…

He moved his thumb to the point Viktor had indicated on his forearm, gently pressing and working to slow his hyperventilated breaths.

“…or the alternative—a vote for leniency, with restrictions, of course. Your use of and access to Hextech would be temporarily rescinded; this includes the laboratory, the Hexgates, the Mercury Hammer, and all other current or future projects. You would be placed on leave from your duties, until such time as this Council deems you fit to return to them. You would oversee the cleanup process at any sites damaged by your… hm, escapades. And lastly, you are to report any and all dealings with Zaun to the Sheriff, in writing, for approval—what you are doing there, and why. We are at war, and we cannot have a Warden of Piltover such as the Defender seen to have sympathies for the enemy. Empathy is one thing, defection is another.”

“On the matter of the Sheriff and her partner, Professor?” Bolbok said, their strange mechanized voice an ominous echo in the cavernous room.

“Yes, step forward please, you two,” Heimerdinger asked, and Caitlyn and Vi did as requested—spreading out in a show of solidarity and standing one at each side of Jayce. Cait spared a moment to offer him a reassuring but somber smile, her hand coming up to pat his back a few times, and that contact alone doused his rising anxiety like water onto a flame.

“Jayce has explained that your involvement was secondary, and that the two of you were only fulfilling the duties of your office. Was that the way of it, lass?” Heimerdinger asked, his eyes having gone critical as he leveled them at Caitlyn.

“Yes, professor,” she said, her voice inexplicably calm and confident. “At no point did myself or Vi ever work against the interests of Piltover, except for the events on the bridge, which I will explain. In his quest to repair the Machine Herald’s injuries, Jayce was forced to enter Zaun for… parts.”

Jayce tossed her a subtle nod, thankful that she was omitting the truth of the matter—that he hadn’t just needed parts, he’d needed a highly illegal drug, which he had obtained through less-than-legal means and then smuggled into Piltover. But they didn’t need to know that bit…

“He was critically wounded in the endeavor, and I had two options—take him to the infirmary here in Piltover, thereby turning him over to the authorities and effectively condemning the Machine Herald to death. Or, ask the Machine Herald himself for help, in the interest of saving both of their lives. And given that the Office of the Sheriff does not hold the power to circumvent the Council in matters of condemning someone to death, I made a judgement call—opting for the Herald. He agreed, but required specialized tech only available in Zaun in order to save Jayce. I fully admit that I lied to the officers of the bridge blockade in order to pass, and that in doing so I started an altercation. It was never my intention to harm any of my Enforcers, but when they opened fire on us, I was left with little choice but to defend us. I only ever discharged my weapon into the ground, though; never at my Enforcers. They were just doing their jobs, as I was. And as for Vi, she is loyal to a fault; she only ever followed my orders, and as such, the responsibility lies with me.”

Not entirely true, Vi made her own choices, always had. But Caitlyn was doing her best to protect her, and no one could fault her for that, so Jayce shifted his weight, subtly bumping his shoulder against hers in silent appreciation.

All was quiet then, as the Council considered her testimony—the litany of harsh, prying eyes leveled on them feeling like a blade to the throat.

“What a mess the three of you have made,” Heimerdinger mused aloud, shaking his head and looking to his fellow Councilors. “But… not so simple, passing judgement. I understand your actions, no matter how foolhardy. It would be easy to simply condemn them in the interest of city security, but as you say Jayce, should we sacrifice our humanity for the sake of easy?”

Several councilors nodded, and that damned spark of hope caught in Jayce’s lungs, making his breath stutter in his throat as Heimerdinger went on,

“I propose a vote. Those in favor of Stillwater, raise your right hand. Those in favor of tentative leniency, raise your left.”

All at once, the panic was back, and tenfold—Jayce’s whole body beginning to shiver as his breaths quickened. It was that same repeating nightmare that had been torturing him for the last six years, except now it was him on trial instead of Viktor. Gods, what this must have felt like for Viktor, how scared and alone he must have felt. Jayce had Caitlyn and Vi at his side, and Viktor had had no one, not even the man who claimed to love him. How he must have been repeating it over and over in his head… please don’t do this, please, please don’t give up on me. I know I messed up, but I’ll make it right, I swear I will, if you just give me a chance…

The first vote cast doused Councilor Bolbok in a pillar of red light…

Stillwater.

Jayce’s breath left him like he’d been punched in the gut, and he physically stumbled backward. No, no, please… it doesn’t matter if Viktor breaks me out, I still have so much more to offer, so much more to give to this city. I want to stop the violence, I want to end this hellscape of a war. I want us to be at peace again, and I know I can take us there…

Both Caitlyn and Vi’s hands came up to rest at his back, anchoring him and shaking him from his panic. It’s just one vote… there’s still a chance.

The next was Councilor Salo, also Stillwater. Not really all that shocking, as he’d never liked Jayce to begin with, even when they were (however briefly) colleagues, but it still stung.

But Camille came next, her left hand jutted confidently into the air and her platinum hair shining Hextech blue in her own pillar of light. She offered up a bittersweet smile and a nod in his direction, and Jayce vowed to take her out to a very nice dinner if he made it through this. It’s not bribery if it’s after the fact… right?

Councilors Shoola and Zevi followed, and Jayce was pleasantly surprised to find both of them raising their left hands. He knew Zevi quite well; as the Chief Mechanist for the Official Weapons Department, he’d worked closely with her when they began integrating Hextech into their armory. She was sympathetic to his many concerns about Hextech being used this way, and had collaborated with him diligently as a result. She was a no-nonsense engineer, but she was also incredibly open-minded, and lived for the thrill of ingenuity. Jayce had expected the vote from her, but not Shoola. He’d never known her that well, but… she was often the voice for discipline.

Three… that’s three. So that means…

His heart sank as he realized his final two chances came down to Heimerdinger… and Oswald Shaw. Oswald was an isolationist who had taken it upon himself to seek out justice for what happened the night of Jinx’s attack, and he did so with extreme prejudice. He had absolutely no sympathy for the “criminals” of Zaun, and even less for Piltovians who did. In fact, a few years previous, he’d brought forth a motion to demolish the bridges and leave Zaun to devour itself. The motion had of course failed, as a decent portion of Piltover’s working class were still Zaunites, but… it told all of Piltover where he stood.

So it was no surprise when his right hand slowly wafted into the air, the shadows cast by the red light making of his face an eerie, haunted visage.

Three and three. That left only Heimerdinger as Jayce’s saving grace. Heimerdinger… who Jayce had personally removed from the council all those years ago, who had initially voted for Jayce’s expulsion from the Academy. He had changed in the years since, having spent much of his time in Zaun for his outreach program, but… would it be enough?

The elder Yordle let loose another burdened sigh, his head falling against his chest.

“As I suspected,” he began, his voice somber and betraying nothing. “This council, much like our two great cities, is divided.”

He paused to think, and Jayce was convinced the entire chamber could hear his heart racing, his blood pounding through his veins with panic. He missed his mother, who certainly would have tried to speak. He missed Mel, whose absence in the city had been felt like an infected splinter for far too long and whose voice carried weight in matters of violence and war. And most of all, he missed Viktor—he missed the sound of that mechanized heart, he missed the ambient glow of his augmented eyes. He missed the touch of his hand, that smooth living metal a hard but affirming pressure. He would have given anything to be back in Viktor’s bed, the sheets pulled up over his head as he hid from the world, from the crushing weight of his responsibilities and mistakes.

“You once wisely said to me that this city needs a leadership focused on the future, not the past,” Heimerdinger went on solemnly. “And while your words stung me at the time, I have reflected upon them almost every day since; you were right. If we are always looking back, we will continue to miss that which is ahead of us. And I believe that the only way forward, out of this war, the only way to unite our cities once again and mend the rift that tore us apart… is with empathy…”

Only now that he was growing intensely lightheaded did Jayce notice he’d been holding his breath. He gulped a lungful of air, still feeling the weakness in his legs and locking his knees so that he wouldn’t collapse, and Cait clearly took notice; quickly sidestepping once so that he could lean on her if he needed to.

“A young man I recently met in the Undercity said something that has stuck with me, and I find it pertinent here; hatred is a weed, and it will flourish in almost any environment. But compassion must be cultivated. It is not the easiest or surest choice, and it often ends in shriveling disaster regardless of intent. But I believe we should always strive for it, no matter how difficult, and we should hold ourselves accountable when others do not. We must be bigger, we must be better. We must not allow the cycle of violence to continue, if we are to remain the City of Progress…”

He paused then, his eyes going downcast and his large, fluffy ears drooping.

“I too once cared for Viktor. It is difficult to know what I, or indeed any one of us seated here at this table would have done had we been in your shoes. But… I would like to think… I would hope… that we would have done the same.”

His left hand slowly lifted into the air then, and as he was doused in that pale, vindicating blue, Jayce crumbled; his knees hitting the ground so hard that it rattled his teeth. The relief combined with the knife’s-edge panic that had been building and building, sending him spiraling into emotional overdrive, his breaths gulped desperately as he tried in vain to reason with himself—it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re not going to Stillwater, it’s going to be okay.

But just like the last six years, it felt like he was lying to himself… like it was just another empty platitude he clung to until he could drown the raging fear in alcohol. I’m dreaming, I have to be. Shit doesn’t work out for me like this, never has… one step forward, two steps back. Is it even real? Was any of it? At some point along the way, did I fabricate everything? Or did Renata’s venom actually kill me, and this is the purgatory I’ve spun for myself like a cobweb?

“Jayce… Jayce!”

He had to fight to uncurl from where he’d bent over his knees, his muscles so weak and oxygen-deprived that he felt completely drained. But when he managed, squinting up through the tears that had beaded on his lashes, he found himself looking up at Caitlyn, who had dropped to her knees next to him and was reaching out to embrace him.

It was like a balm, calming the panic and restoring his sense of balance, of security and sanity, and he simply whimpered as he leaned into her and let loose a long, defeated sigh.

“Okay, I know…” she cooed, patting his back a few times. “But we’re not finished yet. Come on, get up…”

He nodded, but had to have Vi wrap a hand beneath his arm and yank him up onto his very unsteady legs.

“M-my apologies, Councilors, it’s… it’s, um… been a very long week…” he muttered, his voice sounding small and wrecked.

“Indeed,” Heimerdinger replied with a nod, and the sectional dome high up ahead began to rattle as it opened once more, slowly washing the room in bright, hazy light. “Per our vote, you are to be remanded to an active-duty Enforcer, who will oversee your parole. You will remain removed from any and all Hextech projects until such a time as this council sees fit to restore you, and you will dedicate your person and your time to the cleanup. We will revisit your status in a month’s time. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor… thank you,” Jayce said, voice warbling like sheet metal.

“Hm,” Heimerdinger said by way of a non-committal response. “And I suggest that you also use this time to get some rest. You er… look like you need it.”

I look like I’ve been put through a fucking meat grinder and then thrown under a hydraulic press.

He did not voice this thought though, and instead just nodded in agreement. Heimerdinger huffed, turning next to face Caitlyn,

“And as for Sheriff Kiramman and her partner, you will remain on leave while the Office of the Enforcers conduct their internal investigation. You will turn over your weapons and badges to Interim Sheriff Desmond.”

“Yes, Councilor,” Cait said, bowing slightly but never removing her hand from Jayce’s back, a fact that he was immensely grateful for—in fact he was fairly certain, without both Caitlyn and Vi supporting him, that he would simply collapse to the floor again and have to be dragged from the chamber.

It was all a bit of a blur of commotion after that—he knew he spoke to several people, that Camille had approached and said something about a satisfying verdict and dying to hear this story. And he knew he responded, but what he said was anyone’s guess—his mind was spinning in a whirlpool of pain, terror, and tentative relief… his body aching for the comfort of a soft bed and strong metal arms… where he could just curl up and hide from the world for at least a week.

“Jayce?”

He startled, slightly shocked to find that he was now standing on the quad outside of the Council Chamber, with no memory of how he got there. But the high sun was beaming down on him and warming his shirt, his hair, and it did wonders to thaw that icy panic in his veins.

“Mm, yeah?” he grumbled, glancing down to see that he was still supported by Cait’s hand under his arm… and that the cuffs were no longer binding his wrists.

“Are you alright?” she asked sweetly, her eyes thinning as she looked him over. “You seem a little… dazed.”

He chuckled bitterly. Yeah, you could say that.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I’m… fine,” he said, but it was the same line he’d been feeding her for six long, definitely-not-fine years, and he sagged, guilt leaping into the whirlpool and weighing him down even more.

“I’m sorry… again… I’m so sorry I dragged the two of you into this, and that it… it cost you…” he stuttered, doing his best to pull himself together and wrangle a semblance of composure.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Golden Boy,” Vi piped in, slapping his arm so hard he stumbled. “We’ll be alright. This city would be fucked without us, and they know it.”

Jayce scoffed, finally feeling able to offer up a tentative grin.

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth…” he mused, looking around the square and watching the gathered crowd as it dispersed and forgot all about him. But it was a relief, actually; the fact that this city had a short memory was working in his favor, for once.

And that was when he saw it, off in the distance and hidden by shadows and grand, towering buildings—that familiar ochre glow and the glint of clean, polished armor. Bashfully, he looked back at Caitlyn and Vi, and found Cait jutting her head in that very same direction.

“I know, I see him,” Jayce said with a smile, that whirlpool of caustic emotions seeming to dissipate at the thought; he’s here. You don’t have to be afraid anymore, you don’t have to panic or worry or cower. He’s here. His heartbeat fluttered and kicked up a notch, but this time it was with giddy, boyish excitement.

“Well go on, then,” Cait jabbed, tentatively releasing her hold on him. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

He smiled even wider, giving both of them a nod.

“Thank you again. Like this city, I’d be fucked without you.”

“Damn right you would,” Vi jeered, playfully shoving him toward that thin back alley where they all knew Viktor was hiding.

He jogged over quickly, eyeing the quad for any signs he was being watched, and when he was confident that he wasn’t, he slipped around the corner and into the shade of the alley.

Viktor was wearing his full suit of armor, every piece returned to its pristine, polished state. The Hexclaw hovered idly above his left shoulder, following Jayce’s movements almost like a charmed snake. And the staff… the staff holding the Hexcore was held nonchalantly in his hand, the core itself humming and spinning with something like contentment.

“You came,” Jayce mused, slowly meandering closer and admiring that he could feel the heat radiating off that sun-warmed metal.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Viktor replied, his voice modulator absent and leaving only that smooth, sultry accent. He reached up then, his fingers pressing at the clasp of his mask, and Jayce felt his heart leap into his throat with anticipation.

He was as beautiful as ever, but there was something calm and radiant about him… something relaxed and at peace for the first time in a long time.

“So that’s it then?” Viktor asked, hooking the mask into his belt with a subtle click. “A little community service, and you’re off the hook?”

Jayce shrugged, performatively nonchalant, and took another deliberate step closer.

“What can I say, I was born charming.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he leaned against the wall.

“I knew I would regret saying that one day. It’s insulting how easy all of this is for you,” he grumbled, almost petulant, and Jayce couldn’t help the fond chuckle.

“And you? How’d… your thing go?” he asked, eyeing the Hexcore and taking that last step closer, the hair standing up on his arms as he basked in the heat of Viktor’s closeness. Viktor smirked, devastatingly attractive, and reached into a pouch on his belt to retrieve a small circular contraption of some kind, which he began to roll over his knuckles dramatically.

“I think she got the message,” he practically purred, and Jayce shuddered from the tips of his ears down to his toes.

But now wasn’t the time or place, so Jayce took a deep, settling breath; squaring his shoulders and attempting to take on an air of apathy.

“So, what do you say? Fight on the bridge later?”

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, his eyes trained on that contraption as he continued to play with it.

“Mmm, we probably should,” he replied, sounding positively put-out. “After that display of yours, we can’t have them thinking we actually like each other.”

“Ugh, gods forbid,” Jayce said playfully, his heart fluttering when Viktor’s thin, kissable lips barely ticked up into a grin.

“Dinner at my place after?” Viktor said, his tone somewhat blasé over the tick tick tick of the contraption rolling over his augmented knuckles. “I’ve begun working with the gemstones to develop a chemical replacement for the Shimmer. I would, erm… value your input.”

Jayce smiled, his answer an already foregone conclusion, and reached out to still the movement of Viktor’s hand as he wrapped his fingers around the gemstone bracelet adorning his wrist.

“You wore it.”

Viktor was statue-still for a moment, his eyes fixated on Jayce’s thumb where it was rhythmically rubbing over the gemstone.

“You never took it off. I shall do the same.”

Jayce grinned, smug and confident, rerouting his thumb beneath the bracelet to begin soothing back and forth over the violet seam where augment met skin.

And his heart did backflips in his chest when Viktor shuddered in response, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure and his lips just barely falling open in a surprised, blissed-out little ‘o.’

“Keep doing that, and we’ll have to skip the fight,” he murmured, the glowing augments in his neck strobing as he shuddered a second time.

“Fine by me,” Jayce whispered, stepping closer again, until his lips were mere centimeters from Viktor’s. “Kiss for the road?”

Viktor grinned, hesitating as if he might deny him, making Jayce’s heart slam in his chest with anticipation. But soon enough he was abandoning the staff to lean it against the wall, snaking his hand around to Jayce’s nape, and reverently leaning in to press their lips together.

Starbursts exploded behind Jayce’s eyelids, his skin alight and his muscles jittery; a mirrored reaction to how he’d felt standing before the Council and waiting to hear his fate. He inhaled hard, hungrily taking in that scent of hot metal and ozone, and pressed just a hint harder with his thumb; grinning into the kiss when he felt it quickening against his fingertip—

The pulse of the machine.

~*~