Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jayce had always despised this place. The factory was cold, its sterile, utilitarian design stripped of any warmth or personality. Endless white walls stretched before him, each room a sterile duplicate of the next: a monotonous, suffocating maze that gnawed at his nerves. The chill of the air crept through his clothes, biting at the old wound in his left leg, sending sharp, pulsing aches through his body that only seemed to intensify with the cold.

He longed to go back to his workshop, located on the other side of town—the only space that ever felt like home. There, the disarray was a sanctuary, each tool and half-finished prototype carrying the promise of something greater. The warm glow of firelight from the wooden fireplace would spill across his workbench, giving life to the otherwise cluttered space. It was in that creative chaos that Jayce could breathe. This council-owned factory, however, suffocated any spark of innovation. Pressing his palm against the edge of his leg brace, Jayce tried to ease the constant irritation where metal scraped against his skin. It did little to relieve the sting.

Still, he stayed. He forced himself to endure the sterile, unforgiving environment because his convictions demanded it. The council’s latest project was no small feat: they were constructing a portable device capable of deploying a Hextech-powered energy shield. But no matter how impressive the technology, it never seemed enough for them. Their expectations grew with each passing day, whispers circulating that these shields might not withstand Zaun’s increasing aggression. And the council’s solution? Escalation. They wanted weapons.

The memory of that council meeting burned in his mind. His voice had cut through the grand hall, sharp and defiant, as he refused their demands. Rows upon rows of weapons, each glimmering with the deadly energy of Hextech cores, had been lined up before him. Every civilian in Piltover armed with a destructive weapon. The mere thought churned his stomach, the weight of his refusal hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. He exhaled sharply, pushing the vision away as best he could.

Now, as he surveyed the workers assembling the shield prototypes, he reminded himself why he stayed. He was doing this to safeguard a future where Hextech could protect, not harm.

“Looks good,” Jayce said, adjusting a Hextech core on the assembly line. His voice was light, almost too casual, deliberately at odds with the grim atmosphere of the room. He offered a small smile to one of the craftspeople nearby.

She grinned back, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re getting there, Mr. Talis. The new shipment’s ready to go.”

Jayce straightened, scanning the floor with a discerning eye. The craftsmanship was solid, better than he had expected. He exhaled, nodding in satisfaction before turning back to the woman. “Just remember, no shortcuts this time. I would prefer not to lose another set of eyebrows—they’ve only just started growing back.” He added a playful wink, his lips pulling into a lopsided grin.

She snorted, rolling her eyes but clearly entertained. “You’ll be fine, sir. I’ll make sure we don’t ruin your pretty face.”

Jayce chuckled, the sound warm despite the cold air. “I appreciate that. This face does a lot of work, you know.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she returned to her task. Jayce felt a brief flicker of relief in the otherwise tense atmosphere.

Then, the world erupted.

A blinding flash of light tore through the factory wall, slicing through stone and steel like paper. The explosion that followed was deafening, an all-consuming roar that swallowed everything. The ground bucked beneath him, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of burning materials. Debris rained down in a chaotic storm, filling the air with dust and smoke.

Jayce’s reaction was instinctual. His hand shot to the Mercury Hammer slung across his back, its familiar weight grounding him in the chaos. His body moved before thought, every muscle wired to protect, to act. The smoke swirled around him, thick and suffocating, the heat rising as the room seemed to close in on him. His mind registered only one thing: survival.

A flash of movement caught his eye: a figure stumbling through the haze. It was her, the woman he had been talking to. She faltered, the floor beneath her splintering, threatening to swallow her whole. His heart lurched. Without hesitation, he surged forward, charging through the smoke and debris.

He reached her just as she fell, thrusting her out of harm’s way, the world crumbling around them. A wave of relief washed over him as he saw her safe, only for it to vanish instantly. The deafening roar of collapsing rubble drowned out everything else.

Then came the pain. A brutal, searing agony ripped through his hip, sharp and blinding. Something heavy slammed into him, pinning him to the ground with unrelenting force. His breath hitched in his throat, the pressure crushing his ribs. Every inhale felt jagged, like shards of glass tearing through him. His left leg throbbed with pain while he couldn’t feel his right leg anymore; a numbing coldness spread through it, and panic began to rise in his chest. Time seemed to stretch, each second dragging, every movement sending jolts of pain coursing through his body. His senses screamed in protest, but his limbs remained frozen, trapped beneath the weight of the rubble.

Such a sad place to die. At least the tedious white walls are destroyed, he thought bitterly. His mind slipped into disarray, holding onto the fleeting thought like a sliver of escape from the chaos around him.

Then, the weight lifted. The pressure eased with a painful, almost merciless shift. His breath returned in ragged gasps, but it was enough. Through the haze, he saw them—amber eyes, cold and unwavering, gleaming from behind a metal mask. His mind stirred, the fog clearing just enough to recognize the face. A sketch, once seen in a report about Zaun. "The Machine Herald," it had said, marked as a key and dangerous figure by the council. The memory slipped away, swallowed by the encroaching darkness that claimed him completely.

As Viktor pushed the rubble aside, his gaze fell on the figure sprawled on the floor. The man was unconscious, his right leg twisted at an unnatural angle, blood pooling around him, dark and thick, ominous. Viktor leaned in, studying his face closely, a flicker of recognition passing through him.

So, this is really Jayce Talis, Viktor realized, his mind snapping back to the brief glimpse he had caught of the tanned man before the explosion struck. Of course, he knew him. Who didn’t? Piltover’s golden boy, now lauded as The Man of Progress, the founder of Hextech, the single driving force behind Piltover’s technological leap while others failed to make any real progress for decades.

But that very same technology, the one he had shamelessly prided himself on, had spilled over into Zaun, leaving destruction in its wake. Piltover’s special forces, equipped with Hextech-powered tools, had torn through the undercity with brutal force, leaving a trail of chaos behind.

Viktor’s fingers hovered over the man’s neck, his mind flickering with a single, chilling thought. He could end him here. Right now. It would be the perfect tactical move. Piltover loses its brightest engineer, a critical blow to their efforts. His grip tightened instinctively as he imagined the advantage he could gain.

But the Man of Progress remained still, his skin impossibly soft beneath Viktor’s palm, his neck fragile, too fragile. A faint, steady pulse beat beneath his fingers, the only sign of life.

With a heavy sigh, Viktor released his grip, his hand falling away. The warmth of the body slipped from his fingertips, replaced by coldness. Viktor shifted the remaining debris, carefully lifting it off the Piltover man’s battered form. His hands moved almost mechanically, as if driven by someone else’s will. He carried the lifeless body over his shoulder.

What am I doing? Viktor questioned himself, but the answer never came.

Chapter Text

Viktor calculated that the anesthesia should be wearing off soon. He connected to the device stationed in the room where the Piltover man rested: a mechanical dove, an intricate construct adorned with golden and pearl chrome patterns. As Viktor linked with it, the dove’s dark eye flared to life, shifting into a luminous pearl chrome, signaling the connection.

Through the dove’s eye, Viktor observed Jayce Talis beginning to stir. The man groaned softly, rubbing his face as his eyelids fluttered open, revealing the haze lingering from the anesthesia. It took a moment for his gaze to sharpen, his expression registering confusion before a flash of fear took hold. Talis’s body jolted, an instinctive reaction, then quickly restrained as he scanned his surroundings with sharp, darting eyes.

His attention dropped to his body, landing on his right leg. The intricate golden patterns wrapping the limb mirrored those on the mechanical dove, and Talis’s breath hitched audibly. His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling with a stuttering rhythm as his muscles tensed and the toes of his left foot curled. The right leg remained immobile, and after a tense pause, he seemed to accept its state, shifting his focus to take in his surroundings more fully.

Talis’s reaction was surprisingly composed, more restrained than Viktor had anticipated. No panicked screams, no desperate attempts to flee the bed. Viktor’s meticulous design ensured that any such efforts would be futile; the brace had been removed from Talis’s left leg, and the right leg was still acclimating to its reconstructed form. Even so, Viktor had expected more defiance, perhaps a dramatic outburst befitting Piltover’s privileged golden boy.

Viktor hummed softly, his metallic fingers tapping a rhythmic cadence against his thigh, each tap echoing faintly in the stillness. After a moment of contemplation, Viktor’s movements stilled, his decision made. With deliberate precision, he rose, his frame casting a long shadow as he exited the room.

Jayce studied the room with a cautious eye. The walls, resembling aged steel, had been warped and shaped by some unnatural force, forming an organic structure that curved like a shell. The same golden patterns that spiraled across his repaired leg adorned the walls, gleaming faintly in the dim light. Whoever had modified his leg must own this space, he reasoned.

The decorations twisted and converged toward a single, massive window set in the ceiling. Its stained-glass surface filtered the light into fractured colors, high and unreachable even if he could stand. His gaze moved to the hanging ornaments that dangled from the ceiling and then to a mechanical dove perched in the corner. Its craftsmanship was exquisite but carried an unsettling edge, as if it watched him in silence.

The room, though modest in size, felt cavernous due to its emptiness. Aside from the bed he occupied, there was only a chair facing him and a desk nearby. Jayce noted the lack of hiding places or objects he could use, mentally filing the layout. On the far side of the room, a door stood to the right. He suspected it would be locked.

The sharp metallic snap of the lock shattered the stillness, confirming his suspicion. The sound sliced through the silence, pulling his attention like a crack of a whip. His muscles tensed instinctively, pulse quickening as he braced for whatever was approaching.

The door creaked open. Jayce stiffened, his hands twitching at his sides before he froze, realizing there was nothing to grip. His chest tightened, and his breath grew shallow as the figure entered. Jayce hadn’t expected the Herald to be this tall; the reports from Zaun’s sketches didn’t do him justice. The Herald’s slender, metallic frame towered over the room, dark purple plating streaked with glowing golden lines that pulsed faintly, as if alive. His form seemed to embody both precision and menace, a disturbing fusion of man and machine. His head was encased in a sharp, angular metal mask that gleamed in the light, its edges hard and unyielding.

But it was his eyes that unsettled Jayce the most, amber and glowing with unnerving vitality. They locked onto Jayce, unblinking, searing through the silence like a challenge. The Herald’s gaze bore into him with such intensity that Jayce could feel his skin prickle. Jayce sat upright against the headboard, posture tense but carefully controlled, his body stiff but composed. The quiet stretched on, thick and oppressive.

Jayce’s fingers twitched at his side, waiting, expecting the Herald to speak first. When it became clear the man had no intention of doing so, Jayce cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence. "Machine Herald," he said, his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest.

"Jayce Talis," the Herald responded, his unyielding gaze fixed on Jayce.

"I would suggest contacting Caitlyn Kiramman for the ransom. She’ll pay and make this quick," Jayce said, his voice betraying no more than the faintest hint of unease.

The Herald’s head tilted slightly, as though evaluating his words. “You have no questions?” he asked, motioning to Jayce’s legs with deliberate precision. The golden patterns spiraling along his reconstructed limb shimmered faintly, mocking Jayce’s attempts to ignore them.

Jayce’s lips quirked into a tight smile, concealing the unease crawling beneath the surface. “Yeah, about that,” he said, brushing a hand over the unfamiliar material. “Would you answer if I asked?”

“The right leg—” The Herald’s voice was flat, but he finally shifted his gaze from Jayce’s face to his limb. “It was crushed. I reconstructed it—improved it. Stronger. More efficient. The neural interface is precise, responsive. No lag. No guesswork. Your body will adapt quickly, and once it's fully integrated, it’ll feel as natural as breathing.”

Jayce fought the urge to scoff at the word improved, irritation flickering in his chest before he swiftly buried it. His expression remained neutral, his lips curling into a tight, controlled smile that masked any trace of displeasure.

"Impressive," Jayce said, his voice dry but deliberate, each word measured with precision. The Herald's glowing eyes remained on his face a moment longer, then shifted, the faintest spark of satisfaction flickering across his expression.

The Herald stepped closer, his movements eerily silent despite his mechanical form. He stopped a few paces from the bed, his towering figure casting a long shadow over Jayce. “Once you’ve fully adapted to the changes, I’ll begin work on your left leg. That fracture you’ve carried for years—painful, I imagine. When I’m finished, you won’t need those cumbersome braces to walk.” His voice was calm, yet the certainty in it matched the quiet confidence of his words.

"Don’t!" Jayce hissed, irritation finally breaking through. The word was sharp, an instinctive snap that quickly soured into regret. He retracted the forced smile and studied the Herald’s face, searching for any sign of anger.

The Herald blinked, momentarily taken aback, but there was no trace of offense in his expression. Instead, he tilted his head, studying Jayce with a mix of surprise and intrigue, as if the refusal made no sense to him.

"Interesting," he murmured, his voice smooth and calculating. "You've restrained yourself on everything else, yet your displeasure is aimed at my generous offer. It would be more logical to direct such emotions—anger or fear—toward the fact that you're in the grasp of your enemy."

Jayce forced a smirk, his fingers tightening against the bed’s edge. "Should I be worried that you seem disappointed?"

A faint flicker of amusement danced across the Herald’s glowing eyes, disappearing so quickly that Jayce wondered if he had imagined it. "Worrying is prudent," The Herald said, his voice cool. "But misplaced. If I intended harm, you would not wake to speak of it."

“Comforting,” Jayce muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the man before him. “So, if this isn’t about hurting me or for ransom, what is it about?”

The Herald tilted his head again, considering the question. “You are… an inventor,” he said at last. “A man of progress. Yet your progress is unkind.”

The accusation bristled under Jayce’s skin, and his breath hitched before he smoothed his tone. “Unkind? I would argue it has done a lot of good.”

Herald’s amber eyes flared briefly, his posture stiffening with a barely contained tension. “Good?” he echoed, his voice low and laced with something darker, more visceral. “You speak of good while my people choke on the fumes of your city? While they scrape for scraps beneath its towering shadow? While your special forces, armed with your Hextech, slaughter my civilians?”

Jayce’s pulse quickened, his instinct to argue clashing with the grim awareness that he was, quite literally, in the Herald’s hands. He held up his palms, a placating gesture. “I didn’t invent anything intended to cause harm. But there’s always a cost to war. You of all people should understand that.”

He thought of the reports he had read, Zaunite evolved soldiers, enhanced and hardened by mechanical modifications, bearing the same golden markings that etched into his own skin.

“Do not compare my work to your weapons,” the Herald replied, displeasure edging his tone.

Jayce shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He carefully steered the topic away, cautious of provoking his abductor further.

"I don’t think you’re doing all of this just to argue with me," he said, his voice low but steady. "If you truly believe I’m to blame for all of this, you could have let me die in that factory." His hazel eyes locked onto the Herald’s, unwavering. "So why did you save me?"

The Herald stilled, his glowing gaze locking onto Jayce with an intensity that felt suffocating. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, The Herald spoke, his voice softer this time, almost contemplative.

“Yes,” he whispered, more to himself than to Jayce. “Why did I save you?”

Chapter Text

Jayce Talis was confused.

As he ate, Jayce glanced over at the man sitting rigidly in the chair across the room, facing his bed. The Herald focused entirely on a thick book, not sparing him a single glance. 

Jayce shot a furtive glance at the chain secured to his bed frame. It was only ever unfastened when the Herald was present. When alone, the cold metal clamped around his left wrist, its soft rattle accompanying every movement, a constant reminder of his confinement. Yet, despite that, the care he received was oddly... deliberate. His injuries were treated with meticulous precision, almost reverence, and meals arrived with an unsettling regularity.

Jayce stared at his plate, his brow furrowed in quiet frustration. The stew, simple, warm, and almost comfortingly bland, was accompanied by a fruit that glistened red. He had actually grown to like the meal, but the way it was delivered still gnawed at him. The Herald had brought it, as always, and remained in the room while Jayce ate. At first, Jayce had felt uncomfortable, especially with the constant watchfulness. The Herald had insisted on supervising, claiming he couldn’t trust Jayce with cutlery alone.

Jayce found the accusation absurd. What could he possibly do with a blunt wooden spoon? Stab the machine-man? Ridiculous.

Jayce finished the stew and picked up the fruit. It was an exotic fruit he couldn’t quite identify, its flavor a strangely satisfying mix of tomato and apple. He sighed and took a bite, the juice sweet and tangy on his tongue. It was the same fruit the Herald had brought ever since Jayce had mentioned he had never seen one in Piltover and admitted he liked its taste. If Jayce didn’t know better, he would say the gesture almost felt thoughtful.

While eating the fruit, Jayce’s gaze shifted to his right leg. It had become more familiar to him over time, a stark contrast to his initial resentment when he first learned of the replacement. Once he had calmed down, the curiosity in him couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. The leg was an impressive piece of engineering, detailed, seamless. He recalled his first attempt at rehabilitation under the Herald’s watchful eye.

“I would’ve thought you would delegate this to someone else,” Jayce had muttered, perched on the edge of the bed, feeling the coldness of the floor against his toes. He looked up at the Herald, who had helped him off the bed, guiding him carefully.

“This is the first prototype of its kind, a evolutionary leap in technology,” the Herald had replied clinically, but his posture remained patient. His hand hovered in midair, signaling Jayce to lean his weight onto him. “I must observe its performance firsthand.”

Jayce hesitated but finally leaned on the Herald for support. The Herald’s body was cold, sending a shiver down Jayce’s spine. However, it was also unexpectedly soft, strong, but not as unyieldingly hard as he had imagined. Jayce quickly refocused on his legs, determined not to dwell on the sensation. His left leg, still suffering from the old fracture and without the support of a brace, was difficult to manage. Yet, with the Herald’s steady grip and his fingers pressing into Jayce’s side with precise control, Jayce slowly regained balance.

The right leg, however, was a challenge. Each step felt uncertain, as if his body and the limb were out of sync. It wasn’t painful, but it demanded more effort than he had anticipated. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as he gritted his teeth. Despite the growing difficulty, his stubborn pride pushed him to quip, “I have to say, it doesn’t quite feel like the ‘evolutionary leap’ you promised.”

The Herald's gleaming eyes narrowed as a faint hum of annoyance escaped him. "All my prior advancements function flawlessly—entire limbs replaced, seamlessly integrated." He continued, "Yet to merge machinery with living tissue while preserving the integrity of the original form? That is a challenge unmatched in its ambition," his posture straightened slightly, as if the very mention of the challenge was an achievement in itself.

He paused, allowing the silence to stretch until Jayce’s gaze met his amber eyes. "You stand at the threshold of this innovation, Man of Progress. Do you comprehend its significance?"

Jayce blinked, caught off guard. He had assumed the Herald had replaced his entire leg, leaving him with something foreign, something that wasn’t truly his. But the realization that the Herald had preserved as much of his original leg as possible left him speechless. It felt as though the Herald had... respected his wishes, even if it surely hadn’t been intentional.

"Well," Jayce finally managed, his voice catching as he swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "Guess I should be honored, huh? Getting this... special treatment and all."

The Herald scoffed, his tone cold. “Don’t flatter yourself. You are merely the most expendable candidate. Failure here could have been catastrophic, and I will not gamble with anyone of greater value.” Yet, as Jayce leaned against him, he noticed a faint warmth. The cold, unyielding metal of the Herald’s frame had absorbed the heat from Jayce’s own body. 

Jayce blinked, stopped chasing the threads of his memory and focused instead on the open book resting on his lap. But the stillness didn’t last long. His mind soon drifted again, pulling him back to a memory from nearly a week after his abduction.

"It’s really boring here, you know, stuck in this room," Jayce said during one of his rehab sessions, his tone laced with frustration.

“You're pushing your luck,” the Herald replied, his voice cold and unamused. “You’re not a guest here.”

“Come on,” Jayce pressed, leaning forward as though that might help his case. “You have to understand how maddening it is—having a creative mind and being stuck, unable to do a damn thing.” His voice softened, the faintest hint of pleading slipping through. “My own thoughts will drive me insane before you even get the chance! Not much use for a lunatic like me, huh?” He looked up at the Herald, brow furrowed, hazel eyes wide with a mix of desperation and frustration.

The Herald ignored him for the rest of the day, but the next morning, he handed Jayce a book. Jayce’s initial excitement flared up, but it quickly faded as he glanced at the cover: Vital Structures: The Complex Biology of the Body. Jayce wasn’t fond of the subject. When he was still at the Academy, he slogged through it, pouring in extra hours just to scrape by with decent grades, all because it was necessary for his projects. But it never ignited any spark in him; it always felt like a chore. Jayce groaned. “Biology? I expected something more intriguing from the Machine Herald,” he said, holding the book up as though it were a punishment.

“Then consider this an opportunity to confront your weaknesses,” the Herald replied, his tone as indifferent as ever.

Jayce grumbled but gave in. Reluctantly, he flipped through the pages, only to notice it wasn’t new. In fact, its pages were worn, corners softened by time. Handwritten notes and comments filled the margins. The notes weren’t just academic; they reinterpreted biology through the lens of an engineer’s mind—breaking down natural systems, reimagining them, adapting them. Curious, Jayce read one of the notes:

Artificial Evolutionary Advancement

Technologically Enhanced Evolution

The Glorious Evolution

THE GLORIOUS EVOLUTION!

Jayce chuckled at how “mad scientist” the term sounded, but as he read on, he noticed that the owner seemed to share his wry amusement, adding notes about the additional study and attention required. Jayce’s frustration began to wane as the idea clicked into place. This wasn’t just any book. It was the Herald’s. And suddenly, it didn’t seem so terrible.

There was only one problem: Jayce realized the Herald wasn’t leaving. He was sitting in the chair across the room, his eyes closed as if he were resting. but the idea of the Herald “resting” was absurd. He was likely calculating, connected to something, running processes Jayce couldn’t even imagine. It was the first time the Herald had lingered outside of meals or rehab sessions, without any clear purpose. The moment felt... peaceful, almost. And the fact that Jayce felt this way disturbed him.

Jayce shifted in his seat, coughing lightly to break the silence. The Herald’s eyes flickered open, meeting his gaze. Jayce cleared his throat, carefully choosing his words. “Uh, are you planning on staying here?” His tone remained polite, though the unease was evident beneath it.

“I will not leave you unsupervised with any external item,” the Herald replied, his voice impassive. He closed his eyes again, as if the matter was settled and required no further explanation.

Jayce raised an incredulous brow. First, the cutlery accusation, now this? He wasn’t about to stay silent this time. “What am I supposed to do with a book?”

The Herald didn’t answer directly. “There’s a list of dangerous individuals compiled by the heads of Zaun.” He tilted his head back slightly, leaning toward the wall as he added, “You’re on it.”

Jayce stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re saying it like I’m about to kill someone with a book. What am I gonna do, give you a paper cut and watch you bleed out?”

The Herald’s golden eyes opened. He stood, tall and imposing, and moved closer to the bed. Jayce instinctively leaned back, swallowing hard as the Herald loomed over him. Without a word, the Herald took the book from his hands. Then, turning on his heel, he moved toward the door

Jayce relented with a groan. “Okay, okay! Fine, stay!”

The Herald paused, a subtle shift in his stance, before slowly turning back to look at him.

“Stay,” Jayce repeated, his voice tinged with exasperation, before adding, “Please.”

A low, amused hum escaped the Herald, the sound almost imperceptible as he tossed the book back into Jayce’s lap with a casual motion. Then, without a word, he reclaimed his seat, his eyes never leaving Jayce, as if to savor the moment.

Jayce caught the book awkwardly. He turned and avoiding the Herald’s gaze. He rubbed the back of his neck. A small, frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he muttered a half-hearted protest under his breath, something about the absurdity of it all, but the words were muffled and meaningless. It wasn’t even clear if he was trying to convince the Herald, or himself.

From that point on, the Herald spent more time in the room. He brought books, mostly to keep Jayce occupied. Sometimes, he sat in silence, his eyes closed, as though lost in thought. Other times, he read through reports and documents, always keeping them carefully out of Jayce's reach.

And so, the days passed in this strange routine.

Jayce drifted back to the present, his gaze drifting toward the Herald seated across the room. The silence between them felt heavier now, as if it were filled with questions neither of them were willing to address.

Jayce was confused. He still didn’t understand what the Herald wanted.

Chapter Text

Viktor was amused.

He was nearing the conclusion of his hypothesis: Jayce Talis was a flawed design.

Across the room, he could feel the weight of the Piltover man’s gaze, a silent query radiating through the charged stillness. Viktor didn’t bother looking up. His own eyes remained firmly on the pages of the book in his lap, a refuge of precision and order.

Jayce Talis was like an open book. His first glaring flaw.

Every thought the man entertained paraded itself across his face. Those expressive brows, the soft curve of his lips betraying amusement or irritation, the way his shoulders relaxed or tensed with the sway of his moods.

It was almost too easy to read him. Viktor’s mind drifted to their first shared moment of amusement, if you could call it that. He had watched the Piltover man’s hazel eyes widen with childish delight as he bit into the fruit they had cultivated here. “Tomapple,” Talis had declared, his deep voice rumbling with self-satisfaction as he laughed at his own cleverness.

Foolish. Viktor had almost rolled his eyes. In the Undercity, such carelessness could cost you gravely. Revealing your hand like that invited exploitation, or something worse.

To his credit, Talis had tried to mask his vulnerabilities at first. The wariness in his furrowed brows, the guarded glances from those too-honest eyes, the stiff caution in his posture were all painfully obvious. For the first two days, he seemed to be bracing for the worst: starvation, cruelty, perhaps even death. But Viktor had offered none of those. And so, the man from Piltover began to unravel. His guard softened, his vigilance gave way to something else: curiosity. Those same hazel eyes now followed Viktor with quiet intensity, as though the Man of Progress couldn’t resist trying to puzzle him out.

Viktor scoffed, the sound soft enough to barely stir the air. It was almost funny. As if the absence of starvation or a beating were enough to make someone your companion. The Golden Boy must have lived a charmed life, drenched in love and attention, to believe that even the faintest hint of civility should always warrant kindness in return.

Naive. Another flaw to add to the list.

The silence in the room stretched thin, broken only by the faint rustle of pages. Viktor finally allowed himself a glance at Talis, who had just finished his meal. When their eyes met, Talis spoke, his voice hesitant. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

Before Viktor could respond, the man coughed and quickly looked away, as though embarrassed by his own question. “Umm, never mind,” he added, his tone softer. He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers lingering against his cheek as though shielding it from view. Those hazel eyes dropped to the open book in his lap, a poor distraction considering he hadn’t turned a page in over an hour.

See? Another piece of evidence for his hypothesis.

Viktor decided it was time for a little experiment. He closed his book with deliberate slowness, setting it aside with just enough weight to draw attention. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small toolkit. The rustle of the fabric and the faint clink of metal rang louder in the stillness than they had any right to.

He didn’t stop there. With the same deliberate movements, he retrieved another carefully wrapped object, a small mechanical piece. Perhaps he exaggerated the motions more than necessary, adding just enough flourish to ensure he captured Talis’s curiosity.

Viktor stole a subtle glance. As expected, those hazel eyes darted toward his hands, trying and failing to feign disinterest. Viktor let the silence linger a beat longer before unwrapping the object. Beneath the cloth lay a delicate mechanical butterfly, its polished golden wings catching the dim light.

He selected a tool and began tinkering with the gearwork, the soft clicking of metal on metal resonating through the room. The sound seemed to draw Talis closer like a moth to a flame. His body leaned forward almost imperceptibly, and now his unblinking gaze was fully fixed on the butterfly.

Just a little more.

Viktor worked at his own pace, fine-tuning the mechanism with practiced precision. Finally, a satisfying click echoed through the quiet. The butterfly’s wings shuddered, then clapped together in a soft flutter.

“What's that?” Talis's voice broke the silence, brimming with unfiltered awe.

Right there. The reaction Viktor had been expecting. The final nail in the coffin of his hypothesis.

He allowed himself a small, unseen smirk beneath the edge of his mask. Viktor stood and gently placed the butterfly into Talis’s outstretched hand. His hazel eyes followed the delicate mechanism, transfixed.

In a low voice, as if unwilling to disturb the moment, Viktor asked, “Have you ever seen a butterfly? A real one?”

Talis nodded, his gaze unwavering. The golden reflection of the butterfly shimmered in his narrowed eyes. Slowly, his fingers traced the intricate design, his touch almost reverent as he studied how the wings connected to the body. Tilting his head, he examined the mechanism with delicate curiosity. Yet his fingers moved with an odd certainty, finding the hidden winding handle with ease. Without hesitation, he began to wind it.

“Few children have the privilege of seeing one in these days,” Viktor added quietly.

Those tanned, broad hands paused mid-turn, the words settling over him. But after a moment, Talis resumed, finishing the winding motion. He released the butterfly, and its wings sprang into motion. The soft, rhythmic flutter filled the air as it took flight, its movements unnervingly precise. The perfectly symmetrical arcs and clockwork grace carried it through the air for a fleeting heartbeat before gravity claimed it. Talis caught it deftly, his lips parted in silent awe, his breath seemingly held as though afraid to shatter the illusion.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

For a fleeting moment, Viktor allowed himself to savor the quiet satisfaction. But then, Talis's brows furrowed, and a thoughtful hum escaped his lips.

“Mind if I take a look?” Talis asked, finally meeting Viktor’s gaze, his hazel eyes glinting with curiosity. He motioned toward the toolkit with a teasing grin. “I swear, I won’t break it... or, at least, I’ll try not to.”

Viktor hesitated, scrutinizing the other’s face. There was no mistaking the sincerity and curiosity that radiated from him. With a measured nod, Viktor handed him the toolkit. Their fingers brushed briefly in the exchange, a fleeting touch that sent the tools slipping from Talis’s grasp. The kit clattered to the floor and rolled under the bed with a loud metallic rattle.

Before Viktor could move, Talis extended a hand to stop him. “I got it,” he insisted, shifting to the edge of the bed. “I need to get my legs moving more, for rehab, you know?”

Viktor stepped back, observing as Talis steadied himself. His movements were deliberate, though slightly shaky, as he knelt to retrieve the tools. The kit had rolled farther than expected, forcing him to stretch lower. His waist, board but lean, tapered into hips that flexed with each subtle movement, the muscles in his lower body shifting with controlled precision as his hips rose awkwardly. Viktor’s gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary before he quickly turned his attention to the butterfly in his hand. His legs were healing. Good.

At last, Talis emerged, slightly disheveled but triumphant. His hair stuck up in uneven tufts, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care, as he climbed back onto the bed with the toolkit in hand.

He selected a fine pin and immediately got to work. Viktor watched as Talis disassembled the butterfly with deft precision, detaching the wings from the body and separating them into upper and lower sections. For a time, Talis tinkered in silence, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he focused intently on the delicate mechanics. Then, with a satisfied grin, he wound the butterfly again.

This time, when the wings fluttered, they moved in a staggered, uneven rhythm, with the upper and lower wings beating independently. The motion, though imperfect and flawed, was almost lifelike, a beauty Viktor hadn’t anticipated.

Talis—no, Jayce—beamed. His smile was so wide it seemed to light up his entire face. “Not too bad, huh?” he said, holding the butterfly aloft as though presenting his masterpiece. The colored light from the stained window above flickered in his eyes, glinting with pride.

Viktor regarded the improved design, a faint nod of approval tilting his head. “Indeed,” he said, his tone dry. “For a Piltover man.”

Jayce groaned, rolling his eyes. “You know, a little happiness won’t kill you. Even for the Machine Herald.”

“Viktor,” he corrected, the name slipping from his lips without hesitation. “My enemies call me the Machine Herald. But to you…”

He paused, his gaze steady. “It’s Viktor.”

Chapter Text

Viktor sat hunched over his workbench, his golden eyes fixed on the faintly glowing prototype that Jinx forced into his hands. The chaos of her workshop still clung to him, the acrid scent of burning metal and the relentless barrage of her questions. Hours spent there had left him with a dull ache behind his eyes, worsened by her blaring music, which felt more like an assault than ambiance.

He exhaled slowly, savoring the blessed silence of his own workshop. As he unrolled his toolkit, the sight of its contents gave him pause. Each tool was nestled in its slot, all except one. A pin was missing.

Viktor’s brow furrowed, his sharp eyes scanning the cluttered workbench before him. Papers, hastily scribbled schematics, and half-finished projects were strewn about. A few stained cups teetered on the edge. Disorganized, perhaps. But his tools? Never. He tapped a finger against his temple, recalling the last time he had used the toolkit.

Yesterday.

Their fingers had brushed as Jayce took the toolkit from him. 

The kit had slipped from his grasp, scattering under the bed. 

Jayce, ever eager, had volunteered to retrieve it, his eyes glinting with excitement.

A little too much excitement.

Viktor muttered a sharp curse under his breath. He immediately reached for his connection to the mechanical dove stationed in Jayce’s room, only to be met with silence. No response. His chest tightened.

He had left Jayce Talis alone for hours, and with a pin.

Rising abruptly, Viktor’s usually measured movements became hurried. His mechanical leg clinked faster against the floor as he stormed down the hallway toward Jayce’s room. In these few hours, Jayce could have crawled his way back to Piltover. Soldiers marching in rows, merging toward Zaun to purge his hideout. Viktor probably should have turned, destroyed any valuable documents, blueprints, and fled the workshop.

Or maybe Jayce could still be nearby. Viktor tried to comfort himself. With his new leg and missing leg brace to support the fractured limb, it was more likely he was limping, lost in the maze of unfamiliar Undercity streets, a dangerous place for such an easy target. It wouldn’t be long before someone smelled his vulnerability. He could also have been recognized and killed by the angry mobs. Viktor cursed under his breath and shoved the thoughts aside with a shake of his head, focusing on reaching the room. The rhythmic clank of his steps grew more urgent, louder with each stride.

Jayce Talis was many things.

He was a visionary, signing every page of his journal, each one brimming with the blueprints of his wildest dreams. He was that pretty face, adorned on countless posters plastered across Piltover, and, as he had been told, even on some random sweet milk brand packaging. He was a leader, though neither he nor the majority of the council seemed particularly fond of the position.

At his core, though, Jayce was an engineer and a scientist.

He loved solving puzzles.

This ranged from grand challenges, like when he found the solution to stabilize the Hex gem, inspired by a defused Zaun bomb using the gem; to smaller ones, like when he finally figured out why Caitlyn was immune to his irresistible charm. In those moments, when everything clicked, there was a rare sense of satisfaction.

Thus, it wasn’t too frustrating for him when he was stuck on a puzzle, even as the pin remained just out of reach under the bed.

He stretched again, his fingertips so close to the tiny metal, but the effort was futile. He groaned in frustration, retreating to lie back on the bed. The handcuff around his left wrist bit cruelly into his skin, leaving angry red marks. His right arm ached, muscles strained from overexertion. His eyes scanned the room for anything he might have missed, but the sparse furnishings taunted him. The chair, the desk, the decorations hanging from the ceiling, all just out of reach. The bed was fixed, immovable, its heavy frame resistant to any tug he could muster. Every detail seemed deliberately arranged to mock his predicament.

The pin remained tantalizingly close, its stillness defiant despite his repeated attempts to claim it. Just an inch, he thought bitterly. That was all he needed.

Jayce exhaled sharply, his eyes closing against the mounting pressure. His mind circled back to the one option he had tried to avoid, the desperate, last resort. He hesitated, weighing the risk. Could he afford the burden it might place on him once he escaped this room? What dangers lurked beyond these walls? The Herald had left him only half an hour ago, but the eerie silence of the place gnawed at his nerves. The man could return at any moment, and if he realized the pin was missing…

He covered his face with his trembling right hand, a quiet sound of frustration slipping from his lips. He really didn’t want to do this. Pain was never something he handled well. 

He sat upright, pressing his left arm against the cold metal bed frame where the handcuff chain was anchored. The angle was awkward, the pressure unnatural, but he had no choice. Gripping the pillow with his right hand, he bit down hard, his teeth sinking into the fabric. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling deeply, and then threw his body weight sharply against his restrained arm.

The crack echoed through his bones, a sickening sound that reverberated in the stillness of the room. A muffled cry escaped into the pillow as pain roared through his nerves, sharp and unrelenting. Cold sweat slicked his pale forehead, and his vision blurred into a dizzying haze of white. For a moment, his ears filled with a relentless buzzing, drowning out everything else, leaving him lightheaded and nauseous. He forced himself to breathe. Sharp, shallow gasps at first, then slower, deeper inhales. The suffocating intensity of the pain ebbed, just enough for him to blink away the fog clouding his vision. His hand shook as he wiped away the tears trailing down his face.

With deliberate care, he maneuvered his dislocated arm out from the tight confines of the bed frame. The sharp twinges of pain flared with every movement, radiating from his shoulder down his spine. He ignored it as best he could, stretching his right arm beneath the bed again, his fingertips trembling as they searched for the elusive pin. His breaths came in strained bursts, each one hitching as his cuffed left arm screamed in protest, searing with pain. The awkward angle from his dislocated shoulder gave him just enough reach. His middle finger brushed against the cool metal of the pin, slick with sweat, maddeningly close yet still beyond his grasp.

“Come on... you little piece of—” he snarled through gritted teeth. With a desperate lunge, his fingers finally closed around the pin. Relief flooded through him as he retreated from the bed’s edge, clutching his hard-won prize.

Wasting no time, he set to work on the handcuff. The lock was simple. His hands, despite their instability, moved with practiced precision. He didn’t even glance at the mechanism, his muscle memory guiding him. After a few tense seconds, there was a satisfying click. The cuff fell away, leaving his wrist red and raw. Jayce let out a shaky exhale, rubbing the irritated skin absentmindedly. The bed seemed to tilt beneath him as he slumped back onto it, exhaustion pressing down like a weight on his chest. But he knew better than to linger. This was only half the battle.

Jayce braced himself against the wall, taking a shaky breath as his chest rose and fell unevenly. With gritted teeth, he gripped his left arm and wrenched his dislocated shoulder back into place. That sickening pop echoed through the room, Jayce decided it was the sound he hated most. A wave of agony washed over him, dull yet deep, as if his bones were grinding against raw nerves. He hissed through clenched teeth, sweat trickling down his temples, blurring his vision, but the worst of it passed quickly this time. His body, overwhelmed by the pain, numbed itself. He could feel little more than the lingering, distant ache.

He sat up slowly, hands shaking as they pressed into the cold floor for support. When he tried to rise, a surge of nausea hit him like a tidal wave. His stomach churned violently, and he barely managed to lean over before retching. Thin, bitter bile rose from his throat, burning with every harsh cough, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He coughed, clutching his stomach as the discomfort twisted painfully in his core. His fingers splayed over his abdomen, calming the roiling sickness inside him.

After a moment, Jayce forced himself upright, his body swaying slightly with the effort. He staggered toward the door, each step a battle against his own weakness. Pressing his ear to the cold metal, he strained to hear any sign of movement outside. But there was nothing. No footsteps, no voices, only the deafening beat of his own heart hammering in his ears.

Steeling himself, he retrieved the pin and set to work on the lock. His hands trembled as he guided the slim piece of metal into the mechanism. It was too thin, barely able to make proper contact. The pin slipped again and again, its tip skittering off the internal gears. Frustration bubbled again to the surface, his left hand throbbing in protest with every adjustment. He paused, letting out a slow, measured exhale, and repositioned himself. His right hand steadied the pin, while his left provided the faintest bit of pressure. His movements became more deliberate, each twist and turn precise. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he focused, shutting out the pain and nausea.

And then, at last, the lock yielded with a soft, satisfying click. The sound was like a lifeline, cutting through the haze of exhaustion and discomfort. A flicker of relief crossed Jayce’s face, his lips parting in a shaky exhale. He pressed his forehead briefly against the door, closing his eyes to savor the small victory before straightening.

Jayce eased the door open, inch by painstaking inch, until a mere crack of space was left. He peered through it, holding his breath. The corridor beyond was dimly lit, the faint hum of machinery in the distance the only sound. Satisfied, Jayce pushed the door just wide enough to slide his head through. His eyes scanned the hallway. To his left, the corridor ended at a door, likely the source of the hum of machinery. To his right, the hallway stretched further, leading to another door with a glass panel set into its frame. The colored glass bore the same intricate pattern as the one in the ceiling in his room. Through its stained surface, he caught fleeting glimpses of what lay beyond. A sliver of open sky, the pale silhouette of rooftops.

An exit.

Jayce dropped to a crouch, moving to the right as silently as possible. He stayed low, hugging the door, and crept beneath the glass panel. The last thing he needed was to be spotted from the outside. Through the window, he caught flashes of what appeared to be a commune or small village. The structures were simple and uniform, their angular roofs cutting against the faint light of early evening. Reaching the door, Jayce tested the handle, his heart sinking when it didn’t budge. Locked. Of course. He pressed his palm flat against the door, letting his fingers roam over its surface, searching for a hidden mechanism. The wood felt unnervingly smooth, save for a few raised carvings that spiraled like vines along its edges.

Among the intricate patterns, he spotted a small metal butterfly nestled in the design. For a moment, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. The faint echo of another butterfly’s wings fluttered in his mind. His fingers brushed against the butterfly, it's delicate wings twitched under his touch, a faint click breaking the silence. Hesitantly, he pinched the wings together. The sound of tiny gears whirring broke the silence, a mechanical rhythm that reverberated faintly through the door. He twisted the handle again, and this time, it turned freely. Jayce exhaled, his hand still gripping the handle. He stood immobilized, his gaze fixed on the turned knob as if it were the final piece of a long-solved puzzle.

This was it. The path to freedom lay open before him, the prize waiting just beyond the door. Every obstacle had been dismantled, every problem solved. Relief and satisfaction clashed within him, his chest tightening with the weight of it. And yet, his hand refused to turn further. It was as if the door handle itself held him captive, reminding him that the true final puzzle was still unsolved.

The faint clap of mechanical butterfly wings echoed again in his thoughts, a phantom sound gnawing at his resolve, digging deeper with each passing moment.

Jayce let go of the handle, his fingers trembling slightly. He shifted, sinking from his crouch until he was squatting, his back pressed against the cool surface of the door. His hands raked through his hair, tangling in the strands. He sighed heavily, the sound of his own despair swallowed by the oppressive silence of the corridor. His hair stuck out in wild directions, a physical manifestation of the chaos in his head.

The words echoed like a haunting refrain, as clear and cutting as the moment they were first spoken.

To you, it’s Viktor.

With a shaky exhale, Jayce dropped his hands from his hair, letting them fall limply to his sides, accepting his defeat. This was the only choice. Honestly, he should have known himself better.

After all, at his core, he was an engineer, a scientist.

The tension in his shoulders eased as his decision solidified. He turned away from the door. This time, his steps were steady, his movements deliberate. He would find a way to let the people he cared about know he was safe. For now, he retreated back into the room that had held him captive. The room was familiar, confining, but quiet. Too quiet for the thoughts that churned relentlessly in his head. He needed something, desperately, to break the silence that pressed in on him, an outlet.

Viktor burst into the room.

His widened eyes swept the space, expecting to find it empty, cold, and in complete stillness.

Instead, his gaze locked onto Jayce, sitting on the floor with legs crossed like a child at play, surrounded by a chaotic mess of wires, screws, and discarded bits of metal. A soft clicking sound echoed as Jayce worked, his focus fixed on the intricate object in his hands.

The door hung ajar behind Viktor, its lock visibly tampered with. 

Startled by the sudden entrance, Jayce glanced up, blinking at Viktor like a deer caught in the light. “Uh… hey,” he mumbled, sheepishly holding up the thing in his hands. “Look what I made.” His fingers fumbled slightly, the object wobbling between his palms, as if embarrassed by the interruption.

It was a small toy. An intricate robotic figure that bore a striking resemblance to the Machine Herald himself. Except this version was shorter, rounder, with its once-imposing features softened into something almost endearing. Its tiny legs clicked and stuttered, waddling in an uneven circle. The toy was trying to find its balance just as Jayce seemed to, in this moment.

“You unlocked the door,” Viktor said, his tone flat, though his gaze lingered on the little robot.

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck, an uncertain smile breaking through. “Yeah, don’t worry, I locked it again.” He let out a weak chuckle, but it faltered under Viktor’s sharp, intense stare. Jayce shifted uncomfortably, lifting his left wrist and gesturing toward the faintly reddened marks circling his skin. “But not this. I would really appreciate it if, you know… I could use my hands.” He gave a half-hearted shrug, his voice trailing off as the tension between them thickened.

Viktor’s brows lifted ever so slightly, but before he could respond, Jayce motioned to the scattered debris around him. “Oh, and… sorry about this. I was just looking for materials to build something.” Viktor’s gaze swept over the floor, immediately recognizing the parts. Remnants of the mechanical dove, now dismantled beyond repair. Jayce caught the flicker of realization in Viktor’s expression and quickly added, “Though, to be fair, it’s not exactly polite to spy on someone like that without a proper date.” He gestured broadly at the chaos. “So, I would say we’re even.”

For a moment, Viktor didn’t respond. His gaze fixed on Jayce, and he almost tugged the corner of his lips upward but resisted. "You are a strange man, Jayce Talis," Viktor said at last, his voice softer now.

Jayce looked up, a slightly high-pitched noise escaping him as he raised an eyebrow, clearly disagreeing with the statement. “Not as strange as abducting an enemy and then having lunch with them,” he quipped, leaning forward slightly to drive the point home.

Viktor huffed a quiet, defeated hum, the sound breaking the tension in the room. There wasn’t much he could deny. He shifted his weight slightly, then reached down to pluck the tiny robot from Jayce’s hands. Its legs twitched under his scrutiny, rotating weakly in a circle. "A flawed design," Viktor remarked, though his tone lacked any real sharpness.

Jayce gasped in mock offense. "Hey- I didn’t exactly have a whole workshop to work with," he said, gesturing toward the back of the toy with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Besides, it does this too."

Viktor raised a brow, his thumb brushing over the uneven seams until he found a small button. At Jayce’s urging, he pressed it. The toy’s tiny arm shot up, and it let out a shrill, comically distorted voice: “Glorious Evolution! ” followed by a hilariously over-the-top evil laugh.

Viktor’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, though the faintest curve of his lips behind his mask betrayed him. “You are aware,” he said dryly, his fingers still toying with the tiny creation, “that I can still murder you, Jayce.”

Jayce snorted, leaning back on his palms. "I would say we're a little past that stage."

A soft chuckle finally escaped Viktor's lips as he set the toy down, letting it totter awkwardly across the floor again.

Perhaps not such a flawed design after all.

Chapter Text

Viktor’s eyes lifted from the book, following the faint rustle of paper as Jayce slid the folded note under his nose.

“Could you send this?” Jayce’s voice was steadier than he felt, though his fingers drummed a restless rhythm against his side.

Viktor tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the paper. “To Caitlyn Kiramman?” Viktor read aloud, the name etched neatly on the surface. Beside it, a hasty sketch of a hammer, distinctly Jayce’s style, caught the light.

Without waiting for an invitation, Viktor pinched the paper between his slender fingers, moving to unfold it with a practiced, deliberate grace. As the paper began to open, Viktor’s amber gaze flicked back up, pausing mid-motion to study Jayce’s face. Jayce’s expression remained unwavering, not a single muscle twitching. Viktor took that as approval, opening the letter fully. 

“C, I'm fine. Tell mum I’m working on something important. I’ll be back when I’m done. J. Violent Nightgown.” Viktor’s low voice carried just the right amount of edge to betray his amusement as he read aloud the final phrase.

Jayce fought the urge to squirm under Viktor’s gaze, a gaze that seemed to pierce even through his mask. 

“Violent Nightgown?” Viktor repeated.

"It’s a code,” Jayce explained, bracing himself for Viktor’s judgment. “It means I’m fine. Actually fine."

Viktor hummed, the sound a soft, skeptical vibration that hovered dangerously close to laughter. “And how am I to be certain this doesn’t mean, ‘Help me, I’m being held hostage by the illustrious Machine Herald in Zaun. Here’s his address. I’m terrified—rescue me by noon tomorrow’?”

Jayce snorted, his smirk widening. "In that case, the code’s Pink Nightgown. I don’t think ‘illustrious’ was in the manual, though."

Viktor’s hum deepened into a quiet chuckle. With meticulous care, he folded the letter and slid it into a pocket. “I’ll deliver it,” he said, his voice dripping with dry amusement, “though I wouldn’t go so far as to claim you are safe.”

Jayce gave Viktor a pointed look, the kind that carried layers of unspoken argument, but Viktor, of course, ignored it. Instead, with a casual flick of his fingers, he gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Sit,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Jayce huffed in silent protest but complied, dropping heavily into the newly added furniture in the room, next to the desk now stocked with paper and stationery.

Viktor retrieved something small from his robe, immediately shielding it from Jayce’s curious stare with his mechanical hand. Jayce craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse, but Viktor’s hand shifted again just enough to block him.

“Your left hand,” Viktor said simply.

Curiosity flared. Jayce extended his hand without question, the weight of Viktor’s cold mechanical fingers against his skin no longer surprising. Their touch was familiar now, almost comforting in its steadiness. However, something soft brushed his wrist, a sensation so out of place it made Jayce raise an eyebrow. Viktor’s hands were precise, steady as they secured something in place. Jayce twisted his wrist, trying to get a better look. 

“Stay still,” Viktor murmured, his tone low but firm.

Jayce complied, his hand finally stilling, though his head continued to move. He finally caught sight of the object now clasped around his wrist. It was a bracelet, with a blue gem at its center, shaped like a teardrop. Jayce could recognize that shade of blue from miles away.

The Hex gem was embedded in supple dark brown leather. As it touched his skin, Jayce felt the solid weight of metal hidden beneath. The leather itself was engraved with a subtle pattern, too unassuming compared to the ornate curves and gleaming whites and golds of the room around them.

In a sense, its style looks more like something Jayce would make.

Jayce tilted his head, “You know I was joking about the ‘date’ thing, right?” he quipped dryly.

Viktor didn’t look up. “Still flattering yourself, I see,” he retorted.

Jayce snorted, but said nothing, his attention once again drawn to Viktor’s movements. Viktor adjusted the bracelet with almost obsessive precision, ensuring it fit snugly. The leather pressed flush against Jayce’s skin, tight enough that not even a pin could slip through, but soft enough to avoid leaving any marks.

But as Jayce continued to study the bracelet, confusion flickered across his features. There was no visible clasp, no buckle. “How does it—”

Before he could finish, Viktor’s hands shifted, one holding Jayce’s wrist while the other hovered just above the bracelet. A faint golden glow emanated from Viktor’s palm, soft but unmistakable.

Jayce’s breath caught. His eyes widened as the metal hidden beneath the leather seemed to come alive, softening under Viktor’s touch. The bracelet molded itself seamlessly, fusing into a perfect, unbroken circle around his wrist.

“What…” Jayce whispered, his voice trailing off.

His gaze flicked between Viktor’s calm expression and the bracelet now snugly clasped in place. His mouth hung slightly open, words failing him as the reality of what had just happened began to settle in.

“This is so unfair,” Jayce muttered finally, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how many blacksmiths are gonna lose their jobs because of this?”

Viktor didn’t acknowledge the accusation. Instead, he leaned back, his eyes locking with Jayce’s, that familiar, knowing look that always made Jayce feel like he was teetering on the edge of something far deeper. “This Hex gem allows me to track you,” Viktor said flatly, his tone almost casual, as if he were discussing the weather. “Do you still insist you’re in a Violet Nightgown situation?”

Jayce’s attention shifted to the bracelet, eyes narrowed on the gem. “I didn’t know you could track a Hex gem.”

Viktor chuckled softly, a hint of pride slipping into his voice. “As the ‘Father of Hextech,’ there’s a great deal you still don’t know about it.”

Jayce probably should have been offended, but the way Viktor molded metal with his bare hands still amazed him. He blinked, shaking himself from his thoughts. “Do we really need this, though?”

Viktor’s gaze softened. “Consider it a safeguard. I prefer knowing where you are, especially given your remarkable talent for breaking things.”

Jayce sighed, feeling the weight of it all. He supposed it was better than a set of handcuffs. Baby steps, he told himself. “Fine. I’ll wear it.” Viktor’s eyes lingered on him, the mask almost seeming alive as a faintly mocking expression crept onto it, as if Jayce was ridiculous to think he had a choice in the matter. Maybe it was the look, or the subtle scoff that followed, but it was enough to make Jayce feel small.

Refusing to let the moment pass without a challenge, Jayce straightened, his voice a little more resolute than he felt. “In return, could I ask for something?” he ventured, “Could I have a shaving blad-”

Viktor didn’t even let him finish. “No.” His rejection was final, unwavering.

Jayce's brows furrowed in a way that made his frustration clear, a slight pout forming on his lips. But Viktor wasn’t having it. “There’s no way I’m giving you a knife, Jayce,” Viktor said firmly, his voice steady as he flicked a glance at Jayce’s chin. “Besides,” he added, “it doesn’t look so bad on you.”

“I know,” Jayce's lips curled into a confident smirk. He waved off the loud scoff Viktor had made. His beard had grown longer during his time here, the stubble rough and unruly against his skin. His hair, too, had started to grow out, a few strands drifting under his brows, soft and untamed. Without his usual hair oil to hold it back, the curls tumbled loosely around his face, brushing against his temples. The sensation of the beard, though, was new and more irritating, itchy and persistent. His fingers tugged at the stubbled length. "But it's tickling my neck," he muttered, almost apologetically.

Viktor studied him for a moment, eyes flicking over Jayce’s neck, lingering on the reddened skin where the stubble had irritated him. After a pause, he gave a small, reluctant sigh. “Fine.”

Without another word, Viktor left the room, returning moments later with a clay bowl of water, a small vial of oil, a finely crafted blade, and a folded cloth. Jayce washed his face, feeling the cool splash of water against his skin, then rubbed the oil on his chin and neck. The scent of sage filled the air, crisp and grounding, mingling with the rich, earthy bitterness of myrrh. It was an unexpected combination, sharp yet soothing, like the hum of ancient rituals. Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, letting the fragrance linger, imagining how he might ask Viktor if he could keep the oil when the man was in a lighter mood.

But as Jayce reached for the blade, Viktor moved with subtle precision, shifting it just out of his grasp with an almost imperceptible motion. Jayce opened his mouth to protest, but before the words could leave his lips, Viktor’s hand gently but firmly pressed against his chest, guiding him back into the chair.

“Hey—!” Jayce protested, trying to push himself up, but Viktor was already circling behind him with fluid, deliberate movements.

Before Jayce could react further, Viktor’s fingers closed around his chin from behind, tilting his face upward with an almost tender pressure. Jayce’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up, startled by how close Viktor’s face hovered above his. His heart raced, a pulse quickening in his chest as their eyes met. Viktor’s gaze steady, intense, unreadable.

Jayce’s mind raced, wanting to move, but before he could react, a chill swept across his exposed neck. A tiny yelp escaped him, and his body froze.

“Stay still,” Viktor murmured, his voice low, almost absent, as his thumb brushed lightly over Jayce’s throat. “My hand could slip, after all.”

Jayce’s body tensed instinctively, and his head jerked away at the whisper near his ear, but Viktor’s fingers held him firmly in place. Jayce could feel the cool edge of the blade against his neck, sliding carefully over his skin as it trimmed away the smallest hairs. Every movement of the blade was precise, slow, too slow, and Jayce’s muscles locked. He didn’t dare open his eyes, the sensation overwhelming as the blade traced its path, inch by inch.

Time seemed to stretch on forever. The blade moved with agonizing deliberation, and Jayce’s entire body went rigid, as though he could will himself into stillness. He couldn’t even breathe, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the blade pulled away from his neck. Jayce exhaled in a rush, a long-held breath escaping in a shaky sigh. His face relaxed, the tension melting from his features, but not before leaving a faint, temporary mark where his muscles had clenched too hard.

Right before Jayce could push his head up, he felt Viktor’s hand move to his neck, sending a jolt of tension through him. His breath caught again, chest tightening, and his eyes flew open wide, locking directly onto Viktor’s glowing golden eye. He wasn’t sure how, but he swore those eyes were smiling .

As if responding to Jayce’s accusing gaze, Viktor spoke slowly, the words almost a caress. “ I never leave a job half done.”

Jayce felt the weight of those words, the tension in his chest building to a near breaking point. He closed his eyes again, bracing himself for whatever was to come.

The grip on his neck tightened, Viktor’s thumb pressing him firmly into position, ensuring Jayce remained exactly where he wanted him. The blade returned, its edge cold and precise, trimming the outline of his beard. But Jayce couldn’t focus on the blade this time. His attention was entirely consumed by the damn hand holding his neck. His own breath came in shallow, frantic gasps as his lungs struggled to keep up. His heart hammered faster in his chest, the rhythmic pounding echoing in his ears. Viktor must have felt it too, because he let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against Jayce’s skin.

Jayce’s body tensed, his thoughts scattered, but the pressure only seemed to intensify. The faint scent of shaving oil lingered in the air, rich and herbal, its warmth mingling with the cold fingers on his neck. Every shallow breath he took pulled the oil deeper into his senses, the smell almost stifling, sharp and soothing at once. The oil on his skin, where Viktor’s hand rested, felt warm, almost searing. Viktor’s thumb pressed gently against the delicate hollow of his throat, the subtle pressure intensifying with each swallow. The constriction sent a faint, suffocating ache through his chest, making each inhale feel tighter as the air grew heavier with every passing moment. Jayce’s eyelids fluttered open slightly, his gaze unfocused, caught in the haze of sensation. He zoned out for a moment, too overwhelmed by it all. The combination of Viktor's touch, the pressure on his neck, and the intimate proximity left him disoriented.

A soft tap on his cheek snapped him back to reality. His body jerked at the unexpected touch. When his eyes flew open and his focus returned, he saw Viktor cleaning the blade. Jayce swore those eyes were definitely smiling . “It’s done. Unless you’re waiting for a massage?”

Jayce’s heart leapt into his throat, and he nearly jumped out of the chair, as if it had turned to hot iron beneath him. In a panic, he grabbed the nearby cloth, burying his face in it and rubbing it violently, desperate to rid himself of the lingering tension. His curse was muffled in the cloth. 

The blue, shimmering reflection from the gem on his bracelet contrasted sharply with the redness of its wearer's ears.

Chapter Text

Jayce could not breathe.

His chest heaved, lungs laboring in vain to draw in air that never seemed to come. 

There was a warm hold on his neck.

Warmth radiated from the firm hand wrapped snugly around his neck, the thumb pressing lightly against the bump on his throat. Each shallow hum that escaped from him sent a subtle tremor through the grip, deepening the tension that coiled inside him.

The world was a blur, his senses tangled in the fog of exhaustion and something heavier. There was a hint of sage and myrrh in the air, an intoxicating blend that seeped into his lungs with every strained, shallow inhale. His lips parted in a desperate gasp, but the effort proved futile. The air left his lips dry and tingling. 

Heat radiated from the grip on his neck, coursing down to his flushed cheeks and spreading to the side of his face pressed against the pillow. The low hum escaping him deepened into a quiet rumble, each vibration echoing through the firm hand that held him in place.

His lashes fluttered, one eye obscured against the pillow, the other barely cracked open. The faint golden glow spilling into the room offered no clarity, only a dim, teasing shimmer that danced on the edges of his vision.

Jayce’s trembling fingers reached up, desperate to pry away the stubborn grip on his neck. But the moment his fingertips brushed the iron strength pinning him, a second hand, cooler, clamped onto his wrist. The force was undeniable especially in his weakened state. His fingers lingered feebly against the impenetrable hold, a silent plea for release that went unanswered. Instead, the cooler hand pried his hand away with unnerving ease and began guiding it downward.

Their joined hands moved with deliberate slowness, tracing a path that sent shivers rippling through his tense frame. Downward, and further still, until Jayce flinched as his fingertips skimmed the waistband of his own pants. Instinctively, he tried to pull back, but the guiding hand tightened, pressing him firmly forward. His throat bobbed in a strained swallow, the effort visible beneath the constricting grip on his neck. The cool hand persisted, slipping beneath the fabric to bridge the line between cloth and heated skin.

A gasp tore from his parted lips as their hands wrapped around him, guiding him to touch the very sensitive core of himself. The grip on his neck did not loosen, forcing his lungs to work harder for every shallow, rasping breath. His senses sharpened, flooded with the heady, intoxicating blend of sage and myrrh, tronger now, more consuming. Beneath it, faint and metallic, was something deeply familiar. The scent teased at his memory, the same one he noticed when leaning close to him during quiet moments of rehab.

The realization struck like a jolt of electricity, making his lashes flutter and his head tilt back instinctively to catch more of that addictive scent. His body betrayed him further, his legs twisting beneath the rising tide of pleasure that coiled deep within him. His hand, forced into motion, began to move faster under the firm guidance. His toes curled, muscles tensing involuntarily as a slick heat built between his fingers and skin.

The pace quickened, his body trembling as sweat beaded along his lower back and dampened his flushed skin. Squirming against the overpowering sensation, he tried to twist away, but the guiding hand was unrelenting, precise in its control, pressing him deeper into the spiraling sensation that threatened to drown him. A broken, high-pitched gasp escaped his lips, sharp and raw, as his hand faltered, unable to keep up with the intensity.

But the guiding hand did not let him stop. It held him firm, forcing him to continue. Jayce’s strength ebbed, his own hand now nothing more than an extension of the will guiding it. His mind splintered between suffocation and the blistering pleasure rolling through his body. The sensations blurred together, each one amplifying the other, until his hand felt like a cloth being used, wrapped tightly around, moving with maddening precision.

And then, without warning, the guiding hand shifted.

A cool thumb pressed against his length, rough and insistent, dragging along the tender tip with unbearable intimacy. The texture was unmistakable, soft, yet etched with the intricate ridges of machinery beneath the surface. It embodied a striking duality: the cool, mechanical texture intertwined with the warmth of scars and marks. This was the hand of an engineer.

The unforgiving thumb moved again, this time rubbing on the spilling slit. It relentlessly brushed against the sensitive edge with ruthless intent. The slight scrape of a hardened nail sent shockwaves through Jayce’s quivering frame.

A muffled scream tore from him, smothered into the pillow as his body surrendered completely. Every nerve alight, his breath hitched in broken gasps as he released, his body trembling violently in the aftermath. His legs jerked with the final ripples of sensation, his chest heaving for the oxygen denied to him just moments before.

Exhausted and hazy, Jayce rolled his head to the side, his half-lidded eyes catching the faint glow shifting behind him. Slowly, he blinked, struggling to focus as the golden light flickered into view.

And then he saw them.

A pair of gleaming golden eyes, smiling and watching him.

Jayce let out a startled yelp as he nearly tumbled off the edge of the bed. The fleeting moment of lost balance jolted him awake, his heart pounding as he shot upright, eyes wide with confusion. 

The room was empty, save for the soft moonlight streaming through the colorful window above, casting a gentle glow that highlighted the sheen of sweat on his skin. He gripped the blanket tightly, the cold slickness on his legs and hands growing increasingly uncomfortable. 

Realizing the silence, the absence of anyone else, he sank back onto the bed, curling into himself. He buried his flustered face under the blanket, a weak, defeated whimper slipping from his lips, "Oh god."

Viktor closed the main door, feeling the metal melt beneath his hand, shifting and contorting until it locked with an almost silent click. Only he could open it now.

Unless Jayce Talis could somehow build a laser in his bedroom. Viktor chuckled to himself, shaking off the unease.

He made his way to Jayce’s room and inserted the key into the handle. A chill ran through him as he found it already unlocked. The door creaked open, revealing the empty room. He froze.

He stepped back, scanning the front door again, confirming there was no sign of forced escape. How?

Then he remembered, at least he still had the tracking bracelet. He hadn’t expected to use it this soon, and it took him a moment to connect to it. Before he could process further, a faint sound echoed from his workshop, a soft, metallic clink.

Viktor snapped his head around and made his way to the workshop. As he got closer, he noticed signs that the lock on the handle had been tampered with. He opened the unlocked door and was met with chaos.

Near the entrance, the trap he had set for “uninvited visitors” had been triggered, then hastily disassembled. It looked as if someone had tried to clean it up, but there was still blood on the trap. 

His eyes followed the faint trail of blood, leading him to Jayce, who sat at the workbench. His trouser cuffs were folded up, and the lower part of his left leg was wrapped in makeshift cloth, though Viktor could still see bloodstains seeping through. Jayce was adjusting what looked like the metal skeleton of a leg brace, freshly made, the structure still rough around the edges. He didn’t look up at Viktor, his energy noticeably drained, a stark contrast to the last time Viktor had found him behind another unexpectedly unlocked door.

“What are you doing here?” Viktor asked, his voice steady but laced with tension.

“You gave me the bracelet,” Jayce replied, still focused on adjusting the brace in his hands.

“And…?” Viktor moved closer, his impatience starting to show.

“I think that means I can walk around this house freely,” Jayce said, his tone weaker than usual, as if drained from the effort.

"Even with the door of your room locked?" Viktor's voice grew sharper, his shadow casting long over Jayce as he loomed above him. "Even with my workshop locked, and traps in place?"

“You left stationery in my room,” Jayce muttered, gesturing to the scattered items in front of him, disassembled parts of a stationery, probably the tools he had used to pick the locks. “And I didn’t know about the traps.”

Viktor exhaled in frustration, his fingers brushing his temple before he finally gave in with a sigh. He sat down beside Jayce, gripping his left leg with a firm hand and pulling it onto his lap. Jayce yelped at the sudden movement, startled, and finally looked up at Viktor. Their eyes met, and Jayce’s expression shifted, shame flooding his features.

Viktor unwrapped the leg with measured precision, his gaze coldly assessing the wound. “The bracelet wasn’t an invitation. I made it to ensure someone won't try to dislocate their arm again.” The bleeding had ceased, and the bite mark wasn’t deep. It seemed Jayce hadn’t resisted when trapped, instead managing to stay composed and deactivate the mechanism. Had he fought back, the injury would have been far worse. “Though, I suppose one can never underestimate the ingenuity of a Piltover genius.”

“Well, in Piltover, we don’t exactly set traps in our workshops, so—ouch, ouch, OUCH!” Jayce winced, cutting himself off as Viktor poured alcohol onto the wound, the sharp sting making him flinch.

Panting through the pain, Jayce added, his voice strained, “I fixed the trap… didn’t break anything else.” Sweat trickled down his forehead as he tried to tug his leg away from Viktor, but the machinery grip held firm. “And I swear, I didn’t go through your documents.”

Viktor glanced around the workshop, checking that all the important things were untouched, confined to the small area where Jayce had been working on his leg brace. His eyes briefly flicked to the new clothes Jayce was wearing, probably one of Viktor’s old robes, though it fit Jayce a little too snugly, outlining his body in ways Viktor hadn’t expected. Viktor’s grip tightened as he rewrapped the wound.

“OUCH—okay, this is definitely unnecessary force now!” Jayce groaned, squirming under Viktor's hold, frustration tinged with discomfort in his voice.

“What happened to your clothes?” Viktor asked, his gaze sharp.

Jayce dodged Viktor’s accusing eyes, gesturing to the bathroom. There, a set of clothes hung, still damp. “They got blood on them,” Jayce muttered.

“Your leg gets injured by a trap, and the first thing you do is change clothes?” Viktor’s tone was sharp, disbelief evident in his words as he finally released Jayce’s leg, now properly treated and wrapped. Jayce quickly jerked his leg away, as though Viktor's touch had burned him. His ears flushed bright red, prompting Viktor to add, with a quiet smirk, “A bit image-conscious, don’t you think?”

Jayce mumbled a weak protest, his voice muffled. “Well, I don’t think I’m the one worshipping the image of the ‘Man of Progress’ here.” He slid the cup forward, the little Jayce Talis on it smirking arrogantly, complete with blue and pink devil horns drawn over it, and the words "MAN ASS of PROGRESS " underneath.

“Well, it’s a gift from someone else,” Viktor replied, his tone sharp but with a slight hesitation.

“Yeah, yeah, and you keep it anyway,” Jayce limped over and grabbed the cup, carefully placing it back next to the little Machine Herald robot he had built. Reaching for the pile beside it, his fingers brushed the edge of a poster, its backside facing up. But Jayce could recognize the familiar paint color seeping through the thin paper.

“So, is this also from someone else-” Jayce teased, pulling the paper back with a smirk. But his words caught in his throat as his eyes landed on something else. His hazel eyes widened in horror, and the teasing faltered on his lips.

Beneath the pile of clutter, partially hidden by the poster, lay a portable cannon shaped like a shark. Its sleek, menacing body was covered in sketches of blue and pink, the sharp edges accentuating its dangerous appearance.

Jayce could not breathe.

Chapter Text

Viktor sat hunched over the desk, examining the skeletal frame of a metal leg brace that Jayce had left behind. He tilted it in his hand, studying the intricate structure. It bore Jayce’s unmistakable touch, bold yet functional, a signature of his handiwork. He waited for Jayce to finish whatever point he was trying to make, but the room remained heavy with silence.

Frowning behind his mask, Viktor glanced up. Jayce stood a few feet away, his back to Viktor, unmoving. His silhouette seemed frozen, like a metal sculpture, stiff and lifeless.

Curiosity tugged at Viktor. He leaned forward, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of whatever had rendered the usually talkative man speechless. That was when he saw it. Jayce’s hand clutched a rolled-up poster, but beneath the loose paper lay something else.

The prototype.

Jinx’s prototype.

Oh. Viktor’s thoughts stuttered. Well, this could be... awkward.

Viktor straightened, his shoulders lifting briefly in a shrug. Settling back into his chair, he returned his focus to the leg brace, tinkering with its unfinished mechanisms. The quiet stretched between them, punctuated only by the soft, strained clinks of his adjustments.

“You made this?” Jayce’s voice finally broke the stillness, hoarse and unsteady. He still had not turned around, his stance rigid.

“Not entirely,” Viktor replied without looking up. He added, almost as an afterthought, “I addressed some energy efficiency issues.” 

Issues tied to its Hexcore, but Viktor had the distinct sense that mentioning it now would be... unwise.

“You worked with Jinx?” Jayce’s voice cracked, raw and jagged. His breath came in shallow gasps, sweat beading on his forehead, like a man trapped in a smoke-filled, fire-scorched room. “Who are they? Where are they?”

Viktor’s hands continued to move deftly over the leg brace. He tightened a small knot in the structure, his tone as measured as his movements. “I don’t believe that information is yours to know.”

Jayce finally moved. The poster slipped from his grasp, landing forgotten on the floor. He grabbed the cannon prototype with both hands and slammed it in front of Viktor, onto his desk, the force rattling the tools scattered across its surface. Viktor’s gaze flicked upward, meeting Jayce’s stormy eyes.

Jayce looked livid, his brows knit tightly, nostrils flared, breaths coming in sharp, audible bursts. His entire posture radiated fury barely held in check. Viktor let his eyes linger for a moment, then calmly returned to the leg brace in his hand.

“Jinx was associated with the council bombing,” Jayce said, his voice low and tight with anger. “Did you address the 'efficiency issues' on that bomb too?”

Viktor’s shoulders tensed briefly, the faintest crack in his composure. Irritation flickered in his gaze. Without looking up, he replied coolly, “I don’t have to answer that.”

Jayce’s breaths quickened, his voice rising with frustration and desperation. “I was in that room during the attack, Viktor.”

Viktor’s hand stilled mid-adjustment. A fleeting pause, like the ticking silence before a machine restarted. Then, without a word, he resumed his work, his movements as precise and deliberate as ever. “You were a councillor,” he remarked, his tone neutral but pointed.

Jayce took a step closer, his shadow now falling across the desk. He planted his hands firmly on the table, leaning forward until the metal creaked under his weight. “I am a councillor,” he shot back, his voice shaking. Viktor noticed how tightly Jayce’s fingers gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles blanching white under the strain. “Caitlyn’s mother was killed in that attack, Viktor.”

Viktor’s eyes returned to the leg brace as he tightened the final bolt, his tone flat. “She was a councillor.”

Jayce suddenly grabbed the braces from Viktor’s hand, the motion so abrupt that Viktor’s fingers froze mid-air, now grasping at nothing. For a moment, Viktor stared at the empty space where the brace had been, then slowly raised his gaze.

Jayce loomed over him, leaning forward, their proximity far closer than Viktor preferred. His voice was sharp, trembling with fury. “What does that even mean? Are you saying we deserved to be killed just because we’re councillors?”

Viktor’s glowing eyes flicked up, locking onto Jayce’s with a calm, almost detached expression. “There is always a cost to war, Jayce,” he replied evenly, echoing words Jayce himself had spoken in their first conversation.

But Jayce wasn’t having it. His voice rising. “What war, Viktor? There wasn’t a war until you started one by bombing the council!” The anger in his tone carried through his actions, his hands came down hard on the armrests of Viktor’s chair, trapping him. Jayce’s chest heaved, his breath warm and heavy against Viktor’s face, demanding an answer.

Viktor’s patience snapped. His hand shot out, clamping firmly around Jayce’s wrist. The movement was precise, calculated, and sudden enough to force Jayce’s grip away from the chair. Viktor rose from his seat in one fluid motion, his height making Jayce look smaller as his shadow fell across him.

He didn’t release Jayce’s wrist. Instead, he tightened his grip, his golden gaze burning with restrained fury. “So it isn’t war,” Viktor began, his voice low but laced with venom, “when Piltover controls the air vents—controlling whether Zaunites even breathe?” His grip tightened further, and Jayce’s face twisted, a flicker of discomfort breaking through his anger.

“It isn’t war,” Viktor continued, his voice cold and sharp, “when your systems monopolize every resource, leaving us no way to act independently or resist?” Jayce instinctively tried to pull back, but Viktor’s hold didn’t waver.

“And it certainly isn’t war,” Viktor hissed, his tone now icy and accusatory, “when you turned hextech into weapons—using it against Zaun?”

Jayce didn’t flinch under Viktor’s accusing gaze, though his jaw clenched tightly, muscles twitching as if holding back something. “At least my… weapons are controlled,” Jayce hissed through gritted teeth, his voice shaking when he said that word. “Used only by a select force. You weaponized civilians.”

Somehow, Viktor’s mask expression seemed hardened. He stepped forward, forcing Jayce to shift back to maintain his balance. “I healed people. I strengthened soldiers,” Viktor countered, his voice cold and unyielding. “Because your polluted air poisoned them. Because your hextech weapons maimed them.”

Jayce stumbled back another step, his footing unsteady under the weight of Viktor’s words. Viktor pressed on, relentless. “At least we targeted politicians—the ones who made the choice to perpetuate this injustice. The ones who deserve to pay the price with their lives.”

The fury drained from Jayce’s face, replaced by something far more fragile: terror. His voice dropped, quivering as he spoke. “Do you even hear yourself? You sound like... like a terrorist.”

The word hit Viktor like a slap, a raw shock that reverberated through him. When was the last time he had been this angry? Was it years ago, when he first opened the letter from his secret source and read that the Man of Progress had started dabbling in weapons? A fiery heat flared in his chest, sharp and biting, and his response came out colder and harsher than he intended, slicing through the tension in the room like a blade. “At least I’m not a hypocrite.”

The accusation drained the color from Jayce’s face. His defiance crumbled into something pale and strained. Viktor’s mechanical grip on Jayce’s wrist tightened one final time before releasing him abruptly. Jayce stumbled back, rubbing at the red, bruised imprint left on his skin.

“Look at yourself,” Viktor said, his voice colder than the air between them. “What are you even doing here, sneaking into my workshop?”

Jayce opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. It seemed like he wanted to step back, but his lower back had already pressed against the edge of the desk, trapping him. His shoulders sagged, and his gaze dropped to the floor, his posture rigid with discomfort. His voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I… I was trying to…”

“Were you looking for documents?” Viktor accused, his tone sharp and unyielding.

Jayce flinched at the question, but frustration flared up again just as quickly. “I was trying to ask if you wanted to come to Piltover. To my workshop!” he snapped, leaning forward and grabbing the fabric of Viktor’s robe at the chest, his fingers digging into the material.

The movement was clumsy, too heavy on his left leg. Viktor’s eyes dropped, catching the dark stain seeping through the carefully wrapped wound. Blood was dripping onto the floor now, slow but steady.

“For what? Who do you even imagine I am?” Viktor’s gaze flicked back up, and his voice came out louder than necessary. “You’ve known I’m the Machine Herald from the beginning. Did you think I was trapped here? That I would just abandon everything the moment I saw your fancy Piltover workshop?” He stepped closer, his words sharp as blades. “I’m a Zaunist, Jayce. I chose this.”

"That’s not..." Jayce started, but his voice faltered. The grip on Viktor's robe loosened. Jayce's face twisted in confusion, as if he couldn’t understand why Viktor was so furious, why his generous offer was being met with such venom. Typical Piltover arrogance, Viktor thought bitterly. Always seeing themselves as saviors of the Undercity.

Jayce stopped mid-sentence, swallowing back whatever words he had meant to say. For a moment, his expression faltered, and his eyes shimmered with something dangerously close to tears. Viktor’s gaze flicked away from Jayce’s face, his eyes landing on the cup on his desk. The tiny Jayce Talis printed on it beamed with an irritating smile, his expression far too cheerful. Beside him, the mini Machine Herald robot stood with its arms raised, radiating an almost mocking joy. They seemed completely unbothered by what was happening in the room.

Jayce's voice, when it came again, was pale and broken. "Why… why do you even keep me here, Viktor?" He paused, but Viktor didn't dare look up. "What am I?"

Viktor's jaw tightened as he hesitated. “You are alive,” he finally said, his tone clipped and distant. His eyes flicked briefly to the bleeding leg; the wound must have fully reopened by now. “And for that, you should be grateful. I could have left you to die in that factory.”

Silence fell between them like a shroud. Viktor’s golden gaze didn’t follow as Jayce shifted on his feet, his injured leg dragging awkwardly. Finally, Jayce turned and began to limp toward the door.

Viktor stayed rooted in place, staring at the floor where Jayce had stood. A few drops of blood stained the concrete, stark and bright against the dull gray.

"Maybe you should have," he heard Jayce say. The door creaked softly as it opened, then closed again, leaving Viktor alone in the silence of his workshop.

Chapter Text

Jayce the Space Case.

Jayce knew what they called him, the kids who thought themselves clever. The way they rolled their eyes and laughed when they thought he wasn’t listening. It had started when he was a boy, clutching that worn mechanical boat, a toy that had once gleamed but now bore the scuffs of a hundred adventures.

To him, it wasn’t just a toy; it was a promise of tomorrow. His biggest treasure. He would shove it in front of the other kids, his chest puffed out with pride, and declare proudly, maybe even arrogantly, that one day, he would build a world where no one would be bound by their bodies or their surroundings. A world where distance didn’t matter, where freedom wasn’t just a dream.

They hadn’t seen the vision he held so tightly in his hands. To them, he was just the boy with the silly toy and the big, impossible dreams. And so, Jayce the Space Case had been born, their laughter cutting through his resolve like cold wind.

Jayce the Space Case. Lost in dreams that led astray.

Sometimes, he proved them wrong.

He had held onto that boat all these years, despite everything. He built the Hexgate with the financial support of the Kiramman family and the council, but mostly with his own ideas, against all odds. It was a monumental achievement that cracked open Piltover’s gilded gates and connected the city to the farthest reaches of Runeterra. For a moment, the world had felt smaller, more united.

Jayce the Space Case. Too naive for the game they play.

And sometimes, they were right.

He had been inspired by Ekko, a sharp and brilliant assistant under Heimerdinger’s wing, a Zaunist with a fire in his heart and dreams as bold as his own. It was Ekko’s quiet determination that had spurred Jayce to push for Zaun’s independence in the council, to grant the undercity the autonomy it deserved. Even Ekko had been skeptical. The council would never agree, he had said.

Jayce had pressed on anyway, clinging to the hope that justice could prevail. But it hadn’t mattered in the end. Before a single vote was cast, the council chamber was rocked by a bomb. It was as though the gods themselves had mocked Piltover’s arrogance, their attempt to decide the fate of those who refused to kneel. The explosion was a brutal reminder: Zaun didn’t need permission to make its own choices.

Jayce the Space Case. A pretty face, but empty grace.

Sometimes, they weren’t entirely right, or entirely wrong.

He had known from the start that weaponizing Hextech was never the right path. He had known even restricting its access to only people he trusted didn’t make it justifiable. He had known using them against criminals was an excuse, not a reason. He had known it would be a slippery slope when the council had demanded a full arsenal of weaponized Hextech after the bombing. He had known it was only a stalling tactic when he pushed back, agreeing only to develop shields.

He knew it was either never or more to follow.

But he didn’t know how to stay at "never."

The resignation letter in the worn envelope had been sitting in his folder for months, the paper inside creased and softened from the countless times he had pulled it out. Each time, his fingers lingered on its edges, brushing over the words he had written. And each time, he slipped it back into the folder, unwilling to follow through. 

He thought back to the boy he had been, the boy who had held his mechanical boat in trembling hands, figuring out where the hidden handle was, winding it up, and watching the boat glide across the water for the first time. The joy in that moment had been pure.

It was the same joy he had felt when Herald’s butterfly came to life in his palm, its fragile wings beating as it defied gravity with an elegance that stole his breath.

He thought Herald could be his breakthrough. 

Maybe even the answer he was searching for.

Jayce’s fingers idly brushed the edge of the book resting on his stomach. It had been open for hours, but his eyes kept falling on the same page, the words blurring together. He hadn’t made any real progress.

Jayce the Space Case. Misses the signs, too slow to brace.

He glanced at the book cover: The Third Law of Motion. 

A practical guide, diving into the nuances of the law and its applications in engineering, his favorite kind of subject, not biology, for once.

But the book felt too new, its pages too smooth. There were none of the handwritten notes or pencil sketches that whispered the secrets of its owner’s mind. No folded corners or coffee stains that hinted at the unseen days of its past.

Jayce let his gaze drift back to the paragraph he had been staring at for what felt like forever:

The Third Law of Motion: When two objects interact, they exert equal and opposite forces on each other.

Equal and opposite. A balance. He reread the line again, as though it might mean something different this time. 

He closed the book with a quiet sigh, its pristine cover catching the light. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing as the dull ache behind his eyes flared into something more intense. His head throbbed in time with his pulse, and the cold wasn’t helping. He shivered, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. It felt like the chill was sinking into his bones.

The last time he had been this cold was at that damned council factory.

But this place, this room, was usually warm.

It was odd. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. 

Or maybe, Herald had tinkered with the temperature.

The ache in his legs pulled his thoughts away, a low, persistent thrum radiating from the old fracture he had gotten as a kid due to an accident. It was always worse in the cold. Today, though, it felt sharper, as if the cold were prodding at the old injury with cruel precision. A tremor ran through him as he shifted under the covers, his skin burning yet somehow still chased by the relentless cold. He couldn’t make sense of it. Maybe he was overtired. He hadn’t been sleeping well.

His mind lingered on the wrapped wound, the faint sting still there, a constant reminder of the fresh injury. The pain felt different now, deeper, hotter, as though it were spreading beyond the wound itself. At least he had wiped the injury with alcohol. Jayce hadn’t bothered with much care, just a hasty swipe to prevent it from worsening. It wasn’t ideal, but it would suffice. The alcohol had come with other medical supplies, all placed on a tray left outside his door earlier, alongside his meal and the book now abandoned on his lap.

His room door wasn’t locked.

But the main door was.

Herald had still left him food.

But the meal hadn’t included the fruit Herald always placed there, without being missed, every single meal.

Jayce groaned, dragging a hand over his face as the book slipped from his lap, thudding softly to the floor. This wasn’t him. Sitting, waiting, thinking, doing nothing. He wasn’t built for this.

Jayce the Hypocrite.

Herald's voice echoed in his mind. Even he sounded a little maniacal, he was right in some sense. 

Zaun had suffered because of Piltover. People had died because of Hextech.

Jayce’s breath hitched, his hands trembling as they covered his face. His palms felt damp, almost too warm, like the heat radiating from his cheeks might scald them. 

He would find a way back to Piltover. He would resign from the council. The Hexgate was stable now, and he would figure out how to keep his workshop afloat without their funding. He had to. Only then would he be free, free to work on what he had always wanted, what really mattered: building Piltover's tomorrow, as a scientist, as an engineer.

Maybe then, when he had made some kind of tangible improvement, his name would be removed from the Zaun list of dangerous individuals.

Maybe then, Herald might react a little less maniacally to him when they meet again.

If they meet again.

He sucked in a shaky breath, but it came out uneven, as though the air itself had turned heavier. His face burned, the heat crawling down his neck and pooling beneath his skin like something alive.

A faint sound pierced the haze in his mind, the creak of a door. His head snapped toward it, eyes wide, blinking with expectancy. But no one was there; the door remained shut.

He shook his head and let his hand drift to his forehead. His fingers brushed the skin there, damp with sweat and radiating a warmth that felt almost foreign. His breaths came shorter now, shallow and quick, carrying with them a heat that made the air around him feel stifling despite the lingering chill in his body. Jayce let his hand fall away, his thoughts tangled and slipping, his gaze unfocused.

Then he heard it. A sound, clearer this time. A noise to the right of his bed. Jayce turned quickly.

A child stood beside him.

Her sudden presence nearly sent him sprawling off the bed in alarm. He stared at the child, eyes wide. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven, small enough that she must have been hidden by the bedframe when he had heard the door close earlier. That explained why he hadn’t seen her until now.

The girl was dressed strangely, wearing a helmet with short ears shaped like a... rabbit’s? Her short, messy blue hair peeked out from underneath, framing a face dominated by wide, unblinking eyes. Those eyes, sharp and alert, reminded him of a small animal poised to dart away, watching him with a mix of suspicion and barely contained hostility.

She somehow looked pissed. At him.

Jayce blinked, suddenly aware of how disheveled he must appear. His hair was too long, his beard unkempt, and his eyes likely swollen and red. Still, he tried to recover. Plastering on his most practiced smile, he recalled the way the photographer from Piltover had instructed him. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring expression.

The girl’s nose wrinkled immediately, her expression twisting. She narrowed her eyes and leaned back, offended.

Jayce faltered, retreating into a sheepish smile as a weak “Oh…” escaped his lips. He raised a hand in an awkward half-wave, unsure what else to do.

The girl continued to stare, her eyes narrowing further, assessing. The anger in her gaze softened slightly, though her guarded posture didn’t change. Without a word, she held out a small rabbit doll, thrusting it toward him with stiff arms.

Jayce blinked again, caught off guard by the gesture. His fingers hesitated before reaching out. Jayce stared at the metal doll, blinking as if trying to process what he was seeing. The rabbit had streaks of blue and pink paint across its surface, haphazard but deliberate. His mind flickered to that cannon prototype that had been stuck in his head, the same bold colors standing out in his memory.

Could this have been made by…?

"Where did—" he began, but stopped himself abruptly. It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

The girl seemed impatient, her outstretched arm wavering as if growing tired. Her eyes narrowed, and with a sudden, aggressive motion, she shoved the doll closer. Its stiff, uneven edges jabbed into his arm, sharp enough to make him yelp.

“Ouch! Fine! I’ll take it, okay?” Jayce said, startled.

Grumbling under his breath, he grabbed the rabbit doll and shifted to sit up properly on the bed. The girl watched him closely, her intense gaze fixed on both him and the rabbit as though daring him to drop it. Now sitting more comfortably, Jayce turned the doll over in his hands. It was crudely made but oddly charming. From the way the mechanisms were pieced together, it seemed like its arms were supposed to clap when activated. He ran his fingers over the switch at the back, frowning as he felt resistance. The mechanism was stuck.

He glanced at the girl, whose small frame now occupied the chair next to his bed. She sat with a rigid posture, her hands folded tightly in her lap, but her eyes never left him or the doll.

“Do you want me to fix this?” Jayce asked, holding up the rabbit.

The girl nodded, a single, firm motion.

Jayce opened the small stationery box beside his bed, rummaging through its contents until he found a tool thin enough to pry open the rabbit. He carefully worked the mechanism, his fingers testing and prodding as he studied the structure. The joints were stiff, the arms frozen in place, but as he nudged one arm experimentally, a muscle memory stirred within him. He froze mid-action, the rabbit’s painted surface suddenly feeling heavier in his hands.

A few years ago, back when he had been reluctantly thrust into the role of councilor after the Hexgate’s success, he had received a package the very next day.

Inside was a small toy monkey with cymbals. It wasn’t unlike the rabbit he held now, though its design had been far simpler. Unassuming, almost quaint compared to the bold paint and peculiar charm of the rabbit. Thus, he hadn’t made the connection immediately.

But he remembered how the monkey had held a gemstone. A refined Hex Gem, to be precise. Around the cymbals were spikes, angled toward the gem like jagged teeth poised to strike. The mechanism was rigged; if the arms moved, the spikes would smash the gem, triggering it like a crude but effective detonator.

A bomb.

Fortunately, that monkey’s arms had been stuck, just like the rabbit’s.

Jayce’s breath hitched as the thought formed, unbidden: Did Jinx send it?

But no. The monkey’s internal workings had been different, more intricate in their menace. As his fingers traced the inner structure of the rabbit, he could tell it wasn’t designed the same way.

If anything, the monkey had more in common with the mechanical dove and butterfly he had studied.

Jayce’s breath stilled in his throat.

He remembered there also had been a note, folded neatly alongside the monkey. Its scrawled handwriting bore no resemblance to the colorful, chaotic strokes painted on the rabbit.

To Jayce Talis,

Congratulations on your promotion to the council.

From Zaun.

The council had labeled it a warning, a declaration that Zaun not only somehow had access to Hexgems, but also the expertise to modify and weaponize them. A message delivered with chilling precision. He had once been certain, had once agreed with the council’s view.

Jayce’s grip tightened on the rabbit, his brow furrowed as he stared at it, the memory colliding with the present. The lines between then and now blurred, and confusion gnawed at him. The rabbit, so small in his hands, suddenly felt immense.

“Isha——?”

The voice, rough yet distinctly feminine, came from somewhere beyond the room. Jayce barely had time to process it before the girl, Isha, apparently, jumped off her chair. She glanced toward the door, her small frame half-turned as if ready to bolt. But something held her back. Her cautious eyes flickered back to Jayce, her gaze landing on the rabbit still in his hands. She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Jayce offered a gentle smile, softer this time, less rehearsed. “I’ll fix it and leave it with V…the Herald. You can pick it up next time?”

Isha’s eyes narrowed slightly, weighing his words.

“If you don’t mind,” he added, sensing her deliberation.

He could hear footsteps passing outside the room, quick and uneven. Too light, too haphazard. Not Herald’s. Upon hearing the footfalls, Isha finally stopped hesitating, giving Jayce a small nod before darting toward the door.

Left alone, Jayce turned his attention back to the rabbit. His fingers moved almost automatically, years of tinkering guiding him as his thoughts wandered. Each click and turn of the tiny mechanisms seemed to echo in the quiet room.

He would talk to Herald.

The thought settled in his mind, firm and resolute.

One last talk. Herald deserved at least that. A formal conversation, one where he didn’t overreact like some flustered, lovestruck fool.

If it didn’t work… well, he could move on to his original plan.

The decision brought an unexpected relief. For the first time that day, his furrowed brow softened, and a weariness that had been gnawing at him finally took over. His hands slowed, his grip on the now-fixed rabbit loosening as his body sagged against the bed.

Without realizing it, he drifted off, sinking into the kind of sleep that pulls heavy and deep. Lost in a haze for who knows how long.

The warmth came first, a soft, spreading heat that curled around him, coaxing him further into the dark comfort of slumber. Jayce shifted, squirming under the sensation.

The warmth grew.

Too warm now, pressing in on him like a weight. His subconscious stirred uneasily, the line between dreams and wakefulness blurring.

"Vik..." The word slipped past his lips, muffled and unfinished, as though calling out could tether him to something real.

But the heat didn’t stop. It intensified, teetering on the edge of pain, until it was no longer comforting but suffocating.

Jayce’s eyes snapped open.

A figure loomed in the darkness. A stranger. Standing still. Watching.

Chapter Text

Viktor's hand moved with precise, almost frantic energy as he fine-tuned the prototype in his grip. Each adjustment came with a snap of impatience, his focus sharper than usual. Sitting beside him, Jinx’s incessant chatter buzzed in his ears, a relentless backdrop of chaos that made his temples throb. Across the room, Isha wandered, her curious gaze cataloging his belongings, though she refrained from touching anything, at least for now.

He almost regretted inviting them. Yet, the cannon prototype had to go, the sooner, the better. It was too large, consuming valuable space on his workbench. Too colorful, demanding attention it did not deserve. The garish monstrosity sprawled across the table, a chaotic explosion of vibrant hues and exaggerated flourishes that clashed violently with the sleek, minimalist design of his workshop.

And then there was the silence, an oppressive stillness that hung in the air, amplifying every sharp click of his tools. The quiet felt unnatural. The house was holding its breath. Perhaps that was why he had asked her to come collect the cannon today.

But now, the noise was too much. The constant chatter, the chaotic energy, it was unbearable. A cacophony of the wrong kind. It should have been a different type of sound. Something deeper, but not cold. Quieter, but not dismissible. Something that didn’t gnaw at his nerves, something that fit into the silence he had once craved.

He had debated whether it was too risky to invite Jinx over with Jayce in the same house. Jayce’s bedroom door remained unlocked. He had considered locking it before Jinx’s arrival, but what was the point? Jayce would find a way to open it regardless. He always did. Stubborn. Impossible.

Viktor glanced over his shoulder for the third time, his eyes briefly resting on the door handle of his workshop. It remained unlocked. The door remained still, silent.

Not that any of the locks mattered now. Jayce had effectively buried himself in his room. The last time Viktor checked, the tray he had left outside the door remained untouched, not receiving the simple acknowledgment it deserved. 

Ungrateful, Viktor thought. He had even placed a book, freshly purchased from the bookstore, on the tray. At the very least, the man could have come out and said thank you. But instead, there wasn’t even a single sound from Jayce’s room. If not for the bracelet tracker Viktor had checked, he might have thought the man had escaped, or worse. Jayce’s last bitter words, spoken as he limped out of Viktor’s workshop, echoed faintly in his memory. He better not dare die in that room and leave Viktor a rotting mess to clean up, both physical and diplomatic.

A sudden pressure on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. Viktor blinked and turned reluctantly toward Jinx, who had leaned in close, her giggle sharp as broken glass.

“So?” she asked, her tone syrupy and teasing, her posture a languid sprawl on the edge of her chair. She took a lazy bite of the tomapple, her teeth sinking into the juicy fruit with a crisp crunch.

“Where did you get that?” Viktor’s voice was edged with annoyance, his gaze narrowing on the fruit as if its presence in this room had personally offended him.

Jinx grinned, completely unbothered. “Oh, this?” She waved the fruit with a smirk. “Found it on the tray in the hall. Figured, why not? Fair game.”

Viktor stared at her for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and returned to his work on the prototype. It was almost done. He needed it to be done.

“So,” Jinx pressed, leaning further into his space until her face was inches from his. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What?” he asked, not bothering to look up.

“You have a type, Fortune Cookie,” she declared, her tone exaggerated and singsong.

“What type?” Viktor replied, feigning disinterest.

“Come on! I saw that thing you keep up in the other room,” Jinx teased, her grin widening as she jabbed a finger at him.

Viktor stiffened, realization dawning. His gaze snapped to her, sharp and suspicious. "What did you do?"

Jinx laughed, leaning back as though to escape his glare. “Relax! I didn’t touch your precious toy. Just peeked in. Don’t think he even noticed.”

Viktor stared at her for a moment, then turned back to the prototype. Jinx, completely unbothered, grinned and teased, “I thought you had a crush on the hammer man 'cause of your weird bonding over science.” She dragged out the word, her voice dripping with mischief.

She gave a sharp laugh, snatching up the cup in front of her. “But hey, maybe you like him for the looks too?” She booped the nose of the little Jayce Talis on the cup, her smile growing wider. “This one’s got a rougher vibe than the golden boy, though. He... totally gives off stray dog energy.”

As Viktor shot her a cold look, Jinx coughed out a broken laugh and raised her hands in mock surrender. “Not judging!”

Viktor returned to his work with a pointed huff. “That thing is an engineer,” he muttered, mocking her tone. “And I do not have a crush on Jayce Talis,” he said firmly, as if that would make Jinx give up her twisted joke, as if it would work even though these defenses had already failed countless times in the past.

“Whatever you say, Cookie.” Jinx’s laughter bubbled up again as she leaned on his shoulder once more. “But seriously, what’s the deal with the guy? Did he reject you? Is that why the Tin Man’s all grumpy?”

Viktor’s hands faltered for a fraction of a second before resuming their careful adjustments, his movements growing quicker. “I’m not grumpy.”

Jinx thrust her head between Viktor’s face and the prototype, causing his head to tilt back slightly to maintain some distance. Her wide purple eye was enormous, its gaze locking onto Viktor’s, studying him intently. Then she grinned, “Jeez, you’re even more delusional than I am!”

He nudged her aside, causing her to nearly lose her balance and topple from her chair. She caught herself quickly, standing with a laugh that echoed through the space. "Where’re you going, Isha?" she shouted toward the hallway, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.

A moment later, Jinx scraped her chair noisily to the other side of him. She flopped down without a hint of grace, kicking back against the workbench. The chair wobbled precariously on two legs, but she didn’t seem to care. Her elbow nudged Viktor’s arm as she smirked. “However, remember this, Tin Man—the ‘coolest psycho in Zaun’ crown? Still mine.”

Viktor’s tone dripped with mockery. “I doubt anyone could outdo you in that regard.” He sighed, the prototype finally complete, and handed it over to Jinx. Her wide purple eyes scrutinized the final adjustments he had made to her specifications.

Viktor spoke with a softer tone. “You know my offer still stands.”

Jinx clutched the prototype tightly, as if he might snatch it away at any moment. “No, but thanks, Cookie,” she giggled. “I would rather keep my traumas, thank you very much.”

Viktor sighed, familiar with this exchange. He had stopped expecting a different answer long ago, yet something compelled him to ask, “Why do you resist so much?”

Jinx laughed again, though her gaze didn’t meet his. “’Cause your finger marks are ugly,” she mocked. “They would totally ruin my awesome look, dummy!”

“Your appearance alone is worth clinging to all that pain and suffering?” Viktor countered, his tone sharp yet unintrusive. He made a small sound of disapproval. “Although, I argue that the marks would be an improvement.”

Jinx shot him an offended glare, her mischief quickly surfacing. “Real convincing, coming from a walking tin can,” she shot back. “Your look says it all.”

“Still delusional,” Viktor retorted coolly, though a teasing lilt crept into his voice.

“Ouch,” Jinx gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as if wounded. “At least I don’t have to steal other people’s traumas because I loved no one,” she added with a wicked grin, punctuating her jab with a strong pat on Viktor’s shoulder. He shot her a look, but a soft, low huff slipped past his defenses.

Jinx pressed on, relentless as ever. “But hey, I see you’re progressing. Here’s hoping there’s loads of merry trauma between you and your mysterious stray!” She snatched up the prototype and sauntered out of the room, tossing him a cheeky wink before shutting the door behind her.

Viktor barely registered her calling out for Isha as he turned back to his workstation. His hands moved instinctively, but his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

Jinx was right. 

Not about the last statement, of course.

But she had a point about his look. His appearance could be a tool, a way to communicate his message, a friendlier message, perhaps.

Jayce's eyes locked on the stranger standing at the foot of his bed. His heart raced, a surge of panic flooding through him. His back and head ached from the abrupt fall, the impact rattling his senses.

Lying on the cold floor, he winced, slowly pushing himself upright, muscles stiff and uncooperative. He kept his body tense, ready to spring into motion if the need arose. His hazel eyes, wide with a mixture of confusion and caution, never left the stranger. He studied the expression of the man, searching for any flicker of malice or threat. 

The stranger, just as startled as Jayce, stood frozen in place, his posture rigid. His hand, outstretched toward Jayce, hovered in mid-air. After a long pause, he slowly retracted his hand, tucking it beneath his robe with a fluid motion, as though seeking to regain some semblance of control.

A soft cough broke the silence, and the stranger’s voice, though less mechanical than before, rippled with a faint, almost imperceptible echo of machinery. It had a human warmth to it now, but the underlying mechanical tint still lingered, weaving through his words. The accent was much more pronounced, its cadence foreign yet familiar.

"You wouldn’t wake during the healing if you finished your food properly," he said, his voice low and deliberate.

Jayce's eyes widened, his mind racing to place the voice. Recognition struck him, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. His body, attempting to shift into a more composed position, froze in an awkward half-sitting stance. His mouth parted in disbelief.

“Viktor?” he asked, the word hesitant, almost disbelieving, slipping from his lips as if the very idea of it was too surreal to grasp.

The man stood stiffly, mirroring Jayce’s awkwardness. As Jayce’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, the details of the stranger began to sharpen, and he couldn’t help but study him with growing intensity. His hazel eyes roved over Viktor, scanning from head to toe, returning again and again to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

Viktor was dressed in the same familiar dark blue robe, though now it enveloped his frame more fully. Yet, despite the changes in the cloth, there was no hiding the mechanical nature of his hands and feet, the familiar golden organic lines tracing across his dark purple skin. But it was his face that held Jayce’s attention the most.

His brown hair fell in gentle, soft curls that framed his face with quiet elegance. The curls flowed in a perfect line, settling just at the collarbone. The tips gleamed with a faint light golden hue in the muted light. For a moment, Jayce found himself lost in the sight of it. But it wasn’t just the hair that captured his gaze, it was the mask.

A thin, white half-mask covered the top half of Viktor’s face, stopping just below his nose. Through the holes of the mask, Viktor’s sharp, wide eyes pierced the space between them, the familiar yet unsettling intensity in their gaze. But there was something strange about those eyes, were they… shifting color? Jayce almost couldn’t look away, caught in the hypnotic depth of them, trying to make sense of this new version of Viktor.

Under the mask, Viktor’s lips were parted slightly, mirroring Jayce’s own stunned expression. Jayce’s gaze dropped, drawn to the small mole just above the left corner of his lips. It sat there like a secret, a delicate mark as if the moon had kissed him, leaving behind a star-shaped trace. For a fleeting moment, Jayce wondered if that mole would shift with the curve of Viktor’s smile, moving in sync with the corners of his mouth. His eyes traced the path down to Viktor’s chin, where a pattern of soft, golden organic lines curved gently around the sharpness of it, like the caress of a lover’s touch.

Jayce swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to process the surreal sight before him.

What?!

How?

Why…?

Jayce’s mouth parted several times, the words tumbling over each other in his mind as he struggled to pick the right question. But then, he remembered the last time he let his heart drive him to ask questions, the consequences that followed were disastrous. He found himself swallowing back the urge to speak.

He restrained himself, forcing his body to move despite the tension that tightened around his chest. Rising from the floor, he stood awkwardly, every movement stiff with the discomfort of the situation. As he straightened up, he noticed Viktor was shorter now. Even though they were nearly the same height, his figure, which used to almost brush the doorframe, now appeared less imposing, his presence diminished in a way that felt almost fragile. Jayce quickly shifted his gaze away, unwilling to let his thoughts wander too far.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, the familiar comfort of it doing little to ease the knot in his stomach. His eyes flicked to the mechanical rabbit doll resting beside him, and instinctively, his fingers reached out, gently tracing its surface. He held it mindlessly, the rough texture grounding him as he sought the right words, the right way to break the silence without revealing too much of what churned inside him.

Viktor, sensing Jayce's hesitation, spoke first, his voice calm yet carrying an undercurrent of something unspoken. “Your leg was infected.” His tone shifted, becoming slightly more harsh. “I took care of it.”

Jayce's gaze dropped to his left leg. He almost had forgotten it if Viktor hadn’t mentioned it. The stubborn wound, once swollen, was now nearly healed, leaving only a faint scar behind. Jayce spoke softly, “Thank you.”

Even without looking at Viktor, Jayce could feel the weight of his attention, unwavering, intense. It pressed down on him, filling the space between them. Viktor’s voice broke the silence, his tone direct but not unkind. "You have no questions?"

The question hung in the air, and Jayce’s heart tightened at the familiarity of it. It was one of the first things Herald had said to him, back in a time that now felt like a distant dream. So much had changed, yet in this moment, it felt like they had somehow circled back to where they started.

Jayce’s fingers absentmindedly toyed with the rabbit doll in his hands, his mind racing to find the right words. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself, to remember what he had rehearsed in his mind. His voice was softer now, a tremble of uncertainty creeping into it.

"I’m sorry... for yesterday." The apology sounded more natural as it flowed from him, but the weight of it lingered. "I was... emotional. And I was asking questions out of my place." He paused, taking another breath, and then tried to steady his tone, making it more respectful. "I understand you don’t have to tell me, but I would appreciate it, as this is really important to me."

He let the words settle for a moment before speaking again, the next question hovering just at the edge of his tongue, like a weight he had to let go of. "Did you send the mechanical monkey years ago?"

Finally, he lifted his gaze to Viktor, the act feeling almost daring.

Viktor’s eyes, fixed on Jayce, were like a shifting storm, an ocean of complex emotions that Jayce couldn’t quite decipher. It felt as though Viktor was studying the delicate threads of a bomb, calculating the right moment to decide which wire to cut to keep it from detonating. Under the moonlight, his eyes flickered, the light bouncing off them in a beautiful way, like flames dancing in the depths of his gaze.

The silence between them stretched out, so long that Jayce almost began to wonder if Viktor would ever speak. Viktor moved with an air of deliberation, sitting down in one of the nearby chairs, his posture stiff. A strand of hair slipped free from behind his ear, gently brushing against his cheek as he spoke, his voice short and to the point.

"Yes."

The word cut through the silence. Jayce instinctively tightened his grip on the rabbit doll. His hands were careful not to hold too tight. He didn’t want to break anything, again. His voice was soft when he spoke, measured and distanced. "May I ask why?... if you wouldn’t mind telling me."

Despite his politeness, the question seemed to displease Viktor, or perhaps it was the way Jayce had asked it. Viktor’s eyes sharpened, the intensity of his gaze making Jayce flinched ever so slightly, but Viktor’s gaze only deepened, sharpening further.

Viktor didn’t break his stare, his words deliberate. "After we learned you had joined the council, Zaun decided we should send Piltover a message." His tone was slow, each word hanging in the air. Viktor’s eyes stayed locked on Jayce, observing him closely, waiting for a reaction. Jayce struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"They drafted the device," Viktor continued, his voice low, almost clinical. "And I adjusted it."

Jayce’s grip on the rabbit doll tightened, its hard edges digging into his palms, sending a sharp sting of pain through his fingers. He forced himself to let it go, placing it gently on the desk next to the bed before his trembling hands betrayed him, unable to keep the fragile toy in his grasp. Without anything to hold onto, he hid his hands under the blanket, trying to conceal the anxiety that was threatening to unravel him.

“You jammed the arm to make sure it wouldn’t explode,” Jayce said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Viktor nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth without hesitation. "It did not need to be an assassination."

Jayce felt a chill race down his spine at the confirmation, the faint suspicion he had carried for so long now solidified. They hadn’t been spared by luck. No, they had been left alive on purpose. The knot in his stomach tightened as he prepared himself to ask the next question, his pulse quickening in anticipation. He knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“You also used a Hex Gem, a refined one.” Jayce pushed himself to ask, his voice steady but strained.

Viktor’s tone was calm, unfazed. “Well, we had to stabilize it so it wouldn’t explode during transport.” He paused, a slight edge creeping into his voice, a touch of amusement and something else, perhaps pride. “And just a way to let you Pilties know that we are not regressing as you expected we would.”

Jayce let out a weak exhale, feeling his heart pound in his chest. His fingers fumbled under the blanket, but he pressed on, needing to say what had been building up inside of him. “I was stuck at the breakthrough of stabilizing the Hex Gem at that time.”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on Jayce with unwavering calmness and something harder, firmness, like he had already anticipated Jayce’s next words. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I knew.”

The quiet finality of those words hit Jayce like a hammer. They were gentle, but they carried a crushing weight, like the final nail in a coffin that was secretly being built around him. 

Jayce broke the eye contact, unable to hold Viktor’s gaze any longer. His back slid against the bed frame, seeking support, but it did little to steady him. His hands shook violently, and he squeezed them tight to stop the tremor, but it only intensified the pressure in his chest.

So it wasn’t just a warning.

It was a gift. 

A gift from an engineer who had been aware of his work. A gift from an innovator in Zaun whose mind was like his own. A response to a technical puzzle that had haunted him for so long.

And perhaps, an answer to a question that Jayce had been asking himself for years.

Jayce turned his gaze toward the window in the ceiling, the soft light of the moon casting a gentle glow across the room. It poured its kindness onto him. His hand trembled as it covered his eyes, trying to shield himself from the moonlight. His voice was barely a whisper, muffled and broken by the wetness in his throat.

“We thought it was an attempted attack, a warning.” His words were broken, each one heavier than the last.

The pain of the confession twisted deep within him, but Jayce continued, the words slow and labored as he forced them out. 

"I studied your refined gem and developed the portable Hex Gem." Viktor remained silent, the stillness of the room broken only by the sound of Jayce’s cracked, exhausted voice and the soft noise of his swallowing and nose sniffling.

Each syllable felt like a weight, pressing down harder and harder, but he couldn’t stop the final confession.

"I used them to create the first generation of Hextech weapons.”

Jayce squeezed his eyes shut, the tears finally falling freely now, leaving streaks of heat that burned across his face.

Chapter Text

Well.

This was awkward.

It wasn’t the outcome Viktor had anticipated when he stepped into Jayce’s room.

To be fair, he hadn’t been entirely certain what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Jayce Talis was truly an immeasurable enigma.

The enigma lay half-reclined on the bed, his back pressed against the headboard with a heaviness that seemed almost unnatural, as though the weight of his own body had become a burden too great to carry. One hand shielded his face, but Viktor could still catch the faint tremor in his broad shoulders, the subtle, almost imperceptible shudder that betrayed the depth of his internal turmoil. 

The dim light pooled in the far corners of the room, stretching long shadows that seemed to consume the space, leaving his expression veiled in mystery. And yet, the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the strained, soft, wet inhales, the occasional stutter of his chest, and the subtle hitch in his breath, spoke louder than any words could.

Viktor stiffened in his seat, his mind flickering back to distant memories.

The memory of that frantic moment, the first time he learned of the plan from the heads of Zaun to attack the Piltover Council, was vivid in his mind. The tension as he had convinced Jinx to allow him to refine the bomb, the unease when he triggered it, the heavy seconds ticking away while he worked furiously to disarm it. Every detail of that chaos had been etched into his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably, the weight of inaction pressing down on him. His mind drifted to past encounters with those in pain, those suffering. In most cases, they came to him, seeking his healing, and he had always given them what they asked for.

Viktor’s gaze fell to his hands, drawn to the soft, steady glow emanating from his skin. His palm opened slowly, revealing the intricate golden lines tracing his flesh, shimmering faintly in the darkness, pulsing with a quiet energy. The faint halo they cast bathed the room in a warm, ethereal light. A soft, gentle glow that calmed his racing thoughts. It whispered promises of peace and comfort. This glow, so familiar, so constant, was meant to guide him through moments like this.

But his hand faltered, the tension in his chest mirrored in the stillness of his fingers. For a long moment, the hand hovered, caught in the weight of an unseen choice. Viktor could almost feel the pulse of the energy within him, pushing against the uncertainty, urging him to act. 

The purple cables, thick, almost organic in their twisting paths, traced their way to the monkey's arms. He frowned, inspecting the connections, but they didn’t seem like the correct answer.

Viktor shook his head, a subtle motion of rejection. With a deep, slow breath, he pressed his hands together, the movement deliberate and heavy.

His gaze shifted to the white cable, taut and pristine, running directly to the head, a potential starting point, though far from certain. Viktor’s fingers twitched with slow, controlled anticipation.

Viktor coughed, his voice dry and strained as he spoke. "Crying... it's a natural release of emotions. It's good that you're letting it out."

He tugged gently at the white cable, the click of the countdown quickening in response. His breath caught in his throat, and instinctively, he withdrew his hand.

Jayce didn’t respond, instead turning slightly away, the back of his head the only thing visible to Viktor. A faint cough escaped him, as though he were trying to regain control, but the quick, uneven rise and fall of his chest betrayed his effort.

The blue cable, vibrant and almost deceptively benign, was connected to the trigger. He could see it clearly now, a delicate piece of work. Viktor felt an unsettling thrill as he examined it, searching for a weak point to sever. His gaze narrowed, each inch of the cable under his scrutiny. Every second counted.

He tilted his head, trying to piece together Jayce’s words, carefully recalling each one.

After a moment, Viktor’s lips parted again. “It was indeed... supposed to be an attempted attack.”

The words came more easily than he had expected. Perhaps it was because he had repeated similar words to himself countless times in the past years, since he first heard that the Man of Progress was developing Hextech weapons. But this time, the words felt lighter, almost forgiving, in a way they never had before.

It wasn’t until now that Viktor truly realized the tight, burning, heavy knot that had quietly settled in his chest over the years. It had remained unnoticed, buried deep, until Jayce’s confession. With it, the weight began to lift. Viktor felt as though a sudden lightness and clarity washed over him. He could breathe easier, see more clearly, hear more sharply, as if a veil had been lifted from his senses.

With a swift motion, Viktor cut the blue cable, and the relentless clicking ceased immediately. The air seemed to still around him, as if even the bomb itself were holding its breath.

Jayce remained motionless, his form tense, and Viktor couldn’t tell if he was even listening. Yet, over time, the frantic rhythm of Jayce’s breathing began to slow, each inhale growing deeper and more measured.

He took a step back, his pulse steadying as the time-sensitive chaos faded into quiet. With the urgency of the ticking silenced, he turned the bomb over in his hands, studying it more carefully now. Each line, each connection, each segment of its structure seemed to hum under his touch, as though it were alive, waiting.

Viktor’s mind drifted to the times he had healed the people of Zaun. His golden fingers, gentle as they pressed against their foreheads, drawing out their pain, brought fleeting glimpses of their memories to his mind. Moments of joy, laughter, shared with loved ones in times of warmth. For the briefest instant, it was as though he were living those memories himself, feeling their happiness as if it were his own.

He wondered, then, if it would feel different if he were truly experiencing those moments firsthand.

One line caught his eye. A thin, delicate red thread buried deep within the tangle of wires, seemingly forgotten. But it wasn’t just another random connection. It pulsed with purpose, a deliberate link to the core of the bomb.

 

He recognized this part. It was the heart of it. The gunpowder, the volatile element that would ignite.

Viktor sighed, and for the first time in a long while, he let his voice slip from its usual control, speaking more naturally, without calculating every word.

“I’ve had a condition since birth. A respiratory issue,” he said, his voice slow.

“It was likely a result of the polluted air from Piltover, a common affliction in Zaun at the time,” he continued, his tone even, unfazed by the subject. He observed Jayce’s shoulders stiffen but continued, unwavering.

“It spread, gradually affecting other parts of my body—primarily my legs. I surmise it was the lack of oxygen that caused the muscles to deteriorate.”

“By the time I reached adulthood, standing without a cane was a struggle. I’ve kept track of the relevant research ever since,” he added, his voice unbroken, his gaze unwavering on Jayce. Jayce’s breathing seemed to steady, though his head shifted only slightly, still not turning to face Viktor.

“You would be surprised at how little research there is in this field,” Viktor continued, his voice low. “It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Considering it’s something that could affect everyone.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. “So, while it wasn’t exactly what I was researching, it’s hard to overlook when someone in Piltover publishes a study about trying to build a world where…” Viktor trailed off, trying to recall the precise wording he had read. “Where no one would be bound by their bodies or surroundings.”

Jayce finally turned to face him, but the moonlight was hidden behind clouds, and Viktor couldn’t make out his expression.

“I followed those studies for a time. Eventually, I saw another potential in the Hexcore. It adapts, it learns. It could be a cure—not just for me, but for anyone suffering from the same affliction in Zaun.”

He glanced at his hand, the faint glow of golden lines tracing his purple, mechanical skin. “Two years after you built the Hexgate, my own research reached a breakthrough,” he said, his voice steady, yet carrying an undercurrent of something heavier. “The Hexcore… it healed me.”

Without hesitation, he cut the red line. The final and correct piece.

 

The bomb was disarmed.

The moon finally broke through the clouds, casting its soft light over Jayce once more, slowly revealing his face. His brow arched, then relaxed, and his hazel eyes widened in surprise, locking onto Viktor with an intensity that held him captive. The redness and swelling in his eyes softened the gaze, making it all the more piercing. In the moonlight, they shimmered like precious gems.

Viktor swallowed hard, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken truths. “So, while Piltover was the source of the illness, Hextech... it saved my life.”

The silence that followed was almost deafening in its relief. Viktor allowed himself a brief moment of stillness before moving to the next step.

 

Carefully, he extracted the disarmed gunpowder and replaced it with the refined Hex Gem he had spent weeks perfecting. In its new form, the gem looked subtly different, yet there was a quiet strength to it. Synchronized to a steady pulse, it had hardened, resilient enough to endure more than just a simple shock. While it wouldn't survive a hammer's force, it was robust enough to withstand transport in a well-packaged box.

 

It wouldn't take much for a sharp-minded engineer to study its composition and refine the gem to the next level.

Viktor hesitated for a brief moment, but his voice remained firm and unwavering. “You saved me.”

Jayce’s mouth parted, the shock evident on his face. Words seemed to fail him.

He continued his work, making minor adjustments to the monkey device. With the utmost care, he jammed the arm of the device, ensuring it would be immobilized when the trigger was activated. A final check, then another, to ensure every detail was perfect. After verifying that the mechanism was safe, he wrapped the monkey back in its package with an almost reverent touch.

Viktor pressed on before Jayce could respond. “But I saved you in the factory, so I would say we’re even.”

Then, he paused. Hesitated. His mind flickered with the decision, but he knew it was necessary. Viktor carefully took a piece of paper and penned a note, simple, truthful, but crafted in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicion when anyone from Zaun read it. The note was folded carefully and placed alongside the monkey, a final touch to an already delicate task.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind, and he added, “You weren’t supposed to be there anyway. I was told it was a rest day. All the workers were safe... it was only you—”

But before he could finish, Jayce pushed himself off the bed, his steps uneven as he stumbled toward Viktor, pulling him into a tight, unsteady embrace.

And this time, the package was received, not by the cold hands of a stranger, but by a pair of large, warm hands, their movements sincere and welcoming.

Viktor froze, the sudden pressure of Jayce’s strong arms wrapping around him. The heat from his body, still lingering from the fever, burned against Viktor’s skin, almost painfully intense. Viktor could hear the low, silly chuckle rumbling in Jayce’s chest, the vibration of it pulsing through his own body.

For a moment, Viktor hesitated, unsure, but then he allowed his hand, suspended mid-air, to settle on Jayce’s back, returning the embrace with a gentler touch, his fingers curling slightly.

Chapter Text

Viktor let himself sink into the embrace, each sensation striking him with a vividness that felt almost startling.

Jayce's arms were strong and warm, wrapping tightly around him like a blanket. The heat of Jayce's fevered body was almost overwhelming, searing where it pressed against Viktor's cooler skin, yet it wasn’t unpleasant. Instead, it seeped into him, spreading like an ember caught in the wind, warming his chest, his heart, and even the pit of his stomach.

The pressure of Jayce’s hold worked against the tension in his muscles. For once, he felt his usually rigid frame yield, his body softening under the comforting weight. The low, foolish-sounding chuckles from Jayce rumbled against him, a sound that resonated deeply and vibrated through his very core. Viktor closed his eyes, letting himself feel it.

Even the faint pulse of Jayce’s heartbeat reached him, a quick, urgent rhythm thrumming through the closeness of their bodies. It wasn’t in sync with his own. Viktor’s heart, slightly more steady and measured, beat like a metronome by contrast. Yet, somehow, the disparity didn’t clash. Instead, the two rhythms intertwined, each beat resonating like a shared melody that only they could hear.

Viktor's finger brushed lightly against the broad plane of Jayce's back, his touch barely a whisper compared to the strength of the arms holding him. Yet even through the thin fabric of Jayce’s shirt, Viktor could feel every nuance. The taut muscles shifting beneath his palm, the subtle heat radiating from his skin, the slight dampness where the cloth clung to him, soaked with his sweat.

Jayce’s shoulder was directly before him, an unspoken invitation that Viktor found impossible to resist. He leaned forward, letting his face sink into the curve of that welcoming space. The weight of his head fit perfectly, as if this spot had always been meant for him. Lowering his head slightly, Viktor pressed his nose against the hollow of Jayce's shoulder.

Faint traces of the scent of his place lingered on the fabric of Jayce’s clothes, familiar and comforting. Yet what truly captured him, wrapping around him like a plesant current, was the unfiltered essence of Jayce himself. The scent was faint but unmistakable. A blend of something profoundly human, raw and alive. It was pure and unvarnished, carrying an energy that felt almost tangible, as Viktor imagined sunlight would feel if it could hold him in its arms.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to narrow, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a bubble of stillness. 

Then, with a start, Jayce seemed to remember himself. His movements were clumsy, almost reluctant, as he began to pull away from the embrace. Viktor, still caught in the sensation of their closeness, felt the absence immediately, a chill rushing in to fill the space where Jayce had been. He nearly leaned forward, an instinctive, unthinking urge to chase that fleeting coziness, but he was stopped.

Before he could move, Jayce's hands found his shoulders. They gripped tightly, grounding and insistent. The comfort returned, not as an embrace, but as a firm, steady presence that held Viktor in place.

Jayce’s face was just inches away from Viktor’s, illuminated with a joy so radiant it seemed to pour from him. His eyes sparkled with unrestrained excitement, and his grin was wide and boyish, almost too big for his face. When he spoke, his voice was thick with elation, as though drunk on his own happiness.

“I’m going to resign from the Council,” Jayce declared, his words tumbling out in a breathless rush. His hands gripped Viktor’s shoulders, almost shaking him, desperate to share the weight of his decision.

Viktor was stunned into stillness. His eyes widened, his gaze studying Jayce's face.

Jayce’s face was flushed, a mixture of fever and excitement painting his cheeks with a soft, rosy hue. Beads of sweat shimmered on his forehead, one droplet breaking free and tracing a languid path downward. Viktor’s gaze followed it, captivated, as it slipped past the curve of his temple and landed at the hollow of his collarbone.

The top few buttons of Jayce’s shirt were undone, likely loosened during his restless sleep as his body battled the fever's heat. As Jayce shifted while speaking, the droplet continued its slow descent, gliding lower as if savoring its journey. The movement of his body made the fabric shift, revealing fleeting glimpses of sun-kissed skin through the open collar. The light caught on the glistening sweat, accentuating the faint goosebumps rising along Jayce’s exposed skin, likely stirred by the cool air that contrasted the fever burning within him.

Jayce’s voice was almost a whisper, like he was thinking aloud rather than speaking to Viktor. “Just think about what we could do... together. You have to see my workshop—” He trailed off, suddenly awkward, the rush of excitement faltering. “Ah, but of course, only if you’re interested!”

“Jayce,” Viktor spoke his name like a quiet anchor. Viktor’s hands gently but firmly pulled Jayce's arms away from his shoulders.

But Jayce didn’t seem bothered by Viktor’s action, nor did he seem to notice Viktor's quiet call. His hands, now free, continued to move in small, animated gestures as he spoke, his eagerness nearly tangible. “It’s not as big as your workshop, but you’ve got to see everything! All those Hextech documents, blueprints—I had been working on merging Hextech with tools that help people before I got stuck on how to make a portable gem! Oh! And you have to check out those Valdianis I picked up when I was in—”

“Jayce.” Viktor’s voice was firmer now, cutting through the rush of words. Viktor reached for the blanket robe he was wearing, pulling it off his shoulders and placing it on Jayce, wrapping it gently around the taller man.

At last, Jayce fell quiet and stayed still. His eyes widened, staring at the fabric that enveloped him. The dark blue robe hung loosely around his shoulders, the soft folds contrasting with the energy in his eyes. Wrapped in Viktor’s robe, he suddenly looked smaller, almost childlike, like a young boy swaddled in a blanket.

“Jayce, I won’t leave Zaun.” Viktor’s words were steady, calm, and they held a weight that brought Jayce’s eyes back to him.

“Oh.” A flicker of panic flashed across Jayce’s face, quickly masked by a nervous gesture. His fingers brushed the edge of the robe near his arm. “That’s fine, I wasn’t expecting anything! It’s just… you’ve shown me your work, and it’s so impressive, so brilliant! It’s… it’s really changed the way I see things. I just… I just really wanted to show you my hom—”

“I’m sure your work is… adequate,” Viktor cut in before Jayce could spiral into any more of his nervous explanations. His tone was cool, but there was a light teasing edge to it. “Though, it will need to be a touch more remarkable if you expect a wanted Zaun criminal to risk everything for a mere field trip to Piltover.”

Jayce paused for a second, then stumbled back toward the bed, his frustration clear in the sudden, dramatic way he threw himself onto it. He lay there for a moment, his palm pressed against his face as a groan of disappointment slipped through his fingers. After a beat, he spoke, his voice deflated, as though the weight of Viktor’s words had knocked the wind out of him.

“You’re right,” Jayce murmured, the defeated tone thick in his voice. “I understand.”

Jayce dragged his hands down his face, pressing them to his chin. The way he wiped his face only made his expression look more ridiculous, almost comical. Viktor couldn’t help it; a soft chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.

He walked closer to the bed and sat at the edge, the mattress creaking slightly under his weight.

Viktor paused for a moment, his mind working as he carefully chose his words, each one deliberate, each thought measured. The gears in his head turned, processing the best way to frame what he wanted to say next.

You have to stay here.

It’s too risky for you to leave this house. Consider what the other leaders of Zaun would do if they discovered you here, wandering the Undercity, unarmed and unprotected.

It was true, but Viktor couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t stop Jayce.

Remain here for the time being, until we can devise a safer method to get you back.

It was not true. He did know a route, sort of, even though it was far from an ideal one.

None of it felt like the right answer. If there was one thing Viktor had learned about Jayce, it was that his curiosity was unyielding. When presented with something new, something unexplained, he was relentless in finding a counterargument, in seeking alternatives, always searching for a way to make the situation fit his own logic.

After a moment of silence, Viktor finally spoke. His voice was soft, but there was certainty in it, as if he were carefully placing a chess piece on the board.

“Jayce, you can leave.”

Jayce’s gaze shifted from the window above to Viktor’s eyes, his expression one of quiet curiosity.

Viktor continued, his tone deliberate, as though the next words were another calculated move. “But if you stay, for now…”

Jayce’s gaze lingered on him, blinking slowly as if weighing the decision.

Viktor’s hand moved, fingers brushing gently over the sheet beneath him, a subtle but tender gesture. “We can work something together, here.”

Viktor continued, his voice steady, “I could delay Zaun’s advance—just until we construct something capable of altering the course of this situation.”

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince the others; Piltover had been quiet in recent weeks.

He made his final, sincere move, as though placing the last crucial piece in a game he had carefully planned. “If you would agree to this... partnership.”

Jayce pushed himself up from where he had been lying, sitting on the bed, and moved closer to Viktor. His face lit up with joy, eyes curving into a gentle half-moon shape as he smiled. “Yes, let’s do this,” he said, his voice warm with enthusiasm. One of his hands reached out, fingers brushing Viktor’s as he added, with a soft chuckle, “As partners.”

The word hit Viktor harder than he had expected. Though it was technically his own idea, hearing it from Jayce, hearing it paired with the joy in Jayce’s smile, sent a rush of warmth through him. He found himself staring at where their hands were now intertwined, blinking as the unexpected wave of emotion washed over him.

Jayce followed Viktor’s gaze down, and then, suddenly, as if noticing something, he let out a small, surprised yelp. The sound was higher-pitched than his usual voice.

Curious, Viktor’s gaze flickered back to Jayce’s face.

Jayce’s hazel eyes widened, his focus darting nervously between their hands, then toward Viktor’s exposed waist, where it was close to their clasped hands, before flicking back to Viktor’s face. But the moment their eyes met, Jayce seemed almost overwhelmed. His gaze flickered away, uncertain, as though he was struggling to not let gravity pulling it lower. He snapped his eyes back to Viktor’s eyes, but Viktor's now teasing glare seemed too much for him. In the end, his unblinking gaze awkwardly settled on Viktor’s chin, an odd place to focus on.

A deeper flush spread across Jayce’s face, a stark contrast to the soft blue of the blanket wrapped around him.

Oh...?

Viktor realized this was probably the first time Jayce had truly looked at his exposed mechanical body since he had removed his robe. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he noticed Jayce’s growing disorientation, his gaze lingering on Viktor's subtle grin, as if charmed by it.

Viktor stood, still holding Jayce’s hand in his. The movement shifted the distance between them, bringing Jayce dangerously close to the edge of the bed. Viktor could feel Jayce’s weak attempt to pull away, but he didn’t let go, tightening his grip instead. Jayce’s face was mere inches from Viktor’s waist, and instinctively, Jayce’s eyes flickered down, only to snap away in a panic, as if the view had burned him. His free hand clung to his blanket, fingers pinching and rubbing it nervously. Half of his face was buried in the blanket.

Oh.

After a moment, Jayce coughed, attempting to sound as calm as he could. "Does Hextech... did this?" His hand, sweating and trembling in Viktor's grip, betrayed him, the rapid pulse passing through their joined hands giving him away.

A low chuckle escaped Viktor. He spoke slowly, his voice laced with amusement. "Yes, it transformed my body into metal. And it also gave me the ability to shape it."

Jayce seemed to regain a slight bit of control as his finger brushed mindlessly over the bracelet Viktor had given him. Then, lifting his gaze to meet Viktor's eyes, he asked, "But your face... it looks like flesh. How do you...?"

Viktor explained, "The face you saw was a head mask." He paused before adding, "As the Machine Herald, I find it more fitting to conceal my face, to present myself in that form. But when I am alone, I prefer to be in my true form."

Jayce tilted his head slightly, processing Viktor's words. His lower face was still tucked within the blanket, but Viktor could see a smirk forming, the movement in his cheek and the playful squint in his eyes revealing a hint of mischief.

"So you..." Jayce’s voice sounded a bit strained, as if trying to suppress the amusement bubbling beneath. He quickly masked a chuckle as a cough, then continued, "You make yourself eight feet tall just to look cooler, huh?"

Viktor’s eyes narrowed, his tone lowering with an edge of teasing. "Bold of you to say that, Jayce," He leaned in slightly, his lips near Jayce’s ear. "Considering you’ve been staying in my place, eating my food, sleeping in my bed..." He felt the quickening pulse in their joined hands, the warmth and sweat betraying Jayce’s flustered state. "Not to mention, wrapped in my blanket."

Viktor straightened, watching with satisfaction as Jayce flushed deeply, the color spreading from his cheeks to his ears, a vivid shade of red.

A soft huff of amusement left Viktor’s lips, and he finally released their hands. Jayce quickly pulled his hand away, tucking it inside the blanket.

"Sweet dreams," Viktor said, his voice smooth, before turning to leave the room. He closed the door softly behind him.

Chapter Text

Jayce perched on the edge of the workshop table, his right leg swinging absently as he watched Viktor seated beside him in the metal chair. Viktor leaned over his left leg, his fingers deftly adjusting the brace with a machine’s precision. The stark white of his thin half-mask caught the workshop’s dim light, partially obscuring his face but failing to hide the sharp focus in his shifting eyes, fixed intently on the mechanics encasing his lower leg.

The brace still bore the mechanical skeleton Jayce had crafted here, solid, functional, unmistakably his style. Its symmetrical framework of metal and leather was sturdy, efficient, and straightforward, just how Jayce liked his designs. Yet, as Viktor secured the brace with calm efficiency, Jayce couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes. The clunky gears he had used were now replaced with finer, smoother alternatives. Smaller components gleamed with precision, ones Jayce hadn’t been able to source when he was crafting the brace alone in Viktor’s workshop. Viktor had elevated the design in ways Jayce could only admire; his improvements were not necessarily superior, but they were undeniably in Viktor’s own style.

The most striking feature was Viktor’s unmistakable touch on the decoration: delicate lines of gold and white subtly traced across the brace’s metal surface, weaving through its sturdy framework like veins of light. They hadn’t been there before. Jayce could only assume Viktor had added them after their tense conversation the other day, when Jayce had left the brace behind. The intricate embellishments felt like a whisper of reconciliation, their elegance perfectly complementing the bold, utilitarian structure Jayce had crafted. Together, they seemed less like separate elements and more like two halves meant to merge, a complete whole born of both their efforts.

Jayce’s gaze drifted to his right leg, the one Viktor had replaced after the factory incident. It was a seamless union of his own flesh and Viktor’s machinery. His eyes then returned to the left leg, now encased in a brace that blended his own design with Viktor’s refined touch. The symmetry between them, both literal and symbolic, stirred something deep within him.

He couldn’t explain it, but the sight brought a quiet peace. It felt right, as if this was how things were always meant to be. The tension in his chest eased, and for the first time in years, Jayce felt whole, complete in a way he hadn’t realized he had been yearning for.

They looked perfect, every piece exactly where it was meant to be... except for Viktor’s hands. Jayce’s eyes lingered as Viktor finished fastening the brace around his knee, his movements precise and methodical. Now, Viktor’s focus shifted to the upper section of the brace, his hands drifting closer to Jayce’s thigh. Though not touching directly, they hovered dangerously near, the proximity enough to make Jayce’s pulse hitch.

Jayce swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Th-this... really isn’t necessary,” he stammered. “I can do it myself.”

His body betrayed him with the slightest retreat, a clumsy attempt to create distance, though the workshop’s tight confines left him little room to escape. The tension prickled under his skin, unfamiliar and unsettling, as Viktor’s calm, steady movements seemed completely unbothered by the space, or lack of it, between them.

Jayce’s abrupt movement made one of the bolts slip from Viktor’s tool, clattering softly onto the floor. Viktor’s gaze snapped up, sharp and unamused, a quiet click of his tongue punctuating the silence. “Stay still,” he said curtly, his tone clipped but calm. Without waiting for a response, he gripped the thickest part of the brace and tugged Jayce back toward him, perhaps even a fraction closer than before.

Jayce froze, his breath catching at the sudden assertiveness. Viktor, however, seemed utterly unfazed, his focus already back on the brace. “I don’t work halfway,” Viktor muttered, his hands moving with practiced precision as he tightened the bolt again. “And I need to ensure the brace won’t scratch my prototype leg.” His gesture toward Jayce’s right leg was casual, almost dismissive, as if his words alone explained his actions.

Viktor moved to the next bolt, his fingers working deftly, his head dipping lower as he adjusted the angle. Jayce stiffened when Viktor’s face came dangerously close to his upper thigh. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the rhythmic clink of Viktor’s tools and the faint creak of the workshop chair. But it was impossible to ignore how close Viktor was.

The air felt heavier, and Jayce realized his breathing had grown shallow. He tilted his head back, his gaze flitting toward the shelves where Viktor kept his tools, counting them, identifying them, anything to distract himself. Still, the awareness lingered, prickling at his skin.

And then it happened. A light touch, barely there but impossible to dismiss. Viktor’s finger brushed against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh as he adjusted the uppermost cuff of the brace. It was so quick that Jayce almost doubted it had happened, almost. His whole body went rigid, every muscle coiled tight, the sensation lingering longer than it should have.

Swallowing hard, Jayce forced himself to glance down. That was when he saw it. Viktor wasn’t looking at the brace at all.

His sharp, piercing eyes were locked onto Jayce’s face, studying him with unsettling intensity. Every flicker of Jayce’s expression seemed to be cataloged, dissected, as though Viktor were searching for something beneath the surface.

Jayce’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Viktor could hear it too.

The door slammed open, the sudden noise make Jayce almost jump. Before he could even break free from Viktor’s intense gaze, he heard the voice first, a husky, raspy, high-pitched feminine tone that sliced through the air. “Geez, guys, keep it family-friendly, there’s a kid here!”

Jayce’s eyes shot up, and he saw her then. A young woman, slender and wiry, with electric-blue braids falling over her shoulders like a storm in motion. Her patchwork streetwear was an explosion of mismatched belts and buckles, every piece appearing hastily assembled but somehow fitting her chaotic energy. The tattoos that snaked up her arms were a surreal shade of light blue, resembling clouds that seemed to shift with each movement, an ever-changing pattern that only added to her volatile aura.

Behind her, a small figure stood just out of sight, her face obscured by the woman’s body. Jayce immediately recognized Isha, the young girl whose wide, curious eyes were now hidden from view.

Viktor exhaled sharply, a faint edge of irritation creeping into his voice as he swiveled his chair to face the intruder. “This is a private space,” he stated, his words deliberate and laced with annoyance. “A space you should have scheduled before barging in.”

Jayce slid off the table and walked toward the far side of the workshop. He reached for the mechanical rabbit doll he had repaired. Holding it in his hands, he made his way back toward the others, standing opposite them with the doll cradled in his arms.

As he opened his mouth to speak, a moment of hesitation gripped him. He wanted to introduce himself, but the words caught in his throat. How was he supposed to explain himself? His eyes flicked toward Viktor, silently asking for guidance, his unease evident.

Viktor’s gaze met his, calm and unwavering. Unperturbed by the silence, he took a beat before speaking. “This is…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “This is J.”

Viktor’s gaze shifted to the young woman, but Jayce, expecting Viktor to continue the introduction, was caught off guard when Viktor paused. His focus turned inward, eyes narrowing as he studied Jayce. A brief flicker of uncertainty passed through them, silent, calculating. Jayce felt the weight of it, every shift in his posture under Viktor’s sharp gaze, as though being silently appraised. His chest tightened under the intensity, unsure of what Viktor sought from him. Nervously, his fingers brushed the sleeve of his clothes, an instinctive attempt to steady the unease rising within.

It felt as though Viktor was measuring something, weighing a decision. Finally, he spoke, his tone slow and clear. “This is... Jinx.”

Jayce’s eyes widened, the shock striking him before he could even fully process it. His gaze darted to the young woman standing in front of him, taking her in for the first time properly.

She looked so much younger than he had imagined. Smaller, too, maybe even slightly shorter than Caitlyn, with a fragility that seemed at odds with her bold, mismatched attire. The buckles and accessories on her clothes hinted at her identity as a craftsman, yet they only made her seem more out of place, like she was playing dress-up in a world too big for her. Her face was shadowed by dark circles, the unhealthy pallor of her skin making her appear fragile, almost unnatural, as though her body was struggling to keep up with her spirit. The veins that traced her limbs were a silent confession of her fragility, a stark reminder of the toll her body had endured.

Jayce’s thoughts flickered back to something Viktor had once said, a confession still hanging in the air between them. "It was likely a result of the polluted air from Piltover." The words echoed in his mind, the weight of them settling heavily on his chest.

Despite her slight form, Jinx’s hands were steady, gently but firmly holding Isha, who was still looking up at Jayce with wide, curious eyes, close to her side. Isha’s gaze flickered from Jayce’s face to the mechanical rabbit doll in his hands, as though the child was waiting for some kind of unspoken exchange between them.

After a moment, Jayce made his decision. He wasn’t in a position to judge or forgive. As if solidifying his resolve, his fingers ceased their nervous rubbing of the rabbit doll, something he hadn’t even realized he had been doing. He forced a smile, bittersweet yet sincere, as he acknowledged the pair. “Jinx.” He then knelt down to meet Isha’s eye level, extending the rabbit doll to her. “Isha, sorry for holding it so long. I’ve spent a great deal of time with your rabbit friend here.”

Isha stared at him, her eyes narrowing and gaze questioning, as if his words were out of place. But when she took the doll from his hands, her excitement was unmistakable. Jinx shot Jayce a wary, almost judgmental glance, but it softened the moment her eyes met Isha’s.

Jayce’s smile softened, the tension in his chest easing. This felt like the right choice. His gaze followed the pair as Jinx moved toward Viktor. That’s when Jayce noticed Viktor’s eyes on him, fixed and unwavering. It seemed as though Viktor had been observing him the entire time, silently judging, perhaps testing his reaction.

Jayce returned Viktor’s gaze with a soft smile, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them. As Jinx leaned an arm on Viktor, Viktor’s attention finally shifted from Jayce to her.

“So…” Jinx’s voice dropped to a playful whisper, though it was loud enough for everyone to hear. She tilted her head, a mischievous glint flashing in her eye. “You’re naming him after the Hammer Man?” She let out a dramatic, almost theatrical cough. “Hmm, sounds like a bit of an unhealthy relationship. You sure you’ve slapped a warning label on this for your audience?”

Viktor’s gaze toward Jinx grew cold, his irritation palpable. With a sharp, sarcastic tone, he said, “You never fail to impress me with new levels of delusion.”

His glare was a warning, but Jinx only leaned in, unfazed. “Come on, Cookie! I’m just trying to see you happy,” she teased, stepping closer to Jayce. “But this?” She waved between Viktor and Jayce, her tone light but sharp. “This? It’s not gonna work. Though I do love the new look, gotta admit.”

Jayce instinctively tensed as she approached, her energy crackling in the air. She gave his shoulder a casual tap. “J-Man, I’m rooting for you,” she said with a grin. “Viktor’s thing with that Piltie Hammer Man was a lost cause anyway, and you’re the first one actually hanging around in his workshop.” She patted him again, a playful gleam in her eye. “So, hang in there!”

Jayce blinked, disbelief flashing across his face. He would have been oblivious if he hadn’t understood exactly who the “Hammer Man” was by now. A slow smile spread across his face. “Is that true?”

Viktor didn’t answer Jayce’s question, his attention firmly on Jinx instead. “What are you even here for?”

“Oh, that’s for you, Cookie.” Jinx grinned as she pulled a wrapped package from her bag, tossing it effortlessly into Viktor’s hands.

Viktor glanced at the writing on the parcel, but Jayce couldn’t help stepping closer, a wide grin spreading across his face. He knew he must look like an idiot, but at that moment, he didn’t care. “You have a thing for—” He couldn’t suppress a chuckle, his voice cracking. “Jayce Talis?”

Viktor shot him a look so lethal it might as well have been a physical blow, but Jayce stubbornly refused to stop smiling.

Instead of Viktor, it was Jinx who answered, her tone light and teasing. "Oh, he totally did. It was dumb-dumb though, nothing too serious! Although there was that one time he bought a whole carton of sweet milk just because of—"

“Your purpose here is fulfilled.” Viktor interrupted, rising from his seat. He practically grabbed her by the back of her collar, shoving her toward the door. Isha followed quietly behind. “Now go,” he commanded, slamming the door shut and locking it with a swift motion.

Viktor returned to his seat, sitting next to Jayce without sparing him a glance. “Now you understand why I’ve always locked the door to your room.”

Jayce said nothing, his smile still stubbornly in place, his gaze fixed on Viktor.

Viktor finally turned to him, his eyes sharp behind the mask. “What?” he asked, his tone a mix of irritation and something else, unreadble.

Jayce grinned, his voice teasing. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed as he stood, his movements slow and calculated. His gaze locked onto Jayce, heavy with an intensity that made the air between them feel thick. “You sure you want to go down that road, Jayce?” His voice dropped to a low murmur, the edge of it almost threatening.  Their proximity had closed to the point where Viktor’s face was just inches from his.

Jayce instinctively took a step back, a bit of space between them now, though his sheepish smile remained. He raised his palm in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no more teasing!”

Viktor gave Jayce a quick, assessing glance, a faint hum escaping him before he responded with quiet authority. "My advice? Ignore anything Jinx says if you want to keep your sanity." His gaze shifted to Jayce's leg brace, his tone softening slightly as his attention became more focused. "How does it feel?"

Jayce hadn’t fully realized it until Viktor mentioned it, but now that he was aware, he shifted his weight several times, testing the feel of the leg brace. He paced back and forth, letting his left foot move naturally for the first time in weeks, no longer burdened by the limp caused by the missing brace. It felt… good. For the first time in so long, he moved smoothly, as if he were finally himself again.

There was a slight rub against his thigh where the brace didn’t sit perfectly, but the memory of how Viktor had adjusted it earlier made him keep his mouth shut. Jayce knew he could make the small adjustment himself later, in his own time.

"Feels good," he said, his voice calm, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. The brace was still a little uncomfortable, but the freedom to move on his own again far outweighed any minor discomfort.

Viktor studied the leg brace, a satisfied glint in his eyes. But there was something else in his gaze, a quiet curiosity. He asked, “Does your leg still hurt?”

Jayce continued testing the brace, adjusting his posture to get used to the feel. He answered casually, though there was an edge of weariness in his voice. “It was a fracture, and it’s been treated. The pain lingers, but I’ve gotten used to it. It’s just worse when it’s cold.”

Viktor’s eyes remained on him, and his tone shifted to something more measured, more thoughtful. “You know, I can heal it too,” he said, the offer hanging in the air. “If you want me to.”

Jayce’s gaze flickered to Viktor, then down to his leg. The anger he had felt when he first heard of Herald’s offer to heal him flared briefly, but it was a distant memory now, one that felt almost foreign. With Viktor’s words hanging in the air, he found himself weighing the possibility. A life without the constant ache, without the limitations. It was an enticing thought. And yet, something about it didn’t sit quite right.

He paused for a moment, considering the weight of the offer. Then, gently, Jayce shook his head. “It is tempting, but…” He glanced down at his leg again, as if searching for the right words. “The accident... where it happened. It changed everything, you know? The way I see things. Feels like it’s part of me now.”

Jayce turned to face Viktor, who gave him a small nod. His furrowed brows and the calculating look in his eyes made it clear that Viktor didn’t fully understand why Jayce would choose to live with the pain. Still, there was no judgment, just a quiet respect for the decision, a silent acknowledgment of the weight behind it.

Jayce’s gaze lingered on the purple mechanical skin at Viktor’s neck, a stark reminder of the choices Viktor had made for himself. A quiet sense of relief settled over him, knowing Viktor had chosen a life free of pain’s grip. Viktor’s voice, gentle and sincere, broke through his thoughts. “The offer will always stand, Jayce, if you ever change your mind.”

Jayce blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected softness in Viktor’s tone. His chest tightened for a moment, a rush of something he couldn’t quite name. He forced a chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to steer his thoughts elsewhere. “Well, honestly, mental pain’s way worse,” he said, his grin tilting toward playful. “I would call you a full-blown miracle worker if you could heal it with just a touch.”

Viktor remained silent beside him, and when Jayce turned, he was met with an intensity in Viktor’s gaze that stole the breath from his lungs. Viktor’s wide eyes held a focus Jayce had never felt before, as though he was truly being seen for the first time. There was something unspoken in that look, a depth that made Jayce’s chest tighten and his cheeks flush with heat. The moment stretched between them, heavy and charged, until the weight of it became too much. Jayce’s hand twitched, searching instinctively for something, anything, to break the tension.

Before he could stop himself, the nickname Jinx had tossed around slipped from his lips. “For now, I guess I will call you Cookie.” As soon as he said it, Jayce winced internally, bracing for Viktor’s reaction.

The effect was immediate. Viktor’s gaze shifted, the weight of it giving way to a sharper edge, tinged with teasing irritation. His eyes narrowed slightly, the charged moment dissolving into a flicker of exasperation that hinted at his fraying patience.

“What?” Jayce defended quickly, shrugging in a poor attempt to brush off the awkwardness. “It’s not fair that you can give me a nickname and I can’t have one of my own,” he added, his tone taking on a faux-casual air as his mind scrambled for a way to salvage the moment. Yes, this could work. It was perfect.

Then, as if struck by inspiration, Jayce brightened, an eager smile lighting up his face. “How about this?” Jayce suggested, his eyes glinting with excitement. 

“V?”

Chapter Text

Viktor woke early, his sleep a restless collection of fragments spent twisting in his sheets. The first pale ray of dawn pried its way through the gaps in his curtains, pulling him from the haze of half-dreams.

Viktor pushed himself upright, his movements sharp, mechanical. The hidden passage from his bedroom to his workshop clicked shut behind him as he stepped into the cluttered sanctuary of his craft.

But his steps did not linger there. Guided by some unspoken compulsion, his feet carried him further, past workbenches and dim lamps, toward another door at the end of the corridor. His pace was deliberate, yet tinged with an undercurrent of hesitation, as if drawn forward by an invisible gravity he had no strength to sever.

The door loomed ahead, and his hand brushed the surface of the handle. Just as he began to twist it, realization struck. A quiet reprimand in the back of his mind. Too early. Jayce would not be awake yet.

He turned, ready to retreat to his workshop, when a faint sound pierced the stillness.

“Vik…tor...Vik—!”

The voice, breathy, uneven, slipped through the door like a thread of smoke. Viktor’s eyes widened a fraction, a flicker of surprise breaking through his normally composed expression. He hadn’t expected Jayce to hear his approach, much less call out to him like that.

There was a tremor to Jayce’s tone, a delicate thread that wavered between weakness and something else. Higher-pitched, unguarded, almost...begging. Viktor’s chest tightened, a rush of unfamiliar heat curling at the edge of his awareness.

Viktor’s hand moved instinctively to open the door. But it was locked. A crease formed between his brows. He hadn’t locked it. He tested the handle again.

The metallic rattle must have carried through the door, for a sudden burst of noise erupted on the other side. Shuffling movements, quick and clumsy. Viktor’s sharp hearing caught the faint edge of a curse. Hurried, panicked, unmistakably Jayce.

What was happening in the room?

Viktor paused, his fingers tightening around the handle. He leaned closer to the door, his breath steady, his mind calculating. He could have gone back to the workshop to retrieve the key. But something about the tremor in Jayce's voice, the unsteadiness laced with anxiety, gnawed at him. His pulse quickened, uncharacteristic urgency overtaking his usual restraint.

Viktor placed his palm against the door, just above the handle. A faint hum of energy surged from his fingertips, and golden light flickered to life beneath his hand. The metal protested with a faint hiss as it began to soften, molten streaks dripping to the floor in glowing rivulets.

A sharp inhale sounded from within the room. Jayce’s voice, startled, verging on panic. Viktor didn’t hesitate. As soon as the hole was wide enough, he slipped his hand through, his deft fingers finding the lock mechanism on the other side. With a precise twist, the door clicked open.

He pushed it ajar, the door swinging inward with a low creak. Viktor stepped into the room, his sharp gaze scanning every corner. 

At first glance, everything appeared as it should. Every piece of furniture and object lay in its proper place, as if untouched.

Yet something lingered. A tension in the air, subtle but undeniable, like the ghost of movement that had just stilled. Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly as he stepped further inside. 

Jayce sat upright against the headboard, a book resting awkwardly on his lap. The bedcover draped loosely over his shoulders, slipping just enough to hint at its precarious hold. On the surface, the scene appeared relaxed, almost casual, if not for the telltale signs betraying his composure.

His eyes, wide and watery, darted between Viktor and the molten edges of the door. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his forehead, catching the soft light, while a warm flush spread across his skin. His hair, tousled and damp, framed his face with an almost feverish disarray. The tip of his nose held a slight redness, and his lips, swollen and parted, quivered faintly, as if caught mid-breath.

Viktor’s gaze swept over Jayce, sharp. He frowned, the furrow in his brow deepening as his eyes lingered on every incriminating detail. His silence pressed heavily on the room, the air charged with an almost electric judgment.

“Why did you lock the door?” Viktor’s voice was measured, but the undertone carried an edge that sent a ripple through Jayce’s composure.

“Nothing?” Jayce swallowed hard, his voice shaky, far from convincing, and tinged with a nasally edge. He shifted uncomfortably under Viktor’s unrelenting gaze, his fingers clutching the edge of the bedcover as if it were a lifeline.

“Nothing?” Viktor echoed, his tone laced with dry skepticism. He took a deliberate step closer, narrowing the distance between them. “You don’t even have a key. You went through all the trouble to lock it for...nothing?”

Jayce leaned back instinctively, the headboard pressing against his shoulders. The book slipped slightly on his lap as he clutched the bedcover tighter around himself, his knuckles whitening against the fabric. “I mean,” he stammered, his words tumbling out too quickly, “just in case Jinx drops by unannounced?”

A plausible excuse, perhaps. But it did little to explain the nervous energy radiating off Jayce or the death grip he maintained on the bedcover. It was as if he had been caught in the middle of something he didn’t dare admit.

Viktor’s gaze remained fixed, sharp as a scalpel. “Are you building something?” he asked, his voice cool, with an edge of accusation.

Jayce blinked, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Building something? No?” His tone rose slightly, defensive yet uncertain.

Viktor stepped closer, his eyes narrowing further. His next words were sharper, colder, each syllable biting. “Are you planning to escape? Have you begun to regret your decision?”

“What? No!” Jayce protested, his voice loud and incredulous. But despite the defiance in his tone, his hands betrayed him, clutching the cover with white-knuckled desperation.

Viktor’s patience, already worn thin, snapped. Without a word, he reached out and yanked the bedcover away in one fluid motion. The suddenness of it startled Jayce, drawing a yelp from him as the force nearly pulled him off balance. He pitched forward slightly, his grip on the bedcover dragging him awkwardly to the edge of the bed.

For a moment, Viktor’s eyes swept over the exposed surface. Jayce sat hunched forward, his breath caught in his throat, his face pale, and his eyes wide, too wide. His expression teetered between shock and panic, as though he had been exposed entirely.

But there was nothing. No hidden contraptions, no suspicious objects. Only the familiar folds of a dark blue blanket, one Viktor immediately recognized: his blanket. The same blanket he had draped over Jayce just days ago.

The blanket lay loose and unassuming, its folds slumped harmlessly against the bed. Viktor frowned, the shape and weight of it offering no indication of anything concealed. Still, suspicion gnawed at him.

Without hesitation, Viktor reached out again, his fingers closing around the edge of the blanket, ready to pull it aside.

But Jayce moved faster. His hand darted to the blanket, gripping it with sudden force before throwing it to the other side of the bed. The motion was swift, almost frantic, and the blanket tumbled off the edge, landing in a heap on the floor. For a split second, Viktor’s sharp eyes followed its arc, confirming what Jayce had been so desperate to prove, it wasn’t concealing anything.

Viktor’s hand froze mid-air, caught in an awkward half-gesture, the faint trace of the blanket still lingering on his fingers. The suddenness of Jayce’s reaction left him off balance, not physically, but mentally. His lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes flicked back to Jayce, silently demanding an explanation.

Jayce’s chest rose and fell unevenly as he resumed breathing, each inhale ragged as if he had just come up for air. His face, pale a moment ago, was slowly regaining color, a flush creeping across his cheeks and climbing steadily to the tips of his ears. His voice broke the silence, still shaky but attempting nonchalance.

“It’s...wet,” he said, the words halting as if they required effort to utter. His fingers brushed through his damp hair, almost a nervous tic. “I sweat a lot in my sleep.”

The excuse hung in the air, as unconvincing as the hastily discarded blanket. Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver, sharp and calculating, dissecting every detail, the uneven breaths, the lingering flush on Jayce’s skin, the nervous fidgeting of his hands.

“Do you, now?” Viktor’s voice was quiet, cool, and edged with doubt.

Jayce avoided his eyes, his lips pressing together as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. It happens sometimes,” he added.

Viktor withdrew his hand, though his suspicion lingered, etched in the subtle narrowing of his eyes. Still, he decided against pushing the poor man further, for now. It was enough to confirm that Jayce wasn’t secretly crafting some device or plotting an escape.

As his gaze drifted over Jayce, Viktor’s skepticism softened slightly, replaced by quiet observation.

With the bedcover discarded, Jayce’s disheveled state was laid bare. The unbuttoned collar of his sleeping shirt exposed the damp skin of his chest, faintly gleaming with moisture. His posture, slightly slouched, revealed a glimpse of his waist where the fabric had ridden up. The golden light from the melted door’s edges caught on his tanned skin, accentuating the thin sheen of sweat that clung to him, making his sun-kissed skin shimmer faintly with each unsteady breath.

Jayce took a deep breath, then another, as if grounding himself. He let out a nervous chuckle, trying to shake off the tension. “Could you...maybe just knock next time?” His lips quirked into a faint, sheepish smile. “There’s, uh, a hole in the door now.”

Viktor’s expression didn’t waver, cool and impassive. He did not agree to Jayce’s absurd and ridiculous request. “I’ll reinforce the security on the main door,” he said, his voice low and even, offering no room for negotiation. “There’s no need to lock the door to your room.”

The hum of disapproval that followed was quiet but unmistakable, a sound that carried judgment and finality. Viktor paused, his sharp gaze settling on Jayce again.

“Unless,” he added, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, “you really are planning an escape?” His eyes narrowed, probing for any crack in Jayce’s already thin veneer of composure.

Jayce’s sheepish smile softened, turning bittersweet, carrying an undercurrent of emotion Viktor couldn’t quite place. “V, I chose to stay. Why would I leave?”

Viktor’s expression remained cool, impassive, but his actions betrayed a gentler side as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight. “Who knows if you might change your mind?” His voice was calm, but there was a faint trace of vulnerability hidden beneath the surface.

Jayce let out a soft sigh, his eyes earnest and sincere. The faint glimmer in them made his gaze appear damp, almost luminous. “V, I’ll stay here. Until we build something.” His voice grew steadier, quieter, yet it carried the weight of a promise. “I mean it.”

Viktor didn’t reply immediately. His hand idly rubbed at the bed sheet beside him, tracing absentminded circles into the fabric.

Jayce leaned forward slightly, his presence drawing closer, the faint heat of his body and the dampness of his skin brushing the edges of Viktor’s senses. “I promised,” Jayce repeated, his tone soft yet firm. “And I’m not just doing this for you, V. It’s for me too.”

Viktor’s gaze flicked back up, meeting Jayce’s eyes. There was a brightness in them, a sincerity that seemed to reach out and grip him.

Jayce’s voice grew quieter, but its conviction deepened. “When you dragged me from the factory, you didn’t just save me—you freed me. I was stuck, doing work I didn’t feel right.”

Jayce's breath caught, and he leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. Viktor could see the faint flush on his cheeks, feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I won’t let Hextech be used to harm anyone. Not anymore,” Jayce said, his words like a vow. “I won’t fail. I swear.”

Viktor was caught in the intensity of those hazel eyes, their sincerity cutting through his guard. The weight of Jayce’s resolve, the unwavering belief in his voice, left Viktor momentarily adrift. He broke the eye contact, the intimacy of it too much to hold. His gaze shifted downward instead, landing on Jayce’s mouth.

Jayce was smiling now, grinning, in fact, and Viktor’s focus narrowed on his teeth. There, in the curve of his upper row, was a detail Viktor had somehow never noticed before. Jayce’s upper third tooth was slightly sharper than the others, almost like a small fang. It wasn’t predatory; the tip was rounded, almost puppy-like in its imperfection.

The thought came unbidden: How would that feel? Against his thumb, perhaps, if he cupped Jayce’s chin, running his fingers over the soft beard and pressing against that tooth to feel its shape?

The unexpected wildness of the thought startled Viktor, his composure momentarily shaken. Yet beneath the unfamiliar musings, a more grounded, measured voice in his mind replayed Jayce’s words.

Viktor refocused, his gaze still fixed on Jayce’s mouth. His hand on the bed sheet twitched, but he held it still. Viktor’s tone was steady, but there was a faint edge of curiosity in his voice as he asked, “For me?”

Jayce blinked, his confusion evident as he asked, “What?” His voice carried a faint, breathy note, his lips shifting as he spoke. They parted slightly. Viktor had always thought Jayce’s mouth, when at rest, looked just a little small, an odd contrast to the strength of his features. Yet it suited him, adding a boyish softness to his otherwise strong profile.

With his lips parted and only the edges of his front teeth peeking through, Jayce looked younger, almost guileless. The sight brought a fleeting pang of something unnameable to Viktor’s chest.

Viktor repeated himself, his voice quieter but no less direct. “You said you are staying,” he began, his golden gaze finally drawing upward, though it lingered on Jayce’s lips for a moment longer, savoring the image. Then, with precision, he locked eyes with Jayce, ensuring nothing about his expression escaped his notice. Viktor tilted his head slightly, the motion measured and deliberate, his lips curling into a subtle, almost teasing smile. 

“Also for me?”

Jayce’s eyes widened, the shift subtle but telling. Viktor caught the faint dilation of his pupils, a brief expansion before they returned to normal. Yet his hazel irises seemed to shimmer, the faintest movement suggesting they were scanning Viktor’s face, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory. The golden light in the room caught on the glassy surface of Jayce’s warm irises, creating a play of light that danced like sunlight refracting through amber.

Viktor said nothing, letting the weight of the moment linger. He observed Jayce’s reaction, taking it in greedily, like a scientist studying an unfolding phenomenon.

Jayce’s lips parted further, the deep pink of his tongue just visible now. The tension in his jaw melted away, his features softening, as though he were suspended in the moment, unaware of his own surrender to it.

“Oh god.” The words tumbled out, quiet and unintentional, more a slip than something consciously spoken.

Viktor couldn’t help but deepen his smile, the expression pulling at the corners of his lips. He fought to suppress the warm chuckle bubbling up inside him, but it slipped out as a half-cough instead, a sound that only seemed to make the moment more charged.

The brief noise shattered the spell that had fallen between them. Jayce blinked rapidly, his eyes clearing as the weight of the moment returned to him. Viktor could almost hear the soft return of his breath, the way his soul seemed to settle back into his body. 

A flush crept up Jayce’s face, spreading from his cheeks down his neck and beneath the exposed collar of his shirt. The warmth seemed to bloom across his skin, and Viktor found his gaze following the path of the flush, wondering how far it reached beneath the fabric, how much more of Jayce’s skin remained gently hidden by the layers of clothing.

“Leave me some dignity, V!” Jayce protested, leaning back in an attempt to put more space between them. His voice wavered slightly, like the remnants of his composure were being chipped away with each word. “Or at least leave me alone!”

Viktor allowed the chuckle to escape fully this time, letting it turn into a low, satisfied rumble. 

The words rolled in his mouth, tasted and savored like a fine wine, rich and dark in their delivery. When his voice finally came, it was low and slightly husky, carrying amusement, and something else, something more.

“Never, partner.”

Chapter Text

"Never, partner," Viktor’s tease lingered in the air.

Jayce mumbled, "I’m going to report you to the Prisoner’s Human Rights Association for this." He shot Viktor a sharp glance, though it probably didn’t land the way Jayce imagined it would. Not with his face flushed to the tips of his ears and his eyes still watery and lips swollen.

Viktor couldn’t resist pushing further, practically, Jayce had invited him, and it would be rude to let it go. "Unfortunately, I believe your membership was revoked when you missed your chance to leave." He paused, savoring the moment. "Twice, if I may remind you."

Jayce stared at him, brows furrowed and locked tight. His chest rose in quick, uneven breaths, tension gathering at the corners of his mouth where his lips pressed into a firm line. His gaze flickered, sharp for a moment, then faltering, as if second-guessing whether to meet Viktor’s eyes for too long. The faint twitch of his jaw suggested he was biting his inner cheek, likely stifling a retort that would only invite more of Viktor’s well-aimed jabs. Even for Viktor, it was beginning to feel a bit too merciless.

"Now, now," Viktor said at last, offering a truce. He rose from his perch on the edge of the bed, brushing invisible dust off his robe. "Shall we start the day?" He extended a hand, gesturing for Jayce to take it and use it for support.

Jayce reached out his right hand, though it bypassed Viktor’s extended palm, aiming instead for the leg brace placed beside the bed. Before he could grab it, Viktor stepped forward, blocking his reach with an effortless shift of his body. Their eyes met, Jayce’s gaze questioning, Viktor’s steady as ever. Viktor’s hand remained outstretched. "Leave it for now," Viktor said, voice gentle but firm.

Jayce’s brows lifted slightly, but he did not argue. He reached for Viktor’s palm, but just as his right hand was almost brushing against Viktor’s, he pulled it back with lightning speed, as if stung. The sudden motion caught Viktor off guard, his eyes blinking in mild surprise as he watched Jayce withdraw.

A faint, sheepish smile curved on Jayce’s lips, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed him, spreading rapidly until it colored his entire face. He rubbed his right hand frantically against his clothes a few times, as if scrubbing away something unseen. "Sweaty hand," Jayce explained weakly, his tone drifting with uncertainty.

Then, with a clumsy twist of his body, Jayce offered his left hand instead. The position was unnatural, reaching with his left required an awkward angle, forcing him to contort himself unnecessarily.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly at the obvious flaw in Jayce’s logic. Was his left hand supposed to be less sweaty? But he chose to let it slide. Jayce already seemed too self-conscious about his sweating condition. Without a word, Viktor adjusted his posture, making it easier for Jayce to use his hand as leverage to rise from the bed.

Viktor held Jayce’s left arm firmly, offering support as Jayce struggled to use him for balance. It didn’t work as intended. Jayce’s weight pressed onto his left, fractured leg, making the effort awkward. As Jayce fumbled to readjust, shifting clumsily in search of stability, Viktor’s patience thinned.

Without a word, he slipped his right arm tightly around Jayce’s waist, his grip steady and sure. With his other hand, he caught Jayce’s left arm, pulling him closer so that more of Jayce’s weight rested against him.

Beneath Viktor’s firm grasp, he felt the ripple of tension in Jayce’s muscles, taut like drawn wires. His body was rigid, goosebumps rising under Viktor’s fingers despite the warmth between them. Jayce moved stiffly, his body far from relaxed, each step hesitant, almost floating. Viktor’s lips quirked slightly, but he chose silence over teasing, allowing Jayce a sliver of dignity.

With measured steps, Viktor guided them both toward the workshop, his movements deliberate and commanding. Jayce, though taller and looming over him, was firmly under Viktor’s control, nearly being carried forward with each step, each one a quiet assertion of Viktor’s lead.

Viktor led Jayce to the bathroom of the workshop and released his hold.Viktor grabbed a neatly folded set of newly made attire from a nearby table and handed it to Jayce, gesturing for him to put it on.

Jayce accepted the clothes, fingers brushing over the fabric as he gave them a quick inspection. His gaze flicked up to Viktor, eyes gleaming with anticipation as he asked, "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere," Viktor replied bluntly.

The excitement in Jayce’s eyes dimmed almost instantly, like a fire snuffed out too soon. Noticing the change, Viktor softened his tone. "Just something for our…" He hesitated, searching for the right word, "... new partnership."

"Oh." Jayce’s response was quiet, but his entire demeanor shifted. His expression softened, the tension melting away from his brows as his eyes grew gentler. A small grin crept across his face, wide enough for his two little canine teeth to peek out, giving him an almost boyish charm. There was something disarmingly endearing about the way he looked.

Viktor caught himself lingering on the sight a beat too long before abruptly shutting the door in front of him, the motion perhaps a bit more forceful than intended.

Knowledge is a paradox.

The thought crept into Viktor’s mind as he made his way back to Jayce’s room, retrieving the leg brace he had left behind. He held it loosely in one hand, fingers idly playing along its surface, the familiar weight feeling almost nonexistent in his grip.

Viktor was a scientist, an extraordinary one, and of course, he had not missed the subtle changes quietly weaving themselves into the fabric of his interactions with Jayce. Patterns were emerging, forming, each one more fascinating than the last. He had been watching, studying with obsessive precision, taking mental notes on how Jayce responded under different circumstances.

When Viktor let his fingers brush lightly, fleetingly, across Jayce’s skin. Barely a touch, more like a suggestion. 

When Viktor leaned in close, his breath whispering warmth near Jayce’s ear, voice low, deliberate.

When Viktor tilted his head just so, lips quirking faintly, eyes half-lidded but intent, watching every flicker of Jayce’s reaction.

And Jayce always reacted. 

His pupils would dilate, barely perceptible, just a millimeter or two, but Viktor noticed. Always. His gaze would lock on Viktor’s, though his eyes would shift ever so slightly, causing the light to catch and ripple across the hazel irises like sunlight dancing on still water. 

His nostrils flared faintly, and sometimes, more often than not, Jayce simply stopped breathing for a few seconds too long, until his body forced him to draw in air with a subtle, startled hitch.

There was also that slight parting of his lips, never more than enough to reveal just those two prominent front teeth. 

Then there was the flush. Jayce’s sunkissed skin would redden first at his cheeks, creeping subtly outward, until Viktor leaned closer. That was when it flared. The blush would spread across his face in a vivid wave, reaching the tips of his ears, before traveling downward, searing a slow path along the curve of his neck. And the color lingered there, stubbornly clinging to the skin of his neck long after his face had cooled.

Even Jayce’s warmth changed, though it was far more subtle. His already warm body grew just a fraction hotter under Viktor’s touch, so slight it would be imperceptible to most. But Viktor noticed, especially when he held Jayce’s hand, his fingers lingering just long enough to catch the difference.

The soft creak of the bathroom door brought Viktor’s distracted mind to a halt. His gaze snapped up, meeting Jayce’s.

The attire fit perfectly, as Viktor had expected. It had to. He would have been thoroughly disappointed in the tailor otherwise, especially after providing an absurdly detailed set of measurements.

The dark green shirt clung snugly to Jayce’s frame, wrapping around him like a second skin. The front buttons were neatly fastened, each one drawing the fabric together in a way that almost resembled a ribbon tied around a gift. Dark red patches accented the shoulders and cuffs, while golden lines traced the seams where his arms met his torso and circled his waist, adding an elegant touch as if guiding the admirer’s gaze to study the piece of art. Below, a pair of tight-fitting trousers hugged his legs, tucked neatly into soft leather boots that rose just shy of his knees.

Jayce glanced down at himself, then back up at Viktor, his face bright. "Who would've thought green suited me this well?"

Of course, it suited him. The darker tones complemented his tanned skin far better than the pristine white suit Viktor had found him in at the factory. Though, Viktor mused, with a pattern similar to the white and gold lines he had crafted on Jayce’s right leg, he could easily imagine how well it would work on that sun-kissed skin too. Another possibility for later.

“Liking what you see?” Jayce’s voice snapped Viktor out of his thoughts. Only then did he realize how long he had been staring, mind adrift. That familiar, bold smirk curved on Jayce’s lips, his teeth gleaming almost too brightly under the light, as if daring Viktor to look away.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, stepping forward without hesitation. He reached out, fingers curling around Jayce’s chin, holding it firmly to still that grin.

"Actually," Viktor said, his tone cool, "I think I would like it better if your beard were trimmed a bit more." He tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing over the soft scruff, his eyes half-lidded as they shifted from Jayce’s jaw to meet his hazel eyes. "Shall we shave you?"

There it was—just as Viktor had anticipated.

Jayce’s pupils dilated, a fraction too wide, his gaze fixed on Viktor’s. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between his chest and throat, and his lips parted just enough to reveal his two familiar front teeth. A blush bloomed across his cheeks and neck, spreading quickly to the tips of his ears. Viktor’s fingers rested lightly against Jayce’s warm skin, the faint rise in his body temperature unmistakable now.

Good. Viktor’s lips twitched with satisfaction as he noted yet another reaction for his mental list: Jayce swallowed, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to Viktor.

The satisfaction faded as Viktor's mind wandered further.

Noticing patterns was easy enough, but deciphering the hidden messages behind them? That was another matter entirely.

What could one deduce from these patterns?

Jayce was physically attracted to Viktor.

But they could just as easily mean Jayce was touch-starved, his heightened sensitivity stemming from Viktor being the only person he had regular contact with here.

Or perhaps it was something simpler, his body reacting with adrenaline, sparked by tension. After all, Jayce was in a precarious situation, held captive by someone who, by any logical measure, could be considered dangerous.

It might even mean that Jayce was simply… a sexually active person, naturally inclined to respond this way to physical proximity. There was no control factor, no way to determine if Jayce’s reactions would be the same if approached by someone else.

Viktor’s brows furrowed as irritation crept in. He could see the patterns clearly, but the failure to extract a definitive answer gnawed at him, each unanswered question compounding his frustration.

His shoulder tensed, and without realizing it, his grip on Jayce’s chin tightened as well.

“Ouch!” Jayce yelped, more startled than hurt. Viktor immediately loosened his hold, drawing his hand back.

Knowledge truly was a paradox.The more one understands, the more one realises the vastness of his ignorance.

All those reports Viktor had received over the years detailing the progress of the Hextech project now felt like a cruel reminder, updates on Jayce’s work, but never on the man himself. He had no real insight into Jayce’s personal life, no data to contextualize the reactions Viktor was now trying to decode.

With a sudden, almost impatient movement, Viktor handed the leg brace to Jayce. The action was abrupt, nearly forceful, and Jayce fumbled as he caught it with both hands, his movements clumsy.

Jayce’s brows furrowed slightly, and his head tilted as he studied Viktor’s face, likely searching for some clue to his change in mood. But Viktor offered nothing. Left with no choice, Jayce sighed quietly, his shoulders sagging in mild defeat before he turned his attention to fastening the brace around his leg.

Jayce knelt, his left leg raised slightly as he adjusted the brace. His fingers moved with casual precision, pulling the buckle tight, the cuff straps hugging his thigh like an unspoken claim. Viktor’s gaze lingered on the cuffs, his jaw tightening. There was something about the way Jayce’s fingers, so gentle and lovingly, caressed the straps that made Viktor’s patience wear thin. The buckle clicked into place, but Viktor’s attention never wavered, fixated on the delicate tension where the straps cinched against Jayce’s skin.

Every now and then, Jayce glanced up, his eyes meeting Viktor’s, those soft, hazel eyes flicking upward before quickly returning to his task. Each stolen glance seemed to tighten the knot of frustration in Viktor’s chest. There was confusion in Jayce’s gaze, a mix of curiosity, concern and something else, something Viktor couldn’t quite place.

And those damn strands of hair, always slipping loose, brushing against his forehead and cheeks. Why did they look so impossibly soft, as if they had been kissed by something more than just the same type of soap Viktor had been using?

Once they moved to the workshop, Jayce’s glances came less often, but they still lingered in Viktor’s periphery, quiet, unspoken questions in the way Jayce tilted his head, or how his eyes seemed to meet Viktor's for just a second too long. 

Viktor tried to focus on the sketches scattered in front of him, the mess of blueprints and calculations he had buried himself in, but Jayce’s movements refused to escape him. Every shift of Jayce’s posture, every faint sound of breath, seemed to seep into Viktor’s awareness, gnawing at his nerves.

Why had Jayce rolled up his sleeves, exposing his lower arms? It wasn’t as if the room had been warm.

And why had he been standing, leaning forward with his hands braced on the table? His back had arched and curved, probably putting unnecessary pressure on himself. There had been a chair right there.

Now he was sitting, fine. But why had he placed his legs on the table, crossing them like that? Didn’t he know better? Didn’t he see how ridiculous it was, especially with that fractured left leg and the replaced right one? His long legs had stretched out, muscles tensed, the fabric of his trousers pulling tighter as he pushed himself further from the table, and the chair had rocked beneath him.

It was only when a sharp crinkle filled the air that Viktor realized the document in his hand had been crumpled from the tight grip of his fingers. A low hum rumbled in his chest as he forced his gaze away from Jayce, his focus snapping back to the notes in front of him.

But the irritation didn’t leave. It clung to him like a weight, gnawing at his nerves. Viktor tapped his fingers on the paper, the rhythmic clicking only deepening his frustration. The intense emotion seemed to come from nowhere, and it wasn’t helping that Viktor couldn’t find the reason that triggered it in order to solve it. His mind skimmed through his memories. Those moments when he helped heal the mentally wounded, when he felt their pain, their frustration. But none of it felt quite the same. His finger tapped faster, harder—

A warmth settled on Viktor's shoulder. He lifted his gaze, meeting Jayce’s eyes as the other man stood beside him, one hand resting gently on his shoulder. The other hand cradled a cup, the Jayce Talis cup, and he offered it to Viktor with a soft, concerned smile.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, silently questioning the gesture. Jayce answered before he could speak, his voice low and soothing. “You seem unwell, so…”

Viktor took the cup, feeling the warmth seep into his palm, and the scent of sweet, warm milk reached his nose. He let out a quiet sigh, the irritation still lingering but now loosened, softened. Reluctantly, he murmured, “Thank you.”

The words seemed to be enough for Jayce, his concerned expression melting into that familiar grin, the same one that adorned his cup. Viktor’s lips curled into a barely perceptible smile as he took a slow sip, savoring the warmth that spread through him. He glanced up, the edges of his irritation still present but dulled.

“What have you been sketching?” Viktor asked, his voice betraying a flicker of curiosity.

“Oh!” Jayce practically jumped to his side of the station, grabbing his notebook and chair, then dragging them over to sit beside Viktor.

“Just some sketches on the projects I’ve been thinking about,” Jayce said as he settled in, handing the notebook over to Viktor. “Not exactly the solution to our current problem, but you never know where inspiration might come from, right?”

Viktor handed over the documents he was holding to Jayce, taking Jayce’s notebook in return. As his eyes scanned the sketches, he found them more organized than he had expected. Neater handwriting, too. Jayce’s thoughts seemed more structured than Viktor had anticipated.

But as Viktor began reading through the notes, he couldn’t help but scoff softly at the randomness and how personal some of Jayce’s musings were.

“My hextech research, though impacted, now perhaps has a clever path forward,” one note read.

“I did not predict that I would take to sharing life's work with another scientist,” another one followed.

Viktor’s lips curled into a fond smile as he shook his head. 

He stole a glance at the taller man sitting next to him. Jayce was completely absorbed in the documents Viktor had given him, his focus unwavering. His chin rested in his hand, fingers absentmindedly rubbing his lips as he read.

Jayce was so close, Viktor noticed, his leg brushing against Viktor’s as he sat. The warmth from Jayce’s body seeped into him, a soft, constant presence. What had been sharp irritation just moments ago now dulled, slipping away with the proximity. It was... intriguing. Maybe this was something worth documenting. There was a sense, almost a certainty, that Jayce had somehow triggered the irritation, but at the same time, it seemed to dissolve in his presence. Viktor couldn’t quite make sense of it, nor could he explain why, but it was undeniable.

Viktor shifted in his chair, a quiet movement that subtly adjusted his posture, leaning slightly toward Jayce, allowing the shared warmth between them to spread, to grow. Jayce, however, remained oblivious, lost in his own world as he hummed absentmindedly, his focus unwavering. Yet, Jayce’s body responded on its own, he leaned in, their thighs fully pressed together. The heat from Jayce’s body intensified, radiating through the fabric of their clothes, seeping into Viktor’s skin like a quiet fire, comforting him.

Viktor refocused on the notebook, turning the page. His eyes widened when he saw the sketch that greeted him. The lines were rough, almost carefree, it was captured in the simplest of strokes, yet it felt more alive than any perfect portrait could.  

The sketch depicted a figure with long, split hair, half-lidded eyes peering through a half mask, sharp cheekbones, and a mole at the corner of downturned lips. Next to the sketch, an arrow pointed to the figure with the words: "Grumpy? Unwell?? :( "

Below, a few more notes were scribbled: 

"I have a partner now: Viktor."

"I don't know his last name."

"Ask him his last name when he’s feeling better."

Viktor stared at the sketch and the notes, a quiet astonishment settling over him. The irritation he had felt earlier was now long gone, replaced by something far warmer, something that expanded in his chest and radiated outward. It was rare for Viktor to feel this way, this quiet warmth that had no clear origin, but felt undeniably real.

He remembered the last time he felt this, how it had caught him off guard. It was when Jayce had hugged him. The same warmth, the same sensation, and just as unexpected now. Viktor’s gaze softened as he traced the lines of the sketch again.

Viktor’s voice was quiet, almost tentative. “I don’t have one.”

Jayce blinked, momentarily lost in the documents he was reading before his lingering gaze shifted to Viktor. “Hmm?”

Viktor silently held up the notebook in his hand, pointing to the sketch. “I don’t have a last name,” he added, his tone laced with a teasing edge.

Instead of reacting the way Viktor expected, shying away or offering an awkward apology, Jayce simply met his gaze, unfazed and unashamed by the sketches. “Ah.” Without hesitation, Jayce replied, “Do you want to take mine?”

Viktor's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

Jayce’s lips curved into a soft smile as he continued, “You probably won’t want a Piltover name, but we’re not exactly from there. Oh, and our family’s roots were in blacksmithing.” He paused, a playful glint in his eyes. “Seems fitting for the Machine Herald, don’t you think?” A soft giggle escaped him, as if he were amused by his own comment.

Viktor was still reeling, his mind struggling to process Jayce’s words. The usual composure in his voice had softened, leaving behind only an open, genuine tone. “Why?”

Jayce chuckled, shrugging casually as if the idea were nothing more than a natural conclusion. “Seems fitting for our new partnership, don’t you think?” 

Jayce added, his voice warm, "I quite like the ring of it." He giggled. "Viktor Talis."

Chapter Text

"Jayce."

The voice cut sharply through the haze of Jayce's troubled thoughts. He blinked, startled, and pulled his gaze away from the chaotic scrawls littering his notebook. None of it made sense. A tangle of half-formed sketches and indecipherable numbers, each an imperfect answer that raised more questions than it resolved.

Viktor sat beside him, his posture rigid and deliberate, sharp features shadowed by the faint crease of his brow. "While your voice is undoubtedly soothing," he began, his tone calm but carrying a distinct edge of impatience, "I do need to concentrate, Jayce."

Jayce’s brows knit together, a moment of uncertainty crossing his face before it gave way to a sheepish smile. “Oh, right—sorry,” he said, his voice dipping slightly. “It’s just... talking kind of helps me think.”

Pressing his lips into a firm, self-imposed silence, Jayce dropped his gaze back to the notebook. His fingers tightened around the pencil, as if sheer force could will his mind back to work. But the disjointed sketches stared back at him, mocking his efforts. Each one a possibility, yet none good enough. None revolutionary enough to bridge the chasm between Piltover and Zaun.

Jayce let out a quiet, inaudible sigh and set the notebook aside, the pencil slipping off the page and clattering softly onto the desk. He leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall against the cold metal backrest with a dull thud. Bringing a hand to his face, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, the motion an attempt to massage away the exhaustion that had mounted after hours of fruitless effort.

The restlessness lingered stubbornly. His head throbbed, the dull ache growing as his mind rusted, unwilling to churn out any better ideas. Jayce sighed again, the sound low and resigned, before pushing himself up from his seat. Restless energy compelled him to pace across the open space of the workshop, his boots tapping softly against the floor. 

“Jayce.”

Viktor’s warning sliced through the air once more, sharper this time. Jayce froze mid-step, turning toward him and catching the faint glint of irritation in Viktor's eyes, visible even through the mask.

Stopping in his tracks, Jayce offered an apologetic grin, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. He hugged his arms around himself, his shoulders hunching slightly, attempting to make his tall frame seem smaller. With careful steps, he returned to his seat beside Viktor, his movements quieter now, as though even the creak of his chair might disturb the man further.

But sitting still proved no easier. Minutes passed, and boredom crept in like an unwelcome guest, gnawing at his already frayed patience. Jayce could feel his thoughts grinding to a halt, his mind growing heavy and unresponsive. Frustrated, he let his head fall onto the desk with a soft thud, the metal cool against his forehead.

He moved quietly, careful not to provoke Viktor’s ire again. Turning his head to the side, one cheek pressed against the desk, Jayce let his gaze wander toward Viktor. He watched the Zaun man work, the man absorbed in his meticulous process, every movement precise and elegant. For a moment, Jayce forgot his own irritation, mesmerized by the quiet intensity etched into Viktor’s features.

Beneath the thin, pale mask, Viktor’s color-shifting eyes remained fixed on the document in his hands, their focus resolute. They did not so much as flicker in Jayce’s direction, utterly absorbed in their task.

As if given permission by Viktor's unbothered demeanor, Jayce found his own gaze lingering, his mind wandering to the colors he had often seen in those eyes. Most of the time, they shimmered with a silver-pearl hue, cool and enigmatic. But there were moments, fleeting and rare, when Jayce was close enough to catch his reflection in them. In those moments, the color would shift, transforming into something else entirely, a warm, golden hue, rich as honey.

He wondered, not for the first time, what caused the change.

Was there a pattern to it?

Did those colors shift randomly?

Or were they reflections of Viktor's mood, concealed beneath the veil of his composed mask?

What, then, did that lovely shade of honeyed glow signify?

And what color would those eyes be if Viktor were—

Jayce felt the heat crawl up his neck, his mind veering into more private, dangerous territory. He jolted, mentally yanking himself away from the inappropriate thoughts.

He should look away, give himself a moment to breathe, to reset. But before he could tear his gaze away, Viktor suddenly snapped his eyes to meet his.

Their gazes collided and locked.

Jayce’s body tensed under the intensity of those piercing eyes. Jayce felt exposed, as though Viktor had reached into his mind and examined every stray fantasy he had been trying to suppress.

Jayce should look away. He really should. But he couldn’t. Not when the warm, honeyed hue of those eyes was unmistakable, and not when the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of those lips, as if kissed by the moon. That subtle curve lifted the edges of his eyes, forming a delicate, beautiful crease at the corners. An alluring sight that reminded Jayce of the soft glow of distant stars, impossible to look away from.

Viktor’s soft chuckle broke the tension, pulling Jayce’s floating mind back to Earth. “If staring at my face could actually spark new ideas,” Viktor remarked, his tone as flat as ever but with a touch of amusement, “I would have solved world peace by now, Jayce.”

Jayce groaned, dragging out the words with dramatic flair. “My head hurts... This whole solving wars task? Definitely not my specialty.” He shut his eyes, leaning his head further onto the desk, as though willing the pounding in his skull to vanish.

He heard Viktor sigh, the sound carrying both exasperation and something gentler. Then came a cool sensation on his head, unexpected and soothing. Jayce stilled, realizing it was Viktor’s hand, his fingers brushing through his hair with careful precision.

The touch made him tense at first, his eyes threatening to fly open, but Viktor’s fingers moved deliberately, massaging his scalp with tenderness. The cooling relief spread, easing the heat and ache in Jayce’s head. Slowly, he let himself relax, his eyes remaining shut. He hadn’t even noticed how much tension had gripped his body until it began to melt away under Viktor’s touch.

A low hum escaped Jayce’s throat, unbidden, as he sank further into the moment.

Viktor’s voice came again, low and steady, almost cooing as though to match the calm atmosphere. “And we are not politicians, Jayce. Let’s stick to what we actually excel at.”

Jayce barely managed a nod, his mind too hazy from the soothing sensation to respond.

“What were you drafting?” Viktor continued, his fingers still working gently through Jayce’s hair.

Jayce spoke, his voice lazy and drifting, as his thoughts wandered to one of the many ideas rattling around in his head. “You know how a triangle is the most stable simple structure, right?”

Viktor responded with a low hum of acknowledgment, encouraging him to continue. The soft pressure of Viktor’s fingers moved to his temples, easing the tension there with steady, rhythmic motions.

“So,” Jayce went on, his words unhurried, “what if we introduced a third force into the game?”

Viktor’s response was simple but attentive. “Makes sense.”

“Like… a common enemy,” Jayce mused, his tone picking up ever so slightly with the thought. “Something so powerful that both Piltover and Zaun would have no choice but to work together.”

The fingers shifted to the back of his scalp, tracing soothing circles. Jayce instinctively turned his head, exposing more of the area for Viktor’s hand to work on. He pressed the other side of his face back against the spot on the desk where he had been resting, now warm from where his cheek had lingered.

Viktor chuckled softly, the sound almost affectionate. “Go on,” he said, his voice carrying a touch more warmth than usual, slightly higher than his usual tone.

Jayce hesitated for a beat, his mind diving deeper into the idea. “What if we built… I don’t know, a giant robot,” he said, his voice low but tinged with a spark of creativity. “One that appears in both places, leaving a trail of destruction. It delivers some sort of threatening message—nothing we would actually do, of course.”

Viktor’s hand moved lower, fingers now kneading the delicate spot of skin at the back of Jayce’s head where it met his neck. The tension there seemed to unravel under the steady touch, sending a pleasant warmth spreading through Jayce’s shoulders. Jayce couldn’t help it. Another quiet, low hum escaped him, vibrating softly in his throat. It felt too good, the release of tension intoxicating. 

“And what,” Viktor spoke, his voice carrying a playfulness that Jayce, lost in the intoxicating massage, might have missed, “should we name this mysterious robot?”

The hand on the back of Jayce’s neck kneaded a particularly tense spot, and he melted further into the touch, his voice low and mixed with a soft purr. “I don’t know… maybe Blitzcrank?” The name slipped out as if pulled from the haze of his mind, barely tethered to coherent thought. That was it, that spot, right there. It felt so good—

A chuckle, deep and warm, cut through the fog. Jayce almost didn’t register it at first. He turned his head, responding to Viktor’s laugh. The cool hand followed his movement, settling gently against his cheek with a lingering touch. Blinking his eyes fully open, Jayce found himself staring directly at Viktor.

And Viktor was smiling.

Not the usual composed or teasing curl of his lips. No, this was a full grin, his teeth on display, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons, nearly shutting with the force of his smile. Yet even through that, Jayce could still see the warmth in those eyes, their honeyed glow fixed on him.

“So,” Viktor said, his tone light and laced with dry humor, “you are suggesting we introduce a fictional terrorist between two already untrusting and volatile parties?”

Jayce stared, his brain catching only fragments of the words as he became hopelessly distracted by Viktor’s grin, by the way his fingers brushed along his chin, their touch both deliberate and maddeningly gentle. His mind finally caught up to the statement, and embarrassment surged through him.

He shot upright, the movement jerky and awkward, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as if to shield himself from the heat creeping up his neck. His gaze darted away from Viktor’s teasing eyes.

Viktor let his hand retreat, crossing his arms with a quiet hum, his fingers brushing together thoughtfully. “Thought, I have to say,” Viktor mused, his voice smooth, “I do like the name Blitzcrank.”

Jayce’s palm rose to cover his mouth, while Viktor’s grin widened, his amusement as radiant as it was rare. Jayce groaned, muffled behind his hand, his gaze sharp as it locked onto Viktor. “Well, you have my permission,” he said, his voice tinged with mock irritation, “to use it as your new alias—Machine Herald.”

“Actually,” Viktor leaned back in his chair, “I think the alias would suit someone else better…” He trailed off, letting the pause linger just long enough to make Jayce suspicious, his golden eyes glinting with mischief.

Jayce stared at him, silently waiting and bracing for whatever clever jab Viktor was about to make, his brow arching slightly in anticipation.

“…maybe for Machine Herald Junior.”

Jayce let out a groan of disappointment, his lips twitching as he fought not to roll his eyes at the anticlimactic punchline. Before he could quip back, Viktor continued, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips. “Blitzcrank… Talis . An unmissable alias, is it not?”

Jayce froze.

What?

Viktor’s gaze pinned him in place, as though daring him to connect the dots. His tone had been light, playful, but there was something almost… intentional in the way he spoke the last name. Jayce’s last name.

Why would Viktor’s child have the last name of-

Jayce’s mind stumbled over itself before finally catching up. Right. He remembered now. The name Talis wasn’t just his anymore. He had shared it with Viktor. Of course, Viktor's child would also inherit the last name.

Heat climbed his neck as he tried to laugh off the embarassment. For a split second, he almost think Viktor was implying—

“Wait a second!” Jayce exclaimed, his eyes widening as inspiration bloomed. His face flushed, caught between the lingering heat of embarrassment and the sudden rush of excitement that spiked through him.

He shot to his feet so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor. Papers and tools scattered as he swept everything aside with a single motion of his arm. Grabbing a large sheet of paper, he rolled it out across the desk. Lines began to take shape under his hand, the sharp scratch of pencil on paper filling the space as his mind raced to keep up with his idea.

“The shield—” Jayce said, dragging a curve onto the paper with hurried strokes. “The Hextech shield I was working on before I came here—” His voice picked up speed, words spilling out as his pencil darted across the paper. “It generates a protective energy globe around the wearer, locking onto the specific energy frequency of a technology-enhanced device or weapon, anti-synchronizing it to disrupt and shut it down.”

Viktor didn’t interrupt, but Jayce could feel him watching. The man had stood, leaning closer to the desk to examine the blueprint taking shape under Jayce’s frantic sketching.

“It only works at close range and only if we know the energy frequency in advance,” Jayce continued, the shield’s design already nearing completion. “Limited, but we thought it could be effective against certain Zaun targets, fighters who favor close combat and rely on high-tech weapons.”

His pencil scraped over the drawing, adding smaller details and refining the edges of the design. Viktor remained silent, but his presence was palpable.

“Not perfect,” Jayce repeated, as though preemptively defending the idea. “But if we, let’s say, crank it up…” He grabbed a red pencil, scribbling arrows, notes, and adjustments across the diagram, his excitement practically vibrating off the page.

Viktor finally spoke, his eyes tracing every line Jayce had laid down, grasping the idea without the need for further explanation. “...It would create an energy blast that deactivates weapons within a wide range,” he said slowly, his tone thoughtful.

Viktor continued, adding his twist to Jayce’s idea. “With a powerful enough energy source, we could even attempt to burn out their cores entirely.” He murmured, almost to himself, “A sudden, overwhelming energy surge... Blitzcrank is indeed a fitting code name.”

Jayce couldn’t help but let his widen eyes gleam with the fire of excitement and joy. “I think I’ve got a pretty good read on Piltover’s devices,” he said, his gaze locking with Viktor’s, eager and hopeful.

Viktor’s gaze sharpened, his head tilting just slightly. “And I have access to most of Zaun’s resources,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned back with calculated ease. 

Viktor’s voice lowered as he continued, “Deactivating high-tech weapons in both Zaun and Piltover simultaneously... It could create chaos and leave us vulnerable to other threats.” Viktor paused, his sharp eyes catching the deflation in Jayce’s smile.

Viktor continued, “but... the device could serve as a solid starting point, something to give us leverage on our side. Good work, Jayce.” His tone softened, becoming more gentle as he spoke the last words.

The praise quickly brought the grin back to Jayce’s face. He leaned forward, bracing his weight on the desk, his hazel eyes practically glowing with pride.

Viktor’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, observing the way Jayce seemed to beam with unrestrained enthusiasm.

After a beat, Viktor raised an eyebrow, his voice carrying a tinge of curiosity and hesitation as he spoke, slow and measured. “That tactical plan behind the shield... I imagine it’s critical and highly confidential information for Piltover.”

Viktor reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over the detailed sketch as if it were a delicate gift, careful not to smudge it. “I suspect the Piltover council wouldn’t be pleased to find you sharing this with me.”

Jayce chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Oh, they wouldn’t. If they found out, I would be screwed.” Despite the gravity of his words, his body language remained relaxed, his posture open. 

Viktor’s lips curved into a soft smile, his golden eyes shifting from the blueprint to Jayce’s face. Jayce half-expected him to reply with some sharp, teasing remark. Instead, Viktor surprised him with a simple, sincere response.

“I won’t let them.”

The words carried an undeniable, firm, almost overbearing weight. The air thickened, pressing down on Jayce, and for a moment, he felt his pulse quicken, his chest tightening. The silence stretched, making the thrum of his heartbeat seem louder. He could feel it pushing against the cage of his ribs, desperate to escape, and the sensation both exhilarated and unnerved him.

Desperate to keep his racing heart in check, Jayce forced out a laugh, hoping it would mask the fluttering chaos inside him.

“Well,” Jayce said, though it came out more breathless than intended, “I guess a bit of risk is necessary when we’re aiming for world peace.” Viktor’s shoulder brushed against Jayce’s as they stood side by side, their focus shifting back to the blueprint spread before them. 

Jayce stared at the blueprint, a chuckle slipping out as he recalled the words that had once inspired him. Words that had inspired him and set his life on a different path. “After all, when you’re going to change the world—”

“—don’t ask for permission.”

The words rang out in unison, their voices harmonizing perfectly.

Jayce’s eyes widened, his head snapping to look at Viktor. The other man mirrored his reaction, turning toward Jayce with an equally stunned expression. Viktor’s shifting golden eyes, wide and unguarded, shimmered with surprise as they locked onto Jayce’s hazel ones.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Jayce chuckled. It started soft, almost hesitant, before bubbling up into something fuller, carrying an edge of disbelief and something strangely euphoric. Foolish, maybe, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He had accomplished many incredible feats in his life, discovering the Hex Gem, developing the Hexgates. But this? Finding someone whose mind matched his own brilliance, whose ideas resonated with his own, someone willing to stand across from him and work toward a future that could benefit both Piltover and Zaun?

It made him feel like the luckiest man in Runeterra.

And if their ideas worked, if they could actually achieve something that brought real change, Jayce promised himself he would try. Try to approach Viktor, to cross that fragile boundary and see if there was a chance for something more.

If Viktor returned even a fraction of his feelings…

Jayce grinned to himself, the thought warming him from the inside out. 

Then he would be the luckiest man in the universe.

Chapter Text

Things were progressing well.

Their project, Blitzcrank, was moving forward smoothly. There were the expected failures and errors, the usual frustrations of untangling a technical puzzle, but it all felt more tolerable with a like-minded partner at his side.

The other puzzle, the personal one, was not coming together as easily. And unfortunately, his partner would be of no help in solving it. After all, Jayce himself was the puzzle.

Viktor was still uncertain about the meaning behind the patterns he had been noticing. Lately, a new, more obvious one had emerged. He had caught Jayce watching him, multiple times now. The man did not look away, even when Viktor met his gaze. And there was always that expression on his face.

On the other hand, the peculiar irritations that only Jayce could trigger still lingered, an irritation that almost felt like thirst or hunger, yet was something else entirely. Small, fleeting things, barely worth acknowledging, except they always made themselves known. But before they could settle, before they could truly bother him, Jayce would notice. He always did. And, in his own way, he would smooth them away, coaxing Viktor’s mood back into ease. It was almost embarrassing how effective he was.

So Viktor let it be. Sometimes, the best way to solve a puzzle was to let it rest, to step away and wait for inspiration to surface on its own.

Not that he could focus on those irritations anyway. There was something else. Something unfamiliar, pulling at the edges of his consciousness, a tug that demanded attention with a force both distracting and strangely welcome.

It was a quiet lightness, a joy so unique that he didn’t think he had ever experienced it. Softer than the triumph of cracking an impossible equation, yet more grounding than the satisfaction of seeing a prototype succeed on the first try. Gentler than the exhilaration of victory, yet more thrilling than the sight of people healed under his blessing.

When he thinks about it, this sensation has always been there, since Jayce arrived. Subtle at first, buried beneath layers of logic and routine, yet managing to slip through in quiet, unguarded moments.

Like when Jayce took a bite of fruit, eyes glinting with amusement as he laughed at his own cleverness in naming it. 

When the mechanical butterfly flapped its wings, its flight path shifting unpredictably in an uneven yet mesmerizing dance in the air, the result of another engineer’s touch.

When that rough, delicate, foolish little robot sat in his hands, its features resembled his own, but rounder, softer. As if the once intimidating and powerful Machine Herald had transformed into something entirely different in Jayce’s eyes.

When Jayce sat in the chair, a shaving blade at his throat, body held stiff with tension, yet his hands remained politely on his thighs like a well-behaved schoolboy, complaining, yet somehow forgetting he had the option to stop Viktor with his free hands.

When he was wrapped in Viktor’s blanket, how comfortable and settled he seemed to be in it.

When he hugged Viktor.

When he called Viktor his partner.

When he gave Viktor a nickname.

When he gifted Viktor a family name.

This sensation had always been there, but it had grown, stronger, undeniable, overwhelming. It drowned out the rest, eclipsing every other feeling Viktor was accustomed to. He did not mind. It felt good.

Viktor still did not know what to call it. But if it needed a label, a name, then it felt… like Jayce.

Viktor turned to the man who had unwittingly stirred this unfamiliar sensation within him. A quiet chuckle escaped him as his gaze landed on the oversized piece of furniture, completely out of place in the workshop. It was absurd, a clumsy intrusion into the otherwise meticulous space, yet, somehow, Viktor could not bring himself to dislike its presence. The sheer ridiculousness of it made amusement bubble up in his chest, light and uncontrollable.

His mind drifted, tracing back to the memory of how it had even found its way inside.

Viktor peered over the man’s shoulder, and the sight confirmed his suspicion. Jayce had not responded the first time, and judging by his lack of reaction now, he had not registered the second call either. So, Viktor called again.

"Jayce."

“Huh?” At last, something seemed to click, though only because Viktor had spoken right next to his ear.

“You need to rest,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft.

Jayce turned to him, eyes half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion. "You haven't."

The taller man’s brows knit together slightly, an attempt at stubbornness, but even that failed. His face lacked the strength to hold the expression, the tension slipping before it could properly form.

“Well, my body is enhanced with Hexcore," Viktor pointed out, his voice dipping into something almost teasing as he slowly reached for the screwdriver Jayce had been loosely gripping. The wrong kind, negative, when he should have been using a positive. "And you are not."

Jayce’s gaze flickered down, following the movement of Viktor’s hand. His fingers twitched before instinctively closing around Viktor’s, not giving him a chance to pull his hand away, whether lingering in the touch or simply trying to reclaim the tool.

“You’ve been pushing too much,” Viktor continued, watching Jayce’s intense focus on their project. While Viktor appreciated his partner’s initiative, it had begun to concern him. Jayce was treating the project as if his life depended on it, pushing forward as though he could not bear a single moment away from it, like there was something waiting for him across the finish line, something worth his whole existence.

And it didn’t help that Viktor, unlike regular humans, didn’t need rest or sleep nearly as much.

“You need to rest,” Viktor said, his voice a bit firmer this time.

But Jayce didn’t seem to hear the words. His hazy eyes were locked on Viktor’s hand, the one that still held the screwdriver, trapped in Jayce’s grasp. Viktor sighed, resigned. The man was stubborn, wasn’t he?

“Go to sleep,” Viktor repeated, his tone simple and direct.

This time, the order seemed to register. Jayce mumbled something unintelligible and finally released Viktor’s hand. Slowly, unsteadily, he stood and stumbled toward the door of the workshop.

Viktor chuckled softly, returning the screwdriver to the toolbox. But just as he did, a loud, muffled noise broke the quiet.

Viktor turned his chair to see what it was. His eyes widened as a mattress was being shoved through the door, pushed by none other than Jayce. After several more strong pushes, the mattress finally squeezed through the doorway, and Jayce maneuvered it into the corner of the workshop.

Then, Jayce flopped onto it, the same blue blanket, Viktor’s blue blanket, tangled around him. The one Viktor had wrapped around Jayce once, and hadn’t managed to reclaim since.

Jayce looked up at Viktor, his voice low but purposeful. “Don’t do anything important without me.”

There was a strange satisfaction in his tone, as though the threat needed no response, but he was sure Viktor would follow it. Jayce let out a soft, foolish huff of a smile, tugging the blanket around him tighter as he settled in.

Viktor stood stunned, watching as the Man of Progress lay on the floor of his workshop, comfortably nestled in the mattress, as if it were the safest place in the world.

Viktor’s half-lidded gaze settled on the mattress that had shamelessly claimed its spot in the workshop, day and night, ever since. Its owner lay on it now, one side of his face pressed against the pillow, lips slightly parted. Viktor could already picture it, Jayce drooling again. He would tease him when he woke, as always. Jayce would probably roll his eyes, mumble something in protest, but his embarrassment would be impossible to hide.

Viktor chuckled at the thought and shook his head. He carefully rolled up the draft of the blueprint. The calculations were complete, but he wouldn’t begin the prototype testing just yet. After all, Jayce had threatened, hadn’t he?

Viktor’s eyes wandered over the table, idly wondering what he could do to pass the time. His gaze lingered on the cup before him. He picked it up and examined it closely. The little Jayce Talis logo printed on the side seemed to smirk proudly, its cheeky expression illuminated under the soft stroke of Viktor’s thumb.

He used to imagine this is what Jayce Talis looked like, long before he had ever seen him. The cup’s design was a fair representation, the artist had captured the sharpness of Jayce’s facial features and the outline of his face with decent accuracy. But now, Viktor knew there was something the artist had missed. The softness in Jayce’s features, the warmth that never seemed to be present in a mere portrait.

Viktor chuckled at the thought as he placed the cup back where it belonged, next to the little Machine Herald robot Jayce had made for him. Without hesitation, Viktor pressed the button on the tiny figure, knowing that it won’t wake Jayce, who was still deep in sleep. The high-pitched voice of the robot rang out, shouting “Glorious Evolution!” as its little arms flailed in the air.

Viktor smiled, the sound of the robot’s cheerful shout settling over him like a familiar warmth. And then, a thought surfaced, something he had nearly forgotten. There was something he could work on while waiting for Jayce. Rising to his feet, he moved toward the top shelf, carefully sifting through the items before finally locating what he was looking for. He pulled out the dusty notebook, its cover worn with age, but still full of potential.

He brushed off the dust, his fingers skimming over the worn cover before flipping through the pages. Sketches and notes greeted him, ideas he had once meticulously outlined, long before Jayce had entered his life. This project had been shelved, waiting for inspiration. Now, it still was not the time to bring it to life, but he had changed so much since then. It only felt right to update it, to refine it with the new feelings and perspectives Jayce had shown him.

His eyes moved over his old writing scrawled across the pages: One world. Connected. Without pain.

A memory he shared with Jayce surfaced, unbidden. “Well, honestly, mental pain’s way worse,” Jayce had said, his grin lopsided, playful but sincere. 

Viktor tilted his head, that peculiar warmth unfurling in his chest, spreading through him as he indulged in the recollection. His pen hovered over the words for a moment before he crossed them out, replacing them with something new.

Sharing joy.

He added a few more notes, though half of his mind wandered elsewhere, toward the corner of his workshop, the ridiculous mattress, and the man sleeping deeply on it.

Viktor wished the world could feel this, this quiet, profound happiness that Jayce had given him.

Chapter Text

Viktor brushed the raindrops from his coat as he stepped into the workshop, shaking off the lingering chill. He set the paper bags on the table with a quiet rustle before turning his gaze toward the corner of the room.

Jayce was still asleep, on the mattress on the floor. He sprawled in the same careless sprawl he always fell into, one cheek pressed against the pillow, his breathing steady and deep. He had gone to bed late. Or, more accurately, early in the morning. But the sun had long since climbed the sky; he had slept enough.

Viktor stepped closer and crouched beside the mattress, "Jayce."

No reaction.

The Man of Progress remained undisturbed, his expression utterly at ease. Sunlight pooled across his face, catching on the faintest dusting of vellus hairs along his cheek, the kind that turned gold in the light, like the fuzz on a ripe peach. His dark hair had tangled in his sleep, soft curls spilling over his forehead. A few stray strands veiled his closed eyes.

Viktor’s gaze flicked toward the paper bags on the table, where the small glass bottle of hair oil rested inside. Myrrh and sage, the same scent as Viktor’s shaving oil, the one Jayce had once praised absentmindedly, lingering in the air between them.

They had already shared the same soap, their scents blending until distinction became a quiet blur. It was not the first time Viktor had picked up the wrong shirt, mistaking it for his own, only to unfurl it and realize, too broad at the shoulders, too loose at the waist, it belonged to the only other person in this space. He would pause, fingers tightening around the fabric before folding it back into the pile.

And now, with this oil, myrrh and sage clinging to Jayce’s skin, threading into his hair, seeping into his clothes, the last small difference between them would dissolve, until even scent refused to set them apart.

Viktor chuckled to himself, imagining Jayce’s reaction to the surprise gift. No doubt, Jayce would be pleased. Lately, Viktor had noticed Jayce paying more attention to his appearance, spending longer in front of the mirror, fussing with his hair. More than once, he had caught Jayce grumbling in frustration, running damp fingers through unruly curls, mumbling about missing the hair oil he used to have.

Viktor did not know why, why now, why suddenly, but Jayce had become noticeably more self-conscious about it. It was almost amusing, this contradiction. A man who seemed determined to perfect every strand of hair, yet here he was, sprawled on a mattress on the floor, face buried in a pillow, a small pool of drool collecting beneath his cheek.

"Jayce."

Viktor called again, his voice measured but firm. This time, he earned a flicker of response. A faint twitch of muscle, the slight furrow of Jayce’s brow. For a moment, it seemed as though he might wake, but then his face smoothed out again, slipping back into sleep without resistance.

Viktor huffed softly. He would have let Jayce rest longer if he were not fairly certain the man was starving. When was the last time they had eaten?

Well, there was one way to wake him.

Rising to his feet, Viktor crossed to the table, his fingers brushing over the rough edge of the paper bag before he unrolled its top. The warm scent of fresh pastry unfurled, rich and buttery, cutting through the cool air of the workshop. 

He reached inside, lifting one of the bite-sized pastries still warm to the touch. The golden crust gleamed in the light, its glaze shimmering like liquid gold, as if kissed by fire itself. With the slightest touch, a few delicate flakes crumbled away, falling softly like autumn leaves, each one a whisper of the pastry’s buttery richness.

Viktor walked back to Jayce and crouched beside him once more, holding the pastry close to his face. His voice turned soft, almost coaxing.

"You said you wanted to try my favorite Zaunite snack, Jayce."

Viktor watched as Jayce lay still, the words slipping past his sleep-heavy mind but the scent did not. The rich aroma of warm butter and savory filling curled through the air, tempting and indulgent.

A small twitch of Jayce’s nose. A subtle crease of his brow. Viktor wondered if the scent had managed to weave its way into Jayce’s dreams, teasing him with phantom tastes. Jayce shifted slightly, his face angling unconsciously toward the pastry, nostrils flaring just the tiniest bit.

Finally, Jayce’s eyelids fluttered, his lashes trembling before his eyes half-opened, still heavy with sleep. His hazy gaze landed on the pastry hovering just inches from his face, then drifted sluggishly to the hand holding it, before finally settling on Viktor.

Viktor chuckled, ready to pull the pastry away, but Jayce’s fingers suddenly tightened around his wrist. A firm tug yanked Viktor off balance, his other hand slamming to the floor to steady himself.

And then it happened before he could fully process it.

Still half-dreaming, Jayce tugged Viktor’s hand closer, parting his lips. The warm puff of his breath ghosted over Viktor’s fingers before his mouth closed around the pastry, soft, damp heat brushing against metal skin. Viktor felt the fleeting warmth of Jayce’s lips against his fingertips, the wet press as Jayce bit down, pulling the pastry free with a slow, lazy hunger.

Viktor’s eyes widened. He froze completely, every thought, every impulse grinding to a halt as Jayce continued to hold his hand, utterly unaware of what he was doing. A flicker of warmth coiled through Viktor’s chest.

The pastry disappeared within a few lazy bites, crumbs scattering before Jayce swallowed. But instead of releasing Viktor’s hand, he tugged his fingers closer, parting his lips again and drawing them into the heat of his mouth.

A jolt shot through Viktor, searing-hot despite the wetness enveloping his fingers. Viktor saw it, and more horrifying, he felt it all. The slow, slick drag of Jayce’s tongue, the brief graze of his rounded canines, sharp yet harmless, pressing against his finger. Heat spiraled up his spine as the smooth, bumpy texture of Jayce’s tongue curled around his fingertip, sweeping away the delicate flakes of pastry.

And all the while, those half-lidded hazel eyes, veiled beneath the soft tangle of sleep-mussed hair, remained locked onto Viktor. Unfocused. Dream-heavy. Oblivious.

Viktor forgot to breathe. His pulse roared in his ears. A flicker of dark pink, wet and glistening, passed over his skin again, gathering the last remnants of pastry from his fingers. And then, just as easily as it had begun, Jayce let go.

A low, satisfied hum escaped him as Jayce buried himself back into the blanket, shutting his eyes without a single thought spared for what had just happened.

Viktor remained exactly where he was, crouched, motionless, staring at his own hand, frozen in midair. The dampness on his fingers caught the light, glistening in the golden spill of the sun. He blinked. Once. Twice. But the sensation lingered, warmth curling low in his gut. His cheeks burned.

And underneath it was something else. That familiar irritation, the restless, gnawing ache that Jayce always managed to stir in him, now spreading like wildfire, leaving nothing in its wake. It coiled tight, sharp and consuming.

Hunger. But not for food. Not for the pastry, no matter how rich its scent still hung in the air. This hunger was something else entirely.

Lost in thought, Viktor barely registered the steady rhythm of Jayce’s breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Jayce remained deep in sleep, adrift in his dreams, perhaps still tasting the pastry Viktor had given him. His lips, faintly damp, parted just slightly, and a breath of sound slipped free.

“Vik… …”

Viktor jolted.

His name, soft, half-formed, tangled in the remnants of a dream. He stood rigid, staring at Jayce, pulse hammering, but the other man only shifted, mumbling incoherent nonsense before settling again.

The movement pulled his shirt up, fabric rumpling, baring the smooth, sun-warmed skin of his stomach. And without meaning to, Viktor’s gaze followed.

The subtle lines of muscle. The faint dip where his ribs met the taut plane of his abdomen. Lower still, the sharp cut of his V-line, the way it guided the eye downward, only to disappear beneath the waistband of his loosely hanging trousers, the boundary both disrupting and teasing where it might have led.

Viktor’s breath caught.

Realizing how inappropriate his gaze had been, Viktor let out a startled noise, little more than a choked breath, and staggered back. He nearly lost his balance, teetering dangerously before righting himself.

Heat surged beneath his skin, sharp and consuming, coiling tightly in his gut. His breath became uneven, faltering. With little more than a flash of instinct, he did the only thing his burning mind could settle on.

He fled.

Stumbling out of the workshop, barely registering his surroundings, Viktor rushed into the bathroom, desperate for some semblance of control. He tore off the thin white mask he always wore in front of Jayce, not caring when it clattered to the floor, forgotten. 

His hands shook as he splashed cold water on his face, but it did little to cool the fire raging beneath his skin. Instead of relief, the cold only heightened the warmth building within him, intensifying the simmering heat as though he were burning alive.

With a soft growl of frustration, Viktor tore off his robe and sank into the bath, the cool water lapping around his waist. For a moment, the chill seeped into his metal frame, a welcome contrast to the heat that had been simmering beneath his skin. It spread through him, coaxing a quiet, relieved sigh from his lips as the tension began to ebb away.

But the fleeting coolness did little to quell the heat that pulsed at his core. The hunger, a gnawing ache that deepened with every breath, a need he couldn’t escape.

Driven by instinct, Viktor let his hand fall lower, his fingers tracing the firm contours of his body. His form responded, a familiar heat awakening within him. The parts he usually kept hidden, tucked away in his metal frame, could be brought to life again, reshaped to meet the intense need building deep inside him.

His hand wrapped around his newly formed length, a soft moan slipping past his lips as sensation flickered through him, his fingers moving at a deliberate pace.

He struggled to remember the last time he had done this. Likely before his illness worsened, before survival had consumed him entirely, narrowing his thoughts to nothing more than the next breath, the next step. Then, after merging with the Hexcore, he had become more tranquil, more detached from such urges, until now.

The uncertainty of those first strokes quickly faded, replaced by a growing confidence. It felt as if some primal instinct had awakened, an ancient pull woven into the very fabric of his being, known to the blood of all living creatures.

He tilted his head back against the bathtub, his neck sinking into the cool metal, his breath becoming heavier as he continued the motion. His eyes closed lazily, and his mind drifted, lost in the rhythm, the thought of something warm, wet, surrounding him. 

A mouth. Soft lips stretching, rounded canines grazing just enough to tease, the blunt tip of a tongue flicking against him. The thought sent a shudder through him. Viktor quickened his pace, fingers tightening, chasing the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming need.

The imagined mouth, he could see it now, framed by a dusting of soft beard, sun-kissed skin glowing with warmth. He could feel it, the scrape of stubble against his inner thighs, the steady pull of lips wrapped around him, taking him deeper, holding him there, swallowing around him.

And there, beneath it all, a pair of warm hazel eyes, staring up at him.

Jayce.

The name crashed through him like a bolt of lightning. His hand stilled. His breath caught in his throat. Eyes fluttering open, he stared blankly at the ceiling, pulse hammering as the realization settled over him.

It all clicked into place. The puzzle that had been nagging at him, the irritation and hunger that flared up only in Jayce’s presence, when the man was within arm's reach but not looking at him, and how it would dissolve the moment Jayce leaned close. 

And then there was that unique joy, a quiet lightness, an unfamiliar happiness he hadn’t been able to name until now.

The reason felt natural, almost inevitable, as though it were the only answer that could make sense of everything. It was simple and logical, and it fit seamlessly into the web of his thoughts. Viktor didn’t hesitate; the answer was clear, and it didn’t take much for him to accept it, to embrace it with a calm certainty.

With the relief of finally solving the puzzle, Viktor resumed his actions. The image of Jayce slipped into his mind effortlessly, a natural intrusion as Viktor acknowledged his own feelings. 

He imagined how Jayce would treat a lover, whoever that lucky bastard was. 

But in his fantasy, it could be Viktor.

He pictured Jayce climbing over him, broad hands searing heat into his waist, fingers digging in just enough to claim. Jayce’s lips would part, plush and eager, as he took Viktor into his mouth, wet warmth enveloping him, stealing the breath from his lungs. The pressure, the slow, teasing drag of Jayce’s tongue, the way he would hollow his cheeks and take Viktor deeper, inch by inch, Viktor could almost feel it.

As a man too proud to accept anything less than excellence, Jayce would not need instruction. He would push himself, relentless in his pursuit of his partner’s pleasure, swallowing him down with quiet, unshaken determination. His brows would knit, his jaw tensing with effort, breath coming sharp and quick through his nose, but Jayce would not stop. Not when he could do better. Not when he could give more.

Viktor would slow him down, murmuring something low and indulgent, his fingers threading through Jayce’s hair, guiding rather than demanding. He would stroke his thumb over Jayce’s cheek, wiping away the tears that would undoubtedly gather at the corners of those earnest eyes.

Jayce would look up at him then, lips kiss-swollen, breath trembling, and with that smile, open, unguarded. It made him look even softer than he already was.

Viktor felt the heat build inside him, his release coming in his own hand. He stared at the wetness, the heat in his palm mingling with the faint, lingering scent of musk in the air. A twinge of discomfort twisted in his chest as his brows furrowed. 

Standing up, he moved to wash his hand, trying to scrub away the evidence, the feeling of it, but something in his mind shifted. A thought, a flicker of awareness, teasing at the edges of his consciousness.

He recognized the musk, even though he hadn’t experienced it in years. A bit confused, Viktor tilted his head, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. Reluctantly, yet driven by the need for clarity, he hesitated before pulling his hand closer, finally allowing himself to smell it carefully.

The familiar scent tugged at something deep within him. Now, he was certain he had smelled something like this recently. His eyes closed as he tried to trace the memory, sifting through the haze in his mind. Slowly, piece by piece, the memory began to surface, emerging from the depths of his mind.

It hit him all at once. When he had melted the door and broken into Jayce’s bedroom, when he had entered to find everything in its perfect place. Yet there Jayce was, sitting on his bed, awkward and flushed. 

Something lingered in the air, subtle but undeniable, like the ghost of movement that had just stilled.

At the time, Viktor hadn’t recognized it. But now, with this scent lingering in the room, he could place it.

A weak gasp escaped him as the realization struck. He understood now what he had interrupted that day. The warmth surged again, flushing through his face as his mind raced. He would need to find a way to apologize to Jayce.

More details flooded back, his mind shamelessly revisiting every moment of that memory, even as he tried to push it away.

Before he had entered the room, before he had done anything, something had drawn him in. He had heard it.

Jayce’s voice, wavering between weakness and something else, higher-pitched, unguarded, almost... begging.

And it was Viktor’s name on Jayce’s lips.

Jayce was thinking about him.

Viktor's breath hitched, his body trembling as a rush of embarrassment and overwhelming joy surged through him.

He see it now.

The message hidden within the pattern.

Chapter Text

The first thing Jayce registered upon waking was warmth. A deep, enclosing warmth that cocooned him in an unfamiliar way. The soft blanket was wrapped tightly around him, tucked up to his chin, even covering his lips.

Jayce was used to waking up in tangled sheets or, worse, with his blanket cast to the foot of the bed. His sleeping habits were terrible. He shifted until he was at the edge of the mattress, sprawled out, nearly falling off, kicking things away without realizing it. But now, he was neatly bundled, as if someone had carefully gathered the covers around him.

Jayce stretched. His limbs protested the movement, stiff from the stillness of sleep. It felt good. He could not remember the last time he had woken up feeling like this, fully rested, his body finally allowed to shut down completely.

And it must have, because Jayce had no memory of making it to bed. The past two weeks had blurred together. Sleep had lost its appeal as his thoughts tangled with unfinished calculations and the grounding presence of Viktor beside him. Until he lost sanity and crumbled onto the mattress at the corner of their workshop floor.

Viktor usually nudged him awake after a few hours of rest; it was an unspoken rhythm between them. But not this time, Viktor had somehow chosen to let him sleep.

A satisfying crack ran down Jayce’s spine as he stretched. He exhaled, sluggish but content, and lifted his head. Dimmed light filtered through the workshop’s glass window, tinted gold with the burn of the setting sun. It was evening.

His gaze shifted, and there at the work desk, hunched in quiet focus, sat Viktor. The sunset’s glow softened the edges of his hair, turning it a deep auburn. His back was to Jayce, his legs swinging slowly beneath the stool. His hand moved in a steady rhythm as he casually scribbled a note, pausing for a moment when Jayce squirmed in the nest of his blanket.

"Morning," Viktor said without turning, his voice laced with dry teasing at the sound of Jayce stirring.

Jayce ignored the jab. He groaned softly, rubbing a hand down his puffy face before peeling the blanket off his damp skin. His shirt clung uncomfortably, sweat-soaked from the heat of his slumber. He shuffled over to Viktor and plopped down beside him, close enough to catch the scratch of pencil against paper and the faint scent of Viktor’s shaving oil. 

Jayce leaned in, peering over Viktor’s shoulder at the notes. Neat, precise calculations filled the page, Viktor’s meticulous hand at work. Without a word, Viktor shifted his left arm aside, granting Jayce a clearer view as his pencil scratched faintly against the paper.

“You figured it out!” Jayce exclaimed, his voice spiking with excitement.

Viktor nodded, calm as ever. “I was waiting for you, so we can proceed with testing.” He slid the notes toward Jayce, then reached for a pair of paper bags on the table, placing them in front of Jayce. “These are for you.”

Jayce blinked, his attention immediately abandoning the notes in favor of the unexpected treat. Curiosity piqued, he straightened slightly and peered into the bags. The first thing he noticed was the weight of glass nestled within one of them. Carefully, he pulled it free, a small square bottle, the liquid inside catching the light.

Tilting his head, Jayce read the label: hair oil. He scratched his cheek, heat creeping into his face. When had Viktor noticed?

Unscrewing the cap, he let a few drops spill into his palm, rubbing them together to warm the oil. The light, familiar scent of myrrh and sage filled the air. Turning to Viktor, a sheepish smile tugged at Jayce’s lips. “Am I really that obvious?”

Viktor was already watching him. The thin, white half-mask covered the upper part of his face, but through the holes, his ever-color-shifting eyes studied Jayce’s expression with quiet intent. He must have been pleased with what he saw, as the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his amusement. Humming approvingly, he didn’t answer Jayce directly, instead nodding toward the second bag.

Jayce’s curiosity flared anew. He leaned forward, peering inside, and his face immediately brightened. Tucked neatly at the bottom were several pieces of golden-crusted, flaky pastry, inviting despite the cool air settling over them. His eyes lit up. “Oh! Are these the ones you were talking about?”

Viktor plucked a piece from the bag, holding it flat on his palm. Jayce barely had time to process the sence before his eyes widened in surprise. A faint glow bloomed on the mechanical hand holding the pastry, like embers beneath metal. The air shifted with the subtle crackle of heat, and the delicate flakes of the crust stirred ever so slightly, carried by the warmth radiating from Viktor’s touch.

Within moments, the butter and savory-sweet aroma unfurled through the room, rich and mouthwatering. A thin wisp of steam curled into the air as the pastry reached the perfect temperature, as if it had just come fresh out of the oven.

Jayce almost reached out his hand instinctively, but paused as he realized his palms were still slick with hair oil. Right. He should wash them. 

But before Jayce could push himself up, Viktor moved, smooth, effortless. He lifted the pastry and held it in front of Jayce’s mouth, offering it without a word.

Jayce stayed still.

No way. No freaking way was he eating it from Viktor’s hand.

Jayce forced an awkward smile, grasping for an excuse. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

Viktor didn’t so much as blink. His hand didn’t budge, the pastry hovering in front of Jayce’s lips, warm and fragrant. His voice, lighter than usual: “I don’t mind.”

Jayce leaned back slightly, his gaze darting away to the desk for an escape from Viktor’s expectant stare. His hazel eyes landed on the work desk, where Viktor’s open notebook still lay.

As if reading his thoughts, Viktor’s gaze narrowed, sharp and warning. “Don’t you dare think about wiping your fingers on my notes.”

Jayce swallowed. Damn it.

Viktor took advantage of his hesitation, pressing the pastry closer until its radiating warmth almost kissed Jayce’s lips. His voice dipped into something lower, coaxing. “Come now, it’s cooling down. Don’t make me pry your mouth open.”

Jayce felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. His eyes flicked toward Viktor, nervous, uncertain. The scent of caramelized butter and savory sweetness was irresistible, teasing his senses.

Seeing Viktor’s unwavering resolve, Jayce relented. Hesitantly, he parted his lips and tilted his head, trying to find an angle where he wouldn’t accidentally bite Viktor’s hand. It was harder than he expected. Viktor’s fingers almost entirely surrounded the pastry, leaving Jayce no choice but to bare his teeth and carefully, carefully grasp the delicate piece of pastry. His posture was anything but graceful, and by the displeased, judging expression on Viktor’s face, Jayce was certain he looked like a cautious animal trying to snatch the treat without contact. But it was infinitely better than having Viktor’s fingers in his mouth.

The pastry crumbled as soon as it touched his tongue, and suddenly the embarrassment was worth it. The perfect blend of subtle salty and sweet, the nutty paste and buttery crispness meshing together in a warmth that spread through his stomach. Jayce’s eyes widened, and before he could help it, he nodded vigorously, a small, satisfying hum of approval escaping his curling lips as he savored the piece.

Viktor propped his chin on one hand, watching Jayce with a quiet, satisfied gaze, his color-shifting eyes turning a warm shade of light orange. A serene smile curled at the edges of his lips as he spoke softly.

“I have something to tell you.”

Jayce made a muffled, questioning noise, his mouth still full. One eyebrow arched.

Viktor’s smile deepened, a subtle warmth flickering in his eyes. He leaned back slightly. 

"Moje malé slunce, daroval jsi mi ten nejcennější dar ve vesmíru.” 

With deliberate slowness, his words flowed smoothly in a language Jayce couldn’t understand. 

“Nemůžu se dočkat, co nám přinese naše jasná budoucnost, která na nás čeká, abychom ji prozkoumali."

Jayce swallowed the last bite of the pastry. His eyebrows shot up, so high they almost made his ears twitch. He stared at Viktor, who returned the look with a knowing gaze, the affectionate smile still tugging at his lips.

“...Which means?” Jayce finally asked, the words falling from his lips with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

Viktor’s eyes crinkled, the smile on his lips widening. He shook his head gently, a soft dismissal. “I can’t tell you yet, not until we finish our project.”

Jayce’s gaze flicked to Viktor’s face, studying his expression. “Why?”

Viktor’s smile deepened, and a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes, the color deepening to a warm, glowing honeyed orange. He leaned in just a fraction, his voice lowering, taking on an edge. “Because once I cross the line, I don't think I'll be able to restrain myself."

Jayce frowned at the ambiguous excuse. “Then why tell me this now?” The question tumbled out, tinged with accusation.

Viktor let out a low chuckle, his gaze never leaving Jayce’s. He blinked slowly. “Because I had to say something, one way or another.”

Jayce huffed, irked by the nagging curiosity of something hidden just out of his reach. He was certain Viktor was teasingly cursing him in his mother tongue.

“Well, I’ve got a plan to try after the project, too,” Jayce said, his tone intentionally defiant, unwilling to let Viktor hold all the cards.

Viktor tilted his head. “Oh? What’s that?”

Jayce couldn’t resist. He mimicked Viktor’s voice, repeating the annoying words with the exaggerated accent. “I can’t tell you yet.”

Viktor’s expression shifted subtly. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned in closer, his gaze sharp as he studied Jayce.

Jayce instinctively recoiled, but the chair offered little space for him to retreat. He could feel his heart pounding from Viktor’s proximity. His cheeks heated, a rush of warmth spreading through him as Viktor’s face came into focus, close enough that he could see the faint lines of Viktor’s lower lashes, how they framed his golden eyes with such intensity, giving them a sculptural, sharp edge.

Viktor chuckled again, pulling back just enough to give Jayce a little space, but not far enough for them to stop feeling each other’s breath on their faces. With a slight tilt of his head, almost arrogantly, Viktor whispered, “Somehow, I have a feeling I know exactly what that is about, Zlato.”

Jayce gasped, his eyes widening. “Did you just call me... a sloth?” His voice pitched up in mock outrage. “I oversleep once, and now we’re throwing names?”

Viktor’s smile spread, and he shook his head slowly, his laughter soft but low, like a hum vibrating deep in his chest. The sound seemed to echo around the room, vibrating in Jayce’s ears, tickling at his heart.

“Not sloth, Zlato,” Viktor repeated, enunciating each syllable despite his accent, the mysterious word rolling off his tongue like a secret.

“And what does that mean?” Jayce demanded, tone flat.

As expected, Viktor dodged the question. Instead, he leaned back slightly, a calm smirk on his lips. “After the project, we’ll do this properly. Be patient, Jayce.”

Jayce rolled his eyes. Why didn’t he have a cryptic native tongue to wield against Viktor? He let out a sigh, the weight of Viktor’s teasing still hanging in the air.

Jayce sighed. “Fine. We better work faster then. Give me a minute to rinse off.” He glanced at his oily hands and the shirt clinging to his sweat-dampened skin as he rose.

"Why?" Viktor asked, barely suppressing a soft laugh. "Because you're sweaty?"

Jayce shrugged absently, puzzled by Viktor’s awkward question. “Yeah, just to clear my head.” But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Viktor’s question was a setup.

Viktor’s laughter bubbled up quietly, his shoulders shaking with low, almost inaudible chuckles. Jayce glanced at him, noticing that Viktor couldn’t even meet his eyes after asking. Instead, he turned back to his desk, his laughter slipping out with an almost conspiratorial air.

Jayce paused mid-step toward the door, his brows furrowing. “What’s so funny?” he asked softly, leaning in closer to catch his partner’s eye. But Viktor shifted away, angling his body to avoid Jayce’s gaze. The chuckling man coughed, the sound more of an attempt to clear his throat than anything.

Jayce’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?” His voice laced with concern, but Viktor didn’t respond. Jayce reached out, careful not to let his oily palms touch Viktor’s skin, and gently placed the back of his hand against the exposed patch of skin at the back of Viktor’s neck, testing for any sign of warmth or fever.

It felt cool, of course it did. The absurdity of gauging a half-machine man’s health this way dawned on him too late. Before Jayce could fully process how ridiculous the gesture was, Viktor flinched at the touch, spinning around to grab Jayce’s wrist.

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat as Viktor’s eyes, those golden orbs, rich as honey, locked onto his with such intensity it felt as though they could burn right through him. The playful glimmer had vanished, replaced by something sharper, heavier... something far more serious.

Jayce suddenly felt as though he had crossed an invisible line. It wasn’t alarming, but there was something dangerous in those glowing eyes. Something that made him shrink back just a little, unsure of how to respond.

“Viktor?” Jayce’s voice was hesitant, slow. “What’s going on?” His brows furrowed, and he offered a soft, uncertain smile. “Did something happen when you were outside?”

Viktor’s gaze stayed locked on Jayce, unwavering, as though he were considering options. After a long pause, he finally loosened his grip on Jayce’s wrist, exhaling with a quiet release of pent-up tension. His voice, when it came, was steady but softened. “Nothing. Everything’s fine. We should start testing the project soon.”

Jayce nodded, still uneasy but trusting Viktor’s words. As Viktor resumed writing in his notes, Jayce made his way to the bathroom. As he closed the door of workshop behind him, he thought he heard Viktor’s soft chuckles, their warmth lingering in the air like a secret only Viktor understood.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure this is safe?" Jayce asked, uncertainty thick in his voice as he gripped one side of the table.

"Don't worry. If it kills you, I could bring you back to life," Viktor replied, his tone maddeningly calm. He lifted the other side, and together they moved the table to the corner of the workshop. "If you beg nicely now."

Jayce rolled his eyes. "Ha ha." His voice dropped, turning serious. "What if it deactivates your Hexcore? Shouldn't we be testing this in an open space instead?"

His worried gaze swept over their workshop. Every piece of furniture shoved aside, leaving the center open, but the space still felt confined, the walls pressing in around them.

Viktor leveled him with a warning stare. "If we do that, the disturbance will attract half of Zaun. You may as well run into the street naked, screaming that you are the Golden Boy from Piltover."

Jayce pressed his lips together, unconvinced, the furrow in his brow deepening.

Viktor sighed and spoke softly. "My Hexcore is far more advanced than the prototype’s target parameters. Trust me, Jayce."

Finding no sign of concession in Viktor’s expression, Jayce pouted and relented. He reluctantly crouched to retrieve the scattered pieces of their prototype, Blitzcrank, his hands moving with ease as he began assembling it in the workshop's center.

"What do you propose as the test subject?" Jayce asked, slotting the Hex Gem into the core of the prototype. "Something strong enough to be worth testing—to see if Blitzcrank can actually deactivate it?"

"About that..." Viktor’s voice carried a teasing lilt, and when Jayce glanced up, he caught the unmistakable glint of a smirk. The kind of smirk Viktor wore when he was far too proud of whatever he was about to say.

Jayce paused, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Viktor hummed but did not answer, keeping the suspense. He walked toward the workshop’s far wall, and Jayce’s wary eyes followed him.

Viktor pressed his palm to the metal, fingers splayed, and a soft glow emanated from his skin. Jayce’s eyes widened, shining with curiosity, as the thin layer of metal wall hissed and melted away, revealing a hidden space behind it.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jayce raised his brows as he peered past Viktor into the newly revealed room. He caught the faint outline of a bed, a few scattered books, and an unfolded robe draped over a chair. The air inside felt more personal, offering glimpses of private moments belonging to its owner.

"You have a bedroom hidden in the workshop?" Jayce’s voice rose, incredulous.

Viktor huffed. "Do not be ridiculous, Jayce." His eyes gleamed gold in the dim light. "Where else am I supposed to sleep?"

Jayce's brows furrowed. "You—You don’t sleep. I’ve never seen you rest! And meanwhile, I’ve been—" He gestured wildly toward the far corner of the lab, where a mattress lay on the floor, the familiar blue blanket half-crumpled on top. "I’ve been sleeping on that this whole time?"

The mattress, once just a practical spot to crash, now looked crude and lonely compared to how cozy the newly revealed room was.

A smirk spread across Viktor’s face. "Do you want to take my bed as well? The blanket alone was not enough?"

Jayce froze, his hands hovering awkwardly mid-air, unsure where to place them. "It was..." His gaze darted from the blanket to Viktor, then quickly away, anywhere but at him. "It was... a nice blanket."

Viktor chuckled, a rich, low rumble that vibrated through the space between them. He closed the distance, and Jayce’s body tensed even more as Viktor’s hand settled on his shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to make him aware of the coolness seeping through his shirt.

"Relax, I am not asking you to give it back." Viktor murmured, coaxing, then softer, something else laced beneath his tone, something suggestive. "Although, I would not mind if you wanted to share."

Jayce’s creative mind wandered. Share what—the blanket? Or the bed? But Jayce knew better than to voice the question aloud, not when it would undoubtedly lure him into something he was not capable of unraveling. So, he swallowed and looked away.

Unfortunately, his desperate attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere did not seem to reach Viktor.

Viktor leaned in, close enough that Jayce felt the whisper of his breath against his ear. His fingers tightened just slightly on Jayce’s shoulder.

"As long as you do not sweat too much on it," Viktor whispered, the comment drifting from his lips like a song.

Jayce almost jumped. Heat licked up the back of his neck, spreading to his cheeks. He took a sharp step back, brows furrowing as he looked at Viktor, caution scanning his teasing expression.

Did Viktor find out?

Jayce’s heated mind scrambled, sifting through the past few weeks in a frantic blur. He hadn’t had any quality alone time since the you-can-lock-the-door-I-can-melt-a-hole incident. He had cleaned up everything immediately that day, leaving no trace. Nothing had happened since then that could have blown his cover.

There was no way Viktor had figured it out now if he had not realized then.

Jayce forced himself to relax, his shoulders loosening as he willed his heartbeat to steady. Overreacting would only lead Viktor to pay attention to things he hadn’t noticed.

Jayce cleared his throat, mustering a scoff. "I sweat, but it’s not that much," he shot back, his voice at least steadier than he felt. "It’s normal, you know?"

Viktor’s eyes glinted with something distinctly unfair. "Oh, I was merely curious." He dragged his words out. "Now, would you say you sweat as much as the average adult male… or more?"

Jayce’s breath hitched. His chest rose sharply, but the inhale caught halfway, choking in his throat. "Can we not discuss this?" he snapped, a little too quickly. "We have a prototype to test!"

For a moment, Viktor did not move. His fingers still rested lightly against Jayce’s shoulder, his grip having loosened but not quite gone. His face still held that amused expression, savoring his victory and how miserable Jayce had looked in their banter.

Finally, mercifully, Viktor pulled away.

"Of course," he said, but the damn grin still tugged at his lips as he turned back toward the bedroom.

Jayce peeked after Viktor as he disappeared into the room, curiosity prickling at him. But before he could lean any further, Viktor reappeared. In his hand, he was holding—

"Why the hell is my Hammer in your bedroom?"

Jayce stepped forward quickly, habit kicking in as his fingers reached for the Hammer. The moment his skin met the familiar cool, matte texture of the handle, it eased him.

Viktor’s smirk faltered into something almost sheepish. "Ah. Yes. I meant to tell you that. Just… never found the right timing." He waved a hand vaguely. "I could not leave it sitting in the factory."

Jayce barely heard him. His grip tightened on the Hammer, excitement sparking brightly. "This is perfect!" he grinned, then, without thinking, patted Viktor enthusiastically on the shoulder. "If Blitzcrank can deactivate this, it should work against most Hextech weapons."

Jayce had turned back toward the prototype, dropping to the floor without hesitation, placing the Hammer beside him. Jayce leaned in, his hands and knees on the floor, and grabbed the nearest scrap of paper, flipping it to the empty side. His fingers moved quickly, the pencil scratching as he sketched the calculations, adjusting the index numbers to match the Mercury Hammer’s Hex Gem energy range.

Viktor crouched beside him, gaze flickering between Jayce’s scribbled notes and the fanatic expression on his face.

Jayce pushed himself upright, sitting on the floor as he passed the notes to Viktor. But Viktor did not take them.

Instead, he stared at something else.

Jayce frowned. As Viktor’s gaze fixed on his mouth, Jayce realized it. The pencil was wedged between his teeth.

Snapping out of it, he pulled the pencil from his mouth, only then realizing that he had been mindlessly nibbling the metal cap while lost in thought. The end gleamed under the workshop’s light, the cap brushed with the dampness of his mouth.

Viktor’s gaze followed the pencil.

Heat crawled up Jayce’s neck as he rubbed the pencil dry against his shirt, hoping to kill the moment before it got any more embarrassing. He shoved it into his shirt pocket with more force than necessary.

Viktor’s gaze trailed the motion, his eyes lingering on the innocent pencil sitting in the pocket as if it had personally offended him.

Jayce shifted his weight awkwardly. Finally, reluctantly, Viktor’s gaze flicked to the notes that Jayce had handed him, suspended in mid-air, waiting forever.

Viktor hummed, his focus returning the moment the calculations registered in his eyes. He reached for the prototype, adjusting the gears while his gaze darted between the prototype and the calculations.

Then a final check. A confirming nod.

Jayce held the Mercury Hammer in his hands as he moved further away from the prototype, its comforting weight grounding him. This was one of his fondest creations, a design he had dreamed of realizing since he was a kid, but not his greatest creation, not the way Jayce had used it.

If Blitzcrank worked, that would truly be his proudest achievement. Not just for what it could accomplish, but for how it had been made. For who had made it with him.

If everything worked according to plan, this might be the last time he used the Mercury Hammer.

His fingers brushed over the handle, tracing the spot where years of use had worn the paint thinner, where the metal had grown shinier from the press of his grip.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

"You know what?" Jayce murmured, looking up at Viktor. He turned the Hammer in his hands, then held it out to him. "Why don’t you do this?"

Viktor’s gaze snapped to Jayce’s face. No words were exchanged. Only the quiet, knowing weight of the locked gaze between two creators.

After a moment, Viktor reached out. He accepted the Hammer with a care that did not match its brutal weight. His fingers wrapped around the handle, light but steady, as if he were receiving a fragile piece of craft rather than a bulky, unyielding weapon.

His shifting irises softened, settling into a quiet amber glow as his fingers ghosted along the worn handle, following the grooves molded by Jayce’s touch.

Jayce laid his palm over Viktor’s cool hand, guiding it to the switch trigger. The coolness sent a shiver down his spine. His fingertips lingered just a moment longer than necessary before he pressed down, coaxing Viktor’s fingers to follow.

Viktor turned the switch as guided. The gears whirred, the heavy head of the Hammer splitting apart with a dull, mechanical hiss, revealing an energy globe. Light bloomed from within, casting a pale blue glow that reflected in Viktor’s adoring eyes.

"Magnificent," Viktor murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

Jayce withdrew his hand, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. The ghost of the sensation still tingled against his skin, an itch he resisted by flexing his fingers. Instead, he exhaled, shaking his head, and turned toward the center of the lab, where their prototype waited in patient silence.

Sliding his goggles over his eyes, Jayce threw a glance back at Viktor. "Ready?"

Viktor stepped back. He faced the prototype, gripping the Mercury Hammer. He nodded and braced himself.

Jayce felt his pulse quicken. His palms were slick, and he wiped them hastily on his shirt before steadying his grip on the prototype’s switch. A slow exhale, a final glance at Viktor, then he pressed.

The prototype whirred, its inner gears clanking into motion. Wheels spun faster, a shrill hum rising in pitch until—A burst of searing blue light exploded outward, flooding the room in a blinding glare. 

Jayce flinched, shielding his face with his elbow. Spots danced across his vision, the searing afterimage pulsing behind his eyelids. As he blinked, the lingering glow wavered, dimmed, then faded into nothing.

Peeking over his arm, Jayce turned sharply toward Viktor. Viktor was already looking back at him. Their gazes dropped in unison, fixing on the Hammer in Viktor’s grasp.

The Mercury Hammer still pulsed with the energy of the Hex Gem, stable and completely unaffected.

Jayce’s shoulders sagged. He pulled off his goggles, pushing them onto his forehead before scrubbing his face with both hands. A deep breath, a sharp pat to his own cheeks. He forced a grin, his voice coming out light but too tight.

"I’ll redo the range calculations. I probably missed—"

"Crank it."

Jayce blinked as Viktor cut him off. Viktor stared at him firmly, his jaw set. “Your calculations was fine. Just crank the intensity.”

Jayce hesitated, but the certainty in Viktor’s eyes rooted him. He bit the inside of his cheek, then turned back to the prototype, adjusting the intensity before hitting the button again.

This time, Jayce did not shield himself. He stood firm, eyes narrowing as the gears shrieked and the Hex Gem pulsed erratically, its surface quivering under the strain. Energy coiled tighter, glowing white-hot, the pressure mounting—until, with a breathless pause, it reached the brink of containment.

A second blast. Stronger. Sharper.

Jayce tracked the surge, following its course as it hits the Hammer. While the blast washed through the weapon, its exposed energy globe still gleaming, still untouched.

Jayce sighed, his breath heavy. Before he could force a joke to wash away the growing frustration—

Viktor’s knees buckled.

The sharp clang of metal limps hitting the floor rang through the lab, reverberating off the walls like a heartbreaking gunshot. For a breathless second, Viktor wavered, his body listing and unbalanced. As if in slow motion, he crumpled backward.

Jayce went cold. A rush of ice coursed through his veins, a sinking weight settling in his gut. His breath hitched, hands trembling as he pushed himself upright. His legs felt unsteady beneath him as he practically crawled to Viktor, nearly tripping in his haste to reach the fallen man.

Jayce ripped off his goggles, tossing them aside, and dropped to his knees beside Viktor. Viktor lay still, eyes shut, motionless. Jayce’s stomach churned. A sick, twisting panic clawed up his throat.

"Vik—Viktor?" His voice cracked. He lurched forward, hands hovering, unsure where to touch. His fingers found Viktor’s face, and he cupped his cheeks at the edge of the thin mask Viktor always wore, frantic but careful, terrified that too much pressure would make things worse.

“No, no, no, don’t you freaking dare do this to me!” Jayce cursed panickedly, his whole body caving in, shoulders curling, brows furrowed so tight they ached.

His lips pressed into a tight line, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Forcing himself to stay calm, he leaned in closer, checking for Viktor’s breath.

Viktor’s chest was unmoving and still, as Jayce stared in frantic desperation.

“Please, V! I… I—”

Jayce felt like he was going to be sick.

Then, a sudden grip.

An arm circled around his neck, locking him in place, pinning him down.

Jayce’s heart lurched as he was yanked forward, a startled yelp escaping his throat. He caught himself, palm slamming into the floor, but his face ended up pressed against Viktor’s chest, now rising as Viktor took a deep inhale.

His gaze snapped up just in time to meet Viktor’s—his face inches away, eyes snapping open, gleaming with mischief. 

"So you do know how to beg nicely," Viktor said, the grin on his face stretching wider, his tone laced with praise.

Jayce’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing. Relief slammed into him like a wave. His hair was all messy as he squirmed, freeing himself from the arm lock while Viktor was too busy giggling.

Jayce rubbed at his chest, trying to steady his breathing, his heart still hammering in his chest. The weight in his stomach from the fear quickly morphed into something more intense, roaring with a different kind of energy.

Viktor stood, brushing the dust off his robe as he picked up the Hammer with the other hand.

Jayce’s irritation flared, the pulse in his forehead pounding as he glared at Viktor.

Viktor met his gaze, chuckling as he ruffled Jayce’s already messy hair. His laugh grew louder, filling the room.

This asshole.

Jayce snapped. He aimed for Viktor’s chest, throwing a punch. But Jayce didn’t expect the punch to hit harder than he intended.

Viktor staggered, barely staying on his feet, and in that split second of chaos, his hand pressed against the Mercury Hammer’s trigger.

A surge of energy shot through the air. Instinctively, Jayce jerked his head, the searing heat passing just too close, a burning beam that nearly brushed his cheek.

Jayce could smell the burn of his hair in the air. He touched his heated cheek, the skin tingling, the faint burn lingering. His gaze flickered back to Viktor, whose face mirrored his own shock.

However, a faint flicker of light behind Jayce caught his attention, and he saw their shadows stretch across the workshop wall. His eyes widened as he turned to take in the sight before him.

The blast from the Hammer had seemingly revealed an invisible orb of energy, pulsing and surrounding the prototype, covering half the room.

The orb shimmered with a translucent, light blue glow, its surface vibrating with each pulse. The energy from the Hammer’s blast lingered, crackling against the orb, unable to penetrate.

Jayce’s lips parted. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the phenomenon before him. "Did it...?"

Viktor didn’t respond, his gaze flicking from the orb to the Hammer in his hands, brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, he aimed the Hammer’s head at the orb and pulled the trigger again.

Another beam of energy shot out, colliding with the orb.

The beam shattered on contact, splintering into smaller fragments that ricocheted off the orb’s surface. Tiny pulses of electricity sparked, rippling through the shield, but none of the energy breached its surface. The shielding orb quivered like water disturbed by a stone, yet it remained intact, the inside of the shield completely unaffected.

Jayce stood frozen, his mouth slightly ajar in awe. The unexpected effect of Blitzcrank, something more protective than he had anticipated, sent his mind racing. This opened up so many possibilities.

Jayce's eyes sparkled as he turned to look at his partner. Viktor was absorbed in the orb, his gaze locked on the light blue glow reflecting in his eyes. He reached the Mercury Hammer once more, firing another shot. The energy blasted into the orb with renewed intensity.

"Vik?" Jayce’s voice faltered, a slight edge of concern creeping in.

Jayce flinched as he watched Viktor pull the trigger again, the power of the shot stronger this time. Viktor looked obsessed, like a boy who had just gotten his hands on his new favorite toy.

"I really think you should go easy with it—"

The intense beam collided with the orb, and in an instant, the orb shattered.

Jayce didn’t have time to react. Viktor, quick as lightning, yanked him to the ground, shielding him with his metal body. Jayce’s head collided with the floor with a sharp, painful thud, and a weak moan escaped him. His vision blurred for a moment, the sting of pain making his eyes well with tears.

Jayce rubbed his throbbing head, a sense of relief flooding him as he found that Viktor, hovering over him, was unscathed. Viktor’s eyes were filled with concern, the weight of his earlier playful attitude gone. His face softened with an unspoken apology.

A fluttering noise stole Jayce’s attention from Viktor, his gaze shifting to a piece of paper drifting gently toward them.

As he scanned the room, the air seemed charged with something strange. Small fragments of the shattered orb still crackled in the air, floating in a soft, magical blue haze.

The objects around them, tools, pens, equipments, began to lift off the ground, rising weightlessly as if obeying an unseen force.

Jayce’s breath hitched as he realized, with mounting disbelief, that they too were rising. He instinctively reached for Viktor, clinging to him.

The subtle shift was minimal at first, just a faint sensation of lightness. But slowly, they began to float higher, the pull of gravity no longer holding them down. Their bodies drifted together, spinning gently in the weightlessness.

The room’s soft, glowing light enveloped them in an ethereal calm. The entire world seemed to slow down, leaving them both adrift in a quiet, floating dance.

Jayce’s arms tightened around Viktor's waist as they floated higher, almost reaching the ceiling of the workshop. Their bodies pressed together, hips brushing, legs tangled. Viktor’s steady presence and their closeness were enough to anchor Jayce’s restless heart.

"Vik, what’s happening?" Jayce hushed, his voice barely audible, afraid to break the spell that held them both in place.

Viktor didn’t respond immediately, his wide eyes still fixed on the glowing remnants of the shattered orb. When he finally turned to Jayce, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. "I have no idea. But the shielding orb—"

Viktor reached into Jayce’s shirt pocket, retrieving the notes and pencil. He began jotting something down, pressing the paper gently against Jayce’s chest as he worked.

Jayce held Viktor firmly, both arms tightened to keep him close, unwilling to let go, afraid Viktor might slip away.

"If there’s enough energy," Viktor murmured, "we could create an orb large enough to protect an entire area. Even a city."

Viktor casually clipped the pencil to his robe as he showed the note to Jayce. "Of course, we need to ensure it's strong enough first, so it doesn’t break like this."

Jayce’s eyes flicked over the calculations, humming. “I can definitely build something like that. Hexgate currently produces that level of energy output.” He nodded, a spark of determination lighting his eyes. “I’ll need some time though, to sketch the design from memory alone.”

Viktor nodded in agreement, slipping the note back into Jayce’s pocket. He chuckled softly, his hands settling around Jayce's waist, returning the embrace. “This is great progress, Jayce.”

Jayce smiled warmly, mirroring Viktor’s grin. Jacye's gaze shifted, catching a faint movement behind Viktor. Something seemed to float past them.

Jayce reached out to grab it, the motion making him drift forward. Before he could lose himself to the momentum, Viktor’s hands tightened around his waist, pulling him firmly back into their embrace. Jayce grabbed the object, his fingers curling around it as he brought it closer, a sudden thought flickering in his mind. Unable to resist, he giggled, his eyes alight with amusement as he studied it intently.

Viktor watched him with a furrowed brow, his gaze fixed on the steel cog Jayce held. He shot a questioning look at Jayce, who was still chuckling, as if the cog had some secret power tickling him.

Jayce held the cog up between them, presenting it to Viktor. It gleamed in the soft, magical blue light that lingered in the air, making the otherwise mundane object look enchanted.

Jayce asked, his voice still carrying a trace of warmth from his earlier laughter, “What are the components of steel?”

Viktor, his tone curious but unsure of where Jayce was going with this, answered, “Iron and carbon.”

Jayce’s gaze softened as he spoke slowly, almost to himself, “Isn’t it funny? Iron—magnetic, yet brittle.” His fingers ran gently over the cog, his voice laced with a quiet affection. “Carbon—essential to life, but fragile.”

Jayce turned the piece over in his hand, eyes glimmering. “But when they come together, they form steel. Strength, dependability. Far more stable than either element alone.”

His eyes shimmered with affection as he finally met Viktor’s gaze.

“Together, they form the backbone of modern progression.”

Viktor took the steel cog as Jayce passed it to him, but his eyes stayed on Jayce, gleaming with an almost otherworldly glow. The soft, warm hues of orange-pink shimmered in his irises, resembling the colors of a sunset. It softened him, like the warm sunlight had gently kissed his moonlit face, casting a serene glow.

The dim, flickering blue light from the shattered orb energy caught in Viktor's hair, making the floating strands curl slightly around the edge of his mask. Jayce’s fingers brushed them away gently, his touch skimming the cool, matte surface of the mask. His thumb traced lightly against it.

Jayce wondered what the face hidden behind the mask looked like.

Viktor swallowed, his throat working visibly. His lips parted, as though he were about to speak, but the words never quite came.

Jayce’s pupils dilated, his gaze fixed on Viktor’s lips, drawn to them in a way that made his breath catch. His hand shifted, fingers grazing Viktor’s mask before settling to cup his chin gently.

Jayce's pulse quickened. He swallowed hard, inching slightly closer, waiting for Viktor to say something or pull away.

Viktor remained still, his gaze locked on Jayce.

Jayce was drawn in, closer and closer, each heartbeat louder than the last. 

In the final breath before their lips would meet, Jayce pulled away with a sharp inhale, his lips brushing lightly against Viktor’s cheek instead. The closeness lingered like a spark between them.

No, not yet. Jayce couldn’t risk it now. They were so close to the goal. 

Jayce pulled Viktor closer, sinking into him, tightening his arms around him with need. His head buried into the crook of Viktor’s neck, panting as he tried to steady his breath and calm his racing heartbeat.

The metallic aroma of Viktor’s skin filled Jayce’s senses, blending with his own heated musk. The familiar notes of myrrh and sage intertwined, merging in perfect harmony. It was an intoxicating blend that enveloped them both, grounding and soothing. The scents mingled so seamlessly that Jayce couldn’t tell where his own ended and Viktor’s began.

For now, this was enough.

Chapter Text

Jayce woke with a groggy blink, rubbing his swollen eyes. His throat felt parched, a dull throb pulsing behind his temples, the price of their celebration over progress. He shifted, lazily rolling off the mattress on the floor. The early morning air was sharp against his skin, biting through the lingering warmth of sleep. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, bracing himself before pushing upright.

Notes and tools lay scattered across the workshop, a chaotic mess left in the wake of the weightless incident from their experiment. Jayce chuckled at the memory, still feeling the haze of wine clouding his thoughts, the aftertaste lingering like old paper on his tongue. He stumbled forward, his feet unsteady as he fumbled through the clutter.

His feet landed on a crumpled sketch, and before he could react, it slid out from under him. His arms flailed for balance, but the blanket tangled around his legs, yanking him down. Jayce hit the floor face-first, his nose smashing into the open pages of a notebook.

He groaned, grimacing as he peeled himself away. The notebook looked aged. Handwritten notes and intricate diagrams filled the pages in tight, precise script. As he blinked through the remnants of his hangover, one phrase stood out among the scrawled text:

Glorious Evolution

Jayce giggled, his gaze drifting toward the desk, where a small, cobbled-together robot sat among the scattered tools—the little Machine Herald.

He remembered crafting it, pulling pieces from the mechanical dove he had dismantled. The tiny microphone and recorder had been tucked inside, probably meant for surveillance. He had repurposed them, wiring them into the small robot.

He remembered the phrase: Glorious Evolution. It had come from one of Viktor’s old books, the ones he had shoved into Jayce’s hands during that first week, back when Jayce still called the whole situation an abduction. The phrase had sounded so absurdly grandiose that Jayce could not help but chuckle. Recording it had been a struggle; he had needed several takes before managing to say the words without cracking up.

Jayce did not really know what the term referred to. Curiously, he hummed and studied the notebook sprawled open before him. His fingers brushed over the ink, smudged in places from hurried writing. The words stood out, stark and elegant:

Flesh is a weakness we must shed.

The future is steel and science.

I am the herald of the Glorious Evolution.

Jayce covered his lips as an airy giggle squeezed through them. These lines sounded even more dramatic than the term itself. If he had found these first, he definitely would have used them for the robot’s recording instead.

An end to cruelty, injustice.

War, pain, suffering.

Energy spent only to consume itself.

All of us our own authors, to an unbroken saga of progress.

To the benefit of all.

Jayce’s chuckle faltered, turning dry in his throat. This couldn’t be serious. Right?

His gaze lingered on the washed ink of each letter. The pages were old, edges brittle, corners curling from years of wear. Maybe these were just the wild musings of a younger Viktor, half-formed thoughts scrawled out in a late-night burst of ambition after too much coffee. After all, as a scientist, who didn’t have a few maniacal ideas?

As Jayce flipped to the next page, his breath hitched. The notes continued, reworked, rewritten, amended. The ink here looked fresher than in the first few lines.

His gaze dropped to a diagram sprawled across the page, its intricate lines forming a design that sent a chill down his spine. A system, something that could connect minds across an entire city. A power that could allow someone to brainwash a city the size of Piltover.

The last traces of his smile vanished. His mind snapped fully sober. 

His eyes darted to the scribbled annotations beside it. His pulse pounded against his temples as he followed the flow of the notes, each line pulling him deeper into something he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.

One world, connected — Need to secure a strong energy source.

Without pain. Sharing joy.

His fingers trembled as he reached the last line. It was underlined, circled again and again, the emphasis pressing deep into the page, as if it were an answer to everything.

Jayce.

Viktor seldom needed sleep, but last night he had allowed himself to indulge, drinking, laughing, sharing silly stories. The alcohol had softened the edges of his thoughts just enough to pull him into rest. A few hours were all his body required to burn through the effects, leaving him clear-headed once more. He was, however, unsure whether Jayce had woken.

Thinking of the other resident of the workshop, Viktor patted his robe, retrieving the pencil he had tucked away. He studied its tip for a moment, the metal cap catching the dim light, reflecting a faint outline of his own face. His gaze lingered before he set the pencil on the shelf, right beside the sketch Jayce had made of him. A page he had carefully taken from Jayce’s notebook without him noticing, now framed and preserved as if it had always belonged there, nestled among his other collections.

He stepped out of his bedroom, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the workshop. The sight before him made his lips twitch in amusement.

Jayce was sprawled on the floor, a blanket tangled around his waist and legs. The moment Viktor entered, Jayce’s attention snapped away from the open notebook in front of him. He looked utterly startled. Wide-eyed, hair a tousled mess, lips parted in silence as he lay there like a cocooned wreck of last night’s indulgence. His stare was so fierce it made Viktor almost doubt the mask still covered his face. Those hazel eyes pierced straight through, as if looking into his soul.

Viktor walked closer, but Jayce said nothing, only continuing to stare at him with that foolish expression. Viktor could not help himself; he grabbed hold of the blanket and lifted the cocooned man with ease.

"Viktor!?"

Jayce finally snapped out of his daze, letting out a startled yelp as he squirmed in Viktor’s grasp, wriggling helplessly like a caterpillar suspended in midair. Viktor’s lips curled into a sly smile.

Viktor carried him effortlessly, placing Jayce in the chair. Once seated, Jayce quickly freed himself from the blanket, his eyes locking with Viktor’s. His mouth opened and shut a few times, as if searching for the right words but finding none. His complaint remained unspoken, conveyed only through his wary stare.

Viktor, unfazed, did not mind. Instead, he reached for the small medical kit on the shelf. Viktor cupped Jayce’s chin, his fingers gently holding it in place.

Jayce’s eyes widened, and he let out a small noise, his hands instinctively grasping Viktor’s.

"Your face," Viktor explained, gently pointing to Jayce’s cheek, where the energy beam from the Hammer had grazed him. The mark had reddened and become more visible this morning.

Jayce hesitated for a brief second before sheepishly pulling his hands back. Though he allowed Viktor to continue, his body remained stiff under Viktor's touch, the tension still lingering in his frame. Viktor cleaned the reddened skin with alcohol, and Jayce flinched slightly at the sting but stayed still.

Jayce’s eyes flicked toward him but quickly darted away, his gaze avoiding Viktor’s. Viktor kept working, his lips curving into a suggestive smile. “Liking what you see?”

Jayce didn’t answer immediately, holding his silence for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, and he avoided the teasing bait.

“The day at the factory…”

Viktor cut a piece of bandage, his eyebrows lifting slightly at Jayce’s unexpected words, waiting for him to continue.

“The day at the factory—why did you save me? We...”

Jayce paused, his tone lightening.

“We were enemies. Why would you trust me enough to bring me here?”

Viktor’s hands stilled for a heartbeat as he looked back at Jayce. The warm eyes that met his seemed hesitant yet heavy, as if weighed down by something unknown. Viktor’s playful smirk flattened.

“I don’t know.” Viktor’s answer was soft, honest. “But something told me I couldn’t let you die like that.”

He spoke the words as he gently placed the bandage on the reddened skin of Jayce’s face, his touch careful yet firm.

“That’s pretty honorable,” Jayce said slowly, his words measured. “I can’t say I would be able to do the same... unless there was a good reason.”

Viktor hummed softly, finishing the bandage with a precise tap. His gaze didn’t waver as he looked back at Jayce.

“Perhaps. Anyway, I’m pleased you’re here,” Viktor replied.

Jayce’s hazel eyes locked onto Viktor’s, searching him with a quiet intensity. His jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed slightly as he studied Viktor’s face.

After a moment, perhaps he found the answer, or perhaps he didn’t. He looked away, his brow still knit in quiet confusion, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Chapter Text

Viktor’s gaze swept across the workshop as he pushed open the door. At the center of the room, his partner sat at the table, half-turned toward him as the door clicked shut behind him. A small, constrained smile curled at the corner of Jayce’s mouth in quiet acknowledgment before his attention drifted back to the notebook in front of him.

The same practiced, perfect smile echoed on the painted Jayce Talis illustration on the cup resting beside his hand. Something about that smile itched beneath Viktor’s skin.

Viktor set the paper bag on the table and slid into the seat beside Jayce. His gaze flicked toward the notebook, brow lifting. As expected, not much had changed since he had left the house hours ago. Viktor leaned on the table, propping his chin on his hand as his eyes lingered on the man beside him.

Jayce’s pencil scratched across the page, the sketch looping into the same meaningless patterns. His shoulders were tight, weight shifting restlessly in his seat. Still, his eyes stayed fixed on the notebook,  stubborn and tense.

Viktor’s foot hooked around the leg of Jayce’s stool and turned it, forcing him to face Viktor. Jayce’s big hazel eyes finally lifted to meet Viktor’s gaze.

Viktor's cool fingers brushed Jayce’s chin, tilting his face slightly to the side. "I told you not to take it off." Viktor's thin lips pressed into a hard line.

“It was healed,” Jayce muttered. The small, practiced smile returned to his face, but his voice was low, missing its usual bright energy.

Viktor let out a disapproving scoff. He grabbed the paper bag from the table and pressed it into Jayce’s hands. The warmth seeped through the thin paper, drawing Jayce’s attention. While he was distracted, Viktor reached for the medical box on the shelf and pulled out a small bandage.

Jayce opened the bag, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the pastries inside. The practiced, symmetric smile finally broke into something wider and more imperfect, a flash of rounded canines peeking through.

Viktor smirked as Jayce stuffed a bite-sized piece into his mouth. Warmth softened the hazel eyes, and the tension in his shoulders eased, melting away.

While Jayce savored the pastries, Viktor pressed the bandage over the light wound on his cheek, a thin layer of ointment cooling the delicate new skin beneath. His fingers moved with precision. The burn had nearly healed. Viktor exhaled, relieved that the wound likely wouldn’t leave a scar. He had feared it would be a constant reminder of his relentless mistakes every time he looked at Jayce's face for the rest of his life.

As Jayce reached for a second pastry, Viktor teased, "I knew it would cheer you up."

The words, however, seemed to break the spell. Jayce’s warm smile faltered, freezing on his face as if he had just woken from a haze.

"Actually..." His hand hovered mid-air, the pastry still pinched between his fingers. "I think... I would prefer something else."

"Like what?" Viktor asked curiously, pressing down the edges of the bandage to seal it.

"Like... something spicy? Maybe something bitter?" Jayce said, his voice trailing off with a ridiculous uncertainty, as if even he wasn’t sure where this was going.

"Lásko," Viktor huffed, amused. "Your spice tolerance is terrible. Last time you tried that chili dish, you couldn’t even finish it."

"But I liked it!" Jayce’s breath hitched. "Maybe you shouldn’t assume what people actually want."

“I know what you want.” Viktor shrugged, a confident smile tugging at his lips. “You always go for dishes with a sweet and salty flavor profile. You prefer rich aromas and textures. Herbs, mostly, with just a hint of spice.”

Viktor paused, briefly lost in thought. Maybe they should have honey-glazed pork ribs for dinner. Jayce had nearly become frantic, vibrating with excitement the first time he tried it. If the pastry had failed to do the job, perhaps the ribs would.

It wasn’t as if their project was progressing smoothly anyway. Jayce seemed stuck, his progress at a standstill. They could afford to spend some time in the kitchen.

Jayce’s lips parted, caught off guard for a moment, his lie exposed. After a beat, he recovered. “Yes—but... what I’m trying to say is... I think it’s important to give people choices.”

Viktor finally met Jayce’s gaze as he finished sealing the bandage around his cheek. Jayce stared at him, his eyes scanning. But the moment Viktor locked eyes with him, Jayce quickly averted his gaze.

Jayce let out a dry laugh, shifting uncomfortably under Viktor’s probing stare. He cleared his throat, attempting to continue the unnatural conversation.

“Speaking of which,” Jayce asked, voice tight, “what do you think about free will?”

Viktor tilted his head, his brows furrowing. After a pause, his hand shifted from Jayce's cheek to the back of his head. His fingers checked the spot where Jayce had hit the floor during the night of the prototype testing. There was nothing—no swelling, no bump. The scalp had protected him well when Viktor had failed to shield him.

Still, Viktor’s touch lingered. "Do you have a headache?"

"Huh? I guess, yeah, but don’t change the topic—"

“Dizziness? Nausea?” Viktor’s hand returned to Jayce’s face, tilting his head upward. His grip was firm as he drew closer, forcing Jayce’s eyes open. His fingers hovered over his pupils, carefully checking how they dilated.

“What are you—” Jayce realized, grabbing Viktor’s wrists and pulling them away from his face. “I don’t have a concussion.”

“It’s safer to check.” Viktor’s tone was firm and unyielding, unfazed by Jayce’s offended expression. His fingers began to glow, hovering over Jayce’s skin, waiting for him to release his grip.

Jayce let out a small yelp, his eyes widening as he stared at Viktor’s hand. His grip tightened, yanking Viktor’s hand further from his face as he hissed, “Stop it.”

The glow almost faded immediately, and Viktor hesistately retracted his hand. Jayce’s body remained tense, leaning away from him, trying to put as much distance between them as the seat allowed.

Viktor felt a shift in the air, his hands lingering awkwardly, unsure of where to place them. Instinctively, his hands slid into the pocket of his robe, fingers brushing against something cold and hard. Viktor paused, his fingers hesitating before he realized it was the cog he had kept close to him.

“Jayce.” Viktor’s finger slowly rubbed the cog, the coolness grounding him. “Whatever you’re trying to hint at, just say it. We’re awful at this.”

Jayce’s brows dropped lower, an almost defeated look crossing his face. His eyes darted to Viktor, indecision flickering in his gaze. His entire body seemed to shrink, as if trying to make his tall frame smaller. His hands fidgeted awkwardly in his lap.

"I mean..." Jayce let out a nervous laugh, his voice shaky as he tried to deflect. "What if you don't like what I say and end up killing me, huh?"

His eyes flickered, avoiding Viktor’s gaze.

“Perhaps, it depends.” Viktor said, rolling his eyes at Jayce’s attempt at humor. “Or maybe... you deserve a little death.”

“What?” Jayce’s voice shot up in surprise, caught off guard by Viktor’s little revenge. His jaw dropped, eyes wide, as a deep red spread across his face. The color crept up his neck, down to his chest, disappearing beneath his shirt.

Viktor said nothing, simply giving Jayce a look of waiting. His eyes were half-lidded, his gaze piercing as he watched the flustered man, one leg crossed and swinging impatiently.

The redness still lingered on Jayce’s tanned skin, but after a long beat, he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. His whole body radiated tension, as if he were struggling to contain it. 

“What’s your plan after Blitzcrank works?” Jayce asked, his voice still a little too stiff.

Viktor hummed. “You will know once it’s done, Lásko.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. “What does Lásko even mean?”

“Be patient, Jayce,” Viktor said, his tone calm as he tried to comfort him. “You have a plan after the project too, don’t you?”

“I… I had one.” Jayce’s answer was too quiet. “But I’m not so sure now.”

Viktor uncrossed his legs, straightening his posture. He tilted his head slightly, his hand reaching out slowly to brush over Jayce’s twitching fingers. Jayce let him, their eyes breaking contact as his gaze dropped to their joined hands.

“Forget it.” Jayce’s voice wavered, his shoulders tense. “I guess I’ve just been stressed with the progress… and… missing home.”

Jayce returned his gaze to the notebook in front of him, continuing the endless calculations. His eyes, however, remained unfocused, as if solving a puzzle that wasn’t on the page.

Viktor stared quietly, his hand continuing to rub the cog in his pocket. He hoped it would anchor him, grounding the unfamiliar sensation growing deep in his core.

Chapter Text

Jayce had pressed his fingertips into his temples, working slow circles. He had sat hunched, his torso folded partway over his thighs like soaked fabric left to dry stiff in a sagging shape. One elbow had rested on his knee, the hand beneath his chin gone numb from the weight of his heavy head. His back had ached, pulled tight from being curled in that same tense posture for too long.

His little reconnaissance mission was not going well. He earnestly wished Cait were here. Sharp-eyed, cool-headed Caitlyn, who could sniff out a clue in a roomful of dust and turn it into a case file. Give her a few hours in Viktor’s workshop, and she would probably drop a book-length report on his desk, complete with diagrams, footnotes, and a color-coded index. All to explain how a sugar cube left on the counter somehow absolved Viktor of trying to become the next god of the modern age.

Or if only Mel were here. She could have negotiated with Viktor using that elegant, persuasive finesse, the kind that could make even the slickest-tongued trader break a sweat under her smile. It would not have been the first time Jayce found himself lost in the moment as Mel proposed something that seemed completely out of the blue, in a situation that had appeared utterly deadlocked. Only later would he realize how effortlessly she had shifted the balance of power with just a few well-placed words, the brilliance of it all striking him hours afterward, usually mid-shower.

But it was Jayce who ended up here. Fate, in its infinite brilliance, had appointed him as Piltover’s diplomatic ambassador, charged with mediating with the most crucial mind in Zaun’s military advancement. And while the gods had generously gifted Jayce with a brilliant mind capable of redefining the laws of physics, they had also, perhaps out of fairness, made sure he was not invincible in every respect. Particularly not in reconnaissance. Or negotiation.

So far, the future of Piltover, and possibly worse, humanity as a whole, rested precariously on his miserable attempts to interrogate Viktor about his evolution plan through a series of awkward, hypothetical questions.

The good news was that Viktor did not seem to suspect Jayce’s true intentions behind the probing. The bad news was that even Jayce himself was not entirely sure what he was trying to accomplish. 

He even pretended to be asleep, putting on a whole one-man show, muttering dramatic dream-words that hinted at a nightmare involving brainwashing and mind control. All the while, he kept one eye slightly cracked open, desperately sneaking glances to catch the other man’s reaction across the workshop, trying to gauge where his attitude truly leaned.

And Viktor’s response? Silence at first, then a quiet, airy chuckle.

Unsettling. Alarming, even. Because surely someone who respected free will would not laugh at the idea of its disruption. Jayce could almost imagine existentialist scholars shaking their heads in dismay, mourning the attempted assassination of autonomy and choice.

Or was it, instead, a peace signal? An assurance that Viktor was at ease, because he had nothing to hide. The chuckle, perhaps, was like a parent gently teasing a child for fearing the imaginary monster under the bed, something that was certainly, definitely not real, and would never come to pass.

Jayce leaned back, resting his head against the chair, his heavy-lidded eyes drifting up toward the ceiling. He pinched the bridge of his nose, both broad hands scrubbing down his face.

His gaze slid toward the hallway that stretched between the workshop and the front door. He had woken early from uneasy sleep, his eyes snapping open the moment he heard the main door shut as Viktor left the house at dawn.

These times were usually the most maddening moments. Those long stretches of silence, when Viktor was gone, the house still, and Jayce was left alone with nothing but a mind too loud and hands too free. Each irritating tick of the clock pushed him closer to making a choice.

He knew Viktor had sealed the house. Jayce had sneaked out of his room after his first aborted escape attempt, driven by sheer curiosity to see if Viktor had built a more challenging puzzle to replace that ingeniously designed mechanical butterfly lock. He had run his fingers along every inch of the upgraded door. Viktor’s answer had been simple: a door would be impossible to pick if there was no lock at all, guarded instead by metal that would yield only to Viktor’s melting touch.

But really, nothing could lock Jayce Talis. Not when both of his hands were free.

If Viktor stayed true to his pattern, he would not return before early noon, presumably out stocking up supplies. The letter Jayce had left on the workshop counter was gone as well; Viktor had agreed to deliver these regular letters to Cait and his mother, although Jayce never really knew if he actually followed through. Either way, he had signed it with the code: Mustard Glasses.

The code words Jayce chose for each letter slipped further from their intended purpose, acting less like formal safety reports and more like intimate updates between friends on the state of his heart. From Violet nightgown to Plum Oil, Lavender Tie, Sapphire Mug, Indigo Blanket, Turquoise Pie, and finally, Olive Pillow. He could almost picture Cait reading them, if those letters ever reached her, huffing at how each code word shouted his admiration and affection so loudly that even someone with zero deduction skills could decode it.

That was until he found that notebook.

Mustard Glasses. The words hung heavy on the page. It was the first time Jayce had dipped into the caution zone of their code system. His pen hovered, wavering, but in the end he pressed down. Stay alert. Prepare for defense.

The clock ticked again, loud and unrelenting, hammering a questioning beat that echoed in his ears. Why had he not chosen something from the danger zone, something screaming for immediate action? How much more proof did he need? Was the notebook, his own name circled in red ink beneath a full blueprint and planogram of a brainwashing protocol, not already siren enough?

Was this just like that time back at the academy, when Jayce had thought the "Academy's Best and Brightest" was genuinely interested in his still-forming Hextech project? When he had been grateful for the curious questions, the patient listening, the encouraging comments, while no one else in the class had believed in his idea. Only to find out later that the prick had been mocking him all along, calling him a fool chasing a dream too big for his own head. A "stripped screw," as they had labelled him.

His mind warned him. History was repeating itself, but this time the lesson would demand more than a bruised ego patched over by scribbled insults in a journal. His name would sit alongside Paris, the foolish and cowardly prince of Troy, a fool who blindly followed his selfish affection and dragged a city to ruin. Ironically, Jayce had never even fully seen Viktor’s face, that white half-mask stubborn as a clam clamped tight around its secret.

But his heart was singing a different melody.

It hummed to the bloom of warm orange in Viktor’s eyes whenever they found him. To the reluctant curve of his lips when Jayce cracked foolish puns. To the subtle shift of Viktor’s shoulders, easing just slightly whenever Jayce came close.

Jayce could not convince himself that someone could fake this. Viktor might have a body altered by the Hexcore, defying the limits of physics and biology, but Jayce could not believe he would fabricate that.

Small things. Gentle things. The kind that made doubting feel like a betrayal.

His heart warned him. One wrong step, and it would be a cruelty worse than the one he committed years ago, when he had received the mechanical monkey without understanding the hand that offered it. He could be burning the only bridge that might ever unite the two cities. Worse, he would be losing the only unique cog in the world that perfectly matched his gear.

He wanted to listen to his heart—

A sharp, sudden knock on the door shattered the chaos in Jayce’s mind. He jolted upright, nearly falling from his chair as he snapped back into a more composed posture. His eyes shot toward the entrance.

Viktor never knocked.

The knock came again, louder this time, longer. It echoed with the persistent urging ticking of the clock.

Jayce stood up slowly, making sure not to make even the faintest sound or move the chair. He crept toward the corridor, each step light and careful. As he neared the door, he crouched slightly, just in case anyone outside might peek through the glass window at the top of the metal door.

Jayce held his breath as he reached the door. He pressed his ear close to the edge between metal, straining to catch any sound that might reveal something about the mysterious visitor.

"Herald?"

The clue came with a voice that made the hairs on the back of Jayce’s neck stand on end. That magnetic voice, carrying the bright edge of a young man. It took Jayce a moment to recognize who it was, mostly because of how ridiculous it was for the owner of that voice to be here.

Jayce quietly lifted his head, just enough to peer through the colored glass. Adrenaline sharpened his vision, allowing him to catch the scene in a lightning glance. A lean figure in a dark green jacket stood outside, the face beneath the hood hidden by a white mask that resembled an owl or some kind of bird.

The concealed face did not fully confirm Jayce’s suspicion. The outfit was so different from what he remembered, far from the uniform he was used to seeing the professor’s assistant in. But the height and the build looked correct. Jayce felt like his heart was beating so fast it might leap out of his throat.

What was he doing here? How did he know Viktor? How long had they known each other?

The knocking finally stopped, as the visitor had finally accepted his visit was fruitless. A metallic squeaking sound made Jayce instinctively step back from the door, just as an envelope was squeezed through the letter flap.

Jayce stared at the cursed envelope lying on the floor, long after the footsteps outside had faded away, replaced by the steady ticking of the clock. His wide eyes locked onto the ink scrawled across it: Craft what you owe by next week. It was signed with a symbol that looked like a tilted hourglass.

It was Ekko’s handwriting. Jayce had known the young man for years, impressed by a talent almost too brilliant to be content with the role of someone’s assistant. He had welcomed him into the lab, eager to show off the work he was proud of. It had been hard not to, not when Ekko had offered him curious questions, patient listening, and encouraging comments.

The deep breath seemed to finally summon enough courage for Jayce as he crouched down and laid his hand on the envelope. Before he had even fully pulled the document inside free, he recognized it. After all, he had spent ages working on it.

The Hexgate blueprint.

Jayce's eyes followed the flow of the notes, each line pulling him deeper into something he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand:

 

One world, connected — Need to secure a strong energy source.

 

Jayce.

Viktor stood at the door, his feet tense from standing still for too long.

It was not rational. Stalling would not let him escape the inevitable fate waiting on the other side.

Someone exiting held the door open for Viktor, an unasked kindness that left him no choice but to step inside. The store owner gleamed as he caught sight of Viktor.

Viktor was displeased. He wished he could revert to the Herald form, the one he felt far more comfortable wearing in public. Or at least the mask he used in the workshop. But he could not afford to draw attention, not even a hint of suspicion that might scandalously link the Machine Herald to this place.

The owner took Viktor’s furrowed brow as a sign of hesitation and approached with a smile. "First time?" he asked.

The heavy Piltover accent did little to ease the tension in Viktor’s brow. The higher pitch at the beginning of each sentence, coupled with the soft, over-pronounced vowels, filled the air with a needless, flowery sort of poshness. Unfortunately, accepting the owner's assistance would get things sorted quicker, so Viktor gave a stiff nod.

The owner beamed even brighter as he approached Viktor, a bit too close, close enough that Viktor caught the delicate scent of tea clinging to his clothes.

"Oh, no trouble at all, sir! You have found yourself in the very finest establishment to savour Piltover’s more refined tastes." He laughed, a little too high and a little too sharp.

Viktor shot a sharp glance at the exotic pastries neatly displayed on the shelves. Without disrespect, they looked... unappealing. They were well-crafted, certainly, with luxurious and almost gaudy decorations. Each crust was laden with intricate patterns of leaves, flowers, and swirling filigree. Yet the pastries themselves were baked to a pale, anemic gold, almost bright enough to catch and reflect the store’s lighting, which was far more excessive than necessary, as if this were a jewelry shop. The faint scent rising from them promised a flavor far milder than anything Viktor’s palate would have considered satisfying.

To be honest, Viktor would have thought this was a bad bakery, if not for the popularity he had witnessed while stalling at the entrance. That, at least, guaranteed the store served something authentic.

"So then, sir, what might we be looking for today?" the owner asked, snapping Viktor out of his wandering thoughts. He quickly adjusted his expression, hoping he had not revealed too much judgment on his face.

Viktor answered, "It is for someone else. My..." He coughed lightly. "My partner."

There was the reason why the Machine Herald was committing treason—visiting one of the few bakeries that sold Piltover pastries in Zaun. 

The owner gave a knowing smile and winked, as if praising Viktor for some unspoken achievement.

"Ah, splendid! In that case, might I suggest something we reserve for only the most special occasions? Guaranteed to leave you smiling sweeter than honey."

Viktor glanced at the cake the owner pointed to, a meticulous creation layered with blackberry jam and whipped cream, its surface dusted with powdered sugar and a fine shimmer of gold dust. Tiny crystallized violets sat on top, and a lattice of spun sugar arched over it like a fragile dome.

The owner swiftly pointed toward another pastry. "Here is something we favour for our mornings. One could hardly begin the day properly without the perfect roll."

It was a puff roll, its crust decorated with an egg white glaze that gave it a fine crisp, and sprinkled with poppy seeds. From the carefully folded seams, it seemed to be filled with finely minced meat blended with kale.

"And," the owner said, turning gracefully as he guided Viktor, "this, sir, is a perfect comfort, an old favourite we have all cherished since childhood."

Star-shaped soft cookies were arranged in neat rows, drizzled with ruby chocolate and sprinkled with dried strawberries and tiny golden sugar pearls.

Viktor did not think he would truly want any of them. Perhaps a bite at most, just out of curiosity.

"I will take them all. Two of each," he said in a quick rush, as if speaking fast enough could erase the evidence that the words had ever left his mouth.

"Marvellous!" The owner nodded and gave an affirming smirk, as if he had predicted Viktor’s decision all along. While he wrapped each piece in translucent paper and tied them neatly with ribbons, he winked at Viktor again.

"I am quite certain your significant other will be positively delighted when they see this!"

Viktor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, his lips tightening. Jayce had better be, and prove Viktor’s suffering had not been in vain. He had better stop wilting like a sun-hungry vine pressed against a shuttered window, or pacing like a chained hound stripped of the wild scents beyond the walls.

There was another answer that would certainly cheer Jayce up from his homesickness—a correct, efficient answer that addressed the issue at its root. But Viktor stubbornly chose to ignore that option, locking it away at the edge of his mind as he took the heavy bag from the owner. This would be enough. Probably.

Viktor’s hand curled into a fist, tightening around the bag. He hesitated, then asked, "Do you have anything spicy? Or bitter?"

The owner let out a high-pitched laugh that echoed through the store as he shook his head. "I am afraid that is rather an unusual request for Piltover’s refined palate, sir. Perhaps you might find such... bold tastes across the mountains, nearer to Holdrum."

Viktor gave a slight flinch, trying to brush off the flush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. It lingered even after he left the store. Yet another suffering Jayce had made him endure.

Viktor finally felt more at ease once he stepped into their house. He slipped the mask back over his face and noticed the door to the workshop was closed. Viktor opened it carefully, peeking his head through to find the room empty.

He walked in, setting the paper bags down on the counter. He picked out one of the Piltover rolls and placed it neatly on a plate. Then he reached into the other bag, the one from his favorite Zaun bakery, and selected a piece crowned with a golden crust, its rich, buttery scent already curling through the air, layered with the deep, nutty warmth only Zaun's ovens could forge.

He needed to make sure its reputation remained untouchable, unthreatened, just in case Jayce was lured by the frilly offerings of Piltover. In his mind, he was already rehearsing the speech he would deliver, a firm reminder that no pastry in all of Runeterra could rival this one.

He crossed the room to the workstation, reheating the pastries with the warmth of his palm. His gaze drifted over the note left behind, still much the same as it had been when he departed the workshop that morning.

Jayce was probably asleep. Viktor instinctively glanced toward the corner of the workshop where the mattress should have been. Only then did he remember Jayce had dragged it back to his bedroom a few nights ago, muttering nonsense about needing a quieter space, as if Viktor’s company had ever made a sound or woken him before.

Viktor narrowed his eyes. Had the corner always looked this strangely empty before the mattress had so assertively claimed that space? It looked unbalanced. Viktor swore these Piltover pastries had better heal whatever sulk was gnawing at Jayce before he actually had to bother coming up with something to fill the space.

The perfectly warmed pastries smelled promising, their rich scent curling through the air as he wandered toward Jayce’s room, the door shut tight.

Viktor chuckled, tempted to open it without knocking. Who knew what scene might be waiting for him again, like before, when he had walked in on a "crime scene" without a clue. But he held back, rapping his knuckles softly against the door.

No response. Just silence. Well, he had knocked. Viktor twisted the handle, only to find it would not turn. He stepped back, his brows furrowing as his eyes narrowed on the handle. Yes, it was the same handle Viktor had modified, the one that was not supposed to have a lock — his final line, the one thing he had refused to compromise on when Jayce insisted and pushed him into reluctantly repairing the hole in the door.

Without hesitation, Viktor melted a hole in the door with his glowing palm. Through the growing gap, he saw a chair wedged under the door handle, a crude, physical way of jamming it shut without a lock.

Now this was far too much security even for his "private hammer maintenance session".

Offended, Viktor flooded his palm with heat, the metal groaning before it gave way, melting into warped, dripping streams that exposed the room beyond. His breath hitched sharply in his throat.

Aside from the chair jammed against the door, another had been dragged onto the bed. The glass ceiling was shattered, glittering shards strewn across the room. Along one edge of the broken frame, the glass had been roughly smoothed down, a crude passageway carved out for an easier escape.

Viktor’s wide eyes swept across the room, tracing the scattered glass that mockingly painted a beautiful scene, glittering and catching fractured shades of light. And among the shards, lying there abandoned, was the bracelet Viktor had given Jayce, the one carrying the tracking gem.

Viktor walked closer, his mind refusing to believe what his eyes already knew. He crouched down, setting the plate of pastries on the floor. His fingers closed around the bracelet, lifting it with a care that only made the damage more stark.

The smell of blood struck him first, sharp and metallic, curling in the back of his throat. The break in the bracelet was crude, a savage, uneven cut across the metal. Blood had soaked into the leather wrapping, still damp and tacky where it clung.

He had crafted it with meticulous precision, fitting it so tightly that no hand could slip free, no accidental tug could loosen it. Yet Jayce had forced it open anyway, sawing through metal and leather alike, cutting into skin. The blood was proof enough. The brutal effort it must have taken.

The metallic scent hung heavy in the room, mingling with the faint, now-stale buttery aroma of the pastries, twisting into a nauseating blend of bitterness. It reeked of betrayal.

Chapter Text

Jayce moved fast, head ducked, eyes flicking beneath the edge of his hooded shawl.

“Shawl” was a generous word; after all, it was a blanket, ribbed, frayed, and threadbare. The soft fabric snagged on jagged glass as he hoisted himself through the ceiling window, splitting in half with a low rip, harsh enough to almost stall his motion as he climbed out.

It’s better like this, he told himself. More useful. The hood covered most of his face, and the rest he had knotted tight across his shoulders, draped low to shield his chest, giving him privacy without slowing him down. Jayce ran his fingers along the ribbed hem, where the split had frayed further under his touch.

After all, he still had a long way to go, quickest a few hours, maybe a day. And he couldn’t very well wear a whole damn blanket without tripping himself to death. At least there was no need for any “refinements” to the rest of his outfit. The shirt and trousers were holding up fine, practical and quiet against the dirt.

His thoughts drifted to the councillor’s uniform he used to wear in Piltover. The stiff vest always chafed, and the collar rubbed his neck raw. He used to wear the tie first, snug against his neck like a makeshift shield, then button the shirt over it, just to keep the collar from touching his skin at all.

This set of clothes, though, was different. Jayce had liked them the first time he put them on, the fabric soft against his skin, the dark green shirt flattering his tone, the fitted trousers drawing clean lines over his legs. But the past few hours on the move had served as a proper test, and they had revealed their hidden worth in both flexibility and durability. They performed unexpectedly well, even outdoors on a rough road. The layers were thin for the chilly weather, but that was where the shawl had been doing its part, covering what needed warmth.

The only complaint he had was the shoes. Ironically, the soft leather boots had once been his favorite part of the set. They were soft, breathable, perfect indoors, where the floors were polished and always warm from the steady hum of heated gas beneath. But out here, they betrayed him. To be fair, judging by the thin layer of boot sole, it was more Jayce’s fault for forcing them outside. His toes and soles throbbed from the constant rubbing, skin likely reddened and raw. The cold damp had crept in early, and now the softened leather clung wet and heavy to his feet. The boots seemed to grow more lead-like with every step he took away from that workshop.

At least the leg brace had been aiding, supporting his left leg with ease. His old fracture would have joined the boots in punishing him for the overexertion by now if he were still using the brace he had designed alone. This one, touched by another engineer’s hand, felt almost too good to be true. It moved so smoothly it might as well be powered. And his right leg, the mechanical one, felt like it would never tire.

Annoyingly, the Zaunite engineer who had designed and built all of these really was a genius. His mind might have been cold, cold enough to be the reason Jayce was forced to run, but those hands were undeniably skillful and his craftsmanship impeccable. And now, even as Jayce fled from him, it was his work that carried him forward.

He could still remember those hands, how they moved.

Those skilled hands, criminally long fingers with sculpted knuckles, marked by golden patterns that pulsed faintly with light. Pale violet veins shimmered beneath dusk-toned skin, threading through lean, sinuous muscle. They moved with wicked precision, when building delicate mechanisms, when tuning a prototype, when circling his neck with one hand while the other pressed the shaving blade beneath his chin—

Jayce nearly stumbled, misjudging his step as he sank into a wide puddle. Mud splashed up his legs, soaking his already drenched boots. He clicked his tongue, yanking his foot free with a wet squelch. Without slowing, he turned the corner near the end of the trail, adjusting his path to keep the rust-colored shadow trailing behind him at an obtuse angle to his right, where the low sun sagged behind the jagged line of rooftops.

He had passed the heart of Zaun and, at last, was approaching its edge.

He wasn’t sure if Viktor had returned to the house yet. Wasn’t sure if his absence had been noticed. Wasn’t sure if Viktor had already sent someone to drag him back or to permanently silence him.

Jayce pulled his head even lower, drawing the hood further down. The layer of grime smeared across his face should help, but it was always safer to avoid attention. His face had been plastered across too many of Piltover’s propaganda posters to risk being seen.

So far, the streets didn’t seem particularly alarmed or on alert, so he hoped Viktor hadn’t acted yet. Or maybe it was because he had chosen the right route, abandoning the shorter path leading north toward the Bridge of Progress. That route was simpler, more direct, but far too predictable. If anyone was being sent after him, that would be the first place they looked.

Instead, Jayce was heading west, northwest, to be precise. It was a longer route, leading to the smaller Harbour Bridge that connected to Piltover. Less known. Less likely to be predicted by Viktor. And once he crossed it, he would be closer to the Hexgate than he would be from the Bridge of Progress. 

Once he reached the Hexgate, he would swap out a key component to limit the energy output of the Hexcore, just enough to keep the gate running but not enough to power something like the Evolution. He could only hope his assumption was right, that erasing free will and reprogramming humanity required a little more power than teleporting crates of wine between cities. He would also need to rewrite the keyed security lock, configuring it so only he could access the gate’s full capacity.

After that, he needed to speak with Caitlyn. Ask for her help, her Enforcers, her authority to quietly reinforce Hexgate security. He hoped she would trust him enough to follow through without asking too many questions.

But he knew her too well. Caitlyn would give him twenty-four hours at most. Then she would lock the doors, switch on that too bright desk lamp, and interrogate him until he spilled every detail of the days he had vanished, every reason why the first thing he did upon returning was request immediate reinforcement.

He needed Mel’s support before those hours ran out. She would be the key to figuring out whether Ekko was acting as Viktor’s unofficial emissary, graciously facilitating a one-sided flow of information, and who else Viktor might have planted among them. She would be the ally who could convince Caitlyn that this plan wasn’t born out of softness, or some lingering attachment to Viktor. 

Because he wasn’t. With the uncertainty of how deeply they had been infiltrated, the plan was safer the fewer people knew about it. Even setting that aside, he knew exactly what would happen if anyone else in the council got hold of Viktor’s notebook. Submitting it would be like tossing a sack of blood into shark-infested waters. The council was already hungry, starving for an excuse. One document, and they would have all the justification they needed for a full-scale, glorified raid on Zaun.

His plan was risky, of course. If it leaked, the council would strip away what little authority and trust he had left. They would take Hextech from him. And if he was underestimating Viktor, if Viktor reaches the Hexgate, then the Hextech would become the murder weapon of humanity.

Still, this was the best plan he had. Secure the gate. Buy time before Viktor found another power source, figure out how to make Viktor give up the evolution. 

Jayce had no idea how to make Viktor stop. Not yet. But that was a problem for later, after he secured the gate, after he returned to his home, kissed his mother’s cheek, cried about where he went wrong, took a hot bath, and slept in his own bed. Then maybe his mind, and his broken heart, would be steady enough to start thinking about what came next.

A bump on his shoulder yanked Jayce’s tired mind back to reality. He muttered an apology to the poor soul he had bumped into, hoping he hadn’t dislocated their shoulder, already trying to move along. But a hand caught him, halting his stride.

Jayce lifted his eyes beneath the hood, scanning the space around him. A few figures had gathered, young, smirking, wearing expressions too eager and smiles too crooked to mean anything good.

“Come on, man. That was rude, wasn’t it?” came a high-pitched, drawling voice from behind him, the same young man he had bumped into.

Jayce sighed quietly, rolling his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice low and soft, each word carefully measured.

The young man stepped around him, too close, his breath sour and clinging. “Sorry’s nice,” he said, with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, “but injuries don’t heal on their own. Got anything in your pocket that might help ease the pain?”

Jayce didn’t bother waiting for the man to finish. He brushed the hand off his shoulder with a sharp flick and stepped forward, intent on walking away. But a fist came swinging toward his face. He jerked back, dodging the strike, and his hand dropped to his belt, fingers closing around the handle of the hammer.

He drew the hammer in one smooth motion.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t his Mercury Hammer. He might’ve been foolish enough to fall for a deadly enemy, but not stupid enough to drag a human-tall hammer through Zaun while on the run. Not that he needed it to deal with a little pack of street rats anyway.

One of the men pulled a knife the moment he saw Jayce’s hammer. Without warning, he lunged, blade flashing in a quick, practiced thrust. Jayce lifted his right leg and kicked out hard, sending the man staggering backward. Metal rang sharp through the alley as the knife scraped along his mechanical limb.

The man landed hard on the ground, then sat frozen, eyes locked on Jayce’s leg. His gaze traced the gleaming metal, narrowing at the unmistakable pattern etched into the limb. No one in the undercity would fail to recognize the famous touch of the Machine Herald. A sharp breath escaped him. He grabbed the nearest gang member by the sleeve, yanked himself up, and bolted.

The others hesitated, exchanging confused glances. For a moment, they stood in a tense, silent, awkward standoff with Jayce, no one moving, no one speaking. Jayce stared at them one by one, then suddenly feinted a swing with the hammer. The gang flinched, startled, then scrambled back and took off after the man who had already bolted, leaving Jayce alone in the dim alley.

Jayce bent down to check his left leg, relieved to find that the brace had held steady through the kick. Then he looked to his right and sighed. Unfortunately, the knife had sliced clean through the lower part of his trousers, the cut running right across the top of his boot. A jagged, nasty gash scarred the plating of his mechanical limb, still gleaming from the scrape. Seemed he had been too optimistic thinking the blanket would be the only thing he ruined today.

He straightened slowly. The sun had long since sunk, and the moon had crept into its place. After the scuffle, the alley felt darker, more suspect. Shadows pressed in, thicker now, and from somewhere far off came a distant scream, faint, maybe not even real, but enough to make his ears twitch. The air had turned colder. The damp hung heavier, thick with the scent of the harbor lingering just ahead.

He could press on. The Harbour Bridge was likely less than an hour away. But the odds of crossing paths with another group sniffing around for spare coin were only growing. He tugged his hood lower. Already, he could feel eyes settling on him, heavy and curious. He had stood still too long, like a mark waiting to be taken.

So Jayce walked, not toward the harbor, but through the alley, weaving his way back to a busier street lined with markets and food stalls. Vendors shouted over one another, and neon lights from bars and pubs painted the road in shifting waves of green and red. He picked a pub, one of the louder, more crowded ones, and slipped inside.

The moment he stepped through the door, a wall of sound hit him, music thumping, customers shouting, laughter slurring into arguments. Jayce kept his head down, shoulders hunched, trying to make himself as small as possible as he edged through the crowd. He snatched a half-drunk, abandoned beer from a messy table as he passed.

He slipped toward a door near the back, the kind usually marked for staff. It opened to a narrow corridor filled with another kind of noise, the clang of pots, the hiss of oil, the bark of kitchen staff. Jayce peered into the kitchen at the corridor’s end, waited until no one was looking, then veered the other way.

He squeezed past towers of cardboard boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling, their sides damp with condensation and reeking of oil. At the end of the cluttered hall, just beyond the mop buckets and crates of empty bottles, he found what he was looking for: the rear exit to the back alley.

The back alley was far quieter, a sheltered pocket only accessible through the pubs and shops. Safer than the open street where he had nearly been robbed, though no less grimy. Piles of unwashed dishes sat abandoned by the wall, cigarette butts littered the ground, and rats squeaked as they darted past his boots. Jayce moved carefully through the narrow path, relieved when he spotted a building with a maintenance ladder bolted to its side. It led up to a small platform, likely used to service the vents.

He climbed up, steadying himself with one hand, the warm, flat beer still clutched in the other.

The platform was filthy, coated in dust and old grease, the vent above him humming faintly. But it sat high enough to escape the reek of the alley, and a jut of roofing offered just enough shelter from the wind. Jayce wasn’t the kind of man who camped by choice or saw the appeal of flinging oneself into the wild when beds existed for a reason, but he also had the distinct feeling that if he dared to complain, the gods would punish his ingratitude with rain. He tucked himself into the driest corner he could reach and set the beer down in plain sight. If someone stumbled across him, maybe the bottle would help sell the image, just another drunk who had passed out in the wrong place.

Jayce untied the shawl and wrapped the half-blanket tightly around himself. The night was cold, and he hunched down, trying to fold his six-foot-two frame into as small a shape as possible, minimizing what little of his body peeked out from the worn fabric. A single loose thread hung from the frayed ribbed edge. When he tugged at it absently, it pulled more of the seam apart with a faint rip. Jayce froze, quickly let go, drawing his hands back and folding them across his chest like he hadn’t touched anything at all.

The bass of the music from the pub was leaking through the vent. Jayce rocked himself with the rhythm, holding himself to sleep. He needed to sleep, so he would have the strength to resume his trip as soon as the first ray of sun rose tomorrow.

Ironic, really. Now that he was alone, he had to force himself to rest. When he was in Viktor's workshop, it had been the opposite. Viktor was the one constantly telling him to sleep, snapping at him for drifting, grumbling that his focus was slipping. Jayce had worked until his body shut down.

Viktor.

Jayce stared up into the dark, the blur of distant neon barely grazing the rooftop’s edge. He wondered how long the scheme had been in motion. Had it started from the very beginning, back on that day they met in the factory?

Had all that warmth been a trick, just bait to earn his trust?

Maybe Viktor had planned to capture him, to break him for Hextech secrets, but changed his mind.

Maybe Viktor grew close to him, not even expecting it himself.

Maybe he wasn’t planning to get rid of Jayce, even after getting what he needed for the Evolution.

Maybe Viktor had planned to speak with him, to convince him to join the plan. To be a partner in crime.

Would Jayce have agreed, if he asked?

Jayce slapped both palms against his face, hard, snapping the ridiculous thought clean out of his head. It didn’t matter. 

The Academy’s ethics board would probably be weeping if they knew he had even hesitated, though it wasn’t like he had ever paid much attention to their training in the first place.

No matter if Viktor cared for him or not, if he was pushing the Evolution, then Jayce would stop him. No negotiation. No excuses.

He really needed to sleep. Before his exhausted brain came up with more hypothetical dilemmas to torture himself with. 

Jayce shut his eyes tight. He started counting sheep, one by one, hopping a fence in his mind. But before long, the woolly shapes began to shift. They turned to metal, gleaming gold eyes blinking in sync, little tails twitching like servo-wires.

His head bobbed with each sleepy sway as he nodded off, the edges of his thoughts softening, dissolving. In the haze, he registered a chill breeze crawling across his skin.

But that wasn’t what woke him.

It was the sudden pressure at his throat. A hand, metal, clamped around his neck, cutting off his breath, dragging him awake.

Jayce’s eyes flew open.

A mask stared back at him. Steel. Cold. Its eyes burned gold.

“Wh–How?” Jayce gasped, voice rasping as the grip tightened and he was yanked upright.

Viktor tightened his grip and hoisted Jayce higher, lifting him until their eyes aligned. Jayce dangled off the ground, his boots kicking uselessly in the air.

His fingers clawed at Viktor’s hands, nails scraping over cold metal, leaving only smudges. His wide hazel eyes were raw with fear, made almost ridiculous by the streaks of dried mud across his face, like a clumsy thief caught red-handed.

A fresh cut slashed through one brow, the skin around it swollen and inflamed. It ran dangerously close to his eye. He must have gotten it squeezing through that broken window. Or maybe in the scuffle with those alley thugs.

"Impossible—" Jayce choked out, the word strangled through his crushed windpipe. 

Viktor pulled something from beneath his robe, the bracelet. The one he had crafted carefully, delicately. The one that had been betrayed, severed so abruptly it left a dark red scar around the wrist that once wore it, still visible beneath the torn strip of fabric wrapped over it.

Viktor’s voice was sharp, vindictive. “I planted another gem on your leg brace.”

Jayce’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the bracelet. The horror in his expression twisted, burned into something else. A muscle jumped in his jaw, his brows pulled into a hard glare. His hands clawed even more frantically at Viktor’s grip on his neck.

“Such a dirty move,” Jayce rasped. “Is that all you have known? Playing low?”

Viktor yanked him closer, his breath loud and ragged, even through the metal mask. “I wouldn’t have needed to track it if you hadn’t scurried off like a rat.” He dropped the bracelet. It clattered softly against the floor. 

Viktor continued, “You lied. You promised we would do this together.” His other hand slid down, pressing against the fabric of Jayce’s trousers, searching.

“But you were playing me. Distracting me. Seducing me. Just long enough to get your hands on this.”

His fingers found what he was looking for, papers. He had suspected it, but confirmation landed like ice in his chest, cold and spreading.

Viktor swallowed the bitterness burning in his throat. He tightened both hands, one clamping harder around Jayce’s neck to silence whatever excuse he was about to sputter, the other yanking free the folded papers. 

He wondered what it was Piltover wanted badly enough to send their golden boy crawling into his bed.

A list of Zaun’s loudest idealists?

The blueprints for weapons Viktor had spent years perfecting?

A neat lmap of every pipeline, lab, and power conduit worth leveling in one sweep?

Viktor’s cold gaze dropped to the papers in his hand, then narrowed. 

He blinked once. 

Then again. 

He shut his eyes, briefly, as if to reset whatever calculation had misfired in his mind. When he looked again, the pages hadn’t changed.

His notebook. His personal notes, half theories, half dreams, scattered diagrams and formulas that never saw completion. Wild ideas, impossible prototypes, scrawled in his own hand. Nothing usable. Nothing finished.

And beneath it, another document.

The Hexgate blueprint.

The very one he had bargained for. Negotiated with Ekko to retrieve. He had meant to present it to Jayce. A surprise.

In confusion, Viktor loosened his grip on Jayce’s neck. Jayce collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud, gasping loud and ragged, dragging air into his lungs like a fish flung onto dry stone.

Viktor tilted his head, voice softer now that the anger had ebbed. “Why were you taking these?”

But the fury hadn’t drained from Jayce. The moment he pulled in enough breath, he snatched the closest thing he could find, the bracelet, and hurled it at Viktor’s face as he bolted.

Viktor caught it with a swift, reflexive motion, metal fingers snapping shut around it even as he lunged forward, pulling Jayce back by the wrist.

“Jayce—”

Jayce hissed, his voice hoarse and ragged from the choking. “You are a lunatic!” He yanked his arm back in a wild, jerking motion.

Viktor stepped in, gripping Jayce by the wrist with both hands. “Jayce, explain!”

“No!” Jayce growled, thrashing harder. He twisted with such force Viktor feared something might snap, and then—

Wetness.

Viktor froze. His palms were damp.

He looked down.

Blood. Seeping through the fabric at Jayce’s wrist, blooming dark and fast.

The wound. Torn open again.

No. No, no, no. He didn't mean to do this. He could not let him go. Not now. Not like this. If Jayce ran, if Viktor let him slip away, he might never get the chance to speak with him again.

His grip slipped on the blood-slick skin.

Panic surged.

His hands tightened, healing power flaring instinctively in his palms.

A burst of golden light, white-hot.

It happened in a flash, so fast Viktor barely realized what he was doing until it was done. The bracelet sparked in his hand, burned hot, then cracked with a sharp, brittle pop. The gem at its center flared, igniting in a white-gold glow.

The light surged into Jayce’s torn skin. The gem fused with the wound, branding itself into his flesh. A gilded pattern bloomed from it, mechanical, pulsing faintly, Viktor’s signature etched in light and heat.

Jayce stared down in stunned silence, chest heaving. His fingers hovered over the mark on his wrist, trembling. Then his wide eyes snapped up to Viktor.

He screamed.

Viktor jumped.

Then, without thinking, he knocked Jayce out.

Chapter Text

Ouch.

Ouch ouch ouch ouch...

Jayce forced his eyes open and winced as pain lanced through his skull. It did not feel like the usual Tuesday headache brought on by dehydration; this was next level, the kind you got after being punched by an eight-foot-tall construct of steel and blood, powered by a deeply questionable moral compass.

His stomach followed with a queasy little flip of protest. Wonderful.

He tried to push himself up, but gravity seemed to have received an upgrade while he was unconscious. He was lying face down. The surface beneath him was soft, the way it swallowed his weight and pressed against his skin felt like a bed. He must have been drooling shamelessly, because the pillow’s fibers were damp and clinging to his face.

“Huh?” Jayce mumbled, though he sounded ridiculous with his teeth and tongue refusing to listen to him.

His numb limbs felt as if they had been stuffed with molten iron. After a few heroic seconds of struggling, he abandoned all hope of getting up and settled for simply turning his head so he could at least look around, one side of his face still buried in the pillow.

He was in a small, dimly lit room. He did not recognize the place. Maybe some fair maid from Zaun had found him lying on the road and, out of kindness, brought him into her cozy little house. 

Although, the room did not really look like it would belong to any fair maid.

The thin curtain smothered the little window, letting in only the faintest sliver of light and making the room feel like a secret basement. Near the bed stood a simple lamp, its purple glow casting an eerie and unatural gleam across the room. The space was crowded with all kinds of objects and tools.

His brain must have finally been starting to wake up, because a faint sense stirred at the corner of his mind, reminding him that he had seen this room before. The memory was brief, but enough to recall the night when his heart had already been racing with excitement for testing the prototype. He remembered the skip of his heartbeat, the surprise when this hidden room was revealed behind the walls of the workshop.

Viktor’s bedroom.

The realization jolted Jayce fully awake. His breath quickened, his lungs straining as his own heavy body pressed against them. He remembered he had almost reached Piltover. He remembered Viktor, or more precisely the Machine Herald, finding him.

The memory was enough to send a pump of adrenaline through him, forcing strength into his drained body. With a wavering hand, Jayce managed to flip himself onto his back. He immediately regretted the decision.

He was not alone.

The eight-foot-tall reason for his extraordinary headache sat at the far side of the bed. Jayce could not discern much about the situation, with only the man’s back turned toward him. The frame groaned under the uneven weight, the mattress sinking beneath the weight of his metal body.

Jayce froze mid-turn, his body locked in an uncomfortable angle. He did not dare to breathe, uncertain if even the rise of his chest might provoke the room’s owner.

Somehow, for whatever reason, Viktor did not acknowledge Jayce. He sat perfectly still, shoulders hunched. The third arm stretching from his back seemed lifeless, slumped across the soft mattress.

Jayce froze in the awkward position, holding it for some time while Viktor remained still. He blinked slowly, sweat gliding down his face. His core muscles trembled and screamed with soreness until at last he risked lowering himself onto the bed, exhaling as he did. Luckily, Viktor remained silent.

Jayce swallowed, saliva pooling in his mouth. He let his gaze wander cautiously over the room, searching for answers anywhere but the Herald, though he still stole the occasional quick glance at the Zaunite.

Facing the bed stood a wall of shelves, sagging under the weight of clutter. Unlike the prototypes and devices scattered through the workshop, the pieces displayed here were smaller, more personal projects. The mechanical butterfly he had once touched lay there, its wings suspended mid-flutter. A little robotic arm held a hairdryer, designed to dry hair hands-free. A mechanical spoon rested in an empty cup, poised to stir at the flick of a switch. It almost felt domestic.

Then his breath caught as his gaze moved to the next shelf.

Right in the middle of the mundane chaos hung a flyer of the Man of Progress. Jayce had seen this poster in the workshop before, but he had not expected the rest of the collection. Scattered around were the propaganda trinkets Piltover had churned out: miniature flags bearing the Piltover crest and the Talis house symbol, glossy pamphlets of the Hexgate, tiny keychains shaped like the Mercury Hammer, and at the bottom of the shelf, an enormous roll of folded vinyl.

Jayce slowly recognized what it was as he tilted his head for a clearer look. His own enlarged face, once displayed across the side of an airship parading through the skies during Progress Day, now lay in folded strips. From the creased vinyl, a distorted oversized pupil stared back at him.

Cold sweat soaked his clothes, clinging to his skin. Jayce could not guess what Viktor thought each night, staring at this entire wall of evidence of how he and Piltover had treated Zaun, but he could not imagine it was anything pleasant.

Jayce stared at the slogan on the poster: "Good boys and girls stay away from Zaun". His own arrogant, smirking face looked pale, tinted by the purple sinister light.

Well, no matter what miserable ending was waiting for Jayce, perhaps he deserved it.

The air squeezed from his lungs as Jayce felt his strength drain away like a deflated balloon. His eyes rolled back to the ceiling, waiting for the death sentence whenever Viktor chose to finally end him.

And the most miserable part of all was that, under different circumstances, Jayce might have found the fact that an entire wall in Viktor’s bedroom was dedicated to him… well, quite exciting.

His gaze drifted and landed on the shelf hanging just above him. That was an object. 

Jayce stared at it blankly.

It looked like a toy.

Jayce blinked, he tiled his head.

It was funny how it almost looked like…

“What—?” Jayce’s brows lifted. He pushed himself up, trying to see it more closely. His hands wobbled like jelly, his movements clumsy, but he did not give up as he forced himself upright.

His stubborn flailing seemed to finally prod the other man.

Viktor did not turn to face him. “Stay still, you were sedated. ” His voice came muffled through the metal mask, laced with the cold echo of the machine yet tinged with something almost sulky. “Just half a dose to keep both of us less destructive so we can talk.”

But Jayce could not afford to spare his attention for conversation. His eyes were locked on the toy. With sheer willpower, he forced himself halfway upright. His legs trembled uncontrollably, still numb and uncooperative, but his hand reached for the shelf, fingers quivering as they brushed the wooden toy’s metal edge. Just a little closer.

He pushed himself further, but his overstrained legs gave out, sending him tumbling off the bed. A mechanical arm lunged forward as Viktor caught the back of his shirt, stopping his face from colliding with the floor before hauling him back onto the bed.

Jayce let out a short, sharp breath as he was dropped back onto the mattress ungracefully, nearly flipping over from the imbalance, his hands clutching the toy he had managed to grab. He could feel those gleaming eyes fixed on him, yet his focus was consumed entirely by the toy. Under the dim light, Jayce brought it close, widening his eyes as far as they would go as he studied every detail.

Viktor sighed as he rose to his feet and pulled open the curtain blocking the light. Warm golden sunlight spilled into the room, washing away the gloom.

With the sunlight, Jayce could finally see it clearly. The toy looked exactly like the one he had. There was no doubt they had been crafted by the same pair of hands.

Jayce’s gaze lingered on the toy he held dearly before it finally lifted to Viktor. His heartbeat pounded so loudly it nearly drowned out his own voice. “How did you get this?”

Viktor’s gaze lowered to the toy boat in Jayce’s hands. His eyes flicked up briefly, giving Jayce a sidelong, questioning glance, before he sat back down on the edge of the bed. “I built it.”

“No way—” Jayce instinctively denied the truth, unable to believe the coincidence. The hazel of his eyes gleamed brighter in the sunlight as they darted between Viktor and the boat in his hand. “Did you?”

Jayce examined the boat attentively, his fingers moving tenderly with familiar precision as he searched for the hidden switch. With a twist and release, the wheel spun smoothly, its motion carrying a subtle sophistication, just slightly more advanced than the one he kept.

Jayce held the boat in his open palms, staring as the wheel spun in unison. The mechanisms clicked as they turned. It carried the same touch as its maker’s other creations: the leg brace he was wearing, the jammed monkey that had held the gem, the mechanical butterfly that once fluttered through the air.

It all made sense now, how Jayce had found the hidden winding handle that set the butterfly’s metal wings in motion, almost as if he had already known where to look. It was the same design as the concealed switch built into the boat, the one he had touched a thousand times.

If Viktor had built the boat, then it meant… Jayce’s gaze snapped back to Viktor, then dropped to his legs. The automated, modified body showed no trace of what had once been flesh.

"I’ve had a condition since birth. A respiratory disorder. It gradually spread, affecting primarily my legs."

The confession Viktor had once made echoed. Jayce’s breath caught as the pieces finally fell into place. He turned the boat over and he found the small mark carved into the wood at the bottom. He had always thought it was just a tick, maybe some kind of pattern or logo. 

But now he knew. It was a V. 

He could not believe that out of all the billions of people and all the possibilities…

“It was you,” Jayce said. He covered his mouth with his hand, though a few broken chuckles still slipped through his fingers.

This was destiny.

Viktor stared at him in quiet stillness, his head tilted slightly. His voice, still carrying that faint petulant note, lifted with curiosity. “What about the boat?”

Jayce’s eyes burned like stars as he laughed softly under his breathe. “You won’t believe it, but we had—”

Jayce reached out, unable to contain the energy radiating through his body, his hand aching to grab Viktor’s. But he nearly toppled over again, and Viktor steadied him with a swift hand. Regaining his balance, Jayce pressed his palm into the bed for support. His hand landed on something. His words faltered mid-sentence as his eyes fell on the notebook and the envelop resting there.

The paranoid voice whispered again at the back of his mind.

But…

His heart pounded, endorphins surging with the thrill of discovery. The overwhelming rhythm grew louder with each beat, muffling the nagging voice inside his head.

Screw it, call him crazy. But if the world had arranged for them both to end up in this same room after all these years, maybe it was a sign.

And if Viktor was indeed using him, then his ending was already sealed. It was not as if Jayce had anything left to lose. If he was going to die, he would die as a man honest to his feelings.

The silent war between his mind and his heart finally came to an end. The walls he had built so carefully crumbled as he could no longer suppress the feeling swelling within him.

Jayce tried to restrain himself, but his voice still trembled. “I will tell you about the boat, but I think we have something else to clear up first.”

Viktor stared at him and the boat for a moment before giving a quiet nod.

“I… I read your notebook. Accidentally.” Jayce drew a breath, forcing himself to slow down. He stressed the word, his eyes darting up to search Viktor’s face for any reaction. But the mask of the Machine Herald remained still, offering nothing.

“I read about your plans for the Evolution.” Jayce swallowed, his hand reached out to the notebook on the bed, flipping it open. “And that you needed a power source for it.” He swallowed when he saw his own name written in red, circled beneath the diagram of the Evolution. “Then Ekko arrived with the blueprint for the Hexgate,” he said, his breath uneven as the words tumbled out too quickly.

Viktor kept silent for a moment. His gleaming eyes lowered, following the slight twitch of Jayce’s finger as it traced his name in the notebook.

“Is that why you ran?” Viktor picked up the envelope holding the blueprint, his voice slow. “Because you believed I was using you?”

“Yes.”

“I thought the days we spent working together would be clear enough to show what I think of you.” His muffled voice was too soft for it to sound like an accusation.

“I wanted to trust you.” Jayce shrank, curling in on himself as if his stomach had been punched. “But it wasn’t easy when I wasn’t certain if you trust me.”

Jayce lifted his hand, instinctively trying to brush at the tracker chained around his wrist like a handcuff, but he he was caught off guard when his fingers met the unfamiliar texture of a gem embedded directly into his skin. The flesh around it had hardened into a spiderweb pattern.

“I was not used to -” Viktor lower his gaze, his mechnical voice tinted with defeated. “Having a partner.” 

He stared at the gleaming stone on Jayce’s waist, its shine reflecting in Viktor’s eyes. “I tried to fix it. I didn’t mean to do that.”

In the warm glow, the Machine Herald’s frame began to soften, shifting gradually into a more human shape. His form shrank until he stood at the same height as Jayce.

“It frightened me.” Viktor’s color-shifting eyes, half-hidden behind the white mask, darted away from Jayce, his long hair casting a shadow across his face. “The thought of losing you.”

It was unfair that Viktor chose this exact moment to return to the form Jayce had been growing so fond of. Jayce supposed he should have felt bothered, considering the tracker was now engraved into him forever, not to mention the one planted in his leg brace. But he could not bring himself to care, not with Viktor right there, looking so fragile, his voice carrying a trace of sadness.

Jayce was drawn like a moth to flame, his body moving on its own. The numbness and heaviness in his limbs seemed to fade as he squeezed Viktor’s hand. The envelope in Viktor’s grasp crumpled beneath their hold.

“I thought you were stressing over Blitzcrank.” Viktor speaks slowly, his accent more clearer, “you said you will work quicker if you have the blueprint of the Hexgate.”

Jayce’s ears perked up, and he raised his voice. “I did?”

“You did.” Viktor confirmed with a slow, flat reply, unamused. “After we made the Blitzcrank prototype work.”

“Oh.” Jayce blinked, uncertain, a faint flush of red darkening his cheeks. He barely remembered anything about that night, except floating in the air with Viktor in his arms.

Viktor released his grip on the envelope, his fingers brushing over the mark of the hourglass signed on it.

“I have known Ekko for a long time. He reached out to me years ago,” Viktor said. “He wanted my assistance on some of his projects, and in return, he gave me what I wanted.” His eyes returned to Jayce’s as he continued, “He had access to your project.”

Jayce blinked, his lips parting. “That’s how you knew I was stuck trying to stabilize the Hex Gem.”

Viktor nodded. 

“Ah—” Jayce let out a dramatic exhale, as though the heavy weight pressing on him had melted away, replaced by a warm rush of relief. His shoulders dropped. “So you aren’t going to murder me?”

“Not yet.” Viktor replied, his tone flat. But his lips twitched upward despite himself, as he felt the ease and lightness of tone finally return between them.

“And I was worrying sick this whole time. If only I had asked earlier.” A chuckle slipped from his uncontrollable smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. Flipping open the notebook, he added, “My head practically melted when I thought you were working on the Evolution.”

“I wasn’t. It was no more than a theory on paper,” Viktor said. “At present, there is no energy source powerful enough to run it, not even your Hexgate.”

The smile froze and faltered on Jayce’s face. “Viktor.”

Jayce turned to look at his partner, the motion so rigid he could alomost hear rusted metal creaking. “If you could… would you really go through with the Evolution?”

“Yes…” Viktor replied, his tone drifting as he caught the weight in Jayce’s expression, the way those hazel eyes fixed on him with such seriousness. “…Why not?”

“Viktor.” Jayce dropped the notebook he was holding, both hands gripping Viktor’s shoulders. “Please, listen to me—”

Viktor was caught off guard by the force of Jayce’s intensity. His eyes widened as he stared back, blinking in confusion.

But before Jayce could continue, something else caught their attention. A faint squeaking noise, almost inaudible at first, grew steadily louder, as if something were creeping closer. Then came the ticking, sharp and deliberate, each beat growing louder.

Before they could react, a violent wave of air burst through the wall. The explosion followed a heartbeat later, deafening and immediate. In an instant, the room was choked with flying dust, burning smoke, and the sharp stench of gunpowder.

Fortunately, the blast was not large enough to level the room. The high-pitched ringing in Jayce’s ears began to fade, and clarity slowly returned to his vision. Smoke clawed at his lungs as he coughed, only then realizing the pressure around him. Blinking, Jayce realized that he and Viktor were clutching each other, holding tight. Both had tried to shield the other, leaving them tangled in an awkward position, exposed to the blast’s impact.

“Herald!”

The ragged scream split the haze. Jayce and Viktor turned toward the voice. In the jagged hole blasted through the wall stood Jinx. Shards of metal painted in neon pink and blue littered the floor, the wreckage of her bomb.

She held a small, limp figure in her arms. The body was battered, clothes scorched, skin mottled with burns and bruises. The quirky helmet she always wore was gone. A faint, unnatural blue light pulsed from her frame.

The glow of Hextech.

Chapter Text

“You—” Jinx gasped the moment her eyes landed on Jayce, her face freezing, then twisting hard.

With the childish smears of paint, a bulbous barrel, and a crude seam where mismatched metals had been hammered together, the thing might have passed for a toy at first glance. Up close, there was no mistaking it: a weapon, and a lethal one.

Its muzzle pressed hard beneath Jayce’s chin. Jinx held it one-handed, unshaking. The barrel did not waver a millimeter, though her chest heaved in sharp bursts, her eyes jittering with a manic flame of hatred.

Jayce could tasted burnt powder and machine oil on the air. He stepped back before his thought caught up, palms lifting in a reflex. His face twisted in a grimace, braced for the impact.

And then, before he could blink, a shadow cut across him.

Viktor stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Jayce and the gun. His arm swept back, drawing Jayce behind the line of his shoulder.

With Jayce safely protected, Viktor faced Jinx. His eyes locked on her, not the weapon. “Jinx.” His voice was soft, but carried the hard edge of warning.

“Move.” The words grated through Jinx’s clenched teeth like shards of glass. “They all gotta pay.”

“Wh-whatever this is about—” Jayce’s voice cracked. The moment he tried to peer past Viktor’s shoulder for a glimpse, the gun snapped toward him. He flinched back into Viktor’s shadow, “I swear! I wasn’t part of it.”

“So you’re not the council’s little lapdog?” Jinx cocked her head, a tremor running through the grin tugging at her mouth. Her breath came quick, sharp little huffs. Venom laced every syllable. “Huh, Jayce Talis?”

“You knew.” Viktor’s gaze narrowed.

“No shit.” Jinx rolled her eyes skyward, her voice twitching sharp. “I let it slip once. But twice? I’d have to be brain-dead.”

“You are absolutely right.” Shielded behind Viktor, Jayce didn’t dare risk peeking out again. He raised his voice instead, pushing every word rough with urgency. “But I really don’t know what this is about.”

Viktor turned his head, flicking Jayce a brief glance. Jayce met it wide-eyed, brows shooting high, his head shaking frantically in a silent plea of innocence.

Viktor blinked once, then faced forward again, his eyes locking on Jinx.

His tone remained steady. “He hasn’t been to Topside in a long time. And you are not here for him, are you?” His eyes dropped, fixing on the limp figure in her grasp. “What happened to Isha?”

Jinx’s glare flickered as it fell on Isha. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, a sharp twitch running through her jaw. At last, her gun hand sank, the barrel dipping. Her grip shifted as she hauled Isha closer with both arms, the girl’s head lolling weakly against her chest.

“Topside’s gone bonkers, enforcers crawling all over Zaun,” Jinx spat, words clipped, breath ragged. “Sniffing around, shoving their noses in, questioning, searching, hassling anyone they don’t like.” Her voice broke, pitch jumping. “We were just passing by and they were… and Isha… Isha…” The words scrambled, falling apart. Her eyes darted, wild and unfocused, before she shook her head hard, as if she could rattle the memory out of her skull.

“Something must have provoked the council.” Jayce’s brows drew together; his voice dropped to a murmur. “What could have triggered them—” The question tangled in his throat. His words faded to a whisper as realization sank heavy into him.

Viktor shot a glance over his shoulder, his head tilted.

“Maybe…” Jayce answered into that waiting look, his voice small. “The last letter.” His brows drew low; his face blanched, colour draining out. “I told Cait to be careful. I warned her, but I didn’t expect—”

Jinx didn’t need him to finish. A low rumble built in her chest like distant thunder. In a blink she moved, so fast it left only a shimmer of violent light in her wake. She slid to the side, angling for a clear shot at Jayce behind Viktor’s shield. The gun snapped up in a brutal arc, her finger curling tight around the trigger.

Viktor moved at the same instant, a split-second snap, his hand clamping down on the gun. His thumb pressed hard against the muzzle, the rest of his fingers locking around Jinx’s grip, freezing the squeeze of her trigger finger.

“If you still want my help, Jinx.” His voice dropped low. “Choose your next move very wisely.”

“Yeah right.” Jinx’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “As if the miracle healer would ever let a kid suffer in his hands.”

“I will not. But if Jayce is hurt,” Viktor tilted his head, “I will be very, very upset.” His voice sharpened to a blade’s edge as his eyes lowered. “And mistakes happen when one is distressed.”

Jinx leaned forward, chest heaving, her face inches from his. Her stare didn’t waver, locking straight onto the iron stillness of Viktor’s gaze. Even with half his face hidden behind the thin bone-white mask, the eyes that showed bled into a cold, unyielding silver.

For a long, crackling moment neither moved. Then Jinx’s shoulder dropped. Her eyes flicked aside, throwing Jayce a killing glare before snapping back to Isha. Her jaw clenched so hard it looked ready to splinter bone.

Viktor eased the gun from her grip, and this time she did not fight him. A breath slipped from him, almost soundless, the strain in his muscles loosening after holding so tight it had begun to burn.

When his hand moved toward Isha, Jinx’s shoulders stiffened, fingers clamping around the girl in reflex. Only after a beat, with grudging reluctance, did she relent, hovering close as he lifted Isha from her arms.

She shadowed his every step as Viktor carried Isha across the room and laid her gently on the single corner of the bed left untouched, miraculously spared from the blast of Jinx’s entry. Jayce stayed rooted where he was, his quiet eyes following them, fingers worrying at his sleeve in a ceaseless motion.

“She’s been like this.” Jinx’s gaze clung to Isha, her mouth trembling open. “After they blasted her.”

Tiny blue sparks drifted around Isha’s still body, winking faintly in the dim light. Her chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. Viktor seated himself at the bedside, fingers brushing her neck until he caught the steady beat of her pulse. He lifted one heavy eyelid. The eyes were dull, unfocused, yet the pupils shrank to the light.

Viktor tilted his head. With delicate care, his hand glowed as his fingers pressed to Isha’s forehead. The same golden light sparked in his eyes, brightening as their skin made contact. His gaze darted quick, as though tracking patterns no one else could see.

Jayce stepped forward instinctively, his eyes fixed on the glow of Viktor’s hand resting against Isha’s head. His lips pressed thin, hands rubbing together in a frantic rhythm. His mouth opened, then shut again, words dying before they could form.

At last Viktor withdrew his hand, the light fading from his fingers. His eyes lifted to Jinx.

“She was struck by a hextech weapon blast.”

Jayce recoiled at the words, retreating until his back found the far corner. He stood stiff, shoulders hunched as if trying to fold himself smaller. Viktor spared him a brief glance, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes, before he pressed on.

“The surge caused massive neural shock. The energy is still trapped, her neurons firing in a chaotic loop that has locked her mind inside.”

Viktor withdrew his hand, rubbing his thumb against his fingers. “But it can be healed.”

The tension in Jinx’s shoulders didn’t ease. Her body stayed taut as she asked, cautious, “What kind of healing?”

Viktor lifted his head, his eyes lowered in thought. “The surge runs too deep. This is not like a bruise that can be mended by speeding up metabolism.” He paused, his voice steady. “The safest way is to evolve her—replace the unstable tissue in her brain so her signals can flow again.”

“And scrub her clean, turn her into a puppet?” Jinx lunged, clutching Isha tighter against her chest in a possessive grip. “No way.”

“The looping energy will cause permanent damage to her brain if it remains trapped,” Viktor said, his tone softening into quiet conviction. “She is dying. This is the way to save her.”

“What you’re proposing is the same as killing her!” Jinx barked, her voice cracking with fury. Her glare burned with raw distrust.

Viktor’s eyes widened, a faint tremor in his breath. He blinked, lips parting as though to answer, but no words came. For a moment, silence pressed heavy. His gaze dropped to the notebook lying open on the floor, its diagrams of Glorious Evolution stark on the page. His jaw tightened, and only then did he gather himself back into composure. Still, his posture remained stiff, every line of him drawn taut.

Jayce swallowed and stepped forward quietly, edging closer until he stood beside Viktor. Testing, he reached out, his hand settling on Viktor’s shoulder, relief softening his face when the touch was not avoided.

His voice carried a tentative lightness. “You said this was the safest way.” His fingers tightened in a gentle, steady squeeze. “What is the other way?”

Viktor leaned in, shoulders angling toward the warm hand on his shoulder.

“If we can send a counter-wave into the pattern trapped in her brain, it might neutralise the surge,” Viktor said, each word careful. “But one wrong move and she will die. And we do not have the equipment to attempt it.”

Jayce blinked, then turned to Jinx, who still watched him with guarded fury. “What did the hextech weapon look like?”

Jinx gripped Isha tigher, knuckles whitening. “Almost a half sphere, slightly oval,” she said. “About two inches across. Black, grey and gold. They had it fixed to the sleeve of the arm.”

Jayce rose and began to pace, his barefoot dragging a restless rhythm across the floor.

Viktor’s body leaned unconsciously toward the fading warmth where their touch had been, though Jayce seemed blind to it.

Jayce's hand came up to his neck, rubbing at the skin as scattered thoughts shifted and settled, pieces slotting into place.

After a few more strides, something steadied in his hazel gaze.

“I have an idea,” he said, turning to the two Zaunists.

“Though I doubt you will like it.”