Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: Do not pitch a project built on hopes and dreams to an assembly of men who do not trade in such naive things.

Before the panel of judges spoke, Viktor already knew what they would say and how they would say it. They would only direct themselves at Jayce when speaking, not spare a single glance his way, and ignore any of the work he had put in to stand beside Jayce today. And the worst part: that this would be what would decide the rest of his academic career.

“There is a problem.”

And there it was.

Today was progress week at Piltover’s academy. As was customary, the PHD program projects were to be judged in rounds throughout the week before the events of the weekend unfolded with all of the splendor the City of Progress was known for.

Viktor’s face doesn’t exactly do nicely when it comes to hiding his distaste towards the old-guard academics hawking their poison at Jayce like a sales pitch on their hierarchy itself. He and Jayce had been working together for six years. Many students completed their PHDs in four or five years, but Jayce and Viktor had taken six. The sheer scope of their work demanded it. They could have simply presented their scientific findings four years in, that in and of itself was revolutionary, but neither man would have been satisfied with that.

“This technology could help countless people!”

Viktor remembered his own words well when he had seen Jayce’s research. It wasn’t enough to present a new find that simply led to more questions to be endlessly asked. They needed an application. Viktor was from The Undercity. He knew that endless questions could be asked, but that would do nothing as people suffered and died. He had expressed this to his lab partner, and the man had agreed.

“It saved my life once. The world deserves that.”

It was why Jayce was one of the few from the Uppercity that Viktor would stand beside in a shared endeavour to change the world. Regardless of the circumstances at which Viktor was sent up here in the first place, he had a chance; an opportunity to earn his people the help they deserve next to a man he trusted so fully.

“I worry about the feasibility of this research ever being allowed to see the light of day." One of the board members spoke plainly. In the undercity, that would be a threat. Here, in the university, it’s still one. Just a different kind.

"You won't secure the financial backing for production, and your ideas will be buried. Plain and simple. If there is a Zaunite name attached to this, you'll get nothing,” another nods, adding his feelings on Viktor’s name on his own research as if the matter was one of mere tact.

"There are places for Zaunite support. Concepts that could lead to infrastructure changes on such a large scale are not one of them. Consider the security implications,” and the fretting is infuriating. Like Viktor’s mere name is an attack. His presence at all, a threat to them.

This is just how it is.
This is out of our hands.
It is all just so dreadfully complicated but we are doing our best to placate you.

It felt like the academy entrance exam, Viktor’s job interviews, and every doctor's appointment he had ever attended topside.

“Your research could help people, Talis,” With those words, Viktor is painfully reminded that Jayce has a Piltover name and the vast divide that places them at, “Consider this before risking it all over simple pride."

Viktor doesn’t move. He doesn’t even look at the man he stands beside. Such a need would be bearing a weakness he had long since burned out. Growing up where people survived on grit and anger, a child learns as much young. Yet despite his life of disappointments he still feels his ears strain with a fragile hope. Jayce would surely turn them down. Jayce would surely defend his partner.

Jayce Talis.

The man who existed in his mind wrapped in soft joys.

The one who would lay a blanket over his shoulders after a long day, bring him sweetmilk when he sensed his partner’s frustration over equations, and laugh with him when they were both a little too exhausted and anything became funny. The burden of their work towards ‘better’ was only tolerable with the assurance that doing good things for humanity was worth it if humanity could come in a form as lovely as Jayce Talis.

"We... Will consider the input. Thank you,” Jayce looks back at him, almost with pity in his eyes, and he nods. Nods to them.

Those soft memories that flashed through his mind with all the forbidden hope Viktor thought he had crushed away long before he ever met this man crumbled around him. The disdainful expression the Zaunite had been wearing morphs into disbelief, and before he can even process it, they are dismissed out the door. Six years of research evaluated as if by vultures ripping at carcasses of childhood dreams for ‘better.’

"Let's head back to the lab. We should think about this,” Jayce speaks, but Viktor barely lets the other man finish. He protests right there, in the middle of the hallway.

“There is nothing to think about, Jayce,” He clips out, then falls silent. He feels breathless without reason.

Jayce falls quiet too, watching Viktor and he can feel the gaze prickle the hairs on the back of his neck. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts and continue, eyes flickering around the large hall of the academy that stretched out around them before settling on Jayce’s own once more. “You said everything you needed to say when you pondered agreeing to their terms.”

When their eyes meet, Jayce has the audacity to look confused.

"V-," he starts, sounding placating, and for the first time Viktor feels a deep pang of anger at the nickname Jayce had been using for years. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted me to back you up, but it's a practical concession that we should consider moving forward. With the attacks from the Undercity, it makes sense. People might be afraid; hearing a Zaunite name attached to infrastructure. It doesn't take your control, it is just a marketing thing."

Jayce waves his hand flippantly when he says marketing, then that palm firmly lands on Viktor’s shoulder.

"As you said, the first priority is helping people. If the label is different, what does it matter?"

Oh how ironic. Jayce’s hands were always so firm, and their touch steadying like sturdy ground. Jayce never knew Viktor did not like to be touched because Viktor had never minded as long as it was Jayce. He had even found himself longing for more, time and time again in those six years. More steady hands, more warm skin, more of Jayce fucking Talis- and he cannot think about that right now. Not when Jayce’s warm hands now feel like agony.

He slaps away the hand so fast he nearly stumbles, having to use his cane to keep upright.

“What does it- Afraid? Of a name?!” Viktor’s blood is boiling and suddenly he doesn’t care where they are or who’s watching.

Jayce, the man he’d learned to trust with his life, had just agreed to take all the credit for this -their- creation. And all because of his origins, as if Viktor’s mere last name is some sort of threat. His anger is rising with a tight knot forming in his throat.

“You cannot be asking this of me.” He says, one last hope that Jayce will trace back his steps and redeem himself.

Jayce sighs at Viktor and presses his hand to his face.

"We can write you in after the funding is completed. But people need help now. This will hold us back. It's the practical option," His voice is steady with all the luxury of having a clear head.

A child named Talis would never have to wonder if his name could be in a college yearbook. A child named Talis would never have to wonder if his name would get his job application rejected. A child named Talis would never worry that passing his name on to a partner in marriage would be passing on a burden.

For a child named Talis, a name is simply a name.

There’s a part of him that knows this is arguably a little thing in the scope of their pitch today.

It was Zaunites on the front lines of production, suffering the injuries from the intense labor. Zaunites who did not have the money for the rising food prices as farms failed alongside fishing industries. Zaunites who did not have the resources to fix up their homes as weather and air worsened, or to go seek medical care as their bodies broke under the strain.

Hextech, green energy that was portable and infinite, could fix that.

There’s a part of Viktor that knows that Jayce is right, that he should just swallow another blow from Piltover and shut up. It’s how he had survived the university, survived living up here among them, survived any of this. By shutting up like a good, useful, Zaunite. This could help his people now. It shouldn’t be as important as it feels. But then where does it end?

Does it end with Zaunites being denied their names on their work? Or does it infect further, with the fruits of Hextech never reaching the undercity at all?

He lifts wounded eyes to meet those of his partner.

Will it even reach countless memories of late night big dreams?

“… If you proceed with this, today will be our last day as partners, Jayce.”

The boundary feels like desperation crawling its way from his throat as words.

Please.

Jayce’s eyes widened as if such a statement was a shock to him.

"I... What? Viktor, what are you talking about? Just... Go home. Get some sleep. We both pushed ourselves for this presentation. We can work this out when we have both rested. Alright? There is still the progress gala that the academy hosts, tomorrow night. We can talk then, alright?" Jayce seems to plead, exhaustion slipping onto his frame visibly.

Jayce had looked confused before, but also utterly unbothered no matter Viktor’s reactions. Could he only get him to listen by threatening this? Shaking his head, the Zaunite stepped back again. He needed to put as much distance between them as physically possible. And Jayce was right on one accord, he needed sleep.

“You saw it, Jayce. You saw how they only looked your way when they spoke. I wasn’t even in the room.” His words were rough with anger, fingers gripping tightly onto his cane. “This could be our chance to change it. To prove to Piltover that Zaunites are not some monolithic threat. And to prove to Zaunites that they can create real, tangible change! And you just- You did nothing.” By the end of the sentence, he just sounds drained, utterly disappointed.

"I... Alright. I need to think. And I'm in no state to. I'll come up with some options, Vik. Tomorrow we will talk. Alright?" Jayce seems to finally, finally grasp the need to take this seriously. He backs up, giving Viktor space, but Viktor can see how his hand raises and his fingers curl slightly in the urge to touch him.

Viktor just feels bitter, eyes on the pristine academy floor beneath them. He made no move to seek out the touch and let Jayce assure himself with the connection. It was like the flame between them had been snuffed out, and the warmth of their shared time was now so painfully empty. There was nothing between Zaun and Piltover besides a cold, rushing river.

“Right…” It still takes him some time to completely turn away, prying himself from all of the words he wanted to say but didn’t dare let out. But, eventually, he turned, and left without saying another word.

Bronze eyes followed his retreat.

This night felt like devastation, losing that hope for being seen after years of refusing to ever remove a mask of indifference. Little did he know, he still had so much to lose.

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: Do not let yourself be caught unaware, unprepared, or alone. Not when you hold something of value. Not if you intend to continue holding something of value. 

“Mr. Nadeník!” 

Viktor heard his name called with ferocity, accompanied by a harsh banging on the door. 

The illusionary peace of living in the upper city for so long had invented whispers of decorum and social liability. That knock should not be something to worry about. It simply could be someone from the school, or a package, or even just some stranger wanting something. But there was a tone in it. A tone that unlocked distant memories of growing up in Zaun. A tone that sounded like his neighbors houses getting raided, dogs barking, and his mother hurriedly telling him to go to his room as she hid their little medicine and money. 

He had been readying himself for the Academy’s Progress Gala when he heard it, and despite all of Piltover’s efforts in weathering down his sharp edges, he still tensed at the sound of his last name being barked out like that and the forceful thumping against the wood. 

Viktor hadn’t even managed to put on his suit jacket yet.

“Who is it?” He called warily, setting down his tie and making his way over to the door. 

No one replied and his nerves only rose. He could just keep the door shut, let whoever was outside knock like a maniac until their knuckles bled. But that would be so Zaunite of him, would it not? To not trust in the fragile pleasantries of this higher society would simply prove that he did not belong. That he had not earned his place here, merely been granted it. 

He opens the door and immediately curses his pathetic desperation to fit in. 

Waiting for him are four enforcers. Three are at the door, and one is a distance back leaning against the far wall with a cigarette in his lips. Zaun habits slip on like a broken-in pair of boots and Viktor sizes them all up in a moment. Not that it makes much of a difference, they could be half as formidable as they are and Viktor would still have no option besides a desperate bid at de-escalation. 

"Mr. Nadeník?" One of the enforcers stumbles over his name once more with a forceful self assurance. 

Viktor should’ve known. The gilded grandeur of Piltover’s streets does not stop the scummy habits of enforcers, they simply happen quieter so such ugly things were no disturbance. Those knocks had been too familiar, and just like that memory could never be purged from his brain neither could the Zaunite from his blood. He was a fool to even pretend. 

“No, you’re mistaken,” He forces an assured tone as he speaks, and quickly steps back to close the door. There’s a dull thud as the wood hits the rubber sole of the officer. The noise is like a final nail. Decorum was nothing but an illusion of safety up here, and relying on decorum when his body could not rely on itself to protect him was a foolish gamble. 

But why now? Had someone heard his conversation with Jayce last afternoon? 

The wood of the door is shoved so harshly that Viktor stumbles backwards. Warrant be damned, he enters and the two others follow, fanning out slightly like they were herding Viktor back from the door. 

"Hey, Officer Jacks, what did the description say about Mr. Nadeník?" 

“Brown hair, small build, younger male. Cane. Do you see anyone who matches that description, Officer Monger?” 

Viktor’s eyes widen slightly, anger flaring in his chest. Had he been born in Piltover he would be shouting about his rights or making a scene. Had he been born in Piltover, he might have also had a chance at running off. If he was built more like Jayce, with that strong frame and steady poise; the gilded promise of Pitlover packed into golden skin and unburdened smiles. 

But with this body… 

The slimy feeling of being weak started to pool in his stomach, coated in loathing and shame. His knuckles turn white from how hard he grips his cane. 

The officer standing behind the others takes the cigarette out of his mouth and throws it to the ground, stomping it out. "Don’t get over excited. Not here.” He’s speaking to the other enforcers. Is he in charge? 

“What is this about?” Viktor asks, stepping backwards to keep his eyes on them as he gains distance. It’s a good plan, until the one officer -Jacks- notices and simply moves forward to close the gap. He easily boxes Viktor against the far wall of his own apartment like a herded feral fox and not a man standing in his own home. The man doesn’t even reply, just inserts his uniformed frame knowing Viktor knows he has no hope to defend himself. 

The other two officers begin to wander through Viktor’s apartment, something casual in their movements. 

One of them lifts a book from a countertop in the kitchenette by the edge of it’s cover, snorting as the pages fall open, "Green energy, right?" 

The average enforcer shouldn't be able to guess that from the pile of books there. They were all on electrical engineering, him and Jayce’s most recent work for applications of their technology, not the generation of energy. He must have heard about their progress day pitch. Why would enforcers care? 

"Yeah, Richards. The Zaunite wants to do good by his type," The other says, running his fingers over Viktor's bookshelf. 

“Who sent you?” He snaps, doubting he’ll get an answer yet he asks nonetheless. Viktor Nadeník; always with the fruitless labor. What else could a man so helpless do? It’s tiring… So tiring. “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I am sure I could find it easily.” 

One of them picks up a journal. His design journal. The one with his signatures and dates. Despite Viktor teasing Jayce about it, Jayce had insisted the other take up the engineer’s habit. He had explained it was a legal precaution for copyright battles. They had both taken on an extra degree, Jayce in Civil Engineering and Viktor in Electrical and Mechanical Engineering, to complete their work. It always felt conceited and frivolous signing ‘Viktor Nadeník’ on every page. That is until this moment, when he saw the well-worn glue-bound book in the Enforcer’s hand. The sight felt like a violation of something that Viktor had let become so intimate to him.  

"I think this could be evidence. You won't miss it, right?" Officer Monger, who stands by the bookshelf, sends Viktor a smirk while he flicks through the book. 

He pauses on one page, and Viktor feels his blood run cold. A small concept sketch. A replacement leg, powered by Hextech. He had not mentioned investigating augmentation to Jayce, in part because it was personal and in part because they simply did not have the time to do the necessary research. Not yet, at least. 

The enforcer frowns and slips the book into a bag. 

Anger jolts through his body like electricity and Viktor takes a step forward, ready to demand the book’s return. A shunk interrupts him as Jacks, who stands just before Viktor, slides out a collapsible baton. That kind is supposedly illegal for officers to carry. Too likely to break bones. 

"I'm sure Mr. Nadeník will not mind," He says, and any Zaunite worth his under-city street skills has been around criminals enough to know a dirty threat. 

Viktor can feel his heart pound and sweat drip down the back of his neck as he eyes the weapon. When he looks back up, his eyes are distant, yet hold a desperation in them. It was as if he was fighting with himself between disconnecting from reality for his own preservation or risking being keenly aware of the callous disregard for his rights. 

“Give that back.”

Monger laughs as he pats the bag, "Oh? That sounds like resisting." 

Officer Jacks smirks, "Resisting arrest, Zaunite? " 

The baton swings up in a smooth movement, pressing under Viktor’s chin.

“Arrest?!” Viktor snaps back at them, indignant. The baton on his chin doesn’t scare him. The strong body of the enforcer in front of him doesn’t scare him either. These dogs taking away his life’s work does, however... That terrifies him. That journal is something irreplaceable. Unlike his body…  

Jayce couldn’t know about any of this, could he? No . Jayce would never let anyone do this. Not if he knew about it. Viktor hated himself for doubting it after what happened yesterday, even if for a moment.  

“I did nothing to get myself arrested-,” Viktor protests, just to get cut off. 

"If you have nothing to hide, you won’t worry about a ride down to the station," Jacks says, "You can talk to Sheriff Grayson. Get everything cleared up nice and easy?"

Viktor feels the tip of the painted metal press into the bone of his chin, forcing his back to bump against the wall. 

They are having fun . It’s disgusting; a slimy thing settling into Viktor’s gut at the realization. The feeling that he’s too inferior to be treated with any respect. The feeling that he’s too broken to even defend himself. The feeling of that man’s eyes on him. The joy he derives from the power he holds over Viktor feels like something the enforcer ripped from his very skin. Power was something Viktor had never once held, yet still he feels it’s absence at the other end of a weapon and with one of the few things that he felt was truly his, stolen into an enforcer’s bag.

“Get ‘it’ cleared? What are your accusations?” He asked, pressing them to give him a straight answer, “What have I done? Exist in your streets?”

The officer from the hall leans against the front doorway, a notebook in hand, "The theft of proprietary information, actually. If you think this is false, then come on a ride with us."

Viktor feels his chest clench again. There was so much -too much- to process. Theft of what? Was he getting framed? Who could have accused him of such a thing? Did the charges even hold any merit, or was it just an excuse? He had been in Piltover for years. Why now? His lungs ache as he tries to breathe, to calm down, but one thought circled in his head so persistently that he could not catch his breath. 

Was this because of their Progress Day Presentation? 

“I haven’t-,” He starts, desperate to defend himself but the words so thoroughly freeze on his tongue that he has to swallow them down to restart, “I have done no such thing! Everything produced in that journal was produced in tandem with my partner. You- They can ask Jayce. Jayce Talis, my lab partner. He will tell you.” 

"We have to escort you to the station, Mr. Nadeník. If you wish to call Mr. Talis, that is up to you," The enforcer at the back with the notebook says. 

There was no getting out of this, was there? 

Jacks pokes his cheek with the baton like he’s teasing a frightened animal, "So get in the car, Zaunite." 

Viktor feels his lip curl in disgust. He attempts to brush away the baton with his hand and push the enforcer back. 

“If you would step back I could walk myself-,” He snaps at the man, the words barely out when his world spins. His raised wrist is gripped and tugged. His chest slams into the enforcer’s back and he feels weightless before gravity hits him in the form of the floor rushing up to knock the air from his lungs as his spine slams into it. A gasp is torn from his lips as he feels his leg brace dig into his leg in ways it shouldn’t as he’s pushed down by a knee to his chest. The world blinks out of reach just to slam back into him a moment later as cold handcuffs tightly clasped around his wrists. If he had any chance at resisting before, it is gone now, stolen from his body like the air from his lungs. 

He coughs, eyes wide as he tries to remember how to breathe.

Viktor’s body is hauled up. His cane has fallen on the ground out of his reach, and he is dragged from his home. Jacks is flanked by Monger and Richards and the door of the enforcer SUV is yanked open for Viktor to be unceremoniously dumped inside. He pushes himself up on the seat as fast as he can manage, still coughing and blinking to try and clear his eyesight. 

Out the side window, he can see Richards head to the other vehicle to meet with the one that had been holding a notebook. He is now holding the bag with Viktor’s journal which gets placed into the trunk. A moment later, his laptop and folders of his research join the pile. There were no gloves or evidence bags used. He watches them flick through his wallet and remove his cards and cash, just leaving his ID before handing it off to Monger. 

The realization that he’s not going to the station is not shocking yet still sickening. This felt so unlike the security of being in Piltover. Unlike the well stocked grocery stores, the endless hot water in the showers, and the insulated houses that were cold in summer and warm in winter. This felt like Zaun. Where every choice was a gamble and every moment was not to be taken for granted. He felt like a fool for ever buying into the illusion that he would be safe. 

The doors at the front of the car open and Viktor watches two of the officers climb in. 

One of them, Jacks, says, “Monger, get us to the docks.” 

The vehicle, the one filled with Viktor’s research, his life , starts up. It pulls away, escaping North. The car Viktor is captive inside starts up as well, rumbling like a beast. It pulls out and heads South and the turn out of the parking lot of his apartment building feels like a sentence with no trial.

With nothing to do with his anxiety but sit in the car and wait for whatever it is the enforcers intend to do, Viktor falls back on his old skills. What are their goals? What are his options? Does he have any leverage? What is at risk? 

After his argument with Jayce the other day, he doubts the other would entirely be shocked if he does not show up to the gala. Rent was not due for a while, and those in the academy would take at least a week before taking any action about his absence. Jayce was the most likely to notice quickly, and now long before Jayce would look for him? Certainly much longer than it would take for the worst to happen. 

Would Jayce be okay at the Progress Gala on his own?

The question slams into his brain so hard it feels like it jostles his body. No, that’s stupid. Jayce had always been good at those sorts of things. Jayce Talis would be fine without Viktor Nadeník. 

The scenery begins to change as they drive further and further. He could tell they were in the lower levels of Piltover. Working class row homes and small corner groceries flanked the streets. Then the bridge and Viktor can see across the river into Zaun, cast in perpetual smog with its industrial buildings jutting from the shadows. Home. 

Distantly he recalled walking the river with Jayce, early on in their project. In a burst of excitement, Jayce had dragged him to a cafe that overlooked the river. He ordered them drinks just to steal the napkins so he had something to draw on. Viktor watched the man in expensive pants whose research was Kiraman sponsored plop himself down on the ground at the side of the river and start drawing. He chattered about ideas to fix the river, turn it into a system with a through for shipping vessels that still left access for the river ecosystems and small craft to go from one side to the other. A filtration system to keep up the water quality powered by Hextech was included, of course. His excitement was infectious, and Viktor had found himself enamored. 

“It is important that Zaunite fishing vessels can still cross. Fishing on the east and the west with the same boat could save someone a lot of money.” 

Viktor still remembers his own words well, and his shock when Jayce took his intellectual input seriously. 

“You’re right. The channel from one side to another should be plenty large, providing those fishing vessels a way through without having to pay the tariffs to go through the larger passage for shipping vessels. But that still doesn’t fix the issue of safe passage across the river for pedestrians. Right now all we have is the bridge, but not everyone has a car. What if there was some tourist element? Do you think Zaunites would engage with one?” 

"You, ah... Have a connection to someone in the undercity. Yes?" Jacks asks, looking back at Viktor through the bars in the squad car. The interrupting words shake Viktor from his thoughts. 

"An industrialist? Silco?"

Hearing the name makes his eyes widen, though he quickly guards his face to make it more neutral.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, poison laced in his words as his mind begins to race. 

Was that why they took him? Because of Silco? Did it have nothing to do with Hextech? Or the rest of his and Jayce’s research? 

But that wouldn’t explain why they’d take all his journals and work logs, or the hard drive of his computer. 

"The only reason your body isn't getting dumped in a ditch tonight is because of him." The enforcer says, turning back to level Viktor with his gaze, "We don't want to piss him off too badly. But just because someone with a little power favors you, doesn't mean you get to weasel your way into places you don't belong. Silco only has as much power as we allow. Same goes for you and your freedom to roam around Piltover proper. Only as much as we allow." 

Viktor’s breath quickens with anxiety at the outright threat. His lungs still ache from getting thrown earlier and it hurts . He pulls at the handcuffs, and when they don’t give -of course they don’t- panic grips his heart and he yanks again but harder. The metal digs into his uselessly flesh-made wrists and that sickening feeling of being weak drips into his mind all over again. 

“Your power only reaches as far as that badge does,” He snaps, a desperate attempt at controlling his own panic by appearing more confident than he is. 

The car turns sharply and his back hits the door. He snarls, unable to shift into a better position because the muscles -the flesh- of his leg which had rendered the limb practically useless at this point.

Monger, the one driving, looks back at him. "Is that a threat? How convenient. Makes it easier for us to do the paperwork after we break your face in. Not that anyone will look into this. Anyone who didn't already pay for it to happen, that is." 

‘Jayce.’

‘Jayce will look into it.’

That single thought is like a lifeline that Viktor clings to. He isn’t alone when topside, no more than he is alone in the undercity. 

The SUV finally rolls to a stop, and between his frantic and pointless yanking at the handcuffs, he can see that they’re in Zaun’s ports. The warehouses they are between are familiar but not ones he's been in before. Not ones he recognizes as buildings Silco owns.

Remembering the Chem Baron, his own Zaunite version of a sponsor not dissimilar to Jayce’s relationship to the Kiraman family, Viktor feels his stomach flip. At this point he knows the enforcers will not kill him. They said as much, and there was no reason for them to lie. If they did tell him they intended to kill him, it would not change a damn thing. Viktor was still defenseless. He also didn’t fear the beating that seemed to be coming. He was from Zaun, where respect was everything and brute strength earned such a luxury like nothing else. He had taken punches for talking back, standing his ground, or even just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Pain was a currency down here, traded between the ruling barons both within and among their organizations like any other good or service. 

But a new, fresh, fear occurred to him. Not only was he losing his research, but he was being dumped down here. Silco would be notified. He could not easily figure what the man would do, not directly, but from the little interactions they had been exchanging he knew the Baron was… impassioned would be the polite way to put it. Since when had he cared about putting anything politely? Seems Piltover really had weakened him. 

The door in the back is thrown open and Viktor is hauled out by his collar and thrown to the ground. His already bruised wrists don’t help when he uses his hands to break his fall from the car to the dirty and wet floor of Zaun’s streets. He remembers this smell all too well. Here where the grime settles in the cracks of the concrete, perpetually damp with sea water and accumulated humidity. 

One of the officers, Monger, produces Viktor's cane. They must have grabbed it when he dropped it. He turns it in his hand, shifting his grip so blatantly. The intended usage is easy to guess before the swing even starts. 

Viktor’s scream echoes between the warehouses.

Damn Jayce Talis for fixing that thing so well. Making its body of metal -perfect metal- so sturdy and dependable. Oh, the irony…

The swing is not nearly hard enough to break bone, but it will leave a nasty bruise on the side of his knee on his bad leg. Idly, nearly calmly, he catalogues in his head that he will not be walking anywhere tonight. 

The more animalistic side of his brain begs for help. Someone to show up. Jayce, maybe, looking for him. But such a fantasy is pathetic to even dwell on. No one comes to his aid. Not here. Not ever. Silco had said it once before. You can die a weak man, or survive a strong one. 

The enforcers are fast about it, nearly efficient. Despite this though, it feels like an eternity from his place at their feet. They bruise him up just enough to make the walk back up impossible. It's calculated. He's just collateral that they don't think twice about. By the time they’re done with him, Viktor can’t move. He’s coughed blood a couple of times already, and the kicks don’t earn as many sounds as they did before.

When done, they remove his cuffs and then dump his cane at his feet. 

Monger produces his wallet, the one that had no cash or cards, just Viktor’s ID. It’s gently tucked into his pocket. 

"He should be able to make it up eventually," Jacks says, “Or crawl up, I suppose.”

Monger nods, "The golden boy would be upset if he doesn't return at all. We did promise them he wouldn't be too injured. Kept his face clean, too.” 

Viktor was nearly unconscious, but torturously not nearly unconscious enough. Not enough to miss their conversation. Not enough to not have his world shattered and not enough to not hear a fear he never even dared imagine possible be voiced right above him. 

He waits. 

Silent. 

Still. 

The tires of the patrol vehicle grind against pavement as they leave. 

He’s alone, and if Viktor had been clinging to the shattered pieces in some illusion that the world is not broken, now it all falls, crumbling through his fingers. 

His tears mix with the dirt on the floor, with his own blood, just as his body shakes with each escaping sob. He curls up in himself with all his remaining strength, holding his head in his arms, and cries, letting out all the pent-up emotions storming in his soul. They pour out like a broken dam, leaving a gaping feeling of agonizing emptiness. 

But he is a Zaunite, once more in Zaun. Broken is no death sentence. Not in body or mind. Only the reaper decides who is dead, and Viktor’s heart still beats. 

“You can die a weak man, or survive a strong one.”

It's a while before someone finds him. They realize a body is there crumpled into the concrete and disappear. A moment later, there is the sound of heels on stone. Someone comes to a stop before him. 

Viktor thinks he might’ve fallen asleep -or unconscious- for a while, when the voice of a woman makes him blink his eyes open. 

"You're one of Silco's, aren't you?" She asks. 

He’s slow to move his hands away from his face, and just as weak to look up at the source of the sound. In the state he’s in, it would be stupid to deny it when this woman already knows. Viktor has been gone from Zaun long enough to not recognize her, but that doesn’t make her any less dangerous. So, with a short and weak nod, he ends up giving her all the information she needs.

She clicks her tongue, and Viktor feels his world go black again. 

What happened in Zaun, Viktor decided, would stay in Zaun. And a lot happened, that was for sure. It took Viktor more than he would have liked to recover; over two weeks. However, even when he found himself healthy enough to return to the Academy, he didn’t feel ready. 

Down there he had gone paler, gotten thinner, thanks in part to Zaun and also in part to his injuries making it hard to eat. His injuries, yes. And not the nauseating, tangled thoughts running constant laps in his head. The ones that made bile rise up his throat and his head throb and why was his chest tight again?

His apartment is the same exact way it was left. No one had looked for him, it seems. The next place to go is the lab. 

He’s carefully making his way down the academy halls, ignoring how their grandeur now feels like it’s mocking him personally, when he is blocked just before the door as a large body steps through it with a box held in its arms.

Jayce was leaving the lab. Their lab.  

He freezes when he sees Viktor, bronze eyes widening at him.

Viktor had expected a lot of things when he got back, but Jayce leaving the lab with a box of personal items in his arms was not one of them. But then again, it seemed like he had been learning a lot about this man he hadn’t known before.

The Zaunite says nothing. They stare at each other for a short moment, and then Viktor is moving again. He walks past Jayce and into their -his- lab, his limp a little heavier than before in his haste. 

"Tch-," Jayce hisses under his breath when Viktor won't even address him. He grips the box tighter as Viktor goes into the lab. It's been cleared of Jayce's things. Cleaned, even, as if for someone else to use the space after him. There had been little things. Friendly things. Sticky notes on the walls, their doodles back and forth on the blackboard. All of it is gone now. Even a chunk of Viktor's things had been tossed into boxes to clear more space. 

Once he’s standing in the middle of the lab, Viktor stops. He has to, because he needs to take it all in before proceeding. It’s not difficult to feel Jayce’s watching eyes on the back of his head, but he doesn’t turn. The bruises still healing around his ribs make it impossible for him to do so.

He watches the place, spots all the differences, and his chest aches. How much of it had been real? Was there an offer on Hextech? Was that why the enforcers had come for him? Just how much money could have changed Jayce that much? Or maybe Jayce had not changed at all. 

They were all the same, in the end. Everyone up here, in the golden light of Piltover’s clear skies. No amount of shared meals, happy laughter, or gentle touches could change that. 

A dream made in Piltover was just a fantasy for a man with no name. 

Jayce opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but is interrupted. 

"Jayce, are you coming?" A voice calls from further down the hall. It sounds like a man, but Viktor barely cares enough. 

"..." He looks at the back of Viktor's head, gaze turning bitter with all of the pain of rejection. 

"Yeah. I'm coming, Ferros."

Viktor doesn’t turn around. Instead, he moves over to sit on his stool, now watching Jayce’s clean side of the table, and waits for the door to click shut. 

The soft noise feels like a death he should mourn. 

Viktor grabs the first thing he can find and throws it against the wall.

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: Do not burden a weak metal beyond its means. If the piece is hopelessly out of its depth, simply smelt it down and forge it into something suitable. 

It was nearly four years later, but who was counting. Viktor had become a professor in that time, like a mangy dog getting thrown a bone in consolation. 

“We will permit the poor Zaunite to work as a professor.”

When his sponsor had managed to get Viktor into the Academy, this meager position was not what either of them had in mind. Viktor had not studied so hard - had not dedicated six years of his life to a physics PHD - just to teach Piltover students Intro to Mechanical Engineering. Though he was good at it, and whatever he did up here would pay better than any job back in Zaun he could work. So, he took it. Settled for what they gave him. It had even started to become customary. 

‘Professor Nadeník,’ as the students called him. Or tried to. The name was perpetually a burden he inflicted on the good people of Piltover. He was reminded of that every time a student fumbled over it clumsily. 

That morning when he got to his office, a letter was waiting on his desk. His name was written on the front, the proper tick over the 'í’ in scarlet ink. Silco. 

He could surmise just from its presence that he would be busy after classes. 

The sun had started to set when Silco’s first adopted protege entered The Last Drop. It had been four years since the incident. Four years without seeing the old man. Not since said old man had answered the door to his beaten body slung between the arms of another Baron’s goons. They would interact over text, short and concise as Silco preferred, but rarely in person. 

“Behave yourself and wait for me to call upon you.”

That had been good enough for Viktor. 

“I got the letter,” he greets, swinging open Silco’s heavy office door after knocking twice.

Silco's singular teal eye turns up to see Viktor enter, the other covered by an eyepatch. The man’s office was well decorated for an office over a nightclub. A massive fish tank sat behind his large desk, and the dark wood matched the dark walls, floor, and ceiling. The only real light came from the window, filtered through the tank which cast swaying shadows over the back of his tall, upholstered chair. 

To the layman, the wry smile he gives would look like a threatening grimace. Viktor knows better than to take it that way. 

"Good. I wish this humble reunion was under more pleasant circumstances. The materials you've been sending for Jinx have been appreciated. You barely know the girl but she often asks me if you've sent something new." 

Viktor hummed in acknowledgement. 

Jinx. Viktor knew she was eighteen. Knew she liked to draw and was close to Silco. Knew she was leagues ahead of most kids her age, reading books he was able to buy through his position that most of his students had trouble understanding at the academy. If only she had the chance of a true education. But having seen how that went for Viktor, Silco did not risk it. Not with her. It was good to know what he did for the girl was appreciated, even if it wasn’t all that much. The books hardly felt like anything when he sent them from his massive university classroom. That or his townhouse, the one he lived in alone with a huge hot water tank and well insulated walls and a fridge that poured filtered water from its door. His life was always bathed in bright sunlight up there. Murky, dappled spots filtered through a fish tank were not a common sight for Viktor, not anymore.

“So, what happened exactly?” He moves forward, not so wary anymore around the man who took him in so many years ago. 

When he was a child he had so easily fallen for it. Silco’s abrasive nature and hardened looks were carefully crafted to communicate power and strength. No different from any advertisement in Piltover, he had built his look and demeanor to gain what he wanted; power as the primary and most powerful Chembaron. Even as an adult Viktor had been wary. He rarely saw his patron during his time in college, though then the updates were more frequent. Such communication felt like an interrogation back then so Viktor had always assured the man everything was alright. He had been a damn liar though, and Silco realized as much when Viktor had been returned to him black and blue courtesy of a thug-like crew of enforcers. Though, just a few weeks in of healing and being cared for by the medics Silco supposedly had taken to keeping around, Viktor had worked it out. 

It really was quite simple. 

Silco was a fearful man. 

Carefully, Viktor sits in the chair opposite to the desk, waiting for Silco to speak. The old chair creaks, but is comfortable. Well broken in from its years of use. 

"She was shot, Viktor.” 

At that the professor stills, widened eyes finding the other man’s face. Silco was not looking at him now. Now, his eyes were on a distant point. 

“Nothing that would kill her. But she lost a finger. Everything she’s done, and yet today her sin was simply being in the street when enforcers came by. They picked a fight and she defended herself. Then they shot her finger off, " The words fall out bit by bit like they're desperately stitched together in an attempt to make a sentence. 

Silco seems stunned. Not by the barbarity of the enforcers even, but by how much their run-of-the-mill cruelty dared to hurt him. 

It’s a shocking sight for Viktor to see, Silco so thoroughly affected by something. Viktor doubts he has ever seen the man reacting in such an emotional way towards anything before. This girl must be really important to him.

Nodding gravely, the inventor leans back in the chair to let out a soft sigh, “I could work on a prosthetic. After all, it’s a finger we’re talking about. Maybe a whole hand would need a specialist. But this, I can do.” 

He uses his cane as support, even while sitting down, both hands wrapped around the steady shaft now re-painted a simple black as he continues. 

“I’d like to meet her. Get her input.”

Silco closes his eyes and there is a labor in the small movement, "It might put her in better spirits. You know those Civilians who have begun to work alongside enforcers? Making them bolder, with those weapons. Her sister is now one of them. A Zaunite, prancing around with Hextech." 

Now it makes sense. He knew the girl he had been sending books to liked to make a show when working for their sponsor, but she had never been one to start something without a goal in mind. That much he could tell from the news reports. And to stick around long enough to let herself lose a finger? It made sense that something personal had happened. 

“Heroes,” Viktor drawls, the sarcastic roll of his eyes making it impossible to assume he considers the title apt. 

“I’ll help her,” He sighs, straining as he uses his cane to help himself stand up. “Where can I find her?”

Silco stands up quickly, too quickly to claim apathy, "Follow me, Viktor." 

His facade of indifference settles once more as Silco leads the way. It was a trick picked up from the Zaun that had raised him, he muses, as he follows behind the older man and watches his back, painted scarlet by his loose dress shirt. 

Surprisingly, he is led outside of The Last Drop and to a nearby building Silco must have purchased recently. Viktor had been treated from his bruises in a back room of the bar. At the time, it had been stuffed with Silco’s men who had sustained some injury or another. The second Viktor steps inside behind Silco, the reason for a new building becomes devastatingly obvious. The makeshift medical center was stuffed with their people. Just average, random Zaunites, all piled into a building owned by a Chembaron. Someone who made his money from his iron grip on undercity trade. 

Most down here do not have insurance, not unless you work in the mines or factories yourself. And even then, the miner’s insurance is callus, denying claims constantly at any indication of ‘self-inflicted’ harm. Most any doctor left in Zaun won't risk treating you unless they know they will get paid, and the only ones who can afford to are up in the promenade. 

Viktor’s chest tightens with something he can’t quite place. He must’ve gotten too used to the tranquility of Topside, because what he sees troubles him. The fine clothes of a Piltover professor feel as if they melt into his skin, branding him as if he were a dog rolling over for a paycheck. Though it could also be the thought that he could be actively helping his people, had he not had such a fallout with his old friend. 

Don’t think about him. 

His grip tightens around his cane, and he exhales, trying to let go of the frown that keeps his eyebrows pinched as he follows Silco further inside. The man walks past the rows of cots, shuffled into what must have been a living and dining room of a townhome at one point. 

In the back, there is a girl. She can't be older than eighteen. Far too young for the bloodied bandage wrapped around her hand, and far too young for the anger in her eyes. Her pajama pants are fuzzy with sharks over them and her nails are all mismatched. Eyeliner smears down her cheeks and under her eyes, likely from rubbing her face. She looks entirely different from how he pictured her from Silco’s texts. 

There is a purple flash as her eyes snap up to Silco. 

"Am I allowed out now?" She demands, "This is nothing. I can still do things." 

Her words come out with a bite that feels nostalgic to Viktor. The feeling of helplessness is painfully obvious in her features, and for a moment Viktor wonders if that is what he looked like, eighteen and covered in mud, arguing about going to the academy with the man that now stood next to him. 

"Tch. And who is this? Piltover clothing? If you brought some stupid doctor from Topside I'm walking out right now." 

'Topside' is spit out like it is a dirty word. It is, down here. 

Only once he’s called out does Viktor speak. He holds out the hand Jinx can shake, using the other one to keep his cane in place.

“I’m Viktor. It’s good to finally meet you, Jinx.” 

Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment she looks like the child she is. 

"Ahh, not that type of doctor," Her eyes glitter as a grin finds its way onto her lips. She shakes his hand eagerly, "You're the zaun-boy who made it out. Been sending me all those books, yeah?" 

Her smirk manages to put a polite smile on Viktor’s lips. Now that he thinks about it, it has been a long time since he last smiled. She looks like a promise, a promise of trouble wrapped in blue braids, bright tattoos, and a grin that’s all teeth. How utterly Zaunite of her. 

He realizes he feels good about this new acquaintance. 

“That’s me,” He nods, then moves to the side of the cot she was sitting on, “Can I take a look? I might have a few ideas to get you something that helps. It’s not a good finger to lose.”

She shifts back, giving him space to sit next to her without voicing it. 

"I sketched out some ideas with my bad hand. Sevika has been getting maintenance from that damn Renata woman. So I looked at how her fingers are made to workshop some ideas." 

Slowly, Viktor lets himself sit next to her and places the cane by the wall to rest. Next to him, Jinx seamlessly fell into the idea of work, not forcing awkward conversation about Viktor’s ability. Just like it had been when Viktor started working with- don’t think about him . 

Silco’s lips don’t move, but the corners of his eyes wrinkle. A Silco smile, though it's gone in a flash, "I will leave you two to your work."

“We’ll take care of it,” Viktor promises him, eyes glued to the sketches Jinx had handed him even as the man leaves. 

They had been done with her bad hand, yet still impressive despite the crayon doodles over the pencil sketches. It only took him a few seconds with her to understand why Silco tried to protect her so dearly. She had potential. Such a thing was rare in Zaun. At least, left intact despite the disparity between the twin cities. Had Silco seen that spark in Viktor? Did Viktor still even have it? Hard to imagine he could. Not after- don’t think about him. 

“Your ideas are good. They’re… Very much doable,” He lifts an eyebrow at the finger design, yet still finds himself feeling amused. “We can definitely follow this design. I can get you the materials and give you a few finishing touches.” 

Her eyes widened ever so slightly at his praise. It is nearly a look of alarm. Then she forces it away with a shake of her head that sends her blue hair waving. 

"I can't do much without my good hand right now. I'd need someone around." 

It's a statement, sure, but also a question. 

"You've been in Piltover for a while, from what Silco says. Tried to do something good but it didn't pan out. Well I think it's stupid for us to have you just for you to be useless up there. You should come around. Help out. People can use it." Her eyes flick to the rows of cots and limited, weary medical staff. 

His amber gaze follows her violet one. His jaw sets as he watches the too-small medical facility. How had it gotten so bad? That a Chembaron was needed to get civilians treated? Hosting the facility personally. Were the staff volunteers? Or was Silco paying them? He doubted they were licensed. He recognized a few from around the city. Jinx wasn’t wrong; he could do a lot here. They needed him. Up there he was only wasting time, and time was something he did not have much of. 

With a deep sigh, part of Viktor wonders if Silco put her up to this. The inventor looks down, seemingly lost in thought as he weighs his options. It takes a moment for him to answer, but when he does, he sounds gentle. 

“Let’s start with your finger first, alright?”

"It should be nothing. A finger. Nothing compared to..." She trails off, eyes going distant for only a moment before she snaps back to awareness like a rubberband, "But it's a start! I'll hold you to it, Doctor-nerd-man!" 

Viktor looks over at her, smirking slightly at the way she chose to address him. At least he knew he’d have fun down here, helping her out.

“I’ll think about it, kid,” He clarified, even if he already had thought about it. He reaches his hand out, “Let me see the damage first.”

She plops her hand into his, laughing, "That uh... Ms. Top hat or whatever! She's a nasty shot." 

Viktor frowns. A Hextech Hero had done this? They had really gone and shot a child? 'Ms. Marksman' was her actual hero name. One of the only enforcers who qualified for the preliminary Hextech Hero trial runs. Little else was known about her -or any of the heroes- but even thinking about what had become of their research since the Hextech Rails City Project made Viktor feel sick. He could picture the gun the woman carried clear as day. She was the one who had announced the Hextech Hero Project to the press, weapon in hand .

As the inventor slowly takes the bandaging away from around her hand, he thinks of all the ways in which this could’ve been avoided. Was this not his fault? Could he not have stopped it? 

Viktor had not been the start of the idea, but Hextech would not exist without him. Viktor, who had so easily fallen for big dreams of green energy and infrastructure development. Viktor who had spent six years beside a man solving equations and designing applications for positive change. Viktor who had been cast aside then forced to watch their technology get sold to the city of Piltover just to become something so perverse. 

Hextech Weapons had been destroying the undercity, even with only a dozen Hextech Heroes qualified for the preliminary trials, and said trials having only run for eight months. 

These tools of death were powered with infinite and portable energy. A resource like that exists as if a fantasy come to life by Viktor’s own hands and yet most anyone who hears the word Hextech picture’s the technology’s most glamorous use; death. Those in Piltover see the blue glow held in a lineup beside enforcers and they are enthralled. Those in Zaun hear the thrum of a Hextech charge and they are terrified. 

By Viktor’s own hands… 

Ignoring Jinx’s words for the better, he carefully turns her hand around, making sure to take a good look. The wound was burned shut, cauterized from the sheer energy a Hextech bullet puts off. 

“Nothing we can’t fix. Your design is definitely viable for this injury. We will need to make sure it properly heals first, however.”

She huffs, her cheeks puffing slightly as her skin heats up, "So you're like Silco? Want me benched? Doing nothing? I- I can still be useful! I can still help." 

She was eighteen and more concerned with helping than healing. 

Viktor sighs, “He did raise me, so it is reasonable that I remind you of him, in some way.” It’s not an excuse, it’s a reality, but he knows what it is to feel helpless. Like you can’t do anything. So much nothing that it becomes suffocating and eventually you just let yourself be smothered by your nonconsensual inaction. He could help her in this. Silco might not approve but he knows what he needs in those moments and here, right now, he can provide that to her. 

“I need a place to work. Do you think you can get me that?” 

She perks up, "Yeah! I know some places. That's if it hasn't been leveled. Silco got me a workshop." 

Then in a flash of blue braids, she is standing, "Though... We can ask him to get us a new place. Something closer to the promenade? So it's like... Close for you to get to?"

Viktor hums, watching her mismatched nails swipe around the air as she gesticulates. Her idea isn’t all that bad. Besides, he wouldn’t want to take over her personal place. 

“That might be good, yes,” His hand moves to grab his cane and stand by her side, “I’m sure he’ll have something for us. And if you have anything you want to add to your design, make sure you let me know. I’d like us to work on this together.” 

She looks at him and there's almost a hesitance there, "You... Want my input? But you're like... A doctor." 

‘Doctor’ is said with a snort like the title itself is ridiculous. Or maybe simply the presence of one, down here in Zaun standing next to her. 

Viktor had actually, initially been denied his PHD. Only through Talis-brand pity did he get his postgraduate. Viktor had never asked Jayce to get it for him, and Jayce never even mentioned that he argued for it. To Viktor, it was like a goodbye. ‘Here. Now I owe you nothing.’ The idea of holding a PHD now always felt unearned. Not that he did not do the work, he did, but that it would have been stolen away had Jayce Talis not pitied the poor cripple from the undercity enough. Viktor was granted his doctorate with the same repulsion at which change is kicked at homeless Zaunites on the street. Meanwhile, Jayce’s entire world changed. ‘Man of Progress’ they called him for their research. Hextech had become the Piltover-wide Hextech City Rail. Then, it became weapons, a system with civilian ‘heroes’ providing their assistance in stopping crime right next to Enforcers. He was the picture of progress and defence in the city, grinning face plastered everywhere as if the universe wanted to haunt Viktor with how utterly inadequate he was to them. 

It was strange, now, being called doctor and not hating the idea. He had even told his students not to call him that. Not like he was using his doctorate in physics to teach Intro to Mechanical Engineering. But now here was this undercity kid, covered in tattoos and bandages, teasing him in such an unknowingly profound way.  

Viktor buries a chuckle in a fake disapproving head shake, “I’m not a medical doctor, mind you. After seeing your designs though, I have a good feeling about this.”

And with that, he made a promise. To Jinx in part, though not that he said it out loud. He started walking out, making sure to look around himself so every single person in that room stayed deep in his mind for a long time. If he wavered, he would think about this place. The ozone smell of Hextech and the burning acrid scent of flesh turned charcoal. That would drive him forward. 

"Dogfight would hate this!" Jinx chirps as she follows him, head bobbing back and forth. 

At the hero's name, he looked over at the girl. Dogfight? Another hero that had grown well known as of late, iconic for boxing with Hextech gloves. That had to be her sister, from what Silco told him.

So, good. 

“Let her hate this.”

She freezes. Her head turns back to look at Viktor and her lips slowly spread into a grin. "Really now? You know, Doctor Library! I think you and I are going to get along! I wish I had lost more than just a finger. Maybe if I had lost a whole arm we could put a rocket launcher in it! Like that Hex-Hammer thing!" 

Viktor chuckles, leading the way outside. They’d have to talk to Silco about this, he’d have to change some of his classes. So many things to do, and so much to work on, though for the first time in four years the idea of labor for good no longer seemed insurmountable. If anything, it was energizing. A chance worth taking. 

Maybe it was her funny nicknames, or her imaginative ideas. Maybe it was the warmth of someone just as passionate as him, or the big dreams shared between two people built on wishes for better. Almost like… Please, just don’t think about him right now. 

“Isn’t there a hero with a ‘Hex-Hammer’ already? We would have to get you something else.”

She scoffs loudly. "Defender of Tomorrow! Uuugh," There is no attempt to make up a nickname, as if the title itself was silly enough to her. 

Viktor had to agree. Defender of Tomorrow was a stupid name. 

"You're right. The hammer is lame. I want a rocket launcher... Shaped like a shark! That will show his stupid smug ass, calling me a civilian. 'Get to safety, mam!' Asshole." 

It was surprising that Jinx had run into that hero at some point. Unlike the other heroes, he had so far been elusive, not talking publicly to the press or even being photographed often. The assumption of most of Zaun was that he was in some sort of commander position, so the city was keeping him quiet for the trial period of Piltover’s ‘Super Cops’. Viktor also personally suspected that his weapon was specialized somehow, but he had knowledge others did not about Hextech. 

Jinx continued to babble about the man, faking his voice by filling her chest with air to deepen her own. The way she talked about the masked man made the inventor chuckle. It was a warm feeling as he followed her to Silco’s office. 

Things would have to change, but that would be alright. This, being there for a young Zaunite and the promise of helping others just like her -just like him- was worth it. 

Convincing Sico was not as difficult as one would have imagined. Maybe because having the two together, supporting each other, meant more to him than any of his endless apprehension. Or maybe because the promise of a better tomorrow was already more than what Silco had managed until now. 

It was a pleasant gift to return to the man. 

Hope. 

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: A product’s value does not exclusively lie in its practical application. For instance, marketability and sex appeal will do more to maximize profits than any well-pitched usability. This may be the more important consideration in securing investments.

It was four months later of counting every minute. 

They had finished their work; the laboratory was set up and ready to be used. 

Viktor had grown to know Jinx and her two brothers Mylo and Claggor in that time. Jinx, for instance, was a talker through and through. She spoke of her sister becoming a hero with an enforcer. She spoke of her ‘pranks’ on Piltover, to steal resources and help Zaun. And she talked about engineering. She didn't call it engineering; she called it making bombs, being a mechanic, fixing things. And yet Viktor’s experience as a professor let him see her promise in the field he had been teaching in for years.  

Sevika had also been around to help build the lab, or rather manage deliveries. Viktor had gone to the academy before Vander had disappeared so he never much knew the woman besides that she was now Silco’s right hand. She was standoffish, but was efficient and organized. Furthermore, she was dedicated. That was something he was glad to have around, if only for the good influence it had on the youngest in their organization. 

Silco would stop by every now and then to see how his money was getting spent. At least that was always the excuse he used. In just these four months, Viktor had learned even more about the man. Not much from anything he ever said, no. Silco kept his true feelings and the words he spoke strongly partitioned. But the man’s actions? Those quickly became far too loud to ignore. The lab hardly stayed just a lab. Now there were talks of a factory. Ever the pragmatist, Silco had explained that competing with high-end and personalized augmented parts was not a field they would find “return” in entering. Smeech dominated the market and word on the street was that a woman named Renata was planning to enter with a new development called chem-treated steel. Instead Silco suggested an alternative. Cheap and mass produced. Focused on quantity for emergency response and accessibility. Someone can always seek out a more expensive piece later, but a cheap and short term fix could mean surviving long enough to the next upgrade for many Zaunites. 

Viktor had even gotten to know others; those who worked for Silco or just those who lived and worked nearby. It was so silly to think of his time in Zaun building a laboratory like this, but it felt like he was regaining a community of sorts. He had not felt like this in a long time; a man who walked streets that came alive with human connection. The more he visited, the more the people here managed to convince him staying to help out was the best thing he could do. Not through debating with him the merits of Zaun like a proposal given before a board, no. Rather with shared handshakes and friendly smiles. Every new name he learned was an anchor to the side of the river he should have never left. After so many years spent in Piltover, he had almost forgotten how different everything was down here. In the end, maybe this was just what he needed to finally make a change. He needed to relearn the people he wanted to help. Memorize the faces he wanted to aid. 

This was not for some national pride in the vague name of Zaun, it was for Jinx and her siblings so utterly filled with hope for their futures. It was for Sevika and Silco, giving up their time to make it work. It was for the delivery driver, Cypress, and the kids he kept a photo of on the dash when he dropped off equipment. Or the electrician, Danny, and his new girlfriend he would not stop talking about while wiring up outlets. Or the two girls, Jess and Ally, who worked at the gas station across the street and helped hold the ladder Jinx was on as she spray painted “limbs ‘n things” above the door to the lab.  

Zaun was no longer some nebulous and distant idea, it was simply home. A home filled with good people who built good memories by their very own hands. 

It was the official move-in day when the professor was leaving his house. He knew Jinx entirely too well by now to make such a rookie mistake, and yet she still managed to surprise him. Nearly smooth tires screeched as the brightest car he had ever seen stopped on a dime right before his feet. 

"Doctor, I'm picking you up!" Jinx shouts, completely unaware - or perhaps uncaring- of the absolute scandal she would cause from being here. A 2005 Toyota Camry was not exactly a common vehicle around these parts. Especially not a neon blue one with a fuzzy pink steering wheel cover and a monkey hanging from the rearview. 

People on the streets turned their heads, and Viktor was well aware of the gazes. 

"You'll get us both locked up one of these days. Unless you drive us into a pit before then with those tires. You have a bad belt as well," He comments, though despite it all he is relaxed, even shooting her a tiny and playful smirk, "Thank you, though."

She knew damn well he hated the Hexrail system. It ran through Zaun, sure, but not with any practicality to its design. And not from Piltover to Zaun. Viktor could get up to the river, but that was about it. Supposedly an under-river line was being set up, but the development was stalled due to safety risks. Supposedly. While in Piltover there were endless stops, and nearly anyone could get anywhere from a train station. In Zaun though, the differences were stark. Rail lines ran from overpriced, dilapidated rentals directly to manufacturing or mining districts. There were no connecting stations, and no reasonable transport for anyone not willing to send half their paycheck to a slumlord and work tirelessly in the mines or factories. A car was still essential in Zaun if one wanted to get to a grocery store any larger than a corner market. 

Jinx had assumed it was simply a moral dispute with the system. He did in fact hate the morality within the application of an advancement with such promise, so he never bothered to correct her further. In truth though, he would probably use the rail more often if it was not covered in his branding. 

The celebrity of Jayce Talis would likely hurt less had it not been a tortuous reminder that Viktor had been so foolishly wrong about his old friend. The Man of Progress as he had been dubbed stood for all of the twisted glamor of Piltover. 

‘Any child of Piltover can make it big if they work hard enough! Even the working class, just look at Jayce Talis.’

‘Anyone from the North side of the river can be seduced. The money of Piltover is a siren call. No matter how kind they seem and how big their dreams, Piltover’s elites will sink their claws in, and just like the golden sun sets every night any child of Piltover will abandon you, child of Zaun.’

Viktor pushed a box of supplies into the back seat then closed the door as she mused his statement. With a click of her tongue, she turns up the pop song that was only “new” when she was just a child. Fashionably old pop from twenty or so years ago was an acquired taste for Viktor, but he could by now consider it successfully acquired. His foot tapped along subconsciously as he rested his head back and watched the road. He would never turn the stuff on himself, but she blasted it so often he had started to memorize words and artists.

"Yeah, maybe I’ll crash. But rather die having fun than live boring, right? You know what I mean. You're the same." 

Her assuredness in the “fun” of bald tires was something to behold, though Viktor had to admit. She was right. He was the same. Careless was the word, with his own life but never others’. Many Zaunites felt it, the instinct to burn out bright and fast. 

She slams on the gas and they take off down the street. Her hand fishes out a vape but shoves it away to grab gum instead. She knows better than to smoke with him in the car, but she likes something in her mouth as she drives. He had never told her not to, but the one time she took a hit he started coughing. She never did it again. 

"So, we aren't actually going to the lab. Not right away at least."

Viktor lifts his head from his seat, his eyebrow raising in question. Then he's sighing, letting his head drop back once more. 

"Well... It is not the first time I've been kidnapped, so..." He teased, a subtle mirth curling the corner of his lip, then he turned to look at her. "Where are we going? I thought you were excited for the big day."

"Oh trust me buster, I am! But, there's something Silco said to me recently. He had gotten all sappy and it made me think. He said ‘the glory might be good, but the good is always truly glorious.’ It sounds fucking stupid, doesn't it? But I think he means that there's no point in doing the big shit if we don't get to have a little fun along the way.” 

"Sounds like him alright," Viktor agreed, not raising his voice so she would continue to explain where they were going. 

“Everyone is at The Last Drop. Silco closed the bar down to the public today. We are going to celebrate, just us. Like some sort of- stupid family or something," She laughs as if it is preposterous and tips her head against her palm that she props up on the window. There’s a tension in the presentation of casualness. 

The inventor turns to look her way when she says that. 

‘Like some sort of family?’

It sounded stupid. It really did. But the pang of strange pain he felt in his chest wasn't all that unpleasant. He falls silent for a moment, then turns to look out the window, subtly avoiding her gaze. And, not for the first time, he wonders if he did the right thing by ever leaving Zaun to begin with.

"He really did get all sappy on you, huh?" Viktor might say this, but he didn't dislike the idea...

She snorts. "Oh yeah! Think it's his old age. He was talking about how he was just glad to be able to do this. Have me and you work together. He..." 

For a moment, the joy is gone from her face and she grips the steering wheel. 

"He said he was worried about you. Said he felt guilty he sent you up there just for them to 'ship you back with bruises.' Viktor... I know I've not asked... Didn't feel like it was right! I never told you much about what happened between myself and my sister. But he feels guilty. Only when he drinks does he show it, but he does. You should let him know you ain't mad." 

She tangles her fingers into the fuzz of the steering wheel cover, and Viktor knows it's the alternative to tangling them in her hair. 

Suddenly, the atmosphere of the car feels heavier, a little grim even. His foot stops marking the music on the car floor, and he keeps his eyes on the window, watching the road pass by. Viktor hadn't asked her about what happened between her and her sister. He had wanted to respect that side of her, the side she did not want to discuss, but would be there for her the moment she was ready to talk about it. His past however... It was a topic that was perpetually fresh. He felt the weight of it every time he saw a Hextech injury. The bandaid ripped off again and again.

"I'm not mad," He started, though it was quiet. "He only ever helped me, nothing else. Everything that happened up there had nothing to do with him." But she knew that, didn't she? She shouldn't be the one hearing this, but Silco.

She glances at him, her eyes widened and softened in one of those rare moments where she actually looked 18, "I figured... But it's okay. Just talk to him, yeah? You ain't gotta tell me shit, doctor sauce. But let him know you don't, I don't know, regret it! I mean, you being a teacher helped me!" She slams on the gas, taking off down the road now that they have crossed the bridge into Zaun. 

Did he regret it?

Viktor sighed, unfocused eyes letting go of the sight behind the glass to give way to his own reflection. He was doing something he liked; teaching the future generation, no matter the incessant calls to the office his little comments about the undercity got. And, despite his distant nature, those kids seemed to be happy with him. Interested in his classes even. Plus, studying so much was already helping those in need, just as he'd wanted from the beginning. It had started with Jinx, and now he had the chance to continue.  

He didn't regret it.

"Yeah, punk, whatever you say-," And then he was holding onto the car's side as its bald tires screeched. He had never been a fan of her speeding. Or rather, his stomach had never been a fan.

Despite fearing for his life the entire way, she does get them to The Last Drop in record time. She throws herself from the car door and locks the car with the button inside of it. The key fob didn't work. It wasn't broken, she just had never replaced the battery despite it being decorated with a dozen or so handmade keychains. 

Viktor leaves the box of equipment in the car, knowing full well Jinx’ car was well recognized and would not be touched. Not in this neighborhood. Their neighborhood. 

He would reach the front door of The Last Drop first had he not slowed his own steps. He always loathed walking into staff meetings or events alone in Piltover. Eyes on him, and furthermore that attention. Their gazes were like thorns. The more you struggle the more they sink into your flesh. And yet, standing still was so utterly exhausting. So, he hung back. Let Jinx enter first. It was a privilege of having someone like the young girl around. It made him less alone, and Janna how her spark ignited in the attention. 

She kicks the door open, shouting inside, “We’re here!” 

Viktor winces at the loud call, preparing himself for sharp gazes like the conference room filled with other professors, the first day of school when his students are disappointed by the Zaunite name on their schedule, and worst of all events. University events where he tries desperately to blend into the background, and yet no matter how invisible he becomes he can not ignore the social spotlight that shines on his old partner with an unbearable radiance. And worse, there is no avoiding the sheer, agonizing contrast. 

And yet here, the second he steps up next to the blue haired girl and her big, unapologetic grin, there is contrast once more. It’s so shocking that he finds his footsteps paused and his eyes widened. 

It was a small group. 

Sevika and Silco were perched at the bar sharing drinks. When Jinx entered, Silco shook his head with a soft, tiny, was that a smile? Sevika meanwhile gave a firm nod in welcome. It was surprisingly friendly from the woman. Mylo and Claggor rushed forward to greet their sister. 

“Great job on the cake!” Mylo teases. 

“It’ll still be edible, which is more than anyone can say for your cooking!” Jinx snaps back, poking her brother in his ribs with her replaced middle finger. 

Mylo squeaks, hopping away while gripping his side. 

Claggor chuckles, “Come on, the ice is defrosting and Therium will never forgive us if you don’t drink before what he made gets warm.” 

Viktor watches the exchange silently. His eyes then draw past their heads. There were decorations, handmade from cut apart paper and markers. There was quiet background music coming from an ancient set of speakers hooked up to someone’s phone, and an insane amount of alcohol and boxes of pizza stacked up precariously on the corner of the bar. Not far from Silco and Sevika sat a cake as well. It was one of those ones you can pick up premade from a grocery store. It said ‘happy birthday’ but the word 'birthday' was scratched out and ‘happy lab finishing day’ painted on top in neon pink icing.

Viktor walked inside at his own pace, seeing everything they'd done. His chest felt tighter and tighter with every detail. This sort of feeling was dizzyingly new. Like learning to hold a pencil for the first time. Everything was just so oddly careful. Done with, maybe even, care . 

‘Like some sort of family.’ 

This feeling, Viktor mused, reveling in the tightness of his lungs and the aching thump of his heart, this was worth it. 

At the bar, Sevika and Silco were talking. Silco looked up when Viktor walked into view. He offered a nod. Sevika turned when she saw Silco looking past her shoulder and she tipped her cup when her eyes landed on Viktor.

"Hey, doc! You survive the drive?" She asks.

Viktor looked up when his new nickname, the one Jinx had given him on the day they met, reached his ears. He scoffed quietly at her question and shook his head, but regardless he could not hide the smile from his lips.

"Barely," He called, then slowly made his way over with the help of his cane.

"I wasn't expecting this. Looks like a whole different place," Viktor said, eyes sweeping over the view. Then a thought struck him and he decided to put his old mentor through a little test. 

"Jinx's idea?"

Silco sighs, exasperated. He leans on the counter, head propped up on his hand. By the flush on his skin it looks as if he pregamed with the liquor he keeps in his office. He must feel especially safe if he is getting drunk like that around more than one person, "It's pointless. I told her you would have been fine with something smaller. But I can't say no to her. Her or you, it seems, considering that lab both of you put together." 

Viktor lifted his eyebrows in surprise, looking over at Sevika as if trying to confirm what he had just heard was true, and that his head hadn’t invented anything the old man had said. Even if he was mostly teasing, Viktor never thought he’d hear Silco say something like that about anyone, let alone him. 

“You were the one who gave us the space to use, so-,” He trailed off with a shrug as he leaned against the counter to ask for a drink for himself. If he was going to follow Jinx’s suggestion, he’d need it.

Therium quickly grabbed something for Viktor. A cold beer to get him started. 

"I know, boy, I know." Silco gripes. "And the space should be perfect for it. You'll continue to be their professor, and our..." He trails off, eyes going distant for a moment. 

Viktor saw that look, and his small sip of beer quickly turned into a large gulp. 

“Your doc?” Viktor teasingly supplied as he placed his drink down, eyes landing on the bobbing blue hair having fun with her friends behind them, and who wouldn’t stop throwing a few glances their way. 

"Viktor," Silco stressed the sound of his name, rubbing at his forehead. 

Sevika seemed to get the memo and stood up to leave, making a b-line for where the kids were wrestling over the music controls. 

“What? She likes the nickname. So much that she made everyone else use it too,” It didn’t bother him, and he made sure to let Silco know by leaning back against the counter. He sipped again from his beer, not exactly wanting to be left behind.

“Besides, this is what I always wanted to do. It’s the purpose of returning here, and being up there less,” At that, he sighed, and looked up from his glass to the rest of the crowd. The way the small inner circle felt when sharing company with just each other in this small break of safety. A safety they had built. 

Silco suddenly stiffens. 

"You... You do know that you will always be a son of Zaun. Yes? They can do as they wish. To you or any of us. But they will never take that from you." 

His gaze dropped back down to the drink in his hand after such careful words left Silco’s mouth. It was astonishingly honest. Silco must really be drunk. Viktor’s finger tapped at the top of the glass before he let out a shaky breath. Then, half of his beer was gone in a flash. It still took him a moment to answer after swallowing, honey eyes scanning the floor beneath his feet.

“… You know I never blamed you for what happened, right?” He asked, words quiet as he kept his gaze lowered.

"When Renata had you dumped at my doorstep, I asked you to open your eyes. Tell me you were still alive. You were just unconscious, and yet I saw in your still form all the others we have lost. Vander seemed to think losing anyone was too grand a price to pay." 

He looks out at Jinx. 

"I thought that was his weakness talking. And surely, it is. Now I simply do not know if I can continue to fight off such a pathetic human indulgence." 

Silco didn’t answer directly. He must have been very drunk by now, because everything he was saying were things Viktor had never heard before. The inventor looked up, his eyes watching the other man as he looked at Jinx.

“… He might have been right,” He conceded. 

In a way, the fear of losing each other felt like something Viktor had inflicted on them. He could see the tension in Silco’s shoulders, and the way Jinx clung to her brothers as if she did not know if she would get the chance to next time. Had it, their lives in Zaun, not only grown worse since the invention of Hextech? That burden was something he wanted to take away from them. Could he? 

“You look…” - happy- “Pleased, right now. Like you found your place.” 

A short pause as Viktor took a deep breath. 

“Couldn’t have said that a few years ago.”

Silco scoffs, but Viktor knows it’s a laugh. 

"And you? After what you were burdened with, Viktor? They are cruel. I knew it even then. You would tell me you were working on a project, had found someone, yet I did not stop you from learning that cruel lesson. Maybe so you and her can be strong enough to protect yourselves. Maybe so that I am not alone in my bitter hatred. Is that not selfish?" He straightens to look up at the ceiling, his eye blinking quickly. 

"But... You don't blame me. I suppose that is good. I did not hurt you. Merely failed to protect you from that. Them. "

Viktor shakes his head, and when his leg starts getting uncomfortably sore, he finally sits in one of the stools. It’s definitely his leg, and certainly not any comfort he hopes to give to the old man. A silent, ‘I’m here. I’ll listen.’ 

“You can’t predict the future. You couldn’t know it would end that way. Had it gone as I wished, things would have been better. Or not. I suppose we will never know,” He sighs, ache creasing his forehead and dissatisfaction curling over his nose and lip. 

There’s a TV playing above the tables, a few feet in front of them. Something about heroes; something he doesn’t give a shit about. 

“I don’t, though. I was never angry. Not at you, at least.” And he finally looked over at Silco, tension dripping from his shoulders as he looked at the old baron who put the lanes back together after Vander died, “You only ever helped me achieve a better me, nothing else.”

Silco tosses his head back, chuckling a dry laugh. It curled from his lips like cigar smoke, but just like Jinx he did not smoke around Viktor. 

"Ah, you're too kind to an old crime-lord, doctor. But... Thank you. You brighten up the undercity. She feels it too." He nods to Jinx.

Rolling his eyes at the name used on him, Viktor turns to grab his beer again and finish it completely. He will definitely need more.

“She worries about her dad, too,” He dropped the bomb, as if it was really nothing, then leaned back again with a serious yet thoroughly pleased look as he mused the empty glass.

Silco freezes, his teal eye widening. He stares at nothing for a long time, processing that. 

Then he finally speaks, "Felicia was prophetic, wasn't she? She put me on the hook. All these years later." 

He looks at Jinx, his gaze soft in a way Viktor had never seen before. 

“You put yourself in this situation, old man. Don’t blame her now,” He patted Silco’s back twice before turning around to ask Therium for a couple of shots. This, the culture of Zaun, Viktor was able to slip right back on like broken-in mine boots. 

The two glasses are slid forward and Silco shakes his head as he watches them, "Well then, to the glorious burden of familial ties."

Viktor tips his shotglass at the other man’s words.

“To the glorious burden,” He repeats with amusement on his lips before he downs the shot in one go.

Silco easily matches him after watching the other, a crease nestling under his eyes that spoke to a sincere fondness.

Just as the drink goes down, Jinx throws herself against Viktor's back. "Come on! We need to cut the cake!" She shouts in the professor’s ear. 

Silco hums around the shot glass as the air around them is filled with warm chatter. The small group crowds around the bar, and for once the crowding comes naturally to Viktor. Therium slides the cake close, setting a knife next to it for Jinx to eagerly take. She always looked a little too excited when holding a knife. 

“So, go on. Do the honors,” Viktor jerks his chin towards the cake, while taking a quick picture of it with his phone. 

She grins wildly, enamored. "Get a photo of me cutting it! Wait no- everyone! Sevika, use your arm. We need a selfie!" 

Silco laughs, and it’s the most natural Viktor had ever heard from the man. As if genuine joy clawed its way free from his throat, "Jinx, that is ridiculous." 

"Absolutely no it isn't!" She demands, waving the knife. "This is our lab unveiling so if I say I want a selfie then we are doing a group selfie! I want a photo to put up on the wall! This is like a grand opening!” 

Viktor chuckles at Jinx’s excitement. A group selfie? It was not an idea he was opposed to. He loathed photos in other settings, yearbooks were nothing but a yearly agony for him, but this moment was a memory in his life he actually wanted to hold on to. 

Silco shakes his head with amusement, but stands up regardless to move next to Viktor. 

Jinx shoves her phone at Sevika then grabs Mylo in a hug. Claggor tosses his arms around both of them, smiling fondly.  

Sevika raises up the phone with its pink case and monkey charm dangling from it. It was one of the first times he had ever seen her smile. It suits her, Viktor muses. 

Even Therium leans over the bar to be in the shot. 

“I guess we shall do as the little lady orders,” The inventor teases, unable to not smile as Sevika snaps the shot. A moment in time captured, the group of them smiling excitedly. It's really only a moment, but it’s a moment of unadulterated joy. It was theirs. For all that Zaunites could so rarely claim to own anything, they could at least own a joy like this. One shared between family and community. This feeling was something Viktor would hold on to for a long time. 

‘Breaking News’

As everyone starts pulling away once the picture is taken, Viktor turns to watch Jinx cut the cake. Jinx meets his look with a huge grin, not unlike the kid she is. That’s until Mylo starts rushing the bar to grab the TV remote, and turn up the volume as fast as he can. Suddenly the entire room is staring at the TV, and the scientist turns with a confused frown on his face.

As the audio cuts in and two reporters start speaking. 

"-At the scene now! Dan, can you give us a breakdown of what exactly happened?" A Piltover newscaster asks from the primetime TV room. 

"Thank you, Erin,” Another newscaster responds as the footage cuts to him standing before a skyscraper in Piltover, smoldering and coated in char. The name ‘Ferros’ was inscribed over the huge, gilded entrance doors. 

“As you said, there was an attack in Piltover from one of the undercity's criminal organizations. Seemingly growing in strength and will, they targeted the building behind me; the Ferros Family building. We do not know yet the extent of the situation, but what we do know is that today marks the first time a Hextech Hero has been unmasked before the public. Our very own Defender of Tomorrow was rescuing a woman from the line of fire from the deranged chemtech goons when she took her chance and removed his mask.” 

Viktor stares up at the screen, hears the reporters speaking. A Hextech Hero? Unmasked? Then Zaun is mentioned and he feels dread pool in his stomach once more. Who from Zaun had attacked the Ferros Building? He knew that family, everyone at the academy did. They were not the type of Piltover Family one would like to piss off. The analytical side of a scientist starts running, drawing his eyes past the TV and to his worries for his people.  

“Maybe it’s poetic Irony, Erin, but The Defender of Tomorrow turned out to be none other than the inventor of Hextech himself, Jayce Talis.” 

Suddenly, analytics are thrown out the window as emotion hits him like a punch to the gut. What did he say? 

“Tensions rise as the undercity grows more bold by the day, yet I find myself glad to know that the man who created this technology is utilizing it by his own hands to protect our city. It seems that Jayce Talis is a man we can truly trust to defend tomorrow.”

Jayce's face flashes on the screen multiple times over. Jayce Talis, announcing Hextech. Jayce Talis, unveiling the Hexrail. Jayce Talis, testing the first Hextech Weapons. Then Jayce Talis, unmasked, wearing the uniform of a Hextech Hero. 

He looked so perfectly heroic, a woman clinging to his side with his mask in her delicate hand. His hammer was shining that indicolite, Hextech blue. It was lighting up his handsome face with its power. The power they invented to help people. The power that had incinerated a Chemtech goon. A Zaunite. A human. 

“Now, we have with us Ashley Davis to describe this thrilling moment and why she removed the handsome hero’s mask. Ashley, was there by chance a personal reason you did what you did?” 

‘Ashley’ giggles coyly as if the screen had not just flashed with a body. 

Viktor’s fingers twitch where they rest on the counter. It’s the most he can muster in outward reactions as dread that started setting over his chest. Each picture feels like a brick placed over his chest, applying more and more pressure. 

“Jayce fucking Talis?!” Someone shouts behind him, and Viktor’s frozen muscles and sluggish brain snap out of their frost. 

The stool is pushed back so hard it tumbles to the floor, and Viktor nearly forgets to grab his cane to keep himself upright as he rushes his way out of the bar. 

As he steps onto the street he can see it's crowded. Late at night it often is, people walking between bars and chattering. Except tonight no one is talking. They're all looking at their phones. Viktor leaves the Last Drop but he can still hear news segments all around him repeating that name over and over. 

Jayce Talis. The one and only inventor of Hextech.

By the time he falls against the wall and slides down to sit in the alleyway behind the last drop, he realizes he’s heaving for air. Panic closing his throat and his eyes are wide as his hands tremble by his sides.

Jayce… Jayce is the Defender of Tomorrow.

A shared lab from years ago, back when his memories dared to be so soft, now assaults his mind in flashes so visceral they rack his frame. Jayce, who made him warm mugs of sweet milk, laughed so loudly at Viktor’s dry wit, and placed a blanket over his shoulders when their research drew on too late. Jayce with those kind bronze eyes, big smiles, and that dream. That dream Viktor was foolish enough to believe. 

Jayce was using their invention to fight Zaun. 

It was a betrayal of all the warmth they had ever shared. A betrayal of every time Viktor let him touch his skin, or hear his thoughts, or see a single tender slip past his perpetually raised walls. 

Viktor gripped his hair, shuddering where he sat, wishing it would stop, that none of this was real.

He regretted it. 

He regretted leaving Zaun, he regretted making Hextech, he regretted ever opening up to Jayce fucking Talis. 

Footsteps sound right before him. 

"Doc- Viktor?" 

There’s a shuffle as a body sits down right next to him. 

"What's going on? I've... Never seen you actually upset before."

Jinx’s voice breaks through his trance, and Viktor’s head shoots up to look at her. When their eyes meet, she can see the wear under his lids and the hollow shadows under his cheeks. Guilt and regret clung to him just like any other disease. 

His eyes drag down at her missing finger, the one they already replaced a long time ago, the one his own invention helped steal from her. 

His head turns away as quickly as it had turned towards her to begin with. His hands grip the fabric of his pants tightly as he wills his breathing to slow down.

She frowns slightly, violet eyes searching his body. 

"That... Was something personal. Wasn't it?" She pulls up her knees to lean on them next to him. 

"You probably looked like I did when I saw Vi like that. I... I get it, doc."

Hearing her speak did wonders, for some reason. He focused on her voice, his own head dropped low between his shoulders. And yet that fear lingered. He had only just found community, found somewhere to belong. Would Jinx look at him the same? If she knew what he had done? 

Only when the neon streetlights were all that invaded the darkened alley, instead of the news reports that felt like wounds tearing into his flesh, did he lift his head to speak to her. 

“… I’m sorry,” He muttered. 

It was not eloquent. She deserved much better. But, it was all he could manage. 

Her metal finger appears in his peripheral vision, poking his cheek. "I know that look. That's a look of betrayal." Her eyes crinkle slightly, but she doesn't smile. From her, it’s a look of trouble. 

"Someone screwed you over. But I know you. You're not the type to just sit back and take it." 

Viktor feels the cold metal against his cheek, and it makes him swallow thickly. He doubts anyone has ever seen him look so vulnerable before. Not even Jayce, he had never let it happen. It hardly felt like the right thing to do, being so vulnerable in front of Jinx, yet it did not entirely feel wrong either. 

“I’m not,” His mind was made up. Jayce had started it, truly he had started it all… 

“I’m going to hit back, Jinx. And they won’t see it coming.”

A grin spreads over her lips. 

"That's the Viktor I know. We will show them. Show those Piltie fucks what Zaun can really do."

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: Maximizing profits via sex appeal is in fact a lonely endeavor.

After that, it truly was simple; Viktor got to work. 

He spent the next year and a half working as both a teacher for Piltover and a doctor for Zaun. He hardly needed Jinx to remind him of their deal, not when he found himself rushing to get to Zaun every day after class. He memorized the ins and outs of hextech wounds. He knew when different labor protests were happening in different places across Zaun, feeling in his gut how many would be brought to Silco’s short-term medical setup. He also knew intimately how much work he could expect to get done every afternoon. How many short-term and easily produced limbs he could build to the specifications of the customers. Those in need who could not afford someone like Smeech or Renata. Those who had lost a limb to their own birth, a work accident, or most sickening of all; Hextech. 

In between waiting for parts or measurements, he also worked on a side project. That professor’s paycheck was collecting dust, and Viktor could feel that slimy feeling of weakness - no, helplessness- every time he looked around his home city and saw the pain that their Hextech had caused. 

Piltover had started this. They started this with attacking a peaceful man with a gang of enforcer thugs. They started it with gilded weapons, shining indicolite with Hextech to make their carnage more efficient. They started it with their heroes, flooding Zaun streets in the name of protecting. Or rather, defending. 

And if Viktor was being honest, they started it long before that. With a bridge that was hard to cross, and exploited labor in the mines, and inadequate healthcare, and dilapidated schools, and crumbling roads-

While looking at his cane, with its strong and perfect metal crafted by Jayce all those years ago, Viktor realized the path forward. If Piltover wanted to play a game of power, Viktor would rise to give them a damn good challenge. 

How had Jinx put it? ‘Rather die having fun than live boring.’

And while smooth tires were hardly Viktor’s idea of fun, this plan of his had potential. 

It took a lot of work. Multiple iterations developed over time while doing small tasks for Silco. It also took help from others, Jinx especially looked over his work often. 

It started as any engineering project does. 

What's the goal? 

First and foremost he needs to be able to move. An external frame that reacts to his movements and supplements his motions and any weight said motions may need to support. He had considered this before while looking into limb replacements. It was difficult to transfer the concepts from Hextech power to traditional power, but not impossible.

Problem one. 

Batteries are far too exposed and far too large. 

He and Jinx developed new ones, and an armored piece to cover them. Danny, the electrician, helped with this. Who knew he had a hobby that taught him to solder delicate pieces? Model trains, believe it or not. With Viktor and him working together, it was an easy job. 

Problem two. 

The mobility aid apparatus is too delicate to take a strike. The armor plates needed to be expanded. Potentially this could also hide the fact that a mobility aid was present at all? 

Jess and Ally had an uncle who could cast metal of all sorts. Viktor taught Jinx how to use his copy of AutoCAD from his university. She took to it damn well, and after some experimenting with some 3D printed pieces from the library nearby run by a kind older woman named Amelia, they sent the pieces to be cast. Uncle Ralph turned around the project in no time, delivering the metal casts personally. With some sanding and painting they fit together easily. 

Problem three. 

The pieces took forever to put on and take off again. Jinx was ranting about this to Silco’s delivery driver, Cypress, and it turns out the guy used to do leather work. He hadn’t touched his tools in ages, having not been able to make a living off of it and needing to focus on driving to take care of his kids. Viktor was able to pay him for his work though, and soon comfortable straps were installed that quickly and efficiently detached. 

Problem four. 

Viktor needs to be able to defend himself… 

It was a year and a half of careful work, supplemented by his community. All this time later, and he was ready to pay it forward. Even better, he knew exactly how. 

The hospital Silco operated was running low on supplies. Recently, enforcers and heroes had shut down one of the few warehouses in Zaun that was willing to hold illegal medical supplies to be sold to places not licensed to purchase them. 

Viktor had everything planned out, and by the time classes were over he was feeling nearly excited. Though an interruption appeared in the form of an email. A staff meeting. He’d have to delay by a few hours, but it didn’t ruin their plans entirely. He could make it fast, he was sure. Surprisingly, the anxiety of the meeting was lessened by the excitement of taking action tonight. It made his footing feel more stable. He was Viktor Nadeník, a man with a community and family who were counting on him. Not simply Viktor Nadeník, a man who had failed to become a professor in the field he wanted and was provided his academy life as a handout. 

When Viktor stepped into the conference room, with its grand tall windows and white walls, it immediately silenced. Even the usual echoes hushed. Heads turned to look his way, eyes like thorns, but he was used to this. And even shocking to him, it now felt petty. Beneath him, even. He had parts of himself they could never take away, regardless of how hard they sneered.  

The Dean, Simmons, cleared his throat loudly. 

"Heimerdinger has a political meeting to attend, so he will not be here. Professor Talis also sent in a notice that he will likely be late, as he is on patrol for this good city," The words are clipped and short, "So it seems that everyone is here. We should begin." 

His eyes settle on Viktor, and it's clear he is meant to sit at the opposite end of the huge circular wooden table from where the dean sits at the head. The mention of Jayce, who had been chronically absent from teaching in recent months, unsettles Viktor. 

Surrounding on all sides are various staff members. The head of the engineering department sits to the right of the dean, Joseph Carter. On the left of the dean was the head of the physics department, Ed Howard. Surrounding the length of the table were other teachers from his department.

It wasn’t hard for Viktor to guess this was about him. If the seating did not clue him in, the stares from the other professors were a dead giveaway. To reprimand a professor, often only their own department head and the dean himself would be present. The whole of the engineering department was meant to intimidate him. And the head of the physics department? That was just cruel. And Jayce? Who was just a teacher, and not even in his own department? 

Viktor sits slowly in the too-plush cushioned chair with its stiff fabric cover. The chair’s arched armrests make it impossible to rest his cane on them, so he sets it against the table. 

"Mr. Nadeník, we have received some worrying accounts from the parents of your students."

At that, Viktor’s eyes narrow and his head tilts. Despite his anxiety, he will handle this. He has a job to do afterwards, and it gives him strength as he’s stared down like he’s in a courtroom. 

“Elaborate.”

The dean huffs when he's questioned, as if his accusation should be self-explanatory, "Well, your students go home with liberal ideas on the undercity. Not only does this worry their parents, but it also hardly has to do with their education. It's off topic, Nadeník. You're pushing an agenda onto these children."

Of course.

Viktor sighs, deeply, as if this conversation is truly energy-draining. He then looks up to meet the dean’s gaze, ignoring the eyes of those around him.

“The kids ask questions. They are aware I’m not from around… here ,” The last word is muttered out like it is an insult, “Other teachers - some even in this room - make sure to let them know before they get the chance to even attend my classes. But that cannot be considered pushing an agenda on them, can it? Informing them of my heritage when they ask?” He trails off as if daring the dean to refute his point, “Plus, I do believe topics spoken on as they ask in natural dialogue will encourage their thirst for knowledge more than any mechanical engineering book textbook. Why would I encourage them to not ask questions?”

"Considering recent political tensions, do you not think that such sympathies can hold them back?" Howard cuts in, "I mean, really, is that not your whole sob story? Why inflict it on others?" 

Viktor feels his fists clench under the table as his jaw sets. The whole table suddenly looks so pleased, as if the scathing words from the head of the department Viktor was unable to join were some sort of grand show for their satisfaction. It was viscerally carnal, the way they stared as if waiting to be entertained further. 

“I sincerely doubt I’m inflicting anything on anyone. A professor from Noxus or Demacia would answer all the same if asked about where they are from. I was born in Zaun and that is a fact. I will answer all the same as any other professor. Unless you believe the nature of my birth is somehow different. I, for one, like to think that we are the same, regardless of what the rest of the world may wish we think.”

"Yes, we are all the same. And such pleasantries are important," Bethany Cox speaks up, the other Intro to Engineering teacher, "How is your health anyways, professor? Are you still able to handle teaching?"

This was humiliating.

Poor pathetic Zaunite, entertainment extracted from his misery. Is that not what they all thought? 

“I am perfectly capable of doing so, thank you for your concern,” Venom drips through his words, “Is there anything else you’d like to inform me of?”

"With rising tension between both sides," Simmons spoke up, "You need to act with tact, Professor Nadeník. There is hope that Talis will take on a new department. Hero courses, offered through this university. I would hate for members of this faculty to burden his progress with..." 

The dean waves his hand. 

"Unfortunate sympathies."

“Hero courses? This is the first time I’m hearing about such classes. Why wasn’t I informed before?” Viktor asks immediately. He knew why. Of course he did. But he wanted the dean to say it in front of everyone else. 

"It is a consideration we are making. That is all." 

The dean easily dodges the question, like Viktor was not respected enough to be given a straight answer, "I am sure you understand the worry of a security risk." 

They didn't think Viktor was actually a security risk. A disabled pacifist? Viktor would never hurt them. No, he could never hurt them. Rather they mean to imply that his blood is risk enough alone. They seek to shame him for something intrinsic to who he is. Make him dampen his heritage. Make it more palatable. 

Viktor knows he won’t change the minds of those at this table, no matter what he does or says. They called him in for this; to point fingers and curl lips into smirks. He considers shouting, arguing, lashing out, but instead he falls silent. This isn’t important. What’s important is down there, his people, who were currently waiting for medical supplies. People need him, and this is only slowing him down.

“… Is that all?” He asks, steadying his resolve. 

The dean barely suppresses rolling his eyes, "Fine. Go home. But I expect those calls to end, Professor." The words are a threat, and just as he leaves them the door opens. Viktor is mid-scoff when he hears it. 

Everyone, including said man, turned their heads to look at the person who dared interrupt the meeting.

Jayce stops in the doorway. He's still in his hero uniform, his mask long since abandoned so he could present himself in all the light of both the Man of Progress and the Defender of Tomorrow. Somehow, the lack of mask made him even more unbearably noble looking. The reds and blues of The Defender were detailed in gold, and leather covered his broad chest. His respectably capable body was hugged by the tailored uniform, like a specimen extracted from distilled Piltover glory. It was truly garish. 

"Sorry I got held up so long-," that voice says, somehow deeper and more level in a way Jayce had never spoken before. He is suddenly cut off by a warm welcome. 

"Professor Talis!" Simmons smiles widely, "So glad you could join us! Though Professor Nadeník seems to have something he needs to get to." 

Jayce’s eyes land on Viktor. 

"Right, of course," He nods, stepping further inside.

Viktor looked away when he felt the bronze gaze burn into his skin. His lips curled up in distaste. Jayce looked fucking stupid in those clothes. He could hear Simmons pathetically fluff up for the man, offering up so freely a friendliness Viktor was never afforded. Then the man brings him up, so eager to throw Viktor under the spotlight. 

He needs to leave…

Standing up with the help of his cane, the inventor made his way over to the door. As he went to leave, he shot a look at Jayce, unable to pass him without letting their eyes meet. What a pathetic weakness, something only Jayce Talis could force from him. Maybe it was his anger at the dean and this meeting, maybe it was bitterness at losing Jayce to begin with, but the look is scathing. 

Jayce visibly bristles. 

"You know, your attitude doesn't solve anything for anyone," he comments as Viktor walks past him. 

The harsh snap from the man had Viktor’s eyes widening. They had barely spoken in… six years was it? And yet here, the Defender of Tomorrow was, rubbing salt in the Jayce Talis wound. How could he have shared a lab with a man for so long and yet have known so little about what he was capable of? Viktor was angry, yes. At the professors, at Piltover, at himself for having to be here. But for Jayce? He could not quite muster the feeling. Instead, all he felt was hurt. 

He was truly alone up here.

The pain flashed over his face for a moment despite how much he tried to hide it. Sometimes, in situations like this, he longed for a mask. He can’t stand being vulnerable before the other man so he leaves, not having said a thing to the Defender of Tomorrow. 

He might be alone in Piltover, but Viktor Nadeník was not alone. Not as long as Zaun stood.

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: Any tool can be used as a weapon. Can any weapon be considered a tool? One must assume if violence is the desired outcome, a weapon is simply a tool to such means.

Feeling alone in Piltover only lasted as long as it took his feet and his cane to carry him outside the grand doors of the Academy. As he’s rushing to leave, he’s passing pillar after pillar that holds up an overhang to protect students from any rain. They’re carved from ornate marble, perfectly uniform and unbearably stable. White marble, white marble, white marble, blue hair? The flustered tapping of his cane stops, then restarts slower, hesitantly, as the professor backs up. 

Jinx? 

“Hey-a doc! You’re late!” her grin peeks out from under her ‘Piltover Academy’ hoodie. 

Viktor doesn’t want to know what academy shop she lifted that from. 

“Teachers’ conference,” He quickly explained, lifting his hand to flick her forehead, “You shouldn’t be here. What are you doing?”

"Ack!" She grunts dramatically, swatting his hand away, "You were late for our rendezvous. And I worry, sue me." 

Her voice gets lower as she straightens up and levels him with purple eyes behind sunglasses. She had hidden her identity at least somewhat? An attempt was made at the very least. It was a large change for her, after Piltover listed her as a Villain. Her face was posted up on the official enforcer wanted webpage, and anyone on either side of the river could now recognize blue hair. This had even led to her trending on hero fansites, and people arguing over if she was the nemesis of Ms. Marksman or Dogfight. Jinx would read out the comments, going as far as to comment back anonymously about how clearly Dogfight was her nemesis and to claim otherwise was ‘bringing The Jinx down to Marksman’s level.’ Her engagement with online fandom gave Viktor anxiety, but he knew damn well if he told her no she would simply hide it from him. Better she tells him, even if ‘likes’ and ‘shares’ on photos of enforcers and heroes in the undercity felt well and truly dirty to the man. 

“It’s him, ain't it? The one that makes your face get all scrungled up as you remember shit,” Jinx asks, motioning her hands in what can only be assumed to be a ‘scrungled’ motion. 

Shaking his head at her creative words, Viktor sighed and hoped she wouldn’t ask any more questions if he gave a good enough answer.

“Today was not my day.”

Despite it all, her boisterous personality and the danger she was putting them both in, he’s thankful. She had come to make sure he was alright. That meant a lot. “Don’t get so close to the Academy, you never know who could be watching.”

Viktor then started walking away, refocusing on the matter at hand.

She giggles as she trots after him, "Okay, okay! Can you blame me? I'm excited." 

It occurs to him that she had always been the one to make him feel better when things were wrong. That and when Jayce was around. And are those two things not one in the same? These past two years were only tolerable because she was there. They leaned on each other quite like siblings do, and he would have never hit this point had she not been there. She and the rest of their ‘family’ as she had dubbed them. 

They quickly make their way to a small parking garage a few blocks away from their target, where a van was sitting in the shadowed corner. Viktor could see Mylo’s legs hanging out of the driver’s side window, and knew that Claggor had to be inside as well. He had already disabled the security cameras this morning. Idiots had it linked to their wifi. 

Jinx takes off her sunglasses and flings them away, throwing open the side door of the vehicle, "Suit up, Mecha-doc!"

Viktor smirked at her comment and disappeared inside. By now, they had performed sufficient trial runs and made updates. The people of Zaun had seen just enough glimpses to start to whisper about a new villain on their streets, and after the amount of labor his community had put into this project, Viktor was ready to put it to good use. 

Not more than a few minutes later, he was out of the van.

Jinx was outside, baggy t-shirt and sweatpants replaced with her iconic pink and black fit as she pet the top of her minigun. She spots Viktor and grins, not unlike a shark.

The armor of the Machine Herald made the man stand much taller. It added bulk to silhouette, the armored plates made thick enough to protect the frame that supplemented his movement. Viktor had agonized over the mobility, ensuring sufficient protection while also not inhibiting his already limited flexibility, but Jinx had insisted on other elements. When Viktor had suggested a mask, citing that a Piltover professor can’t just fight enforcers and not get fired, Jinx giggled manically and dashed off to draw up some designs. She insisted that the eyes had to be angry for ‘that wow factor.’ Viktor struggled with understanding the theatrics, knowing she had learned such an art from Silco, but he didn’t protest. If nothing else, it made her grin. 

"Ready to show them all, Tin Can?" She asks, knocking on 'Pow-Pow,’ as she had named the gun. 

Viktor - or the Machine Herald - gives a short nod. “Ready,” He tells her, voice distorted by a modulator implanted in his mask. It was deeper and slightly electronic, a choice to hide his identity the best. 

“Do remember what we talked about. If I tell you to run, you do as I say. No staying back to play heroes,” He warns. 

“Right, because worst thing someone can be is a fucking cop!” Jinx laughs, considering any Hextech Hero just that; a cop. “Meet us around back, boys!” she shouts, and Mylo scoffs and waves his hand out the window as the van starts up, heading in the other direction. 

She sways back and forth, the gun swaying with her as they exit the back exit of the parking garage out into a utility alley.

“And no explosions.”

“Hm.” 

“And no paint either. No time.” 

“Hm.” 

“We are taking their surplus, but we can not damage the building that is our target.” 

“I know, doc,” Jinx turns to level the glowing orange eyes of the mask with her own gaze, “Topside or not, a hospital is a hospital.” 

Viktor finds himself smirking slightly under his mask as they round the utility alley to another one perpendicular. On one side was the hospital’s trash pickup and on the other was their loading area. They had met in a hospital. Jinx had gotten the man to agree to come down to Zaun to help out with medical work, even. Their first real mission being medical felt fitting. 

“You should test it out, by the way,” Jinx says, “The joints were giving you issues, right? Housing them with that much flexibility but still making them durable.” 

Viktor pauses, looking up. His armor was not just armor, it was a mobility supplement tool. As with such things, there is the chance of getting caught in it if it was to be damaged. They found that out when the soldering for an updated battery pack failed and the entire suit powered down. From that, Viktor had both made the suit movable while powered down - even if it became a struggle - and also had added what Jinx had dubbed ‘The Claw.’ 

She might have named it, but it was likely the part of the armor she knew the least about. 

Viktor had showed up to their shared lab with a large box, and started working on something in the part of the lab they affectionately called “The Blast Radius.” He had been cursing in creative ways continuously despite rejecting her help for most of the afternoon when Jinx decided she could at least convince him to switch to something new. 

“Silco brought some comparisons for limb replacements. Apparently he somehow got access to that Renata lady’s plans? A bunch of them. He said you might like looking them over.” 

Like clockwork, Viktor’s head lifted up as curiosity overtook his form. 

He materialized behind Jinx, unable to see her smug expression as she offered up the blueprints. 

There’s a long moment before he asks. 

“What’s this material? She’s calling it low carbon steel with Compound Z Iteration 9? Using low carbon steel on a joint with this much strain is insane.” 

Jinx looks over, “Oh? The compound notes are on a few different parts. They’re all variations of her Chemtreated steel.” 

“Chemtreated? I had heard about that. It seems to make metals stronger based on what she’s using it for. Cheaper I’m assuming than machining harder metals?”

Jinx shrugs, “Pretty sure she uses it for various things.”

The workshop falls quiet for a moment, then Viktor speaks again. 

“Is there any way Silco could get his hands on some of this?” 

Jinx hums, “Doubt it’s impossible, Doc!” 

Dr. Viktor Nadeník came to a stop next to Jinx before the hospital door. He shook off anxiety from his shoulders, feeling the plates of the armor shift over each other as he moves. Then, the device on his back powers up.

Jinx giggles watching the subtle blue quickly be overtaken by the orange of the Chemtech variation that Viktor had settled on. 

A laser lights up in a thin line, melting in the lock before the Machine Herald kicks in the door. 

The difference between the man in the classroom and the man in the armor is startling, even for Viktor. He had to stop for a moment to suck in a breath, contemplating the rush that came from such a simple move as leaning his weight onto one leg and lifting the other, then watching the way the door hurried itself in its rush to break open for him. 

“Take as much as you can, fast,” he tells her, stepping inside. 

She huffs, nodding as she slings her gun to the side as they step further into the loading and storage area. She begins to grab what they needed most desperately; sterile steel needles and scalpels. 

"It’s no real rush though! We could break out the front and draw the attention after setting everything out for Mylo and Claggor. Everyone in Piltover will be so scared of Jinx the terrorist, and her sidekick The Machine Herald!"

“Let’s try to stay low profile for as long as we can. Getting into trouble now won’t help us-,” Viktor is urging her quietly as he steps past the door to the hospital to check some boxes nearby for sterile gloves and masks. He’s just about to finish speaking when the door opens. 

The Herald froze, then slowly turned, bright orange eyes staring down a man in surprise. The man was wearing a nurse’s uniform, and had a piece of paper in his hand that he dropped slowly. It made a fwish sound as it flopped to the ground. Then all at once the terrified nurse was bolting out of the doorway and away. 

Viktor sighed deeply as alarms and red lights flashed. 

Jinx snorts, "So much for that!" 

Then the door behind them swung open. A delivery driver stepped in, flicking a clipboard.

“Hey Beth, you’d never believe the pileup on the highway. I-,” He stopped, leaning over to ponder the melted metal of the door lock, then stood back up. Slowly, his eyes moved up, and he jolted as if struck by electricity from the shock of the sight. 

Jinx looks at Viktor, grin growing feral. 

Viktor shared a look with Jinx and despite the mask she knew exactly what he was thinking. They both had the same idea.

“Get to it, I’ll distract the enforcers when they arrive,” And, judging by the commotion, that wouldn’t take long. Then the Herald moved quickly, knocking the driver unconscious then catching his body to set him down under the awning of the loading dock. He fished out the keys from his jacket pocket and tossed them to Jinx. 

She giggles excitedly, catching the keys. The paper was in her hand too, she was looking over the inventory, "Killer." 

"Herald, break open the pharmacy so Claggor and Mylo don't feel too left out! Then cover for us while we get gone! I'll wait for you at you-know-where! Don't be late!" She calls as she slams the door shut and starts up the truck engine. “This is SO much better than a Camry!” 

Viktor winces to himself as he hears her little comment echo through the windows of the truck cab. His voice modulators don’t catch the clicking of his tongue under his mask, but he steps inside once more, melting away the locked door for Claggor and Mylo regardless. He does trust her, but driving a truck is a whole different thing than a Camry. At least this one had decent tires? Part of him is starting to relate more and more to the perpetual stress wearing lines onto Silco’s forehead and grays into his hair. 

He steps back out into the loading zone just in time to see the van pull up and the truck pull out. He gives the two brothers a nod, “Pharmaceuticals only. Apparently Jinx has the other supplies handled.” 

Claggor’s eyes widened as he slowly turned to watch the truck that was clipping a stop sign at the back end of the alley. Mylo huffed. 

“You let her drive a semi? I swear you like her more than you like us.” 

Viktor rolls his eyes behind his mask, “Pharmacy. Saline washes and IVs especially. And antibiotics for infections. And please, we all know she's Silco’s favorite.” 

Claggor turns to Mylo with a shrug, “He’s got you there.” 

Mylo tosses his arms up, walking into the storage room, “I’m the true middle kid. Everyone hates me.” 

Viktor smirks slightly at the theatrics. They’re robbing a hospital but still bantering like siblings. He turns to Claggor, “I'll cover for you with the enforcers. Make some noise when you leave so I know to get out of there.” 

“You sure you can handle it, Doc?” Claggor asks, stretching his wrists to go and grab boxes. 

Viktor nods to him, “That’s the point of all of this, is it not?” His hand gestures to his own armor. 

Claggor looks the Machine Herald up and down. 

“Yeah, you make a fair point. But don’t get into trouble. We get enough of that with Jinx and Mylo.” 

“You can hold me to that, Kid,” Viktor calls over his shoulder as he turns to the mouth of the alley, knowing the main entrance to the hospital is there, and also figuring that the enforcers are most likely to appear from that direction. 

There was a strange fluttering in his chest as the armor walked him to the mouth of the alley. It was foreign, being able to tell the three youngest of Silco’s pseudo adoptees that he could cover for them. It was even more foreign being able to say that with any reliability. A physical protector Viktor was not, and it had not once occurred to him just how much it might affect how he viewed his relationship to those around him until now. 

Zaunite and helpless had always gone hand in hand in Piltover. Pitiful and pathetic, something for the most gracious of their elites to kick scraps to so they may bathe in the visage of piety. 

But now, with this armor, Zaun was the source of his strength. 

The moment Zaun’s Herald stepped into Piltover’s sunlight from out of the mouth of the alley, he was greeted by a wall of blue. Ten or so enforcers formed a blockade to prevent his progression, pinning Viktor. Behind him were his younger brothers, loading up much needed medicine hidden in the shadows of the alley. Before him were the enforcers, standing with guns and badges in the light. It feels something like the night of the Progress Day Gala, and Viktor can feel his own heartbeat lift into his throat. And yet… 

At first, he thinks that they simply look different from the Herald’s mask lens, but no. Rather, they are the ones seeing him differently. The Herald stands before them, not the easy target that is Viktor, and only in that moment can he truly realize how utterly cowardly an enforcer can be. Maybe this will be easier than he thought?

The moment for Viktor seems to last an age as he wrestles with his own shock at the way he’s stared at when he’s shrouded in bulky armor and burning eyes, but then the enforcers’ gazes shift and change. 

Relief. Excitement. Adoration, even. And approximately two yards to the left from the Herald’s form. 

He whipped around and had little time to consider the human shape before him when something golden and metal and glowing indicolite was swinging for his face. 

Fuck. Fuck, not now.

Recognition only just processed safely hidden behind the mask before he had to dodge. 

Viktor felt his heart ache. For some reason, the Defender before him in this moment hurt much more than he ever had when they were crossing each other in the academy halls. And yet, the Herald managed to shove the ache away. He had to focus. Mylo and Claggor were still loading the van, and the Herald could not let the Defender back there. 

“I don’t wish to fight you, Defender,” his almost robotic-sounding voice cuts through the silence with a surprising confidence even to Viktor’s own ears. 

Jayce scowls at him, and Viktor can’t help but consider that when in person The Defender of Tomorrow in action is a very different experience than he ever was on the news. There was a raw look in his eyes that never seemed to come across in the photos and videos, and one Viktor had never once seen on Jayce before. 

The Mercury Hammer is much bigger than Viktor had realized. Jayce Talis stood at an impressive 6’2, broad and well muscled with all of the intrinsic masculinity of the Piltover ideal. His leather and utility fabric uniform left little of the man’s strength to speculation, despite his skin being mostly covered. The hammer was taller than even him, and Viktor better than anyone knew the damage it could do. 

And yet… 

And yet the hammer is pulled behind him. The pose is shockingly, utterly, devastatingly defensive. 

The Defender of Tomorrow levels The Machine Herald with a carefully constructed look. His bronze eyes were guarded and despite a clear animosity, he respected the words spoken enough to stand down. 

It was the respect of an equal. 

For a moment, Viktor is reminded of those early days in the lab, exchanging wits and volleying ideas back and forth like a game. But that was not all that was in Jayce’s eyes, and not all that Viktor felt in his chest. The defensive posture, Jayce guarded, poised to fight but waiting, hoping not to. Viktor isn’t just an equal mind, he’s an equal threat. 

Viktor had never been looked at like that by anyone, and here he was receiving that gaze from Jayce Fucking Talis.

“Then what are you looking for? You go by Machine Herald, yes? You’ve been reserved until now. Why a hospital?” He strides forward, backing Viktor further into the alley.

The tactic was familiar; herding a human being. Viktor had seen it before in the streets of Zaun. The Defender looked like the man who he had produced his PhD thesis with, but the Herald could only see him as a puppet letting himself be dragged by the strings Piltover had tied to his limbs. Endless soft nights and the agony of their loss ripped from Viktor’s chest fades far away. What’s left is betrayal, anger, and a high he can barely pause long enough to consider. 

He steps back, his hands lifting in a mocking surrender. The Defender had learned his name? Good. The flitter of anxiety in his chest turns to a thrumming, addictive pride. He tips his head to the side, body showing a cocky confidence. 

“Why a hospital? Oh come on, Defender. I’m sure you’re more than just a pretty face,” He drawled.

His eyes behind the mask track the Defender’s movements, watching him attempt to herd The Herald like some sort of frightful livestock. 

It could be the armor, or seeing Jayce treat him with such a healthy respect, or even the fact that his brothers were behind him and he needed to protect them, but Viktor felt bravery swell in his chest like a gust of Janna’s wind. 

He feigned backwards, hands still in the air bashfully to tease the defender further forward. Then the claw powered up, and orange exploded out of the alley. 

Jayce flinches as a laser fires just past his head, and Viktor knows he felt the residual heat considering the power level he had turned it up to. He grips his hammer tightly as the enforcers behind him draw their weapons in unison.

"That explains the melted metal at all the sites you've been spotted at. That's a powerful laser to be mobile." After the words are out, his hammer buzzes with power. "Mostly theft or minor sightings on your docket. Though you work closely with Jinx, a terrorist and known villain. If you don't want to fight, turn yourself in. No harm will come to you." 

Jayce speaks to him once more with all the luxury of moderation, yet somehow it’s more irritating in the Defender’s voice; all heroic and commanding. Viktor’s frown deepens under the mask.

Two officers take his pause as their cue and move over, their guns lowered and holding handcuffs instead. The rest still have their weapons raised, watching Viktor closely. 

"Officer Jacks and Officer Monger are good men, and they can take you in. There's no room in this city for those who break the law, Herald, and I don't want us to meet again under worse circumstances.” 

Viktor was considering his option, plans of de-escalation and limiting the attention and risk running through his mind until they halt all at once. Viktor runs those names through his head once, twice, and then a third time. He freezes for a moment, but then like a protective blanket the facade of the Herald slips back on. This time with an update of pure, unadulterated vitriol. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that…” Is the only thing he says, before the laser fires again. The first shot hits Jayce’s hammer directly, sending the man stumbling backwards from the impact. The second is for Monger, hitting the man’s shoulder. It’s a graze, cooking the skin on top  instead of piercing through. More than the man deserves, but Viktor isn’t a killer. 

Jayce makes the mistake of turning towards the officers when he hears the shout of pain as Monger drops down and Jacks catches the man to haul him backwards. 

Viktor uses the opportunity the second it is offered, and even as one enforcer shouts out for their hero to warn him, it does not come soon enough. The Herald wraps his armored fingers over the Defender’s throat, and the enforcers’ weapons are all raised once more. His claw crackles with energy, pointing over the Defender’s form to the enforcers. 

The burst of action is greeted with another tense silence as they’re put at another impasse, but despite the sudden stillness Viktor feels adrenaline shoot through his veins. The look of shock on Jayce’s face is thrilling, as is the strangled noise he lets out as his hand grips the armored gauntlet. 

“I told you I did not want to fight,” Viktor says, and he can see the cogs turn in the other man’s eyes. 

The Herald did not want to fight, but not because he was in any way incapable of it. 

With his face painted a fiery orange from the charged claw, Jayce’s lips pull back in a snarl. His hammer lifts, pressing against the armored chest of the Herald and staining his armor indicolite. "Leave them alone. They’re not equipped to fight you-," He grits out. The weapon is a threat even if his words are not. 

The Machine Herald huffs out a laugh and Viktor is not entirely sure if he’s snarling or smiling under his mask, “As if any Zaunite civilian is equipped to protect themself from your Hextech weapons?” 

Jayce looks good like this; eyes wide, grunting under his fingers, almost looking desperate. It fills Viktor with pride, and some other emotions that he doesn’t have time to detangle. The suit works against the Defender, and that’s what he needs to focus on. 

“Listen to me, Defender,” The Herald moves closer to Jayce’s face despite the hammer against his chest, menacing, “I will not give myself in, and I am walking away from this encounter free. I do not care about casualties,” A lie, but he was good at that, “So either, this stays between us, or you can add me to that terrorist list of yours.”

Defender's eyes narrow at the Machine Herald and the other man can see a type of anger Viktor had never earned. 

Jayce was angry with Viktor, but there was always pity. They would glare at each other and exchange harsh words, but Jayce always sent those damn balance statements. Pity coins from Hextech profits. 

There was no pity for the Machine Herald. 

It was odd for Viktor to be on the other end of such a gaze, but he couldn’t stop to consider it. Fighting the Defender was not on his list of things to do today. 

The Defender shifted under his fingers, his breath not cut off but he still had to struggle to speak around the grip of the Machine Herald, "Fine. Power down that damn thing. But don't think this is over." 

He acquiesced. 

The Herald was such a threat that he backed off.

The claw’s creaking laser slowly powered down, just as Jayce asked of him. In turn, Jayce powered down his hammer and lowered it. When Viktor was sure Jayce would keep his word, the Herald’s armored hand released him. 

Jayce yanks himself backwards a safe distance, gripping at his throat and coughing to clear it. His hammer makes a thunk as it hits the ground next to him. 

“Tell them to lower the weapons,” Viktor demands. 

"Lower your weapons!" Jayce orders, voice cracking from the strain.

The enforcers hesitate, and the Defender snarls as he turns to them, "Do you want the civilians on the street melted?! I said lower your weapons!" 

Quickly, the handguns lower. It makes Viktor’s blood boil, how quickly the enforcers were learning to take orders from Piltover’s civilian Man of Progress. 

The Defender turns back to the Machine Herald, "There. You walk free today. But don't think I'll make this mistake again."

“Don’t lie to yourself, Jayce Talis. You keep making mistakes,” He steps back, wary, his stance defensive as he moves further and further back.

“Over… And over again.”

He hears the van on the alley taking off, and then the Machine Herald is gone. He turns the corner, and that’s the last they see of him.

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: Stop fucking it up, Talis.

Despite standing at 6’1”, when having the Hextech company commission her suit, Ms. Marksman insisted on adding a heel.

“Like English style riding boots,” she had said, and Vi distinctly remembers her own baffled expression when the designer looked at Caitlyn in pure understanding.

Now they were making noise, small clack clack clacks as she ran across the concrete sidewalk and asphalt road. Vi’s own boots followed close behind with a thud thud thud.  

It was not often she had seen Caitlyn panic. Not truly panic, that is. There was the panic of a dirty house, the panic of paperwork being turned in late, the panic of mismatched socks and she can't find a matching pair and there is no way she can go in with mismatched socks then her toes will feel wrong . 

And yet, those were not this. 

It had been early in Vi's parole when Caitlyn, her assigned integration volunteer, had insisted on ice cream to “get to know each other” and the obligatory twenty questions led to “have any family?” Compared to Vi, Caitlyn had very little. She had her parents, the Kirammans. The Kirammans of KMCorp, with all of its subsidiaries like KM Manufacturing, Momentum by KM, and Kiramman Arms. Genuinely Vi had been baffled that the woman was out here on parole integration duty. 

So, rich parents? Check. Filthy rich parents, in fact. ‘This woman never needed a job in the first place,’ parents. ‘This woman could live her entire life doing nothing and basking in luxury and still have cash left over,’ parents. 

“Anyone else? Or are you Bruce Wayne, down to the detective skills,” Vi had asked. 

“Well, there’s Jayce?” Caitlyn said, her face scrunching up in that way it does when she’s about to do something uncouth. Vi decided then that she kind of liked the look on the woman. 

“And who’s Jayce?” 

Finding out that her assigned Enforcer was the pseudo sibling of ‘The Trains Guy’ was a shock, but as time went on Vi figured out they were genuinely quite close. That's why when the news came, and Caitlyn said she had to go, Vi did not question anything. She just followed. 

If there was anything Vi could understand despite the differences between herself and a woman like Caitlyn Kiramman, it was the fear of family getting hurt. 

The riding boots - but not riding boots - slid to a stop just to explode into the precinct. Vi shoved away the anxiety she felt every time she entered this place. Four years later and she still hated it. In the main lobby, the Defender was sitting with an enforcer before him taking down a statement. 

Caitlyn rockets across the floor with such speed one would think she had set a record. She claps her hands on either side of the man’s face and immediately she's twisting his head this way and that to check him for injuries. Vi follows close behind and frowns when she sees the way Caitlyn’s face morphs when she finds something. 

“Cait, relax. I'm fine,” The Man of Progress sounds quite a lot like a big brother. 

“Tell that to your neck, it's turning purple,” Caitlyn scolds back, sounding so much like a younger sister. 

Vi hangs back, holding her face in the practiced neutral expression of a guard dog as she pulls her motorcycle helmet off. She had a lot of input for her designers, and one was that under no circumstances would she wear a fucking hero mask. 

Jayce sends a pointed look to the enforcer, and the officer relents by finishing his report in silence. He stands up and turns to Caitlyn. “Let's claim a planning room. I need to talk through this.” 

Vi eyes the enforcer. They're annoying, but luckily The Defender could end it with nothing more than a look. Part of her was frustrated, and part of her was just glad to get to a private room. 

Caitlyn nods eagerly, standing up to direct the way. She shoves herself into her favorite planning room. Everyone knew it was her favorite, Vi had learned that a week in. This one had the newer cork boards. 

They enter, and Caitlyn takes far too much pride in kicking out the officers who had been using it as a break room. 

One thing Vi had discovered about Caitlyn Kiramman with a quickness was the fact that she was not well liked by other enforcers. That’s part of why her earnestness in climbing the ranks, earning the awards, and doing everything by the books was so surprising to Vi. Also part of why Caitlyn’s offer to Vi to ‘clean up her act’ with the hero work was so confusing. But, Vi had been the one to get herself separated from her family in the first place. She was young and dumb and despite holding it together around her family and being the big sister they needed, she sought some sort of release. That’s why she started racing, and that’s why she regretted it. In the end, her one wish for something of her own was what made it so she could not be there for her siblings. Maybe that’s why she took the job. Maybe that’s why she quietly closes the door once the two enforcers leave, knowing full well Caityn will want privacy for whatever this is. 

She hesitates a moment, wondering if she should leave. She doesn’t really know The Defender, not beyond the posters and commercials, the photoshoots and the social media pages… Not beyond the marketing, she supposes. 

Caitlyn then turns and takes her arm the second she hesitates. She doesn’t even look at Vi, simply senses the hesitation. Or maybe it’s a coincidence and Vi wants to think she felt her unrest. 

“Jayce-,” Caitlyn starts, but the man beats her to it. 

“There’s a Ferros event this weekend,” he grunts out, falling into a chair with a loud thump. The pose makes Vi pause in how un-heroic it looked, “A youth event for the competitors of Programming to Policies. She keeps insisting on these events for the youth and I don’t know why she’s so uppity about it out of nowhere. I’m supposed to shake hands and take photos with like… fifty high school teams. Makeup is going to have a field day with this,” He gestures to his neck. 

Caitlyn clicks her tongue, “Mother mentioned it. They went with the Momentum by KM instead of the Kiramman Arms logo for the student shirts since the shirts are being worn by school children. Especially since Ferros Defence is already the main sponsor.” 

“Isn’t the competition about urban warfare tactics? What difference does a logo make, they’re competing on how best to gun down a neighborhood,” Vi grunts out before internally wincing. She knew Caitlyn was fine with her saying such things, frankly Caitlyn trusting her to check her was one of the only reasons they could work together, but she didn’t know the woman’s brother like that. 

The man just shakes his head, speaking and somehow sounding like he is reading from a script despite having none, “It’s about scraping social media platforms to report real-time intel for riot suppression. They want to inspire youth in STEM. Also, Cait, didn’t Momentum just get that huge urban development contract for the low income housing on the Hexrail stops?”  

Vi’s lip twitched. Riots. Janna, they loved to toss that word around. She still remembered the miner’s strike that Vander had led. The one that left her and Powder orphaned. 

Caitlyn leans against the table, looking down at her brother, “Maybe you should cut back on your hours in the uniform.” 

“Cait,” The man’s hand slides down his face to look at her, “You know what the alternative is. If this hero stuff falls through.” 

Vi scowls. The alternative built into the Hextech contract. She had heard it from Caitlyn but hearing the man himself say it somehow felt worse. This time, not looking angry was harder to hide, not that she felt like she could say anything. She had an apartment and a job, which was more than most felons ever got. Unlike her seventeen year old self, she would not be so irresponsible as to toss stability away for her Zaunite pride. Stability meant she could convince Caitlyn to walk away when her sister was shot. If she had to wear a uniform for that luxury then so be it. 

“The third quarter report came in for this year. The council wants to move forward with fifty heroes in training by Q4 in response to the presentation Ferros Data and Intel put on.” 

Vi watches Caitlyn’s look turn pensive. 

“After the little performance they gave, I tried to pull the full research from my own login back at the lab. I might not have my doctorate in statistical analysis, but I know when data is missing. I didn’t have the clearance. Me. IT error, Camille said when I hunted her down. She provided the data printed out and made sure to tell me not to stress my pretty head about it. It wasn’t even the raw information, Cait. It was annotated front and back with concession after concession. It was a hundred pages and the first sixty or so were about how much safer people felt with heroes around. That’s not practical information that’s just marketing. I’m not in marketing, I’m a fucking engineer.” 

The man was biting out his words, and Vi considered how he was definitely a sibling to Caitlyn. Only these two would have breakdowns over numbers not numbering numerically enough like this. 

“Statistically, heroes do not work,” He produces his phone and opens something, tossing it across the table to her, “Not in violent engagement. In every situation they are in, it escalates. More injuries, more collateral, more deaths. That’s what the numbers say. That is the effect of Hextech in policing a populace.” 

“It took numbers to work that out?” Vi asks. 

Jayce shoots her a frustrated look before sighing and running a hand through his hair. 

“After I had to beg for the hero trials for all that time, now, suddenly they like the idea. The spectacle of it all. But-,” He starts when Caitlyn cuts in. 

“Even accounting for a hero presence skewing towards the more dangerous of encounters, heroes are nearly doubling the likelihood of a violent altercation.” 

“And that’s along with us personally vetting everyone who joined for the trial period. If they increase the numbers that will be impossible. Open the next document.” 

“This one isn't annotated?” 

“I know. Camille didn’t give it to me.” 

“The Hextech Hero presence in Piltover has directly contributed to a rise in hate crimes ?” 

Jayce grunts, “Scroll.” 

Caitlyn clears her throat, eyes narrowing, “This table for comparison is?” 

“Research sponsored by the Medarda Clan.” 

“Did Mel?” 

“No.” 

“Was it even produced in-?” 

“No.” 

Vi looks between the two. They seemed to have their own language. Kind of like her and Powder. But with Piltover accents and throwing out fancy names. Everything they said was sufficiently settled in either the camp of ‘duh’ or ‘what?’ And yet the look they share is so grim it genuinely unsettles her. 

Jayce seems to glance at her then winces. 

“I’m sorry. Vi, right?” 

She glances him up and down, then nods, “Yeah.” 

“Please, you can sit. Cait seems to trust you. She’s a better judge of character than I am. The Villain I encountered today was robbing hospital supplies. He said something and I’m still stuck on it. I would like to discuss it, but likely not here. Especially if you have any insight, Vi.”

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow, seeming confused. “Whatever you want, Jayce.”   

Vi glances at the other woman as she slowly drops onto the table next to her and perches the heel of her boot against the surface. 

“Cupcake? Aren’t you going to that thing?” 

Caityn turns the brightest shade of red velvet and sputters when Vi says that out loud in front of Jayce. 

“Because if you’re going to the event or whatever just invite me? What you said to me was that a Zaunite presence was important in the Hero trials? I’m assuming Mr. Paragon over there agreed because he let me on. Take me with you? Maybe I’ll see things you two don’t. No offense. You’re both book smart, but that’s about it.” 

Jayce and Caitlyn share a look. Vi can see Caitlyn’s face fill up with hope, and for a moment seeing that look on the other woman makes Vi’s stomach flip like she's a preteen with her first crush. But then Jayce just winces. 

“Vi, you seem like a good person.” 

Vi feels her muscles all tense as if bowing up to throw a punch, waiting for the ‘but’. But you’re not good enough, but you’re still a Zaunite, but you’re a felon who fucked your whole life up so bad you lost the most important thing to you. 

“You can’t risk that for,” he raises his hand as if trying to grasp the words from the air, “-some sort of namesake. Symbol. I’ve denied your request to become public because of that. You don’t want that. Trust me.”

Vi frowned, “That was you?” 

Caitlyn jumped up, “That was you?!” 

Jayce sighs, “Sprout-,” 

“Don’t ‘Sprout’ me! You just showed me hate crime statistics rising with a direct correlation to social and mainstream media content about Heroes, and we have a Zaunite hero right here fighting against the Chembarons, and you want to just pretend she isn’t making that sacrifice?! We could show everyone that not every Zaunite is like the Chembarons and their goons!” 

Vi swallowed hard, looking between the two. Is that what that was? Why would the Medardas sponsor that research? Aren’t they from Noxus? 

“Officer Kiramman!” Jayce snaps, standing up so quickly Vi tenses. Suddenly the man sounded a lot more like the hero and less like the big brother. 

“Drop it. If you care about that woman like you told me you do, do not bring this up again.” 

Caitlyn bristles like she does when she gets an order she hates, and Vi can see her hatred of rules that don’t make sense battle with her love for her brother. Vi is still somewhat caught off guard by the implication of Caitlyn having talked to him about her, but she pushes that down knowing what the other woman needs right now is more important. 

“Don’t talk to her like that. She might be lower in rank or whatever you enforcer types all say, but she’s your sister too and she is trying to help.” 

Jayce looks at her in shock, as does Caitlyn, and then unexpectedly Jayce Talis takes her seriously. 

“Sprout, listen-,” 

The door bangs open so loudly all of them jump. 

Vi raises her fists despite no gauntlets. Caitlyn grabs for a rifle, despite being unarmed. Jayce reaches for a hammer despite it having been dropped out of reach by the door. 

Blonde hair bursts into the room as Jayce jumps up to catch the woman who flings herself at him, “Jayce!” 

The woman was picturesque in that way of chunky sweaters and perfect afternoon walk poses on instagram. The type where Vi could smell the seven dollar drink in a seventy dollar water bottle. She was from the Piltover ‘countryside’, which technically meant any farm up north but in reality meant the coast and mountain range just above the city where the rich had their ‘country’ homes. Caitlyn had invited her once up there, so it had to be a rich-rich people area. 

“Ashley?” Jayce asks, “How did you-?” 

Heels much sharper than Caitlyn’s echo in the doorway as a high platinum bun and a sleek pantsuit appears in the doorway. Vi feels herself raise her eyebrows at the getup of the woman she didn’t recognize. A black silk collared shirt unbuttoned down her chest, and a dusty teal blazer that blocked out around her frame, and high waisted gray slacks. She was older, yes, but Vi knew power when she saw it. 

When Vi had met Cassandra Kiramman, the woman was intimidating, but whoever this woman was, she was downright anxiety inducing. Unsettling in the way only a person dangerous could tip off Vi’s fight or flight. She quickly glances at Caitlyn and sees her straighten up like a child under a ruler at boarding school. Then she glances at Jayce, and sees the man immediately wipe away the face of Jayce Talis, Caitlyn’s brother, and put on the face of Piltover’s Defender of Tomorrow. 

“She was denied entrance. She was crying outside when I came by to see you. Terrified that you were horrifically injured. I told her we could check on you together, Doctor Talis.” 

Vi glanced back at the man and watched his eyebrow twitch. He has a terrible poker face, she realized. 

“Thank you, Camille. But don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine.” 

Vi immediately recognizes the game. Implications in everything, even how they addressed each other. It was like watching bartering in Zaun, except Vi had no clue what was being bought and sold here.  

The woman’s face tips to the side, a small smile spreading over her lips. 

“The bruises that villain managed to inflict say otherwise. He’s been quiet until now. Machine Herald, yes? Virtually unheard of.” 

“He was robbing a hospital, Camille. He didn’t want to fight, I’d assume because if he did not return something or someone important would be at a loss. He was minimizing collateral and hostages were the easiest way to do that. That’s all. Considering the power of the claw’s laser, I suspect he’s got some sort of expertise and is on someone’s payroll.” 

Her lips tilt down into a scowl. 

“So you mean to say the inventor of Hextech was taken hostage.” 

“Not what I said, Camille-,” 

Jayce gets cut off by a choked out sob as the woman - Ashley was it? - Clung to him harder. 

“You keep putting me through this, Jayce! If you get hurt I- I’ll take your hammer and kill that robot my damn self! I saw photos; that thing is not human!”

Jayce looks something like he’s in pain when the woman shouts, “Ashley, relax. I’m alright.” 

Vi raises her eyebrow, not bothering at all with her own poker face. She removes her eyes from the crying woman clinging to Jayce to look back at Camille just to nearly jump when she sees the woman staring directly at her. Her eyes were narrowed ever so slightly as she looked Vi up and down. Vi had been sized up before, but something told her this was not for a fight. Instead, the look reminded her of a pawn shop appraiser glancing over the bits and bobs her sister and her would bring in for coins to get snacks at the corner store. 

Jayce catches the look too. 

“Caitlyn, take Vi and step out.” 

Jayce’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. Vi tears her eyes from the staring contest with Camille to turn and see genuine hurt on Caityn’s face. 

“Jayce, you don’t get to just-,” 

“Take Ms. Davis to the break room so she can get a glass of water. Now, Caitlyn.” 

His tone left no room to question him, and despite Caitlyn’s propensity for ignoring orders she loved her brother and did not like to upset him. Jayce knew that just as much as Vi did. 

“Come along, Ms. Davis,” Caitlyn huffs out, straightening. 

Vi casts a short glance at Jayce as Ashley peels herself from his chest. His eyes are on Camille, locked on her the way someone wouldn’t watch an unpredictable predator. 

“Come back to me soon,” Ashley says with an unwarranted softness. 

“I’ll be out in a moment, Ms. Davis,” He responds, strengthening his voice in response. It is probably meant to be cold but it seems to have the opposite effect on the woman who rushes out to follow Caitlyn bright red. 

Vi frowns but follows Caitlyn anyways. She closes the door slowly, hanging by it for a moment.

“What? Are you checking in on me after I had to drag those numbers out of you?” Vi hears Jayce snap, “Afraid I’ll close the hero program after seeing them?” 

“What do you mean, Talis?” Her reply is all feigned innocence. 

“I know you’re not that stupid. Don’t hide reports from me ever again, Camille,” His response is from his chest, as if trying to muscle his way into being taken seriously. 

“You think that the field engagement statistics are all that matter, don’t you, Defender?” And then the tone the woman takes on makes Vi feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She sounds like she’s placating a child. “Always so matter of fact. A true engineer, Talis. Zeroed in on the details instead of the bigger picture. Heroes work. Better than I ever expected-,” 

“Vi?” 

Vi lifts her head, seeing Caitlyn standing there with Ashley. 

She smiles easily, “Coming, Cupcake. Break room? Perfect. I needed a stale-ass black coffee.” 

It was a long walk back. Especially with no car to pick him up. Especially when he had to dodge enforcers and civilians alike. Especially when he was alone with thoughts of sun-warmed skin and bronze eyes. He hadn't expected to be held up by a hero, and most certainty he hadn't expected to see the Defender of Tomorrow. 

By the time he made it back, the truck was pulled inside of a warehouse and Silco had paced a line in the dust outside the front door despite the dress shoes the man ritualistically shined. The moment he sees the Herald he turns on a dime and paces towards him. The movement is so abrupt that for a split second Viktor thinks he is about to get hit. Sure there had been no real fight, but adrenaline had his heart thumping in his chest like a frightened animal despite it. Maybe it was that rush, or maybe the way the old baron moved, but what he did next was jarring. 

Silco’s gloved hands reach up to grasp either side of the Herald’s mask and he’s twisting Viktor’s head this way and that to check him for injuries. 

Viktor blinks under the lens as if his eyelids are going to clear the shock from his eyes. He reaches out and touches the old man on the shoulder with his gauntlet. The same one that had easily manhandled the most famous hero in Piltover. 

Viktor had still been rolling over the way Jayce had looked at him. It was thrilling, somehow a sweet relief, and yet daring to feel so pleased by physical intimidation, logically, should make him feel sick. Why didn’t he? Was this what it was like; how enforcers felt with their batons and handcuffs and guns? Was this why Jayce had made weapons? Was this why he raised that hammer to Zaunites? 

For this carnal euphoria?

‘No one could hurt me.’

It was a high he clung to so desperately and yet he felt his mind tangled into the guilt of wielding any power at all the longer he stayed in the suit. 

Silco is still checking him over. Viktor has to force himself to notice despite feeling like all the monster the Herald looked. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine, nothing happened,” Viktor grunted out, looking down at the anxiety filtered through a distilled glare on the man’s face. He has to look down with how tall he is in the armor. 

When satisfied with checking himself, not from anything Viktor had said to him, Silco closes his eyes and sighs and he wears his exhaustion in the creases on his brow. 

“Good. You’re necessary for business, Viktor. We can’t lose you. Your standoff was on the news with that… man.” 

‘Man’ is said with such utter derision one would think it was a swear.  

Silco then fixes his long coat and turns sharply on his dress shoes to rush back inside, likely fleeing from the grand intimacy of worrying about another person. It was funny, Viktor realized, that the thing that frightened ‘Pitlover’s Finest’ so efficiently could get the old man to react with such familiarity. Especially considering the amount of rage Silco directed at the perfect jawline that was the Defender of Tomorrow. 

Then he watched Silco’s back as the man retreated into the warehouse, and he saw Jinx rooting through a box to draw in neon paint marker over it ‘face masks’. Mylo was lifting a ridiculously large box, acting as if it was impossibly heavy. When he sat it down, it was next to other matching boxes already labeled ‘gauze’ by Jinx. Claggor was carefully carrying boxes of medicine over from the van, setting them next to Sevika who was cataloguing them before Therian and Cypress moved them into a refrigerator truck. 

If Viktor had failed, none of this would be possible. 

What had Jinx called them? Family? 

“Viktor, that armor was expensive. Get out of the humid port air before you rust,” Silco gripes. 

He can’t help but smirk.

If Piltover could have their heroes, Zaun could have its villains. Viktor could bear it, if he could earn moments such as this by his own hands. 

The Machine Herald did not take his suit off, not even his mask, as he helped with the unloading. There were too many people here, and he couldn’t risk someone seeing him, even if they were from the undercity. Only a few knew about his true identity, and that was the safest. 

He ended up helping Jinx, lifting boxes as she labeled them. The truck was covered in scrapes and dents from Jinx’s drive with it, but the girl herself was in one piece. Viktor calmed his still thumping heart with that thought, and ignored how he probably felt the same way Silco had just moments before. 

"So... You saw him," Jinx asked, taking a box as he handed it over. She doesn’t meet his eyes and starts fidgeting. It's a nervousness he had not seen on her before. She assumed he wouldn’t respond to the question, so she kept going. She was right, Viktor didn’t reply. He just continued to help, sliding the next box onto the table once she was done with the other. 

"I... Uh… I'm thinking we should spread some of this around. Without needing to grab the other supplies, they cleared out the pharmacy. Mylo and Claggor did. I was going to ask Silco if I could offer some to the Firelights. So you know. Seeing the ‘Boy Savior.’"

She really thought she was subtle, didn’t she?

Viktor dropped one of the heavier boxes down, huffing. The adrenaline was starting to crash and he could feel himself wearing out, suit or no. 

“You did good today. And we have plenty of supplies. You could take a bit to the Firelights. I doubt Silco will refuse the offer. The more Zaunites getting treatment, the better.”

She huffs, looking over at the boxes, "I... Yeah. That's if they don't scream in terror when I show up. I don't even know where their hideout is. Just know around-a-sorta where they hang out." 

Her eyes flick up to Viktor and she fusses with her hair nervously with the paint marker still in her hand, "Maybe I'll just... Leave the boxes somewhere they'll find them. With a note. Yeah, I could write something?"

Viktor hums. He doesn’t exactly know where their hideout is, either, but Jinx’s idea is not a bad one.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asked, looking over at the piles of boxes to work out what could be separated to bring to the firelights, “If you know where they hang out, it should be easy. I will help you.”

She nods, smiling a crooked smirk as she fidgets with the marker. 

"They're on the other side of town. And I hear they are taking in refugees too. From heroes and shimmer and the strikes ‘n protests. People keep getting hurt and there’s never enough medical supplies. So yeah, we can load up one of the cars. Leave it in one of their paths. I'll put a little note on it! To: The Boy Savior!"

Viktor smiled under the mask and, even if she couldn’t tell, the lack of tension on his shoulders was enough for her to figure it out. Seeing her small smirk turn to a bold grin was relieving. 

“You do that. I can talk to Silco about it while you get everything ready.”

She jumps up in an instant, "I'll go get my paint!" 

With a flurry of blue braids she runs off to her car, parked nearby and filled with paint as always. Viktor can’t help but smile at her excitement. 

Silco was a distance away, listening to Sevika run over the list of supplies. Sevika was smirking, disbelief in her eyes, and Silco himself even looked softer. His teal eye was watching the paper as she read it off. Was that pride? 

As Viktor gets closer, he can hear her. 

“The kids did a damn good job. So good, I’m not entirely sure how we will handle it all. Supplies can be stored, but meds expire.” 

The Herald joins the baron and his right hand just then, as if on cue. 

“Actually, ‘the kids’ might have also worked out a plan for the excess,” He says, “I’ve heard the Firelights are taking in refugees, and also are providing medical assistance. We have more than enough, and a Zaunite is a Zaunite. Right, Silco?”

Viktor can see the old man look at him with a raised eyebrow, and Sevika out of the corner of his eye smirks as if bemused.

“They’re a thorn in my side, interrupting shipments, but medical aid does call for a certain level of amicability.” 

He then rolls his eye at his own words, driving his hand against his temple. 

“I funded the invention of Shimmer, Herald. Or, the perfection of it. Look at me now, sharing bandages with enemies. If the other Barons hear of this, it will be like sharks smelling blood in the water. See that it disappears, but also ensure Jinx’s signature is all over it. If there is suspicion that I cosigned that-,” His hand slips from his face just enough to level the herald with a look, his sentence not needing to be finished. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” He promised, turning to look over at Jinx who was already painting all of the boxes and thinking of a note to leave her ‘Boy Savior.’ 

Silco chuckles, his eye following Viktor’s gaze; “Seems so.” 

There was a beat of silence, Viktor considering how much brighter the light in Zaun seemed right about now. 

“Herald, there is something else I need,” Silco says, interrupting his thoughts. 

“You sure about involving him, Boss?” Sevika asks, cutting short Viktor’s assumption that it was likely something small. 

“You know I need someone I trust if I’m going to ask this of anyone, Sevika.” 

Viktor lifts an eyebrow under the mask, staying still as a silent bid for him to continue. 

“I will have something delivered to you. I need you to look over a… side project. And provide your opinions. That is all.” 

“I can do that. But I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into before you send anything anywhere.”

Silco hums, lips pursing as he leans backwards against the table that is still holding up paperwork and boxes of medicine, "Do you remember the other doctor, Herald?" 

Sevika winces. 

Viktor’s nervous curiosity immediately turned to apprehension. He gives a short nod, however. Whatever Silco was about to say, Viktor was already not liking it.

“I do.”

Viktor can see the old man fidget, and even further he starts to fumble over his usually eloquent speech, "I have been... Overseeing a project. Funding it. I'd like your opinions. Be it technical or... Ethical." 

Viktor was stunned, and Sevika even mirrored his shock with her double take. To be the old man’s conscience? The fact that Silco would trust him with something like this…

“What if I don’t like it?”

The noise Silco lets out is a pained one. Like a yelp tangled between a huff and a laugh. “I… I do not know, Herald. I would like to say that I would abandon it. But I do not know if I can. But then, you will be able to tell me you told me so, no? So it works out in the end.” 

Then he is standing from the table and turning to face it, “I’ll have everything sent over. But if you agree to watch me and my actions, you can’t be taken out by something stupid. You have a responsibility to Zaun. Promise me I can trust you to be there if it is needed.” 

Viktor watched him for a moment, feeling Sevika’s eyes land on him again. The answer was about what he had expected. Silco was not the type to abandon something if he found value in it, no matter who argued about the morality of it. Vander’s death proved that well enough. But regardless, it was an easy excuse for the man who raised him to ask him to be careful. Viktor took that at face value; Silco did not want him hurt, and would not say it. That was all this was. 

“I was not planning on it,” he easily says while he shakes his head, but Silco keeps his burning gaze on the mask. Eventually Viktor gives in. 

“I won’t. I know what I’m doing.” 

He knew what he was doing just as much as Silco did. Which, per their last discussion, was clearly not enough. And yet, Viktor lied to protect the old man. 

Silco nods, “Alright, I trust you.” 

He pats Viktor’s shoulder, having to reach up to do so. 

“I’m heading out. See to your tasks.” 

He walks away with the quiet clacks of his expressive dress shoes now dirtied with his anxiety for Viktor. Sevika follows him quickly. Viktor watches him go before he once more turns back to Jinx. 

The young girl was still painting boxes that she had stacked on a trailer she had hooked up to… the Camry. How did she even do that? The Herald approaches her, and Viktor feels his eyebrow arch under the mask. 

“That’s some quick work you did there,” He chuckles, eyeing the stack of boxes, “Ready?” 

She laughs, rushing to the car and hopping inside. “Come on. I'll drive. I'm sure with that suit you've got a… lead foot. Eh, Herald? Eh? Eh?” 

Viktor just looked at her. Even with literal body armor on he still did not feel completely safe with her at the wheel. He considered calling her ableist for judging his leg, knowing she would snap back about him being sexist for gaslighting a woman, but it’s likely for the best he does not let the whole room of Silco’s people know the Herald is disabled. Bad leg and friends with Jinx is a short list. 

Regardless, they get across Zaun quickly. The east side has a small stream that rolls past massive concrete walls and huge pipes that lead deep into the sister cities’ infrastructure. Idly, he recalled Jayce mentioning it years ago. How the streams that ran through Zaun had pipes from Piltover that came from under the river itself. 

‘Zaun pollution gets compounded by Piltover’s runoff.’ 

Somehow it was both not shocking at all to learn and yet incredibly shocking to hear the fallout was calculated as a threat assessment in a civil engineering thesis of an alumni. 

That Jayce seemed so distant now. Like another person than the one who ordered enforcers around and told the Herald to ‘surrender or else’. There was nothing quite like Piltover’s glory to poison the merely ignorant into unrepentant perpetrators. 

Jinx parks shockingly safely under a small overpass that rolls from concrete wall to concrete wall, "I’ve tracked the firelights here pretty often! Always lose them in those pipes, though. They use them to hide the way to their hideout.” 

Viktor wedges himself with his armored suit out of the car, gripping the roof to get out. His body was exhausted, the mobility apparatus be damned, but he finally could help so he did.

“As long as no one else finds this before them…” He trails off, his voice finally showing his fatigue.

Her purple eyes land on him, and he knows that look. 

“Sit. I need to finish the letter anyways. Then I’ll drive you home.” 

Viktor feels his lips press into a thin when she clocks him like no one else can, but she so rarely will voice her feelings about his choices that the few times she does he usually will listen. He opens the car door and drops into the passenger seat, keeping his legs on the ground outside of the car. 

He can’t wait to take the mask off, take a shower even. His shower chair calls to him. 

She grabs out a letter she had written, and ties it to the top box with a bow. "I... I'm sure this pushed you a lot. Especially after having to deal with him . But thank you. It's easier to take a risk like this when you're next to me. Like… the big sibling I never managed to chase away." 

Viktor’s mind had been wandering, but it snapped back to the moment he was in when she spoke. She had called them all a family, but this was the first time she implied Viktor himself was like a sibling to her. 

Viktor felt his chest ache. The words meant more than they should. A sharp jolt of pain like stretching out a muscle early in the morning after it was unused for too long. He counted himself lucky the mask was still on. 

“I have to make sure you’re safe, Sparks,” He teases, and the smile on his lips could be heard even through his voice modulator. 

And then… 

“… You also make things easier on my side.”

A wound bared to be bandaged. 

Her eyes widen slightly, her hands stilling on the bow. 

"Huh. Damn. Silco really is losing his touch, ain't he?" She laughs, patting the top box, "I guess it's good, though. I'm smarter than those students of yours at that fancy-schmancy academy anyways! I think I do deserve special treatment compared to them." 

She signs her name on the bottom of the letter then slips it under the bow. 

"Come on, rust bucket! Let's get you topside."

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: Why a hospital? 

The Machine Herald suit is shed slowly. 

It’s exhausting, but plate after plate is detached and dumped into the back seat. The mobility apparatus stays on for now, he will remove that once they park and they can get his cane and brace out of the trunk. 

Even just from removing his mask, Viktor knows he looks like shit. He also knows Jinx can see it from the frown on her lips. 

She’s going to ask. He knows it and yet he dreads it. 

The Defender was not a long or even difficult encounter. Not physically, not with the suit. Yet he could feel his fingers shake ever so slightly against the metal plates as he yanks them off. Sweat dripped down his skin, paler than it even usually was. He couldn’t tell if the undershirt was overheating him or not nearly warm enough. The adrenaline was leaving his body from the encounter that Viktor survived . How pathetic, after the Herald made the enforcers feel fear behind their guns and badges, here the man under the suit was, shaking like a frightened kitten. 

Is this how he would always feel? Even without exchanging real blows? How long could he keep this up, then? Enduring the shame of getting degraded at work - because certainly that will happen again - just to disappear to Zaun and desperately try to protect his neighbors before crawling back to Piltover to sleep just to wake up to do it all again.

Jinx tosses a glance to the back seat using the rearview, pursing her lips. 

“I’ll bring that back to the lab. You’ll want to tinker more, knowing you.” 

“I might need more of those claws at this rate,” He dryly jokes, a nervous tic in this instance. 

She huffs, “After today, huh? What exactly happened? I was driving so it’s not like I was checking the news. Silco was, like, tweaking because he was so worried about you. I thought he was mad at me when I pulled up and saw him ripping his hair out and yelling at his phone.” 

Viktor sighed, dropping his head against the headrest “A gang of enforcers and the most annoying hero in Piltover showed up. You’re smart enough to do the math, Sparks.” 

He finds himself turning to the window as if it will hide him, and yet he can still see his face in it. He wears the expression Jinx mentioned; ‘scrungled.’ It was how he looked whenever Jayce was involved. 

"Are you ever going to explain what’s going on, Viktor? You get all sorts of moody every time someone brings him up! As far as I care, that bastard invented Hextech! He's nothing but a fuckin asshole. I mean, Viktor, what else is there?! Those weapons do nothing but hurt people. Our people!" 

Viktor can hear her tone change, voice strained with just the faintest bits of hysterics. What she says hurts and the way she sounds when she says it hurts even more. He closes his eyes and feels his hands grip the fabric of his pants tightly. The armor of the Herald was removed, and yet he still did not entirely feel like Viktor yet. 

He had to tell her. Viktor knew that. He had already waited far too long. But now… now he did not even know how. 

“It’s more complicated than what you think, Sparks…” 

It was his fault too, as much as he wishes he could solely blame Jayce. They made Hextech together. Every limb replacement manufactured to Viktor’s designs was paying back the debt Hextech had stolen from Zaun. He would likely die trying to pay it back, and yet he had to try. Meeting Jinx, having her drag him back across the river, coming to know his own community all over again, he could not give up. Not anymore. 

But would she look at him the same if she knew? 

Would she even still be there at all? 

He never thought he could care about her so much, like the family he had never known. All the loneliness of a lame child who could not play with the others was now personified in bold smiles and splashes of paint and he couldn’t imagine a future without them; without her. And yet that was not Jinx’s fault. She did not sign up for his lonely childhood angst. She needed to know. He had to tell her. 

So just tell her- 

Viktor swallows thickly. 

Her sharp gaze watches him. The pinch of his brow, the strain of his shoulders, the pale hue of his knuckles. 

Then she slams on the breaks. 

The tires screech as the car stops and Viktor nearly eats the dashboard. His eyes widen as he whips around to her, just for her to already be out of the car. 

“Stay!” She snaps at him, and before he can protest she’s walking into the corner market they had stopped in front of. 

Viktor pants quietly, then all at once grabs the seatbelt and fastens it tightly to appease his racing heart. He should have known better than to forget that with Jinx driving. 

The wait isn’t long, but Viktor is still feeling anxiety prickle at his skin by the time she gets out. She tosses a few bags into the back around the Herald armor then gets into the front seat and starts the car back up. She turns off the radio and starts driving once more. They’re only a few blocks from Viktor’s townhouse by now. 

There is a beat of painful silence, Viktor feeling nervous in the new tension. 

“… What was that?” he risks asking. 

“You don’t trust me,” She says, finally parking outside of Viktor’s place. Much more carefully this time. 

"You don't trust me and I get it. We never really do stuff that isn't..." 

The keys are pulled from the ignition and she flops back against the seat. 

"Like... We don't do the shit that friends do. We just work and then sometimes raid hospitals together. So let's do shit that friends do. If I haven't earned your trust, then let me earn it now." 

Viktor runs a hand over his face then shakes his head. 

“Sparks, it has nothing to do with-,” but then she's climbing out of the car. She passes over Viktor’s cane and leg brace and then she’s pulling on a baggy hoodie and sweatpants. She yanks out the bags afterwards and heads to the door, and Viktor has to just sit there amazed at how good she is at blackmail. 

Or maybe he’s just soft when it comes to her? 

“If you really want to know what’s in the bags, let me in,” She says, already trying to use his curiosity against him. 

With a deep sigh the inventor puts back on his brace and takes his cane so he can follow her. The change in movement is nearly jarring. Like when he was a kid, getting a leg brace for the first time and wearing it nonstop then trying to walk without it once more. He had just gripped the defender by the throat and nearly lifted the man off of his feet. Now without the adrenaline and the heat of the moment, the act was a tangle of emotions in his head. Vindictive excitement and nauseous guilt wrestled around with the image of bronze eyes filled with shock. 

“You don’t have to show me what’s in there to come into my house. You know that, right?” He half complains and half jokes as he heads towards his rented townhouse. 

The keys turn and he steps inside, hanging them on the hook out of habit. 

Jinx follows him and she turns in a large circle, whistling. 

“Huh, you even decorate like a professor,” She muses, laughing to herself. Then she’s moving to the living room to set down the bags on the coffee table. She sheds off her sweatshirt to let her braids tumble out, but even between folds of fabric she’s looking at everything.

Most notably, the living room, hallway, and even the dining room are filled with bookshelves. Mismatched and second hand she assumes, though nice. Second hand shit in Piltover must be super quality. It gave the collections of binders and books even more of an eclectic feel than they already had. Before the books, the little ledge of shelf space left was taken up by countless nicknacks. So many in fact that one would have to lift any book upwards to meet the bottom of the shelf above it to manage to slide it out. 

Even funnier yet, Jinx notices the tops of the bookshelves are stacked nearly to the ceiling with scientific instruments. Some of them are ancient, some of them are quite new, and there’s got to be multiple of every type of thing a scientist could ever need. This isn’t even counting what he had brought to their lab down in Zaun already. The boxes were all dinged and roughed up. Second hand then, all of them. Part of Jinx wonders if he was making up for all of the access he didn’t have in Zaun. Here in Piltover, those fancy things were someone’s trash. 

“Welcome to my humble place,” Viktor says, and even if his tone is dry, Jinx knows he’s teasing her for being so excited. Teasing, yes, but that doesn’t mean he is upset. The wood in the old place was a deep walnut, and the pristine white walls nearly covered by bookshelves darkened the whole space. Jinx didn’t look like the painful white light of Piltover, the cold and sterile shine with all the power of the sun. Rather she brought in the cozy warmth of a fire shared with good friends. 

The spark that their weird little family needed. 

She leans over and plucks out a box of cheap mac-and-cheese, two bottles of coke, and a package of sour gummy worms. They were her favorite, but only the blue and pink ones. She would always pass off the red and yellow and green and orange to someone else to finish. 

“Can you believe it! All this stuff and none of it was locked up! I’m going to make us up a box of the good shit. You sit down, Vikky!” 

Viktor watches her pull snacks out of the bag and his chest tightens. It’s so startlingly normal that it frightens him. Losing Jinx frightens him. Suddenly, he realizes all at once that he understands Silco. 

He can watch her over the island of his kitchen as she buzzes around, searching for a pot and filling it up with the water pitcher he keeps. She then refills the pitcher from the tap and gasps, "Damn! The water is so clear! That's crazy!" 

“Mm. Most in Piltover do not even use the pitchers. I only do so out of habit. If we are going to do… all of this tonight. Will you let me take a shower while you do that? I can lend you some clothes if you want to try out a ‘Piltie’ bath as well.” 

She glances up at him, a grin spreading over her lips with excitement, "Alright! Once the hot water refills I'll try it! How fast does it take for your hot water to fill back up? And oh god, Piltie clothes! Can you even sleep in those?"

“You’ll love this… You don’t have to wait,” He’s then standing up, chuckling as she starts insulting even the clothes he’ll lend her. It’s so much like her, and she seems so happy about the whole situation, that Viktor almost forgets this might be the night he loses her.

“You try them and let me know tomorrow.” As he says that, he’s already disappearing behind the bathroom door.

When he returned, she had found his Bluetooth speaker and was blasting music. Her head was bobbing as she heaped noodles into two bowls. The smell of cheap food filled the air and it wasn't unlike those early college days where Jayce and Viktor were scraping by on dollars for food in between limited hours of sleep. She was about their age when they met, come to think of it. 

Returning to his own house and having it feel alive was something he was not used to. Though, it was also not something he did not appreciate. Topside, there was a never-ending silence. Viktor did not know his neighbors, and he did not have family, but Jinx filled the normally still house with so much movement. She really was like a little sister; a bundle of chaos and smiles. His mind conjured up images of Jayce with Caitlyn against his will. It must be similar, then. From what he has seen. 

Why did he keep thinking of that man? It was annoying. Maybe because of earlier this afternoon? It was already late into the night. 

“Mac and cheese extra milky is the only way to make it! If it's not a soup I don't want it!” She says, walking into the living room and plopping down the two bowls, seeming quite proud. She then cracks one of the bottles of coke and takes a huge gulp. 

“All done with the shower?” 

Viktor nods as he smiles softly to himself, moving further into the living room to sit next to her and let his cane rest against the couch and stretching his bad leg out. 

“Yes. I left some clothes for you in the bathroom, in case you need something clean.” 

“Alright! I'll be back. Going to put that hot water heater to the test!” She tells him, sounding thrilled by the challenge. 

He grabs his own cola as she stands, taking a sip, “Don't take too long. Your food might run cold.” 

“By the way, there's mail for you!” 

Viktor almost chokes. 

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” 

She disappears into the bathroom, and Viktor immediately turns to the coffee table that had a stack of letters tossed onto it. Just as he dreaded, there was a red envelope on the bottom. He stood and grabbed the bundle, fleeing to the trash can to flick through them. Spam mail, trash, information from the university. And then, at the bottom, the Talis seal. Mocking him, no doubt. 

Did Jinx see it? 

He did not bother with opening it. He had not bothered in four years, almost five. It was a balance report from the Hextech shares in his name. He couldn't even imagine how much money it was by now. Blood money from his own invention, kicked to him to soothe Jayce’s guilt no doubt. He had thought about spending it a few times. Selling shares if just to be done with it. He could have tossed the money anywhere, even to Zaun, but he knew every cent could be put back to his people and he still would not be able to make up for the harm done. And now? Now he was just too pathetic to even look. The letter made him sick to his stomach, so like a coward he tossed it in the trash with lighter fluid and a match. Watching it burn somewhat felt like lifting Jayce by the neck and watching fear flash in his eyes.

Viktor chuckled to himself because it was so absurd he had to find it funny. Shame and guilt tangled in his chest with a third thing he didn't dare put a word to. 

He dumped himself into the couch as the fire in the trash can died down to smoldering ash. He gripped the bottle of soda Jinx had purchased by the neck and took a sip to try and calm his nerves, but bronze would not leave him alone. Not when he was alone. Maybe it was for the best that Jinx insisted they hang out. He needed to tell her anyway, even if it means she leaves. 

He’s in the throes of mourning a familial connection he never knew he could have when the door to the bathroom is kicked open. 

"Viktor!" She gasps, "Your shower is crazy! It stayed hot the whole time! I could wash all of my hair before it ran cold!" 

She runs in, all five feet of hair wrapped up into a towel, and throws herself onto the couch next to him so she can pluck up her bowl of mac-and-cheese and stuff her face. “The difference just being on the other side of the river makes. Damn.” 

Her words only make the guilt twist in Viktor’s gut further. It was only because of his failures that Silco had not taken the chance on letting her study topside. If Viktor had not fallen for Jayce’s charms, not let himself get tricked into helping just to get shipped back to Zaun bloodied and bruised, she might have had these same opportunities. He refused to let his name be removed for fear of closing the door behind him, and yet that was just what he did. 

How used to luxury was he, after having lived up here for so long? 

“You know you can come here as you wish, right? Silco might not like it, so he will annoy you the least if you are quiet about it, but you are always welcome.” He tells her, only now picking up his bowl to eat with her. The food tasted like all nighters, pencil graphite, and eraser crumbs. 

“And, see? The clothes are comfortable. Though you do look like a Piltie now,” he teases her. The pants were rolled up to her knees, Viktor being much taller than her, but she didn't seem to mind. 

She wrinkles her nose at the words, and gasps as if offended, “How dare you, sir!” 

Her fake Piltover accent is enough to make Viktor laugh, and she laughs with him. He thought back to Jayce, and how often the man was so polite, with customs hammered into his head. Her impression was spot on, and he could give her that. Then she leans over to root around in the bag and pulls out nail polish bottles and face masks. 

Her eyes flick to him in a fragile look, asking if he will humor her. His eyebrows raise at the spread, but when he meets her gaze he folds instantly. He nods to her softly, and she seems pleased. 

"My sister and I didn't get a lot of time to do this sort of thing," She fiddles with the bottles, picking at the labels. 

“This is just as important, is it not?” He hums, teasing her certainly but there is truth in his words as well. She had said it herself. They should do more than just work together if they were now family. “Just do not ask me for a photo after.” 

She giggles, shaking the bottle to mix up the pigment, “I'm going to just do your nails black. That's unless you want sexy librarian red! You have more than enough books for it. I need a touchup anyways! So you need to do mine too. And fine to no photos, at least ones that don’t get posted anywhere. But I may demand one if the face mask helps you in the dry-ass t-zone department. I’d need proof to show Sevika. She did her first facemask recently and I’m trying to explain that they are good!” 

“Sexy librarian red is going to have to be a ‘no’ from me. I have not exactly painted nails before, but I will do my best. If you trust me with it, that is. Which maybe you should not,” He says this as he scratches his cheek, and yet all of it seems so fun. Is this what siblings did? Friends? It seemed so silly, and yet it brought a genuine smile to his face.  

“That’s what remover is for, tin can!” She shouts, rolling her eyes, “Now come on, let me at them cuticles!” 

The night passes on far more pleasantly than Viktor anticipated. Jinx paints his nails with such care that Viktor is struck quite suddenly that her seemingly sloppy lines for her paint and projects are all quite intentional. Viktor tries his best when she shoves the blue and pink bottles into his hands, and she is very patient with it. She even insists he remake the smiley face on the metal finger he had helped her design. By the time they were done painting nails, they had eaten through their cheap food and drinks and Viktor had to admit that her plan worked. He did feel better. 

“Alright, face masks!” She says, tapping her nails to test that they are dry. “I think Ekko might pay me a little visit when he figures out what I left him. I want to look good for it. Stupid, I know. But what do those Piltover magazines say? Get a revenge body? You know, I never got that phrase. Like, isn’t a ‘revenge body’ just what you call a problem in your trunk when you ask your friends to help hide it?” 

At the mention of the Firelight leader, Viktor smirked. He dug out the mask packages she had gotten and turned them over in his hands to read the instructions. 

“You’ve been talking about him quite a bit, lately,” He hums, giving her the space to change the topic if she wished. 

Jinx huffs as she sits back, tossing a Trolli gummy worm into her mouth. 

“I-! …yeah. Yeah I guess I have been. You know we used to be friends? Me, and the now leader of the anti-baron vigilantes. We were kids back then. Silco is acting more and more like some old sap. Especially since he started hanging out with Singed! I think he’s like, infecting me with nostalgia!” 

“Uh-huh,” he eyes her, letting his expression show his suspicion. He knew there was more there, one did not have to have a doctorate in theoretical physics to deduce that. Though, he did not press her. Instead, to act nonchalant about it all, he ripped open one of the packages to take out a mask. The second his fingers touched it, his face morphed into one of utter disgust. 

“This feels even worse than-” He caught himself before he was able to say something he should not, and slowly tried to open it up as he powered through the way the texture made his skin crawl. 

Jinx, at least, has fun with it. She laughs as his face scrunches up. “They are slimy! For like moisture or whatever. Come on, put it on me doc!” She closes her eyes and sticks out her face for the monstrosity. 

“They most certainly are,” Viktor grits out, sounding like he’s in pain as he places it on her, “That has to be cold.” 

“It’s supposed to be! Tightens pores!” She laughs, and Viktor realized it was almost funny how much he was learning. Even his mother, who he barely remembered but was there more than anyone else, hardly did anything like this with him. His grandmother who he lived with for three years after didn’t have the ability to. Then there was Singed. Not only did Singed not wish to do anything like this, but the thought of Singed painting his nails and wearing a face mask was somewhat haunting, actually. And Silco, of course. One of the few people who Silco let touch him was Jinx. Viktor was beginning to understand why. The old baron was well used to attacks, still refused to carry a weapon despite how often he had been in life or death situations, and yet Jinx was trusted with a weapon around him. Viktor supposes then that he can trust her with a face mask. Even if the texture was atrocious and he had no one to impress, at least not with his true face, it was not about the act itself but about the meaning behind it. 

She flops back when he’s done and falls quiet for a while. 

“You know, I did something with Ekko that was kind of like this once. Not masks, but we went to a hairdresser together. The ladies waiting taught me how to braid my hair, since mom never got to teach me and Vi sure as hell didn’t know how. And he got a fade done. He was so excited! The hairdresser lady that did it told him he looked sharp and I swear he held onto that high for a week.” 

Viktor huffed quietly, wiping his hands from the mask onto a paper towel. She couldn’t help but talk about this guy, could she? He had never met him, mostly just learned through osmosis about him from Jinx herself, then deduced things about the Firelights from what the community and Silco said. He would have to start paying more attention now, though. If Jinx liked him that much, he had to be one hell of a man. 

“Sounds like you two had fun when you were little. What else did you get up to?”

She snorts. 

"What didn't we get up to? Vander used to call us the biggest trouble this side of the river!" The smile falls from her lips after a moment. 

“But the best times were when we would color together. We would always color things we wanted to invent. He was smart too. Just as smart as me! It meant the world when I was young, knowing someone else who spoke the same language. Talking about gears and bolts for hours. He always wanted to make skateboards that fly. He’s pulled it off now! Silco hates them, says it’s why the Firelights are ‘a real threat’. But it does make me smile. He did what he wanted to do. Pulled it off, you know?” 

Viktor felt his heart leap into his throat at the way she spoke about him. It was painfully familiar, but he reminded himself that his experiences were not hers. He had heard enough about the Firelights to know that they were Zaunite through and through. Born from the need to do something for their community, not unlike The Machine Herald. He had to respect them, and from what he knew of their work and from the way Jinx spoke about him, he knew that this man was not the type to betray Zaun. 

Suddenly, a gummy worm is being shoved at his face. 

“Silco is convinced everything is a ‘real’ threat,” He muses, taking the worm. He bites it in half then throws the second half at her. 

She laughs loudly and raises her hands as it harmlessly bounces off of her head. 

“Alright, tin can! I spilled my guts. It’s your turn.” 

The soft smile immediately fell from his lips. 

“Sparks… I- uh-,” He averts his eyes. He could try to hide it. Maybe tell half truths. He could also just tell her no, that he will never tell her. None of that seemed fair, though. 

“You’re not going to like what I have to say. It’s been a good night so far. I don’t want to ruin it.” 

As he says this, her face falls in a mirror of his. Her purple eyes study him for a moment, then she sits up and grabs the bottle of coke from next to her to pick at the label. 

“You don’t gotta say anything. I just… I want to be there. I can be useful for this sort of thing too. Talking and stuff, not just bombs. You not letting me in feels like I’m not trying hard enough. At least tell me it’s not me ruining stuff.” 

Viktor pauses. It’s hard for him to tell if she is playing the victim to get something out of him, or if she really thinks that way. Or maybe he does know, but his experiences make him suspicious. His suspicion is no reason to let someone he cares about hurt like that, especially not a younger sister. 

He has to force it out, but it comes. His voice fumbles over it like each word is an obstacle, but he manages it. 

“Jayce Talis… The Defender- the hero. We used to work together.” 

Her eyes snap up to him, filled with surprise. She tugs up her knees against her chest as her hands find her shins to hold. 

"Don't you work together now? You're both working at that academy, right? I figured you knew him. You always acted like you did."

Viktor huffed out a laugh. She wasn’t wrong, and she was smart enough to clarify like that. He couldn’t look at her when he continued. 

“Not like that. We used to be partners. We…” Nervously, his fingers found his hair, running through it, “We worked on a huge project together, spending every day side by side for six years.” 

She watched him silently, and he could feel her eyes on his skin. The hand in his hair started to tug at his bangs. 

“I wanted our project to help people. Help Zaunites. Close the divide. But… but the academy was not so willing. And…” Has he ever voiced it? Said it out loud? Now, with how his voice cracks, he is realizing he must have not. “Neither was Jayce, I guess.” 

It doesn't take her long to work it out. She had always been so smart. 

“That’s what Silco had you doing? He sent you to the academy and you ended up working on Hextech. And then they shafted you? I- Viktor I don’t get it. So you’re the actual inventor? Why would you make weapons like that? Make weapons and give them to Zaun- you should have known Piltover would never allow that!” 

Her words make him wince. 

“No. No, Sparks,” Finally he manages it. Raises his eyes to meet hers. “We both invented it. Hextech could only exist with both of us. And…” he takes a deep breath to steady himself, “Weapons were never our goal. I never imagined it would even be used to…” 

Do this? All of this? Everything Zaun was suffering, amplified even worse?

He tears his eyes away again, driving the heel of his palm against his brow. 

“The morning of the Progress Day Gala, I got a visit from enforcers.” 

She watches him with rapt attention, and he can feel her bow up like a spring next to him. 

“The thing that Silco talked about. They hurt you. It was for that. The Hextech. So they could make weapons?” 

He shakes his head, “I did not even think weapons were on anyone’s mind at the time. I… was foolish. I should have seen it coming.” 

When the next words come, when he hits the next part of the story, he reaches out to gently take her hand. It was definitely for her, to stop her from squeezing her ankles too  hard. Not for him. To steady himself against the shame of recalling that night. The ugly, slimy feeling that he had built an entire suit of armor to hide away from. 

“I only caught a few words from them, but…” He looks pained as he says it, “They spoke of Jayce. How he wouldn’t want to see me half-dead. So they could not hurt my face.” 

He’s about to laugh, part his lips and let out a broken cry of shame at how stupid he was for ever believing in that man. Before he could though, Jinx leaps up from the couch. His hold on her hand is broken as she bounds up. 

“If he didn’t want to see it, maybe he shouldn’t have let them!” 

Then she turns sharply, starting to pace with a fury. 

Granted, she did not seem mad at him. But her reaction still worried Viktor. 

“Sparks-,” He began, blindly reaching for his cane to stand up and tug her back to sit down, “I’m fine now. That was years ago, and I now know what I need to do. I have you and Silco, and the rest of Zaun to protect. We can work together, create real change without Piltover’s permission.” 

She stops dead as he grabs her arm. Her eyes are wide but staring at nothing. 

“You invented that Hex stuff. So… you know what to do with it? You said it wasn’t always meant for weapons. So it can do other things? Like what?” 

She has that glint in her eye and it makes Viktor nervous. Jinx had so much explosive potential, being so brilliant. She was capable of so much, but Viktor himself was proof that such a gift could be dangerous. And Hextech… Hextech could do so much harm. 

But then he looks at her again, and he remembers that dark look in her eye when he first met her without her finger. How she spoke about feeling useless, how that feeling drove her to do the worst, and how the outlet of the design process helped her focus on the good she can do. 

He trusts her. He has to. If he does not trust Zaun’s youth, who will continue the fight after he is gone? 

“Hextech can be used for weapons, yes, but that is not what we invented. What we invented is a new form of renewable energy. Infinite, safe, portable, energy. It could power a weapon, but it could also power tools for workmen, replacement limbs, even entire buildings! Like hospitals and schools, powered for forever. That’s how the Hexrail system works too. The same power source, just put into trains. What we invented was meant to be that, but everywhere. Theoretically, it could power anything.” 

Her eyes land on him as if he’s solved some grand puzzle. 

"And all this time you were right there. One of the inventors of it. An infinite power source, and you can finally show us how to use it.” 

Viktor had to lean against his cane. His heart was beating so fast it felt like he might fall. She nearly looked blood thirsty, and it was times like this that he was reminded she had actually killed someone before. He had to wonder if that was like what he looked like watching Jayce choke. Was this too much for her? Would she want to make weapons too? A Hextech on Hextech war. Even the idea of that collateral made him sick. 

“I do not- I do not have access to it anymore,” He tries to explain, placate, his words weak as if he worried saying them with too much fervor might trigger her. 

This could not happen. His dreams could not be doomed to only ever result in weapons. The armor was already enough, built to allow him to protect his people. He already resigned himself to the sick, carnal joy of the power it gave him. But neither city could withstand a Hextech war. If it came to that, there would be no point at all anymore. 

Was he wrong to trust her? To tell her about it? Let her know about Hextech- 

“What if…” She cuts off his frantic spiral, biting at her bottom lip and averting her gaze as well. 

The meek, guilty look on her face caused all of his anxiety to come to a screeching halt. 

 "What if I had one of those gemstone thingies? Would it help? Could we help people? Like what your work was supposed to do to begin with?"

He stares at her in shock. 

“It does not matter. We do not have one. Right, Jinx?” 

His eyes are glued to the side of her face and the way she will not face him as she clicks her tongue. 

“I… uh… might, though. I was trying to figure it out for a while. Never knew who to ask. It’s in the lab. Right now. I got it in a box.” 

She finally turns to face him, but her head is bowed as she fidgets with her nails like she expects to get yelled at. 

Viktor feels his entire body pitch forward just slightly. 

“What?” 

“It was just a couple of Progress Days ago! It was left out! All I had to do was kick the shit out of that Marksman girl and then skedaddle before Vi came around. It's all glowy and shit and I had seen them before on those commercials so I just grabbed it."

Viktor stumbles back, falling into the couch. He laughs in disbelief brushing a shaking hand through his hair. 

“I… I can do a lot with that. Yes. Almost anything,” He says, eyes wide in shock, “But, not a weapon. We can’t do that. The claw is bad enough. I cannot… cannot do it. It would kill so many. Even if they are from Piltover, I do not wish to kill.” 

She watches him for a long moment, then comes over. She tucks herself onto the floor against his legs. 

“That’s what he did. Right?’ 

Viktor feels like the sigh that leaves him takes part of his heart with it. He drops his head down to the handle of the cane he still holds. 

“... He did not even ask me. When I found out they were making weapons, I tried to complain. No one heard me. Jayce even texted me. Told me to stop making a scene. Then he got unmasked, with that big, bright, shining hammer.” 

She turns to look at him. 

“It’s a betrayal. He betrayed you.” 

Then her head turns forward, “Then no, we aren’t making a weapon. I thought I’d just make a bomb, but if it’s yours then I can’t. We will find something else. I trust you on this, and we always work something out, you and me. Jinx and her sidekick, the Herald.” 

Even from this angle, he can see a small smile on her lips. 

It was so simple, the concession to his boundary. And yet it was so unexpected he felt startled by it. He could trust her. She proved that here and now. Not just could he trust her morals, but he could also trust her smarts. She had given him a whole new perspective in a matter of seconds. 

Without even thinking, Viktor leaned down and pulled her into a tight hug. 

As soon as he realizes what he was doing, he’s pulling back and huffing quietly. Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, but they soften quickly. 

“I’m sorry. I- Thank you.” 

She shrugs easily, “Oh, I’m better than Piltover’s Golden Boy? Not a high bar. You’ve gotta raise your standards, Doc!” 

His eyebrows furrow. Standards? He decides to not even question it, falling back into the couch with a long sigh, “I need a drink after this…” 

She snorts, smiling with all teeth, “Glad I stopped then.” 

She fishes out a paper bag and a box of brightly colored barrels. 

"Mr. Doctor sir, could I perchance interest you in a most esteemed vodka hug?” 

Viktor’s head snapped back up as quickly as it dropped to the couch, and he looked between the barrels, the bottle of vodka, and the girl who looks something like the stuffed sharks she has.

“You’re a genius.” 

She laughs, "I know!" 

She grabs a knife from somewhere on her person and stabs in the top of one of the purple barrels, then tops it off with straight vodka before shoving it into his hand. 

"Well, I guess this is our own gala. To the future of Hextech, eh?"

He can’t help but grin. 

“To the future of Hextech.”

A ways away, back over the river, Jinx’s ‘Boy Wonder’ stumbled upon the supplies. He was covered in ash, bleeding, and exhausted, as he eyed the paint swirls and scribbles over boxes. He wondered if it was a bomb, but he ripped the first box open regardless, desperate for… something. 

It was sanitary suture kits. 

Ekko huffs out a laugh, “She's… insane. How did she know?” 

He falls back against the boxes to text Scar. They all needed some good news after that day’s tragedy. And this? This would help him care for his people. 

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: If a tool is used as a weapon, does it have any right to become a tool again?

BEEP 

BEEP 

BEEP

Waking up, Viktor’s head is pounding and he can still taste the purple hug barrel on his dry tongue. He fumbles for his phone to stop the alarm and start the news. It was dark in his room, blackout curtains only letting in the streetlight over the rim of the rod. His crowded bookshelves and deep bed sheets just made it seem darker in the slow morning. 

“It’s Bill and Gill with The Morning Drill! All of the most important Hero information to start your day SUPER! Gill, what was all of that chaos at the Piltover General Hospital? East Monument was shut down! Rush hour was a complete disaster.” 

Viktor’s body aches everywhere. He definitely drank more than he should have after being as active as he was at the hospital. He detangles himself from Jinx and her six stuffed ikea sharks. Despite his bed being large - yet another Piltover luxury he had grown used to - the girl still managed to take up the entire thing between wayward limbs and wayward… hair. He pulls a long blue strand from his mouth as he leaves his bedroom and quietly closes the door behind himself. The light to the hall makes his head pound so he scrambles to turn it back off, instead using his phone’s screen saver to navigate.

“Seems a new Villain has shown his face, Bill.” 

He passes The Herald’s mask unloaded onto the counter with his jacket as he drags himself to his kitchen and switches on the soft reading light. He pours a glass from the tap before downing some pills to kill the pounding in his head. He looks at the cabinet hiding his flower, glass, and edibles longingly. That will have to be for when he gets home, after class. 

“WHAT?! That’s crazyyy, Gill! Where does Zaun find these FREAKS?”

“Not sure, Bill, but this one was something else. Injured the Defender.”

“Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, Bill.” 

He fills a fresh glass from the fridge filter then leaves it and the bottle of Advill on the bedside table with a note for the girl who was still a jumble of limbs and snores. He pauses then leaves a copy of his apartment key on top of the note as well. He was exhausted, having pushed himself to his limits. He could feel it in his leg and his lungs and the strain on his back. But seeing the girl he had come to know as a sister of sorts sleeping comfortably and happy made the pain bearable. Could Zaun be this for her one day too? Unlimited showers and comfortable beds? 

“Piltover’s Enforcers have listed a reward for any information on this man who was involved in the robbing of Piltover General. KM Manufacturing, who produced the supplies stolen, has offered to match the reward to ensure civilians feel safe at Piltover’s Hospitals.”

“That’s nice of them, Gill. Real wholesome stuff.” 

Nothing stopped the weight of his death or the illness he struggled with, but it seems there were things to ease the burden. Something like his passion for Hextech, but now stable. Not a frantic desperation to have left a nebulous good for the world before he goes, but a steady want to build a better future for those he loves. Viktor yanks on his work clothes in the bathroom then grabs his side bag and locks his front door behind himself. Then he is heading to the Academy in the brightening sun of Piltover’s long residential streets. He passes Jinx’s car, a splash of color and chaos in rows of tastefully cozy townhomes with maximized resale value. Her future was worth it. 

“Speaking of, did you hear about that event tonight? In the old Pididly Memorial Center, an awards ceremony for the CyberHero competitors! Fifty teams of students from across the sister cities competed to define metrics for an AI to scrape a virtual social media platform for posts concerning riots. There were six thousand synthetic posts based off of real life Zaunite riot call to arms! Only a hundred of them were classed as a ‘red’ signifier. And five hundred were classed as ‘orange’ to ‘yellow’.” 

The walk to the train station was close, bright and clean and escalators down, though they were tricky with his cane. The indicolite, shining train pulled in and he climbed on, trying not to wince when he saw it was quite full already. Though full in Piltover just meant most of the seats were filled, another luxury that had softened him. A little girl spotted him and eyed the cane. She lifted the letter she had set on the seat next to her, holding it close to her chest. He sat down gratefully despite how strange it felt to be pitied by a child after the events of the other day. Quietly, he considered how differently she would look at him had he been wearing his armor. Professor Nadeník, pitied by children and defenseless against enforcers. Now The Herald seemed so far away, the rare safety of being a threat. At least as a threat, he was granted his own agency. 

“Seems like a good program for kids, Bill.”

“Yeah, Gill! And get this. The Defender is going to personally speak to them! Each team gets a photo, too. If I were them, I’d hold onto that photo forever.”

“Inspiring the youth. He seems to be quite interested in youth outreach lately? Did he not also do that storytime with Mayor Medarda?”

“Yeah, you think he’s gearing up for something, Gill?” 

The bus stops at the university stop, the same as the bank stop and just before the City Hall stop. It was funny how close by the grandness that was Piltover city center was to his little townhouse. Viktor stands at the same time as the young girl who has to hop down onto her shoes. She pats down her pink skirt then lifts her backpack and letter. Viktor considers how no kids in Zaun take the Hexrail system. They’ve cut down the run times because of ‘limited use’, now only moving during rush hour to get workers to and from work. It was Zaun’s fault, clearly, despite how the rail lines took paths only useful to workers. The only thing surprising about it was the fact that it still managed to hurt. He had fought and scrambled to invent something to help the world, and yet like every other amenity Piltover took for granted, it never once trickled down to Zaun. Why would it? These cities, their laws and infrastructure and every system that made the society work, was built for one purpose. 

“If Jayce Talis has taught us anything about himself, it’s to expect great things, Bill.”

“You could say that again, Gill!” 

Viktor steps off of the train, into the huge station that shined with light through a large glass ceiling like an atrium meant to hold only the most delicate of specimens. Jayce’s face was mosaiced into the subway tile beside him, smiling and handsome by some art student’s hand. They used gold for his eyes. Quietly, Viktor wondered when Jayce had gone and changed them on him. He had only ever looked at Viktor in a warm bronze over hours of dreaming and building in their lab. Bronze like sculptures, crafted by artists memorializing human history. Bronze like bells and strings, labored over to perfect an instrument for something as beautiful as music. Bronze like machinery manufactured for specialized purposes, letting humans push their technology to new heights or depths. Maybe Viktor was just a fool, though. Maybe Jayce Talis’ gaze had always been Piltover gold. 

Watching Caitlyn was starting to feel like deja vu. Jayce returned a mirror to Vi, his uniform heavy on his shoulders and a certain apprehension clinging to the worn wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

Before Caitlyn could say a thing, Ashley was speaking. Buzzing her way into his attention by hanging her emotions out as another burden for the man to lift. What exactly she says is lost on Vi, her eyes on Caitlyn who is sinking further and further back. 

Then, in that way that makes Vi’s heart twist painfully in her chest, Caitlyn sets her jaw and squares her shoulders and follows Jayce out. 

She follows his shadow as Ashley tucks herself on his arm and mumbles about how glad she is that he is safe. She follows his footsteps as enforcers stop him in the main room, asking something about some new emergency order from the council and for instruction. She follows his back as the man gets outside and cameras meet them, casting his shadow over her form in flash after flash. 

And then she stops and Vi’s heart breaks at the sight. 

A security team appears, and Piltover rushes its Defender of Tomorrow into a car. Ashley looks something like a snake, so pleased to slide in next to him and cast coy looks at the cameras as if she’s so innocently swept into the attention Piltover lavishes on the man. 

And then the car leaves, the cameras clear out, and the buzz dies down to silence.  

Caitlyn is left in her brother’s absence, on the stairs of the precinct as the first cooling breeze of the fall tumbles through her hair. The long sweeping strands seem nearly out of place compared to how still her form is as she waits. Waits so long Vi begins to wonder if she expects him to return. 

Then; clack clack clack.

And then; thud thud thud. 

Vi catches up to her yards away, where the park outside the enforcer building lined with tall arching trees drop their first dull leaves onto the even sidewalk. 

“Cait?” 

“Caitlyn?” 

“Caitlyn stop!” 

Vi’s hand grips around the other woman’s wrist and she finds herself startled by the way she can feel her pulse thundering through the small contact. She lets go, maybe because feeling Caitlyn’s pulse even accidentally feels too intimate. Maybe because she doesn’t want to force the woman to stay still if she truly doesn’t want to. Maybe because she’s too afraid to wait long enough to see if Caitlyn pulls away. Though, the woman does not leave even when released. 

She stands there and mumbles something so low Vi doesn’t quite catch it. 

“What was that, Cupcake? I’ll listen, but I need you to speak up,” She asks, trying to offer a casual smile. 

A woman like Caitlyn Kiramman was strange to consider as a friend. The enforcer didn’t really have friends herself, though. Those in Piltover her same age and station didn’t like her, she was too wild and crazy enlisting like she had. And the enforcers didn’t like her either; she was too by the book, cared too much for justice. Vi didn’t really have friends either, though. She was alone up here, in Piltover. She would cashapp her siblings every paycheck, but they never responded. 

And yet, despite it all, there was still some sort of invisible fence standing between two women who were just lonely. Topped with barbed wire and watch towers, Vi would imagine. Which one of them had put it up? Or had neither of them? Was it just put up by all the access Caitlyn could ever want being granted to her, and Vi’s station smudging her knuckles the same way it stained her reputation and led to them meeting in the first place? The fence was growing taller and taller, blocking out the sun even. Vi was feeling more and more trapped. 

What if Caitlyn rejects her? Would Piltover reject her too? Would Vi still have a job? Could she still be a hero? What about her apartment, her car, her safety? The cash she sends to her siblings? Every time she looked at Caitlyn her heart thrummed in her chest with the thrill of speed, driving fast and wreckless and pushing her limits to see how far she could go. She was chasing something she couldn’t have, and last time she did that she got arrested and was forced to abandon her family. 

“I said how dare he?” 

Caitlyn’s voice cuts through like a ray of sunshine despite how quiet and cold the words sound. Like she’s scared, like she’s alone, like she needs someone right now. Before Vi, Caitlyn’s resolve is crumbling, and all at once Vi realizes that fearing any barriers set up by money, or status, or position, is fucking stupid. 

Caitlyn is asking for help. Vi wants to give it to her. Fuck any rules of decorum that got in the way of that. Vi never minded her manners anyways. 

“You know?” Vi says, stepping forward over leaves and even sidewalk. She puts her hand onto Caitlyn’s shoulder gently, “My favorite thing when I’m upset is greasy food. It was killing me moving up here that there’s no street vendors.” 

“City ordinance 36.7-F, Street vendors need a license. Type A License is permanent. The last one expired seven years ago. Type B and C are short term, for events only,” Caitlyn mumbles out, scrubbing at her face to hide her red eyes and shielding her head as the cool wind waves her hair about. 

“And I love that you know that, Cupcake. But the guy who works the grill at the restaurant in the lobby of my complex is Zaunite too. He hooks me up when I ask. We can do some stupid sleepover thing? I said I wanted to show you my favorite movie anyways. We can watch it, I’ll hook us up with the worst food imaginable, and we can just chat. I’ll even let you, uh, trim my cuticles?” 

“You do have the roughest nails I’ve ever seen. You need to trim and buff them,” Caitlyn mumbles, and still her eyes are not on Vi but ever so slightly she leans into the hand at her shoulder. To Vi, the soft shift no stronger than the falling leaves shakes her whole foundation, “I’m going to break out so bad.” 

“Isn’t that why you wear that corny ass mask, Ms. Marksman?” 

Vi’s been trusted enough to be asked for help, so the levity is provided like a gift with the weight of her own vulnerability gambled for the girl made of money and access and indignant rejection of anything she sees as unjust. 

Caitlyn whips around and meets Vi’s eyes just to bap at her arm, “You’re a menace, Violet ‘Hound’ Anderson.” 

Vi laughs when she’s not rejected, when Caityn stands besides her, and the wall crumbles. 

“And you’re a mess, Caitlyn ‘Cupcake’ Kiramman.” 

Vi’s apartment building was modest by Piltover standards. It was a studio, one of dozens, perched up above a large shopping center. After a short pit stop, the two women made it to Vi’s door with boxes of food. The night tumbled out before them like the massive blanket Vi rolled out before the TV. After many demolished boxes of greasy food and many controversially near-orgasmic looks from Caitlyn as she tried flavor for the first time, the two found themselves tangled over pillows with Caitlyn scrutinizing Vi’s nails. 

Gladiator played on the TV behind them, but despite Vi’s obsession, the noise was drowned out by how loud Caitlyn’s facial expression was; her blue eyes narrowed at her nails with that cute furrow in her brow. Vi knew the words by heart anyways. 

“You know, it was Jayce that could not stand violence between the two of us when we were growing up.” 

Vi looks up, her eyebrows raising. “No, really? Pretty boy? I never would have guessed.” 

Caityn snorts, “You, yeah. Probably. Most of Piltover though; no. They don't see it. How much he doesn’t like it despite what he looks like, being so tall and strong and a man. I saw him hurt someone when I was young, you know. I was- gosh? Twelve?” 

Vi falls quiet, her eyes meeting Caitlyn’s. Suddenly the woman’s fingers on hers feel electric when she is talking so openly about something so intimate as her childhood. 

“My mother demanded he take me from the Kiramman tent that Progress Day. I was a ‘wretched menace’ she called me. He was eighteen but was already six feet back then, and I was demanding iced cream. He plopped me down on a stone barrier and stepped away for just a moment to buy it. Just a moment… I didn’t realize anything was wrong at first when a man came to talk to me.” 

She laughs, shaking her head. It looks like an attempt to laugh it off, and a poor one at that, but Vi feels her stomach drop regardless. 

“It wasn’t until he put his hand on me and I could smell alcohol that I shouted that he had to let go. I didn’t even see Jayce move. That man was gripping my shoulder one moment and he was on the ground the next.” 

Caitlyn’s working on Vi’s hands stilled, and Vi shifted her grip to hold her long fingers gently. 

“He was drunk, Vi. Really drunk. When Jayce panicked and hit him he just went down like it was nothing. Slammed his head on the brick. And you know head wounds, they bleed like crazy. Jayce was horrified! Could barely speak, just kept staring at the blood and holding on to me. The guy was treated. He was fine, Vi! but I think that might have been the first time Jayce had ever hurt someone like that. It was justified as defense, he was not prosecuted for it, obviously. But he was still so… bothered by it.” 

Vi opens her mouth, reflexively trying to comfort her, but Caitlyn continues before she can. The other woman’s eyes are distant, fixed on the memory despite how far away it is. 

“I felt nothing. That’s wretched, isn't it? Blood everywhere and Jayce catatonic from the sight, but it meant nothing to me. I should have, that’s the ladylike response. I should have been squeamish at the blood, cried at the action of it all, but I’m built wrong, Violet. Jayce, no. He’s always been so wonderfully human. That’s why even if he and I were both always outcasts, him becoming The Defender just makes sense. It is how he is; kind. But I, wretched little Caitlyn Kiramman, I was born so callous as to have to logic my way into sympathy. Shouldn’t I just bear that burden for him? With him? It is all I am good for, but he won’t let me in.” 

Vi watches her with wide eyes for a long time, lips drawn together. The apartment manages to fall silent, despite the TV still playing at the same volume. The silence, rather, settled in Vi’s chest. How weird it was, that Caitlyn Kiramman could live a life so different from Zaunites, yet be just as human as anyone Vi had grown up with across the river. No amount of money or uniforms could really change that Piltover was just as human as Zaun. All the same fears and flaws as baked into their being as blood and bones. 

“I… always hated violence,” Vi admits after the heavy pause. 

“Do you not box?” Caitlyn sounds like she wants to laugh but the furrow in her brows looks far too severe. 

“I know. But I hated it. Hated that I hated it even more. The fact that a little squabble could put my heart in my throat and thunder my pulse into my ears. When Powder first went to school, I started training myself so I could protect her. If I was so weak as to hate having to protect my siblings, then my gut and grit would get trained just like my muscles.” 

She jerks her chin up at the TV, Gladiator still playing with high definition blood splatters and gruesome screams as they sit safely on plush blankets and pillows. 

“I’d watch gorey movies, back to back to back. Toughen myself up enough to be of use. Help out my little sis, or at least put any punk on his ass that tried to mess with her.” 

Caitlyn is watching her with wide eyes, studying Vi as she speaks and if Vi didn’t know any better she would think Caitlyn was hanging on every word. 

Vi realizes with a near jump that she’s waiting for her to speak more. "We… We don't need to change; be someone else. I think we just need other people in our lives. Meet halfway with someone who's good for you.” 

Caitlyn huffs, eyebrows crumpling up with amusement. “Do I even know you, Violet Anderson? I… worry that I do not. Not really.” 

Vi feels a smile spread over her lips, like the concession was an admittance. “Well, I’ve got ice cream in the freezer. I know you need that. It's necessary to get to know someone, yeah?” 

Caitlyn blushes bright red, fidgeting. 

“That would be lovely, actually. I didn’t want you to know, since you would only get worse with the nicknames, but I do have an awful sweet tooth.” 

Vi’s eyes widen, then she’s laughing. This night was a gamble, and Vi thought it would be like speeding, the danger the same as getting behind the wheel, but no. Being with Caitlyn Kiramman instead was like a soft discovery. It’s not about how fast they make it to the destination, it’s about the winding, slow path to get there.

Vi wakes up tangled in sheets and long legs, her face half on top of a completely demolished carton of ice cream, and a sharp elbow buried in her side. Despite herself, she realizes she had never felt so completely comfortable. It was something like being back home in Zaun with people she loved, and something like that first night in her Piltover apartment when the shower didn’t run cold and the fridge was full and she could set the AC as high as she wanted. It was something like carving out halfway. 

Since the start of the school year, Viktor’s first period class was actually the one he looked forward to the most. It was the only Mechanical Engineering II class he had been allowed to teach, a lucky break due to a sudden staff shortage. He took what he could get. Was mechanical engineering his passion? Was engineering itself even his passion? No. Absolutely not. But he found himself enjoying teaching. Previously, he had been a teacher's aid for both Complex Analysis and Theoretical Physics. Compared to those students, engineering majors were a very different breed, but they had grown on Viktor. He now considered himself tuned to their needs as students, and they even trusted him enough to engage regularly inside and outside of class. 

Maybe it was because of the care he took into understanding them that he felt it. 

His lecture hall was shoved into a truly bizarre location, nestled between storage rooms and across from most of the other lecture halls in the engineering building. Despite the odd location that held nothing but contempt in its positioning, his students were none the wiser as to why so Viktor took it upon himself to make the space more comfortable. For him, this was often turning off the large, overhead lights and letting his class work by softer yellow lights. He also had installed muffling foam in the cracks of the windows so the hvac system just outside did not rattle his student’s heads. He had even brought in a stuffed axolotl that every class had a different name for. The cozier atmosphere was something he considered important to craft, since his situation was not the fault of his students. But today, the moment he stepped into the classroom, he could feel a different energy despite it all. 

His class was huddled into clumps in the lecture hall and whispering in hushed tones. 

It’s so jarring that Viktor finds his feet pausing just in the threshold of the doorway. A classroom wide apprehension was not something he ever thought he would see in Piltover. 

He tries to pay it no mind, forcing his feet to move as he gently places his laptop onto his desk. He was too hung over for whatever this was… 

"Professor Nadeník?"

The question held in the way his name was asked was so gentle it shocked Viktor when he realized the student who had said it. Kenny. Even so new into the year and he already knew Kenny was a troublemaker, always trying to impress his peers. Viktor had only just started to earn his respect, directing his energy into better things and providing reassurance that the student actually took to heart. But even then, with the strides they had made, the tone was unexpected. 

Turning around slowly, Viktor was met with genuine concern. Not just from Kenny, but from the whole class. 

“Did you see professor Talis this morning?” 

At that, Viktor feels himself stop breathing. 

“No. No I have not. I did not know he had class this morning. Why?”

The kid takes out his phone and Viktor recognizes the unofficial anonymous school app. He pulls up a photo to show him, then looks up to his professor like he’s hoping for something. The rest of the class is staring the same way, with bated breath, wanting reassurance. They’re afraid, Viktor realizes all at once. 

The photo was a candid shot of Jayce talking with the school dean. Over his throat a deep purple handprint. Viktor swallowed thickly at the sight. He could almost feel the press of the plates on his gauntlet, and how it felt when Jayce spoke around his grip as he pressed the Mercury Hammer to Viktor’s chest. 

He felt- he felt guilty? Viktor could never fight back. His whole life, he had to use his wit and his cunning to get anywhere or anything. And now, now finally he could defend himself. Why did he feel guilty?! 

Had he overdone it? 

But Jayce had stolen Hextech, sent enforcers after him, and then invaded Zaun with weapons built with their research. Jayce had even killed a Zaunite. Viktor still remembered the news story, when he saw the man unmasked. The Zaunite had been a chem fighter, and someone had been in danger, but Jayce had still put Hextech and himself into that situation in which taking a life could become necessary. 

“I heard he was in the news again yesterday, presumably for his work as a Hero. I did not pay much attention, he often is,” Viktor lies around the lump in his throat. 

“I heard it was a hospital attack?” One of his students says, Emmy, she had always been sweet and attached pictures of her cat with every homework assignment, “Photos came out of the villain who attacked him. As scary as he looked, it was just one guy.” 

“Yeah, but he landed a hit on The Defender!” another says, Zach, he and Kenny were childhood friends and Viktor had learned fast that if he let him sit next to Kenny the two would actually focus more, “He’s got to be good if he did that! The Defender didn’t even take him in. Let him go or like, every enforcer there would be dead.” 

Why did this all feel so suffocating? Viktor was finally able to protect himself. Earn safety for his family, for Zaun. And yet they sound afraid and that bothered him. He was stealing supplies, necessary supplies for their own people to be able to treat each other. How did Piltover make even his survival feel like some sort of evil machination. 

“Well, I am sure you all can ask if you catch him outside of class. If not, the news will report on it soon enough. I would not be able to tell you better than the man himself or the press. Besides, it’s time we start class for the day. Open Principles of Mechanical Engineering , page ninety-two.” 

Groans ring out through the room as pages start flipping. 

The rest of the day remains mostly peaceful, though for Viktor it is exhausting. Every time he hears the story of The Machine Herald attacking The Defender of Tomorrow, new embellishments get added. The Herald was attacking the hospital. The Herald tried to kill the Defender. The most annoying was about Monger, being treated like some damn hero for “surviving” the Herald. The idea that Viktor was attempting to do anything besides deescalate the situation is infuriating, especially as the enforcers pat themselves on the back for withstanding the villain they decided he was. The Herald was belittled and villainized all in one breath, as they conjured him into some grand fantasy. 

Eventually he escapes to find some peace at a small on-campus coffee shop. The day was far too long and his head hurt far too much to not recharge. He had not brought his pain killers, having left the bottle at home for Jinx, and he was starting to regret that. 

The shop was quiet, filled with soft light and even softer music, and for Viktor it felt like he might finally get a break. The two baristas inside greet him and one takes his order. She nods him to the waiting area, subtly implying he should sit on the upholstered chairs set out by the pickup bar with kind eyes and a wave of her hand. The contrast of her placated pity with the way the entire academy was buzzing about the monster that was the Herald made his head spin. He stood at the bar to wait for his coffee instead. 

“Did you see mayor Medarda’s post? The shoes she’s wearing tonight?” The barista making his drink asks as he pulls down some sugar with his multi-colored nails. Of course they’re gossiping… Viktor just prays that it stays trivial. 

The other one hums, squinting her face and making her bold eyeliner wrinkle, “Not my style, but she looks amazing in gold.” 

“Her story post had two drinks set out in the background. I think she went out to lunch with someone to get the shoes!” 

Their conversation and Viktor’s buzzing mind attempting to relax gets interrupted all at once as the front door dings. 

The barista with the nails sucks in a breath through his teeth. He practically shoves the girl at the coffee machine so he can bolt to the register. Viktor doesn’t need to turn to see who had walked in. Up here in Piltover, they all got that same look on their face. Hero clothes or no, Jayce Talis was a living myth the same way Viktor has watched The Machine Herald become one all this morning. 

Just his luck… 

“Professor Talis! I guess even heroes need their coffee, huh? What can I get you?” The barista grins eagerly, looking star struck. 

Viktor knows the order by heart, running it over in his head as the man speaks it. 

"Coffee, two sugars, a splash of whole milk and stir in some cinnamon."

The barista types in the order quickly, and Jayce turns to step to the side and wait for his order. 

After the whispers and rumors, Viktor felt curiosity chew at the back of his head. He desperately wanted to turn and see for himself what he already knew was there, but he held himself back with a white-knuckled grip on his cane. Jayce comes to stand so close to him that Viktor can feel the heat of his gaze from what’s in all likelihood a yard or two away. Far, far too close. 

Viktor says nothing. 

Neither does Jayce.

“Viktor?” The second barista calls, and it’s like an escape. He moves forward to take his cup, ready to get out and forget this painful moment, but when he turns to leave Jayce is right there. Viktor can’t stop himself. He needs to see. 

The bruising is the first thing in his vision and it makes him freeze. His hands squeeze the cup to stop them from shaking. He could see upfront and uncomfortably personal what the suit was capable of. What Viktor was now capable of. 

What’s even worse is that Jayce looks good, in all that posturing manliness that Piltover prided itself in. Suddenly Jinx’s offhanded comments about revenge bodies return, buzzing in his head nonsensically. 

Jayce, his Jayce, who would wear shop boots to class when he misplaced his sneakers, get covered in his own ingredients every time he cooked, and scribble equations on his arm with a sharpie when he didn’t have paper. That Jayce was dead. 

This Jayce, the Golden Boy, Man of Progress, Defender of Tomorrow, looked nothing like him. His hair was gelled back, falling out of place so precisely. His collared shirt was undone down three buttons as Viktor noticed around the peek of tanned flesh. His slacks were tailored perfectly, hugging the muscles he now used regularly as a hero. He was masculinity in Piltover personified, with the money and status and name and…

And the Herald’s bruise was a mar on that perfect image. A staining. An imperfection carved into the marble effigy to progress that was Jayce Talis. 

Then, finally, in the moment that lasts an eternity, Viktor raises his gaze. 

Jayce’s bronze eyes meet Viktor’s amber, and he has the audacity to look at Viktor the way he does. His bottom lids are creased up, narrowing his eyes. His eyebrows are drawn close together, furrowed. And his bottom lip is pressed up against the top, forming a frown. 

Viktor sees that look, and he feels that same burning. Everyone in the academy looks at him with pity. Everyone Topside looks at him with pity. Jayce is looking at him with pity. He hates it. He hates it as it writhes under his skin, squeezes his lungs, and clenches his heart into pathetic flutters. Piltover can shove its pity up its perfect gilded ass.

Chapter Text

Talis Notes: You can’t bother him with this, Talis. Let him live his life. 

Viktor rarely had to unlock Limbs ‘n Things. 

He was used to entering, greeted by blasting music and blue-stained headbanging. Today, though, the building stood in silence with the chain and padlock still around the handle of the heavy steel door and a note stuck to the font with a beetle sticker. 

“Gone to run drugz for Silco-,” Viktor read off before a tired sigh escaped his chest. 

She was lucky that their work building modular limb replacements made them well respected, even by those who were not fans of their chem-baron sponsor. Jess and Ally from the gas station had already mentioned that no one gets hurt on the street anymore –unless by an enforcer or hero of course. Zaunites would not exchange blows here. Limbs ‘n Things was now like a medical center or church; it was respected. He shakes his head, about to unlock the door just to be interrupted by an exhausted huff behind him. 

“I’m too late?” A young voice asks, and Viktor pauses, noting to himself that the voice sounds about Jinx’s age. 

“By only a few seconds. The paint is still drying,” He holds up the note between two fingers. 

There’s a snort of laughter behind Viktor as if what he said is funny in ways he does not know, and at that the scientist finally turns. 

The man behind him is Zaunite, and Zaunite in a way Viktor was not. At least not anymore. 

He was loudly Zaunite. 

His home was splashed on his low rise jeans and woven into his bright orange cowl and twisted into platinum locs that fall to the side of his face. Even the board next to him was covered in stickers and paint on its underside, new layers added as the old was torn up by use. His pride in his people was worn across his body with no room for the polite quiet demanded of any Zaunite provided topside luxuries.

Viktor contemplated for a moment how the Hextech Heroes dressed, wearing Piltover in every manufactured, uniform seam. Zaun had no such legacy, a city crafted from far too much scrap to be mistaken for uniform anything. Jinx had talked about how the Herald mask needed to be scary, and now it occurs to Viktor the meaning behind a shameless show of personality.

Maybe The Herald could use a slight restyling? 

“You must be Jinx’s… what did she call you? ‘Boy Savior?’ Ekko, yes?” Viktor asks, having to drag his eyes away to recall the name before meeting the young man's gaze once more. 

Ekko makes an expression that looks like a mix of exasperation, embarrassment, and exhaustion all at once. “Yeah, and you must be ‘Doc.’ One Professor Viktor Nadeník, right?”  

When properly identified, Viktor's eyebrows shoot up for only a moment before he remembers he should not be surprised at all. Jinx talks to everyone about everyone, himself included. 

Clearly. 

He wants to ask about what exactly it was that Jinx had said, or what the other was looking for, or any other number of reasonable topics for himself and this stranger to discuss. But instead he interrupts himself when the wind shifts. 

“Do… Do you smell like smoke?” 

It likely sounded stupid, but Viktor couldn’t stop the mild concern on his face or the instinct to immediately ask. 

“You don’t look too hot yourself,” Ekko quips back, crossing his arms as he leans against the crossing signal post. 

Viktor huffs, shaking his head. The youth in Zaun were quite different from his students. “Heroes.” 

Ekko purses his lips slightly as his eyebrows arch high on his head and his eyes narrow. It's a strange look. 

“What is it?” Viktor can't help but ask. 

“I’d say what a coincidence that we are having the same day, but that’s just Zaun.” he says, and Viktor can hear the bitterness in the words. 

Then they stare at each other for a long moment, awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to say next. What does the ‘pseudo big brother’ of a villain terrorist and her ‘childhood best friend to bitter enemy to will they won't they perpetual crush’ even say to each other? Neither man really knew each other, and more importantly they did not entirely know where each other stood on any number of topics. There’s not really new orders on the docket even for Limbs ‘n Things, and there’s not many people around either. Seems they had both shown up just to see Jinx. 

“She… really tells everyone everything. Doesn’t she?” Ekko tips his head as he looks at the concrete outside the shop. 

“Yes, yes she does,” Viktor nods, his lip twitching in subdued amusement. He loved that girl but a secret keeper she was not. 

“You uh… You know she left me some gifts recently?” 

The statement makes Viktoe raise his gaze, and what he sees is a look of pure earnestness on Ekko’s face. He’s scratching at the back of his neck, warmth dusting his cheeks and his eyebrows pinched together. What’s probably the most jarring about the tiny, honest look, is that his brown eyes won’t meet Viktor’s as he says it. 

Viktor recalls Jinx saying that Ekko hated her, but in that moment it was plenty clear that was not the case. Emotions often grew more complicated the stronger they were. Viktor of all people knew that. 

“Yes. You want to thank her, don’t you?” 

Despite the man’s deep skin tone, Viktor can still see red stain all the way up to his ears the second he is called on it, “Well, you see how well that’s going.” 

Viktor can’t help but to chuckle. 

Ekko relaxes, swaying slightly as he continues on, “Saved our asses, actually. Our community med center was raided. Why I smell like Hextech and am… kinda fucked up? We could only treat those who escaped because she had dropped those boxes off, so-,” 

His voice trails off casually, as if what he had just said did not make Viktor’s whole thought process about young love come to a screeching halt. 

“Raided? On what grounds?” 

Hearing Hextech and med center raid in the same sentence was horrifying. 

Ekko winces, tipping his head back and forth in another jarringly casual motion, “Shimmer possession.” 

“Shimmer? Do the Firelights not destroy shimmer shipments and factories?” Viktor frowns, leaning on his cane to keep himself upright. When his heart beat this fast and his breaths turned this heavy standing always became harder. 

“I heard you were living in Piltover. Guess that’s true.” Ekko tips his head slightly as he regards Viktor once more, this time with a fresh gaze, “No one in Zaun has the luxury to hate shimmer. It’s the only option around here, since no one can get the real stuff. Or I guess now no one but Jinx and that Herald guy. If it’s between over the counter Advil for stitching up a bullet hole or a little shimmer, the choice is clear. We hit the party stuff. There’s a variation that they add chemically addictive shit too. There’s also a few types that are not useful for anything but assault. Barons say it’s just business and I say that’s bullshit. That’s all there is to it.” 

He looks Viktor directly in the eye as he says this, chin up and shoulders squares. A safety measure that is entirely reasonable when this far into Silco’s territory. 

Viktor falls silent at his words, though not because he feels disrespected to hear Silco’s actions be questioned, but to think. 

“Jinx did not know where your facilities were. How could the enforcers find it?” He asks. 

Ekko seems surprised when Viktor does not bother to posture on Silco's behalf, but he adjusts quickly, relaxing once more. 

“Best guess, actually? Power usage. We drew too much from the grid and they deduced something was going on. Right now we have people spread out through a network of housing to keep them safe, but I don’t know how reasonable that is with limited supplies and even more limited hands. We've only got so many people with the actual skills for the hard shit.” 

Viktor stills. 

He has to be insane for this. Insane, yes, but he felt compelled to take a chance. Maybe it was stupidity, or maybe it was hope, or maybe it was talking with Jinx last night and all of the ways that domestic moment felt so earth shattering. But is that not the point? 

“And if I happened to mention that there might be a… Ehh… potential solution for this issue?” 

Ekko paused, skepticism flashing over his face. He tips his head to the side and Viktor can’t help but think he looks like an owl. 

“To the… grid? …I’d ask how?” 

Viktor waves his hand, “It might take me a little to gather up what is needed, but I will do so as fast as I can. When Jinx is around, thank her for those supplies. Something tells me she will want to hear from you anyways. I’ll have the means to work out a potential solution in our lab, and she will have the… materials so to speak.” 

Ekko purses his lips for a moment, but nods nonetheless. He puts together that it is not something to be discussed in the open. 

“I’ll hold you to it then, Doc.” 

“You can just call me Viktor,” he says, holding out his hand to the young man. 

The other huffs, smiling in disbelief for a moment before he reaches out and takes the hand.

“Then you can call me Ekko.” 

That night, Viktor shoved open his front door with purpose. Teaching had never been something expected to find passion in, but the last few months had been nothing but surprises. After talking to Ekko, he could feel the change. It was not just a passion for educating children, but a conviction that there was a true purpose in the labor. He tossed his jacket onto the back of the couch then nearly forgot to hang his keys up in his haste to get inside. 

An elegant woman finds a podium, blinding lights shining on her as the sound of clinking china and polite mingling quiets in the massive hall. Silently, red lights flick on as the cameras in the back start to roll. She smiles as she adjusts the microphone, her voice gentle yet charming for the crowd and the recording. 

“Thank you for coming out tonight. As I’m sure many of you know, I am your Mayor, Mel Medarda. And it is on nights like tonight that I am reminded of the great ability of Piltover to bring together brilliant minds from across Runeterra. I am an immigrant to this great city, as are many. A newcomer as a young girl, yet this city saw potential in me. Seems you saw enough potential in me to even elect me as your mayor.” 

Her rich brown and green eyes flick to her ring for only a moment, the shining crest, before she lifts her head once more as if chasing off a ghost with the sight of the crowd gathered before her. Her next words shove forth from her chest, a true passion in them. 

“Opportunities exist for those clever enough to reach out and take them. And today, we celebrate such a moment. I stand before students from across the city who have shown their dedication to finding opportunities and making the most of them. You all have provided both yourself and this city with a testament to true progress. My most humble moments and yet my proudest achievements are when I get to stand before brilliant young men and women, knowing I will pass on Piltover’s legacy to very capable hands.” 

Viktor would not live long. He knew this well, even as a child. Even before his diagnosis, a name to the weakness of his lungs and the ache of his heart, he could feel it deep in his bones. The looming feeling of impermanence had always hung over his head like a hammer waiting to drop. 

That fear had driven him to desperation, wanting to find a purpose for himself before his life slipped through his fingers. A namesake so that even if death was inevitable, being forgotten might not be. But a fight for the future by its very nature can not be won by a single man. Thinking of Ekko, the way he looked so vulnerable asking about Jinx, how they both deserved to just be kids in love and not fighting the world for their basic needs, he knew it now. What was far more important than running from his death, was fighting for their life. 

He scrambled to search the bookshelves lining his living room, yanking out book after book. Anything that could be the slightest bit useful. He had been hoarding them since he arrived in Piltover, stunned by the sheer saturation of accessible information. That early until his arrival, Viktor had felt a need to protect something as fragile as a book, even as Piltover regularly trashed them. The traitorous books had committed the mere sin of surplus, being unsold product or having been outdated by the most minor of details. Yet use, use is not destruction. It was legacy worn into paper and leather, ironically an immortalization of the reader just like any name gilded onto the cover. And use by Zaun was all Viktor could hope to provide with all the knowledge and life he had. 

He could be immortal in the salvaged dogeared textbooks Piltover had intended for the trash.

The audience watched their Mayor with close attention. 

From the VIP rows of sponsors, pleased gazes were held. Their tables raised up on a platform behind the news cameras, and their alcohol and food much finer. A literal image to the metaphorical table scraps they toss to their people. 

From the competitors' seating, the gazes were full of excitement. The young people seated seemed nearly bursting with passion, barely able to sit still at their tables covered in golden trophies and awards. Their momentum was funneled in the most palatable of directions. 

“It was not all that long ago that I was in a moment just like this, standing before a young man who was making the most out of an opportunity. And much like with me, Piltover took a chance on him. And as so often happens when you give someone with true merit all the resources they deserve, they will accomplish greatness.”

In one of the competitor tables, a young woman is leaning forward to watch as she fiddles with a worn out baseball cap. ‘Piltover Academy Men's Baseball’ was embroidered across the top, but her fingers were running over the newly printed enforcer name tag she had tucked into the inside rim. 

“When I met Jayce Talis, it was at the Progress Day Gala. He had just presented his PHD thesis, and I had just been elected your mayor for my first term. Jayce had taken an interest in STEM as a young man and had pursued an education, taking every opportunity offered to him as bright stars so often do. Everyone knew he was made for greatness, but no one could have predicted what was to come. Not even Dr. Heimerdinger, and don't let him fool you. I saw his expression at the contract pitch dinner.” 

The audience laughs at the personable show from their mayor, the mentioned scientist and politician laughing along as the cameras swivel to him and waving his hands as if he had no idea this line was in her speech. One woman's laugh is short lived, though. She mimes it for show, not bothering to care about it when she is busy scanning the room. Blue eyes from under blunt ginger bangs flick between the student tables and a document pulled up on her phone. ‘Bootcamp Summer Graduates’ was in bold letters at the top of the PDF. She pauses her gaze on a young woman with a blonde ponytail holding a baseball cap before checking against her list. 

Momentum, once more, nudged. 

Trophies with golden cups, badges with golden name plates, degrees with golden seals, a pretty couple of underdog achievers posed up on stage in that same gold. The investment was truly quite minimal compared to the return. 

“Much like the students gathered here today, he saw all this city was offering him and used everything at his disposal. He pioneered a new kind of technology, Hextech, which has changed the world. His name is likely destined for history books across Runeterra. From the Hexrail, to Hextech Heroes; Jayce Talis has pushed Piltover’s legacy of progress like no other.” 

It was a chance, a risk, and it could go wrong. Oh how often Viktor had seen his fragile hopes go wrong. But if he did not try, what was the point? He had dreamed of inventing some magic machine, a way to make Zaun better with a single, glorious fix. But that was not how the world worked, and it was certainly not how people worked. 

There is no single device that could ever make all the bad go away. But did there need to be? 

The people of the undercity kept a legacy, steady and flowing through the blood of every Zaunite. It was in Silco before him, providing him things the man had never had himself, and it was behind him, picking up discarded books with wide eyes and long braids. 

Any tool that could help Zaun could not simply be provided to his people. Any resource would need to be provided with enough knowledge to give agency in its use. Zaunites needed to know how to repair this tool, mend it, adapt it over time. 

The thought drove him to the boxes, picking up and lifting the ones he could manage. As he lifted all of the smallest, he found himself grabbing the Herald's mobility apparatus to support his legs. He looked over some of the larger boxes when finished, and some that were even larger still. What was the point of having the apparatus if he did not use it when he needed it? He attached the arm supports to the spine, stacking the larger boxes by the door as well. Instruments that could help, and they did nothing here but collect dust. 

The mayor glances to where the subject of her introduction stands. Even just the tiny move is caught by some members of the audience who buzz with curiosity. They are excited for their hero, the image they know Jayce Talis to be. But the person waiting is breathing shaky breaths, shifting his weight as a fist presses tightly to his lips. The rather unheroic signs of apprehension were hidden politely in the shadows of the stage wings. 

“It is my honor to introduce him tonight, with the hope that he will inspire you all to follow in his footsteps. To take the opportunities given to you, and with it create something truly incredible. So please, welcome to the stage the Man of Progress and Piltover’s own Defender of Tomorrow; Jayce Talis”

Applause fills the room, bouncing off the decorated walls, large chandeliers, and painted portraits of familiar names. By the time the hero steps out to greet the crowd, the man from the wings had long since strangled away his nerves. The Defender is who flashes a bright smile, raising his hand to the audience, the flashing cameras, and the live news. 

Viktor could feel exhaustion in his bones but he shoved it away in his fervor. He would allow himself the luxury of rest later. He forced his way up the stairs to the storage room on the second floor. The room itself was like an untouched coffin, dust coating the door frame and handle. It squeaks as his hand grips it, likely more firmly than necessary but if he does not force himself he is afraid he will turn coward. 

Shadowed in a corner of the crowded room like a corpse he was about to desecrate was an old box. 

It was somewhat hidden by other boxes, old things, anything of any sort that Viktor could precisely place to accidentally hide away the old ghost. He felt the jolt in his chest, the knee jerk desperation to bolt like some sort of frightened kitten, but he smothered it. He had stood proud before enforcers, even stared down the Defender of Tomorrow and made the man back down; he could do this. 

The hero pauses to adjust the microphone once more. Is it not so humble, him taking the time to perform such a human act? He’s a natural, looking out at hundreds of faces as if he is eye to eye with each individual. 

“Thank you, Mel. You are always far too kind to me. And thank you to everyone gathered here tonight. Supporting young minds and inspiring the next generation to seek out progress for themselves, it is a sight to behold. Maybe if there had been this much attention on STEM students when I was in high school, I would have kept more out of trouble! But don’t tell the Mayor I told you that.” 

Laughter comes from the audience, as if he was an old friend they knew. Truly though, he was. Any topside citizen had grown up with wants and desires, an idea of what to strive for within their society. 

For the competitors, they knew Jayce Talis like they knew their first Progress Day and their fifth grade science teacher and their own presentations at Career Day. 

'When I grow up I want to be-,'

And there is no true advantage to offering anything else. Jayce Talis was by far the most profitable as an idea. 

All of the love Viktor had for Jinx, all of his anger that her future would never compare to his students here in Piltover, the conviction that all young people deserve a future, it steadies his fingers as he finds the top of the crate. 

They run over the top, maybe ironic in the gentle movement as he feels the dust accumulate over his skin. 

His lip quirks in bitter amusement. 

He nearly touched this old thing like the object itself was a lost lover. 

‘Janna, I am pathetic.’

But he saw Jinx in his head again. He saw his sister. Then he saw Ekko, and Mylo, and Claggor. He saw Jess and Ally across the street laughing as he sets a water and a neon blue energy drink on their counter. He saw Cypress delivering to Limbs n’ Things again, and Danny hopping out of the truck and over Cypress’ leather tools that now stay in the passenger seat to hand over some spare soldering alloy. 

Viktor saw everything that Zaun deserved, everything he wanted to give to them. 

And then he saw Silco, and remembered all that the man had done for him. 

He cracks open the clasps, the quiet plastic snapping feeling like a gunshot. 

“Now of course, I need to thank our sponsors. They invested in this competition, and by doing so have invested in our city’s youth and your futures. Arivino Association, Ferros Defense, Momentum by KM, Medarda Global, Giopara Manufacturing, Holloran Logistics, Tariost Instruments, Morichi Grid and Service, The Zeigler Aeronautics Foundation, Z&R Medicine, and of course Hextech Design Incorporated.” 

His voice carried through the whole room. It was not just the uniform, or the marketing, or the news coverage, it was also the charisma. A man just honest enough to sell a lie. 

“I do not want to simply congratulate you students on your success in this competition. It is impressive, yes, but in the real world there is no grading, no tests, and no ranked matches. This win will not guide your future, even if it is impressive. Rather, I want to congratulate you on what brought you all here in the first place. What made you all sign up to spend hours after school coding and chasing your education well outside of the classroom. You, each and every one of you, have a passion for the future. And unlike any award or grade, that passion is what will guide you through life. It is because of this passion that I am confident to make a new announcement.”

Viktor’s journal was long gone. It had never been returned after it was stolen all of those years ago, the day Jayce had abandoned him. The day they had been set to go to the progress day gala together, representing their research side by side, but clearly the money and sponsors had been worth more to Jayce than his passions. 

So instead, Viktor was shown his place. An exercise of dominance, telling the Zaunite that the only thing really protecting him was not any supposed human rights within this city’s laws, but rather Jayce, perfect fucking Jayce, pitying him. 

Viktor dips his hands into the box, lifting out a paper nearly reverently. It was a printout, one of the few things he had managed to save; an early mockup of a Hextech transformer. 

The box was stuffed to the brim, filled with anything and everything he could manage to make fit. Yet the fact that it was just a box, a single box, a shitty plastic tote that held the entire corpse of his life’s work, felt shameful. 

Six years of shitty cup noodle and box mac and cheese. Six years of the most horrendous energy drink concoctions known to man. Six years of maximizing his time and ignoring the very real risk it posed to his body in blind desperation to do something, produce something, mean something. 

Six years of trying to help people to find some worthiness to his life. 

Just to get tossed aside, told that no matter what he will always mean nothing. 

“I am retiring from Piltover Academy’s Physics Department.” 

The hero lifts his head and meets the crowd head on, confident smile, shoulders back, chin raised. Gasps and confusion ring out, edged with anticipation as the crowd eats it up. At least, the competitors and cameras do. Tucked up high on their platform, another section of the crowd reacts entirely differently. Not entertained by the theatrics, instead they share quiet looks between each other. They are confused. 

The mayor turns to the aid beside her, passing her confusion in a single glance. 

“But this does not mean I have given up on the importance of tomorrow, nor how essential education is to maintaining a bright future for all of us. It is because of this that I will be heading up a new department within the academy. This new department will be solely to train Piltover’s best to take on the essential task of defending her future. ” 

There’s a small fwish; a little whisper of a noise. A post-it note falls from the back of the printout of Viktor’s sole physical legacy, having been stuck to it for who knows how long. 

Viktor can feel his lungs squeeze and his heart clench, already knowing what it is before even picking it up like he knows he will. Jayce Talis has to be some addictive form of self-inflicted torture. 

‘Out for drink refills! Don’t worry, I won’t forget the sweet milk :)’

Viktor wished it didn’t hurt. He wished he had never gone topside, wished he had never gotten into the academy, wished he had never qualified for the PhD program, wished he had never been dragged out to the innovators’ competition, wished he had never seen bronze eyes and heard a kind laugh, wish he had never been so stupid as to approach, wished he had never, ever, ever, met Jayce fucking Talis. 

Because then, maybe then, he would not feel so stupid for losing the man he loved to a city he would never belong to. 

The very lights in the room seem to dim with the dead silence that follows, no one daring to out shine the man who stood up on stage. There was not an eye in the room not trained on him, and hardly an ear out in Piltover not tuned in to listen. 

“This will be a four year program, the equivalent to a minor and paired with any other bachelor’s degree. This allows for heroes to come from diverse fields and be educated in any number of ways; one never knows what knowledge might be useful when in the field. The latter two of these years will also be spent in part collecting hours shadowing an already certified hero with a personalized Hextech training weapon. Ferros Defense, the very company that manufactures the Hextech weapons used by the heroes you already know, has graciously agreed to build the training equipment and facilities for this program. Lastly, those who complete the courses and the hours can test for a full certification from Hextech LLC. If you pass this certification program, you will be a Hextech Hero, protecting this city’s future and her people.” 

The promises were like permission, a mass marketing ruse of personalization for a city teeming with citizens desperate for individualism. 

'What weapon would I carry? What hero name would I choose? What would it be like to be a hero and defend Piltover?'

Phantoms of villains were materialized over and over, even if Jayce had not once mentioned one. They were denied faces or names, yet made targets all the same. The glory of a violently offensive defense was always so enchanting. 

Viktor squeezes his eyes shut with an exhaustion like grief. His nails dig into his flesh, but not the note. Never the note. He can’t possibly bear to damage it, no matter how much he wishes he could. It really was pathetic. 

He hid under all that armor, created the Machine Herald, but really he was just a weak man; too weak to not let it hurt him. 

Viktor had ignored the box, ran away, pretended that he did not fail this way, but as time went on that lie got harder and harder to sell to himself. He felt stupid for creating Hextech, yes. He felt weak for being unable to protect it, yes that too. But what was by far the worst was neither of those things. 

What made him want to puke, and want to curl in a ball, and want to hide in his room, and want to leave and never come back, and want anything, anything, but to be cornered with it, was feeling vulnerable for having ever trusted someone the way he had. He had trusted, he had been betrayed, yet still that man stayed in his mind. How could he ever forget, when the city he lived in itself seemed intent on reminding him.  

“This program is not nearly enough, I do not think. There’s more strides to be made, more progress to be had, and more good to be created. But Pitlover’s youth, those gathered before me and those not, they are giving their all into investing in their futures. Crafting this branch of the academy and creating a centralized training system that focuses on cultivating incredible community members as well as powerful heroes? That is a duty I see as the highest honor.” 

The perfect performance was counter to the change in script. The unexpected change in script. In the back of the sponsor seating, a woman politely stands and steps aside. 

“I have started this path, inventing Hextech and with my pitching of the Hero trials. But this sort of change, and furthermore the path of progress itself, never ends. As technology develops alongside our great city and its systems of justice and equality, men and women like me will always need to remember when to turn around. I may protect Today, but despite my name, I do not know who will pick up the hammer tomorrow. It could be any of you.” 

Viktor sets down the note and the movement is quick, as if he had only just remembered that it could burn. But once it is down, once he has his distance, he can take in a deep breath. 

He can not keep running. He has to move. 

It’s robotic, jerky, and he can not blame the apparatus for it. It is like he is running on auxiliary power, but Viktor does it. He goes through the Hextech files. All of them, all that he has left, everything that could help like Hextech was always meant to. 

Ekko and Jinx were the next generation, and they were smart kids. Good kids, too. They had dreams and hopes and wanted to do good and if Viktor could only provide those tools maybe they could. 

Unlike himself and Jayce.

“So whether it be as a hero, or an engineer, or a scientist, or whatever your future may hold, I hope to see you one day doing great things. That, truly, is the soul of progress. The hope for better, and the drive to achieve it.” 

The hero finishes his speech to a stunned audience. For a small awards ceremony for students, the speech was grand. So grand it was out of place. Mismatched. Precariously bloated. 

But the splendor of it all was enough distraction, it always was. Jayce knew this, it was why he had gambled as he had. So as the sponsors slowly clap, he ignores the demanding looks. And as the guests join in with impressed looks and excitement, he tries to not meet their gazes. And as the students start up. As the students clap, cheer, stand in ovation for their hero to show their excitement, he tries to chase away the guilt. Can't have that show up for the cameras. 

Only a couple hours left, and he can solve this problem with a drink. 

Finally, Viktor came across the most important piece; their reference sheet. All the math needed to wire anything one could dream of to a Hextech Gemstone. This single sheet was days of work to even just compile, made just before their presentation in case the nerves made them forget their numbers. 

He let his fingers run over the paper, remembering how Jayce had looked at him when it finally printed and they could hold it. The paper felt like the lab, their dorm, and the time they spent together studying. Like giving up on keeping track of who’s food and drinks belong to who. Like hoodies becoming communal, like the blanket Jayce eventually brought into their lab. Like sharing laughs and sharing cries and sharing endless conversations about nothing at all. 

Viktor scans the numbers as he remembers crafting the equations. The math somehow feels more intimate than any sex he had ever had. He and Jayce had poured over their work, turning the esoteric and theoretical into tangible. Real outcomes for real people. He had been that open with another man; one from Piltover no less. Every time the math came together and they realized they had solved another piece, Viktor had shown hope freely on his face. That honestly was far more vulnerable than Viktor had ever felt undressed.

Really, their research felt like falling in love with the world itself. Through knowing a man like Jayce, sharing all of his big dreams, and standing next to him to create real change, Viktor had found himself unable to truly maintain his famous perpetual pessimism. 

He lets out a long breath and he swears he can feel his whole body shudder between the frame of the apparatus from the simple action. 

If Jinx has a gemstone, she and Ekko could build a system to power a hospital for centuries. Piltover power companies would not be able to track a grid draw if Zaun was free from relying on them. They could not report the location to the enforcers, the enforcers could not show up and bring the heroes, and the heroes could not use Hextech to destroy a hospital. 

Time had changed Jayce, but it had changed Viktor too. He did not need his name on anything, he did not need his legacy to be remembered, he did not even need a carved plaque over whatever ditch he gets tossed into when he goes out. He did not need posters, or magazines, or a face in the history books, or his image tiled onto a subway wall. Viktor just needed to know that the change could be made, and that Zaun had the tools it needed to create it. Maybe in the future, no Zaunite kids will get born with weak lungs, or a bad leg, or a failing spine, and a desperation for better but none of the means to achieve it under Piltover’s weight. 

Really, what Viktor needed was hope for a better tomorrow. That, and a community he knew he could rely on to achieve it. 

The applause sounds like adoration, and for Caitlyn Kiramman that fact was honestly quite offensive. 

A warm, calloused hand breaks her out of her thoughts as it touches her arm. She lifts her head to see Vi sitting besides her, worry worn heavy on her face. 

Caitlyn lets the betrayal show. She can hardly hold it back, not in front of Vi. She had grown to trust the woman more than she had really thought she could trust anyone or anything.

“Vi- I just- this? This is a massive change! And I had no clue? He never told me?” 

Vi's lips twist in a conflicted way as her eyes wrinkle slightly. 

“I don't think he told anyone, Cait,” She says, checking the tables around them on the platform to subtly read expressions. 

She says it as though the fact has some sort of weight, but whatever implication she was getting at was far beyond Caitlyn's current cares. 

“He didn’t tell me,” She urges. 

She was not just some sponsor, or some government official, or even just some hero. She had been there for Jayce since the beginning. 

She had listened to him ramble about science that hardly made any sense to her, encouraged him through college all nighters, let him crash in the Kiramman guest room the day he cleared out his lab and saw his old lab partner, signed up to be a hero when she found out about it long before the trials were even public, brought Vi on board- 

Caitlyn Kiramman had been there because Caitlyn Kiramman had believed in Jayce long before anyone else had ever bothered. 

So why was she being shut out now? 

Vi’s face scrunches up again. It’s quite un lady-like, but bringing the woman here at all was a scandal. Caitlyn hardly minded, though. Not when Vi was the only person in the whole building who would speak to her honestly. 

“Jeez, alright. Go. Talk to him. They have not even brought out the appetizers yet, so I'm sure you can get back in time. Apparently all these half shell oysters were just like, I don’t know, here for the vibes? And Cait, you do deserve real answers.” 

It was somewhat odd, how meaningful it was to be granted permission to break social customs. Cornering the Man of Progress was hardly proper at all, but Vi bought out a confidence in Caitlyn. Even if the woman was staring at the table instead of her, almost looking regretful.

Before Caitlyn can think about it, she's squeezing Vi in between her arms. Then before either of them can consider that, she's moving across the dining floor to talk some sense into her brother. 

Caitlyn spots Maddie near one of the drink tables talking to someone and strides toward her with a purpose. 

“- and my father has voted Party of Duty ever since. I think it is so admirable, the Ferros clan being willing to break tradition to change political parties. It shows a willingness towards change-,” 

As Caitlyn gets close, she can tell that despite the height of the stranger she is one of the competitors. She has no issue then with raising her voice and interrupting. 

“Officer Nolan, did you see which way The Defender left?” 

Maddie turns back to her and blinks in confusion, but the stranger speaks up. 

“He went towards that back hall to the right of the stage.” 

Caitlyn frowns. That was the one that led to the secondary fire exit. She nods quickly to the girl. 

“Thank you. Ms?” 

She straightens up as if trying to snap to attention while… not snapping to attention. 

“Erin! Erin Thompson” 

“Officer.” 

“Erin- Officer?” Caitlyn's head turns to Maddie when she hears the clarification. 

Maddie smiles, tipping her head slightly. “Yeah, graduated with the summer batch of cadets.” 

Caitlyn decides that none of this is exactly important, not now. So instead she simply turns to the blonde and nods quickly. 

“Good work, Officer.” 

Caitlyn gets beamed at as if she had just done something of astronomical importance, but she hardly sticks around for it. Instead she paces forward once more, hearing the woman exchange words with Maddie excitedly. 

“Was that Caitlyn Kiramman? She broke the record for the junior marksmanship competitions!” 

It seems like the moment when the words grow out of earshot and the moment when the fire escape doors slam open to lead her to the back alley behind the Pididly building are barely a second apart. Jayce jumps so hard that he nearly drops his phone, and only in that moment does Caitlyn realize she is so angry she can not quite tell time anymore. 

“Fuck- Cait?!” 

He looks at her in shock, like her being here is completely unexpected. 

Does he know nothing about her at all? 

She had always thought he did. In fact, back then, he had seemed like one of the only people to ever accept her at all. He listened as she showed off her marksmanship trophies, organized by date won but also catalogued by level of achievement. He laughed when she made the most horrific of jokes about Lorah and Luca Giopara’s matching leather duffle bags being ‘body bags but make it couture.’ He even remembered about her sweet tooth, the one she loathed to ever tell Vi about for fear that woman’s teasing would get worse.

Back then, Jayce had never done things for her because of her position, or her family, or anything of the sort. It was because he was her friend. The first honest friendship she had ever known. 

“What are you doing here?” He whisper-hisses, and Caitlyn nearly stumbles back when she hears it. 

Jayce sounds angry. 

His tone hit her like a blow in a sparring match. It makes her fingers curl and her back straighten in discomfort as everything she had wanted to say flew out of her head. Her skin felt hot and her head started to pound and she desperately needed to open her mouth as if to puke out words but her mind? It was empty. What had she wanted to say again? She could feel it all still so acutely but the words to describe it failed her. 

“I was- I was just- You didn’t- Why didn’t you tell me-,” And now she was fumbling over her words like a fool, and his eyes felt like they burned as she embarrassed herself. 

She must look like all the child he's been treating her like, because the outline of Jayce softens as his shoulders drop and his hands raise. He’s looks as though he is about to say something, and fuck it even if he talks down to her she’ll take it, she just needs to hear that she didn’t make him hate her, but then the door opens so suddenly it bumps against her back. 

On a dime, Jayce’s body language changes. His eyes harden and his shoulders square and ever so slightly his right foot slides a fraction away from his left. For a moment, Jayce Talis looks ready to hit someone, and the expression is unnerving to have pointed towards her even if not at her. 

When did Jayce learn to look like that? Look scarry. 

“Doctor Talis? There you are.” 

Caitlyn steps back from the door to turn and meet the newcomer, frowning when she sees who it is. 

“Camille?” She asks, looking from her back to Jayce. 

Since when did Jayce have any reason to react like that to Camille? 

“Ms. Kiramman,” Camille nods to her, and again Caitlyn is caught off guard by how pleasant the woman sounds. She rarely ever bothered in her experience, not even for her mother. Cassandra and Camille traded cold shoulders like countries at war would trade bombs. Benefits of not being a clan head, Caitlyn assumes. Camille can do as she wishes. 

“Giving Dr. Talis congratulations for his speech? It was… eye opening. Was it not?” 

Caitlyn’s nose scrunches up as Camille’s eyes flick to meet Jayce with the words ‘eye opening.’ She had the feeling that what Camille’s words mean are not the same as what her tone means. She steps back, wanting to stand next to Jayce. Whatever this was, she did not think he should be alone for it. 

“Caitlyn, go back to dinner.” 

It was said like an order, and Caitlyn feld her body jump as her head swiveled around to look at him. 

He did not even offer to meet her eyes, just watched Camille. 

Caitlyn scowls at him, hurt and indignant all at once. Camille watches her with mild amusement, and the prickling hot feeling of shame is back again. She turns from her brother and rushes past the woman, slamming the door shut and making a show of stomping away with little clacks from her heels.

She would not defy an order, not from Jayce.

But as soon as she was sufficiently far away she lifted up onto her toes to creep back to the door. Jayce ordered her to go back to dinner, but he did not say when. She could go back to dinner after listening in on their conversation. That was still well within her orders. Sure, it likely was not what Jayce meant. But he hardly talked to her so how was she supposed to know better? 

Granted, this was still bending the rules. Tweaking them. But that hardly seemed consequential when Vi was right down the hall. What was the worst that Caitlyn could lose if no matter what, Vi would still be there? 

“My, that was brave, Talis.” 

“Well unfortunately for you, you’ve made The Defender too popular to be able to contradict me publicly.” 

“Hm. I do suppose I have…” 

Caitlyn frowns as she hears Camille’s stilettos, the woman moving closer to Jayce. 

“Don't fucking-,” 

“A new uniform then? A new department for the enforcers too; hero support. I want to move forward with the raid team idea from Inspector Marcus. One hero, four support enforcers, striking targets to take down this Shimmer epidemic.” 

Jayce scoffs and the noise makes Caitlyn frown. 

“Is that not what Gingersnap ran off to do last night? While I was protecting a hospital, Marcus had her in the lanes?” 

“Then we know it works. No? This is the compromise for your little tantrum on stage, Talis.” 

Caitlyn chews her lip. Maddie had been in the lanes? Compromise? Did Jayce do something that the Ferros clan did not like? But had Jayce not said that the Ferros were involved in the Hero Course program? 

“Please, I know you’re only agreeing because you know the training contract will be lucrative. Good publicity too.” 

“Hm. Medarda really did train you up, didn’t she?” 

“Don’t make it unprofessional, Camille.” 

At that, Caitlyn hears the woman huff with near silent laughter. 

“There’s one specific target Marcus said should be plenty safe. Even for a press conference? I want you there personally. New uniform, new look. New and improved Defender.” 

There is a pause, and Caitlyn feels herself holding her breath. Something about this conversation feels as if there is much more at play than she knows. The prickling is gone from her skin, replaced by dread that feels something like sinking into freezing cold mud. 

“Oh, and Talis.”

“Yes, Camille?” 

“You’ve got some grays coming in. See that gets fixed. We still want to pad out this ‘young and hot’ angle as long as we can.” 

Then the heels move towards the door and Caitlyn bolts. 

When done, Viktor collapses into his bed. His fingers are still trembling and his heart is still racing and he only managed to strip off the limb portions from the mobility apparatus, but his life’s work is now stacked next to the front door. In the morning he will pass it along. But now, he pulls his knees to his stomach and tucks his arms over his head and he cries. 

How had it turned out like this? All he had wanted was to do this work with Jayce. Make a difference with Hextech together. 

In the academy, Professor Viktor Nadeník will try to ignore just how much professor Jayce Talis’ looks of pity hurt. Suited up, The Herald will pretend he loves the way the Defender looks at him with fear and anger. But truly, what Viktor misses is the gentle curiosity Jayce’s gaze so often held in the lab. 

So tonight, alone, Viktor will cry. Tonight, he is just a man who misses his fucking friend.