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His bones ached, a deep, familiar pulsing. It was instinct to curl in on himself, years of familiar pains written so deeply over him that any other action was incomprehensible. Every inhale and exhale sent a bolt of pain through his skull. His transmuted flesh, while lifesaving, was not impervious to weakness. His pain sometimes returned, though, to a lesser degree, and he was unfortunately still susceptible to illness. The parts of his body he had managed to replace with steel were impervious to the weakens that his flesh allowed. If it were not a slow and agonizing process, if he could guarantee that he would survive ripping out every part of himself, he would, but the process was still too imperfect. His weakness would have to remain until he could be absolutely sure of perfection.
Fortunately, he had years of practice in pushing through pain, hours upon hours spent in their lab, pushing and pushing until they had a breakthrough. He was no stranger to suffering; he uncurled his limbs. Forcing the heaviness of his flesh up and out of the room.
His lab was as he’d left it, unfinished projects scattered, gears and chunks of metal littering every surface. The filter he had designed to remove the toxins that were so heavy in their air was unfinished. Unacceptable, he did not have the time to leave it unfinished. Every day that the project passed incomplete was another inhale in the lungs of Zaun’s citizens. And he had not even begun to clean the chemicals that were in their water. He snapped gears into place and twisted a bit of metal. What little light managed to reach the undercity fell through the skylight as the sun rose.
His lungs clenched in a familiar motion, one he thought his aguments had long laid to rest. He stifled the cough, refusing to let it rattle his frame. He knew his body was strong; it would not shatter from a minor cough. And yet he could not help but brace himself against the desk, forcing his throat to choke on the cough. He remembers days like this at their old lab, when racked with coughs, bent over the desk, a gentle hand had rubbed in between his shoulder blades. It had done nothing to soothe his lungs, but it had meant he wasn’t alone.
He did not let air leave his chest until his lungs had gone still. He allowed himself a moment to rest his head against the cool metal of the desk. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeats. He sat up, his metal spine hissing and clicking. He swept back the hair that had clung to his clammy forehead.
The door to his lab slammed open, and the wrench on the table quickly found its way into his hands as he spun to face the intruder.
Ekko leaned against the door frame, his eyebrows raising as he saw the wrench clenched in Viktor’s hand. He allows his hand to fall limp, wrench dangling at his side. He turns back to the filter, cataloging every flaw remaining in his work. Ekko stepped further into the lab, boot pounding across the floor.
“Is there a reason for your intrusion, or are you simply here to distract me from my work?” Viktor said, twisting a screw into place.
Picking a prototype of the desk, Ekko spins it in his hands as he answers, “Enforcers on our side of the bridge.” Ekko places the prototype back on the desk, “figured you’d want in on the action.”
They both know Viktor would much rather spend his time here in the lab. Ekko’s Fierlights could take care of the problem themselves, but they are vulnerable, bullets pierce their skin far easier than Viktor’s thick armor. And he didn’t care what he lost, replacing parts with an easy detachment the Fierlights lacked. He turns to look at Ekko, “I will ready myself.” Ekko grins at the answer. He knows very well Viktor would never say no. Ekko leaves the lab, having long learned that putting on his armor was something Viktor preferred to keep quiet. He did not like to expose his transmuted flesh in view of others.
Putting on his armor was slow, a slight tremor ran through his hands. The smooth metal slipped out of his grip. The fights on the border were growing tiering. The real war was long over, both sides too beaten and bloody to continue. And yet neither side could admit defeat, too cowardly to admit that they’d lost far more than they gained. Though the fighting had mellowed through the years as Piltover and Zaun grew separate from each other, the border between them was a point of unrest. Some Enforcers were still bold enough to cross it.
He noticed a slight haze in his vision when he slid the mask over his face. It was not a simple headache then, most likely a migraine if he went by his vision. It was unwise to go out like this; he could push through the pain of headaches, but migraines proved more severe. There had been more than one occasion he had blacked out under the strain. But he could not leave Ekko and the Firelights to fend for themselves, not when he could prevent more senseless deaths. He secured the Hexclaw to his back, joints cracking at the added weight.
Stepping out of his lab, he followed Ekko to the bridge. There were two groups of Enforcers, one remaining near the bridge as the other attempted to force deeper into Zaun. Ekko split off to take care of the second group, taking his Firelights with him. Viktor was left to face the ones that remained; it was only a single squad of Enforcers. Normally, this wouldn’t be that hard of a job, but the sudden appearance of illness left him off balance. He fired his laser at the feet of the Enforcers, hoping to scare them back across the bridge. A few of them looked quite panicked, but none of them left, likely a result of Sheriff Kirman’s rigorous training.
He wrenched a rifle out of an Enforcer’s hand, snapping it in half with the Hexclaw. He smashed the Hexclaw across the side of their face, not enough to kill, but perhaps with more force than was necessary to inhibit them. A bullet ricocheted off his chest plate; he shifted to his left side, and the Hexclaw fired. It missed anything important, grazing the shooter's dominant arm and rendering it useless. As he pushed the Enforcer out of the way, he noticed his headache had slightly receded.
“Viktor!”
Never mind.
He gave the Enforcer a firm kick in the backside and turned to face his adversary. The Defender’s cape fluttered behind him in the wind, the fur-lined collar gleaming white. The gold adornments on the costume glittered in the sunlight, making his head pulse. “Defender,” he said, thankful he had a voice modulator. He was sure the scratchiness in his voice would have been obvious otherwise. “What can I do for you today?” he said in a mocking tone, leaning forward on his staff. “You can start by getting off my bridge,” the Defender said, griping his hammer tighter. Viktor wondered how the hammer had ever been intended for anything but violence. “Oh dear, I wouldn’t want to intrude on a Councilor’s property.” He said, feigning worry. “I’ll be on my way as soon as Piltover’s lapdog takes his lackeys and goes." He says, gesturing to the Enforcers crowded around the Defender.
Viktor delights in the way the Defender’s face contorts in outrage, his cheeks reddening. “At least a dog is made of flesh and bone,” the Defender snaps.
The Hexclaw twitches from where it rests on his back. He wishes it were true, if he was completely metal, he wouldn’t have to deal with this illness. He adjusts his grip on his staff and gives the Defender his best death glare (Though the mask undermines the effect). His leg has started to ache, the transmuted flesh still carrying age-old pain.
“Better to be a monster than a dog,” he says letting the venom in his voice slip through the modulator. The Defender scoffs. “At least you know what you are.” The Defender says twisting the handle on the hammer allowing the charge to build in the hex crystal, Viktor had designed that part.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices both Enforcers and Firelights alike backing away. No doubt having heard of how intense their fights can get. They haven’t physically fought in a while; verbal aggression is their preferred form of battle. But today, he is tired and wants this to end, even if he has to kick the Defender to the end of Runeterra to do it.
He lets the Hexclaw unfurl behind him, its warm orange glow bathing him in light. The Defender raises an eyebrow and lifts his hammer in challenge. He opens his mouth to deliver a cutting remake, but his lungs constrict. He clutches his staff tight to keep from falling over as the coughs shake him. Sweat pools on his brow, and a chill sends shivers down his spine. It is everything that Viktor has been trying to overcome, never had he wanted to look weak again. He hacks and spits, trying to force air back into his chest. As the cough subsides, he straightens out despite how his whole body protests. The Defender is looking at him with an unreadable expression, mouth slightly open, showing the gap in between his teeth. He seems to have shut the Defender up, a feat he had believed impossible. “Are, are you alright?” The Defender says he seems to choke on the words. Viktor feels the outrage simmer in his veins, how dare he ask that? Ask him this now, not when Viktor had desperately needed him too.
“You lost the right to ask me that long ago,” he says, voice hoarse from coughing. The Defender flinches, lowering his hammer. The metal thuds against the concrete bridge. His head is spinning, or maybe he is? He’s finding it harder and harder to focus, his vision fading in and out. He can’t pass out, not here, not now. Not where he is so vulnerable.
He falls over.
He wakes lying on his couch, his limbs arranged awkwardly. His leg was halfway off the edge, and his arm was pinned beneath him as though he had been dumped here. He struggled to sit up, his headache returning in full force. He groaned, reaching up to rub at his forehead. His hand slammed into his mask; he still had it on. Odd; he always took it off when he got home from battle.
Unless…he glanced around the room, his suspicions were confirmed by the hammer resting against the wall. Carried home from the battlefield by his worst enemy, how humiliating. He needed to get the Defender out of his house as soon as possible. Siting up was far more difficult than he would like to admit, and standing was a herculean task. His hip joint pulsed like a ball of fire resided there instead of bone. He swayed on his feet, struggling to remain upright. He had half a mind to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t afford to do that. A loud bang from his lab, made him forget sleep altogether. He hurried forward, stumbling several times.
He was out of breath by the time he made it to the lab, his chest heaving. He gripped the edge of the doorway, leaning against the frame. The Defender stood in his lab, holding the filter he had spent several sleepless nights on. The Defender was tugging at the gears. If the Defender broke anything, he would not live to defend tomorrow.
“Put that down,” Viktor said between wheezes. The Defender startled, nearly dropping the filter. The Defender looked at him in horror. “What on are you doing,” the Defender shouted. What was he doing? He was defending his property!
“You should be resting,” the Defender said, setting down the filter. “I don’t need sleep,” Viktor said his sleeping habits were just fine.
“You collapsed on the bridge,” the Defender said, raising his eyebrow, the one with the scar.
“You know very well it takes far more than a lack of sleep to cause me to collapse.”
The Defender chuckled slightly, “Fair enough, what then caused the mighty Machine Herald to succumb like a mortal?”
“An illness unfortunately accompanied by a migraine.” He responded curtly, the Defender would understand he'd seen firsthand what migraines could do to a body.
The Defender’s cocky grin slipped off his face, “you fought a battle with a migraine?” The Defender cried, stepping closer.
He adjusted his grip on the doorframe, pulling himself up higher. “Of course,” he responded; how could he not protect his people?
“How much damage to yourself are you willing to risk, Viktor?” They were face to face now.
“As much as it takes,” he said, looking down at the Defender.
The Defender scoffed, backing away, “Have you at least been to a doctor?”
“No,” he said, slouching slightly forward, all this talking was hurting his throat.
The Defender throws his hands in the air, “You did this in Piltover, too, you barely went to the doctor until you were dying!”
“Have you ever been to an Undercity Doctor Defender?” He said, gritting his teeth.
“The only one I knew lived in a cave with a giant mutant salamander.” He said, gripping the doorframe tighter in an attempt to keep himself upright.
“The last time I went to a doctor, he gave me a vile of Shimmer, pardon me if I’m not too keen to visit again.” He said, his chest heaving with the effort of speaking.
The Defender gaped at him open-mouthed. “That’s the only doctor in the undercity?” The Defender said skeptically.
Unbelievable.
“Get out of my lab.” He said, voice icy. The Defender made no move to leave. So, Viktor reached in and grabbed the Defender by the collar, tugging him out. He underestimated his strength, his leg giving out. He crashed forward, reaching out he dug his hands into the Defender’s shoulders to keep from falling. His head was resting against the Defender’s shoulder; he panted at the pain. His leg felt like a snapped rubber band. The Defender’s hands came up around his back, supporting some of his weight. They stay like that while Viktor regains his breathing.
“Viktor,” the Defender asks, his voice more unsure than Viktor has heard it in a long time.
“Help me to the couch,” he says in response. Jayce nods, and slowly, he moves to stand side by side with Viktor, being careful never to let Viktor support his full weight. The Defender sips one of his arms under Viktor’s shoulder blades, and Viktor slings an arm around Jayce's neck. They make their way to the couch; it’s a slow pace, and Jayce supports him the whole time. It is a relief when he sinks into the soft cushions, leaning back against the couch, and props his leg out in front of him.
His head felt like Hexgem was exploding it. There is another moment of pain as his joints relax, he can’t help the hiss that escapes him. The Defender looks at him, and his eyes are so sad “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” The Defender said, his hands hanging limp at his sides.
“I will do what I feel is best," Viktor can feel the unnatural shift in his eyes, the hint of purple bleeding in. The defender flinches back.
“Viktor, you can take time to care of yourself,” Jayce’s eyes are exasperated like Viktor is a child that needs to be told how to care for his body.
"Do not lecture me on time,” he shouts, the Hexclaw shoots out from his back, gripping Jayce’s neckline it pulls them eye to eye.
Viktor hisses. “Not when I have had so little of it and you so much.”
“I finally have a body that doesn't collapse under the slightest neglect, and if I can take back a shred of the time I have lost, I will.”
“Viktor, you can’t bury yourself in your work.” Jayce shakes his head, there is pity in his eyes.
“It’s not work to me; it is my life. It is to the benefit of everyone around me. They depend on me Jayce, they look to me for help.” He has never had a purpose other than this, and he cannot imagine himself devoted to anything else.
“You have never understood that I cannot fail them.” The Hexclaw’s grip slackens allowing Jayce to pull away.
“I’m sorry,” Jayce says. The words render Viktor speechless.
“I’m sorry, Viktor, I wish I understood.”
“Yes, I wish you did.” He replies. The Hexclaw folds back.
“It’s too late for apologies, we can only live with what we’ve done.” He looks at the hammer in the corner, clenching the transmuted flesh of his hand.
He leaned further back into the couch, tiredness pulling him down.
“Don’t come here and pretend we can be anything other than what we are.”
The Defender said nothing, eyes downcast.
Viktor let his eyes slip closed, let Jayce stay, let him go, Viktor’s too tired to care.
Jayce is gone when he wakes. There’s a mug of sweet milk on the counter, it has long grown cold.