Chapter Text
“You had a vision?”
“What if we've been looking at it backwards? We've been trying to discover runes that invoke specific effects and then molding them to a useful function. Tools, as you put it. But – but… if the legends are true, mages aren't bound to single functions. It's said the Arcane speaks through them.”
“... I’m still not following.”
“They think. They adapt.”
“You think… Hextech can learn?”
* * *
Scientific breakthrough, in certain instances, has the capacity to kill.
Viktor doesn't sleep. He barely eats, because his hands are busy. His life becomes a spinning wheel of runes in a matrix formation, a desk scattered with papers, and coffee. A lot of coffee.
He spends those days, more or less, in complete isolation. Sky makes her occasional rounds, but Viktor dismisses her concerns outright enough that she learns to stop asking. She leaves food behind sometimes, and Viktor wakes up with a pillow under his head after falling asleep on the desk that smells too floral to belong to Jayce.
Jayce.
The name leaves a bitter taste in Viktor's mouth, soured further by the recent memories associated. Carefully balanced as their relationship might be at the moment, the truth remains that his partner goes missing at the moment he needs him most. Lost, effectively, in the dance of people and politics, leaving Viktor to crack open the Hexcore on his own.
Not that he's unused to working alone. And Viktor knows well that he has a hand in it. But it still stings.
Viktor tries not to think about the sting, but it becomes harder with every passing day. Whenever he does catch a glimpse of him, Jayce is visibly distracted, and not just by his newfound line of work. His brilliant mind is elsewhere, and Viktor quickly recognizes it as the distraction of a man on the precipice of love.
Councilor Medarda, no doubt. Or, as Jayce calls her so easily, so affectionately: Mel. A business partner. A sponsor. A councilor. A woman. Far softer than Viktor will ever be, far kinder, far sweeter. If Viktor is flame, she is the water. Pure, clean, perfect.
The salve, it seemed, to the burn that Viktor left behind.
“It's beautiful,” Sky says from behind him.
The Hexcore snaps and crackles, as if responsive to Viktor’s energy, and then fizzles out. Another failure. Viktor grits his teeth, tries to shove thoughts of Jayce and his newfound paramour aside, tries to ignore the ache in his chest. He rubs his temple to relieve some of the pressure there.
“I can't figure out why it's not working,” Viktor replies, reaching for his notes.
“You will,” Sky assures him. “Are you headed home soon? I thought we could walk together.”
Doubtful.
Viktor hasn't been able to step foot in his apartment since that night with Jayce, and he certainly isn't about to now. Not when he's this close. He stares at the matrix on his notes, searches for something hidden between the lines, something he's missed.
“I’m, uh, probably going to sleep here tonight,” Viktor says over his shoulder, once it's clear Sky is still waiting for a response.
“Again?” Sky’s concern bleeds into her tone. “You know there's always tomorrow, right?”
Tomorrow.
“Is that what you want?” Jayce's voice echoes in his memory. “To wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened?”
Viktor doesn't look up from his notes. “Goodnight, Miss Young,” he says, dismissing her.
Sky doesn't reply, and Viktor doesn't wait for her to. Putting down his notes, he once again reaches for the mechanism. It stirs and sparks back to life, the soft clank and sizzle interrupted only by the quiet sound of Sky’s footsteps retreating.
“Goodnight, Viktor.”
It is Jayce's voice that he hears, not Sky’s. Cold and wounded. The soft click of the door behind his back, the silence that sits heavy in the air behind him. The guilt. The anger. The regret.
The runes twist and shudder under Viktor’s gaze, each new permutation sparking some essence of life that quickly fizzles out. Brief glimpses of progress, silenced as quickly as they come. A extraordinarily beautiful moment in time that remains exactly that: a moment.
The Hexcore whirs and expands, as if taking a breath. Viktor feels it as if it's his own, his chest tightening and then unwinding. His right hand shifts, pushing a new line of motion, a new sequence of runes.
“Viktor.”
Warmth. The feeling of Jayce's hand on his shoulder, his fingers burning through his clothes. Echoes of his touch stir in response, memories of those fingers against his lips, his waist, his hips, lower –
The energy twisting around the Hexcore leaps and then collapses.
Another failure. Viktor can't keep his head straight.
“Viktor,” Jayce in his memory says again, tone shifting into one of concern. “Are you alright?”
In an instant, the thin line of Viktor's patience snaps.
His fists collide with the table, harsh enough to send pain sparking up his wrists. With a noise of frustration, he sweeps the mess of notes on his desk away, the stool behind him scraping against the floor as he stands abruptly. The sudden movement does a little to help with the suffocating feeling in his chest, but also brings a rush of blood to his head after sitting for so long.
Groaning, Viktor presses his palm to his forehead. His ears ring hollowly as the world shifts and sways danergously around him. That sound again, a low hum, something just beyond reach.
Viktor.
His name rises once more above the murmured cacophony, and Viktor lifts his head blearily. The rune floats weightlessly before him, the soft blue glow stained a strange, shifting red at its fringes. The lurching sensation brings with it a wave of nausea, and then Viktor's chest tightens and he stumbles forward. He just barely manages to brace himself against the edge of the desk as coughs rack his body, each one a scraping knife’s edge against his throat.
Viktor, the runes whisper in his ear. Come, follow, breathe, walk, run –
Something thick rises in the back of Viktor's throat, and his next cough comes out wet. Dimly, he registers seeing red splattering between his fingers, staining the table beneath him.
The world tilts, spins, and then collapses beneath him.
Shit, Viktor thinks, and then he hits the ground with a hollow thud.
Come with us, Viktor, the voices whisper as the world fades into nothingness around him. Come with us, and evolve.
* * *
Viktor has always expected death to be a simple and quiet affair.
It is, in fact, neither of those things.
Viktor isn't sure how long he stays on the lab floor. He feels nothing, is aware of nothing, save for brief moments that lapse between the waves of unfolding darkness. An ache in his chest. The bite of the cold floor against his cheek. The sound of the door scraping open. and approaching footsteps.
“Viktor!”
His name sounds different that time. Familiar.
Something warm envelops him. Another familiar feeling. He feels a heartbeat pressed against his chin. Breathing. The world moves around him, yet Viktor remains anchored in place.
“Viktor.” His name, again, closer this time. “Fuck, Viktor, please. Please be okay. You have to be okay.”
“Jayce…?”
All of the familiarity suddenly fits into place; it's Jayce. Of course it is. Only Jayce would be in their lab at that hour. Only Jayce would find him. Viktor wants to laugh, but he isn't sure why.
“I'm here,” Jayce says, his voice an odd comfort. “I’m here. I'm sorry, Viktor. I’m… I’m so sorry.”
Viktor wants to ask him why Jayce is apologizing when he's the one who's dying, but the world spins back into darkness before he even gets the chance to open his mouth.
* * *
Brief glimpses of life overlap the dark silence that follows.
It's voices, more than anything. Several of them, spilling over and into each other, yet still out of reach. Viktor catches pieces of conversations –
“– stabilize him, so don't interrupt –”
“– run more tests to be sure –”
“– please, just sit down –”
But they remain nothing but fragments. Viktor can't determine anything by the words, and only vaguely recognizes the emotions. Strained, tense, busy, restless. He can barely distinguish them apart from one another.
There is, however, one voice that rises among the rest –
“How much time does he have?”
Jayce.
His voice is raw, like it's been worn down from overuse, or perhaps simply from raising it. It trembles around the word ‘time’ in a way that nearly breaks it entirely. Dimly, Viktor feels something tugging on his hand. A sharp, needlepoint pain, followed by a slow trickle of cold.
Voices murmur around him, but the fog that approaches drowns them out. Viktor tries to breathe through it, but each breath only pulls him down further, sinking deeper and deeper underwater.
The voices go quiet, and for a moment Viktor thinks he's gone out again. But then he feels it, a gentle touch, fingers carefully brushing against the side of his face. The touch is so familiar it aches.
“You can't die on me yet, Viktor.” Jayce's voice is low, so far away that Viktor only barely manages to grasp it. “Please. I need you.”
No you don't, Viktor thinks, but he's already gone.
* * *
When Viktor opens his eyes again, he's surrounded by grey.
Grey walls, grey ceiling, grey blankets. He knows this sight: he’s in the hospital. There's a piercing pain in his right temple, and every inch of him is tired. Heavy, and tired.
Not dead yet, I suppose.
Something moves beside him, and Viktor turns his head. A familiar figure sits in the corner, head lowered.
“Jayce…?”
Jayce looks up so quickly it makes Viktor's neck hurt sympathetically. His eyes are a bright, piercing yellow against the grey of the hospital room. Every inch of him exudes stress, from the curve of his shoulders to the rabbit’s pace of his foot against the ground.
“Viktor,” Jayce says, his name a sigh of relief, but it's quickly followed by a shadow of something else – fear. “The doctors… um, they said you're –”
Jayce's voice breaks, choked off. He can't say it.
Dying.
Viktor turns his gaze back to the ceiling. Exhales, and feels the weight of the night shed itself off of his shoulders. It's the strangest thing, to feel relief at being told you're dying. He's known, he's always known, certainly recently. But now it exists outside of him. Tangible. Real, inarguably so.
“How much time do I have?” he asks Jayce.
No response. Viktor looks over, and Jayce is staring at the ground again, the image of defeat. The answer is written plainly in his silence: not enough.
Viktor closes his eyes. Feels the breath enter his lungs, feels the tightness that always accompanies it. Dying. Just like the Hexcore, feeling a spark of life, only for it to collapse just as quickly. A supernova that transforms into a black hole, and now he's dragging Jayce down with him.
It's everything Viktor had wanted to avoid.
All of the pain, the hurt, the coldness with which he had shoved Jayce out of his room that night: it feels pointless now. He'd thought that if he ruined things enough, if he cut Jayce deep enough, then only one of them would face the flames at his dissolution.
One night, he'd told himself. One night, one burned bridge, and then he can leave me behind. No regrets. No wasted moments.
And yet here he was. It seemed Viktor had made the fatal mistake of underestimating just how deeply he was tied down to Jayce Talis, and now they both were destined to burn.
Viktor squeezes his eyes shut and hates himself for exactly one moment. Lets himself feel the loathing all the way down to the marrow of his bones. And then he takes a breath and sits up, pulling the cannula from his nose and around his head.
From beside him, Jayce straightens, visibly concerned.
“Viktor, what are you –”
“I need to get back to the lab,” Viktor explains shortly. “Bring me my crutch, please. We do not have much time. As you know.”
Jayce doesn't respond for a moment, like he can't believe what he's hearing. It's only once Viktor is picking up his bad leg and swinging it over the side of the bed that he finally moves. But it isn't to help him. Instead, he’s stopping Viktor, one hand firmly on his shoulder.
“Viktor, stop,” Jayce says. “You need to rest. You’re –”
“Dying, yes, I am well aware of it,” Viktor snaps impatiently, the heat of Jayce's hand scalding his bare skin. “I would prefer not to waste the little remaining time I have arguing about this.”
Jayce recoils slightly, as if struck. Good, Viktor thinks, hate me for this, but Jayce doesn't let him go. His jaw sets, and he doubles down instead. Viktor supposes he should have known better than to underestimate the stubbornness of him.
“No.” Jayce's voice is ironclad. “I won't let you.”
“Let me?” Viktor barks a laugh, brushing Jayce's hand away. “It seems that in your insistence on treating me like glass you have forgotten that I do not need your support or approval to act, Jayce. Forget it, I can make it to the lab myself. Please move.”
Jayce takes a step back, if only to weather the blow of Viktor's words. He stares in silence as Viktor swings his other leg over the side of the bed, using the edge of it to balance himself as he stands. It's a process, and one made especially obnoxious without his crutch, but Viktor isn't helpless.
With enough effort, Viktor manages to make it to the opposite side of the room, where he collects his crutch and unceremoniously stuffs it under his arm. It helps steady him against the waves of dizziness that crash into him with every step he takes, at least.
“I will see you tomorrow, Jayce,” Viktor says, once he's made it to the door. “Or… perhaps not. I guess only fate will determine that, if I’m lucky enough to find out.”
The sardonic note of his voice rings hollowly out between them, its bite lost in the truth buried beneath it. Viktor sighs, reaching out to wrap his fingers around the handle and open the door.
And then, abruptly, he is grabbed by the wrist.
Viktor has only a moment to feel surprise before Jayce is pulling him back and spinning him around effortlessly. His crutch slips and clatters to the ground uselessly as Viktor is pushed one step backwards, his shoulders hitting the back of the door heavily. It’s the roughest that Jayce has ever handled him.
“Jayce,” Viktor says, affronted, “what are you –”
Before he can finish speaking, Jayce is slapping his other hand over Viktor’s mouth, effectively silencing him.
It's as if the floodgates holding back that night on Progress Day have burst wide open. Jayce has those same eyes: fierce, frantic, bright in his anger and desperation. His hand is warm, and Viktor can see how each breath makes his shoulders shake.
“I am tired,” Jayce growls, “of you shutting me out, Viktor.”
His voice drips with fury, each word laid so thick with it that it trembles. Viktor can't remember the last time he'd seen his partner this upset; even the Gemstones robbery hadn't pushed him to this.
“We're supposed to be partners,” Jayce spits. “I thought you knew that. I thought that you could –”
Jayce cuts himself off and squeezes his eyes shut. Like he can't bear to look at Viktor. When he opens them again, they shine, and Viktor realizes abruptly that he's crying. Jayce Talis, the face of progress personified, the unwavering iron hammer of the future – crying. For him. Because of him.
“I thought,” Jayce continues, his voice quieter, “that you trusted me, Viktor. But clearly, I was wrong.”
Something buried deep inside of Viktor's chest seizes. It's different from the tightness he gets when his lungs start failing. It's the same feeling he had the first time he fell. Fearful and small.
I can't lose him.
Every part of Viktor wishes that he could push Jayce away. That he could cut the strings binding them before whatever it was that was killing him got to Jayce. That he could end the hurt where it started.
But now he realizes it: it’s too late.
Jayce releases him then, having clearly said his piece. His hand falls from Viktor’s mouth and his fingers fall from Viktor's wrist and he physically takes a step back, averting his gaze. Withdrawing.
For the millionth time in his life, Viktor finds himself standing at a precipice. He can cross it, and risk the fall, or he can stay in the shadows and watch the world fall apart alone.
Let him go, a quiet, soothing voice in the back of his head whispers. It is merely the ties of affection that hold you together, Viktor. Let him go.
But the moment that Jayce turns his back, something in Viktor breaks.
I can’t.
Viktor moves without thinking, nearly stumbling over himself in his haste. His fingers claw desperately for something to hold onto, and they fall just short of Jayce's shoulders, digging in fiercely to his shirt. The fabric winds itself tightly between his fingers, and Jayce goes still beneath him, if only out of surprise.
“Wait,” Viktor says, breathless. “Jayce, I… I am sorry. I should have told you. I just… I wanted to protect you. From this. From… me.”
It comes out smaller than he wants it to. More vulnerable. Jayce hesitates, and in that hesitation, Viktor's conviction wavers. He fears that he's crossed a line that isn’t supposed to be crossed, that Jayce wants to be done with him.
You should have let go, the voice in his head hisses.
Jayce turns his head, just enough for Viktor to catch a glimpse of his cheekbone.
“Protect me?” he repeats.
“... Yes.” Viktor lowers his gaze shamefully. “I knew that I was destined to burn out eventually. It was my desire… to not bring you down with me.”
It's the truth. The vulnerable, ugly truth. It rings hollowly between them. Jayce takes a breath, and Viktor holds his own. Fear paralyzes him, binds his tongue, seizes in his chest.
“For a genius,” Jayce says after a moment, “you can be an idiot sometimes, Viktor.”
And then, before Viktor can process what exactly that is supposed to mean, Jayce is turning around and pulling Viktor into an embrace so fierce that it knocks the wind right out of his chest.
Jayce has hugged him more times than he can count. He was, for better or for worse, a physically affectionate person, and Viktor has grown used to that. But none of them have been like this. Jayce holds onto him like he can't bear to let him go. Like he wishes he could swallow Viktor whole with himself and keep him there.
Viktor is frozen in place. He can only stand there, weight bearing on his good leg as Jayce buries his face in his neck and breathes him in. So easily does he envelop Viktor in his presence. So completely.
Dimly, Viktor notices that he smells different. Floral. Councilor Medarda.
A note of bitterness settles beneath his tongue, but he swallows it down. Bigger problems.
“If you were attempting to compliment me,” Viktor tells him after a moment, his voice muffled by Jayce's shoulder, “I regret to say that you failed, Jayce.”
Jayce leans back then, his hands on Viktor's arms. They are very much the only thing keeping Viktor from collapsing, but the proximity of him – the heat, the closeness, the scent of him – is dizzying enough on its own to nearly nullify that effect anyway.
“You would know if I was trying to compliment you,” Jayce tells him. “Viktor, you’re my partner. Whatever it is that you’re going through, I’m going through it with you. You can't get rid of me that easily.”
“As I am beginning to learn,” Viktor mutters.
Jayce chuckles. It's a tired sound, but so overwhelmingly Jayce. Viktor hadn't realized how much he'd missed his partner over the last few days until he heard that laugh, low and soft and familiar. He’s smiling, too, just enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle.
Viktor reaches out, his thumb brushing against the edge of that crinkle, as if committing it to memory. His skin is soft and warm, the curve of his cheek fitting perfectly into Viktor's palm. It’s still slightly damp.
Beneath him, Jayce freezes, his gaze lifting to Viktor's in surprise.
Shit.
What was he doing?
Truthfully, Viktor doesn't know. He'd moved without thinking, stuck so firmly in his relief that he'd let himself forget the boundaries they had in place. It was as if he had been pulled right back to that night in his apartment, with Jayce flat beneath him, his eyes wide and open and honest and wanting. A moment so separate from them in reality that there was no reason for Viktor to be reliving it, and yet –
He wants to.
The casual intimacy, the closeness, the feeling of having Jayce so wholly belonging to him and nobody else. Viktor didn't just want for it; he craved it. Craved to keep that side of Jayce so desperately that, without even realizing it, he'd been living it in his head constantly since.
“I –” Viktor drops his hand, stumbling over himself for an excuse. “I apologize, I didn't… ah, perhaps I hit my head too hard. I wasn't –”
“Viktor.”
Jayce says his name so firmly that it wedges a knife deep in between Viktor’s lungs and cuts his words off at the teeth. Viktor can only stand there, frozen in fear, as Jayce gently takes him by the wrist and brings Viktor's hand back to his cheek.
“It’s okay,” Jayce says, simple as anything. “I don't mind.”
Permission.
Like it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Like the line that Viktor is so terrified to cross doesn't even exist between them. Viktor wants to argue with him, wants to tell Jayce he's a fool, that he's just saying it to make Viktor feel better about himself. But he can't.
“Are…” Viktor swallows. “Are you sure?”
He isn't sure what exactly he’s being granted or asking for permission for, not specifically. Maybe it's just the permission to touch, to trace Jayce's skin beneath his fingers and feel him move and breathe and shiver in response. Maybe it's more.
There's too much unspoken, but Viktor is afraid that words will only complicate something that he's terrified to question. And Jayce's eyes are intent on his, unwavering. Open, honest, clear. He looks at Viktor as if he's hung the stars over his head.
“It’s okay, Viktor,” Jayce tells him again. “Please.”
It's funny, the effect that just one word can have on him. Viktor hesitates, and then, as if handling glass, he carefully brings his hand to Jayce's cheek again. Cups it gently in his palm, his breath hitching in his throat as Jayce leans into it slightly.
This is a bad idea, Viktor thinks, even as his touch drifts lower, framing the edge of Jayce’s jaw. This is a terrible, reckless idea.
But Jayce doesn't stop him. He just watches Viktor, those honey eyes bright on him as Viktor runs his fingers over his skin, making a map of it beneath his fingertips. Viktor's heart wedges in his throat as his fingers brush against the corner of Jayce's lips, and then Jayce is turning his head to kiss them.
His mouth is warm and dizzyingly soft, and Viktor is flooded with memories of the feeling of those lips pressed against his own, drifting down his neck, hot against his shoulder.
“Jayce,” Viktor says, his voice hoarse. “I —“
And then his lungs seize.
Viktor doubles over in pain as coughs rack his body, just barely managing to slap a hand over his mouth to cover it and keep from coughing all over Jayce’s face. Immediately, Jayce is grabbing him by the arm, silently holding Viktor in place as he chokes and sputters for air.
There's a new feeling, Viktor realizes, beneath the tightness. A burning feeling, deep in the back of his throat, like an open wound. It fills him with dread. Unease.
“Viktor,” Jayce says, voice tight with worry.
“I’m – I’m fine,” Viktor bites out between coughs. “Can you – I need to… sit down. Just for a moment.”
Jayce helps him to the bed, where Viktor collapses almost immediately, shoulders pulled in. It takes a few moments before he can finally breathe without hacking up a lung, and several more before the room stops swaying and spinning around him in turn.
Distantly, Viktor registers the feeling of Jayce's fingers in his hair, running soothingly against his scalp. It helps ground him, but also does little to help the nervous feeling lingering in his chest.
Useless body.
“You should try and get some sleep,” Jayce says.
“I'm not –” Viktor cuts himself off with another dry cough. “I’m not tired. There is too much to be done –”
“Don't argue with me on this,” Jayce warns him sharply. “The doctors gave you something for pain a while ago anyway, because of your head. Just focus on resting that brilliant mind of yours, so we can put it to work tomorrow on figuring out some way of helping you.”
Viktor looks up at that, incredulous. “Helping me…?”
“Obviously,” Jayce says. “What? You don't expect me to at least try and find some way of helping you, after everything we've done together so far?”
“We’re scientists,” Viktor reminds him dryly. “Not doctors. And we have other, more important work to be done.”
“There is nothing more important to me right now than saving you,” Jayce says fiercely, his conviction setting Viktor aback. “And we work in magic, Viktor. There has to be some way, and I’m going to find it.”
Viktor stares at him. The tug in his chest returns, the one that's a degree separated from the normal one. The one reserved solely for Jayce, it seemed.
“... Okay,” Viktor acquiesces after a moment. “I suppose I have no hope of trying to stop you, at least. You always were a stubborn bastard.”
“You know what, Viktor?” Jayce asks, as Viktor turns and settles himself properly in the hospital bed. “You aren't very good at giving compliments, either.”
Viktor laughs, a hollow sound. It feels good, he thinks, to be joking with Jayce again. Maybe he hasn’t burned that bridge as thoroughly as he’d expected. Maybe that isn’t a terrible thing.
“That is because it wasn't a compliment, Jayce.”
* * *
It takes a while for Viktor to properly fall asleep, if only because of how out of practice he is.
His mind is restless, and his body even more so. It doesn't help that Jayce stays behind, hovering in the corner in that damned chair. He can feel his partner's eyes on him even when his back is to Jayce, and while he knows he means well, it's distracting.
Eventually, Viktor gives up and rolls on his side and starts talking instead. Jayce shows initial resistance to this, having been dead set on making Viktor sleep, but Viktor ignores him until Jayce takes the hint. They talk about everything, from rune theories to old memories to gossip from the Council. The latter is less interesting, but Jayce seems to appreciate the chance to vent his frustrations with it, so Viktor lets him.
“You know,” Viktor says, in a brief lapse in conversation, “you haven't spoken much about your childhood.”
“I haven't?” Jayce looks surprised. “Huh. I guess I thought it would bore you to tears, hearing about all that.”
“Perhaps it will,” Viktor says flippantly. “Perhaps then I can sleep.”
Jayce visibly lights up at that, the eager man that he is, and then jumps right into a story about the first time he broke a bone as a kid. It's a simple story, made entertaining by how embarrassed Jayce is when describing how his mother worried over him for months after the fact, and it's quickly followed by a series of similar tales of the same caliber.
It takes a long time after that for Viktor to fall asleep. From anyone else, it would've taken seconds, but he had evidently underestimated his fascination with the anomaly that was Jayce Talis. Viktor unwittingly finds himself clinging to every word, to the small glimpses of Jayce that he hasn’t had the chance to experience. He can tell from the way that Jayce speaks that these memories are special. Sacred.
At some point, though, not even he can fight the tide of exhaustion. The lack of sleep and overworking of his mind and body has unleashed a debt upon him, and he is helpless but to repay it now.
When Viktor does finally fall asleep, it’s to the low, familiar murmur of Jayce’s voice beside him.