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“Never?” Viktor asked, quirking an eyebrow and dragging his eyes down to Jayce's prosthetic. “You mean to tell me you had a leg removed and immediately began to walk again?”
The nice part about being a paralympic athlete was that most of your fellow athletes understood wheelchairs very well. It just so happened that Viktor had ended up being acquainted with an engineering professor by day, paralympic swimmer by night, Jayce Talis, who did not, and had a million questions about his wheelchair that he begrudgingly admitted interested him as well. Engineers understood each other, that's all.
“Well, no,” Jayce protested, gesturing a little as he walked alongside Viktor down the hallway of the storage unit, “obviously right after my surgery I used one, but it sucked. I couldn't get out of it fast enough.”
“Mm. Uncomfortable seat, horribly wide, strained your shoulders reaching over the armrests?” he asked, knowing full well the answer was yes.
“Exactly! How did you know that?” He looked up from his phone, confusion painted all over his face as he held out a picture for Viktor to look at. Jayce, pale and tired, clearly a decade younger, in a hospital. Back before people wore masks, so his face was plastered with a somewhat exhausted looking grin, but he had his elbows on the armrests and his one remaining leg extended out onto the horrendous footrests, doing two thumbs up. Behind him, a young Caitlyn Kiramman hovered nervously, hair pulled into two braids. Viktor winced heavily, looking at the ugly blue pleather of the high backrest and the word drive printed on the side.
“Well, here is your problem,” he replied, looking up from the picture and continuing down the hallway. “You are an engineer. Surely you can see how my wheelchair differs from that one. There are at least ten things wrong with the design that make it unpleasant to use.”
Jayce looked down at his phone for a moment, lost in thought, and then jogged a few steps to catch up, the blade of his prosthetic making an interesting tapping sound on the floor.
“Well, obviously the design is… I mean, it's clearly different,” he hedged, looking between the phone and Viktor's chair, clearly trying to pick the most obvious bits out.
“We're here. It is not a quiz. I will show you.”
He slowed to a stop, grabbing the handle on his storage unit and swinging around to face it. After unlocking the padlock and pushing it open, glaring at Jayce as he tried to help, he rolled inside, gesturing around.
“All terrain. My fencing chair. Other sports. Mostly basketball, which I am terrible at.” He pointed at the three chairs as he listed them off, and Jayce nodded, looking between them with big eyes.
“You don't use your fencing chair normally?” he blurted out, looking between them.
“Of course not. Look closer.”
Jayce did, of course, immediately finding the differences in the chairs and nodding with a knowledgeable “ohhh. Tubing on the side would get in the way of your arm, huh.”
“Right. Not good for daily use. Now. Look again at your picture. Air your grievances.”
“My leg was way out in front of me,” he says thoughtfully, “so I was always running into things. And my shoulders hurt from the awkward angle, and so did my ass, from sitting in it all day. And it was heavy. Your feet are closer under you. And no armrests in the way.”
Viktor nodded, smiling.
“And my cushion cost five hundred dollars, so it had better be comfortable. You had no cushion at all. Not meant for long term use, or for self propelled movement. This is a transport wheelchair. Come here.”
Viktor spun to face Jayce, grabbing his hips and turning him towards himself to eyeball his measurements. Ignoring Jayce's concerned little squawk, he turned him a little, then nodded to himself.
“Tight fit, but you should be fine to squeeze in. Here.”
He dragged the sport chair forward, gesturing at it, and Jayce visibly balked.
“What? But– what if I–”
“Break it? Please. I know you are an egotistical man, but this is titanium. Sit.”
Jayce didn't argue, though he did frown. Viktor loved to poke fun at Jayce's ego– after so many gold medals it would have been surely deserved, but Jayce was surprisingly humble, and an excellent sport about losing as well– and Jayce had given up on arguing with him. With some careful maneuvering and bracing of his prosthetic through the footplate, Jayce fell heavily into the chair and promptly yelped “woah!” as it rolled backwards with the momentum.
“Ah, yes. No brakes.”
“Could have warned me.”
“I forgot,” he shrugged, then turned in a little circle. “Tell me the differences now.”
“No brakes,” Jayce started, eyebrow raised as Viktor chuckled. Refreshing, to have someone who didn't pull punches in conversation with him. It was as if most everyone else was afraid to speak, lest his wheelchair bite them.
“The wheels are very narrow, and tilted. More straps. Is this a bumper?” Viktor nodded and he put his hands on the pushrims, rolling back and forth and little and leaning back to see the two little wheels behind him.
“More wheels. For stability, I’d guess. And the tilt–”
“Camber.”
“Camber. For maneuverability? Sharper turns.”
Viktor nodded again, gesturing to his own chair.
“Larger casters let me go over more uneven terrain. Your tiny ones are the, eh, stiletto heel of the wheelchair world. Perfectly fine for a basketball court, but you will sink into the mud immediately. You see?”
“Surface area,” Jayce said, mostly to himself, doing a little spin in place. “Can I run into the wall?”
“I would prefer it if you did not,” he replied drily. “Go for a little run down the hallway. They are made for speed.”
Jayce's whole face lit up and he wheeled himself out into the hallway, pushing carefully at first and then faster and faster as he realized he could. When he got to the end, he grabbed a wheel, accidentally pulling himself in a circle and a half before slamming into the wall with both hands, laughing brightly.
“I didn't do it on purpose!” he called down the hall, and Viktor waved a hand vaguely.
“I would rather you break the cement than your pretty face. Come on back.”
When Jayce returned to the storage unit, he was a little pink, exhilarated and grinning.
“You think my face is pretty?” he asked, teasing.
“Objectively. Everyone thinks this. Don't let it go to your head.” Viktor pointed to the all terrain chair and then flapped his hands at Jayce. “Up, up. You are not done yet.”
Jayce hesitated, then backed against a wall to stand up, so the chair didn't go flying out from behind him again. Smart boy. Another refreshing thing about Jayce– an athlete, but also a scholar. Or, as Caitlyn had called him while introducing the two of them, a big nerd. Viktor was inclined to agree, and he was something of an expert on being a big nerd, so his opinion held weight.
“Now. Check the air in the cushion first,” he cautioned him, “climate control can only do so much, and it has been a long time since I have had the stamina to go hiking.” Jayce's eyebrows went up, but he didn't comment, just pushed on the cushion with both flat hands.
“I don't know what I'm looking for,” he admitted, expressive face twisting slightly as he pressed it.
“As long as your hands do not hit the seat pan,” he replied, “then it is probably fine. Go ahead and sit. Your weight will redistribute the air in the pockets. I find it to be less comfortable than my normal cushion, but still good.” He had used the Roho for years before getting tired of adjusting the air in it every couple of weeks and opted for something with fluid instead.
Jayce struggled his way into the chair, after locking the brakes this time, and then unlocked again.
“It's easier with the locks, huh?” he asked, pushing around a little and raising his eyebrows. “Wow, this one is totally different. Bigger, what did you say? Casters? And–”
He swiveled and leaned back, just as Viktor started to say “be careful, there aren't–” and immediately lost balance, flipping the whole chair and landing on his back. Luckily, the twist had put his hands close enough to the ground so he could catch himself, and he didn't slam the back of his head against the floor. He was, however, reduced to a flailing set of limbs as he tried to right himself, eventually giving up to roll out of the chair entirely, sit it back upright, and climb back into it awkwardly.
“So, there are no anti-tip wheels,” Viktor said, grimacing apologetically.
“That I noticed,” Jayce replied, frowning, before bursting into entertained laughter that Viktor couldn't help but match. He didn't fuss over Jayce– he was a grown man, after all– but his eyes did scan over his arms to make sure he wasn't hurt.
“The tread on these is crazy,” Jayce noted, wheeling around the little room and spinning in place. It was noticeably slower, and made a frankly horrendous noise on the concrete. “And where are the… hand holds?”
“There are no push rims. You simply grab the whole wheel.”
“These are… Viktor, are these bike tires?” Jayce looked up, a little incredulous.
“They are. Take it up the hallway, but keep your weight forward. I have something like forty percent more leg than you do, your center of gravity is off for my chair. And do not run into the wall again, there is no bumper protecting your foot.”
Jayce hesitated before heading out to the hallway, keeping his shoulders forward as he rolled down the hall, much slower than before.
“Are you being cautious?” Viktor teased, and Jayce turned, shaking his head.
“No, not at all. There's more resistance. You probably need air in your tires,” he said, pushing back. “It's harder to stop with nothing but the wheel to grab.”
“For hiking, I would wear full fingered gloves.”
He holds up his hands, showing his custom wheelchair gloves, only the thumbs full, the fingers cropped at his knuckle.
“Out and about I wear these. It is hard to stop when you are at the whims of gravity. Try a wheelie.”
Jayce balked, looking down.
“Viktor, I already fell once.”
“So you know it will not kill you. Might as well, no? Just crunch your abs and pull your knee up, hands on the wheels. If you turtle, keep your head forward.”
“Turtle?”
“Eh, it is just what we call it. You know how a turtle gets stuck on its back.”
It took Jayce a few tries, but he eventually ended up in a pretty successful wheelie, rocking back and forth to maintain his balance, even with the blade of his leg out in front of himself awkwardly.
“Why aren't you demonstrating?” he asked, eyebrow raised, trying to move forward and falling back onto the caster wheels.
“My backrest,” he gestured, “and my backpack. Too much weight. I can hop over things like the curb cuts or cracks in the sidewalk, but I do not hold it well. Plus, my abdominal muscles are weaker than yours.”
He let his eyes linger on Jayce's chest and abdomen for just a moment, smirking when he covered himself with his thick arms.
“Could you do it in this one?”
Jayce had a point. The backrest of the hiking chair was lower, since it was from a time when he had less support needs. And there was no backpack, because he just wore the backpack on himself, back when he used to hike.
“Probably. But you are doing just fine on your own.”
Jayce took the dismissal well, going back to practicing his wheelies, and Viktor took out his phone to take pictures of him failing to send to Caitlyn. The silence was companionable, filled only with Jayce's quiet cursing when he fell.
“Do you ever miss it?” Jayce asked suddenly, looking over to Viktor, a complicated look on his face.
“Miss what?” he asked in return, tilting his head.
“Walking.”
Jayce wasn't looking at him, but his eyes flickered towards him as he hauled himself up from his chair, taking careful, measured, wobbly steps across the storage unit to stand in front of Jayce.
“I do walk,” he replied, wobbling slightly in place. Jayce's hands shot out, and then hovered on either side of his hips, not willing to touch him without permission. It was Viktor that crossed the line, settling on Jayce's thigh and hooking a leg over his lap. Permission granted, Jayce let his hands fall onto him, one wrapped around his waist, the other on his leg. He was warm, so warm, and comfortable despite the tension that sat in his frame. Perhaps the fact that he'd never touched Viktor like this before. Perhaps just the fear of turtling the wheelchair again.
“I know that. But… walking normally, I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” Viktor responded, but didn't quite answer the question. Silence stretched on for a long moment, Jayce clearly deep in thought.
“I miss it,” he said finally, “I miss it all the time. Being able to get up in the night and just walk to go piss, you know, or leave the house in a hurry if I'm running late. I miss when walking was something I could do without having to wait for pre-approval from my insurance company. I've got the best damn insurance in the world, you know, pay out the ass for it. And they decide how often I'm allowed a damn leg.”
He sighed, eyebrows pinched.
“And I miss when I was just… don't laugh. I miss when I was just good looking, not good looking for a disabled person, you know? When people saw me first and not my leg.”
At some point during his little speech, Viktor's hand fell onto the back of Jayce's, rubbing gently back and forth with his thumb. He let him talk, and then waited to hear if he was done, and then waited a little more, to let him think.
“I think you and I are different in a lot of ways,” Viktor started, thoughtful.
“I have always been like this, Jayce. I have never experienced being seen without my disability. I have never been able to ‘walk normally.’ From the day I was born, I was a poor cripple. For a long time, I tried not to let people see, tried not to let it define me. But it does. It is just not the only thing that defines me. Does that make sense?”
Jayce hesitated, then nodded, looking a little abashed.
“I guess even having gotten to experience being abled for a time is a privilege,” he admitted, embarrassment tingeing his words.
“In a way,” Viktor agreed, shrugging a little, “and not, in others. You know what you are missing, and you mourn it. I have never known anything else, so it impacts me less. Or, differently. But, well.”
He chuckled humorlessly with a little kick to the wheel of the hiking chair.
“I do miss the days before these. When my crutch was enough, and I did not need to add fifteen minutes to every arrival time to find an accessible spot to unload and build my chair. It was certainly simpler. So at least you are not alone in being inconvenienced by your leg.”
Jayce looked at him, finally, a faint smile on his face.
“They really need to invent a leg that isn't inconvenient, huh?” he asked, squeezing Viktor a little.
“I would drink to that,” Viktor agreed with a sigh. “But even if they did, we probably couldn't afford one, hm? Insurance wouldn't cover it.”
“Don't get me started,” Jayce groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I get a new one, what, every five years, I think? And it's still thousands of dollars. I'm just lucky I can afford one at all. Insurance decides no leg, you get no leg unless you've got fifty grand to spare.”
“My first few wheelchairs I purchased myself.”
Viktor gestured to his chair, abandoned across the room.
“Five thousand dollars. I can walk, you saw it. So it is not medically necessary.”
“Fuck insurance companies,” Jayce said vehemently, and Viktor chuckled, nodding.
“Fuck insurance companies indeed. Take me back to my chair, Jayce.”
Jayce looked wounded, realizing he'd have to let go of Viktor to propel the chair. But he wound his thin arms around his shoulders, holding on, and Jayce begrudgingly let go to slowly push himself across the room and pull up in front of the chair, letting Viktor transfer from his legs over to his own chair.
“That was terrifying,” he said once Viktor was safely seated again.
“My transfer? Or being emotionally vulnerable with a near stranger you met at the Paralympics?” Viktor asked, teasing only visible in the way his eyes crinkled.
“You're not a stranger!” Jayce protested, looking wounded. And indeed, they'd spent more time together than Viktor had spent with almost any other person in his life, Jayce just fitting himself into his life like it was nothing. Like they had known each other for their whole lives. And it felt like that, too, almost as if they had been around each other forever, like they had simply clicked.
“Perhaps so,” he acquiesced, eyes twinkling in entertainment. “Then I will assume you meant the risk of turtling again as I left your lap. Which would have been objectively very funny.”
“It's not funny!” Jayce huffed, pouting. He was always so free with his emotions, so expressive.
“It is a little funny.”
Viktor unlocked, rolling forward a little to hook his leg around the caster wheel and knock his knees against Jayce's.
“Do not look so wounded. I don't think you are a stranger either. And I am glad you are, eh… comfortable with me.”
Jayce looked a little flushed, smiling at Viktor.
“Of course I am. You're… something else.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, patting Jayce's knee and backing up. “Come, biped. Let us get you back on your feet.”
Jayce shook his head a little, blinking hard, and started to scoot forward before remembering and snapping the brakes on. With a bit of finagling, he was back on his feet, shifting his weight between his leg and the blade of his prosthetic.
“Alright,” he nodded, lifting the entire chair and putting it back where he'd found it. Viktor's eyebrows raised a little, but he didn't say anything. Naturally, Jayce was stronger than him. These chairs wouldn't weigh much to him.
“Thank you for showing me,” he said softly, a big hand on Viktor's shoulder as he locked up.
“Of course. It is… refreshing, to have someone interested in more than just the basics. Next time, we will discuss the difference between mono and dual tube designs.”
“Next time?” Jayce asked, voice full of hope.
“Next time,” he replied, and it was as much of a promise as anything.