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At first, he was certain that it was just the way she behaved. This wildfire of a person that Jackie had introduced him to had walked into the clinic, nose busted and chin red as a cherry, taking him completely by surprise. He thought that it was just another kid from the city streets, another ne'er-do-well that Jackie had met on a job that would end up in a gang or a ditch. Maybe she was some rocker that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Then she smiled.
A girl with blood coating half her face and the collar of her shirt, bruised badly and dirtied all over, and she was smiling—laughing as though the world did not scare her. She and Jackie spoke of returning to the streets, to the jobs that awaited them, and he saw no fear in her eyes.
They met and shook hands, her grasp being so gentle, fighting against his first impression of her. She was polite, kept a friendly distance from him and his things and kept her hands to herself. Not to say she seemed helpless. No, he was certain almost right away that she wasn't.
Perhaps it was when she sat still and pushed through the pain of him cleaning up her blood and checking on the state of her nose. The way she held her breath then cursed quietly at the aching. She treated it like a minor nuisance, something she was used to and would soon forget. She was from the streets, alright.
Over the next few weeks, she returned. No broken nose, but a few wounds left unattended that could otherwise get infected. He said as much, baffled when she disregarded them as small cuts. Still, he plopped her down into the chair and treated them, determined to keep her healthy. No one walked out of Viktor's clinic untreated.
That's all it was.
The weeks became months as Jackie and V became Vik's most regular clients. He still wasn't certain whether that was a good thing or not, but they were alive. That was all that mattered. It did not entirely register to him that they trusted him the most, or that they considered him a friend, or that he cared more about their lives than the lives of his other clients. The only difference was that with others, it was strictly business. With them—Jackie, Misty, V—they cared about him, too.
Perhaps it was V walking into his clinic every now and then just to say hello—without any expectations or treatments required. Perhaps it was that sometimes, when she and Jackie would drop by and leave, she'd stay a few moments longer at the end for the same reason. Perhaps it was the occasional pat on the shoulder or kiss on the cheek, telling him he's the best, as a way of thanking him. Perhaps it was the way in which her face lit up and expression brightened when she found out he used to be a professional boxer.
Something caused the questions to eventually bubble up in his mind. What could it be? What was that feeling inside his chest every time he saw her come in and every time she'd flash that smile of hers before waving goodbye? What was causing him to feel so excited to see her?
Of course, he did not see the way in which she'd hype herself up before coming into his clinic every time, especially in the recent weeks. He did not know about the little inner monologue she'd have about him whenever she'd catch him carrying something far heavier than himself, or working so hard that he broke a sweat. He did not even know about the ways she watched his body when he and Jackie trained together in the corner of his clinic. They apparently trained often, but the first time she had actually watched, she was completely mesmerized and he had no idea.
All he knew was that since then, she'd asked him if she could hear about his boxing stories, that if he could tell her all about his days in training and days in the ring, how it felt, how excited he'd get, how broken he'd feel after a defeat. She seemed to want to know every little detail that he'd have brought up in passing with anyone else. V asked for them. Yet again, he did not notice the look she gave him when he obliged her request.
It wasn't until one night that they had all found themselves in Misty's shop, V and Jackie perched in the chairs while Vik and Misty stood. The couple spoke of wanting to have a night for all four of them. A dinner, a club, a party, at home—it did not matter, but they wanted to gather with their two friends and have a good evening together.
They'd agreed to do it that very night, and they gathered at some cosy restaurant near the Esoterica. Each of them were out of their street clothes, wearing something they liked, something comfortable, something that wasn't meant for work or fighting or anything formal.
It was seeing V dressed the way she was, standing from the empty table just to greet him when they were the first ones there. It was how she wore that long-sleeved dress of hers that cut short halfway down her thigh, and those high boots to go with it. It was how her hair flowed freely and vibrant in the golden lights of the restaurant, cascading around her shoulders effortlessly. It was how her eyes glistened with pure joy when she gave him that smile again. The smile he first saw when he met her, but now so full of adoration, and only meant for him.
He took her hand then, felt that powerful thrumming in his chest that dared to ruin him forever, and he smiled back.
He knew right then what he was feeling.
He knew.
He was in deep, deep trouble.