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“Gimme a sec, ‘kay Misty?”
“Alright, take your time.” She says though they both know she doesn’t have any time left. The gate creaks as Misty closes it behind her. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Silence falls over them. Viktor sits on his stool, eyes glued to the dark screen in front of him.
Penelope takes half a step towards him, “Vik… I wanted to—” The words catch. She doesn’t know what she wants to say. Something, anything to make the situation better. She’s running towards death, and she can't say anything. Her fingers knot together, stomach-turning. He’s not looking at her; She’s staring down at the floor. His jaw is tensed, his whole body wound tight, his leg bouncing. When she speaks, her voice is strained, “You’re mad… I know…” Is all she can say.
His leg stills. Hand curling into a fist, he slams it down onto his desk. She doesn’t jump, but her fingers tighten around each other, and she sucks in a breath. His tools clatter against the table, and one falls to the floor. Viktor sighs, muttering an apology. He removes his sunglasses, squeezing his fingers over his eyes, “V, I’m not— I’m not mad.”
She swallows, he was very clearly mad, but she nods anyway, “Okaaay…”
Viktor stands, placing his glasses on the table. He finally looks at her, “Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?” Anxiety is heavy in his voice. He steps closer to her, close enough to feel the warmth from his body, see the freckles on his cheeks.
Teeth dig into her bottom lip, still avoiding his gaze, “I didn’t want to worry you anymore.” Guilt rises like bile in her throat. She remembers the defeat on his face when he told her about the biochip, the pain in his voice at Jackie’s funeral. He didn’t need anymore.
Her skin warms as he cups her jaw, calloused hand gently tilting her head up to look at him, “Let me worry about you sweetheart, it’s better than not knowing.”
Her fingers twitch, resisting the urge to reach up to him, to touch him. Comfort him in some way, as he did for her. His thumb strokes her cheek, and her chest aches. As always, he’s careful in the way he touches her, tender but firm.
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t apologizing for not telling him. If she hadn’t visited him that night before the heist, maybe if she hadn’t kissed him, it wouldn’t hurt so much. For good luck, she had said, it was almost funny now.
“I’m not mad, V. I’m furious. At Silverhand, at you,” He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips ghosting over the shell of her ear, “At Misty for givin’ you those damn pills.”
“She was just—”
“I know, I know.” He rests his forehead on hers, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from his green eyes, filled with grief, “Just please don’t roll over and die.”
She places one hand over the one on her cheek, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand, leaning into his touch. Her other hand twines with his, “Viktor…” I love you , “Don’t forget me.” Breath mingling, she can almost feel his lips brush against her own. They can’t. It’s not fair. She doesn’t want to be another goodbye, another person he’s lost.
“V, I—”
“Penelope. My name, my actual name.” It was strange, like she was giving him a piece of her. If she didn’t come back, she wanted Viktor to know. She didn’t want to be just V to him.
Suddenly, his arms are around her, holding her as if she might disappear if he let go. His masculine scent envelops her. His chest is warm against hers. For a moment, she lets herself indulge in his safety, his strength. For a moment, she didn’t feel exhausted, a stranger in her own body. Like everything that had happened to her was just a bad dream, and she could be with the man she loved.
“You come back to me, Penelope.” He says her name with such care. It rumbles in his chest and fills the hollows of her heart. And she knew that it would be safe with him.