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Consciousness returns to Jayce in abrupt waves. He opens his eyes and sees Mel, lying on the floor, fighting for every single breath. Her long fingers are clutching to something invisible, her hand twitches in a fruitless attempt to rise and remove that gigantic piece of glass that sticks out of her adornment. Her dress is stained with blood – more white on red than red on white.
Jayce blinks. A moment passes (it could as well have been an eternity). When Jayce opens his eyes again, Mel is not fighting anymore.
But Jayce starts. Even though it seems impossible. Even though billions of small shards are covering him in the gentlest way. Even though the tiredness of the past days has finally decided to announce itself.
Mel is not fighting anymore, but Jayce has to, because there should be other people who continue fighting – and they need Jayce’s help.
He turns his head first – and sees Viktor, lying almost next to him, eyes closed; his chest rises and falls, and Jayce has no idea who he should thank for that.
Fabric of his clothes is torn in several places, baring pale flesh, but it’s not flesh that makes Jayce shiver.
It’s not the best time to think about it, not the best time to occupy his thoughts when it’s his body that should act. There will be time for questions and regrets, but first, he has to carry Viktor as far as possible from this place.
Jayce straightens up, breathing heavily; glass from his body crumbles on the floor.
***
It’s the second time Jayce sees Viktor interlaced with tubes and wires, and he hopes it will be that last time.
“Tell me everything,” Jayce says; he wants to take Viktor’s hand in his, but Viktor’s mutilated hand is the one that is closer to Jayce and he doesn’t take it. It’s not disgust, Jayce tells himself. He just needs more time to adjust to Viktor looking like that.
Viktor does tell Jayce everything. About the Hexcore, about Sky – Jayce listens to him, hunching in his seat, burying his face into locked fingers. Jayce sees how deeply he is upset, how deeply Viktor’s sorrow lies; and he says – although words almost stuck in the dry mouth - risking to forever share his guilt, “I understand.”
Jayce doesn’t, but he already lost so much that he can’t allow to lose Viktor.
He only hopes that time will let him if not to understand, then to forgive.
***
Ignorant and indifferent sun smiles mockingly at Jayce; he loosens the collar of his white jacket, feeling as the bile rises up in his throat.
Ambessa stands before Mel’s grave like a statue, like a tombstone; and, as it happens when the tombstone is erected on the freshly dug dirt, she is sinking into it, not looking threateningly anymore.
Jayce takes a deep breath and, as if powered up by the oxygen, takes a step forward.
“I am so sorry,” he says, like it is his fault. It is – and it is not, and that makes Jayce’s head spin.
“You know what you have to do,” Ambessa says; her voice cuts the flesh of the cemetery silence like a rusty blade. “My army is at your service.”
Mel wouldn’t want that, but she is dead, and Jayce is left to deal with the mess that their idealism brought upon Piltover, so it doesn’t matter what she would want. Although Jayce wonders, for a second, what she would do.
(If it had been him instead of her everything would have been easier. But Jayce is here and she is not, and he is doing it for her even if she wouldn’t do it for him.)
“I will take whatever help I can get.”
***
The young man salutes Jayce, standing before his desk – and Jayce almost does the same. It’s easy to fall into this game of war; he has to remind himself that he is not a general, just a desperate man in a desperate time.
Martin – that’s his name – is so young that the first wrinkles are yet to touch his freckled forehead. He hasn’t made it high up into the chain of enforcers command, but Jayce didn’t personally choose him because he cares about such a trivial matter as rank. Martin’s mother – Jayce doesn’t know her name, because he can’t give them faces - died on that day and the boy wants blood. He is eager, zealous, he thinks he has nothing to lose. It’s not something Jayce would look for in a leader in any other circumstances, but it seems fitting now.
“Our first priority is to find Jinx,” Jayce says – and then, because there is no place for hints here, he adds, “Leave no stone unturned. If any resistance arises, break it.”
“Yes, sir!” Martin replies eagerly. His voice cracks between two s, and Jayce has to dig his nails into his palm to suppress shiver.
***
“I need you to stay here for a while,” Jayce says.
The furnace behind him is red hot, but Viktor’s gaze burns with such unfamiliar coldness that Jayce instinctively hides his hands into the pockets of his pants.
“Is it absolutely necessary?” Viktor asks, leaning heavily on his crutch. Jayce’s eyes stop on his grey fingers for a second – he averts them instantly.
“No. But it’s safe,” Jayce lies. Nowhere is safe – but here it feels safer than everywhere else. “I will have someone bring whatever you need.”
He pauses, carefully watching Viktor’s reaction.
“We should stop working on Hextech for the time being,” Jayce continues. It’s not a political decision – his own, he tells himself. He can’t imagine returning to something that brought such chaos.
He can’t imagine returning to peaceful work when they are at war.
“I agree.”
“And the Hexcore?”
“I have already destroyed it,” Viktor says quickly.
“It is for the best,” Jayce reaches to his shoulder, but the touch never happens.
***
Jayce hits the table with his fist and the wood shivers plaintively.
Before his eyes, there is a list of people whose face he has never seen and will never see. An index of graves. Jayce crumples the paper in his fist, because there is one familiar name, right on the top of the list.
Martin will never get old, but Jayce feels like he is aging momentarily for the both of them.
***
“I need you to make something,” Jayce says to Viktor’s hunched back. Words leave a new taste in his mouth; they have never worked like that before, always partners and not – not whatever they are now.
He places the blueprint before Viktor. Viktor, after a second of stillness, brings the paper closer to his face.
“It’s an armour. A weapon… I am not condoning a terrorist, but…”
“A defence,” Jayce stresses. “Our people are dying.”
“Our people…” The grey finger smears the graphite line of the drawing. “I will do it.”
“Thank you.”
Jayce wants to touch his shoulder again - the force of habit - but the moment Viktor starts leaning into the touch, Jayce pulls away.
***
Jayce hears himself screaming first; his awakening follows the sound, violently returning Jayce into the land of living. He is all sticky, sweaty – and the cold hand on the back of his neck is both a blessing and a curse.
Viktor is standing above him, pressing on his skin with a metallic hand – and it’s somehow both new and old, unexpected and expected. Jayce withdraws from the touch, hoping that his movements look natural.
“What are you wearing?” Jayce asks in a hoarse voice.
Viktor looks like a villain from children’s stories. More ridiculous than fearsome.
“You asked me to…” Viktor licks his lips. “To make an armour for you. I had to test it, somehow, but – more tests are needed. I am not sure how much impact it can take.”
“We don’t have time for this. Just give me the prototype.”
In the crimson light of the forge, Viktor’s eyes seem almost black. He opens his mouth – to protest, perhaps, but instantly closes it.
“Naturally,” Viktor says after a pause.
***
Jayce sends the prototype to manufacturers and four days later gets another list with names. There is nothing wrong with the armour, the intel states – it’s just Zaunites, somehow, were prepared for that. They answered with new weaponry – and Jayce can’t throw his forces to investigate who supplied them, but he knows exactly what to do.
“The suit,” Jayce starts, pacing the room. “It’s not working.”
“I told you…”
“No, it’s… The craft is flawless.” Jayce swallows anxiously. “But they are still dying.”
He doesn’t want to tell Viktor that there is a real reason why they are dying and he can’t explain why.
“Have you ever thought that the issue might be of a different nature?”
Jayce turns to Viktor. There is no face to talk to, but Jayce is already used to that.
“What do you mean?”
“Your soldiers are afraid.”
“It’s natural. They are people.”
“And their humanity brings them down.”
That’s not what Jayce wants to hear. He wants Viktor’s silent support, wants Viktor’s readiness to follow. Jayce used to enjoy their differences, their arguments, their little disputes over how things are supposed to work – but never over why - found them stimulating – will, one day, find them stimulating again, but it’s not the time.
It’s not the time to think about where this problem with humanity comes from. Jayce firmly believes that this is what brings them forward – his own humanity brings them forward.
“I want you to attach the Hex Claw to the suit.”
“I thought you wanted to protect them,” Viktor mutters under his breath, but no sound can escape from the heated space of the forge. “I will need the crystals for this.”
No, Jayce thinks. There are old ways to power it up. But he knows that Viktor is right, even though Jayce doesn’t want him to be. Old ways will never be as efficient.
“I’ll ask someone to deliver them to you. Start working right away.”
***
Viktor corrects the prototype; a week passes and, instead of fifty, he receives only fifteen names. Jayce breathes out in relief, feeling as his lips stretch into a smile. It’s a small victory – and he is yet to find Jinx - but Jayce is too tired of losing to be disappointed.
For the first time in eternity, the sunset that illuminates his temporary office is not crimson.
Jayce takes it as a moment of respite – not because he particularly wants it, but because he needs to, can’t continue like that, always pulled as a string and ready for another decision he would normally regret.
Viktor instantly comes to his mind. His mere presence used to calm Jayce when he was angry or disappointed, or exhausted. They barely talk now; Jayce comes to the forge only when he needs something from Viktor and Viktor doesn’t even look him in the eyes, probably ashamed of what he has done.
Although this is something they have in common. Whenever Jayce sees him, he freezes, not knowing how to behave around what Viktor has become. Jayce scolds himself. Yes, Viktor betrayed their ideals – but he is very aware of that. Hasn’t Viktor done enough to deserve Jayce’s forgiveness? He destroyed the Hexcore – their fruit of discord – readily and voluntarily. He has been nothing but supportive, compliant, convenient – and Jayce is sure it was not easy for Viktor, but Jayce is grateful for that nonetheless.
But today, Jayce suddenly remembers that they are friends, first and foremost, and nostalgia of their past closeness overcomes him. He wants to see Viktor, wants to have a normal conversation with him once more – and, most importantly, he wants to touch Viktor without restraining himself, because Viktor is still Viktor. He proved that it was just one mistake and not a tendency, he proved his loyalty.
***
“I was right,” Jayce says, squeezing Viktor in his arms. Viktor stills, but Jayce doesn’t hear any complaints. The only thing Jayce can think of is how good it feels to finally hold Viktor, to be close to him. There is some celebratory triumph in Jayce – both because he almost conquered the battlefield and because he is finally able to forgive Viktor. “The Hex Claw works. Our losses decreased.”
“How about Zaun’s losses?” Viktor’s voice is small. Vulnerable. Soft.
What difference does that make?
“We don’t count them.”
It’s hard to tell what Viktor thinks when he pulls away, gently freeing himself from Jayce’s arms. He quickly returns to his seat and Jayce drags a stool from across the room. He sits back to back with Viktor, feeling Viktor’s spine with his.
“Sometimes I fail to understand if you are trying to keep your sanity or to lose it,” Viktor says.
It’s difficult for Jayce to hear this. He didn’t come here to be criticized. He swallows this hurt – Viktor doesn’t know how painful it is to lose.
To lose people, of course – even though Jayce doesn’t know them.
“I am just trying to survive. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“That’s what scares me the most.”
Jayce shakes his head.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“As you wish.”
***
Commander Jayce Talis, - the cursed cursive states. Jayce shifts in his seat – it’s another force of habit; he realizes, with a surprise, that this word doesn’t bother him anymore. Our forces have detected an unusual spike of Shimmer consumption on the streets. It is yet unknown who and for what reason renewed the production, as well as the location of the factory, but the enemy forces affected by the Shimmer demonstrate an unusual resistance. Awaiting your orders.
Jayce feels like he is competing with time again and that every new objective averts his attention from the most important goal. Jinx. But it’s impossible and foolish to poke the beehive and expect the only one particular bee to come out.
Deal with them, - it’s Jayce’s answer for most questions these days, because he doesn’t care for subtlety, he doesn’t care for who and what for. He wants justice and for the war to end. Whatever it takes.
Whatever it takes, because, on the second piece of paper before him, there are sixty names today.
***
Before the war started, Jayce had never expected that it would be so difficult to find a single person on such a small territory.
Before the war started, Jayce had never expected that the territory was not small at all.
When Jayce comes to forge in the morning one day, those thoughts do not seem ridiculous anymore, because Viktor is not there and Jayce can’t find him.
His workplace looks like Viktor has just left – in a hurry, too. It’s probably nothing; Viktor wouldn’t betray him again.
Jayce leaves the forge; there are more important things to do than waiting for Viktor. But he will return in the evening. And then, Viktor will explain himself and everything will be fine.
***
“Where have you been this morning?”
The footsteps ricochet from the walls as Jayce approaches Viktor.
“Here. As you told me.” Viktor is writing something; his hand moves up and down over the desk.
Viktor is lying to him and Jayce’s heart skips a beat. Hope that everything will be fine slowly crumbles – and, from the pieces of it, a whole picture comes together into one twisted jigsaw puzzle.
Or – or not. There is one last thread of faith; Jayce is ready to clutch to it until his final breath. Because Viktor – he could not, he has been there the whole time, he wouldn’t – not against Jayce, his only friend, his partner, his…
A tiny paranoid whisper supplies that Viktor absolutely would and Jayce were too blind to notice it.
“Look at me.” Not Jayce’s voice but the echo of it pierces the room.
Viktor does – Jayce already knows, somehow, that this is the first and the last time when Viktor does exactly what Jayce tells him to. He rises from his seat and turns around. Black sclera outlines the golden irises when Viktor raises his eyes on Jayce. The bulged veins on his neck dimly glim with angry violet.
Jayce shivers, taking a step back. He understands now, completely and irreversibly and this is the first and the last time he wishes he didn’t.
“You didn’t destroy the Hexcore, did you? Don’t tell me you are hiding her, too?” Jayce asks; there is no anger in his tone just – just fatal weariness.
“No. I am just protecting my people.”
“They are resisting. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t…”
“They are resisting because you violently invited yourself into their home. What would you do if you were them?”
Viktor is right and he is not, and Jayce wants to find an excuse for himself and it’s so much more difficult to do when he stands before Viktor.
“Will you try to stop me?” Viktor asks almost innocently.
Jayce clenches and unclenches his fists desperately. He knows he should. He knows Viktor will try to stop him next time they meet, has been trying to stop him for a long time.
“You are free to go. Today. But I can’t promise…”
“No need,” Viktor aligns with Jayce, side by side, puts his cold hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Here,” he says, raising a little, pressing with his mouth to the corner of Jayce’s lips. And Jayce presses back, almost instinctively, in a despondent attempt to prolong the touch, in a desperate attempt to express miserable don’t go I can fix this - but Viktor withdraws. “I have always wanted to do that.”
Viktor smiles – and there is nothing cheerful in this smile.
“Why haven’t you?”
“I thought you would not understand. Goodbye, Jayce.”