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Darkness greeted him kindly once he managed to crack his eyes open.
He didn’t get to keep them open for long though, as the sudden, nauseating wave of pain surging through every cell of his body forced him to shut them tight again.
It’d probably be easier to tell what didn’t hurt. Though most of the pain lessened a little when he stopped trying to move, his head seemed to hurt in the most persistent way – a dull, throbbing sensation, somewhere behind his eyeballs, as if something was slowly but fiercely trying to break out of his sinuses.
Next in line was his left shoulder. Against some deeper, wiser part of his brain telling him to just lie still and assess, he tentatively tried to lift his arm, even managed to do so, but he was quickly forced to let it drop again as a flash of white-hot pain burst from the joint. The fact that he was able to move it though, even a little, meant one thing: the head of his left humerus was, thankfully, still in its socket. The rest of the damage he could deal with later.
His palms and knuckles were wrapped in something that felt like pieces of gauze and soft, linen cloth - judging from the way the material stretched as he carefully curled his fingers into fists. He reached out slowly with his right hand and his fingertips met cold, unyielding metal. Despite using his less indisposed extremity, the movement still came to him with a certain difficulty, but what was relieving was that despite the overwhelming, ever-present pain, his body still seemed to be under his control, without anything external limiting his movements.
His arms weren’t bound or chained in any way.
Upon further investigation, he realized that none of his limbs were, for that matter.
His back was cushioned by something soft and slightly rough in texture; he was in a bed, then, most likely. A narrow one, with simple, welded framework that he was able to touch earlier, and a thin mattress on top of it that prevented the metal bars from digging into his spine.
It wasn't his bed, though; that he could tell for sure even without opening his eyes.
His throat constricted on itself stubbornly when he tried to swallow the viscous, bitter saliva coating the insides of his mouth. A hint of chilling panic pooled low in his stomach, and he desperately tried to focus on his breathing in an attempt not to lose the faint, disintegrating remnants of control he still had over his own mind and body. Part of him hoped not letting the terror overtake him would eventually subdue the headache enough to allow him to take a proper look at whatever was around him. After what felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than a few heartbeats, his breathing evened again; except it only made him even more aware of the way his ribs ached with every deeper inhale he took.
Struggling wouldn't get him anywhere, that should've been obvious to him by now. He relcutantly allowed his muscles to relax, and let head fall back onto the thin mattress. He waited for a few moments, and once the dizzying, nauseating pounding in his head retreated into a more tolerable throbbing, he attempted to open his eyes again.
The pain, thankfully, didn’t return with the same intensity as before. Still – few seconds passed before his vision could adjust and he was able to gather something more from his surroundings than just blurry stacks of monochrome shapes.
The white, almost surgical ceiling that hung above him only confirmed his earlier speculations.
Though it wasn’t a place he’d ever consider as safe, he still recognized it in a heartbeat. The same heartbeat that stuttered painfully inside his chest, in some kind of grotesque mix of fear and sentiment, that seemed to flood the sparse empty space around his lungs and underneath his sternum, making him feel like he was suddenly pushed underwater.
It was fine, though.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been here.
He shifted on the mattress, one inch at a time, waiting for a few seconds between each movement for the pain spikes to die down, until he was able to move his head and look at something other than the ceiling without exacerbating the headache any further.
The walls, wooden floortiles, all the sparse furniture – despite being shrouded in smoky darkness, they were all still awfully, painfully familiar to him.
Just as familiar as the pair of pale, glowing eyes, staring at him silently from the furthest, darkest corner of the room.
Were he any other man, someone sane perhaps, with their survival instincts intact, the sight would probably make every fiber in his body contract in terror, the surge of adrenaline forcing him to fight or flee for his life, despite the agony that crippled him.
However, it only made his cracked lips stretch in a small, uttterly pathetic smile.
“You’re alive, then,” stated a deep, heavy accented voice.
Viktor didn’t move even an inch throughout that time. He stood with his back against the wall, still as a statue, with his two arms crossed in front of his armored chest and the third, additional one hovering above his left shoulder like an aggravated viper.
“I’d beg to differ,” Jayce cut back, though it came out more like a hoarse whisper than the confident retort he intended it to be.
“You’d beg for anything,” it was probably meant as an insult, but for some reason, Jayce couldn't help but think that Viktor’s quiet, level voice sounded more tired than malicious, “especially if it came from me.”
Jayce huffed out weakly, the treacherous fondness slowly melting away the fear inside him, then let his eyes fall shut again, as keeping them open apparently required too much effort from him. The soft rustling sound indicated that Viktor finally decided to move from his spot across the room, and the rough, loud in the otherwise quiet environment scraping of wood against wood had to mean he took a chair to sit somewhere near.
“Why are you here yet again?” Viktor’s metallic voice rung out considerably closer, which aligned with Jayce’s predictions. The way he deliberately emphasized the last part of the question explained why Viktor sounded tired, more than anything else. “One would think that the Defender of Tomorrow has more important past-time activities than uncontrolled alcohol consumption and picking fights in the filthiest corners of the Undercity.”
Jayce shrugged out of habit. The pain in his shoulder flared up again before he could fully commit to the gesture. He let out a low hiss, curling in on himself in what probably was a rather pathetic display.
Viktor sighed; a rough and staticky sound, processed by the modulator in his mask. “One would at least think that afterwards, the magnificent Defender doesn’t drag whatever remains of his filthy body to my workshop at an ungodly hour, to then promptly bleed out on my doorstep.”
“We both know I had nowhere else to go,” Jayce intercepted weakly.
“You shouldn’t have come here in the first place!” Viktor snarled suddenly, the tightly-contained anger flaring up in his voice and breaking through his level tone.
There was silence afterwards, then a quiet exhale as the Herald centered himself again.
“You shouldn’t have kept coming back.”
Jayce’s eyes snapped open in alarm at the rise of Viktor’s voice, but he quickly averted his gaze, knowing that if he looked at him for too long, it’d only aggravate him further. A lot of things did. Most of his self-perservation insincts had died a long time ago already, and he couldn’t help those next few words from spilling from his mouth.
“There’s nothing left for me up there.”
“There was never anything for you here, either,” Viktor’s voice was once again devoid of emotion, despite his earlier outburst, “and it remains beyond me why you keep insisting otherwise.”
The words meant to hurt, and they did just that.
Jayce swallowed with effort against the bitter, swelling sensation in his throat, knowing well that Viktor was well aware of the reason why he was drawn to the Undercity. Why he kept coming back, over and over again, despite his endeavors there ending the same way every single time.
Despite all the augmentations that he had inflicted upon his body, the armored shell still housed the same brilliant mind that Jayce had gotten to know once, what now felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. Viktor had to be aware of Jayce's motivations, for quite some time, now. Maybe even as long as they’d known each other. Still, he’d never voiced it.
Neither of them had.
Jayce supposed neither of them ever would.
Viktor sighed again, and Jayce glanced at him just in time to see him duck his head and drag his fingers through his messy hair, that peeked out from the back of his mask.
The same chesnut that Jayce remembered, with just a few, thin silver strands glimmering in between. Just as always, even a glimpse of Viktor's remaining humanity was enough to take his breath away.
“How bad is it?” Jayce asked after a while, just to stop himself from staring. Viktor was always quite proficient in medicine-related areas, so he knew the question would probably serve as a good distraction for them both. He knew his time here was limited, and he desperately wanted to make the most out of it.
“I did consider taking a piece of your skull out, if you hadn’t woken up in the next hour,” Viktor informed him. He leaned forward a little, linking his hands and letting them hang between his knees, elbows digging into his thighs, “I was certain you’ve experienced a concussion. In addition to that, your behavior strongly suggested that as a result of the blunt trauma, there might’ve been an epidural hemorrhage in addition to that. After all, you’ve somehow managed to find your way here before falling unconscious, despite all your injuries.”
Viktor’s third arm gestured vaguely towards his left shoulder.
“I fixed that, too. It didn’t look like the dislocation tore any important ligaments, but I’d advise you to rest it for a few days and let it heal properly. If your knuckles don’t stop bleeding, get someone to put a few stitches on them. I’ve managed to clean all of your wounds for now, but they will undoubdetly still require further care. A few of your ribs are bruised too, but that shouldn’t be something you’re unfamiliar with."
“I suggest bringing your hammer at some point. Might prove useful, if you insist on picking a fight each time,” Viktor added after a while, as if on a second-thought, once he was done with summarizing Jayce’s injuries. His metallic voice almost sounded fond and Jayce’s heart seized in his aching chest. He moved his head a bit, to rest his cheek on the mattress and look at Viktor properly.
“I suppose I should thank you, then. For all that you've done for me.”
To his surprise, Viktor didn’t turn away. The eye-like hollows in his mask remained fixed on Jayce’s face, and his entire posture seemed strangely relaxed, despite the circumstances. Jayce found himself transfixed by the warm, golden glow, almost like twin embers, smoldering faintly in the stale, murky darkness that poured in from the Undercity outside. He could swear that for a second, he could almost see a glimpse of two wide, inky-black scleras underneath it, framing a pair of thin, amber irises.
It was probably just a trick of light, or another delusion that he desperately clung to, something that would assure him that behind the metal mask, there was still a part of Viktor that Jayce knew from their youth.
They regarded each other in silence for a few moments. Perhaps it was the exhastion. Or the pain that clouded his reasoning. Or the bone-deep grief that followed him everywhere, despite the years that had passed. Or maybe everything combined, that eventually shattered the thin, fragile veil of carefully-vowen restraint deep inside of Jayce. Before he could think any better and hold himself back perhaps, his right hand lifted weakly from the mattress nd reached slowly towards Viktor's figure beside him.
It didn’t get far, of course it didn't, as his wrist was quickly caught in a steel-plated, tight grip, that effectively kept him away.
“I won’t do it again,” Viktor told him quietly, but his voice had no trace left of the softness in which he had spoken before. It began to sound like a warning. “One day you’ll pick a fight with someone who knows what they’re doing. They’ll kill you without a second thought, just as they’d kill anyone else. And if you crawl to me again, that’s what I’ll do, too.”
Viktor pushed himself off his thighs, then stood up, putting more distance between them – only then had he released Jayce’s wrist. He turned to put the chair back against the wall, with the edge of his shoulders once again forming a flat, rigid line.
“I think I’ve heard that one before,” Jayce managed out, knowing well that he was pushing his luck.
Viktor stopped, half-way between the bed and the door leading outside the room. He remained silent for a moment, then turned his head a bit, looking at Jayce over his shoulder. “I’ll come here once more, before dawn,” he said, sounding nothing like Viktor, but like the Machine Herald that had once more taken his place, “I advise you’d better be on your way by then, Defender.”
And with that, he left the room, the door creaking shut behind him.
It was easy to blame the growing, suffocating ache in his chest onto the cracked ribs and the blood or air that probably slowly flooded his pleuras. But his body would heal, just like it had healed many times before. Only the ache would remain, persistent, familiar, despite the years that had passed.
He knew he’d be gone by dawn, just as Viktor told him to. He knew with the same certainty that he’d return here again, at some point.
The question remained however, which one of those times would be the last.
***