Chapter Text
Viktor never expected Jayce to be the one to end their relationship. Jayce tried so hard, he pulled every ounce of strength he could to make them work. Jayce was-- is the most stubborn person Viktor had ever met, and her loved that. They were a puzzle, and Jayce wanted to solve it, he wanted a happy ending, so he would will one into existence, there would be a happy ending. It was always Viktor’s job to be the bad guy. Be the bearer of bad news, and the logical head.
Here Jayce was, and through tears, whispering, “No, Viktor, We’ve hurt each other too much,” and that was all Viktor needed to break. ‘We’ve hurt each other too much.’ The worst part was, it was true, and they had hurt each other past the point of healing, but Viktor still hadn’t seen that yet. Because Jayce, at the end of the day, was still Jayce to Viktor, no Defender of Tomorrow, just Jayce, just the arrogant asshole he fell for the moment he saw that mind at work. So yes. They were done.
And in the destroyed laboratory, a place that was supposed to be holy for Viktor, his chance to be good, Viktor felt truly, for the first time in his life, like the villain. No matter what some wealthy Piltover propagandists did, Viktor always believed he was good, because her knew every choice he had ever made was calculated, and correct, but seeing Jayce, seeing Jayce win, this was not correct.
The last card had been played, as Jayce left. It was the card of their relationship, the only thing keeping Viktor in the game at all, because maybe Jayce was bluffing, maybe there was still a chance. But that was it. So the game should have been over, but nothing inside Viktor could convince himself this was all there was. There needed to be more- this was possible to solve, nothing is truly impossible to solve.
Regardless, Jayce wasn’t even there anymore. He had left. He was no doubt being showered by praise and applause, and loved by people who hated the core of Viktor’s existence, and it sickened him. It made Viktor so furious to imagine Jayce, his Jayce, smiling, in front of all those people, all those people hating him, so this was his legacy, good job asshole, you win.
He needed somewhere to sleep, so Viktor went home. Not home-home, to the apartment his parents rented while they were still alive, the apartment he still payed for, despite never living there, but home, the academy. It wasn’t easy getting there unseen, but that was never the hard part. Viktor had never been particularly good at drawing attention, a blessing and a curse, but tonight, a miracle. No one even looked in Viktor’s direction in Piltover. He was part of the crowd, not that different from anyone else. Even mechanical bodies had gotten vaguely fashionable in piltover, yet another plagiarism, Viktor laughs to himself at the idea. He sits by the bench with the rose bush next to it on both sides, poking through so one must stay in the middle, never with enough room for more than one person. This was Viktor’s bench. On it was a plaque, Sir Tobias, this was his bench too, Viktor supposes.
A pigeon flies down at the feet of the bench, looking up at Viktor expectantly, as if after all these years, the pigeon recognized him. It couldn’t have, factually, but regardless, Viktor’s throat clenched at the idea. Somehow, the pigeon recognized him, the hand that once fed it. Then, another, then another pigeon flies down, and suddenly, five or six pigeons are perched at Viktor’s feet, and for the first time in years, maybe, Viktor lets himself cry. He didn’t have any bread for the birds, so he purchased some quickly, and brought himself to sob elsewhere. Today, Viktor wouldn’t test his luck in getting to the laboratory, but this was enough for now.
Heart heavy, Viktor returns to his childhood apartment, a few crumbs still dangling in the plastic bag he hadn’t yet thrown out. So this was it, huh. Crying felt better than Viktor remembered.
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Jayce recognized Viktor the moment he stepped on academy grounds. He would have reported the other man, but he was curious. The game was over, but Viktor was still here, and so was he. So, Jayce sat, and he watched, and he saw Viktor sit down by his old bench, the one directly below their laboratory (Viktor always had a terrible sense of direction, and never noticed, but Jace used to watch him from the window when Viktor fed the pigeons). It was nice.
Today, Jayce was tired, he was defeated, despite his Victory, and he needed something nice, so he indulged himself to sit by the window a bit. When the first pigeon landed, Jayce felt like he had taken a blow to his stomach, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as Viktor forgetting to bring bread. He always forgot bread. And Jayce, sitting by the window, couldn’t convince himself that that man wasn’t Viktor. No matter how metallic his skin, or how unnatural his heartbeat, that was still Viktor. It’s just that Viktor wasn’t his anymore.
Jayce hated that he was right. They had hurt each other too much. Viktor and Jayce could never be Viktor and Jayce again. They could never be young, and caught up in scientific passion, and the excitement of being kids, of not really hurting that much. They weren’t ever going to make jokes about ‘cranking it’ ever again. For every joke, there was a wound that couldn’t be healed, and no matter what, Jayce knew that there was nothing he or anyone could do to fix that. Viktor had destroyed him, torn him apart, dissected him, and he had done the same. It killed Jayce to know his actions as intimately as he did, but he would need to live with that.
No matter how many Pigeons recognized Viktor, no matter if Jayce recognized him, it would still be Viktor, the Viktor who knew how to twist the knife so it hurt the most, and the Viktor who wanted Jayce to feel the hurt. There wasn’t anything Jayce could do, but know, they were both wrong.
Jayce didn’t truly believe what Viktor was doing was immoral. That was never the issue. Jayce just wanted Viktor again. He wanted a mind at his speed, and he couldn’t join Viktor, not this time, so he chose to be the perfect enemy. Somehow, no matter what, Viktor was the source of Jayce’s motivation. Whether to kill him or save him, Jayce woke up because of Viktor, and that, that rivalry was gone, now. Maybe Jayce would take up painting. Yeah right.
Jayce lay in bed late that night, not because he wasn’t tired, because he didn’t want to wake up. So he went out to the site of his old laboratory, the one that blew up so many years ago, starting so much. There was a new building there. A bank. And there was a little sign by the door that said, ‘This is a Historical Landmark: the Birth of Hextech’ It wasn’t here, Jayce thinks to himself, this isn’t where it happened. It happened in Himerdinger’s lab, it happened in his and Viktor’s lab, it happened in the libraries and notes, but not here. This is the location of something, but not anything good. It was a tomb, at best. A place trying to keep a memory alive.
Well, as Jayce had been realizing, that memory never really existed. It was just a story. All of this, Hextech, it was just a business, a narrative to sell to the public, a chance at something great, and a failure for something good. Well, it was too late for anything now. Now, Jayce needed either his armor or a cane, too many hours spent in the forge had taken a toll on his back. This, Jayce thinks to himself, is only a fraction of what Viktor felt. The thought hurts, but it hurts more to know that Viktor is still out there, hurting. Hurting, and there is nothing Jayce can do to fix it.
Well, Jayce was good at one thing, which was ruining anything truly good, so he couldn’t leave the narrative ending here. Even if it hurt him more, Jayce needed for himself, for his own existence, for there to be a Viktor. In the morning, Viktor woke up to a knock on his door and a parcel delivered by a very uncomfortable delivery woman. Inside the parcel was enough money to build a lab three times the size of his last, and a letter addressed to ‘Vitya.’
Dear Vitya,
Keep saving lives.
Yours,
Jayce