Archive of Our Own

Viktor allows himself to wait exactly two minutes before he makes his way towards Zaun Hospital. No, perhaps ‘makes his way’ is not the right word for how he moves. No, Viktor uses every bit of his enhanced stamina and runs to Zaun Hospital. Normally, he would have Blitzcrank ferry him over or some other robot creation, but any that would be able to assist are otherwise occupied at this time. Instead, Viktor draws on old memories of the alleys in the Lanes and winds through the buildings. His feet do not necessarily remember the way, but he knows every turn from how he held onto you for dear life, his cane sandwiched between your body and his, one arm gripping onto your shoulders while the other acted as a shield to help the two of you bounce off of the walls with each too-fast turn. This is where he grew up. This is the paths he trod, the sights he saw, the air he breathed-

That thought nearly stops him in his tracks, inches away from a wall. It takes a visible effort for him to shake the thought loose to continue on his fast-paced trek to the hospital.

The Undercity’s air is composed of part air, part chemical vapour from various industries. Cyanide mist from the mines. Chlorine, bromine, and acid from a smelter. Multi-chemical smog from the manufacturing district. The faintest trace of Shimmer from the various chem-baron projects. Benzenes, oil products, and more all hang in the Zaun air, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue for anyone not used to the air. As a child, Viktor was raised between the silver mines, where acid coated the fingers of every miner who ventured into the dark depths of the earth, and an assembly for mechanical ship parts where every surface was coated with tar. As surely as they coated the workers, those chemical filled Viktor’s lungs. Even when he managed to move away as a child into the Lanes, farther away from that pollution, the damage was done. On his worst days, every breath was an adventure, a roll of the dice to decide if he could take in a whole lungful. The mere thought that this would be your reality? This is what he had been trying to fix. To protect people from. To protect you from.

The fear in his mind and stomach makes him…uncomfortable. That is the best word for his discomfort at the feelings present in his mind. He doubles his pace in response, staff slamming against the stone. Medicine is not his department, but perhaps there is something that he could do. Machines can help where human hands could not, and it is better than looming like a gargoyle over your hospital bed once more, pondering whether you are strong enough to survive the trauma done to your body.

As he emerges from an alley to the hospital, he sees another figure racing towards the front door. A figure with white and gold clothes, completely unsuited to the filth of Zaun’s streets, wearing high heels that click against the stone, rushing towards the front steps with uncharacteristic speed and purpose. Beneath the mask, he lets out a huff of satisfaction at the sight. Good. Blitzcrank got word to Piltover. There was, after all, only one person who both dressed like that and would move with such urgency to the hospital. He followed behind her, a shadow of purples and silver to her white and gold. 

(He had wondered who had replaced him as your emergency contact. He is pleased to see that it is someone capable.)

However, her urgency does not match the uneven architecture. In her rush to climb the stairs, she trips over the lip of an uneven stair and Viktor reaches an arm down to catch her. His arm hooks easily around her waist, and he braces the two of them with his cane. “Careful, Councillor.”

“Viktor?” Mel Medarda asks in surprise, using his forearm to brace herself and get to her feet.

“Councillor Medarda,” he responds simply.

“Do you know if they’re alright?” She asks urgently, her voice mostly calm apart from an undercurrent of concern.

He shakes his head. “I sent them ahead with Blitzcrank to get them to the hospital sooner. Jayce appeared to be in better condition than the professor.”

She lets out a small sigh of relief and winces as she realizes what she did. “Are you retrieving Blitzcrank?”

He shakes his head slightly. “My last visit to this place was rather clandestine. I thought that perhaps it would be advised for me to go through the front door this time.”

Mel’s mouth twitches. “I see you didn’t remove your sense of humour.” She lets go of his arm and begins walking again, this time looking back at Viktor in her wake. “Tell me, what happened?”

Viktor overtakes her to reach the door, his steps easily overtaking hers, even with his staff as a support. “I do not know the reason behind their expedition, but they went to speak with a scientist in the Undercity, one who used the opportunity to experiment. I am unsure of the contents of the gas they inhaled,” he pulls open the front door to the hospital and lets her in, “but it is likely based on Shimmer with some form of acidic compound.”

“How do you know that?” She asks suspiciously.

“I know the scientist who made the compound and he uses Shimmer as a base for most of his experiments. And-” the pause in his sentence is slight, but Viktor is certain that Mel picks up on it, “coughing up blood denotes some form of corrosion.”

Mel’s grim expression softens, ever so slightly. “You’re worried,” she says instead. “For both of them?”

“It would be a loss to Piltover to lose both of them,” he responds instead of answering the question, “and while violence is not your preferred method of action, I imagine there would be repercussions to Zaun if Piltover’s Finest was lost.”

She raises a dark eyebrow as they stand at the front desk. The security guard nearby watches them nervously, but Viktor does not pay her any mind, only focusing on Mel. “But it is not my response that you’re concerned with. I know what they were looking into.”

“And what was that?”

“If there was still a man under the machine, how they lost him, and if they could find him,” she turns away from him as a nurse approaches the desk, leaving him with that thought. “Hello, I am the emergency contact for two of your newest patients, from Piltover.”

“Ah, the ones Blitzcrank brought in,” the nurse responds. His eyes dart over to Viktor and widen, but to his credit, the nurse says nothing about it. “Then if you are both here for them, you had best follow me.”

The security guard coughs hesitantly. “I- I’m sorry, but t-the gentleman cannot take a weapon in with him.”

His fingers grip a little tighter to the staff. The idea of leaving the Hexcore with them is unheard of, and in any other circumstance, he would refuse, furious at the idea. But time is of the essence, and so with a rather tight voice, he responds, “Do you have substitute mobility aids then?” 

The guard blinks. “Y-yes, sir. I’ll get you a cane, Mr. Machine Herald, sir!”

The guard runs off and Mel looks at Viktor with a sad but amused expression. “They’re that afraid of you?”

He shrugs. “It does not bother me.” The guard returns soon after with a white handled cane with a hooked top, rather beaten up. Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor hands over his staff, which the guard takes with surprise. Viktor says instead, “If anything happens to that, it will be on your head.”

“It’ll be kept safe, sir!”

The nurse coughs to draw his attention back over. “Is your respirator hospital grade, sir?”

“Yes, it is,” he responds simply. “Do you wish to inspect it?”

“No no, I will take your word for it. But if we go into isolation rooms, I will ask you to remove it if possible, due to the possibility of contaminants.”

This was why he didn't want to go through the front door in the first place, but he nods. “Fine. Now take us in.”

With that done, the nurse quickly inspects Mel’s respirator and, after it receives his approval, begins leading them into the hospital. With the new cane in hand, Viktor keeps abreast of Mel, the steady thumping on the floor the only thing helping him maintain his composure. “We have identified at least part of the substance that the professor and Jayce Tallis inhaled,” the nurse explains as they walk. “It looks like Shimmer blended with several chemical compounds, including diluted muriatic acid, so there is damage to the lungs. Mr. Tallis has had less damage, as his lungs were healthy previously, and while he will need supplemental oxygen as his wounds heal, he should recover almost completely.”

Mel lets out a sigh of relief. “Whatever you need to make sure that happens, I will have arrangements made to do so.”

“Thank you, Councillor.”

Viktor interjects. “And the professor?”

At this, the nurse goes quiet. “Their lungs were not in the best shape already, so the damage is much more severe. The prognosis is not looking good.”

“Viktor, please just…rest. Take in the clean air.”

“Alright. Just...promise me this. Whatever you do, little one, do not let your lungs become as bad as mine. Always wear your respirator. Do not venture in the manufacturing districts unless you absolutely have to. Please take care of yourself. You have lasted this long with your health, and I refuse to lose you to Zaun.”

"Alright. I promise."

Viktor is pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. Looking down, he sees Mel resting her hand on the armour, giving it a small squeeze. The nurse looks perturbed by his silence, but he ignores her for looking at the councillor. “What can we do to assist?” She asks instead, keeping her eyes on Viktor.

We will solve this. Let’s make it solvable.

“It is quite likely that unless we can identify precisely what chemicals will neutralize the substance in their lungs, the chemical will continue to do damage to the lung tissue,” the nurse’s voice is nervous. “And from there, there is not much we can do.”

“Is that something you can do, Viktor?” Mel asks him.

No. Viktor’s field is within metal, inventions, solid materials that serve a mechanical purpose rather than anything truly chemistry based. There was a reason that he turned to Singed for some of the chemical compositions he needed for hormone replacements to keep his body going. A heavy feeling sinks into his gut as Viktor shakes his head. “No, and Singed is unlikely to offer the formula necessary.”

The nurse shrugs. “It was worth a shot. Then we shall have to do what we can.”

Helplessness. That’s what this tightness in his chest is, the heavy weight in his gut that threatens to pull every form of coherent thought away from him. His fingers grip tightly at the cane, making the metal strain. “I can make some adjustments to the oxygen machines that you use,” he offers instead, the smallest consolation he has. “It is what I have used myself.”

“We have an inactive one you can work on,” the nurse - Adrian, the nametag says - offers in response. “That would be tremendous.”

Perhaps it’s just to get Viktor out of his hair. Mel adds, “Let me speak to your administrator about allocating some additional funds for treatment. It is the least I can do for your hard work.”

“That would be excellent, ma’am. Thank you.”

“But before we do that…can we see them?” She asks, putting a note of urgency and distress into her voice. “Please.”

“Of course. We’re almost there.”

With that, they turn the corner and come to the window into a private observation room. Distantly, Viktor hears Mel’s gasp beside him, but his mind has narrowed down to focus on your body lying still on the bed within. Your skin is red and pecked with some sores from the acid finally settling on your skin, your breathing is rapid and shallow. A cannula pumps oxygen into you, but even so, he can faintly hear your gasping, wheezing breath through the window. There is a cough, a wet sounding one, and the nurses inside turn you over so you can cough out more blood onto a tissue. You look so…frail and weak, and as your eyelashes flutter in half consciousness, that feeling of helplessness sinks into him again.

Why had you done this? Why were you so desperate to connect with him again that you would approach the most dangerous man in Zaun?

I love you, Viktor. 

Whatever love you feel for him cannot be worth this. 

The cane snaps in his hand under the pressure, his knuckles white under his gloves. There is a strange itching in his eyes and a tightness in his throat, and his next breath is harder to get than before. After a few moments, he feels Mel slide her arm into his, making him lean on her. “They’ll be okay,” she says, although he can’t tell which of them she is trying to convince. “Come on, let’s see what we can do.” 

As Mel makes her way to do whatever diplomatic wizardry she is best at, Adrian leads Viktor personally to a side room where he can work, close enough to the observation hall that it doesn’t feel too far away, and an oxygen machine to work on. He even finds a toolbox, which he hands Viktor with a hopeful look. “I look forward to seeing what you’re making.”

Viktor does not answer, narrowing his focus onto the machinery. He once never thought about you, practically forgot that you existed, and his work continued apace as is. He does everything he can to find that headspace again, lest he think about you in the hospital bed. It somewhat works. The time flows by easily, but at every noise outside, his mind jumps back to the reason why he’s here, and he takes a long moment to look at the oxygen machine.

For you. It’ll be for you and your recovery.

When Mel comes back in, closing the door behind her, Viktor does not look up from his work. She takes a seat across from him, pulling a cushion over to look at the mechanics. “I’ve arranged for additional funding for this hospital for the next year,” she says quietly, “and for new equipment to be brought down. Not only to help with them, but…for after.”

He makes a sound of affirmation as he closes the panel he was working on. “This should improve the amount of oxygen they receive, while in return pulling out any contaminated air.”

“Quite the invention. When did you come up with it?”

“When I could barely breathe,” he replies simply. 

Mel is quiet, and when he looks up, he sees her resting her chin in her hands. “Be honest with me, then, as someone who has bad lungs. Jayce will be okay, but…what about the professor?”

Viktor grips the wrench in his hand even tighter. He swallows. “If they have any moments of lucidity, I will speak to them about mechanical replacements for their lungs. I have tasked Blitzcrank with bringing a potential prototype here and the nurse will bring me word if they are conscious.”

“It’s that bad?”

He puts the wrench down so he does not damage his work. “Yes. At this rate, there is no lung tissue that has not been affected by the chemical, and at the best possible outcome, they will need an oxygen tank for the rest of their life. At the worst, their lungs will be so corroded that they will not be able to breathe at all.”

“Why would someone make something like that?”

“I suspect it was something about opening up cells,” Viktor responds, “so the Shimmer could work better.”

Mel groans in frustration, putting her face in her hand. “And he was willing to go so far. I cannot fathom the depths that someone would go for science.”

“And you wondered why there was difficulty in our relationship.”

She looks at him through her fingers. “This is not the time, Viktor.”

“I will not be seeing you again, Councillor, unless you foresee other interactions.”

One thing that Viktor liked about Mel Medarda was how clever she was. He watches as the flash of inspiration hits her, how her shoulders shift as she sits up straight, the gears turning behind her eyes before she speaks again. “I could, if you were interested.”

“You have not shown this interest in the past,” he notes. “Something has changed.”

“Your professor,” she replies, and even the mention of you hits Viktor in the chest. “They impressed on me that you meant no harm to Piltover, that you were trying to help make people better. Your actions with them have confirmed this.”

Cause and effect. Viktor showed humanity to you. You proved his humanity to others, and that changed his perception. He looks up this time, amber eyes peering through the mask to meet Mel’s dark ones. “And what would you propose then?”

“Jayce told me once that while scientists make their own advances in concepts, applications are best derived through cooperation,” she explains. “It was the first time I felt the theories behind science and diplomacy were aligned. I believe that there is room for cooperation in our future, Viktor. Between Piltover and Zaun. Between you and us.”

Viktor snorts. “And your council would accept the word of not only a Zaunite, but a criminal?”

“They will if you have Jayce and I backing you,” she replies, “and the Council knows at the bare minimum that it’s better to have you on our side than against us.”

That is the logical solution to the problem, but Viktor recalls what happened the last time he sat in the Council Chambers trying to negotiate an issue with Jayce and Mel at his back. “And what will be different than before?”

“The council has changed. Grown wiser, more trusting in what we have to say,” she replies simply. “I cannot guarantee their response, only that they will be willing to hear whatever proposals come forward. More support for mechanized augmentations in hospitals. More involved ethics boards to assist with moving the technology forward without increased danger. The possibilities are endless.”

It is promising, but Viktor does not allow optimism to cloud his judgement. “Possibilities, yes, but evidence suggests that such alliances will fall apart as your emotions regarding my methods get in the way. Furthermore, whatever alliance you want with me, I would discuss with you after we know what will happen here.”

“But we will discuss it?”

There is a moment of thought before Viktor decides that a gesture will be necessary to reinforce this point. He reaches up slowly and takes off his mask, setting it on his lap. In the sterile light, he can clearly see Mel staring at him, taking in the metal augmentations to his face, the glowing of his eyes, the supports on his jaw and airway that trail down to his chest. Then her eyes lock back on his, searching for any expression on his face. There is not much of one, only a look of determination, and for the first time in a decade, they make eye contact.

“Should my little one survive? Yes. If this future partnership will assist our respective goals, then we shall discuss it.”

When he finishes his sentence, there is a knock on the door. Mel answers immediately, head turning. “Who is it?”

“It’s Adrian. The two of them are awake.”

Viktor is on his feet before he even processes the action. “And?”

“I think you will want to come as quick as you can.”

At that, Viktor runs. With no functional cane, his hand is on the wall for support, his weaker leg screaming in pain, but it does not stop him. Nor does the vague recognition that his mask is lying on the floor beside his tools. Instead, he just runs to the observation room, placing his hand on the glass to look in. The nurse by the door doesn’t question him. Their eyes are wide with concern - probably from whatever expression is on his face - and they hand him a mask for him to push into the room with. Mel is behind him soon after, tugging her own back over her mouth. 

“Jayce," she says in horror, rushing to his bed where his eyes flicker open.

“Hey, Mel,” he says weakly. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“Oh, you are going to be sorry,” she says without a hint of anger, her voice trembling. "When you are better."

There is more that she says, of course, but Viktor stops processing anything she says as he stands beside your bed. Your eyelashes flutter, just a little bit, and he watches as you turn to look at him. Even now, your breaths come as wheezing gasps, your lips a little blue with the lack of oxygen. Somewhere, back when he did properly dream, this was one of his nightmares - that all of the pain and desperation he felt when he could not breathe would be your reality.

“Don’t talk,” he says instead of any sweet words. “You need your oxygen.”

You consciously blink once, not saying a word. Instead, your eyes move over his unmasked face, taking him in. Perhaps he should feel self-conscious, but the thought never crosses his mind.

“Your illogic knows no bounds. You could die for this information.”

A blink.

“And you still did so.”

Blink.

“A complete and utter risk for nothing.”

Blink blink. He assumes that that means no, but even if you and Jayce did find whatever they were looking for, you can’t tell him what it was.

“If there was still a man under the machine, how they lost him, and if they could find him.”

If Mel is right, then you incurred this much danger to yourself because you were trying to learn about him when he would not let you find him. “You are not allowed to die, little one,” he says, anger creeping into his voice. “I cannot answer you if you are dead.”

Your expression crumples at that, sadness and something like hope painted plain across your acid scarred skin. Your hand raises ever so slightly, reaching for him, and it is only to prevent you moving more that he takes it, squeezing it once. It takes a moment, but you open your mouth and speak. “What…answer?”

I have loved you for all of my life. Through trials and errors, through thick and thin, good and bad. You were there when I had no one, and in every success, you were by my side. You were the most important person in my life. You are different now, different to love as well, but I’m not about to stop now.

Evidence suggests that key individual continues to be source of emotional stimuli, that reactions to them have become part of thought processes, regardless of lack of support by emotional centers of brain.

If there is no personal attachment to this individual, why does this protocol remain part of my programming?

There is still error in my thought process.

Love and legacy aren’t detrimental to your work. When you figure it out…you know where to find me.

The knot in Viktor’s throat stops the words from coming out. Yes, his mind says. Yes, I have accepted the realities that come with your affection, and I find them compatible with my own, despite my previous assertions. Yes, it will be important for my wellbeing to remain in contact with you, to confirm your safety and health, and for your own. Yes, the future is uncertain and cannot be fully predicted, but there is the possibility of a future with you. If I can rely on the constant that is your affection, then there is nothing I cannot do. 

Instead, he bends down, tipping his head, and rests his forehead against yours. Your breath catches, even more than it already is, and your hand grips his tighter. “Viktor?” You manage again, desperate.

He does not speak. He cannot. His eyes close tight, his mouth pulled into a tight grimace behind the mask, and his next exhale is a gasp, more emotion than breath. A moment later, he can feel you pressing your forehead against his, nose touching his through the fabric, and your next breath seems, illogically, a little easier. 

“Let me fix you,” he asks instead, voice urgent, the words more earnest than he would like. “I understand your previous stance on mechanization, but if the need to replace your lungs comes, do you consent to it?”

I cannot lose you, there is nothing that I would not do if it meant that you would stay, I cannot allow myself the possibility of feelings for you if you will be taken from me so swiftly.

Your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, thumb against the metal. “Yes.” You say after a long moment, the word wretched and ragged. “No-nothing-”

“Nothing more than that. Your lungs and windpipe,” he says, the words sounding like a promise even though he cannot guarantee it. “I shall save your vocal cords as best I can. But nothing more.”

He pulls back to look at you and watches your eyelashes flutter one more time. Slowly, your hand falls from his cheek back to the bed, your other hand letting go of his. This next breath is thinner, harder for you to pull out, and Viktor isn’t sure whether he wants to keep squeezing your hand for comfort or let you go to the near impossible task of breathing. 

“Master…Viktor, was it?” The nurse says behind him. He turns around sharply, his eyes itching, and finds several sets of eyes staring at him. Adrian and the other nurse, torn between curiosity and concern, watching him intently; a doctor, eyeing him suspiciously but also staring at the obvious metal augmentations on his body; Mel, looking at him with sorrow, finally able to see the shreds of emotion that he has left; and, from his bed, Jayce, looking at him with a mix of sadness and hope. The nurse continues, “We are going to have to operate. I understand that you are not a medical professional, but if there is any way that your mechanics will be able to assist-”

“Your robot dropped off a set of mechanical lungs and a windpipe,” the doctor interjects, “Incomplete, however.”

“They can be finished,” Viktor says firmly. "I will finish them."

“So you will assist us?” The doctor asks instead.

He turns backward to look at the body lying on the gurney, gasping for air that will barely come through the blood in your lungs. Your next inhale sounds pained, even in unconsciousness. His traitorous heart thuds in pain.

“If it shall ensure that the person who means most to me is not taken from me, then yes. I will see this done.”

Everything hurts. 

That is your first sensation as you wake up. Pain in your throat, in your lungs, your chest, your head. It hurts to even suck in a breath, and your hand grips at the mattress, trying to get control of yourself. The door opens as you try to breathe, not sure if you should suck in as much air as you can with one breath or take as few shallow breaths as you can, and a voice says gently, “Easy now. Slow breaths. Slow and small, you can do it.”

The directions are all you have to anchor on, and you do so. There is a clicking of a button and you can feel medicine slowly seep into your veins. It takes all of your effort to keep a sigh of relief from ruining your breathing pattern.

“There we go, that should feel better,” a hand rests on your forehead. With more effort than you’d like, you manage to open your eyes and look. It’s a nurse, with dark hair and eyes, giving you a gentle look as he checks your temperature. Adrian, the name tag says when you can get your eyes to focus on it. “I’m glad to see you awake. Quite the surgery you survived. Would you like to sit up a little?”

You find the strength to nod and he does so, lifting the bed up so you can be more elevated. It feels a bit uncomfortable, but you’re glad to have a better view.

“Your Viktor oversaw the surgery himself,” he tells you. “Your vocal cords took a bit of a beating, but everything should be in order.”

…that happened? You have a ghostly memory of Viktor standing over you, forehead touching yours, begging you to let him fix you.

“Quite a shock for us all to have the Machine Herald walk in, but he was very well behaved,” Adrian says as he moves to check your oxygen. “Saved your life.”

As he moves, you watch the empty room around him. One moment, it is just him in the plain white room, with the evening lights peeking through the window frame. The next, behind his shoulders, you see two familiar white and black shapes appear in the corner, watching you. The black one gnashes its fangs, but stays still, waiting.

“Pulled away from the hunt. No fair. I want to bite.”

“It is not their time, my dear Wolf. Not for a long time yet.”

Somehow, that makes you settle a little more in your bed. Your eyes follow Adrian again, glad for his quiet comfort. “If you need me again,” he says, “just ring the bell, and I will come.”

You nod and raise a hand slowly to your mouth, making a gesture like you’re kissing a ring and offering it. Thank you.

“I am glad to help. Get some rest - you will need it to heal.”

The nurse departs quietly, making sure the door doesn’t slam shut behind him. Whether he sees Kindred or not, you don’t know, but as soon as he disappears, Kindred makes their way onto your bed. Lamb leaps easily onto the bed, not even denting the mattress as she kneels over you, and Wolf circles her shoulders, watching you with bright eyes. Your open opens to speak, to thank them for seeing you, but as the very action of doing so hurts, you don’t say a word.

“You are awake.” Lamb cocks their head at you.

“You fought hard for your life, with tooth and claw,” Wolf replies. “You are strong.”

You find enough strength to bow your head in a thank you.

“Do you still wish for arrows, when your time comes?”

You nod. 

“Then arrows you will receive, when there are no machines to retrieve you from our grasp,” Lamb does not sound offended, but Wolf snarls in his own turn, perhaps showing the emotion that Lamb cannot feel.

“Not even metal can keep you from us forever.” Wolf leans forward, snapping his jaws close to your nose. Somehow, you do not flinch.

Somehow, you think that there will not be a next time. You will not again face near death and find Kindred mourning your missed chance. The next time you see those familiar masks looming over you, you will be opening your shirt and readying your chest for the arrow to fly through it. You give them a small bow and try to communicate that thought without speaking. When you come next, I will be ready. I am not afraid.

“You are ours to take. But until then…"

"...live.”

You think that Wolf’s howl sings you to sleep, but of all things, Wolf is not associated with peace. With that, your eyes flutter closed, the last of your energy fading away. 

When you wake next, it is to a very familiar knock on your door. You bang on your bed once, hoping that that communicates a ‘come in’.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, kit,” Jayce says softly, walking in with his oxygen tank and cannula behind him. “How are you feeling?”

You flip him off in response and he laughs. “That bad, huh? You want something for the pain.” A nod, and he presses a button for you. “There we go. And don’t think you missed Mel’s scolding. She’s been saving it up for you. Not gonna kill us, but-”

Still going to make your lives hell. It’s almost worse that she’s a pacifist. You raise your hand slowly as the pain medication slowly seeps into your blood and tap at your chest.

“Oh, wait until you see the schematics of what they put in you,” he says, taking a seat beside you. “Viktor made a prototype pharynx, larynx, and lungs. Vocal cords are there, still getting blood flow and all, and they’re healing as best they can. So…you two are a couple of cyborgs now.”

Let me fix you. If the need to replace your lungs comes, will you consent to it?

So it really wasn’t a dream. You blink in surprise, expression a little concerned as you look down at your chest.

“You’ll heal, don’t worry, and when you’re up for it, we have arrangements made for you to work from here,” Jayce smiles. “Gotta say, the librarians are fighting over who gets to be your delivery person.”

You roll your eyes and raise your fingers in a V, making an exaggerated questioning face.

Jayce, thank goodness, understands. “Viktor only just left. He stayed until we knew you were stable. I have to say, he looked more worried than I’ve seen him in years.”

This time, your hand raises to cover your face, your head cocked.

“Mask off. The whole time,” Jayce shakes his head. “How did Mel put it?”

“That he’s grown comfortable with worrying, and letting others know that he does.” The door opens again and you watch Mel, in a more casual gown, come in to sit across from you. The moonlight catches on her golden jewelry, making her skin shine. She is beautiful, wondrously so, both inside and out. Beautiful like a snake is beautiful, of course, but still. You understand why Jayce has fallen for her. “Hello, dear. How are you doing?”

You make a so-so gesture.

“I suppose that makes sense. Now, do I need to lecture you about how utterly foolish and reckless that was?” 

You shake your head as much as your sore throat will allow. 

“Good. I am not eager to make such a grand donation again, even if it was for a good cause.”

Jayce teases, “Is that diplomatic talk for ‘I was worried sick about the two of you’?” 

“Perish the thought, Councillor Tallis,” she replies, although you can see her hand squeeze his tightly. “I am simply…concerned.”

“Of course, Councillor Medarda,” he replies in turn, and you can’t hide your smile in response. “Now, kit, do you want the conclusions of our mission?”

You nod. It feels a bit like being a spy doing this, but you move your blankets around to get comfortable. Jayce digs in his hospital gown and pulls out two sheets of paper, one of which Mel takes from him. He clears his throat, even though the action looks painful, and it takes him a moment before he can speak. “So…our Viktor was willing to do just about anything to achieve his goals, but drew the line at causing the death of others.”

You nod. That makes sense. Mel continues, “He approached Singed not just out of selfless desire to help others, but because he didn’t want to die, not before he had a chance to leave a mark on the world,” her voice is quiet and thoughtful. Sad, of course. “And he probably got Singed to oversee his medical procedures, or at least look over them, to make sure he didn’t completely fry his brain.”

“He definitely could have,” Jayce says in quiet horror. “What did he even get rid of to make all of that work? How does he get hormones if he’s missing any of those parts?”

You make a gesture like putting a syringe into your arm, or popping a pill. Supplements?

“That requires a good chemist, and I have no idea if Singed wants to be that kind of pharmacist,” he taps his fingers, “so possibly he makes his own and gives himself shots.”

“Or the…Hexcore sustains him?” Mel asks, her voice more than a little concerned.

“It’s possible. We have no idea how he’s modified the thing,” Jayce shrugs. “So Viktor’s sense of risk is nonfunctional. He needed an obstacle to overcome to move forward in his work, so he decided human error was it, and that the best way to deal with it was to get rid of it completely.”

She snorts. “A logical fallacy, of course. No one is capable of changing his mind but himself, and perhaps he’s willing to be flexible.” 

“He’s nothing but stubborn,” Jayce chuckles, “partly why we were drawn to him, huh?”

You nod. Absolutely. Viktor’s determination and idealism were some of his best qualities.

“As for now…” Jayce turns the paper over. “He sees Singed regularly to discuss work projects, he knew to wear a mask with a respirator going in to see him, and felt that he couldn’t ask Singed for the antidote for whatever was in our lungs.”

“He managed to anger Jinx and Warwick, but neither of them has come after him,” Mel say quietly. “That means he has enough of a reputation that people choose to leave him alone rather than seek him out and engage. Which is an oddly pacifist solution.”

“He doesn’t want either of us to die, for whatever reason he has,” Jayce mouth twitches in a smile. “Or anyone, really. It doesn’t bother him but he doesn’t seek it,” Jayce hums. “Oh, and you scared the shit out of him by coughing.”

Your mouth twitches with a smile, your cheeks going pink even at the thought of that. You didn’t think it was possible to scare the shit out of Viktor, but if he went through all of the effort to visit you at the hospital, take his mask off, provide prototype augmentations, and assist in your surgery? In front of other people? There had to be something motivating him to do so, and fear was definitely a good motivator. Mel implied as much herself.

“And given that he is willing to discuss a potential alliance between himself and Piltover,” Mel says easily even as you and Jayce stare at her gobsmacked, “then I believe that he is not a danger, hm?”

“I’m sorry, he’s willing to do what?” Jayce asks again.

“I am waiting until this one is fully recovered before I pose the question of specifics to him, of course, but he is open to the possibility, if our goals are aligned.” The very thought that Viktor was willing to do that warms your heart as Mel continues. “But I believe your analysis to be right. He believes Zaun to be the place that most needs help, so he will focus his efforts there, but he will also not operate on anyone unwilling to receive the procedure. Nor does he want to kill anyone. He wants to do his work and…allow one person in his life.”

Somehow, you hold back the snappy comment of how everyone has finally seen sense. Instead, you just nod and listen as Jayce and Mel’s voices wash over you. Rest and recuperation appear to be on the table for you for a while yet. An oxygen tank and tube as your body heals around the metal lungs and windpipe now in your body. It’s even one that Viktor made for you, better than the standard equipment, better suited to your mechanical lungs. And, of course, no talking until the doctor determines that your vocal cords have healed. 

Then. Then, when all of this is done…you get to go find Viktor.

(Through the window, an armour-clad shape watches you move and smile, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Surveillance will continue until you are ready to approach him, but the moment you do, you are welcome. From now on, you will always be welcome.)

This time, when you return to Emberflit Alley, the fog fades as soon as you approach. You tug your oxygen tank behind you over the cobblestones, the squeaky little wheels filling the street, but on you walk. When you finally approach his little featureless house, the gate opens easily to you and the door swings open as though unlocked. It just…opens to you, as easily as your own room. You walk inside with ease, closing the door behind you, and make your way into his lab. Perhaps it’s a result of your own time here, embarking on surgery to try and save his life, but it feels comfortable for you to be here, as though it’s your space too. There’s even a new bookshelf in the hallway, filled with the staple texts that you always hunt for in the library in Piltover, and you feel yourself smile at the thought. He’s literally made space for you.

He is not in the lab, but there is a new chair waiting for you. It’s sturdy but comfortable, and you gladly take a seat. As you survey the room, not much has changed. The nearby table is covered with notes on what you presume are your lungs and windpipe, but you don’t look at it too much. Thinking about them somehow makes them ache. The blood is gone on the gurney, as is any sign that Viktor was injured…but in the corner, there is a chalkboard covered with a sheet. When you get up and pull the sheet off, you find it covered in experimental notes. About…himself. You stare at it as you piece together the meaning. Studies, hypotheses, conclusions…all about you. You read through each word carefully, desperately trying to parse what he was thinking when he wrote it down. There, you see a jerk of the chalk that suggests he flinched. There, the writing is a little more flurried, written quicker. There, you see a period with flecks of chalk around it that suggests he slammed the chalk into the slate.

For all of the information on it, it still doesn’t tell you what he wants from you. Only that, to your joy, he finds you too important and pervasive to remove from his mind. 

(You also take quiet mental notes on the parts of him that he removed, because goodness gracious, the amount of surgery he did on himself.)

You are still standing in front of it, staring, as the door opens. Viktor’s boots are heavy on the wood as he strides inside, although it stops as he comes to the threshold of his lab, looking at you.

“Hey.” Your voice is raspier than it used to be, and a little quieter besides, but at least you can speak.

“You made it here safely,” he notes, setting his cloak on a hanger. “I understand you are healing well.”

“Yes, sir. Buddy and I here will be travelling together for some time,” you tug at your little oxygen tank. “And no one bothered me on the way.”

He doesn’t say anything, only approaching you. He is wearing the same armour as before, the blend of silver and purple, although this time with something more like trousers than armoured pants. His third arm reaches over to your jaw to lift it up so he can look you over, and you accept the movement. It doesn’t take a genius to understand why you’re there, and Viktor is that, so he simply speaks. “I am not the Viktor who loved you before. No matter what you may have reclaimed in me, I am not him.”

“I know.”

“If you ask me to be him again, your answer shall be a no.”

“I am not asking you to be,” you finally reply. “I know that Viktor is long gone.”

“I do not feel passion. I don’t feel the affection you have. I do not love you, not in the way that you would want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which of us are you trying to convince? I have already told you how I feel.”

The mask being in the way has never been more infuriating than it is right now. His next breath comes out a little harsher, with some emotion you can’t quite put together, and he says simply, “I understand your certainty, but your actions, even with the confounding variable of sentimental attachment, defy rational, logical sense. I do not understand them and cannot explain them. With that lack of understand, neither can I understand my own response to this situation and attachment.”

Oh, Viktor. “Trying to apply logic to the most illogical emotion in existence? That does sound like you, Vitya.”

As soon as the nickname crosses your lips, his shoulders come down a centimeter, relaxing just slightly. “There is nothing in this world that cannot be explained.”

“Except for magnets,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

You don’t need to see his face to realize that he is, in fact, staring you down. In another time, he would roll his eyes so hard, he would almost be rolling them out of his head. For now, he just says with a touch of disbelief, “Magnets.”

“Fucking magnets,” you repeat.

He shakes his head and this time, you think there might be a hint of a smile in his voice. “There is an explanation for magnets.”

“No, they’re magic.”

“You have tried to convince me of this for decades now.”

“And one day, I will.” You raise a hand up to his face to cup his cheek. “You told me once there are universal constants in science. Well, I have a personal constant.”

He stares you down again. “And that is?”

“That I love you,” you reply. “It’s immutable. Unchangeable. There is life and death. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Magnets are magic, and I love you, Viktor.”

This exhale trembles out and his whole head tilts into your hand, mask and all. “You would have a half love with me,” he says firmly. “You are important to me, but this is not truly love.”

“Then I suppose I should ask you about that.” You gesture with your head to the chairs, and Viktor leads you back to them. He lets go of your chin so that he can sit down across from you, and you take your hand off his face to rest it on his knee. “May I see your face while we talk?”

There is not a moment of hesitation as Viktor takes off his mask and sets it on the table beside you. There it is again, the same face that peered over your hospital bed, that looked up at you from a gurney. The same glowing amber eyes, the metal augments in his face, the beauty spots by his mouth and jaw, the sharp cheekbones, the full lips even now just slightly quirked in a smile. He never takes his eyes off of you, resting one hand on the table and the other on his knee. 

“Thank you.”

“It is of no consequence,” he replies easily, “and you have seen my face before. There is no need to hide it.”

“Why do you wear a mask?” You ask quietly. “I thought it might have to do with the sparks that come off of your machines.”

“It is, in part,” he explains. “But there is also secrecy, of course. Coupled with my actions, wearing a mask grants me a reputation that allows me to continue my work uninterrupted. It also prevents the spread of gossip that could lead to Piltover.”

So I wouldn’t find out? You ponder but do not ask. “I see. And the new design?”

Viktor raises his eyebrow at you. “You do not recognize it?”

It takes you a moment to piece it together. “I drew that in your book when we were kids!” You realize, gesturing with your free hand to his body. “Oh my gods!”

This pulls much more of a smile out of him. “It was a ready-made design. I felt it could be of use.”

You sentimental SAP! “I’m glad you didn’t delete it from your memory then.”

That makes the smile disappear from his face, back to something colder. “I considered it. Erasing you from my memory, although I did not know how to do so without eliminating my memory entirely.”

Flinching, you swallow that response down. “And why didn’t you, besides the practical implications?”

He pauses, tapping his finger once against the table. “I made an attempt, metaphorically speaking. I believed that Viktor Nikolavich did not matter anymore. He was the foundation, yes, but he was not the future that I needed to carry forward. And so all traces of that man disappeared. Destroyed. Burned. Except for one.” With a gloved finger, he points at the pendant still hanging around your neck and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “And so, I attempted to destroy it.”

“And what happened?” You ask quietly.

“I missed,” a little snort creeps out. “I aimed at it with point blank range with a laser, and somehow, I missed. I destroyed the chain, not the pendant itself. I thought, perhaps, it was an error with the arm’s tracking system, but upon later inspection, I could not find any. I had simply flinched.”

Oh. “What did that mean to you?”

“I was not ready to go without you.” When Viktor’s eyes meet yours, there is an emotion that you haven’t seen in him since he became a cyborg. No, the emotion in his eyes now is one that you haven’t seen in a decade. Softness. Care. Muted as it is…it’s there. “It seems I too have had a personal constant. Regardless of your physical presence, you are the thought that will not leave my mind. No matter what I do…you are always there, little one. You are my foundation and without you, I do not know what stability will remain..”

Oh, you are going to cry. Your eyes feel wet already. You shift closer with your chair and cover his cybernetic hand with yours. “Is that your answer, then?”

Viktor hesitates, but you watch slowly as he turns his palm upward to meet yours. “Yes. You are important to me and I would have you in my life. Not quite as we were before, as we are different now, but...you understand.”

Such a simple action feels like a victory. You laugh with joy, head falling backwards, and you take in a long slow breath. “Thank you, Viktor. Thank you. ”

“There will be boundaries,” he warns, although he is absolutely smiling. It’s not as big as a normal smile, but you can see it in the small crinkles by his eyes, the twitch of his mouth. For a normally emotionless cyborg, he is effectively grinning. “This will not be a conventional relationship.”

“Of course,” you gesture slightly to the chalkboard with your head. “Sex is completely off the table?”

“Yes,” he looks over at the uncovered chalkboard again and nods. “I have no desire or functionality to do so.”

“Understood,” you look down at your own healing body. “I…think I need to figure out what my new lungs can do before I do anything strenuous. Would you feel at all possessive if I was to seek that out with anyone else? Hypothetically speaking?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “As long as I know where you are and if you are safe. And it’s not with Jayce and Councillor Medarda.”

“Oh, gods, no,” you laugh. 

“Then that is alright. As for your lungs, I would wait before doing anything that requires intense breathing,” he replies, reaching forward with his human hand to touch your chest, near the scar. “I do not want you hurt.”

You nod, immediately crossing off any ideas to go running. “How are you with physical touch? Hugs, kisses, cuddling, etc.?”

He ponders that for a moment, slowly lacing his fingers with yours. “Hugs are acceptable. Simple kisses, nothing further. Perhaps if we were to share a bed.”

Again, you nod. “Anything you want from me?”

That comes without any thought. “I want your presence to fill the absence you left. I want your input. I want to know where you are, that the fear of your loss will leave me. Companionship. Cooperation. Some…affection.”

“That is well within my power,” you reply with a smile. “I missed you. Dearly.”

He does not say that he did as well, as that would not be the truth. Instead, he rests his hand over your heart, feeling your pulse against his palm, and you watch his eyes close. “You are here now, and I am glad.”

What comes from this point on, you are not sure. In the future, you will stop at Viktor’s lab every time that you come down to Zaun, and that Viktor will welcome you with open arms each time. He will accept your arms around his waist as he works on whatever project he is picking away at, and he appreciates it when you press a kiss to his mask. He will remove it when he is done working and press a single kiss to your forehead, his one compromise to physical affection. He will even, as a compromise, get a larger cot so that you can stay the night with him tucked against you, his back to your stomach, not so tight that you can’t breathe. You will wake up to his bedhead and his lack of lingering in bed, but he does make you coffee and has food waiting for you upon waking.

In the future, he will come visit you in Piltover. When he makes his arrangements with Mel Medarda and Jayce Tallis to use Hextech to better improve the lives of others without compromising their free will, he will visit you. He will grumble at how they continue to allow emotion to get in the way of fast work, but he is no longer in a proper position to criticize, so he does not. He will visit in your office and share theories with each other until you are yawning with every other work. You even keep some of his work tools in there in case he has a brainwave and ends up working through it. When the evenings come to a close, he will spend the night at your apartment with the spare clothes and armour parts that he keeps, and you wake to see him looking at you like he’s 20 again, just…taking you in. You whisper hello, he does the same, and only in your bed in Piltover does he let you kiss him on the mouth, soft and chaste, a flashback to your days together before.

In the future, there is not a moment of confusion of what the two of you feel. When you need more time and affection, you tell Viktor so, and he carves out time to do so. When he needs to work and needs no distractions, he asks, and you oblige. When Viktor is torn between man and machine, he tells you about it and you work through the problems together. When one of you is stuck on your research and is ready to throw your respective research supplies out of the window, the two of you talk it through until you come to a solution. When people ask how this strange partnership works, you either politely explain or tell them to shut the fuck up. And when you stand beside Viktor at Progress Day as he shares the next innovation in Hextech, his arm around your back, a slight smile on his face, and his voice full of pride, you know that this was all worth it. 

Now, though, you just shift forward and rest your forehead against his. “Together?” You ask with a smile, with all the hope of your younger self and years of experience to temper it.

Viktor’s eyes do not close as he watches you, his eyes glowing and expression still and steady. Still, you can hear his younger self, soft and pleased, in his mechanical voice as he rumbles out, “To the highest heights, you and I. Together.”