Archive of Our Own ^beta

A powerful storm had raged over Piltover and Zaun overnight—howling winds lashing against the glass-paneled towers of the upper city, while sheets of rain carved rivers down the steel skeleton of the undercity. Jayce and Viktor had barely made it out of the lab in time, securing the Hexcore and locking down their more volatile experiments before being forced to evacuate with the rest of the Academy’s staff.

By morning, the worst had passed. The skies above Piltover were washed clean, the sunlight slicing through leftover clouds in golden shards. The lab, though damp and chaotic, had held up better than expected.

Jayce pushed the door open with his shoulder, balancing a toolkit and muttering about needing better storm seals next time. Viktor followed, his gait smooth despite his cane, surveying the aftermath with narrowed eyes. He picked up a waterlogged clipboard, grimaced, and let it drip back onto the floor with a splat.

“Did you have to leave the windows cracked?” Jayce added, casting a look over his shoulder.

Viktor, scanning the ceiling for leaks, didn’t miss a beat. “Ah, yes. The storm clearly consulted my window preferences before breaching the city.”

Jayce chuckled. “Could’ve at least left a note. ‘Dear Viktor, please secure your exploding gizmos, I’ll be blowing through shortly—love, the storm.’”

“If the storm had a note-writing capacity, it would’ve probably also signed your resignation from the Council,” Viktor replied dryly, stepping carefully over a fallen shelf.

“Tempting,” Jayce said with a shrug, wiping his damp palms on his coat. “Maybe I could retire to inventing towels that repel stormwater.”

“A noble legacy,” Viktor said, lips twitching.

Jayce grinned and turned back toward the center of the lab. “I mean, come on, it’s not that bad. Half of this junk was already disorganized.”

Viktor’s foot knocked a spool of wire off the edge of a table. It hit the floor with a wet clunk .

“I stand corrected,” Jayce muttered. “It’s a disaster zone.”

But Viktor wasn’t listening. He’d paused just a few steps in, his brows knitting.

“Jayce,” he said quietly. “Look.”

And there on one of the workbenches nestled against the main wall of the lab, just beneath a tangle of hanging cables was a small figure. She was fast asleep, curled like a kitten amidst a scattered nest of copper wiring and frayed cloth. Someone had pulled an old lab coat over her like a blanket. Her boots, much too worn for a child her age, had been kicked off and lay neatly under the table. A tiny hand clutched a wrench the size of her forearm, cradling it close to her chest like a teddy bear.

Jayce blinked, stunned. “Is that a kid?”

She couldn’t have been more than six. Her hair was wild and curly, with strands sticking up in every direction like static had tried to sculpt her. Locks of dark chestnut faded into silvery ash at the tips, oddly reminiscent of Viktor’s streaks. Her cheeks were round and smudged with a little soot, her nose button-like and dusted with freckles. Long lashes fanned over high, angular cheekbones. It was almost uncanny, like someone had taken bits of both men and blended them into this one tiny, sleeping storm survivor.

Just then, the girl stirred. Her fingers twitched, still curled around the cold wrench. Her brow furrowed in her sleep like she was caught in some restless dream, but then her eyes blinked open. They were wide and the color of hammered bronze, flecked with hints of green and gold, catching the lab’s flickering overhead light like polished gears in motion. For a second, she just blinked blearily at them.

Then she jolted upright.

The wrench clattered from her arms, and she scrambled back so fast she nearly fell off the workbench. She pressed her back into the corner between cables and a shelf of component bins, curling in on herself like a cornered animal.

Her voice was a soft, panicked squeak. “I-I’m sorry! I just needed to get out of the rain, I didn’t touch anything—well I did, but not a bad touch! I just wanted to look—and fix, a little. I'm sorry...”

Jayce’s heart clenched. She looked so small at that moment. What little fabric hadn't been soaked through from her clothes was patched and frayed, probably handed down too many times. The boots on her feet were at least two sizes too big, the left one sloshing with water as she shifted nervously. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and a thin, angry cut trailed down from her cheekbone to her jaw, likely from flying debris during the storm.

But she was trying to be brave. She kept her chin up even as her voice trembled.

“I didn’t mean to be bad,” she whispered. “The door was open and it was warm and there was shiny blue glowy stuff and it looked so cool and—and I like machines. I just wanted to wait until the storm stopped.”

Jayce stepped forward slowly, his movements gentle, careful not to spook her. He knelt down so his eye level matched hers and offered her a soft, reassuring smile.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble,” he said, voice low and kind. “What you did was smart. You got out of the rain. You found somewhere safe.”

She looked at him, hesitant. Her lower lip wobbled.

“What’s your name?” Jayce asked.

“...Lina,” she murmured. “I’m six. From Zaun.”

That last part came out like a confession, like she expected them to recoil at it. Viktor’s expression softened instantly.

Jayce only smiled more. “Lina, huh? That’s a strong name.”

“I know gears,” she added, a little brighter now that he wasn’t yelling. “My dad let me help at his repair stall sometimes. He said I was clever with wires.”

Jayce’s gaze flicked toward Viktor, who had approached silently, his eyes lingering on the cut across Lina’s cheek. His expression, usually so controlled, shifted—softened. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter. Almost reverent.

“You’re clearly talented,” he said, eyes drifting past her to the workbench. “That calibrator on the bench—it’s cleaner than Jayce’s last attempt.”

“Hey!” Jayce said, mock-offended. “She didn’t even have access to the schematics.”

Lina didn’t seem to notice the teasing. Her attention was fixed on her hands, which were still shaking slightly from the cold. “I just… guessed,” she said, voice small. “The wires were all twisty and mad at each other. So I fixed the fight.”

Viktor studied her more closely now, his eyes narrowing—not in suspicion, but fascination. He stepped around to the other side of the bench, taking a better look at the device she’d been working on.

“It’s not just the calibrator,” he murmured. “She reassembled the broken armature too. This one was cracked near the rotational core, and she rerouted the connections through the side channel. That’s... intuitive. Very intuitive.”

Jayce blinked and looked down at the now-partially disassembled mechanical arm. “Wait, that was broken? I’ve been putting off fixing it for two weeks.”

“It likely took her the entire night,” Viktor said, glancing at Lina, who shrank under the attention like she was expecting to be punished. “And she did it without proper tools.”

Jayce gave a low whistle and bent down again, this time with even more curiosity. “You got a whole brain full of blueprints in there, huh?” he said, tapping his temple with a grin.

Lina giggled shyly, the sound tiny and surprised, like she wasn’t used to being praised.

Moments later, Viktor returned from the storage closet with a clean lab coat bundled in his arms and a steaming mug of weak tea and a cookie. He set them down beside Lina, who blinked at them with wide, grateful eyes.

“For you,” he said simply. “The tea’s sweetened. You look like you could use something warm.”

She murmured a thank you and wrapped the oversized lab coat around her like a cocoon, sleeves dragging on the floor. It swallowed her small frame entirely. She cradled the mug with both hands and sipped it slowly, eyes fluttering as she nibbled the cookie.

It wasn’t long before sleep claimed her again. This time, she curled up in the padded chair beside Viktor’s workstation, the tea half-drunk on the desk beside her and the coat bunched around her like a nest. She looked peaceful now, mouth slightly open, lashes fluttering as she drifted deeper. Jayce leaned against the nearest table, arms crossed. His gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he spoke, keeping his voice low.

“She’s gotta have a guardian somewhere. We should probably call someone. Child services, maybe. Let them know she’s safe.”

Viktor didn’t respond at first. He was still watching her, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I’d rather not,” he said quietly.

Jayce turned to him, brows raised.

“She said she’s from Zaun,” Viktor continued. “Do you know what kind of care she’s likely to receive down there? If she’s lucky, a crowded orphanage. If she’s not lucky…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “Let’s not hand her off to the same system that already let her fall through the cracks.”

Jayce let out a soft sigh, rubbing at his temple. 

“I get it. Believe me, I do. But we’re not exactly equipped for—”

“I’m not saying we adopt her,” Viktor said, lips twitching, “though I do think she looks a suspicious amount like you, Jayce.”

Jayce rolled his eyes, his face burning. “She looks like you, too. The goggles. The ‘I’ll take apart your tech and make it better’ attitude.”

Viktor smiled faintly, pink dusting his own cheeks. “Then maybe it’s fate.”

Jayce looked back at the chair, where Lina was softly snoring now, nose wrinkling with each breath.

“Okay,” he said finally. “We look after her. Just until we find her dad.”

“Agreed.”

_____

Jayce let out a groan of frustration as yet another minuscule screw slipped from his fingers and bounced off the bench with a plink. He pressed his forehead against the edge of the worktable, mumbling something very un-Professor-like under his breath.

“I swear these cores are getting smaller,” he grunted, reaching clumsily for the next screw with fingers clearly designed for heavier work. “Or my hands are getting bigger.”

Footsteps pattered across the floor behind him.

“I think it’s your hands,” said a tiny voice with great authority.

Jayce turned around to find Lina standing there proudly, her mini tool belt cinched tight around her waist. It was navy blue with tiny pouches, each one stuffed with micro-sized screwdrivers, coiled wires, and something sticky she swore was “emergency goop.” Viktor had stitched on a patch of a white kitten with welding goggles just that morning, and Lina had refused to take it off since.

“You’re too big,” she informed him seriously. “I’ll do the tiny parts.”

Jayce blinked. “You think I’m too big?”

She nodded, already climbing up onto the stool beside him. “You’re the big wrench. I’m the precision wrench .”

Jayce grinned, scooting over and offering her the delicate core. “Well then, Miss Precision, I’ll need your expertise.”

Lina took the screwdriver with a surgeon’s focus, her little tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in sheer concentration. She adjusted the core’s orientation with both hands, eyes squinting at the threads.

Jayce rested his chin in his palm, watching her work. “You know, I went to the academy for years to learn how to do this.”

“I’m six,” she muttered, carefully tightening the final screw. “But I practiced on toasters.”

Jayce snorted. “Of course you did.”

“Don’t laugh,” she said gravely, handing the core back with a flourish. “One of them exploded. That’s how I got this scar.” She pointed to a faint, mostly-healed line across her wrist like a battle wound.

Jayce clutched his chest, feigning horror. “The Brave Hero of Toaster Hill. Remind me to put that on your plaque when you take over the lab.”

Lina beamed. “Only if I get a nameplate.”

“You’ll get three.”

_____

The clock on the wall blinked past midnight, the workshop dimly lit by the soft blue pulse of the arc circuits and the warm amber glow of the reading lamp. Jayce was upstairs, working late on council proposals, leaving Viktor to handle bedtime. A task, Viktor was learning, that was significantly more complex than engineering a multi-phased capacitor.

Lina was sprawled on the couch in the loft, bundled up in her favorite blanket, Jayce’s blue one he often placed over Viktor when he passed out on the desk. She’d claimed it for herself. Her curls were a sleepy mess, but her eyes still sparkled with stubborn energy.

“I’m not tired,” she announced through a yawn. “Not even a little.”

“You’re literally horizontal,” Viktor replied dryly, holding a steaming mug of warm sweet milk.

“I will only sleep if you tell me a story.”

Viktor blinked. “I do not... usually tell stories.”

“You said you used to read a lot when you were little.”

“I read schematics.”

“Then make one up!” she chirped, wiggling under her blanket.

He sighed, settling onto the edge of the couch, careful not to disturb the tangled pile of plushies beside her. He thought for a moment, brows furrowed.

“There was once a squirrel,” he began cautiously, “who lived in a tall tree in the middle of a metal forest. The squirrel was very curious—always collecting shiny things, always building... things that didn’t quite work.”

Lina snuggled in closer, eyes already drooping but her smile wide. “Go on.”

“One day,” Viktor continued, “the squirrel found a pile of broken parts under a storm drain. So, it decided to build a friend. A robot. It took many days and nights, and every time something broke, the squirrel tried again. Eventually... the robot blinked.”

Lina’s voice was soft. “And then what?”

“They explored the forest together,” Viktor said, leaning into the rhythm now. “They made a house in the tree, and the robot learned how to dance, and the squirrel learned how to laugh. They fixed things for the other animals. And they stayed friends.”

She yawned. “Did they stay best friends forever?”

“…They did,” Viktor said, looking down at her as she curled into his side. “Even when it rained.”

She was asleep seconds later, head resting against his shoulder, her tiny hand still gripping the hem of his sleeve.

Viktor didn’t move for hours. Not even when his arm started to go numb. Not even when Jayce peeked in from the stairs and raised his brows in amusement. Viktor simply looked down at Lina, her breathing soft and even, and stayed perfectly still—guarding the girl and the dream she now lived in.

_____

Morning in the lab was usually slow: quiet whirs from the heating vents, the soft hum of Hextech stabilizers waking up for the day. But today it smelled like cinnamon. Jayce stood in front of the small kitchenette stove in his apron emblazoned with FOR SCIENCE (AND SNACKS), wielding a spatula with the solemnity of a blacksmith at his forge.

“I will remind you,” Caitlyn said from behind him, arms crossed and brow arched, “that you’re banned from flipping them.”

“That was one time —”

“You flipped it onto Viktor’s coat.”

“It was airborne for three full seconds! That’s record-breaking—”

“You also burned the lab’s smoke sensors.”

Jayce sighed, stepping aside with theatrical defeat. “Fine. All yours, Chef Sheriff.”

Caitlyn grinned as she took the spatula, flipping the next pancake with an elegance that should’ve earned her a medal. Meanwhile, at the far end of the lab, sunlight spilled over a tangle of soft blankets where Lina was curled up sleepily in Viktor’s desk chair. Her hair stuck up in three different directions.

“Morning, star,” Viktor cooed, crouching beside her. He was dressed in soft gray knits and a Zaunite-crafted bracelet that clinked gently as he reached out. “Ready for our secret weapon against bedhead?”

Lina blinked blearily. “Is it fire?”

“No, better,” he whispered. “It’s ribbons.”

Jaycce passed by with a mug of warm cocoa—two marshmallows floating in it like sleepy clouds—and gently smoothed Lina’s curls with one hand. “I didn’t know you could braid hair, Vik.”

Viktor shrugged. “Eh, my mother complained to my father that his hands were too rough and that my hands were gentle enough to hold a style in place.” He then glanced at Lina. “You were thrashing again,” he murmured, voice soft. “A bad dream?”

Lina nodded a little. “I dreamed the tree squirrel got left behind.”

Jayce’s hand paused. “From the story?”

Lina nodded

“She was very brave,” Viktor said slowly. “But the robot would never leave her, Dear. They promised, remember?”

Lina blinked hard, then nodded again. “Okay.”

She sipped the cocoa carefully, letting it warm her from the inside out as Viktor began to braid her hair. The older man worked quickly, expertly twisting curls into a pair of braided buns, and finishing it off with navy and gold ribbon. He decidedly chose not to look at Jayce, though Jayce’s eyes practically burned holes into Viktor’s face as he shaped Lina’s hair

“Now you look like a tiny war general,” he said proudly.

“Can I command pancakes?” Lina asked.

Caitlyn leaned around the corner, flipping the final stack onto a plate with military precision. “As long as you salute the cook.”

Lina raised her spoon in a dramatic salute. “General Pancake requests syrup!”

Laughter echoed off the metal beams of the lab as everyone gathered around the center worktable, which had been cleared of projects and replaced with mismatched mugs, warm breakfast, and soft smiles. Jayce buttered her stack like he was handing off a gift. Viktor slid an extra napkin her way—she always needed one more. Caitlyn poured tea with elegance. Viktor passed the syrup.

And in the warm golden light, with cinnamon in the air and her little boots dangling from the chair, Lina thought this might be the safest she’d ever felt.

_____

It had been raining for three days straight. The kind of soft, heavy drizzle that clung to the glass dome above the upper labs like a sigh. The streets of Zaun below shimmered in puddles of green and gold light, but inside the lab, everything was warm, dry, and humming with quiet activity.

Lina sat cross-legged on the floor, buried in cushions, her nose wrinkled as she concentrated. A blue crayon clutched in one hand, she was sketching a very elaborate-looking squirrel on Viktor’s blueprint paper.

“He needs rocket feet,” she said solemnly. “And a lunchbox. For his acorns.”

Viktor leaned over from his nearby stool, adjusting his glasses as he studied her sketch. “A bold design choice. He will be... formidable.”

“His name is Nutbolt the Brave,” Lina added, scribbling little lightning bolts on the tail.

Jayce, walking by with a screwdriver between his teeth, paused mid-step. “You’re not actually building her a robot squirrel, are you?”

“I am,” Viktor said flatly.

Jayce blinked. “We can’t even get the hexcore to stay level and you’re building her a rocket-footed squirrel ?”

“I work better under unreasonable expectations.”

Jayce turned to Lina, who was now coloring Nutbolt’s cape. “You asked for this chaos?”

She grinned up at him, one of her front teeth missing. “I’m the commander.”

Jayce didn’t know whether he loved or hated the fact that Viktor was raising a little version of his chaotic self. Still, Jayce hadn’t seen his partner this giddy and smiley since Lina came into their lives. It was sweet, and Jayce did his best to prevent his heart from beating any faster than it already was.

By that evening, Nutbolt the Brave stood proudly on the lab bench: a foot-tall squirrel with copper armor, jet boosters in his back paws, and a button-nose that squeaked when tapped. He even had a compartment in his belly for snacks (currently filled with raisins).

“Ready for launch,” Viktor said, pressing a small remote.

The squirrel blinked, beeped, and shot off like a dart, zipping under the workbench and causing a small stack of papers to fly like startled birds. Lina screamed with joy.

“VIKTOR!” Jayce barked, diving out of the way as Nutbolt launched again, narrowly missing his head and ricocheting off the ceiling lamp.

“I may have… overestimated the fuel ratio,” Viktor muttered, adjusting the remote.

“IT’S GOT RAGE IN ITS EYES,” Jayce yelled, bolting behind a desk as the squirrel whizzed past again, cape fluttering like a battle flag.

“YOU MADE HIM TOO POWERFUL,” Lina squealed, chasing after it with glee. “HE’S PERFECT!”

Heimerdinger popped his head into the lab at the sound of chaos and just stood there silently, blinking as the jet-squirrel zoomed by him.

“…Am I hallucinating?” he asked Caitlyn, who was calmly sipping tea in the hallway.

“Nope,” Caitlyn said without looking up. “Jayce is currently losing a dominance battle to a toy.”

Eventually, the squirrel ran out of juice and skidded to a halt next to Lina, who immediately scooped him up like a hero rescuing a wounded comrade.

“You did so good, Nutbolt,” she whispered, planting a kiss on his head.

Jayce emerged from his hiding place with his hair sticking up wildly and a hexwrench stuck in his sleeve. “Remind me to install an off-switch on your next invention.”

“I have one,” Viktor said mildly. “You simply didn’t read the manual.”

Jayce glared at him. “There’s a manual?!”

Lina, meanwhile, had curled up in her corner with Nutbolt tucked in her lap like a plushie, humming a lullaby under her breath. Her cheeks were flushed with joy, her hands still smudged with crayon. Jayce gave a long, theatrical sigh before pulling off his coat and tossing it over her like a blanket.

“Chaos goblin,” he murmured fondly.

“I heard that,” she mumbled sleepily.

Viktor, sitting beside her, rested his chin in his palm and watched as her eyes fluttered shut. Her tiny fingers curled around the squirrel’s metal tail.

“She is,” Viktor said softly, “exactly what we didn’t know we needed.”

Jayce nodded, sinking into the couch beside them. “Yeah. A menace with good hair and better ideas.”

And as the rain continued tapping gently on the glass above, the lab finally settled into peace. Nutbolt was parked safely in sleep mode, his red eyes dimming like fireflies in the dark.

_____

The morning sunlight barely peeked through the lab’s high windows, casting long shadows across the floor where the team was already bustling with activity. But on one side of the room, things were a little less... professional.

“Okay!” Jayce announced, sweeping a stack of chalk across the table like it was a carefully prepared project. He'd built a child-sized chalkboard beside his own, much larger one, and it stood proudly with the words "Professor Lina’s Daily Questions" in neat letters. “Today, we begin with ‘Professor Lina’s’ lesson plans. Are you ready?”

Lina bounced up and down, her hair already frizzy from sleep and her cheeks flushed with excitement. She was clad in an oversized lab coat, one Viktor had altered to fit her tiny frame, complete with a kitten patch on the back.

“I’m ready! I’m so ready!” she declared dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest as she assumed the role of the world’s tiniest teacher.

Heimerdinger had appeared, as he often did in the mornings, to oversee the madness that was becoming routine in the lab. His tiny glasses twinkled with amusement as he adjusted his long coat and looked at the chalkboard. 

"Ah, yes, the great Professor Lina," he mused, his voice warm. "I must say, I’m quite fascinated by her enthusiasm."

Jayce handed her a piece of chalk and stepped back. “All right, let’s see what you’ve got, Professor.”

Lina looked up at the giant chalkboard, then down at her tiny one, and took a deep breath. “First question! Why does metal make sparks?”

She wrote it in crooked letters on her board, her tongue sticking out in concentration. The group waited in amused silence as she thought deeply for a few seconds. She raised her hand, her tiny fist shaking in the air like a determined adult.

“Uh, because metal is... mad at the electricity, and it gets all shocked and makes fireworks?” she guessed, her expression one of triumph.

Jayce slapped his hand to his forehead, laughing. “You’re close, kiddo. But it’s more about friction. The metal heats up, and when it’s hit by electricity, it’s like, ‘Boom!’”

Lina nodded gravely, scribbling down something that resembled a spark next to her answer.

“Next one!” she said, spinning around. “What’s gravity?”

Heimerdinger cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Gravity, my dear, is the force that pulls objects towards the ground. Quite simple, really.”

Jayce gave a dramatic shrug. “Yeah, but can you feel gravity? That’s the real question.”

Lina pondered this deeply. “It’s like when I climb on the chairs, and the floor’s all like ‘Nope, you’re coming down.’”

“Precisely!” Jayce clapped his hands, and Heimerdinger chuckled, stroking his chin in approval. “That’s the force keeping you grounded. Good job.”

Professor Lina’s third question came with an absolutely serious look on her face: “Can I eat cookies before lunch if I say it’s for science?”

This time, both Viktor and Heimerdinger exchanged a knowing glance, as Jayce practically leaped over the desk. “Absolutely. You’re a genius, Lina. Science demands it!”

With a victorious grin, Lina hopped off her stool, running over to the small stack of cookies they had leftover from last night. She held one up triumphantly. “Thank you for your scientific support, gentlemen.”

As she popped the cookie into her mouth, Viktor, watching the scene with a soft smile, spoke up in his quiet way. “She reminds me of you, Jayce. Her curiosity, the endless questions, the... ambition to push the boundaries of what we know.”

Jayce chuckled, taking a long sip from his mug. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Heimerdinger nodded sagely. “Indeed, I see quite a bit of potential in her. A true spirit of invention.”

Lina beamed. "I’m going to invent a flying squirrel one day! With rocket boots!”

“Please don’t,” Jayce groaned, remembering the events of Nutbolt.

Still, Jayce couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Viktor’s soft laughter.

_____

It was a perfect evening to unwind, which is exactly what Lina had in mind.

“I want to cook for you,” she declared, standing in front of the lab’s open kitchen cupboard, her tiny hands sifting through ingredients as if she were the world’s most dedicated chef. “I want to make Zaunite pasta like my papa used to.”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a surprised glance, then looked back at Lina, who was now fully absorbed in a cookbook Viktor had left on the counter. She was flipping through the pages as if it were a treasure map.

“I’m definitely in,” Jayce said with enthusiasm, ruffling her hair. “I think I’d trust you with the most dangerous recipes.”

Viktor, however, raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s... wise. Do you have a recipe for this ‘Zaunite pasta’?”

“I do!” Lina exclaimed, pointing at a particularly messy-looking page. “It’s got noodles. And sauce. And... lots of sauce.” She grinned. “Also, don’t ask about the fishy stuff. You won’t like it.”

Jayce snorted. “I love mystery ingredients.”

The chaos began. Lina bounced around the kitchen with glee, flinging pots onto the stove and scattering ingredients across the counter like confetti. Jayce, being Jayce, immediately took over with the pasta, lifting Lina up so she could stir the sauce at the stove. She stood on tiptoe, hands on the counter, looking up at Jayce with wide, determined eyes. “I need to add the spice. You can’t make it spicy enough .”

Jayce grinned. “I trust you, tiny chef. Just... no explosions this time?”

Lina scowled at him. “I don’t cause explosions. I fix ‘em.” She turned back to her sauce, stirring furiously as if the pasta world depended on it.

"And what about that toaster?"

Lina paused. "That was a fluke."

Jayce was trying his best to follow the pasta instructions, his nose wrinkled as he read over the recipe. He muttered, “These instructions make no sense. 'Simmer sauce for 1.5 hours'? What does that even mean?”

Viktor strolled over, one hand on his hip, the other leaning on his cane. “It’s the Zaunite way—just let it happen. Trust the pasta.”

Jayce gave him an exasperated look before turning back to the counter, where a spill of flour threatened to coat everything. “I am not sure this is how..."

But before he could finish, Lina shot him a grin, already tossing a piece of pasta into his lap like it was an offering. “Just taste it! If it’s bad, we can fix it.”

Viktor chuckled as he set the table with mismatched cups. “What can go wrong?”

By the time they sat down at the lab table, the entire place smelled like a strange but delicious blend of spices, fish sauce, and something that could only be described as Zaunite magic. They clinked their juice cups together—filled to the brim like tiny wine glasses—and laughed as they all took their first bites.

Lina made a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest like she'd just been mortally wounded. “You doubted me?! A fellow Zaunite! Viktor, I’m hurt. Betrayed. Utterly scandalized.”

Jayce smirked over his own plate. “She’s gonna write a tragic opera about this, you know.”

“Exactly!” Lina pointed her spoon at Viktor. “It’ll be called ‘The Soup of Suspicion.’ Act one: betrayal. Act two: redemption. Act three: I open a five-star restaurant and ban you from it forever.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “I said it was good.”

“You say that now,” Lina said, squinting dramatically. “But I saw the hesitation in your eyes.” She then held her empty cup up. “For science!”

“For science!” Jayce echoed, lifting his cup as well, a proud smile on his face.

And for that moment, in the warmth of the lab with the chaos of pasta and laughter surrounding them, they were a family. However unusual it may be.

_____

The lab was quieter than usual, the usual hum of machinery and the soft clang of tools stilled. Outside, the sky was an overcast gray, the air heavy with the weight of the coming rain, but it felt like the weight inside the room was more pressing. It had been a week since Viktor had gone out to search for any information, to find someone who knew where Lina's father might be.

And now, standing at the workbench, Viktor’s hands were clasped together, and his usually steady eyes betrayed the deep sorrow that had settled in them. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his brow was furrowed as he stared at the small piece of paper in his hand, his mind swirling with the words he'd just heard. Jayce, who had been carefully tinkering with a new set of schematics, didn’t need to look up to know something had changed. The air felt denser. Viktor’s silence was almost suffocating.

Finally, Viktor spoke, his voice quieter than usual, strained in a way that Jayce wasn’t accustomed to.

“I spoke to someone,” Viktor said, his words heavy, each one sinking into the room like stones. He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the paper. “From Lina’s neighborhood. They... they said her father was... helping people escape when the tunnel collapsed. He didn’t make it.”

Jayce’s stomach twisted. He turned around slowly, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His mind struggled to wrap around the truth, the reality of it all. Lina’s father was gone. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the lab’s machinery, as if the whole world had paused.

“Are you... sure?” Jayce’s voice cracked, a desperate edge to it, as though he could will the truth away by refusing to accept it. His heart pounded in his chest, the idea of telling Lina unbearable. He had watched her over the past few weeks, how she’d clung to hope, her tiny hands gripping onto the belief that her father would come home. That hope would be shattered.

Viktor nodded grimly, unable to look Jayce in the eye. "I wish it wasn’t true, Jayce. I even asked Caitlyn to run her ID through any databases. But the way they read... there’s no mistake. He was last seen near the wreckage. There were no survivors from that part of the tunnel."

The weight of Viktor’s words seemed to press down harder, suffocating, a pressure that was unbearable.

Jayce’s gaze drifted to the corner of the room where Lina’s mini chalkboard still stood, her "Professor Lina" questions written neatly in colored chalk. He had never allowed himself to imagine that this moment could come. That something would take Lina’s innocence, her brightness, her joy. She had only been six.

"How... how do we tell her?" Jayce whispered, as if speaking louder would somehow make the situation worse. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now, every step a frantic movement. “She’ll be devastated. She’s been asking about him every day, Viktor. What do we say?”

Viktor’s hands trembled slightly as he folded the paper, his mind already spinning with the possibilities. He had always been practical, always known how to approach problems with logic and clarity. But this... this was different. This wasn’t a machine, a formula, or a scientific equation. This was a child. A child who had already lost so much.

“I don’t know,” Viktor admitted, his voice rough. “I don’t know what the right words are. How do we explain death to someone that young? How do we explain that the person they love won’t come back?”

Jayce stopped pacing and looked at Viktor, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. It was as if he were trying to find the right answer in Viktor’s eyes, the reassurance that they would find some way to make this better. But there was none. There was no fix. There was no quick solution.

The silence that followed stretched out, long and unbearable, both men lost in their own turmoil. And then, without warning, Jayce’s voice broke the stillness again.

“She’ll ask... she’ll ask where he is. She’ll want to know why he’s not here. And how do we answer that?” Jayce’s words tumbled out in a rush, his fists clenched in helpless frustration.

Viktor took a step closer, his eyes locked onto Jayce’s, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’ll tell her the truth. That he was a hero. That he gave his life helping others.”

Jayce swallowed hard, his throat tight. The truth felt too sharp, too painful. He glanced again at the chalkboard, at the tiny notes Lina had made, her questions so full of curiosity and wonder. The thought of her face, her innocent eyes looking up at them as they explained, felt like a knife.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Jayce said, his voice quieter now, as if he were admitting a vulnerability he hadn’t realized he had. “I don’t know how to be strong for her when I feel like I’m breaking inside.”

Viktor didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Jayce wasn’t sure if he expected an answer or simply the comfort of silence. Finally, Viktor’s voice was low but steady.

“We’ll do it together. We’ll help her through it, Jayce. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Jayce looked at him then—really looked at him. He saw the pain tucked behind Viktor’s calm, the quiet weight he carried like a second skin. Viktor, who had lost his parents when he was still so young, had grown up learning to hold grief in his chest like a constant hum.

Without thinking, Jayce reached out and pulled him into a hug. Viktor stiffened for half a second, surprised, but then he sank into it, his hands lightly resting on Jayce’s back. They stayed like that, not speaking, the world around them hushed by the stillness of shared grief and silent promises.

“We’ll do it together,” Jayce murmured again, more certain this time.

And Viktor nodded against his shoulder. “Together.”

Jayce nodded slowly, though he didn’t feel any sense of relief. How could he? How could anyone feel relief when faced with such heart-wrenching sorrow? But he knew Viktor was right. They couldn’t face this alone. They would have to bear this pain together, as they had done with everything else.

They both stood in the lab, the sound of their breathing filling the silence, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on them like a storm. They didn’t know how they would tell Lina. But they knew they had to, sooner rather than later.

Jayce and Viktor had carefully planned what they would say to Lina, rehearsing the words in their minds a hundred times, knowing there was no right way to do this. The truth felt too heavy to bear, and every time they tried to speak it aloud, it seemed to lose its meaning, slipping into a void of sorrow.

Lina had been so bright, so full of life. She had filled their lab with her curiosity, her questions, her tiny hands turning screws with an enthusiasm that made every moment seem brighter. But now, in the wake of the news, the room felt emptier. The air around them felt cold, and the soft clink of tools and the quiet hum of machinery could not fill the silence that settled into the space.

Jayce found her sitting at the corner of the workbench, her small hands fidgeting with an unused tool. She hadn’t said a word since Viktor had shared the news with her, and her wide, bronze eyes looked distant, almost hollow, as if the light had gone out of them.

She hadn’t cried, not at first. She’d just stared at them, her gaze blank as though she didn’t know how to process the weight of what they were telling her. It was only when Jayce had knelt down beside her, his voice gentle, that she had crawled into Viktor’s lap, burying her face against his chest, her small body trembling ever so slightly.

Viktor, who had never been particularly adept at dealing with emotions, simply kept his hand steady on her back, rubbing small circles in a futile attempt to comfort her. He didn't know what else to say. He didn’t have the words to ease the hurt she was feeling, and his heart ached at the weight of her grief.

Jayce’s own throat tightened as he watched them, a deep, bitter feeling in his chest. He had expected tears, shouting, questions. But instead, there was nothing. Just a quiet, oppressive silence that felt more painful than any outburst could have been.

For the next few days, Lina became a shadow of the girl she had been. She no longer asked her daily questions, no longer tinkered with the tools on the workbench or sought out new things to fix. Her chalkboard, once filled with scientific queries, now lay blank, untouched. The innocence and joy that had colored her every word were gone, replaced by a weight that Jayce and Viktor couldn't lift, no matter how much they tried.

Each day, she seemed smaller, quieter. She would sit next to Viktor while he worked, her small form curling up against his side, clinging to him as though he were her anchor. She didn't ask to go outside, didn’t even speak about her father. She simply... was. There, but not really present. She had withdrawn into herself, and neither Jayce nor Viktor knew how to pull her out.

Lina’s hands, once eager to grasp new inventions, now sat idle in her lap. She’d once filled the lab with her eager chatter, asking endless questions about everything around her. But now, the only sounds that came from her were the soft, uneven breaths as she clung to Viktor, her tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of his vest.

Surprisingly, it was Viktor who held her most often, his body stiff but unwavering. He didn’t speak much, but when Lina crawled into his lap, he let her. When her little fingers sought comfort, he gave it, his touch a silent promise to keep her safe. He wasn’t sure if it was for her or for himself—if he needed to feel like he was holding onto something, some sense of control in a world that felt like it was spinning out of their reach.

Jayce, for his part, did his best to maintain some normalcy. He tried to coax her out of her shell, offering her little mechanical puzzles and tasks, hoping it might spark some of the life she used to have. But each time, she would just look at the pieces, her face blank, and then retreat into her quiet corner once more. It was as though her spark had been extinguished, her light dimmed by the harshness of the world.

The lab, once a place of energy and movement, now felt like a tomb, a place where things were kept, but nothing ever grew.

One evening, as the sun set behind the glass windows of the lab, Jayce stood by the desk, his hands resting on the edge. He watched as Viktor gently rocked Lina, her head resting against his chest, the sound of her breathing slow and soft, but heavy with unspoken grief. It wasn’t that Lina wasn’t strong. She was stronger than most children her age. But the weight of what she’d lost, of what they’d all lost, was simply too much for her tiny shoulders to bear.

Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s not... she’s not the same anymore.”

Viktor, his voice soft and steady, replied without looking up, his gaze fixed on the small girl curled up in his arms. “No. She’s not.”

The silence between them was thick, filled with the unspoken question that neither of them could answer. What now? How could they fix what had been broken?

Jayce felt a hollow ache in his chest, a gnawing feeling that never went away. It had become clear that Lina’s grief had become a part of her now, a heavy, inescapable shadow that would follow her until she was ready to face it. He wished he could do more, could fix it, but he knew there was no quick solution.

“I can’t stand seeing her like this,” Jayce whispered, his voice strained. “She was so full of life, and now... I don’t know how to help her find that again.”

Viktor’s fingers tightened slightly on Lina’s back, a subtle gesture of support. He spoke softly, his words as much for Jayce as they were for himself. “We help her heal. In time. The way she’s been, Jayce, it’s not forever. She’ll come back to us. She just needs... time.”

Jayce’s throat tightened as he fought back the urge to break down. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that the girl who had filled their lab with laughter and curiosity would return to them. But the sadness in her eyes, the way she clung to Viktor like he was the only thing that kept her anchored to this world, made him wonder if that version of Lina would ever truly return.

The lab was quieter than usual that night, with the usual hum of machines and clink of tools replaced by a heavy stillness. Jayce had been working on recalibrating a few circuits in one of the Hextech cores, his focus absorbed by the task, when he noticed the dim light from the corner of the room.

Lina was there, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. In her tiny hands, she held the mechanical beetle she and Viktor had worked on together a few weeks ago. The small creature buzzed softly, its metal wings vibrating with a gentle hum, almost as if it, too, felt the sadness hanging in the air. Lina’s fingers moved delicately over its polished shell, her eyes focused intently on the beetle, though there was no excitement in her gaze, no curiosity. Just... silence.

Jayce's heart twisted as he stood from his workbench, his footsteps slow as he made his way toward her. He knew this silence. It was the silence that came after grief, after a loss too big for her small frame to carry alone.

He knelt down beside her, his knees creaking slightly as he settled on the floor. "Hey, Lina," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady, despite the lump in his throat. "You alright?"

She didn’t answer at first, her eyes fixed on the beetle, tracing the intricate gears that spun beneath its tiny metal wings. The whir of the buzzing sound filled the space between them, but nothing else. She seemed lost in it, in the rhythm of the motion, as if it were the only thing left in the world that made sense.

After a long pause, she spoke, her voice small, fragile like a whisper carried by the wind. "I don’t got anyone left."

Jayce’s heart stung, the weight of her words hitting him harder than anything he'd expected. The pain in her voice, the rawness of it, made him want to shield her from the world, to take away the hurt she couldn’t yet understand.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, gently touching her shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was there. He tried to swallow the ache in his chest, giving her a soft, encouraging smile. "You have us," he said, his voice firm yet filled with warmth. "If you want."

Lina didn’t look up. She didn’t meet his eyes, but the beetle in her hands paused its buzzing, as if it, too, was holding its breath. After a long moment, she finally spoke again, her words so quiet they were almost lost in the hum of the lab.

"But I’m Zaun."

Jayce couldn’t help but laugh, a small, wistful chuckle that bubbled up despite the sadness. He gently scooted closer to her, adjusting his posture so he was on the same level. "So’s Viktor," he said, the teasing tone in his voice light, but his eyes soft with affection. "And he’s my favorite person."

Viktor, who had been standing just a few steps away, watching the interaction in silence, raised an eyebrow at the exchange. The corner of his mouth lifted into the slightest of smirks, though his expression remained mostly unreadable. "Only your favorite?" he asked, his voice smooth, though there was an undercurrent of playfulness in his words.

Jayce grinned, not missing a beat. "Okay, second favorite," he said, glancing up at Viktor with mock solemnity. "You’re tied with her."

Lina’s head lifted just a little at that, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes as she looked between the two men, the corners of her lips twitching in what might have been the smallest, shyest smile. Jayce’s heart swelled at the sight, and for the briefest moment, he felt a sliver of the warmth that used to fill the lab—the warmth that had been lost when the storm came.

Viktor stepped closer, his gaze softening as he looked at Lina, a tenderness in his eyes that only she seemed to draw from him. He crouched down next to Jayce, his hand hovering for a moment before resting lightly on Lina’s head, as if offering the quietest of promises that they would protect her, no matter what.

“You’re never alone, Lina,” Viktor said, his voice quiet, but with the same steady reassurance that he had offered her in the past. “Zaun or not, you belong with us. And that’s never going to change.”

Lina looked up at him, her little fingers still clutching the beetle, her thumb running over its smooth surface as though it was a source of comfort. Her eyes searched Viktor’s face for something—perhaps for certainty, for the security of his words—but whatever she found there, it seemed to soothe her. Her shoulders relaxed, just a little.

_____

Jayce had been busy, as always, adjusting to the new, unanticipated changes in his life. The mechanical beetle in the corner of the lab was now a familiar sight, buzzing contentedly as Lina worked on her latest creation. The small, colorful jacket hung on the coat rack—far too small for either of them. Viktor had worked tirelessly to make her feel at home, showing her the delicate art of invention and even helping her with her favorite part: fixing things.

The tea mugs had shrunk in size, their delicate handles now better suited to little hands. Even Viktor, for all his usual precision and order, had taken to pouring the tea into those small mugs every afternoon, watching with a rare, soft smile as Lina sipped it slowly, savoring every drop. She was quiet, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, one that made everything feel… almost right.

And yet, despite their best efforts, the growing sense of family still felt fragile, like something that could slip through their fingers at any moment.

Jayce was at the workbench when the door to the lab creaked open. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Mel had a knack for walking in at the most unexpected moments, and today was no different.

She stepped inside, her gaze scanning the lab in her usual no-nonsense way. Her eyes flicked over the clutter of tools, the scattered papers, and then settled on the small bed in the corner. A tiny jacket hung on the coat rack—far too small for either of them. Mel paused, eyebrows raising. She glanced over to the workbench where Jayce was tinkering, his focus deep, and then her eyes softened when she saw a little figure curled up in the corner, asleep.

"Everything alright?" Mel asked, her voice as steady as ever, but a faint curiosity tugging at the edge of her words.

Jayce didn’t look up immediately, but the way he replied told her everything she needed to know. "We’re fine," he said, not missing a beat as he adjusted a component. "The storm did more damage than we expected, but we’re making it work."

Mel’s gaze lingered on the small, makeshift bed in the corner of the room, then shifted to the tiny jacket on the coat rack, and finally, she saw Lina curled up in a chair with a mechanical beetle resting in her hands, her eyes wide open but unfocused, a quiet calm in the way she sat. Mel blinked, surprise evident in her expression.

"You’ve got a guest," Mel said, her tone light but filled with that trademark sharpness. She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes as she looked over at Jayce.

Jayce finally glanced up from his work, a grin tugging at his lips. "We’ve got a stowaway genius," he said, his tone playful. "Lina’s been tinkering with my prototypes when I’m not looking."

Viktor, who had been silently observing from his corner of the lab, lifted his head at the mention of Lina. He met Mel’s gaze briefly before turning his attention to the girl again. "She’s… been through a lot," Viktor said quietly, his voice softer than usual. "But she’s got a knack for this. She fixed a few of the prototypes herself."

Mel raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed but trying not to show it. "Really? A tiny genius, huh?" Her voice carried a teasing edge, but there was a softness to her expression as she observed the little girl in the corner.

Jayce wiped his hands on his coat before walking over to where Lina was sitting. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t respond—her attention still fixed on the beetle in her hands. He looked up at Mel, his voice quieter. "She’s been through a lot, but we’re doing our best to help her find her way here."

Mel studied him for a moment before nodding, her eyes flicking to the little jacket, the small tea mugs, and the makeshift bedding again. "I can see that," she said, her voice warmer now. She took a few steps forward, kneeling beside Lina. "You’re a cutie, aren’t you?" Mel murmured, her tone softening as she smiled at the little girl.

Lina looked up at Mel, her eyes wide and uncertain. She didn’t say anything, but the faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips.

"You’re definitely a clever one," Mel added, her voice low and teasing. "I bet you’re going to fix all of these guys' prototypes in no time."

Lina didn’t speak, but she held up the beetle in her hands as if to show it off, a silent acknowledgment of her small triumph.

Mel chuckled softly, then glanced back at Jayce. "She’s got a lot of potential, doesn’t she?"

Jayce smiled softly. "She’s already surprised us a few times. We’re doing what we can to make sure she’s safe."

As Mel looked at the pair—Jayce and Viktor—there was a clear sense of care in their eyes, the quiet bond between them and Lina growing with every passing day. It wasn’t a family she had ever expected to see, but somehow, it felt right.

Jayce stood up again, brushing his hands on his trousers. "I’ll bring her by my mother’s house later. She’s been asking about her."

Viktor nodded, his usual stoic demeanor returning. "It would be good for Lina to meet more people. Ximena would like to see her."

Mel gave a knowing smile at Viktor's mention of Ximena. "Your mother, huh? I bet she’s already got a million things to say to the little one."

Jayce laughed softly, shaking his head. "You’ll see. She’s a force to be reckoned with."

Mel chuckled at that, then looked over at Lina, who was now examining a small tool with furrowed brows, clearly absorbed in her work. "Well, I’m glad you’ve found someone to look out for her," Mel said, her voice softening. "She’s lucky to have you two."

Jayce glanced at Viktor, a silent exchange passing between them before he smiled warmly at Mel. "We’re lucky to have her."

And as Mel made her way out, she couldn’t help but glance back one last time at the little girl, sitting quietly in the corner, her tiny hands working with such focused determination. It was a sight she’d never forget.

_____

Later that evening, after a quiet dinner and a short trip to the city, Jayce, Viktor, and Lina arrived at his mother’s house. The warm, inviting light spilling out from the front porch was a stark contrast to the cold, industrial world they had just left behind.

Ximena was already waiting at the door when they arrived, her bright smile evident even in the dimming light of the evening. She was an imposing figure, yet there was something gentle about the way she held herself. Every movement was purposeful, every glance filled with a wisdom that came only with age and experience.

She spotted Lina almost immediately, her expression softening. The moment she laid eyes on the little girl, a warmth flooded her features. "Ah, my sweet," Ximena murmured, her voice rich with affection. "It’s so good to finally meet you."

Lina shyly stepped forward, glancing up at Jayce and Viktor for reassurance. Her small hands gripped the hem of her jacket nervously.

"Hola, mi niña," Ximena said, kneeling down to meet her eye level. She extended her arms, not forcing the hug but offering it as an invitation. "Don’t be afraid, my dear. Come, let me see that little face."

Lina hesitated, but the warmth in Ximena’s eyes coaxed her forward. Slowly, she approached the older woman, and before long, Ximena’s arms enveloped her in a gentle embrace. It was the kind of embrace that seemed to fill the empty spaces in Lina’s heart, offering her a quiet kind of comfort.

Jayce watched from the door, his chest tightening as he saw Lina nestled in the embrace of his mother. He exchanged a glance with Viktor, who had a rare softness in his eyes, his usually stern face relaxed for a moment. Lina might have lost her father, but in that moment, she was surrounded by people who cared for her. She was no longer alone.

_____

It was a quiet evening when Caitlyn and Ximena knocked on the door of the men’s now-shared apartment. Jayce and Viktor were both working late, their minds preoccupied with hextech prototypes, but the soft knock caught their attention.

“We thought we’d give you two a break,” Caitlyn said with a knowing smile. “I’ll take Lina for an overnight visit. Ximena’s coming along to help out, of course.” She glanced over at Ximena, who was standing with a warm, welcoming smile, the kind that made anyone feel like they were about to be cared for with gentle hands.

Lina had been quiet all day, absorbed in her usual tinkering, but there was a slight slouch in her shoulders, a telltale sign that she needed a change of pace. Jayce and Viktor exchanged a look, silently agreeing that this might be just what Lina needed.

“Okay,” Jayce said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But if anything goes wrong—”

“Don’t worry,” Caitlyn interrupted, her voice warm and reassuring. “We’ll be fine. Right, Mrs. Talis?”

“Of course,” Ximena chimed in. She crouched down to Lina’s level and smiled. “Come on, querida. Let’s give them a little peace and quiet. We’ll have fun.”

Lina blinked up at them, unsure at first, but then nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said softly, her eyes flicking between Jayce and Viktor as if asking for permission.

“You’ll be fine,” Viktor said, though his usual stoic demeanor had softened ever so slightly. “But text us if you need anything. Don’t forget about the beetles.”

Jayce grinned. “And we’ll bring you some cookies when we pick you up.”

Caitlyn gave a little mock salute. “Deal.”

At Caitlyn’s house, everything was different—there was warmth, and an air of quiet sophistication, with soft, patterned rugs underfoot and books stacked in neat piles beside the cozy fireplace. The house felt more like a sanctuary than a laboratory, and for the first time in weeks, Lina allowed herself to relax in the space.

Caitlyn led her to the grand bathroom, where a ridiculous, oversized clawfoot tub sat in the middle of the room. The bubbles from the bath swirled around her like soft clouds, and Lina let out an amazed little gasp as she dipped her toes into the warm water.

“You can take as long as you want,” Caitlyn said, leaning against the doorway with a smile. “It’s all yours.”

Ximena, who had followed them in, helped Lina gather up some lavender-scented bath oils and soft towels. “You deserve a pampering, mi niña,” Ximena said, her voice as soothing as the steam rising from the water. “Go ahead, enjoy yourself.”

Lina settled back into the tub, her small face lighting up with wonder as the bubbles foamed around her. She was quiet at first, but soon, she began to giggle as the bubbles tickled her chin. Once she was done with her bath, Caitlyn had already laid out a fluffy pink bathrobe and a pair of slippers that were much too big for Lina, but she wore them anyway with a huge smile.

Then came the fun part.

“Let’s see how you look in a hat,” Caitlyn said with a dramatic flourish, pulling out one of her own large velvet hats from her closet. It was deep purple with a large feather on top, the kind of hat that made anyone wearing it look like they were preparing for a grand occasion. Lina giggled as Caitlyn placed it on her head, the hat tumbling over her face. She pushed it up and beamed. 

“I look like a queen,” she declared, twirling around on the spot.

Ximena couldn’t help but laugh as she observed the tiny girl in her extravagant hat. “A very fine queen indeed.”

After the hat came the braiding. Ximena gently gathered Lina’s hair, expertly weaving it into a braid, her hands nimble as they worked. Lina leaned back against her grandmother’s warm embrace, her little fingers fiddling with a puzzle that Jayce had once loved as a child—pieces slowly clicking together.

“There,” Ximena said, finishing the braid with a small ribbon at the end. “Now you look perfect.”

Lina smiled up at her, the soft, familiar warmth in the room lulling her into a sense of peace. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She paused, then asked, “Can I stay forever?”

Caitlyn, who had been adjusting the large mirror and admiring the sight of Lina in her hat, looked down at her with a smile that was both tender and teasing. “Only if you bring cookies next time,” Caitlyn said with a wink.

Lina’s face lit up, her smile returning in full force. “I can do that!” she exclaimed.

They all laughed, but the room fell into a comfortable silence soon after, as Caitlyn made tea and Ximena pulled out a book of stories for them to read together. Lina curled up beside Ximena, holding her hand as they read a tale of faraway lands and magical creatures. The book was filled with adventures, but it was the quiet moments like these that meant the most to Lina.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Jayce and Viktor were trying to enjoy their rare moment of peace, but it wasn’t long before their phones buzzed with notifications.

“Lina okay?” Jayce asked, already reaching for his phone as the screen lit up with Viktor’s name.

Viktor read his own text from Caitlyn aloud, barely concealing the slight anxiety in his voice. “Everything is fine. She’s... enjoying a bubble bath. And yes, we’ll send you updates.”

Jayce let out a low chuckle, sending a quick response. "I’m sure she’s loving the bath. Does she like the hat?"

A moment later, a second text arrived: Lina looks like a queen. Should I worry?

Jayce quickly typed back: Only if she starts asking for a crown.

Not to be outdone, Viktor added his own text: Update me in two hours. And tell her I still haven’t figured out how to fix the beetles she broke.

A few minutes later, Caitlyn texted again. Everything’s fine. She’s wearing a velvet hat. I’m starting to think she might stay forever.

Viktor’s brows furrowed as he read the message. “I think she might,” he muttered.

Later that night, Caitlyn smiled as she tucked Lina into bed, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. Ximena sat by the window, watching the night settle over the city. And in the quiet of the living room, Jayce and Viktor both stared at their phones, scrolling through the multiple texts they had sent to check on Lina. They exchanged an unreadable glance, the silence between them thick with unspoken words.

Viktor’s lips quirked upward ever so slightly. “I didn’t text her that much,” he said, voice tinged with dry humor.

Jayce snorted. “You did, Viktor. Ten times. Don’t lie.”

Viktor glanced at him, his expression deadpan. “You’re counting?”

“Well, yeah. It’s... a lot,” Jayce chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

Viktor paused for a moment, before responding quietly, “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

Jayce looked at him then, understanding passing between them in a silent moment of agreement. They might not be related by blood, but this little girl had become their responsibility in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

And they would do whatever it took to make sure she never had to ask that question again.

_____

The park was quiet that morning, a gentle mist curling around the early blooming trees. Jayce and Viktor walked side by side down a gravel path, the hush of morning broken only by the occasional birdcall or the rhythmic crunch of Lina’s little boots ahead of them.

Jayce held a cup of lukewarm coffee, the other hand casually swinging, brushing now and then against Viktor’s without either of them commenting on it. Viktor was holding a crinkled paper bag of duck feed. Lina had insisted they bring it, claiming the ducks “deserved breakfast like everybody else.”

Lina veered off to inspect a patch of clover, then came trotting back proudly holding a small, slightly squashed daisy. She handed it to Viktor with a mischievous grin.

“For your grumpy face,” she said.

Viktor arched an eyebrow but accepted it with a soft laugh, tucking it behind his ear. “I see. Am I grumpy often?”

“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she said. Then added with mock seriousness, “Which is always.”

Jayce chuckled and nudged Viktor lightly with his elbow, and Viktor gave him a look but didn’t move away. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Lina in the middle now, humming to herself. Then she suddenly glanced up, her voice small and thoughtful.

“Can I ask something?”

Jayce looked down. “Always.”

Lina slowed her steps, kicking at a loose pebble. “Can I call you Daddy?” she asked, then turned to Viktor. “And you… Baba?”

Jayce stopped walking. Viktor did too, his breath catching in his throat.

Lina looked up at them, eyes wide but calm, as though she'd been thinking about it for a while. “I just feel like… you already are. Sort of.”

Jayce’s mouth opened, then closed again. Words caught in his throat like he was trying to swallow a star. He let out a breath, steadying himself, then crouched down in front of her so they were eye to eye. His hands gently held her arms—like anchoring himself to something precious and real.

“Lina…” he began, voice soft but trembling with emotion. “That means more than you know.”

His vision blurred slightly, but he blinked it away. He had to stay composed. Or at least try. Not when her big, expectant eyes were looking at him like he hung the moon.

Viktor, for his part, had gone silent. Not with hesitation—but with weight. The kind that comes from holding something too big, too sacred, in your chest. His eyes were locked on her, wide and glassy, like she was the only thing anchoring him to the world right then. The wind tousled his curls, catching against the soft edges of his usually guarded expression.

“I would be honored,” Viktor said, voice low, reverent. “To be your Baba.”

Lina beamed. Not just a grin—but a full, radiant, whole-body smile that looked like it could light a thousand Zaunite tunnels. Then, without warning, she surged forward and pulled them both into a hug, tiny arms wrapping around their shoulders, one hand clinging to Jayce’s shirt, the other resting carefully against Viktor’s metal shoulder joint.

Jayce let out a laugh—a breathy, teary sound—and instinctively wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. His forehead rested against the top of her head, and he closed his eyes.

Viktor stiffened at first—out of habit more than anything. But then he let out a breath, like something in him unclenched, and melted into the embrace. His mechanical arm adjusted, careful not to jostle her, while his human hand rested gently on her back. You could feel it: the moment all three of them stopped holding their breath at once.

“You’re both warm,” Lina mumbled into their shoulders. “Like—like my favorite blanket.”

Jayce gave a choked little laugh. “We’ll try to stay that way, sweetheart.”

“We will,” Viktor murmured. “Always.”

They stayed like that for a while—just three people wrapped in something quiet and safe. A found-family kind of love. The kind that doesn’t ask to be earned only shared.

Eventually, Lina peeked up and whispered, “Do I get to draw us as a family now?”

Jayce’s lips quirked into a teary smile. “I think that’s mandatory.”

When she pulled away, she gave them both a squinting, inspecting look. “So if I’m calling you Daddy and Baba…” she began slowly.

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “Here we go.”

Lina pointed to their hands, so close together they were nearly touching. “How come you don’t have rings?”

Jayce blinked. “Rings?”

Lina tilted her head. “Aren’t you and Baba married?”

Viktor made a strangled noise, his face instantly going a deep pink. Jayce stared at her, then at Viktor, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was being pranked.

“What makes you think we’re married?” Jayce asked, half-laughing.

Lina shrugged. “You fall asleep on the couch together all the time. Baba always makes you tea when you’re mad. You call him ‘Vik’ in that voice—” she paused and mimicked a surprisingly accurate impression of Jayce’s soft-spoken “Vik”—“and last week I caught you holding his hand while you were both asleep.”

Jayce opened his mouth again, then closed it. Viktor looked like he wished the duck pond would open up and swallow him whole.

“I just thought,” Lina added, eyes wide and honest, “you were married and forgot to tell me.”

Jayce looked at Viktor again. Their eyes met, brief but electric. There was something unspoken in that glance, something trembling and cautious and too big for words.

“Well,” Jayce said eventually, rubbing the back of his neck, “we… haven’t talked about that.”

Viktor cleared his throat and said softly, “Yet.”

Lina beamed. “Okay. But I still think you should get rings. That way people know.”

She skipped ahead to chase a bird that had landed on the path, leaving Jayce and Viktor standing in stunned silence.

Jayce glanced at Viktor again, his voice quiet now. “You… want to talk about it?”

Viktor, cheeks still flushed, gave a small, wry smile. “Later. Perhaps… soon.”

Their hands brushed again. This time, Jayce took the risk and laced his fingers with Viktor’s. Neither of them let go.

Later, the city lights cast soft golden reflections on the windows of their shared apartment. The hum of Piltover had dulled to a distant lull, and Lina had long since fallen asleep in her room, her stuffed toy bear tucked securely under one arm.

Jayce sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring down at a cooling cup of tea he hadn’t touched. Viktor stood nearby, one hand resting on the back of the armchair, the other gently brushing the edge of the daisy Lina had given him. Neither of them had said much since putting her to bed. But the air between them was heavy with all the words they hadn’t yet spoken.

“I keep thinking about what she said today,” Jayce finally said, voice quiet but steady.

Viktor gave a soft, mirthless laugh. “About the rings?”

Jayce smirked a little. “Well, yeah. That. But mostly…” He looked up, locking eyes with Viktor. “The part where she already saw us as something more.”

Viktor didn’t reply at first. He came around the armchair slowly and sat beside Jayce—not too close, but not far either. “She sees things that we try to ignore,” he said, tone reflective. “Maybe it’s simpler for her. Clearer.”

Jayce nodded. He set the mug down on the table and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I was hiding it well. The way I look at you. The way I feel when you’re in the room.”

Viktor’s lips curved, just faintly. “You weren’t.”

Jayce laughed quietly. “Yeah. Figured.” He paused, then leaned back against the couch cushion, turning toward him. “I meant what I said. I don’t think I could do any of this without you.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Viktor said softly. He didn’t look at Jayce at first, just stared at his own hands. “I’ve grown used to having you beside me. And… not just for Lina. For myself. I think I’ve been afraid to name what that means.”

Jayce’s hand brushed his, gently. “Are you still afraid?”

Viktor finally looked at him then, and there was something uncertain but hopeful. “Less so. Now that I know you feel it too.”

Jayce let out a shaky breath as if the weight he’d been carrying was finally being lifted. “Then maybe… we could stop pretending we’re just partners in the lab with a shared child and emotional intimacy?”

Viktor’s laugh was breathless, quiet. “You make it sound so clinical.”

Jayce smiled, leaning closer. “So? What do you think? Should we try this for real? You and me?”

Viktor hesitated only for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Let’s try. But slowly. For all our sakes.”

Jayce reached for his hand properly this time, fingers lacing with Viktor’s. “Slow works for me. As long as it’s you.”

They sat in the soft hum of the evening for a long moment, hands clasped, hearts still pounding from finally saying it aloud. 

_____

The marketplace was lively with the midday bustle: vendors shouting out prices, scent trails of fresh bread and fried sweet buns wafting through the air, and laughter echoing from a nearby fountain where kids splashed and chased one another. Jayce and Viktor walked side by side, a shopping basket hanging from Viktor’s mechanical arm, filled with vegetables, soap, and one very specific brand of cereal Lina insisted on.

Lina, in her oversized sun hat and pink-tinted goggles, skipped ahead, then circled back like a boomerang. “Did you get the cinnamon ones?” she asked, barely giving Viktor time to nod before darting off again.

Jayce chuckled. “She’s got more energy than both of us combined.”

“She might be solar-powered,” Viktor mused. “Powered by sunshine and sheer will.”

They shared a small laugh, and then Jayce’s hand brushed Viktor’s again. Viktor glanced at him. Jayce looked back, searching his expression for a moment, then gently reached out and laced their fingers together. Viktor froze for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Jayce to worry he’d misstepped, but then Viktor’s grip tightened ever so slightly, and he let out a small, contented breath.

Neither of them said anything. They just kept walking, hands joined, the buzz of the marketplace folding around them like background music.

And then Lina stopped dead in her tracks.

Her goggles slid slightly down her nose as she stared at them. Her mouth slowly fell open in exaggerated, theatrical shock. “WHOA.”

Jayce blinked. “What?”

She pointed dramatically at their hands. “Are you guys holding hands ?!”

Viktor, normally so composed, visibly blushed. “Ah—well—yes. We—”

“FINALLY,” Lina interrupted, spinning in a slow, exaggerated circle. “It’s like—like when the final two puzzle pieces click together. Or when you finish a really good sandwich. Or when you beat the last level and the game says ‘Congratulations!’ ”

Jayce let out a snort of laughter, while Viktor covered his mouth with a hand, shoulders shaking.

Lina folded her arms, grinning ear to ear. “Do I call you both Dad now? Or do we still go with ‘Baba’ and ‘Daddy’? ’Cause I’ve made little labels for our cereal bowls, and I need to know what to write.”

Jayce wiped a hand down his face. “I don’t think the world’s ready for you, kid.”

Viktor, still blushing, leaned down slightly. “You can keep calling us whatever feels right. But… Thank you. For accepting this. Us.”

Lina gave a big, exaggerated shrug. “You guys are, like, the best. Of course, I accept it. Duh.” Then she paused and squinted up at them. “Wait. Are you gonna kiss next? Because I do not want to see that right after lunch.”

Jayce burst out laughing again, letting go of Viktor’s hand just long enough to ruffle her hair. “Don’t worry. We’ll spare you… for now.”

“Good,” Lina said, satisfied, then darted off toward a stand selling little hand-painted toy birds. “I’m getting one with sunglasses!”

As she vanished into the crowd, Viktor leaned closer to Jayce, voice low and full of warmth. “She truly is solar-powered.”

Jayce grinned. “And maybe… she’s the one powering us too.”

There was a quiet moment between them then, a hush in the noise of the park. Jayce’s smile softened, his heart knocking a little harder than usual. Maybe it was the sunlight filtering through the trees. Maybe it was the warmth still lingering from Lina’s words. Or maybe it was just time.

He took a small risk. Jayce leaned in and pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek—gentle, hesitant, reverent. But just as he pulled back, Viktor turned his head, and their lips brushed. A brief kiss. Just the lightest contact. But it froze them both.

Jayce blinked, stunned. Viktor’s eyes widened for a heartbeat. Then his lips parted in a slow, surprised smile, color rising in his cheeks. But instead of backing away or teasing like Jayce half-feared, Viktor let out a soft laugh. It was warm, breathy, delighted. Like something old and aching had finally unclenched in his chest.

Then he reached up with both hands, cupping Jayce’s face like he was made of glass and sunlight. Viktor leaned in and kissed Jayce’s cheek—tender, deliberate. A quiet promise. When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against Jayce’s, the space between them soft and full of everything unspoken.

“You missed,” Viktor murmured.

Jayce chuckled, his voice unsteady. “I don’t think I did.”

_____

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon when the moment finally arrived. Jayce sat at the large oak desk, papers spread out before him, the official adoption forms now in front of him and Viktor. The air around them felt different—there was an almost sacred calmness, a profound sense of finality in the simple act of signing these forms. The forms would make it all official: Viktor and Jayce, not just her guardians but her fathers, in both Piltovan and Zaunite law.

Caitlyn and Ximena stood beside them, Ximena’s hands resting lightly on her purple satchel, the one she’d brought as a gift for Lina. Caitlyn held a frame, carefully wrapped, with a smile that never seemed to leave her face. It was the frame for Lina’s new “Junior Engineer” badge, something she’d earned after months of tinkering alongside Jayce and Viktor.

Lina sat at the desk, small hands folding and unfolding nervously in her lap, her big eyes darting from one face to another. She was no longer that shy, timid child who had crawled into Viktor’s lap months ago. She was growing into her own, confident in the lab, in the world they’d created around her. But today, the weight of the papers and the permanence of the act made her quiet, like she was still processing the enormity of what was happening.

“Are you sure you want this?” Viktor asked gently, his voice a bit more fragile than usual. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a rare vulnerability as he looked at her. His eyes softened as he gazed at the girl before him, as if trying to read her.

Lina’s lips trembled briefly before she gave a small nod, her little goggles perched atop her head like an invisible crown. “Yeah,” she said, her voice steady but quiet. “I want to stay with you. I… I want to be your assistant. Forever.”

Jayce smiled, the warmth in his eyes almost overwhelming as he gave her a thumbs-up. “Then let’s make it official.”

The pens moved, one by one, across the documents. Viktor was meticulous, ensuring every detail was accounted for, every box ticked. Jayce’s signature was a little more hasty, but with a personal touch—he drew a small gear and hammer on the line, just for fun. It was the signature of someone who had built, crafted, and changed things, but had never forgotten the importance of joy in his work.

Lina watched, her little hands twitching with excitement. As Viktor finished signing, she grabbed a pencil and quickly scribbled a doodle on the bottom of the form. It was a picture of the three of them: Viktor, Jayce, and herself. All three were wearing goggles, their hands raised in triumph. Lina’s little heart swelled at the thought of this picture being part of the official paperwork. It made her feel real, like she finally belonged.

“You can’t forget about this part,” she said, handing the form to Viktor with a proud grin. She had to add her stamp to this family moment.

Caitlyn and Ximena, their faces radiant with happiness, stepped forward, each presenting their gifts. Ximena handed Lina the purple satchel, the one filled with tools all her own. The bag was small and perfectly sized for her, with tiny compartments for all her screws, gears, and doodads.

“For you, mi niña,” Ximena said softly, her voice warm like a gentle breeze. “Now, you can work just like the engineers.”

Lina’s eyes lit up, and she immediately started rummaging through the bag, her fingers dancing over the tiny tools, finding each one and marveling at how well they fit into her hands. “It’s perfect!” she exclaimed, already planning her next creation. “Thank you, Grandma!”

Caitlyn smiled at her, holding out the framed Junior Engineer badge. “And this,” she said, “is for your first real project.” She placed it in Lina’s hands carefully, watching as the little girl’s fingers ran over the glass.

“I’m an engineer,” Lina whispered as if saying the words aloud would make them more real.

The photo was the next step. They gathered around, Jayce and Viktor flanking Lina as she stood proudly in the middle, her goggles firmly in place, the badge in her hand. Caitlyn and Ximena stood behind, their smiles wide, radiating joy and pride. Ximena placed a hand lightly on Jayce’s arm, a silent show of support and affection, and they all posed together, capturing the moment.

The camera clicked, sealing the memory in time.

_____

Weeks later, the change was undeniable. Lina was now a fixture in the lab, her new badge proudly displayed. She had her own drawer of tools with tiny screwdrivers, pliers, and hextech components she'd claimed as her own. She had a routine now, one that involved tinkering alongside her baba and dad, absorbing everything they taught her, but also bringing her own ideas into the mix.

Next to Viktor’s workbench, a tiny one had been set up, its surface covered with a jumble of bright-colored cogs, gears, and pieces of Hextech prototypes. The little bench was almost an extension of Viktor’s, albeit far more playful. The pieces Lina had tinkered with were carefully arranged in odd shapes, many of them half-assembled or in the process of being disassembled again as she constantly tested and refined them.

Jayce sat at his desk, a small but proud grin playing on his lips as he gazed over at the scene unfolding. The chaos, the joy, he wouldn’t change it for the world. On his desk, beside his collection of blueprints and papers, was a photo frame. It was simple, a little bit crooked from being hastily placed, but the picture it held made it perfect. The three of them stood in the center, greasy hands and all, their smiles wide and genuine. They were laughing: Lina in the middle, with her goggles perched precariously on top of her head, looking like the proud little engineer she was becoming. Jayce was leaning in on one side, his expression full of joy, while Viktor stood beside him, a faint but undeniable smile tugging at his lips, the kind he reserved for moments like this.

It was one of those photos that captured everything without words. It was their family.

One morning, as Jayce and Viktor were presenting a new Hextech innovation to the Council, a tiny voice broke through the formality of the meeting.

“You left the focusing lens!” Lina burst into the room, breathless but determined. She held up the lens like a trophy, her eyes wide with pride.

Viktor’s lips twitched into a smile as he took the lens from her. “My assistant saves me again,” he said, his voice filled with warmth.

Jayce scooped Lina up in his arms and held her up, waving at the Council. “We’re raising a genius,” he said, his grin infectious.

The Council looked around, all of them besides Mel bewildered. She, on the other hand, was nothing but amused by the sight. 

Counsilor Salo’s eyes were immediately drawn to Lina, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully placed a small cog into the larger mechanism she was working on. A moment of silence passed before he, eyes widening slightly, asked, “Who’s the little girl tinkering with your prototypes?”

Jayce didn’t even look up, his voice steady and proud. “Our daughter.”

Behind him, Viktor’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, barely perceptible but there nonetheless. He cleared his throat, his usual stoic demeanor still very much present, but the pride in his voice couldn’t be hidden. “She improves them, actually.”

As Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, their eyes met with a shared realization that this was more than just a project, more than just work. They had built a family. As they left the room, Viktor’s hand brushed against Jayce’s until they linked together. Viktor’s voice was low, almost a whisper as he spoke.

“I used to dream of changing the world,” he said, his words heavy with meaning.

Jayce’s smile softened, his hand finding Viktor’s in return. “And now?”

Viktor’s gaze flicked down to where their fingers intertwined, a faint warmth in his eyes as he answered, “Now, I dream of keeping her world safe.”

Jayce couldn’t help himself. He stole a quick kiss from his partner when Lina looked away.

“Do you think she’ll build something that changes the world one day?” Jayce asked, his voice softer than usual, his eyes full of an emotion he didn’t often share.

Viktor took a moment to respond, his gaze lingering on Lina, who had now proudly held up a small completed device in triumph. She beamed, looking up at Viktor and Jayce as though expecting a round of applause.

“I already think she has,” Viktor murmured, his voice almost reverent. “In her own way, she’s already changed this world.”

Jayce smiled, his heart swelling as he looked at their daughter, at the girl they’d helped raise, the one who had, in her own unique way, made their world so much brighter.

“Yeah,” Jayce said softly, a wide grin spreading across his face as he looked at Viktor, “she really has.”