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Mel let out a sigh of relief the moment she closed the doors behind her. The sounds of her entourage of soldiers' footsteps faded into the night and Mel had to fight the urge to lean back against the door and slide down to the floor in a boneless, exhausted heap.
It had been a few months since she'd made landfall on Noxus' shores intent on sorting out the Medarda house and name.
She knew it'd be difficult. She knew the waiting claws and fangs ready to rend flesh and break bones. Diplomacy held no real power here. Ruthlessness did. Strength and power did. And Mel—despite what she had done—her mother's final words an endless nightmarish refrain pounding in her veins every time she cast her magic—she wasn't ready to be the wolf her mother had always hoped she'd become. She'd never be the wolf.
She'd never be the wolf.
Even in the darkness of her childhood home, in the very place she had stood and told her mother no. Said no to cruelty and ruthlessness time and time again. Fleeing to Piltover to make something of herself and prove her mother wrong. The words rang hollow. Not when the taste of blood was still copper fresh on her tongue.
Mel tore off her cloak in frustration and made for her chambers, eager to sink into her bed.
She found her way there quickly, path familiar after countless times of walking these same halls in her youth. Pushing open her door, Mel left it ajar as she went straight to her bed and collapsed into its sheets. She spread her arms out across the width of the bed as far as she could go, hoping that sleeping on her stomach would mitigate any tangles or frizz come morning. As she stretched and debated actually risking sleeping without her silk wrap, her hand bumped into a warm, solid lump under her sheets that made a small huff at the contact.
Mel jumped out of bed, hands raised and golden energy expanding out and around her, ready to block and counter any blows. But when no blows came, Mel relaxed. She remained standing though, paranoia holding her there while silence permeated the room. Then came a small snuffling noise and the rising sound of soft snores reached Mel's ears. Whoever it was here in her room with her, they were sound asleep.
Cautious, Mel approached her bed, an orb of golden light dimly rotating in the center of her palm. She held it out in front of her, and illuminated the source of the snoring and saw a head of shaggy, dark hair and a beard, deep shadows under his eyes. But gone was the tension in his jaw, the hard, haunted glint of flint-like eyes. All swept away in the softness of a deep, peaceful slumber. She reached out. He inhaled sharply---Mel jerked back, pulling her hand back and realizing he had leaned in far too close, having half-climbed up onto the bed and into his space—and nestled further into Mel's obsidian, silk sheets.
It was Jayce.
Cold light trickled in slowly, creeping over Jayce's face like the barest fingers of morning frost, rousing him. His eyes fluttered open drowsily, exhaustion and a rising awareness of the cold nipping at his nose and ears—which he resented with all his being—sending him sinking beneath the covers. But as the room brightened with a gray and all-encompassing light, Jayce could no longer beat back consciousness. He opened his eyes and rose up on his elbow, black, silk sheets slipping down his shoulder, exposing the sensitive skin of his back and shoulders to the air.
"Why am I naked?"
"I could ask the same," someone answered.
Jayce startled, pinwheeling away from the sound and falling off the edge of the bed onto the cold, black stone floor in a tangled heap of limbs and sheets. He popped his head back up over the edge to get a look at who had spoken.
Sitting the edge of bed across from him was Mel Medarda, her back to him. Her hair was long, and cascaded down her back in thick, intricate braids. She was clad in black and crimson, with small accents of gold trailing down her sides. Her face—cast in shadow—was barely visible over her shoulder. Mind clouded and memory muddled, Jayce knew Mel Medarda. That certainty was so strong, it ached—chasing away the cold and fear, supplanted by white hot golden swirls of love that unfurled in his chest. The feeling submerged him in its deluge—a single desire rising to the surface: he wanted to hold her. But—he couldn't see her eyes, only the gentle curve of her cheekbone, and the jut of her chin so still Jayce could've mistaken her for a statue. He knew that over-careful poise.
Gathering the sheets at his waist for modesty, Jayce perched himself on the other side of the bed and waited. As he did, his memory flowed back into place, piece by piece, and with it came a clarity made sharp in the mottled, morning light. Mel had changed. He knew this when he saw her last, when she had still worn white and her eyes had still held a softness for him, kept alive by her ever steady conviction in kindness, in hope. When he had doubted her, and accused her, and she had still reached for him.
But the change had been recent then, it had not taken root. Now, her back to him, her hands withheld and out of sight, her clothes near devoid of her signature colors, he could see that more had been taken from her. And—with her gaze averted—from him as well. How was it he hadn't realized the loss then? When he had hurt her, and walked away. Maybe he was too fresh with loss—in that desolate future where she was only alive in the flickering of flames. Gold long enough to yearn for it, but fleeting enough to resent the devouring pitch that followed. To stew and wallow in his regrets and mistakes, and decide it was too much to bear without finding someone else to blame even as he knew he had to take responsibility no matter the cost. It had consumed all else. The shame of it burned.
"I thought you were dead."
Jayce opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. "I—"
"Did you—" Mel interrupted after Jayce took too long to answer, "Were you—"
Mel sighed.
"How did you survive?"
"I don't know."
"How did you get in here?"
"I don't know."
"Why are you here?"
"I don't know! I didn't even know that I died," Jayce exclaimed, desperation clawing up his throat, "How did I die?!"
Mel shoulders slumped, her head hanging low, like a flower holding onto the last wisps of the summer finally wilting.
"You didn't come back after your—encounter with the Machine Herald. Ekko said that you both disappeared in a flash of light. We all assumed—"
"That I was dead."
"Yes."
They both went quiet—a hollow, fraught silence between them.
Mel broke it first, asking, "What do you remember?"
Jayce froze. Even though most of his memory had patched itself back together—there remained gaps. What became of himself and Vik—the Machine Herald after their confrontation—Jayce could not recall, let alone how he got here. At most, he had flashes of dulled, celestial light like concussive bursts of fireworks in the night sky flashing faintly behind his eyelids. Jayce opened his mouth and closed it a few times, uncertain how to explain it—too cowardly to start because he knew that first word out of his mouth would be: "You."
He didn't realize he had actually—finally—said it aloud until he noticed the tightening of Mel's shoulders.
Jayce rushed to explain himself, add specifics, to give her at least something of what she had asked for, but Mel stood up before he could.
"I'll let the staff know to set up a room. And to get you some clothes. Once that's done, we can see how soon we can find a ship to take you back to Piltover. I'm sure your mother would be overjoyed to see you again."
"Mel," Jayce called after her, reaching across the bed.
She walked away, still speaking as she did, "In the meantime feel free to avail yourself of whatever you need. Just don't leave the estate while I'm gone, I'll be busy attending to other duties throughout the day, I won't be able to—please do not leave."
She paused at the doorway. It was long enough that Jayce thought she'd turn around. Then she shook her head, and left without another word, closing the door behind her.
Mel thought it would be easier. No goodbyes were exchanged, but when they last parted, Mel knew they'd never meet again. She grieved in that moment. Shattered heart, shattering a little bit more. And after what she did to her mother, nothing could break the already infinitesimal shards impersonating what was left of it. When news of Jayce's fate reached her, grief did not come—she had hardened her heart, leaving behind a desiccation. Mel was old hat at building dams.
So when he appeared again, in her bed, safe and sound, Mel was shocked to feel those jagged shards, shrapnel kept in place by her resolve, dig into tender flesh, re-opening old wounds. She bled, but even split blood felt warm. Jayce had felt warm.
She had spent the night split between staring at him and pacing, determined to dismiss him as old longing that had escaped confinement thanks to stress and insomnia. As delusion. Once the night had transitioned into an abysmal, cloudless black, she'd given in, lured to bed by an exhumed, budding hope, and lied there next to him, watching his back. She did not sleep and when he began to stir, she moved to the edge of the bed.
"You." He had said. "You."
She had expected anything and everything. Not, "you."
With no resolution and no desire to speak further with Jayce, fearing she'd burst into tears if she did, Mel ended the conversation. If she hadn't, Mel was sure she wouldn't have gotten anything done that day and Mel had several things on the docket. She only hoped (feared) that once she got home, Jayce wasn't there to greet her.
Contrary to her hopes, Mel found Jayce waiting for her in the foyer, sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands. He shot up as she walked in, a quick, brittle smile on his face.
"Welcome—uh—back. How was your day?"
Mel regarded him coolly, keeping her face as neutral as possible. Despite herself, a curl of fondness folded itself around her heart, his nervousness reminded her of happier days when they were younger and Jayce would haplessly try and fail to contain his admiration for her. His attire didn't help.
He was dressed now—in Noxian colors—with a red vest, black dress shirt and pants with golden accents. He looked good, shaggy hair pulled back, beard trimmed but not gone, wringing his hands as he approached Mel.
"Good. I see that Lucille found you clothes."
Coming up short, Jayce looked down at himself—almost surprised—then looked back up at Mel and huffed out a small, chagrined laugh whilst smoothing his hands down his front.
"Yeah, she did. She was a bit—forceful about it."
Mel bit her tongue, preventing the involuntary smile that threatened to rise, and chose instead to stride past Jayce, determined to retire to her rooms. She had already set things into motion for chartering a ship back to Piltover, Cassius would see to it, and if there was anything Mel had learned over her past year in Noxus, it was that Cassius was efficient. She didn't need to prolong their goodbye.
"That sounds like Lucille, though I'd call it enthusiastic rather than forceful," she replied over her shoulder, just barely restraining the flinch as she chastised herself for replying anyway. Perhaps emboldened by Mel's choice to continue the conversation, Jayce followed after her, walk brisk, but a few steps behind as though attempting not to crowd her.
"Well, I'll take your word for it. Hey, I hope you don't mind, but—"
Mel turned around.
Jayce faltered. To his credit, he recouped quickly and continued, jamming the words altogether in one single go, "Imadedinner."
Mel had been ready to dismiss him and steer him back to his rooms so they go both wait out the remainder of his stay alone, but instead, perplexed, she said: "You made dinner?"
Mel sat at the head of the dinner table while Jayce raced off to retrieve dinner. Her skin was buzzing. Light from the setting sun slipped between four massive pillars and draped itself across the marble floors, alighting the filigreed walls and domed ceiling in a resplendent array of fiery colors. Opulence on full display. She rested her hands in her lap, shifting her attention down to worry at her sleeves. Empty chairs and the long expanse of the table still sat in her peripheral though. Mel hadn't eaten at this table in years, not since her last night in Noxus before she left for Piltover. Her mother sitting in the very chair she sat in now with herself and Kino at her right and left.
Jayce returned with two steaming bowls of soup, placing her plate down with a flourish and an excited grin. He sat down to her right with his plate and smoothed his hands down his front. Mel noticed he was wearing a bright, lemony apron, which was clean, plain, and mildly frayed—she had no idea where he'd gotten it. But, it was nice, it suited him. It was especially nice how it cinched perfectly around his waist, Mel noted with some heat.
"I hope you'll like it," Jayce said, breaking Mel out of her thoughts.
He regarded her with soft, amber eyes, a timid smile curing his lips.
With some surprise, Mel realized her skin was no longer buzzing, dampened by Jayce's presence.
She looked down at her food—it smelled wonderful—even if it's appearance wasn't exactly beautiful or neat. At the very least, she did recognize what it was: beef and vegetable soup, which assuaged some of her initial concern. She had no idea Jayce could cook. And considering his former profession and all the regular stereotypes surrounding it—Mel couldn't be blamed for her trepidatious assumption that Jayce's cooking left much to be desired.
Mel scooped up a spoonful and took a delicate sip of the broth. It was delicious.
"That's quite good. Since when have you known how to cook?"
Brightening at the question, Jayce unleashed the full brunt of his enthusiasm.
"Funny story, I actually didn't know how to cook before. My poor mother had no idea what to do with me. It was so bad, she'd shoo me away from the kitchen at all costs. Then I got to the academy and I'd go days without eating. When Caitlyn found me collapsed from hunger one day, I just forced myself to learn. First easy things like sandwiches and salads, then soups."
"How'd I never find out about this?" Mel asked, easy warmth suffusing her words.
Jayce blushed.
"I mean—my cooking's not amazing and we were always so busy—and you had the best cooks in Piltover. I just, I don't know, preferred to spend my time with you when I had it. And I wasn't sure you'd like it."
Fondness, saccharine sweet, settled in her chest. "Well, I'm glad you decided to cook for me in the end. Because this is delicious, Jayce."
He laughed.
"That's a relief. First time I cooked caldo de res for," Jayce paused mid-sentence, tripping over the words. Jayce continued, as though recovering from a stumble,"—someone else—it was a disaster."
Outside the sun had set, muting the fire-like shine of the room into embers. Blue painted the landscape, the white of the distant snow-capped mountain range all the more prominent as all else blended into the inky, navy darkness of the night. His pause was brief, but Mel caught what Jayce attempted to tiptoe over—the buzz returned, low but insistent, reminding her of the chasm that opened up between them a year ago, the same chasm that appeared when she saw him again, miraculously safe and sound in her bed.
She didn't feel hungry anymore.
"Jayce."
"Yes?"
"What did you see there?"
A crease formed between his eyebrows. Jayce hesitated, but he answered.
"What do you mean?"
Mel sighed.
"That place. The one the arcane sent you to. What did you see?"
Tension pulled his jaw taut, sweeping his earlier joviality and chagrin beneath furrowed brows and flint-like eyes.
"I told you already," he said, defensive.
Disappointment or anger. Mel thought those feelings would have been most prominent. And, while yes, those feelings were present, Mel couldn't beat back the heavy swell of sadness she felt at those words. This was a mistake. Mel primly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and stood up.
"I think the day has worn on me more than I thought. I am going to retire to my room."
Jayce stood up as well, remorse written on his face.
"Mel, wait. I'm sorry—I—"
"Thank you for the meal. Good night, Jayce," Mel said, cutting him short, and left.
Jayce paced his room, berating himself for his fuck-up—again. He ran the memory of her fallen expression over and over in his head, the repetition conjuring up other memories of her beautiful face, stricken with sadness. Never anger, never disappointment. Only sadness in the face of his baseless accusations and broken, defensive anger. He was an idiot.
It all seemed right at the time. He had just killed his best friend. Spent years in a chasm, his leg snapped in two, clawing his way to freedom, living in a wasteland filled with the physical manifestations of his mistakes and hubris. The arcane had saved him and his mother, and then it had killed everything else. Because of him.
He had barely apologized to Mel then, offering hollow words to the woman he once loved—still loved. "You are not a passenger in your life."
Looking back, his view of her profile seemed so fragile, nothing like the confident, poised Mel Medarda he knew. So steadfast in herself and her convictions. He remembered once longing for a chance to see her vulnerability, the Mel that wasn't just the ever-capable council-woman. And he did, he caught glimpses, He cherished those glimpses but how much did he really? More than often Jayce sought comfort from her in his most vulnerable moments, yet rarely offered comfort in return. He should have hugged her then.
Self-recrimination burned anew, and Jayce pulled at his hair in frustration. He needed fresh air.
Jayce stalked down the halls of Mel's massive estate, fighting off self-pity and anger, and trying to breath. He had seen a veranda earlier that day, and wanted to find it again before he lost his mind. What he really wanted was a new project to dig into, desperately missing being elbow-deep inside machinery, grease streaked across his brow. But, Jayce—for multiple reasons—couldn't and didn't want to do that here. Thus, fresh air was the next best thing.
Thankfully, it didn't take long for Jayce to find the veranda, simply following the scent of a crisp, cool breeze that blew through the hallway.
Mel was there, sitting side saddle on a velvet, chaise bench by the railing, which overlooked the gardens below. She was dressed in a silk, milk-white slip and her hair wrapped up in a golden, silk wrap, loose, tight curls spilling out and over the side. Drenched in moonlight, Mel took on an almost celestial quality. She was lovely.
Regurgitated shame rose hot and sour on his tongue—it mixed muddily with an intense bout of longing, stronger than the shame, but Jayce had been rebuffed twice that day already. She wouldn't want him here. Jayce began to back away, but then he heard a sniffle, and paused.
Indecision overtook him for a moment, battling between the desire to comfort her and the evidence that she did not want him here. In the end, the former won out as Jayce heard Mel stifle another sniffle.
He went to her side, careful not to startle her.
"Mel?"
"Oh!" Mel exclaimed, furiously rubbing her eyes with her arm. It would've been cute, if not for the fact that she was wiping away tears.
"Jayce, what are you doing here?"
He came up to stand beside her, eyes on the gardens below, sparing Mel any scrutiny.
"Needed some fresh air, and you?"
"Couldn't sleep."
An awkward silence settled between them. Out of the corner of his eye Jayce, Jayce noticed how Mel shivered in the cold night air, wrapping her arms tight around herself. She shrank into herself, fatigue a clear weight on her shoulders. He wanted to embrace her, run his palms gently up and down her arms, cup her face, and chase the cold away. He wasn't sure he had the right.
Another breeze blew in, and Mel shivered again. Jayce threw uncertainty away, unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it off, and offered it to Mel.
"Here."
Green eyes wide, Mel stared at the proffered shirt then up at Jayce.
"It's ok, I'm fine."
"I insist."
Mel relented, and accepted the shirt, draping it around her shoulders.
She smiled kindly. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry," Jayce blurted.
Mel sighed.
"Jayce, it's alright. You don't need to apologize."
A strange desperation overtook him, and he dropped to his knees.
"Yes, yes I do."
He met her eyes, flecked with gold and beginning to shine with emotion, and steeled himself. Sincerity, vulnerability, none of that was difficult before—everything that happened. Now it tore at at him, his leg pulsing in pain at the thought. But he wanted to say it, even if he couldn't say it all now, he wanted to at least try—for her.
"Mel, I hurt you. I accused you, blamed you, and you didn't deserve that. I was in pain, alone and isolated and—," Jayce inhaled deeply, flinching away from the memory—"I had a lot of time to—think in that place. Which is not an excuse—you went through something horrific too—I just want you to know that you were all I thought about, but I twisted it. And for that I am deeply, deeply sorry. Especially when you were nothing but kind and generous to me. As for what happened there—"
"Jayce," Mel said, cupping his cheek. Jayce leaned into it instinctively, unable to resist her touch.
"But—"
"It's alright."
A flood of emotion overwhelmed Jayce—tumbling together in seditious throes that would tear him apart if not for the powerful enormity of his love for Mel Medarda keeping him from bursting at the seams. He grasped at her delicate wrist, his other hand covering the hand at his check. It was terribly unfair of him to hope, he thought.
Voice wet and strained, Jayce whispered Mel's name pleadingly—not sure what he was asking of her if whether he was begging to lay himself bare before her or asking her to let him rest within the circle of her arms forever. The moment was short-lived though as Jayce found himself pulling her hand away and rising up to sit down at the other end of the bench, her hand still held between his hands.
He met her eyes again.
"One day, I'll tell you everything. I promise. But for now—"
Jayce relinquished her hand, and reached out toward her, telegraphing every movement. When Mel didn't shy away from him, Jayce gathered Mel into his arms, tenderly tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
"Rest."
Mel shuddered in his arms, and Jayce felt a patch of wet form on his shoulder. He held her tighter.
"Jayce, I never wanted—"
"I know. It's not your fault. I made my choices."
Next morning, Mel woke up in her bed, Jayce laying next to her, a soft smile on his face as he watched her wake. Mel's heart squeezed. They continued to watch each other as light began to filter into the room, breathing each other's air. It was warm and quiet here in the safety of her bed. Mel didn't want it to end.
A light knocking came from the door. They both startled, sitting up.
"Lady Medarda?"
It was Cassius.
"Yes?"
"Forgive the disturbance, but I've chartered the ship for your guest, it should be departing within a fortnight."
Mel looked back at Jayce. His hands were fisted in the sheets, gaze downcast. He'd go if she asked, she knew it—he even expected it. Briefly, Mel considered it—asking Jayce to leave. He didn't belong here after all. There were people waiting for him in Piltover: Caitlyn and Xiomara.
Mel took his hand in hers'. When Jayce, shocked, looked up at her, she gave him a reassuring smile.
"That will no longer be necessary Cassius. Thank you."
A stunned silence followed, then: "As you wish."
Cassius's footsteps receded, and they were alone once more.
"Mel, are you sure?"
The morning sun peaked over the horizon, bathing the room in great panes of gold. Jayce, backlit by the sun, looked carved from Mel's wildest dreams, his amber eyes like honey. Struck by a sweet selfishness—Mel railed against the idea she'd considered before. He may not belong in Noxus, but he belonged with her. She cupped his cheek and leaned in—her face mere inches from his.
"Yes, and if not, we have time," she whispered and kissed him.