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By the time Jayce and Viktor make it to the next town, it’s already mid afternoon, the spring weather having thankfully remained warm and dry for the duration of their trek.
They had left the previous village – a collection of one-storey stone cottages by the name of Beltford – behind some two or so days ago, their walking speed dictated by the restrictions of their dodgy legs, one right, and one left. The funny thing is that Viktor, in regards to less-than-optimal lower limbs, is actually in a better place now than Jayce, a cosmic joke that Jayce interprets as a consequence of his own hubris. Viktor doesn’t see it that way, he just takes it as yet another cross to bear, another horror that he alone is responsible for.
Jayce knows better, however, than to accept this flawed thinking, and is trying very hard to change Viktor's mind over his ridiculous self-condemnation.
The crux of the matter is this: Viktor thinks that since the Mage – and for those at the back, this is the man who had given Jayce his acceleration rune all those years ago when he saved him and his mother from the blizzard. The same one who sent him to an alternate timeline, creepily watched him floundering around in the pit of despair whilst half out of his mind with delusions, and had seen his appalling injury, and done fuck all to help. The one that made him promise. That one – because the Mage did all that, Viktor has erroneously decided that he is at fault.
No, absolutely not, and why is Jayce so confident in his assertion? It's an easy refutation to make – quite simply, it’s that the other Viktor (the defendant your honour, hereby known as the Mage) wasn’t his Viktor. Jayce’s Viktor had nothing to do with that hell hole (despite what Viktor chooses to believe), ergo, he isn’t responsible for Jayce’s injury.
Need further convincing? Jayce has fortunately got a perfect example up his sleeve for just such an eventuality, and has deployed his reasoning on multiple occasions, albeit without a happy ending.
Suppose Identical Twin A committed a crime. Let’s say…they robbed a bank, no injuries meted out to the bystanders, but nevertheless they are all traumatised, and Twin A gets away scot free with all the money.
Okay, so we’ll further say that the authorities can’t find the nefarious and dastardly Twin A, so in a bid to tie up the ends of the investigation in a neat bow, they arrest Identical Twin B (knowing full well that it’s the wrong sibling), and bring them before a judge. The judge – and here Jayce is picturing some out-of-touch, obscenely wealthy Piltovan elder – takes one horrified look at the charge sheet, ignores the complete lack of evidence, and promptly delivers their verdict.
“Ten years in Stillwater, without consideration of parole.”
Is this even remotely fair?
No, of course not (to be spoken in Viktor’s voice).
And the reason it’s not fair, is that despite sharing a face, they are not the same person. Jayce gets this, he gets this with every fibre of his being, but unfortunately for the two of them, Viktor is not there yet. Jayce is working on it though, just as hard as he can, but to be candid, this getting through to Viktor is becoming something of an ongoing project. A project that is well into its second year.
Eighteen, or maybe nineteen months ago, it's hard to be sure exactly, but sometime after the battle, Jayce woke up in the ruins of the Hexgates, and panicked that he was alone. He had spent a stomach-churning, deeply stressful amount of time, desperately searching until he found what he was looking for. His partner, Viktor, now in human form, but covered in beautifully iridescent markings, his shoulder-length hair covering his face, and his defeated blanket in a thoroughly ragged state.
There followed a tense few days as they escaped chose to leave Piltover as quietly as possible. They headed in an away direction, and they've been on the road ever since.
Their journey has been…not without issues…but in defiance of guilt, problematic limbs, more guilt, traumatic flashbacks, apologies, eventual acting upon long-denied feelings, and a bit more guilt sprinkled on top, they've somehow come out of it not completely crazy. All things considered, Jayce will take that as a win.
And now here they are, weary and hungry, but free and together.
This new town their feet have carried them to is fairly large, and at a guess, Jayce thinks it’s maybe a three or four inn habitation. This is how they’ve catalogued each settlement they’ve happened across over the last year and a half (give or take), all documented in a series of notebooks they collected along the way.
An open wooden gate marks the entry point, with the town itself shepherded by the low wall that runs around the edges. Whether it goes all the way round is impossible to tell from this vantage point, although it does speak of the town being reasonably wealthy. Hopefully that means they can pick up some work whilst they are here – Jayce at a forge, and Viktor teaching the local children.
The two of them have made full use of their highly educated skillsets whilst on the road, and they’ve earned enough to feed themselves, take lodgings in inns when available, and afford some small luxuries, things like clothes (always a bonus, unless you feel like being arrested for indecency), toiletries, and the aforementioned notebooks.
A guard stands in the middle of the opening, a well-worn, but still smart uniform fitted snuggly to his form. Behind him, at a weathered table, sits a Clerk of the Book, which in these parts is all the administration you are ever going to get. They have entered their names – no, not their full ones, even the Hextech boys aren’t that stupid (despite indications to the contrary) – every time they have passed into a new place in this particular area of Runeterra.
“Oi, you two!” shouts the guard, in stereotypical watchman fashion, “state your business!”
“Just here for a few days,” Jayce replies, in what he thinks is the tone he used to use with walking investment opportunities at galas, “looking to pick up some work, then travelling onwards.” Viktor’s cane-free hand inexplicably tightens on his arm.
The guard frowns. “There’s no need to snap!”
Jayce’s brow furrows in confusion. He didn’t think he had snapped? He opens his mouth to debate the guard’s apparent misunderstanding, but Viktor steps forward, and the words catch on the tip of Jayce’s tongue. His partner slowly lowers his hood, revealing his long hair and golden eyes, and he smiles in that pleasing way of his.
“I am sorry for my partner, officer, but we have travelled a long way, and we are both very tired, hence his gruff tone.”
‘Gruff tone’? Really? It didn’t sound gruff to Jayce’s ears. It sounded…confident.
The officer is distracted from this alleged gruffness by very obviously looking Viktor up and down. Jayce notices, and tries not to growl too loudly in the background. This sort of thing happens to them a lot, but Jayce can’t get his head around why strangers think he’s dangerous.
Viktor is coyly waffling on about this, that, or the other, and the guard’s hackles are being suitably soothed. The inverse is happening with Jayce’s own hackles, however, and he mutters crossly under his breath whilst flexing his shoulders.
The guard has eventually drooled enough over Viktor, and allows them both through, a smile on his lips for his special favorite, and with an ugly scowl for Jayce. How things have changed from their Piltover days, when Jayce was fawned over, and Viktor was all but forgotten.
They are directed towards the clerk, where Viktor again takes the lead.
“Good morning, madam,” he begins politely, “I am Vee, and this is my partner, Jay.”
The clerk looks them over, an assessing gleam in her eye as she takes in their seen-better-days clothes, and general dusty demeanor. “Can you write?”
Can they fucking write?!
Viktor places his hand on Jayce’s chest. It’s almost as if he thinks Jayce might go off on one, unlikely though that is. It only happened once back in Torran…and Beltford…and Grangewood…and, oh.
“Yes, where would you like us to sign?”
The clerk indicates the next free spaces in her book, and they both print their names, make their marks, and now the log is completed. Vee and Jay, duly processed and classified as itinerant workers, step across Haldon’s invisible boundary line.
The town is buzzing, so perhaps they have managed to arrive on market day? People are everywhere, sellers, buyers, and generic townspeople. It’s a little overwhelming when they’ve spent so much time in small villages lately, with some of the groups of houses so tiny that they only count as hamlets.
Jayce’s first thought, as usual, is to find somewhere to stay, although with the amount of people packed into the streets right now, that might be harder than anticipated.
He doesn’t recall hearing any of the villagers they've encountered mentioning anything that would draw in this many people, however, so his brain starts automatically trying to fill in the blanks by positing theories. Various possibilities spring to mind, leaving Jayce wondering if this town is even safe for them to visit. “So what’s really going on?” He only realises he’s spoken aloud when a passing older woman answers him.
“You been living under a rock, boy? It’s the Somermass festival!” She says it as though they should inherently understand the context. At their blank faces, she incredulously goes on, “it’s when the Travelling Players come!” Further blank looks make her roll her eyes. “The Players! The company that puts on plays!” She says it exasperatedly, as though speaking to belligerent children, rather than full grown men. ”They have all the latest news, but instead of just boringly reading it off an official scroll, they work it into a play! You must have heard of them?!”
Both Jayce and Viktor shake their heads, and the woman furiously shakes her own in disbelief. “I don’t know, complete country bumpkins, in from the far reaches, no doubt! Best you see it for yourselves, I suppose. The theatre’s that way,” she points towards the centre of town, “entry’s one copper each. You got money?”
“Yes, yes thank you.” Viktor begins to steer Jayce away from the conversation, “we’ll head there directly. Thank you kindly for your help,” and they walk off in the direction she’s indicated.
“Country bumpkins? Us?” Jayce is quite frankly insulted. “Finest fucking minds in Runeterra.”
“Jayce,” Viktor calmly informs him, “I think this means we need some new clothes as soon as possible.”
“But bumpkins?!” Gods – previous Jayce, i.e. Piltover Jayce, always smart and with his obsessive adherence to personal grooming, would be spinning in his grave at the very thought of wearing worn-through clothing. If he had a grave, that is, rather than having fallen down a pit in hell, and never returned. Still, Viktor’s right, unless they want to be mistaken for beggars, they are going to need fresh clothing.
They follow the river of people along the cobblestone path with some awkwardness. Despite being worn down, the knobs and dips are not conducive to a compromised gait, nor do they take kindly to the end of a cane. Regardless, they are able to make their sedate way along the thoroughfare for several minutes, before they spot a likely-looking pub in which to find refreshments.
Swinging from a metal frame is an old wooden sign, competently painted with the visage of an unknown queen, and the unsurprising legend, The Queen’s Head. The place (at least from the outside) looks clean and reasonably respectable, which compared to some of the establishments they have frequented recently, makes the pub look like the Piltover Opera House.
“Shall we?”
Viktor replies with a fervent, “gods, yes,” and they cross the street, then enter the building.
It’s busy inside, but not so busy that Jayce fails to catch the bartender’s eye. Being tall, with broom handle-wide shoulders, has got to be good for something. He orders two beers and some suspicious-looking bar snacks, then pays the man, before making his careful way to the small table Viktor has managed to acquire. Probably best not to ask how.
They sit together in companionable silence, drinking the cool beers, and polishing off the Shada Vol. Jayce is a bit worried the anomalous meat is a thinly disguised dish of cooked rodents, but as he’s extremely hungry, he forgoes a thorough examination. It tastes…nice…if a little chewy.
They each separately visit the facilities, where they take the opportunity to quickly wash their faces, and brush their hair.
Jayce is happy to wave goodbye to the country bumpkin look, but he concedes he is in need of a trip to the barbers, and a desperate visit to the nearest tailor’s workshop. He does not require anything fancy per se, but it really would be nice to not be mistaken for a vagabond.
By the time he returns to their table, Viktor has finished his drink, and is making a few jottings in his notebook. He must hear the distinctive sound of Jayce's tread, as his head tilts upwards, and their eyes meet.
“That’s better. I was beginning to think you had a squirrel living in your beard.”
Jayce snorts in amusement. “I’ve chased him off. He ran away with the toilet roll when I wasn’t looking."
Viktor’s eyes glitter at the joke, but he chooses not to comment further. “Now, about these ‘players’. This is apparently a yearly thing, and Haldon is well-known for the festival.”
“We didn’t know.”
“No,” Viktor agrees, “we did not. Today’s play is called ‘The Defender of Tomorrow’, and according to my friend over there,” Viktor indicates an elderly Vastayan over in the corner, “it is meant to be a faithful recreation of whatever its subject matter is, and features a grand romantic hero.”
Not that he’s big-headed or anything, but Jayce fancies himself as both romantic, and when he’s not royally cocking things up (which is an unfortunate talent of his), a little bit of a hero. “You’d like to go?”
The answer is obvious from the look on Viktor’s face. “Yes…yes, I think I would. So, Jay, would you do me the honour of attending The Defender of Tomorrow with me?”
“Why Vee, I should be delighted. May I accompany you there?”
Viktor smiles in delight. “Yes please.”
“In that case, dear Vee, let us depart.”
They swiftly gather up their bags, and in Viktor’s case, his cane, and exit back out onto the street. They continue to follow the flood of people, and several minutes later, they arrive at the theatre, only to find it’s not actually a theatre at all. It is instead a large square, surrounded by assorted buildings, currently set up as an open-air performance venue. A wooden stage stands at one end, complete with heavy, faded red curtains, whilst long benches line the area directly in front of the raised area. Most of the seating has already filled up, so once they have paid their copper each, Jayce leads Viktor over to the left-hand side of the square, and they make themselves at home by leaning against a wall.
Ten minutes pass by, filled with the scent of freshly made sugar doughnuts, and apple laddies, and the calls of the vendors, “only a copper! Getcha doughnuts here!” Excited children run through the crowd, and adults discuss what newsworthy story the play will be based on.
Jayce wraps one arm around his partner, pulling him tightly into his clutches, and nosing into his hair. “You need a bath.”
“Mm, and I am not the only one.” Viktor nestles into him. “Perhaps we can indulge together?"
“I’ll hold you to that,” and Jayce absolutely will. They just have to find an inn first. He starts to whisper all the things he wants to do once they’ve bathed together, but he’s rudely cut off by a large – and very loud – man bursting through the curtains.
“Welcome, one and all! Old friends and new, we are the Boleron Players, here to entertain you with a hot-off-the-press performance of the latest news from Piltover!”
Viktor stiffens in Jayce’s arms, whilst Jayce experiences a wave of goosebumps that instantly colonises his flesh. Perhaps this is not about them? It would be a bit egotistical to think so, surely? After all, the play is called The Defender of Tomorrow, and the gods only know who that is meant to be. They are perfectly valid points, but there is a part of Jayce that already understands he’s deluding himself, that he’s hiding in the shadow of denial, trying to pretend their past hasn’t unexpectedly caught up with them on a light spring day.
“This is a tale of a hero, a man armed with only a mighty hammer–”
Fuck. Viktor’s breath hitches. Jayce comprehends that his denial is (once again) no shield against the truth.
“-and a fearsome will to succeed! His legendary fight with the evil Machine Herald is truly an altercation for the ages! Be prepared to witness the valiant and courageous Defender battle his deadly foe!” The crowd is enjoying this gaudy spectacle, with some holding up small white flags with Defender stamped on them. “I warn you, though, a tale such as this is not without its tragedy, and we will show you how a beloved son’s sacrifice is reflected in the tears of a grieving mother, and in the statue erected by a city still in shock.”
Oh fuck.
The hyperbole is getting out of hand. Jayce flicks his attention to the exit, but the mass of the crowd effectively hides their escape route.
“Vik?” He speaks quietly, just for Viktor’s ears, but he doesn’t think his partner can hear him through his obvious panic.
The frontman is still hyping up the production. “Without further ado, let me introduce to you the man himself…Jayce Talis!”
Fuucckkk.Viktor is quietly whimpering in distress, and all Jayce can do is hold him.
A tall, broad, and yes, handsome man, comes bounding through the curtain, and the crowd cheers and wolfwhistles. He has perfectly coiffed dark hair, a clean shaven face, and a long white coat with a large pauldron on one side. In addition, he carries an improbably sized weapon.
“Hello, and well met my friends! You have all heard of me – The Man of Progress, the founder of Hextech, architect of the Hexgates! The pride of the Academy! The best scientist Piltover has ever had! You’ve all seen my picture fly by on the airships, and now you will get the golden opportunity to hear my tale!”
The man, clearly enjoying this, looks just like the picture on the mug Jayce used to unironically own, and is clearly lapping up the attention. Jayce thinks he might just keel over and die from the cringe factor alone. Viktor is shaking in his arms, his painstakingly rebuilt quiet confidence slipping away further with each extra second of this performance.
The actor walks struts the length of the stage. “True bravery comes from doing what must be done, and I alone, armed with only my trusty Mercury Hammer, was able to vanquish the walking horror that tried to take over my beloved home city of Piltover!” He holds the hammer above his head, and the crowd goes wild.
Jayce remembers the feeling as he pointed the real hammer at his partner, and without mercy, shot him through the chest. He wants to heave.
“Every story must have its villain, and this one is no exception! Hailing from the deepest depths of Zaun-Under-The-City, a product of the greedy mining there that dug too deep, comes an antagonist the likes of which you have never seen before! They say he could smell blood from a mile away! They say he gathered followers to him with promises of healing, then once he had them in his deadly power, he turned each and every one into a mindless automaton!”
Viktor’s quiet whimpering takes on an edge as though he has been punched in the gut, leaving Jayce feeling helpless.
“Ten foot high, and with two dread-inducing faces, The Machine Herald is straight out of your nightmares! He is a formidable opponent, able to cast strange magicks with his third unnatural arm, and his insatiable blood lust knows no end! They say he murdered ten thousand innocent civilians!” The crowd groans in audible horror. “Here he is, the bane of Piltover!”
A keening sound breaks out from Viktor’s lungs, but is immediately swallowed up by the roar of the crowd.
A huge monstrosity strides out from the curtain to a chorus of jeers and boos. The actor is wearing a costume that (surprisingly) isn’t actually too far from Viktor’s ascended form, but with extra teeth and claws, and a trail of blood sliding down his face.
Viktor’s knees give way, but Jayce has him, he won’t let him fall.
“Viktor?” Jayce tries to catch his eye. “Viktor? Look at me, not them. Me, you understand?” It’s no good, his words are not getting through, so he pivots Viktor around until he is facing Jayce. His eyes are huge, glazed, and unresponsive, although his hand is still mercifully clamped onto his cane. Jayce knows he needs to get them out of here, and quickly.
Up on the stage, the ‘Machine Herald’ is roaring and sneering at the audience, informing the crowd of the unlikely ways in which he’ll kill them, and they in turn are having great fun shouting him down. Jayce is pleased to find the poor facsimile sounds nothing like his partner.
“Come on, we need to leave.”
Jayce starts barging his way through the crowd, not entirely rudely, but certainly with a disregard to anyone that is foolish enough to stand in his way. Viktor is silent, almost (Jayce hesitates to use the word) catatonic, but he allows himself to be pulled along in Jayce’s wake.
By the time he has reached the barrier that doubles as the entrance gate, Jayce has left a trail of annoyed playgoers in their slipstream. Still, needs must and all that.
“Where are you going, mister?” The box office (literally. They have a tall, narrow, box, just big enough to stand in to collect the entrance fees) attendant is eyeing them with suspicion. “If you leave now, you won’t be allowed back in, nor will you get your money back. No refunds.” He says the last as if it’s the very worst thing he can possibly imagine.
Jayce waves him off, and single-mindedly continues on to the gate. The burly bouncer can obviously see that he won’t be swayed, and opens the barrier to let them pass.
They exit out onto the now almost empty street. “C’mon Vee, nearly there.”
It’s not clear where there is, but Jayce continues to pull him along until he spies a shadowed alley off to one side. Hoping that he’s not making a mistake by choosing a dodgy-looking back lane in an unknown town, Jayce steps into the gloom, thankfully finding that the narrow and damp space is mercifully cutthroat-free, and sweeps Viktor into his shielding embrace.
“Hey! Hey, Viktor! I’m here, yes? We’re here, you and me, together. Viktor!”
His partner’s breaths are quick and shallow, his skin clammy, and his eyes unfocused.
“Viktor, you don’t get to slip away from me.” It might sound harsh, and perhaps it is, but Jayce hasn’t come this far to lose the love of his life because of a stupid fucking provincial play.
“Let’s sit down,” he suggests, although it’s not really a suggestion, more a sit down before you fall down. Jayce’s knees bend intentionally, whilst Viktor’s more sort of give up the ghost without his conscious decision-making. Jayce keeps his long-reach arms around his partner, and holds him close until the panic ebbs.
By the time Viktor comes back to him, cold and shivering, the sun is dipping towards the horizon, and the shadows have diagonally slid across the wall of the alleyway. The air has cooled, and Jayce is mindful that they need to find somewhere to stay. Remaining here, in this dirty and forgotten passageway, is not an option Jayce is prepared to entertain.
“We need to stand up now, Vik, we need to find an inn.” They have already spent two nights sleeping rough, but oddly enough, being homeless in a city is a far worse situation to be in than out in the countryside, below the stars.
There is no reply to Jayce’s assertion. Viktor’s luminous eyes gaze out from beneath his messy curtain of hair, and Jayce finds himself desperately brushing the locks aside.
“It’s not true, Vik,” he tells him, conviction laced throughout his tone, “you know that, don’t you? What they showed up there, in that–” he snorts, “that work of fiction, it’s not…us…the Defender of Tomorrow…or the Machine Herald…they’re just…some caricatures of what they think we are, or were. They don’t know us, they don’t know what we’re really like.”
“But it’s not fiction.” These are the first words Viktor has spoken for hours. “I did do all that–”
“Oh for fucks sake, Vik!” The afternoon is catching up with Jayce, and he fails to modulate his tone. “They’ve embellished everything! They have no idea what really happened! We are the only ones who truly know!”
“But I killed people, Jayce, with my bare hands.” Viktor holds them up in front of him, as if he can see his sins staining his skin. “Just one touch, and they became something else! Something not flesh and blood.”
Jayce makes a valiant effort to get a handle on his emotions. “Viktor, we’ve been through this. The Hexcore–”
“But I made it! I programmed it to…to– I wanted to live, and that selfish desire wormed its way into the runes! I–”
“Viktor.” Jayce takes a firm hold of Viktor’s upper arms, and pulls him forwards so he can do nothing except meet Jayce’s sincere gaze. “The Hexcore had its own bloody agenda, and used you to carry it out.”
“I–”
Jayce simply speaks over him. “You said so yourself. It used Sky’s image to manipulate you, and get what it wanted. It literally showed you the footsteps it wanted you to follow! Viktor! It took your noble aims of wanting to help the undercity, and twisted them to suit its own motivation.”
Viktor’s body is quivering, as if he cannot decide which way to go. As if he is torn between the edge of salvation, and a very, very, long drop. Jayce intimately understands the feeling.
“I know…I know you experimented on yourself…” Viktor flinches in response to Jayce’s words, whilst Jayce shivers at the thought, “with both shimmer and the runes, but so did the Hexcore. It took you down to the bottom of the fissures, all the way to the depths of The Sump, and you know why, Viktor, you already know why it did that. It wanted to find the drug addicts down there, it wanted to find people who already used shimmer. And it did. It chewed them up, and spat them out, and it used you as its conduit. You know this.”
“But it was my ideology! My desire to be…perfect…that brought me there!”
“Gods, Viktor!” Jayce doesn’t mean to, but his giant hands squeeze tight against Viktor’s slender arms, and it’s only when his partner cries out that Jayce relaxes his hold. “Sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very contrite, and nor does he let go. No one is taking Viktor from him, least of all Viktor himself. “You want to hear what was really wrong? The fact that the good people of Piltover conveniently forgot about you, denied you your credit, leached you of your genius ideas, and swallowed all your hard work, driving you to exhaustion that nearly killed you.”
Viktor’s head shakes, but it is unclear as to what he disagrees with exactly. Jayce, on the other hand, knows it’s all true.
“And the worst part…the worst part is…I was chief amongst them.”
“No, Jayce!” Viktor eyes open wider in his distress, the gold catching the last rays of the falling sun.
“I was Viktor. I let myself be dazzled by the bright lights and the flattery. Gods help me, I enjoyed being the centre of attention. I liked it. I got caught up in the compliments and adulation. I forgot where I was supposed to be.”
“It’s not your fault, you–”
“Vik! Just listen, will you? If I had been there, with you, actually taking notice of you, things would have been so different. You wouldn’t have been alone, and making all the wrong choices. We could have found a way forward, together.”
“You…you had all that expectation on your shoulders, and I let you bear the weight for both of us. I should have– I couldn’t–”
“I know. I know now, Vik. I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time you see, I didn’t understand what it was like to have a disability in Piltover, the city that values perfection and beauty above all other traits. I didn’t see how they undermined you just because you were from the undercity. I understand now, though. I understand why you didn’t want to put yourself further under their exacting microscope.”
Jayce adjusts their positions so that Viktor is now held gently in his arms again, and he kisses the top of his partner’s head.
“I get it, I do. I just didn’t see it at the time.” He lets out a long sigh. “So the point I’m trying to make is that…that…those monsters up on the stage have nothing to do with either of us. Not you, and not me. And that’s a good thing, V, because the whole time the world thinks that that is what we are, or what we once were, no one is looking at us.”
Jayce thinks Viktor wants to believe him, but that he isn’t yet ready to take his foot off his own neck. It’s frustrating to say the least.
“I can never return, not…not if I want to keep breathing.” Viktor says it as though this is a terrible idea, although not an idea without merit. It makes Jayce’s blood run cold. “...but you could still be Jayce Talis, Man of Progress, again. They would take you back in a heartbeat. You could see your mother, and Miss Kirraman, and…and…Councillor Medarda. You could–”
“You’re doing this on purpose, Vik, being deliberately…selfless. I chose you at the top of the Hexgates, and I’m choosing you again now. You are stuck with me, whether you like it or not. So with the greatest respect, fuck you, Viktor, and keep your stupid ‘coulds’ to yourself.”
“But–”
“No! No fucking buts!” Another time, one or other of them would make a joke over that particular phrasing, but not this time. “I miss my mom, Gods, I do, and I hope one day we can get back in contact, but only when it’s safe. Cait…Cait has Vi, and if she ever found out I’m still alive she’d give me a tongue lashing that I’d never recover from. And as for Mel…” Viktor stiffens almost imperceptibly, but Jayce clocks the movement. Of course he does. He sighs, and shuffles through the words he wants to say in his head.
“Mel manipulated me, that much is true,” Jayce shrugs, a light movement that passes through to Viktor’s body, “but I went along with it. I was so naive, so blindly trusting… I think Mel must have seen me as a pretty gift wrapped up in a bow. She knew she’d get nowhere with you, that was obvious, so she put her all into me. And I kept letting her. We – you and me – we had our arguments, and I always took her side, or nearly always. I froze you out, and never noticed as our paths diverged. I thought I was doing the right thing.
“I did love her, or I thought I did. I certainly cared for her, and I’m still fond of her now, despite everything that happened. Maybe in another life,” (although in all timelines, in all possibilities, makes that unlikely), “we might have made a go of it, gotten to actually know each other, instead of seeing the people we thought we were.” Jayce pauses, allowing the words to settle in his chest.
“Do you want to know something funny? I think Mel got me voted in as a councillor as she wanted more control of the Council itself, and thought I’d be easy to direct. She already had half of the council members in her pocket, and the others she was able to cajole into her way of thinking.” Mel was, and presumably still is, the best politician of her generation, able to wield a soft power that was nevertheless extremely potent. “Thing is though, her careful plans all went to pot once I had my seat. I did what I always do, which is to unilateral decision my way across the agenda, and pay fuck all attention to anyone else. Then the bomb happened,” Jayce opts to omit the next part of the timeline, “ then you woke up and left on the same day, and a short while later, I was…gone.”
He kisses Viktor again, a soft and gentle touch just behind his ear, a secret place that Jayce knows he likes.
“You need to get something into that pretty head of yours, Vik, something that I think you just refuse to acknowledge. The Man of Progress is dead, Viktor. He’s gone.”
“But you could still–”
“What did I say about buts?! He is gone, and you know why? Because I don’t want to be him again! I’m not that man anymore, and I have no desire to ever be him again! All that schmoozing, and flattering, and dancing to every other fucker’s tune, I don’t want that. I just want you, Viktor, and I need you to accept that!”
Viktor says nothing, but cautiously squeezes Jayce’s hands, a quiet gesture that is answer enough for now.
“C’mon, we can’t stay here, we’ve got to go find somewhere to stay, somewhere we can regroup, and try and be fucking normal.” Jayce huffs out his churning feelings. “So, the usual, then.” He carefully pushes Viktor off his lap, then even more carefully stands, stretching out his stiff leg. Balancing against the damp wall, Jayce reaches down and offers Viktor his hand. There is a moment where Viktor battles with himself, but he ultimately decides to take Jayce’s touchy proposition. “That’s it,” Jayce pulls him to his feet, “we’re living each day, one limping step at a time.”
Viktor stands on tiptoe to lay a loving, but exhausted, kiss upon Jayce’s lips, then he begins moving unsteadily away, the tap of his cane as rhythmic as ever. Jayce doesn’t have a cane, he refuses to, which is probably why Viktor’s leg (an odd choice of the Arcane’s, when it had healed everything else) is in a better state than Jayce’s.
He pushes off the wall, and catches up to Viktor in a couple of strides, sliding his arm around his partner’s waist. “And another thing, that guy up on the stage was a complete and utter dick. I mean, who wears a fucking white coat to go into battle?”
They both laugh then, the kind of laughter that vacillates between true humour, confusion, and despair, but the response still offers a cathartic release.
Finally, once the near-hysteria has died down, Viktor offers an unneeded response to Jayce’s rhetorical question. “The partner of the man who wants to give up his emotions, but forms a complex and emotional attachment to a blanket instead."
Which is…fair comment.
The sun has all but disappeared below the horizon now, making their accommodation woes all the more pressing.
“Whoever finds tonight’s inn,” Jayce murmurs, bone-tired, and ready for something to eat, “gets to be the little spoon.”
Viktor scoffs in response. “I will not fight you for it, Jayce, but I will nevertheless hold you in my feeble arms.”
Jayce smirks in triumph. “Excellent. We’ll find somewhere to stay, just try not to do any magic this time round.”
“Then you should not pick fights with people bigger than you, Jayce, and need me to save your backside.”
Which is, again, a fair comment.
They continue on down the street, a mountain of trauma between them, but profoundly in love, and together. Which, Jayce feels, is just as it should be.