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wincestisasincest · 2 years

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Waves on the Shore - Chapter 13: He Who Fights Monsters

Viktor x Fem!Reader slow burn enemies to lovers

x posted on ao3 // WOTS masterlist

Summary: Jayce and Viktor questioning you about your weapon (made with farm-fresh Hextech) is the only thing keeping you from going to jail for science crimes. You and Viktor are literally at each others throats lmao. Also you’re from Bilgewater because pirates are fucking rad

Notes: Broskis I'm sorry this one took like over a month ektjherkjth and also this one is not very proofread so sorry if it's kind of bad. Also this fic is officially over 100k words lol. Oh also we still have a discord, lemme know if u wanna join hekrthrek jt

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: @edenstarkk @chosomybelovedcurse @dedicated2viktor @doctorho @yeehawbvby @arcaneparx @the-lake-is-calling @beeblybub

Mentions of: Nothing I think?

Triggers: Everything from the last chapter is discussed and recalled here, so… that. Also, cops, cop questioning, painkillers, drinks being drugged, booze, vomit, vertigo, guns, and language

“I’ve seen who you are in the dark. And you’re a monster.”

It’s funny. You’ve heard that word a lot - “monster.” You were familiar with every usage of the word before you could load a canon by yourself; from the scariest beasts of the deep to the ruthless criminals lording over your island. You thought that you were immune to its impact.

You were wrong.

Adrenaline fanned from your heart to your fingertips, telling you to move, fight, run, or for gods’ sake do something because you couldn’t take this straight on. It didn’t matter if you were the monster or the innocent, you could not stay trapped in this stupid, shitty loop.

And suddenly, you understood why you’d come back.

There he was, narrowing his eyes at you like a viper. But you clenched your teeth and inhaled through your nose, willing away the hollowing feeling in your chest that tried to tell you this was just a bad dream.

You would show him what monsters could do.

*****

When Viktor woke, his pulse was eating him alive.

He tilted his head, and a seedy whine pounded behind his eyes as his dress shirt pinched his arms. The blinding, sterile light kept trying to infiltrate the cool oasis of his closed eyelids.

Hangover? No, it shouldn’t be this bad. What had he even-

Oh. Right. Enforcers. He remembered those. He could recognize the outlines of their helmets even through the blurry snowfall. But there was someone else... a warm arm around his waist that didn’t let go until medical personnel had whisked him away. That must have been you.

You- where were you?

He sat up and opened his eyes.

Through the ringing in his ears he could hear heels clacking in the hallway and sweat sloshing inside his clothes. Tender bruises and stinging cuts made themselves known as his body woke up. The headache only thickened.

He was in Piltover Medical Center, laid out like roadkill on a clean, stiff mattress in their emergency clinic. It was brighter than it had any right to be, with crisp white walls, shiny medical equipment, and humming fluorescent lights.

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the wave of nausea.

“Don’t fight it,” Jayce said from his left, “happened to me too. If you’re gonna vomit, better to get it over with.”

“Good morning as well,” Viktor’s throat was dry.

He dragged his legs over the side as a fuzzy column of brown skin nudged the trashcan towards him. He clamped its sides and nearly fell in as he threw up.

Acid seared his tongue and pungency burned through the congestion in his sinuses; welcome back to reality, they said.

Something glass clinked. Viktor hung his head over the trashcan, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and permitting himself a minute to regret waking up.

“Caitlyn came by, but we were both still out,” Jayce set a glass of water on Viktor’s side of their shared nightstand, “If she heard, then everyone else probably did too.”

Finally, Viktor willed his head up and got a look at him. He was on the other bed in the room, shirtless, with his legs stretched out and his journal open on his lap. Bandages capped his shoulder and a dark purple cloud festered around his eye. His hair was, oddly, the most surprising; spiked, sweaty, and overall messier than Viktor had ever seen it.

Viktor couldn’t imagine that he looked much better.

“How long have you been up?” Viktor gulped the water, noticing one of his own notebooks and a note from Caitlyn perched on the nightstand.

“Just a half hour. Enforcers came by and asked me some stuff. Said they’ll come back for you.”

Viktor propped his elbows on his knees.

“Did they say anything else?”

“About what?”

As if there was anything Viktor would be wondering about besides the third human life that was terribly injured.

He clicked his tongue, too tired to figure out if Jayce was playing dumb or if he’d actually forgotten about you. But Jayce wasn’t the forgetful type, and he didn’t play dumb unless the situation was dire. Something was wrong here, but Viktor wouldn’t press him. Not yet.

“About anything. I’m still not sure what exactly, eh... happened.”

“Yeah. Neither are they.”

Viktor hated how unclear his picture of last night was. The drugs and the booze already wiped half of it from hi smind, and the remaining flashes of consciousness were focused on the most irrelevant things.

Your hands loading that gun. Your eyes screwing shut as you bit your tongue. Your hot breath against his cheek as you checked his head for any damage.

“Well, at least give me something to work with,” Viktor grumbled, falling back onto the mattress.

Jayce fidgeted with his fingers, squeezing them anxiously.

“All they’ve got so far is a timeline. We were drinking, those guys came, at some point we were drugged, the bar cleared out, I went into the alleyway and got the shit beat out of me while they were getting ready to haul you away in the bar.”

Jayce looked down.

“And then?”

“Well, y’know,” Jayce swallowed, “then my... assailants got, uh, taken out. Then yours did. Then one of mine did... again. Apparently the autopsy of that last guy was, uh... well, anyway, then the Enforcers showed up.”

“Yeah. Some help they were,” Viktor paused, deciding that now would be the time to press, since Jayce was clearly intent on pretending you had never existed, “and then we came here?”

“Yup.”

“Just us?”

“In here? Yeah.”

“In here as in this room, or in here as in PMC?”

“...this room.”

“Jayce.”

“Yeah?” Jayce gave him a strained smile.

“Where is Penny?”

Jayce’s entire chest deflated when he sighed.

“Yeah, I figured you’d ask about that sooner or later. But, listen, I wanna talk to you about something first.”

“Why are you being so evasive? What... what happened?” Viktor raised a stern eyebrow, “Is she-”

“No, she’s not dead, Vik. She’s fine - in one of the other rooms. But please- humor me, will you?” Jayce’s puppy dog eyes were indomitable, “And then you can go see her.”

Viktor leaned back on his hands, studying his partner. The fog cleared from his head and he realized that Jayce was shaking. Every part of his body twitched or trembled or tightened, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders and starting to crumble under the weight.

“What’s on your mind?” Viktor asked softly.

“I...” Jayce wrung his fingers around his bracelet, “I think we should put Hextech on hold for a bit.”

The dryness in the corners of Viktor’s eyes cracked when he widened them.

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yes, I know,” Jayce’s fidgeting was persistent, “but things have changed.”

“How so?”

Jayce frowned.

“How s- Vik, you were nearly kidnapped last night, and I was beaten within an inch of my life. That’s how so,” he exhaled, “and don’t give me that ‘the lives of people are endangered every day’ story.”

“But they are,” Viktor’s blood pressure rose, “and we have just made a major breakthrough. You really wish to stop now?”

“What if... we’re not so lucky next time?” Jayce winced as he briefly lose control of his volume, shying away from his point.

“It was not luck that we survived,” Viktor said, “it was Penny’s intervention.”

“Yeah, about that...” Jayce gave up on looking Viktor in the eye, “the Enforcers aren’t as, uh, convinced as we are.”

Viktor scoffed, pushing his hand through his hair. Of course they weren’t, gods forbid someone different did anything in this damn city.

“She’s not in jail again, is she?”

“No. Mel got her bail...”

“But she was going to be?!” Viktor barked, furrowing his brow, “How could they possibly justify that?”

“They think it’s weird that Penny was the only one who wasn’t drugged, and... I mean, I can’t really say that they’re wr-”

“Stop,” Viktor put his hand up, “you cannot believe that Penny is responsible for the attack?”

“No! Obviously not,” Jayce splayed his fingers out, “I don’t... look, I like Penny too, okay? I don’t think she did anything malicious on purpose. I’m just trying to tell you that we’re involved in something really dangerous here and this goes to show how little we know about it. Five people are dead.”

“You care more about your own security than all of the Undercity or Ionia.”

“Do not put words into my mouth. It’s one thing to be dedicated, but we can’t just go putting ourselves in danger. If we die, then Hextech is gone forever,” Jayce said darkly.

“But we didn’t die-”

“Because we have a fucking murderer on our staff! That’s not a good thing,” Jayce gestured violently at him.

Viktor parted his lips cautiously. The crack of Jayce’s voice, the unsteadiness in his usually confident forearms, the peakiness baked into his expression as he looked through Viktor - Viktor hadn’t seen Jayce like this before, but there was no doubting it.

“You’re... you’re afraid of her,” Viktor said.

“I- not of her,” Jayce sniffled, “just... of what she did. And I know she had to, I know,” he scolded himself, “but...”

Jayce rubbed his nose. The only other time Viktor had seen Jayce’s eyes get this watery was when he’d laughed too hard. The contrast between then and now was sobering.

“I keep seeing them,, Vik,” Jayce confessed, head in his hands, “the bodies, I keep- they’re in my head and they won’t leave and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

VIktor only had scraps of what they looked like - their body fluids weaving through the cobblestones in the street and melted flesh peeling from metal bones.

“I refuse to let us end up like that,” Jayce’s throat trembled.

The mental image was there before Viktor could stop it. His partner, his friend, his best friend, with his throat slit; the only moving part of him left was the blood oozing from the thin red line.

Viktor knew that wouldn’t happen. He knew that he had nothing to worry about, and even if he did, worrying rarely helped anything. He knew that.

He also knew that no logic could stop the sinking feeling in his chest when he saw Jayce break down.

Against his better judgment and moral impulse, he grabbed his cane from against the night stand, nudged Jayce’s knee, and quietly said that “we can slow down Hextech if you’d like,” all the while fighting the frustration simmering at his core.

Neither he or Jayce were particularly up for conversation after that, so he left to find you.

He didn’t even want to see you anymore, but in this awful mood he was in, he was bound to snap at someone, and he’d rather it be the person who already thought he was a waste of space than Jayce or an Enforcer.

In fact, Viktor found that he wouldn’t mind snapping at you right now, though by the gods he could not fathom why.

Perhaps it was that he knew you’d only be mildly inconvenienced by Hextech’s hiatus. You weren’t trying to hide it - you’d made it very clear that you thought their goals were nothing more than a foolish boon to their egos. Viktor had long since decided that he didn’t care about what you thought as long as you did your work, now, it made his blood boil.

Of course you did what you had to. Of course you planned those attacks. Of course you never meant for things to end up this way.

And, of course, it had to end with Jayce being traumatized and Hextech being needlessly stalled.

He was being unfair. You didn’t deserve this. Not after everything you’d done.

But he couldn’t help the feeling.

A similarly confusing feeling bubbled in his chest when he floated in the doorway to your hospital room. You were still, fast asleep, though you wouldn’t be moving even if you were awake with your wrist cuffed to the bed like that.

And you looked so small.

Not physically - if anything, the swelling in your nose made you look bigger. They’d straightened it and kept it in place with a loose bandaged, but the darkened, irritated skin and indigo bruises pooling beneath your eyes betrayed the nastiness of the initial impact. Your left ear was swaddled in bandages, still very much half of its original size. No essential parts of the ear seemed to be damaged but it looked... well, it looked awful. The rest of the damage was covered by a standard issue PMC blanket.

He’d never seen you sleep before. Your overflowing personality, the one that made you the godsdamned force of nature that could bring anything to its knees, was kept at bay by the thoughtless rise and fall of your chest. The greasy hair and injuries and bloody clothes were a part of your image, but without you being awake to act the part, you just looked like a person who had been through a lot.

You and no one else against the world. That could make anyone feel small.

Viktor’s face soured at the thought of your self image. You chose to wear your violence and selfishness and apathy as badges of honor, along with your hatred of Viktor. And he was so ready to look past all of that, just for last night, because... of something.

And then, somewhere in the cocktail of anger and confusion and fondness, it clicked.

You weren’t thinking about him when you saved his life, you were just being yourself.

You didn’t care about Viktor. And why the hell would you, if the rest of Piltover couldn’t be bothered? You were becoming like them - helping Viktor because he helped you and suited your needs, not because you believed in him, his ideals, or Hextech. Viktor should’ve been used to this.

It was only human. And that’s all you were. A Bilgewater spitfire with a deep longing for the world that she came from, jumping at the first excuse to indulge in it.

Viktor could only blame himself. And it ached as he considered just how desperate he must’ve been to look for deeper meaning in what you did.

“‘Scuse me, sir.”

Viktor jumped. An Enforcer, with a cinderblock jaw and wispy sideburns, materialized next to him, his palms out.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya,” he smiled apologetically, “I was just wonderin’ if you were the, uh, other victim of the attack last night? I ain’t on the case, I’m just here to take her cuffs off” he chuckled, jingling his keys.

“Yes,” Viktor smoothed out his wrinkled pants, “yes, that’s me.”

“Ah. Well, good to see you on your feet then,” he slapped Viktor in the back with his sweaty hand and turned to observe you, “I heard she was quite the killer.”

You gave no false pretense about what you were. Building you up into something you weren’t was his mistake.

But now he had to see you for what you were.

“She was,” Viktor said, “brutal. Without remorse. Didn’t even bother with talking, just went straight for the vitals.”

He didn’t give you a final glance as he parted from the Enforcer, determined to not make that mistake again.

*****

Unlike rain, which evaporated quickly in the sun, snow stuck around. After you were discharged from the hospital, you were in a completely different Piltover. The air hovering above the smooth white blanket was clean, numb, and slow, entirely jarring after everything else had happened so fast.

Nothing felt real, outside in the world or inside your head.

But you didn’t really mind the effect. Apparently, you weren’t supposed to use the good painkillers into tomorrow morning, after all the alcohol was out of your system, unless you wanted to throw up your guts onto the street. If the hurt subsided, then you could stay in the unreality until then.

Or maybe not.

“C’mon, you paid my bail,” you reluctantly plopped into the spindly chair, “and it’s not because we’re great friends. So what’s the catch?”

Coming into the warmth of Mel’s office just as you grew accustomed to the outside made the red in her paintings eerie. Though you normally liked her office, one of the few places truly rich in color in her marble palace, the contrast with the blank slate of Piltovian winter reminded you that it was just as manufactured as everything else.

“There’s no ‘catch,’” Mel folded her hands, “as an investor in Hextech, it’s my job to look out for the best interests of the company. I think we’ve all learned by now that having you in jail waiting for a sham trial is not productive.”

“So there’s nothing that you want from me, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Mel picked at her nail, “I understand that the Enforcer’s narrative of last night’s events is inaccurate. I’m not surprised - Enforcers are only interested in maintaining the image of Piltover for the people of Piltover.”

“Sounds like you.”

“Maybe,” she eyed you curiously, “but I’m also interested in the truth. Which is something we share, isn’t it?”

It was rare that your goals aligned with powerful people, and though you were becoming more practiced in it the longer you stayed in Piltover, trepidation stalked every offer that someone like Mel gave you. If enemies can be temporary, then so are allies, and sooner or later, the good will of someone who does anything to be above others will run out.

But she could help you. She could help Jayce and Viktor. Regardless of the motive, you needed that.

As sure as that knowing smirk dug further into her cheek, you knew that there was no good will here; just business. Good, you thought, at least you understand each other.

“Fine,” you rolled your neck, “so, what, you want me to start from the beginning?”

And you did.

You rolled your head back and stared at the ceiling lights like you were in a therapist’s office, and told her the entire story as it actually happened, making especially biting remarks at the Enforcer’s faulty logic along the way.

They were claiming that, not only were you the one who had drugged Viktor and Jayce, but that you had pre-planned the entire incident in order to murder five sailors on shore leave. Their “evidence” was that, not only were you the sole undrugged person, but that once you were aware of the drug’s chemical makeup via Jayce and Viktor’s blood test, it was a substance you recognized - Whalefall, something that literally every Rat recognized.

Yet, you still had no explanation for why everything happened the way that it did; why you weren’t drugged, why they were after Viktor, why they beat the shit out of Jayce, why anything. The Enforcers didn’t really have one either, but their blanket appeal to Piltover’s xenophobia combined with their “trustworthiness” was enough to negate that.

Even if they hadn’t actually seen anything happen.

“Honestly, if that’s their response time, I’m surprised any crime in Piltover gets dealt with,” you grumbled.

“That’s not their response time,” Mel said, “they’re usually much faster. But there’s a silver lining - inadequate Enforcer response is probably going to be the main argument for your innocence in the trial.”

“Really?” you crossed your arms, “What about Jayce and Viktor’s testimony? I... well, I haven’t actually talked to them yet, but shouldn’t that be exonerating?”

“They’re not using their testimony.”

“What?!” you sat forward, “Why the hell not?! That was like... the one thing I had going for me.”

“Well, the real answer is that it destroys any chance of making you the scapegoat, but what the Enforcers are saying is that the drugs found in their system make their memories unreliable.”

“But- but that’s bullshit,” you snapped, “Everyone knows that Whalefall makes it hard to remember stuff, but it doesn’t make up false memories. Anything they can recall is still true.”

You’d already spent too much time wondering if Viktor recalled how close you were when you gave him a once over. You weren’t sure if it was embarrassing or exciting or what, all you knew was that the image of him, half dazed, but eyes full of reverence that no one had ever given you before, made your stomach flip.

“I’m sure, but that’s not how this game is played,” Mel said grimly, moving her hands below the desk, “I have some things of yours.”

Your face perked as she rattled inside the drawer, returning to the surface with your knife, ruefully caked in dry blood, and a silver pistol. Oh shit - the pistol.

“Gods, do they just let anyone in the evidence locker?” you grumbled.

“This pistol doesn’t belong to you,” Mel observed, picking it up loosely, as though it were a museum artifact and not an item designed to take a life, “why did you have it?”

“Heh, you’re already doing better than the Enforcers,” you said, “what gave it away?”

“You’re too poor to afford this.”

“Thanks.”

She was right, of course. The model was, at the very least, unique; you’d never quite seen a gun that looked or behaved like it before. It was pure silver, with svelte engravings curling from the handle to the barrel, and while it looked like a revolver, with a rotating cylinder in the center, there were no slots to load bullets, leading you to believe it functioned like a pistol.

“I guess it was just too interesting to leave,” you shrugged, “Damn thing didn’t fire when I tried to shoot it, so I wanted to take it apart and see what was going on.”

“I see,” she brushed her thumb on the barrel, “and this knife was already yours?”

“Yeah.”

You reached out, but, your fingers inches away from the cold metal, Mel’s hand smoothly came down on top of it.

“Actually... there is a catch for this one.”

You looked at her from under your brow, exhausted from the theatrics. She noticed, but she continued coyly without a care.

“The Enforcers get in the way of Hextech’s work and have done a fairly poor job thus far at resolving this pirate issue. Yet, now more than ever, Hextech needs a guardian,” she delicately set the pistol on the table, “One that is equipped to handle both problems.”

“Oh, I see,” your eyelids went slack, “listen, I appreciate the offer, but, like, I was barely qualified to deal with what just happened. Hell, I almost left Jayce and Viktor, I only decided to come back at the last minute, and even then, I got...” you gestured to your face, “all of this. So, thank you, but no thank you. It was a one time thing.”

“Well, if you’d consider making it not a one time thing, I’d be willing to help,” she was toying with the hilt of your knife, yet somehow kept her digits clean of any blood.

There was nothing to consider, but you were hungry for more information anyway.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I want to get those portals on Ionian shores as soon as possible,” she said frankly, “Figure out what’s going on, stop it, and ensure the safety of Jayce and Viktor in the meantime. You’ll have my full legal and financial support for any issues that arise, and, depending on how successful you are, there will be additional compensation.”

“I don’t need more money,” you lied, because everyone could always use more money, “the stipend is enough.”

“Compensation need not be money. I understand you’re having trouble finding a permanent residence due to your... reputation. With my connections, that would be an easy fix,” she offered the handle of your knife to you with a crafty smile, “but it’s your decision, of course.”

Damn her.

You were smart enough to know that no one really escaped the rat race. People would always, on some level, do dubious shit to survive, because there would always be people willing to put them in that position for exploitation.

But you thought that you were done with violence. Sure, it happened once in a while, because that’s just life, but you were supposed to be free of the cycle; your hands, attached to strings that were puppeteered by someone else, dripping with blood.

Hell, even last night, delirious with lack of sleep as the Enforcers kept you awake long into the night to try and “force” a confession, you’d been caught in an unfamiliar emotional deluge. You weren’t one to regret things, but as the sting of alcohol cleared other people’s viscera from your wounds, you caught the stray, remorseful wish that things had gone better. That you didn’t have to kill five people, that the Enforcers believed you, that this was something everyone could reasonably move on from.

But you were expendable. Those pirates would’ve killed you first if you let them, those Enforcers would toss you into jail if you let them, and this godsdamned pit of brutality would drag you asunder forever if you kept letting it.

The blade of your knife gleamed through all of the damage.

Money wasn’t the only currency you’d need to stay here in Piltover. If you didn’t take Mel’s offer, you’d end up taking someone else’s sooner or later, lest you face the long, slow death of the life you were trying to set up here.

Even with allies, you were still alone. You were the only one that could make things work, and sometimes, that required discomfort.

Reluctantly, you accepted the handle of your knife.

“Okay. It’s a deal.”

“Excellent,” Mel’s grin widened, impassively watching as you scraped the pistol off of her desk and shoved both weapons away.

“We’ll be in touch,” you stood brusquely, pushing the chair out and stretching your legs as you approached the doorway.

“One more question,” Mel crooned, waiting for you to turn back around and face her before continuing, “why did you come back for Jayce and Viktor?”

The warmth in her office became sickening; you were trapped inside of a hotbox slowly increasing in temperature. The only breath of fresh air was the blinding white light that stretched from the large window behind her. She and her gold sat in it like a throne.

Each painting stared at you, all painfully aware that you had no answer.

“Let me ask you something instead,” your boldness was unconvincing, “why is the Noxian so concerned with getting these portals to Ionia?”

Mel looked away from you, pursing her lips and considering one of the larger paintings on her wall. It depicted a Noxian ship from behind, heading towards the sun and away from the desolate land they’d ravaged. The shadowed backs of the sails were the only ones in her entire room that reflected authentic blood red.

After a minute, she cocked her head to the side in defeat.

“Touche,” she said, “perhaps we both have something to answer for.”

You prayed that was the end of the conversation and scuttled out the door.

You weren’t even trying to be standoffish, just struck with the overwhelming need to use the bathroom. You’d been holding in this piss since you’d left the hospital.

Shambling through the corridors, without the time or mental capacity to admire them, you spun the question around in your head - why did you come back? You remembered crouching on the parapet, greeting the moon fondly and preparing to make your daring escape, until the gut-wrenching sound of Jayce getting ripped to shreds sucked you into the fray.

There were obvious reasons.

Jayce and Viktor were your crew, and you need them to sail the ship. You’d had allies before, and occasionally, you’d even saved them at great personal risk to yourself. But you weren’t one to jump in and take a non-lethal hit for someone else - that is to say, you weren’t stupid.

Because they weren’t going to die. Viktor’s captors had told you that explicitly, and if they wanted Jayce dead, then it would’ve happened within the first five minutes of their ambush. Both of them would’ve lived had you not stepped in.

You always had a reason for defending people, but you didn’t have a reason for that night.

You’d had an impulse bouncing around in your head, telling you that if you didn’t act, you’d regret it. It wasn’t the raw, cold-blooded instinct that helped you survive, nor the ferocious sixth sense that guided you through battle. It was a small, gentle urgency, older than any of the beasts living under your skin.

What the hell was it really, though?

At last, you spotted the cool, tiled floor and white hand towels of the fanciest bathroom you’d ever seen.

After you were relieved, you washed your hands, and unwittingly saw yourself for the first time since last night in the mirror.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. You looked as bad as you felt; the bags under your eyes were replaced with crescent shaped bruises, your nose ached every time you breathed, and- and your ear. The bottom half of your left ear was gone.

You clicked your tongue.

You could still hear out of it fine. That was why you’d nearly forgotten about it in the first place. And it was just cosmetic. You shyly caressed the bandage stump. Your earlobe had disappeared into thin air and was never coming back.

Sailors lose limbs all the time. You knew this. In fact, you hated that it was the first thing on your mind as you inspected the damage. You hated that you could fucking smell the saltwater being lobbed on the fresh cut as the ship’s surgeon told you not to touch it. You hated how you would go out on deck and commiserate with everyone else who had lost something far worse than you.

You hated how you already missed the cheap earrings you wore.

Here you were, in the center of progress and luxury and culture, but you’d never looked more like a dirty fucking Rat.

Thankfully, you had no time to dwell on it.

*****

Viktor was always amazed at how easily Jayce could fake ease.

“We have plans to shut down the test circuits in the city. Anything else will remain locked in the lab until further notice,” he told the Council, unwavering.

Viktor dreaded returning to the lab. He liked to think that he was levelheaded, but he knew that, at his core, he was a slave to his reckless, passionate impulses, and nothing ignited that like his work. To have to look it all in the eye and tell it to wait was torture.

“It appears we’re all on the same page, then,” Heimerdinger said.

“They would know better how to regulate themselves than any of us would,” Shoola added, “I am satisfied with this course of action for the company. However, its personnel - and potentially, the rest of Piltover - remain at risk.”

“One of them is the risk,” Salo gave a pointed stare.

It took Viktor a second to remember that he didn’t need to swallow his pride and hold his ground. He followed Salo’s beady eyes back down to your unamused deadpan, bathed in fresh sunlight. You were the risk in the moment.

Even though you bothered to clean up and generally look like you hadn’t just been thrown off a mountain, one could only look so good two days after near death. Jayce had opted to use makeup so his bruises wouldn’t show, exactly because he feared having any imperfections in front of the Council. It was one of the thousands of ways they could brand you as the other.

In spite of that, you wore the battle-hardened mask of injuries with complete sincerity.

Viktor wasn’t sure what to make of that, and he had no interest in ever finding out. Perhaps for the same reason he dreaded returning to the lab; this situation required detachment.

He hadn’t spoken a word to you yet.

When he entered the Council room, you were sitting at the table, discussing something with Jayce. Viktor wanted to interrupt so Jayce wouldn’t have the burden of pretending to be calm for the entire conversation, but when he sat down next to his partner and you peered at him expectantly, he mumbled a “good morning” to his feet and feigned interest in the handle of his cane.

“She’s awaiting trial,” Mel said, “we cannot make any determination until she’s been given a chance in court.”

“While I’m in favor of a fair judicial process, we can’t afford to wait,” Kiramann said, “something must be done sooner rather than later. And when it comes down to the safety of Piltover or the legal rights of a foreign criminal, the choice is clear.”

Viktor looked at you. You looked at Jayce. Jayce looked back at you.

You stood up.

“You don’t have to choose between those,” you began in a languid voice, “and you shouldn’t. Focusing on my alleged crimes is exactly what these pirates would want you to do - waste time on a false lead instead of addressing the greater threat.”

You waited for objections, but to yours and Viktor’s surprise, none came.

“You have a proposition?” Heimerdinger raised a bushy eyebrow.

“I do,” you placed your hands on the table, next to the stack of papers,” I looked over the logs from the night of the attack-”

“And how did ye get access to those?!” Hoskel, who was very pleased with himself, pounded his fists on the table.

“You guys have an open records policy,” you said, almost impressed with how unaware of his own city, “anyway...”

Viktor tuned you out.

“Did you know about this?” he muttered to Jayce.

“She caught me up like 10 minutes before we started.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“She did it behind our backs.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

“Can we talk about this later? I wanna listen.”

But Viktor wanted to talk about it now. All of a sudden, you were the most proactive person in this mystery, after weeks of not doing anything unless absolutely necessary. It was... not suspicious, but Viktor liked to know things.

Jayce was good at faking, though. Perhaps he was pretending to not be bothered to save face.

“...the delay in Enforcer arrival was caused by an issue with the radio system,” you were still talking, “The Public Emergency Radio on the docks were down, so none of the calls that bystanders on the docks made went through to the station. The Enforcers only heard about a crime from the PER by the bridge. I looked at the maintenance reports, and,” you put a new piece of paper on top of the pile, “it said that the resistor inline of the PER on the docks was soldered somewhere it clearly didn’t belong. This is an error that can only be done by human hands and by someone who would have the key to the fusebox.”

You inhaled through your nose.

“The obvious conclusion is sabotage from within the Enforcers, which is something that many people in the station have suspected for a while. If you want to focus your efforts on something, you should conduct a thorough internal investigation of the Enforcers, because there’s at least one spy in there.”

Self-assured doubt began to cloud the Council’s expressions. You glowered.

“Look, pirates expand, okay? If you let this slide, then one day, they won’t just be after Hextech. They’ll go for your jewelry, your booze, your spices...” that got a few of them to straighten their spines, “The longer you leave a spy in there, the harder they are to find. I’ve seen entire enterprises destroyed this way, and it will happen again, unless you nip this in the ass by finding that spy now,” you strained slightly.

Viktor realized that you’d been paying more attention than you let on, with the way that you targeted the specific business interests of the Councilors. For someone who never made an effort to please them, you could be quite convincing when you wanted to be. All that haggling expertise didn’t come from nowhere, he supposed.

It was silent. You didn’t sit down yet, practically challenging one of them to say something.

Finally, someone did.

“Councilors, all due respect, that would be an utter waste of time” the voice was irritated with pride.

Its speaker left the shadowed corner; he had a precise black mustache, geometric brows, and an Enforcer helmet tucked under his arm.

“So is bringing a Helmet to a Council meeting, Mister...” your fingers tightened against the tabe.

“I’m the Sheriff of Piltover,” he stated, directly to you, before turning to the Councilors, “and in all the years I’ve been working for this city, we’ve only increased our internal defenses against spies due to the threat of Undercity subterfuge. Our hiring process is thorough, and we screen for them regularly, which is why I can safely say that there are no agents of the Undercity, or anywhere else, in the Enforcers.”

Somehow, even when the subject was entirely unrelated, the Undercity always came up in Council meetings. Viktor scoffed, but said nothing.

“But how can-”

“Further,” he interrupted, focusing on you again, “I urge the Council to question the integrity of her argument. For all we know, she could be the insurgent, trying to distract us while the real problems go unnoticed,” he folded his hands, “Her character would suggest so.”

“This isn’t about me,” you growled.

“Our testimony would suggest that it is about you, actually,” he pulled a piece of paper from his brest pocket, “One witness reports that you were, and these were their exact words, ‘brutal. without remorse, didn’t even bother with talking, just went straight for the vitals.’”

Viktor’s heart fell into his stomach.

“Now, Councilors, that doesn’t sound like someone who has anyone’s best interest in mind, let alone Piltover’s,” the sheriff concluded, and Viktor felt a new level of guilt.

“You’re taking that out of context,” you said.

“Is that so?” the sheriff put the paper away, “But you still were engaging in such behavior, weren’t you?”

Viktor cringed, sinking down deeper into his seat. His internal logic sounded a lot less valid coming from this pompous asshole’s mouth.

“It was self defense,” you said.

“Right,” the sheriff returned his focus to the Council, as though you were a speck of dust on his shoe, “now, I recommend that we...”

Your palms relaxed. You plopped back back into the chair, defeated, and Viktor never thought that he’d see you give up an argument that easily.

A vote and a disappointment later, you three regrouped in the lobby.

“They’re screwing themselves over,” you tutted, “all the work we’re doing to shut this down is gonna mean nothing.”

“This isn’t our last chance,” Jayce nudged your elbow, “we can always ask again. That sheriff can only damage control so many times.”

Jayce was very convincing. If Viktor hadn’t actually seen him break down yesterday, he would’ve believed that you two were pals and nothing ever happened.

“Right,” you said into your hands, “godsdamnit, of course they had some random asshat’s testimony on file like that,” you surveyed Jayce and Viktor, “I didn’t even know anyone else was watching.”

You locked eyes with Viktor, and before he could anticipate how it would come off, he found himself quickly looking down at the floor with the confidence of a frightened rabbit. If he had to under the spell of the discerning, yet unsuspecting, crinkle in the corners of your eyes for any longer, he might just confess.

Which wasn’t even warranted, he told himself. How was he supposed to know that they would use his words like that?

When he poked his head back up and caught your face, your expression wasn’t unsuspecting anymore.

“I gotta go,” you said suddenly, getting up from your chair, “Alex and I have a dinner date. But I’ll be there early tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. We’ll get started on lockdown. See ya, Pen.”

Viktor only felt that he could breathe again when you closed the door behind you.

“Are you alright, Vik?” Jayce patted his friend’s back without warning.

“Yes-” Viktor regained his composure, “yes, I am fine. I do wonder,” he narrowed his eyes, “how she read those Enforcer logs by herself, though.”

“Oh, Caitlyn helped her,” Jayce said, “they met up at the station.”

“And that doesn’t bother you at all?!”

“Why would it bother me?” Jayce frowned, “Does it bother you?”

“Well-” Viktor swallowed, “I thought that you were interested in keeping tighter security. Penny doing things without us knowing does not align with that.”

“Look, I was a little freaked out earlier, but once I processed all that shit,” Jayce sighed, “I remembered that it’s just Penny. She’s still the same person. And I trust her.”

Ah. Jayce wasn’t faking earlier - he was actually comfortable with you. And so was Caitlyn. Even after everything you’d done. After everything you’d shown yourself to be.

If there was one thing he learned after moving here from Zaun, it was that, despite all the glitz of Piltover, people will eventually show their true selves to you. Especially if they don’t see you as an equal.

And you should always believe them.

“Now, we better get started on clearing out the lab,” Jayce grunted.

“We should divide the labor,” Viktor said lifelessly, “I will remove the test circuits.”

“You sure you wanna do that alone?”

“Yes.”

Viktor refused to be near the Academy any longer. He needed time, away from the vestigial defensive reflexes of his Zaunite heritage, away from reminders of his work, and away from the notion that you ever existed.

*****

You squinted, as though it were any trouble to recognize that silhouette.

You could recognize a lot of things about him now. He stood out from the crowd. Those weren’t just keys on the table, those were Viktor’s keys. That wasn’t just sloppy handwriting, that was Viktor’s sloppy handwriting. And, earlier today, that wasn’t just anyone’s evasive maneuver, that was Viktor’s evasive maneuver.

And he was never evasive. The bastard was hiding something, and you hoped that you were wrong about what it was.

“She had a knife like yours,” Alex said.

Right. You were supposed to be bringing him home. You were sure that he could make it by himself, but given everything that had happened in the last few days and the fact that it was approaching midnight, you weren’t taking any chances.

“Hm?” you tilted your head to the side, refocusing your attention on the winding street.

“That lady. Pearl. She had a knife like yours. I saw it when I went to the bathroom.”

“You sure about that? Mine’s as custom as they come.”

“I didn’t look that close,” he paused, half his face shadowed by the street lamp, “but it did look like yours.”

“Maybe I’ll ask her to see it next time,” you looked at him from the side, “You liked her though, right?”

Though you very much enjoyed dining in the servant’s quarters of the mansion she worked in, you had other reasons to consider the visit a success; she basically confirmed that you could house sit for the winter, starting next week and lasting for a month.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “I just wish that there were more Rats in Piltover. Monty says I’m not allowed to go to the Undercity.”

You clicked your tongue. You didn’t know much about the family that he lived in, but that sounded like standard fare for Piltover.

“I’m not allowed to go there either,” you said, “but hey, it’s not gonna be like this forever. I’m sure we’ll get to meet them eventually.”

Even if the entire godsdamned city, including Viktor, was working against you.

In the meantime, you could make do with Pearl’s company.

She was happy to find a kindred spirit and you were desperate for one. You got the sense that both of you were not considered worthwhile company by most of Piltover, so it was nice to be wanted for a change. And, despite your initial caution, she was fun to be around; she’d retained her Bilgewater slickness.

You hardly got through your request for a housesitting recommendation before she was on board, saying that she did something similar in her youth and that it was “only right that the people who would actually use a property like this should get to live in it.” Apparently, she’d thrown some wild parties in the ballroom, with her employers none the wiser.

She’d even taken her employer’s best booze from the cellar for that night, though you had to decline since you were on proper painkillers now.

“I don’t get tired of the luxury, because it was never really mine to start with,” she had said, “though, if you ask me, I think being bored out of my skull but filthy rich is a pretty good deal.”

“Maybe so,” you had answered, “though something tells me we’ll never get to find out.”

After you dropped Alex off at his house, you closed the door and leaned against it, resting in the porchlight oasis. Finally, one damn thing had gone right in your life, and you worried that the minute you walked down the stairs of the deck and surrendered yourself back to the quotidian night, you’d lose the feeling.

But Viktor was still there, by himself, looking like a mugger’s dream. You should probably make sure that he didn’t get himself killed.

“You shouldn’t be here by yourself,” you said when you approached him from behind, holding back a smirk when he flinched, “did you learn nothing from that bar ambush?”

His screwdriver stilled, then gently floated away from the open test-circuit reactor. The light around Viktor’s shadow on the cobblestone melted from brassy street lamps to hex crystal blue, which glimmered in his exhausted eyes when he faced you.

“I know that you don’t get out much, but you really ought to find a better hobby than following me,” he leaned against his cane with that smug, self-assured lack of fear that he always had when he realized it was just you.

“Alex’s house is that way,” you jerked your chin towards the street, “in case you forgot. And I think following you is a more worthwhile hobby than giving vindictive, inaccurate testimony to Enforcers.”

He wasn’t surprised at your retort. He just winced, like he’d seen it coming, which had the frightening implication that he recognized the signs of your mood just as easily as you recognized his.

“I did not know they would use it like that,” he said, all too defensive for your liking, “but it was not inaccurate. I was merely telling the truth.”

Something rustled in your coat pocket.

“Oh, bullshit. Jayce saw a lot of the same crap you did, was even more disgusted by it, and they weren’t quoting him in front of the Councilors, so obviously there was a right thing to say, and you didn’t say it.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” he said, though he didn’t turn around.

“Right, because you were so busy working on that circuit,” you gestured to it, “c’mon, I saw you there like five minutes ago. It doesn’t take that long to deactivate,” you curled your lips cruelly, “What? Too worried that you’ll feel some remorse?”

The mass in your pocket was... warm against your upper thigh.

“I’ve been standing here,” Viktor’s words came from the back of his throat, “for four hours, because you could not stop yourself from going fucking berserk and how Hextech is suffering for it. You couldn’t think for a moment about how this would affect anyone other than yourself,” he swallowed, “I am losing everything.”

“I’m sorry?!” you crossed your arms, “Am I hearing that you’d rather lose your life?”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Viktor rolled his eyes, “no one’s-”

Blue light cracked from your coat pocket. Viktor stopped as a similar surge of magical energy stretched out behind him in bolts. The pen reactor.

You went dead still, wondering if this was really how it ended.

But a few moments passed, and you were both still alive, goggling each other with empty, frightened eyes. You bit your lip and reached down into your pocket with a trembling hand.

The long, smooth grip of the pistol was raging with internal magic, like there were storm clouds lashing out inside of it. You followed the energy back to its cylinder, wrapping your fingers around the center and rattling your bottle of painkillers on the way out of your pocket.

Viktor stepped aside to examine the reactor.

Blue embers radiated from the pistol’s cylinder, as though hot coals burned inside. It didn’t feel like a solid object anymore, but an extension of your body, united with your hand.

Viktor pushed the shutter away. The reactor’s hex crystal emanated the same muted embers. THey were less flashy than normal, but still fluttered with life.

The pistol and the reactor chittered back and forth rhythmically.

You unsheathed your knife from your belt and pressed the tip into the blue edge at the bottom of the cylinder, applying the slightest amount of pressure to open it.

Pop.

You saw the hex crystal inside for only a second before everything went white.

*****

Falling, falling, falling, but with no air careening against you.

It was so godsdamned bright. The inverse of outer space, where, instead of the absence of light, every single molecule reflected it at you all at once, bursting and flashing with lurid vertigo. It felt like you stared into the sun too long and now the rays were extending past your scope, consuming you whole.

It lasted for only a second.

Your feet were on solid ground again, and traces of salt water tickled your nose. Spots clumped in your vision, mitigated by the steely cobalt color of the sky.

The sky... wasn’t like that before. Storm clouds herded above, still an opaque mass as the last strands of light dipped below the horizon. It was not the clear, inky night that you’d come from.

“Hhhng.”

Viktor.

You blinked harshly, forcing the disorientation from your system. You were outside, it was nearing night time, and... and the familiar sound of clinking glass and drunken whoops spun from your right. A strip of dull lantern light came from an open door.

Viktor materialized into focus, standing up, in the same physical condition as he was before, but just as lost as you were. And past him... that couldn’t be.

It was the alleyway that Jayce was attacked in. You’d recognize it anywhere. Scuffed, aging buildings formed a lane to the docks, but as your eye followed them down, the street was lacking something that should’ve been there, and it made you sick.

It should’ve been coated with thick, white snow, shoveled into small piles on the side so the crunchy salt could break apart the thin sheet of ice on the road.

But there was nothing. The streets were clear, like it had never snowed at all. And the ocean was angry.

Anxiety twanged in your chest.

You looked at Viktor, distracted by the street, and apparently coming to the same conclusion as you. Something was very, very wrong.

And then your own voice, scratchy and free and spent, and curled around your ears. But you hadn’t said anything.

You cleared your throat, confirming that, yes, your vocal chords were still under your control, but the onslaught of your own words, entirely divorced from your being, continued.

Jayce’s brazen voice replied.

“Do...” your voice cracked, and Viktor turned around, “do you hear that?”

He paused, listening intently to the inside of the bar. And his eyes were wider than you’d ever seen when he heard his own voice blurt something out, the unmistakable accent even thicker with booze.

You crept into the doorway, barely touching the edge with your fingers. Another sensation would send you overboard. The asymmetrical beat of Viktor’s footsteps followed behind you.

Moving just one eye out, you took a peek at the bar.

Every poet from every country from every lifetime could not describe the uncanniness of seeing yourself from the outside. It wasn’t real, it didn’t feel real, because there was no way that was you, because things like this did not happen. You were not supposed to be an object on a plane, you were the damn plane.

It was like those trick paintings, where everything looks okay on the surface, but as you notice more macabre details the only picture you get is just how little you know about the world being presented to you. Every small thing about yourself sent a rolling wave of dissociated, horrified deja vu. And yet you couldn’t pull yourself away.

You felt faint.

And it only got worse when you saw the back of the original man with the pistol, the motherfucker that drugged your friends and tried to shoot you, sitting at the bar. The same young man hiding behind a still-developing beard. His pistol, a creamy silver, was sturdily attached at the hip.

He didn’t see you spying on him, as he was intensely focused on other you getting up from the table with a half empty mug of rum and beckoning to the bartender.

You took a seat right next to him and faced away, leaving your drink on the table.

Gods, you were an idiot.

You were watching everything go wrong in slow motion. The bartender went around back to get you some fresh mint, and you passively engaged in conversation with someone sitting farther down the bar.

The pirate fingered a bottle of clear liquid, passed it over your drink like a ghost, and left the bar counter without you noticing. He faded into some far off corner, waiting for you to take the bait.

He must’ve already gotten Jayce and Viktor, then. So what stopped this drug from getting to you? And better yet, what would stop you from beat his ass this very moment instead of letting past you take the lead an hour from now.

You couldn’t just attack him, you knew better than to run head first into... whatever was going on. But, for comfort, your hand raced down to your belt and closed around the hilt of your knife. Your bottle of painkillers rattled in your pocket.

Painkillers. The ones that made you vomit when combined with alcohol.

You’d asked the bartender for mint. You were making a mojito, which you’d thrown up that night.

And then you understood that all of this had already happened to you, and your intervention was an important part of saving this night. But you had to do it now.

You edged further into the bar, pressing your palm down on the cap of the painkillers.

This was a bad idea.

You crammed a chalky white pill between your fingers. Your drink was open. The bartender was gone. No one would notice.

This was a bad idea.

Jayce and Viktor were enraptured by a debate with each other about... something stupid probably. Your heartbeat was fast.

This was a bad idea.

“Wait here,” you said to your Viktor, the one looming over your shoulder, who was too stunned with anything to reply.

This was a bad idea. You can’t change the past.

But clearly, you already had.

You blacked out for a bit. You forgot to breathe the entire time as you snaked out from your hallway and hugged the edge of the bar, trying and failing to act casual.

You were less than a foot away from yourself when you stalled, because that was you, right there. Your back was facing you, and you could’ve reached out and touched it.

But this timeline was meant to be changed, even if you had to be the one to do it.

So, when the pill slipped from your hands, into the shallow pool of Whalefall and rum at the bottom of your mug, with past you none the wiser, you felt a rush of raw determination. Everything would be okay.

You retreated into the hallway, a stop on your way back into the alleyway. Viktor just watched you, shaking.

“Did... did you-” he whispered as you gave yourself a final glance before you left the premises.

Your attention returned to your drink after the bartender gave you the mint you asked for. You scooted off the chair and joined Jayce and Viktor again, about the mix the mojito that would’ve been your doom.

“C’mon, let’s-”

A fading conversation bounced down the alleyway. You saw them from the corner of your eye.

Jayce’s attackers, lying in wait. You were fucked if you went back down the alleyway.

“Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit,” you muttered.

You couldn’t just walk through the bar either, not when you looked like you had just seen a ghost. You needed time to think. To come up with a plan.

But you were trapped.

You hastily backed into the bathroom, brushing against Viktor’s chest as you pushed his immobile body with you.

You shut the door and twisted the lock with numb hands.

“This can’t- I can’t- what the fuck-” Viktor panted. He was on the verge of hyperventilating.

You turned and leaned against the door, realizing for the first time since you’d arrived here that the gun was gone.

Well, shit.

The bathroom was tiny; the bare necessities of a rusty sink, soap, a hand towel, and a toilet were surrounded by aged wooden walls reminiscent of a ship’s head.

Not the time to reminisce.

“What- what did you do?” Viktor collapsed onto the toilet, rubbing his face with the heels of his hand.

“I, uh- I think I just drugged my own drink,” you said blankly, “so that I would throw up that shit they put in it. And then I could...” you trailed off.

“No! I mean-” Viktor caught a breath, “what... what happened? Why are we here? Is this... this is real, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “this... is real.”

“The reactor, and the... it must have been affected, and transported us...”

“Into the past,” you finished slowly, “when it connected with...”

“What was in that gun?!” his voice cracked, “Why did...”

“It came from the guy,” you said, “the first one I killed when I... when I came for you. The one we just saw. It was his...”

“And it connected with the gun from the past, meaning that we-” he groaned, anger gradually replacing the confusion, “And you- why did you have it?!” he snapped.

“Hey! This isn’t all me, okay, it did some shit with that reactor too!”

“Of all the godsdamned places we could go!” he threw his arms in the air, “And now we’re stuck here.”

“We’re not stuck,” you said, “We’ve got time before... everything happens. We’ll just wait for our opening and then-”

“And then what?! Get involved with all of this crap again?” he chuckled mirthlessly, “Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I was making sure that we don’t die just now, dickweed!” you howled, “I don’t wanna see any of this shit again!”

“If you don’t want to see it again, then maybe you shouldn’t have done it to begin with.”

And finally, the cord inside of you that was wound so tight around your emotions broke in hafl.

“Alright, that’s it!” you slammed your hand down on the sink counter, “Did I do something wrong? I don’t understand how saving your bitch ass could possibly be a fuck up on my end, but I assure you I will not repeat that mistake.”

“Again with this rescue drivel! You can give it a rest, no one else is here.”

“You think I did all that shit, to them, to me, for fun?!”

“I don’t know why you did it, but it’s not because you wanted to help me,” he hissed.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!”

“You may have everyone else on your side,” he pointed a bony finger at your chest, “but you made a mistake. And I’ll tell you where you made a mistake.”

HIs spit shined in the artificial light, disturbing the dust mites suspended in the air.

“You came back for me,” he barked, “and if you think for a godsdamned second that I believe you came back, risked yourself, not even for my life but just for my wellbeing, with no ulterior motive, then you are dumber than you look,” he said, “You did not do anything for me. You did it for yourself because you wanted an excuse to do all that. I know it.”

He was sweating. He was hurting. And you were so, so close to channeling your turbulence and bewilderment straight into your fists, because you didn’t even have a good answer.

But then he said those words, and everything fell into place.

*****

“I’ve seen who you are in the dark, and you’re a monster.”

None of the catharsis that was supposed to be there came. You blinked once, twice, overflowing with nothing, like a dormant volcano.

The patter of footsteps outside was deafening.

And then your hands moved, and Viktor thought you were going to kill him.

BUt instead your fingers, steadier than he’d ever seen, met at the collar of your shirt and undid the first button. The fabric shifted as you inhaled.

“See, the thing about a lot of what happens on ships,” your cadence was stony, “is that it’s designed to not be debilitating, but to still hurt like hell.”

Viktor didn’t answer, watching as you weaved down to the second button.

“Injuries that you can still do your job with. You get this little jolt of pain every time that you move.”

You crept down to the third button.

“And you can see it for a while after if you look. Because they don’t want you to forget.”

The fourth. The placid mauve color of your bra poked through, and though Viktor was very briefly tempted to follow the luscious line of your chest, the rapid descent of your hands and the severity in your voice killed the thought.

“And if you’ve been sailing for a while, and it happens over and over again...”

The fifth.

“Then you get something to show for it.”

The sixth. You turned around and peeled the shirt off your back.

Starting at your shoulder blades and extending to beyond your pants was an explosion of scars. They were raised, long, and straight, overlapping with each other but occasionally grouping together in parallel rows as though they’d come from some vicious, clawed animal. There were so many.

The craggy lines reminded Viktor of a map, perhaps a conglomerate of rivers or mountains, but only on the surface. These were far too angry, tangled with each other like they were trying to suffocate themselves, yet aged into your skin like hieroglyphics.

Whip scars. Viktor did not need to ask where they came from.

After a small eternity, in which Viktor fought off the urge to reach out and trace them with this finger, you pulled your shirt over your back and turned around, leaving your clavicle exposed as you addressed him.

“Because everywhere has monsters,” your voice was almost a whisper as you snared his eyes with your own, narrowed ones, “and I’ve seen Bilgewater’s. I’m reminded of what they’re capable of every single day.”

You straightened your posture, and the sharp corners of your eyelids softened in a way only Viktor could notice.

“Is it so wrong of me to want to protect you from that?”

The silence sighed.

Peals of laughter - laughter from you and Viktor and Jayce - bled through the bathroom door. Yet Viktor said nothing.

And he wanted to say everything.

He had a million answers to your question, and a million questions for you to answer, and a million grievances to take up with the gods themselves, and as they were all tearing his mind apart in every direction and giving him a searing headache, he couldn’t stop plunging himself into your frustrated, yet painfully earnest gaze as you waited for a single answer that he would never have.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said, pressing yourself against the door and buttoning your shirt. All the ire had evaporated, and left disappointment in its place.

You expected him to be better - not just expected, even, but worked for it. Put yourself out there, in the cold, cruel world to keep him on track, because you thought he had something worth protecting.

And the worst part was that he could be better than this, but the thought of letting you down was suddenly so terrifying, that he didn’t know where to begin,

He had to try, though. He couldn’t miss his chance.

“I... I thought it was too good to be true,” he said softly.

You laughed.

“Oh, really? That was what was too good to be true, Mr. Heimerdinger’s assistant who does break-ins on the side?” your fake smile dropped, “Don’t fucking patronize me.”

Viktor raised a melancholy eyebrow.

“Being Heimerdinger’s assistant was too good to be true,” he said, embarrassed for some reason.

And... he’d lost you. You rolled your eyes and prepared to sit down on the floor, but, before Viktor even thought about it, he gently grabbed your knuckles.

“No, please, you don’t understand,” he stammered, looking past your pupils.

Your face was still, and Viktor could really focus on your ear and nose while you were awake, with everything he knew about you to evaluate it against.

And despite his best efforts, all he saw was someone who had been through a lot, and was putting even more on hold so they could listen to him speak. The least he could do was give them a worthwhile explanation.

“I- those years, when I had to work the hardest job on campus just to say there, to even have a chance at making something of myself... those were some of the worst years of my life. I hate the story of how I became Herimerdinger’s assistant.”

He exhaled, keeping himself together for your sake.

“But everyone knows it, because people in Piltover love to tell it. Without my permission, too. It makes them feel comfortable in their system; that somehow, the people who ‘deserve’ to be here will always find their way to Piltover, even if they have to deal with a lot of... eh, bullshit.”

Your hand was smaller in his own. He had your attention, but he kept holding it.

“Every success that I’ve had here is like that. You have seen it with how people, the Council, treat Hextech. Piltover talks about my- our wellbeing in times like these, yet in reality, they could not care less about what happens to us as long as they get what they want,” he said, “And what- what I’m trying to say is that, when things started to go bad, when we were losing Hextech, and when I was very angry, and I wasn’t thinking straight, I thought that you were one of those people. And that was upsetting because-”

Everything he thought to say here made him sound like an office manager or the world’s biggest sap. Because I value your company? Because you remind me of the person I want to be, even when I feel like crap? Because I finally understand you, and I keep wanting to know more?

He heard himself guffawing in the bar. He remembered this laugh - you had just recounted the time that you had to pretend to be Freljordian, but only knew the swear words in the language.

In a few minutes, Viktor would feel comfortable enough to recall the time that he accidentally brought Heimerdinger a smut novel instead of the biology text he requested, because of the similar covers.

“Because I really thought we were starting to be friends,” he said sheepishly, “even though I have not acted like one in the past few days,” he placed his other hand on top of your knuckles, “and I am truly sorry.”

You sharply exhaled and looked at your shoes before returning the eye contact with curious resolve.

“Piltover doesn’t deserve you, y’know,” you said bluntly.

Viktor understood Jayce’s apprehension with the company now. He would shut the entire thing down to prevent anything like this from falling on you.

“Perhaps not, but... you risked your life and I still get to be here. I cannot thank you enough,” he squeezed his hand, “And Penny, I promise you that as long as I have something to say about it, you will not be in that position again.”

However impossible that was, he meant every word. Precious few people ever considered him something to be deserved, and even fewer defended it with their bare chest and back.

And there was only one you.

“Psh, alright,” you pulled your hand away, leaving Viktor to grasp at the cold, “apology accepted, don’t overcomplicate it. Now you know... cause we’re both kinda fucked, so we gotta watch out for each other, right?

You smiled, slightly apologetic for killing the atmosphere, and a bit... nervous? Your hands were fidgeting.

More laughter came from inside the bar.

“Indeed,” Viktor sat back down on the lid of the toilet, “we do.”

“And, uh, don’t worry about trying to make it up or anything. You’ve helped me before. We’re equal.”

“That was different,” Viktor didn’t know exactly what you were referring to, but he assumed that none of it had the same weight.

“It still meant a lot,” you insisted, “and besides, things wouldn’t have gotten this far if I hadn’t avoided talking about the whole, uh, murder party, so...”

From the onset of tact in your voice and the way that your body froze as you tried to process a single emotion, Viktor could tell that you meant it. Yes, you were a tad emotionally constipated, but liked you as you were.

He stayed silently committed to his promise.

“We should... leave here,” he changed the subject

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be too hard, now that we’re not acting too suspicious or anything, so I think we’ll just wait for our opening and go out the front without attracting any attention,” you cracked open the bathroom door, surveying the minefield of potential sightings, “only trouble is that we don’t really have anywhere to go after that.”

“There is one place we could go,” Viktor said.

After a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes of watching bar customers slowly clear out as the night got darker, you two left with a large wave of them, making it into the outside’s chilled embrace without a hitch.

You broke apart the awkwardness with commentary about the snow that just started to fall, saying that you were “a fan of this frozen precipitation,” to which Viktor chuckled at through his exhaustion.

The last stop on your journey was a call made at the PER by the bridge to the Enforcers, to report your own incident. Viktor got to hear your terrible Freljordian accent again as you faked being a Helga Olafersson.

And you left Piltover, the memories of the bar, and any other bullshit behind as you crossed the bridge, side by side, to the Undercity.

~ End Notes ~

Your daily reminder to not tell shit to cops

End Credits Song: "The Night" by Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons

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