Chapter Text
9 minutes.
For 9 minutes Viktor had been watching his target, the Mercury-4AM, fall into the atmosphere of an uncharted planet. Their battle had led him to places in the galaxy he’d never tread before, but if this meant the death of the beast, he would keep going. And he was close. He’d taken out one of the mech’s wings and a blast to the hull caused it to start smoking when they made it past the planet’s mesosphere. It was spiraling, totally out of control, and Viktor would see to it that the wreckage was unsurvivable. Time and time again, a hunter and his prey. No borders, no war, no armies or generals. Just Viktor, The Third Arm of A Dying God, and a passion for watching machines explode under his own influence.
Suddenly, a bright beam almost blinded him coming from one of the Mercury's arms, pointed directly at his cockpit. Viktor pulled hard on the control stick in an attempt to dodge the oncoming laser, but it wasn’t enough. Shot through the heart with a beam as hot as the sun, The Third Arm of a Dying God started to plummet. The glass in the cockpit had shattered and every light on Viktor’s dashboard was on, blinking and beeping and screeching at him as he gasped on the thin air of the planet’s frigid stratosphere. Mutually assured destruction. Viktor smirked and pulled the black handle behind his head. He’d never field-tested the survival pod he’d implanted into the mech before, as he’d never crashed or had reason to, but he figured if he might die he could at least get some data out of it.
Viktor cursed his malformed leg for making the fit into the football-shaped pod so difficult. An oxygen mask dropped from somewhere above him. He strapped it tight to his face and braced for impact.
He wasn’t sure how smashing into a planet like an artificial meteor embraced by a tangle of mechanical limbs was supposed to feel, but it was much worse than he’d expected. He was jostled so much in the pod he thought he might have a concussion. Blood streamed down his face.
But there was no time to waste. If he survived, it was possible his quarry had survived as well, and he wasn’t a man to leave a job unfinished. Viktor smashed his fist into the blinking green light over his head, and the pod peeled open with a hiss. There was no time to mourn the death of his mechanical magnum opus. He ripped his collapsible cane out of its holster at his waist and pulled himself upright. They’d crash landed on a beach, where teal water licked the edges of bright white sand that stretched as far as he could see. And not 100 feet away was the Mercury. Even closer was the man who, Viktor assumed, was the pilot. He must’ve been around 6 feet tall, but he was dragging a limp leg behind him, causing him to hunch slightly. His skintight black suit was torn wide at the chest, exposing bronze, glowing skin and muscles that pressed well-defined shapes into the fabric.
In another life, Viktor may have bedded this man.
But in this life, he hobbled toward him, and watched as the man’s face fell the closer he got. One of his eyes was swollen shut with a cut over his eyebrow, and the other fell to Viktor’s cane. Viktor held back a smirk.
Everyone’s first mistake was always underestimating him.
Viktor swept his cane hard against the side of the man’s working knee, and he fell with a cry. He laid on his back, chest heaving, holding his knee as Viktor approached. Blood, sweat, and tears matted the man’s hair to his forehead. Viktor flicked the small switch on his cane that brought out its serrated knife edge and held it to the other pilot’s neck. The man’s breath quickened so much that the tip of the knife nicked the surface of the tan skin stretched between his collarbones, just below his trachea.
The hot sun burned into the black of Viktor’s exosuit.
He had never hesitated before.
He had also never taken the life of someone whose eyes he could see. Whose sweat he could smell. Whose fear and helplessness in the form of blown out pupils rimmed in hazel bore into his very soul. He thought he’d excised that part of himself long ago.
He thought this might be what mercy felt like.
They stood like that for a moment, eyes locked, predator and prey. Viktor was now unsure where in that equation he stood. The man held his hands up over his head in surrender. Viktor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “What is your name?”
The man swallowed. “If I tell you, are you gonna point that thing away from me?”
“Perhaps.” The other man shrugged beneath him.
“Jayce.”
“Jayce.” Viktor let the name rest on his palate. Without another word, the blade silently retracted into his cane, replaced by a tip that pressed into a flat square against Jayce’s chest. When he moved to put his cane back in the sand, he noticed the strange clouds above him forming into a spiral. Everything caught up to Viktor at once, and he collapsed into the sand.
He dreamt of asteroids and axolotls. Of Zaun's lush rainforests, tropical and deciduous. Of his mother. His father. He dreamt of the first time he'd stepped into The Third Hand of a Dying God. He was standing tall, without assistance, without pain, and he was beaming.
When he woke up, he immediately wished he hadn’t. Blood and sand had caked on his face up to a painful gash in the center of his forehead, perpendicular to his hairline. Pain radiated from his scalp through his skull. When he opened his eyes, still squinting through the pain, the man he just tried to kill sat across from him through fire. He seemed not to notice Viktor stir, too busy fiddling with his cane.
“I am not in a condition to stop you from touching that,” Viktor’s voice came out weaker than he’d hoped it would. “But if you break it I will find a way to kill you for real.”
"Promise?” Jayce smiled back at him, a gap in his teeth peeking through chapped lips. “Thanks, by the way. For not doing that.”
Viktor said nothing in response. He slowly sat up, folding his legs behind him. “Where are we?”
“I tried my best to figure that out while you were knocked out,” Jayce held the cane out to Viktor to take. “My nav system is fucked,” he tapped a screen on his wrist that flickered impotently. “And it’s too cloudy to make out any constellations.”
“You can tell where we are… from the constellations?”
Jayce chuckled. “It’s a long shot.”
Viktor leaned back on his arms and inhaled deeply. Beneath the scent of smoke and blood, he could smell the ocean as the waves lapped against the shore.
“I’m surprised you didn’t wake up earlier,” Jayce winced as he attempted to move the leg he’d been dragging behind him earlier. “I tried to reset this myself and it was not pretty.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” Viktor squinted at him through the flames. Jayce frowned.
“We’re stuck here,” Jayce threw the stick he’d been poking the fire with into the flames. “I’d like it to not be miserable, personally.”
“You could’ve just killed me.”
Jayce barked out a laugh that startled Viktor. “I can leave you alone if you prefer.”
Viktor exhaled. “I didn’t say that.”
The embers of their small fire faded into the night sky.
When he woke up again, he didn't know if it had been hours or days, but it was morning. Viktor pulled himself to his feet and made his way back to the wreckage of The Third Hand of a Dying God, if he could still call it that. The mess of mangled metal was almost unrecognizable. He cursed himself for not making the rest of it more durable, opting for lighter materials and a slimmer frame to complement his dexterous fighting style.
Just another sacrifice for progress.
The survival pod had a small supply of rations and fresh water, but who knew how long he’d end up stranded here. There was also a rudimentary first aid kit, but Viktor’s medical knowledge was limited to his own chronic issues.
He caught his unfortunate reflection in the shining metal of his mech. His hair was stained and caked with blood and sand. The cut on his face wasn't especially deep, but it went all the way to the bridge of his nose. It had clotted overnight, but any facial expression caused the wound to reopen, dripping blood down to his nostrils, past his lips, and into the sand. A dead man walking. He wasn't exactly Zaun's most eligible bachelor before this, but at least he didn't give a shit what the only other person here thought about his appearance.
When he returned to the pit of ashes on the beach, Jayce was gone. For the best. Viktor finally stripped off his exosuit and leg brace, leaving him only in his skintight undershorts. He detached the multitool end of his cane and cut a strip of fabric on his thigh to soak in the ocean. Immediate regret screamed out of him when he brought the rag to the gash on his head. Salt in the wound. Great idea, Viktor. At least he could get the caked blood and sand off of him. Each time the salty water dripped into the open wound, he hissed, biting his bottom lip until that, too, bled. With each grimace and furrow of his brow, the wound opened, continuing its steady drip of blood.
He popped open the plastic lid of the first aid kit to take stock. A roll of gauze, a few bandages of different sizes, a suturing kit, and a single, prepackaged antiseptic wipe. With shaky hands he threaded the needle, tied it off, and stared at it for what felt like an hour or maybe a minute or possibly an eternity. The antiseptic wipe was barely large enough to disinfect the wound, if it had even done that. When he pulled it away it was completely crimson, and he dropped it into the sand with a sigh.
He'd start at the bridge of his nose and work his way up, he'd decided. His hands were shaking and he felt woozy. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the fact he hadn't eaten in more than a full day. Maybe he was dehydrated. None of this mattered. He'd already prepared the site for suturing, he just needed to follow through. He pinched the wound closed and set the needle to skin, his breath quickening as he felt the gentle poke and the insanity of what he was about to attempt set in.
If there were two things Viktor was used to, it was pain, and weakness. From the moment he came out of the womb, covered in blood and screaming, he was broken. Much like the way religious folk on Zaun believed being born was the original sin that could be washed away in Holy water, except submersion would do nothing to cure him. Not that he'd ever been baptized. Lungs that hadn't fully developed, a malformed leg that permanently turned inward, and a spine that would eventually prove to be just as misshapen labeled him an immediate lost cause, one that wouldn't survive his first cruel winter on Zaun. But his parents never gave up on him. His father passed before Viktor could form memories of him, but he wore his work on his leg every single day, a series of leg braces Viktor could use throughout his life that he'd built to last longer than he did. And his mother, the closest thing to an angel there ever was, gave him the best life she possibly could. When she died, Viktor's barely composed existence irreparably cracked, breaking him in worse ways than any birth defect could. The air in the place where she'd raised him, and raised herself, was thick with carcinogens. Not many people lived past her age anyway. Viktor dragged himself out of the place, determined to make something of the life she gave him.
He pressed the needle into his skin.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
It tumbled into the sand and he looked up to see Jayce, with a bundle of what looked like firewood and a tall stick in hand. He'd also stripped out of his exosuit, down to only black, skin tight shorts similar to Viktor's. And he was absolutely radiant. Tan skin glistened in the light, dotted with sand, scars, and fresh cuts from the crash. If Viktor hadn't tried to kill him yesterday, he would think he was hallucinating some hero from a romance novel who was going to guide him into the light. He would've gone willingly.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm closing this."
"Not on your own you're not," Jayce dropped his armful of sticks into the sand and knelt down to get a good look at the wound. Viktor felt exposed, but that could have been because of the gash that opened the skin from his hairline to the bridge of his nose. His eyes dropped to the plastic box by Viktor's thigh. "Is that your whole first aid kit?"
Viktor's brow furrowed, causing more blood to run down his face. "Sorry, I wasn't planning on ever having my face peeled open."
"Don't move, I'll be back." He retrieved the large stick from the sand, using it to support his weight, and started to walk back towards the wreckage of Mercury. Instead of listening, Viktor looked for where his needle had fallen. He ran his hands through the sand and found it with a telltale prick in his thumb. Sand had already gotten into his wound so he just blew on the tip of the needle and forced it through the skin before he could think twice.
"FUCK!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, and dropped the spool of thread. It was painful, extremely painful, but the scream was mostly out of frustration. The combination of his quivering hands and haste had caused him to miss completely, piercing just below where the wound ended at his nose. The needle hung, lodged in his skin, a thread connecting him to the spool in the sand. Hot, angry tears streamed down his face. He just as quickly pulled the needle out and set it back in the box. feeling a new drop of blood trickle down into his nostril. He wasn't sure how long he sat weeping and bleeding in the sand, bloody needle and thread tucked away into the useless excuse for a first aid kit.
Pain was something Viktor was intimately familiar with. A constant companion, more consistent than his own shadow. But vulnerability was a sensation he could not stomach.
Jayce would be back soon. He could see his broad silhouette through his tears, approaching with an uneven gait that Viktor was all too familiar with. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. Even if Jayce saw his red eyes, or heard his cry, he wouldn't let him see it happen.
Jayce's first aid kit was huge, the size of a suitcase, but disorganized as though it had seen heavy use. Somehow, in the chaos, Jayce knew where everything he needed was. He pulled out a bottle of alcohol, gauze, a suturing kit with what looked like a spool of medical grade thread. Every item he plucked from the kit was gingerly set aside, Jayce saying the name of each one as he found them, as if checking off a mental list.
"Does every Piltie pilot get a hospital in a bag?" Viktor said.
Jayce frowned. "No, unfortunately. But this is what I do."
"A mech... for a combat medic?"
"Not technically my position," Jayce muttered. "Not anymore. But I insisted on this," he motioned to the case in front of him, still open. "For situations much like this." He gestured back at Viktor with the same hand.
Viktor watched in silence as Jayce continued to dig through the kit and wondered how this man ended up in Piltover's military. He seemed far too empathetic to be a soldier. Then he wondered why he cared. This man was a stranger, only alive because Viktor hesitated.
"Now," Viktor's head had been moved to Jayce's lap, medical supplies on the lid of his massive kit. "I suggest we get the painful parts out of the way first, but I'll let you decide."
"I don't care, get it over with already."
Jayce chuckled, and Viktor felt it as the man's abdomen flexed inches away from his face. God help him. "Afraid it's not that simple. Close your eyes."
Viktor blinked up at him. "What, and let you just kill me?"
Another, bigger laugh rang out from Jayce. His tooth gap was on full display, his chest heaved.
Yup, Viktor was hallucinating. Or he'd died and this was his blissful afterlife, lying on the beach with the most beautiful man alive. He'd imagined it would be less physically painful, though.
"I've had plenty of chances to kill you. I would have done so five, ten times over at this point." It wasn't a threat, but it stirred something in Viktor's chest. "Close your eyes."
He did as he was told. There was a pause.
"Did you put saltwater in here?"
Viktor remained silent. Then, a rush of cool liquid poured through the wound. It would have been soothing, had Viktor not been overthinking the amount of fresh water they might have, and wondering why Jayce was wasting it by washing out his wound. Then, there was a gentle press of gauze along the wound. It was tender, but nowhere near as painful as when Viktor had tried to do it. Jayce was incredibly gentle.
He heard another slosh of liquid in a bottle, and Jayce sighed.
"This is going to sting. Do you want something to bite down on?"
"That won't be necessary."
He immediately regretted his decision as more wet gauze touched the inside of the wound and stung horribly. He chewed on his lower lip.
"I know, I know." Jayce cooed at him, softly dabbing the gash in alcohol. Viktor balled his hand into a fist and brought it up to his mouth, but as soon as he went to sink his teeth in, Jayce grabbed his wrist. "I don't need you opening up another wound." He felt clean gauze brush against his lips, and he parted them immediately. Jayce, just as gentle as he had been, pushed the gauze into Viktor's mouth with his middle and index finger. He felt Jayce's skin scrape lightly against his upper teeth and drag across his lips, and a moment later it was gone, and the skin around his wound was being dabbed with the alcohol wipe.
No doctor or lover had ever touched Viktor with such care.
"I have numbing cream," Jayce's voice brought him back to the present. "But I can't use it past your forehead. It's not safe to get anywhere near your eyes. So stitching that part is going to hurt like a bitch." He felt Jayce's calloused fingers rub the ointment on the edges of the parted skin. "Feel free to curse and yell at me if it helps."
"I didn't need permission, but thank you anyway." Viktor's voice trembled and he hoped it was just from the pain, or the awkwardness of having to talk around the gauze. Jayce chuckled again. Viktor was grateful to have his eyes closed for it this time.
"Deep breath, big pinch," Jayce whispered, and Viktor realized his face was probably just a few inches away from his own. He didn't have much time to dwell on it before a familiar, white-hot pain shot through him where Jayce had pulled the needle through two layers of skin. He felt like his teeth might rip the gauze apart. "You're okay."
He was not okay .
Jayce continued his next few stitches, shushing Viktor in a failed attempt to calm him down. It wasn't the pain anymore. It wasn't the needle, the blood, or the way he could feel everything. At least the numbing cream was doing its work on the top half of his wound.
"You're still going to feel this, but it shouldn't hurt," Jayce poked at some of the numbed skin with the needle's tip. "Tell me if it does. You can probably open your eyes now if you want to."
He did not want to, but he did.
Jayce was, indeed, inches from his face, brows furrowed and tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration. His eyes were a light brown with a hint of green, but just a border around blown out, dark pupils. Their noses almost touched, and Viktor couldn't help but glance at the wet, pink tip of Jayce's tongue.
He slammed his eyes shut before he could look anymore, and Jayce grumbled. "If you move your face like that I'm going to fuck up your stitches."
Viktor relaxed, or tried to, letting out a deep breath. He focused on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, and not on Jayce. Not on the way he smelled of sweat and chemicals, or the occasional feeling of his hot breath on his face, and definitely not on the pillowy soft yet sturdy thighs under his head.
A scissor’s snip, and Jayce proudly proclaimed he was done. Viktor went to sit up, desperate to get away from the man, but was scolded immediately, a large hand splayed across his chest, barely pressing him back.
"You need antibiotic ointment," Large fingers unscrewed the tiny cap from the tube. Just as he had before, he spread the slippery substance along the fresh suture. "I just realized, I don’t even know your name."
Viktor released a heavy breath.
"It's Viktor."