Chapter Text
It seemed that no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you clawed your way towards your goals with hands raw and blistered, it always felt like you were falling short. Not even for the ones you cherished above all else. You were doomed to fail, a broken marionette - strings dripping with shimmer - who couldn’t play her part, who couldn’t do the one thing she had set out all those years ago to do.
Save Sky, and save Viktor. It should have been simple. You had seen the future, and you had your magic, unpredictable and stubborn, as it may be, and still, you'd failed. Perhaps that was just another flaw on your part - to be unable to use the tools given to you to any degree of effectiveness - another weakness that prevented you from protecting those you loved. If you’d tried harder, done better, maybe you could have saved them. But Sky had crumbled into dust, and Viktor…
It had only taken two steps out of that dark and dingy cave before he’d stumbled, coughing until blood seeped from the corners of his lips.
You'd tried to heal him, but the illness had only been temporarily delayed. It was like trying to cover a gaping wound with a small bandage; it would take much more than that to ensure proper healing. And yet, there you were, still struggling with your own body's ailments, too weak to do anything more than hobble beside him.
The shimmer that had bound itself to your veins, to your magic - your very core - managed to patch you up enough to prevent imminent death, to close your wounds into barely healed scars, but the pain was relentless. Like flames licking across your skin, your limbs coursing with white-hot fire. It was a miracle that you could even stand, and as the adrenaline faded and concern for Viktor grew, you were relatively certain the only thing keeping you going was the sheer amount of power you had absorbed - that you had made your own.
Thick, acrid smog slithered into your lungs as Viktor led you toward the outskirts of the Undercity. Surrounded by decaying buildings and alleyways reeking of decay and filth, it was safest to keep a low profile. While the cloaks you’d borrowed - stolen - from Singed’s lab provided some degree of coverage, it was best to remain hidden while you were both recovering - while Viktor continued to deteriorate.
“I need to stop for a moment.” You leaned against a cool cement wall, hot pink graffiti tags and chips taken out from years of wear and tear lining the building. The abandoned streets stretched out in front of you, devoid of any signs of life. You had no idea where you were, you’d yet to see anyone else, and from the thickness of the smog, you could understand why.
From the start, it was clear that neither of you could fully support the other physically. Viktor still relied on his crutch for stability, and your burns made even the thought of someone grazing your left side unbearable. Not to mention the runes from the Hexcore that had carved themselves into your flesh. Even the wall against your shoulders was enough to make your face contort into a pained grimace, until you angled yourself so only your right side touched the surface.
“It’s only a little further.” Viktor extended his hand, the metallic surface glinting in the dim light. The once-vibrant blue bolts of light that had danced between his fingers had faded and now only faintly flickered at the edges. “I promise, it will be worth it.”
Too tired for words, you gave a grunt of affirmation, pushing yourself off the wall and accepting his hand. With the renewed determination offered by his touch, you continued towards your destination.
As promised, it didn't take long for the crumbling facades of abandoned row houses to come into view. Their once vibrant colours were now faded and peeling, like old paint on a weathered canvas. The broken windows gave off a vacant stare, as if the buildings themselves were longing for life to return. You followed Viktor through the narrow alleyways, the stench of decay growing stronger with each step. Viktor led you to a decrepit door, its hinges rusted and creaking from years of neglect. As he pushed it open, the sound echoed throughout the desolate streets, a haunting reminder of what once was.
Inside, a musty scent hung heavy, the kind that clings to the lungs and coats the tongue with a metallic tang. Cobwebs draped corners, thick and undisturbed. Dust danced in the slants of light that pierced the boarded windows, casting eerie shadows that seemed to shift and contort with each breath.
As you stepped further inside, a strange sense of familiarity washed over you. The bare walls, stripped of any hint of life, echoed with each step you took on the squeaking floorboards. The air was stale as if it had been trapped inside for well over a decade. It all stirred something deep within, a memory just beyond your grasp. You ran your fingers along the exposed brick, tracing the worn grooves and indentations as if they might reveal some long-buried secret. Following the path your fingers had set, you walked past what used to be a tiny kitchen, barely recognizable now with its empty shelves and rusted appliances. Heading past the stairs leading to the upper level, you continued into what once must have been a living room. It was empty, save a rotted couch in the far corner, light green wallpaper peeling in strips to expose the crumbling drywall underneath.
As much as you wanted to explore further and unravel the threads of your memory, your body protested every movement, and you no longer had the will to resist. The floor was as comfy a place to rest as any. While your couch back at the Academy had been particularly springy, the couch that occupied the barren living room was entirely springs and a rotted wooden frame.
But with rest, with your body no longer able to occupy itself with propelling you forward one step at a time, your mind scattered.
You hadn’t noticed the blood splattering the wall opposite you when you’d first arrived, but as you sank onto the worn floorboards, careful to rest only your uninjured side against the dusty wall, out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of the crimson liquid.
Drip, drip, drip, it echoed through the room, each drop splattering against the floor with a quiet plink. Raining down from a crack in the ceiling, angry lines running out from a fissure, the blood pooled in a grotesque puddle, seeping into the floorboards. Your body froze as you pressed yourself against the wall, your fingers clawing for any kind of grip as you tried to distance yourself from the nightmarish scene. Whose blood was that? It was fresh, the metallic tang of iron and death filled your nostrils, making you gag. It could have filled a large bathtub with the amount that rained down from above, the drip becoming a steady stream before the reality of your situation set in.
Viktor, where was Viktor? Your head whipped around, a whimper ripping itself from your throat as your skin protested the movement with a sharp rake of pain. But you didn’t care, Viktor wasn’t within sight, and the creaking of the ceiling above indicated that someone was slowly walking across it.
Was it Viktor, or had you failed to protect him in your moment of weakness?
Scrambling up and stumbling against the door frame, you found the rickety stairs leading to the second floor. If Viktor had gone up there, how had you not heard him? And yet, unless he’d left the house, there was nowhere but the living room or kitchen for him to go.
The sound of your ragged breathing curled around your ears like smoke, your hand leaving bloody prints along the railing as you made your way up the stairs. A pounding began at the base of your skull. Had you touched the blood? You couldn’t recall.
“Viktor.” His name was pulled from your dry mouth in a hoarse gasp as you crested the top of the stairs, your chest heaving with the effort. The landing split off into two small rooms, their doors thrown open invitingly. From your position, you strained to catch a glimpse inside, but the angle made it impossible for you to see beyond the threshold.
Viktor did not respond, and the noxious gas of fear rose in your chest. Stumbling forward on uncoordinated legs, you aimed yourself toward the room where the blood was coming from. Your vision swam as your strength waned, but still, you pushed on, determined and terrified.
Upon making it into the room, you nearly collapsed with relief when you saw Viktor standing at the window, peering out at the streets below. The room itself was bare, the floor clean except for the thick coat of dust that lined every other inch of the house. But as he turned to face you, any consolation you felt evaporated. Viktor, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders, his metallic chest gleaming in the low moonlight, was not as unharmed as he had first appeared to be. Blood dripped from his nose, his eyes, his ears, the sides of his mouth, staining his pale skin with streaks of dark red. With a cry of horror, you tripped over your feet in your haste to get to his side.
His eyes widened at the speed of your approach, of the panic that lay in the tight lines of your face. Your hands outstretched were caught in his, deftly, though he still leaned on his crutch. His mouth moved, but you heard no sound over the rushing white noise in your ears. How was he so calm? Did he not realize he was dying again? Trembling, you released your magic, pale blue light flowing over him and encompassing him in its aura.
But it did nothing to heal him.
It never did.
His lips moved once more, but their words were lost in the deluge of tears that streamed down your face. Your vision blurred as you tried to read his lips, your breathing rapid and broken by hiccups and sobs. The sound of his voice was muffled, like it was coming from underwater, and you strained to make out any meaning behind the garbled sounds.
No! You wanted to scream. I only just lost him, I cannot do it again!
Pushing against his grasp, you felt him soften his hold and allow you to reach for him, to feel the smoothness of his cheek beneath your touch, to wipe your thumb beneath his nose, excepting to find the slickness of blood, only to find…nothing but the soft feel of his skin.
Blinking hard, you pulled your other hand back to wipe away your tears, salt stinging at your wounds. Your heart throbbed, aching with every beat as you tried to hold back your sobs.
“Miláček,” his voice was pitched low and gentle, “tell me what’s wrong.”
Your bottom lip quivered, vision blurring as your magic surged out of you and into Viktor. The deafening white noise in your ears slowly faded, and the thick, metallic scent of blood that had filled the air disappeared, as if it had never been there to begin with.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you closed the remaining distance between you. His hands found your uninjured cheek, holding you with a tenderness that could make even the toughest of hearts melt away. “I-I don’t…” A shaky exhale. “I thought you were hurt.”
With a soft sigh that eased the tension from your shoulders - for only a man at peace could make such a sound - he said, “Then it’s a good thing I remain unharmed.” You leaned into his touch, his hand warm against your skin, his pulse beating a steady rhythm. “We should rest; the events of the day have taken a toll on our minds and bodies."
That was an understatement. The last few hours felt like an eternity, as if time had stretched and twisted into a never-ending spiral. In that short span, you’d learned so much, yet not enough.
The carnage had only just begun.
* * *
As you slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, you found yourself cocooned in Viktor's warm embrace. Though your legs were numb and your back ached from the hard floor beneath you, your body burning anew as the throb of your injuries surged to the forefront of your consciousness, the rise and fall of Viktor’s chest beneath your palm had you biting back your pained cry.
As your eyes fluttered open, the soft light of your magic filled your vision, casting an otherworldly glow around you. Through the haze of your aches and exhaustion, you concluded that the reason you were not screaming and thrashing was the numbing effects of your magic as it rolled over you both, dulling the sharp edges of agony pulsating through you.
Slowly, you raised your head from the hardness of his shoulder, feeling a twinge in your ear from being squished against it all night. But in the grand scheme of things, it was a minor discomfort that hardly registered. In the dim light of the cloudy morning, sunlight filtering through the grimy window, you studied him. His face, tranquil in sleep, looked years younger without the burden of worry creasing into his forehead. His lips parted slightly as he breathed evenly, his hair mused, curling at his nape. Your fingers traced over his chest, shirt torn from where you’d ripped it, feeling the cool metal that had been infused with your own magic to save his life, sparks of energy crackling beneath your touch. Did it hurt him, you wondered. Had you hurt him?
The Hexcore, pulsating with dark energy, still resided within you. Soraka's powerful magic had sealed it away, but its presence was unmistakable. It sat like a stone lodged in your throat, no amount of swallowing hard could remove it. It clawed and thrashed within its confines, eager to be unleashed and wield its power over others. It had done so to Viktor, hadn’t it? Transformed him into something a little less flesh and blood, a little more mechanical. Or rather, you had done that to him in your frantic attempt to save his life. And already you could feel it fading, feel your work run out of power. You hadn’t known what you were doing, you still didn’t. You possessed innate magical abilities, but Viktor did not - his body relied on the fuel provided by the Hexcore, leaving him vulnerable, and you had locked away the only thing that could give it to him.
Not to mention the six Gemstones worth of power that you had already absorbed, awakening your latent magic and leaving it pulsing through your body, ready to be harnessed and wielded. But even as the potential for greatness coursed through you, so too did the overwhelming burn of magic, like a slippery acid, seeping into every pore and nerve ending. Your body, unable to withstand the intense pressure, had taken upon itself the task of releasing your magic while you slept, desperate to ease the constant urge for more.
“That tickles, Miláček.” Viktor's thumb and forefinger traced the outline of your chin, gently turning your face to meet his gaze. His eyes were hazy with sleep, but a lazy smile still graced his lips. You lingered on the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his jaw, before finally registering what he had said, and the light shake of his chest as he held back laughter.
Electric blue sparks crackled and danced across your skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensation in their wake. They playfully jumped onto Viktor, skittering across his chest before disappearing into the crevasses of metal that adorned his body.
“Oh!” You jumped and a fresh wave of sparks burst from you and cascaded over Viktor, eliciting a light and unexpected giggle. You’d never heard such a sound from him before, and while the circumstances were less than ideal, you tucked the memory of it safely away. “I’m so sorry!”
Inhaling deeply, you willed the sparks to stop, to cease their teasing dance and leave you alone. But they seemed to have a will of their own, and your efforts to control them only seemed to ignite them further. With a renewed energy, they flitted and flickered around you, emitting soft, tinkling laughter that sounded like mischievous pixies at play. Their movements were graceful yet erratic, like a troupe of ballet dancers performing an impromptu routine.
Viktor laughed, loud and startled, no longer able to hold it back as the tickling increased. It bubbled up from deep within him, spreading through his body like a wildfire, until he couldn't hold it in any longer. His whole frame shook with mirth, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
“I don’t know how to stop it!” Panic laced your voice, and while you were thankful that it wasn’t hurting him, you were well aware of how quickly your magic could change.
Trying to speak was a futile endeavour when one was being tickled by hundreds of little sparks, and Viktor made a valiant effort, but it did little in the face of the…magical ticklers? The whole situation was absurd; here you were, running away from Piltover, losing control over your magic, the Hexcore a constant threat, and Viktor…well, you weren’t sure what was happening with him, he was alive, but without the Hexcore, you didn’t how long that would last. Yet, amidst all of that, Viktor was lost in a laughing fit, at the mercy of your magic as it tickled him.
With great effort, you heaved yourself upright and scooted away from him, your muscles aching and protesting with every movement. It was your only option, to create some space between you. The sparks leaped across the floor, continuing to barrage Viktor with their giggles and tickles. However, as you made it halfway across the room, even the exuberant sparks seemed to have their limits, groaning with high-pitched dismay as they strained to reach Viktor.
“Stop that,” you hissed, swiping your hand through their path. They shrieked as they dispersed, their target no longer in reach, their joy cut off.
Sitting up, Viktor pressed a hand to his chest, catching his breath and wiping away the remnants of his tears. You grimaced, swatting away the remaining sparks as they bickered their irritation, until all that remained was the silent flow of your pain relief.
“That was certainly unexpected,” Viktor said when he’d regained his composure, his lips tilted in an amused grin. He didn’t seem to be in pain, despite not having your magic - stuck at a distance as you were - to soothe any aches.
“I…don’t know what that was.” You pursed your lips, gaze averted. “I’m so sorry.”
Viktor shook his head, patting down the tuft of hair that stuck up at the back like a ducktail. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m capable of withstanding some tickling.”
“It’s not just that,” you argued, “I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control my own magic. This time I didn’t hurt you, but what if next time I do?”
With a sigh, Viktor pushed himself up to stand, and began making his way towards you. Scrambling to get away, you scooted yourself farther back. “No, no, no, wait! They could come back!”
“Eh,” Viktor shrugged, making no move to heed your warning. “Then I will be at their mercy again.”
Your back hit the wall, and you had nowhere else to go. Before you could find an exit, he was kneeling in front of you, his left knee clanking against the ground.
“May I?” His skin and bone hand hovered just over your cheek. His face was so open in its vulnerability, in his concern, as he leaned
in close to you; knees pulled tight against your chest.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper, thick and lodged in your throat, swallowing around the Hexcore.
“You will not.” He said it with such unwavering certainty, such conviction, you could find no room to argue.
You took a shaky breath, and slowly, like you were taking a tentative step into an overheated bathtub, you leaned your cheek against his awaiting palm.
And your magic stayed put, it didn’t lash out, didn’t roll through his body like it did yours. You didn’t hurt him.
The tension in your legs eased, allowing them to fall loosely around his body as he drew nearer. His sturdy knees nestled comfortably beneath your thighs, bringing you closer together.
“See,” his thumb brushed across your skin and you sighed your content, “I was correct.”
Your hand overlapped his as you nuzzled your face into his palm. “No need to gloat,” you said with no real irritation.
He chuckled, but said nothing, simply giving you time to breathe, to calm the fractured plains of your mind as his thumb continued to swipe across your cheek.
“Where are we?” you asked after a minute. You’d meant to ask last night, but your exhaustion and terror had gotten the better of you. The kitchen had seemed strangely familiar, but try as you might you couldn’t place it.
Viktor looked around the room, tenderness in the upward tilt of his brow. “My childhood home. I moved to the Academy shortly after my parents passed, but even by that time, the neighbourhood was already thinning. The Grey was worse here than in other places, the ventilation system never worked as well on the outskirts. I didn’t think I would ever be back here.”
You were at a loss for how to respond. Your mind raced with questions - should you offer your condolences for his parents? He had never explicitly mentioned their deaths, but it had been clear from his demeanour on the rare occasion that they were brought up, that they were no longer alive. Or perhaps you should validate his decision to leave, to escape The Grey that had most likely been the cause of his declining health. Maybe both actions were necessary, or maybe neither would suffice. Should you simply pat him on the shoulder like you were an emotionally stunted adult trying to console a child?
“You don’t have to say anything.” Had you said that all aloud or had he simply guessed where your thoughts had headed? “I don’t want to be troubled by the past, not when I have you here right now.”
Such a simple statement had such a profound effect on your battered heart. Like the leech you were, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his waist and tugging him close. The sharp sting of your burns was nothing compared to the warmth spreading from his touch. His hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, sighing into your hair as you tucked your face against his shoulder, inhaling his scent - a mix of pine and the metallic tang of steel. It was slightly different than how he used to smell, just like the hardness of his partially metal body, but it didn't change anything about how you felt. You loved him, had loved him for years - permeating through your soul like it had always belonged there.
Your hands tightened their grip on his back. “How are you feeling?” Your voice was muffled against him, but loud enough to be heard.
“I should be asking you the same.”
A dismissal, an attempt to divert your attention from what he knew would upset you. But even though you were exhausted in both body and spirit, you were not so easily distracted from his health.
You pinched his metal chest harmlessly, like squeezing the corner of a table between your fingers. “I asked you first.”
You felt him smile against the top of your head. “I see your stubbornness has not been affected.”
“Nor yours,” you shot back, earning you a hum of agreement.
“I am…” he began, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, his fingers scraping along your scalp. “Alive. Though I feel my strength waning, it is too soon to tell if this is simply a result of the power you poured into my body stabilizing, or something worse.”
You bit your lip, the tangy taste of blood rising to your tongue. It wasn’t too soon for you, your magic screamed at you that this decline would continue, that without the Hexcore he would only become weaker and weaker until—
“Milá, you have provided me with more time than I ever would have had without you.” He couldn’t possibly know that for certain, without you maybe he would have found a cure, would have been able to use the Hexcore properly to cure his illness. “And most importantly, I have more time with you.”
You lifted your face towards his, meeting his gaze as he looked down at you, lovingly, like you were worth all the pain and trouble. You weren’t entirely so sure, but you melted into him all the same, powerless to resist. His hand returned to your cheek, his eyes trailing over your injuries, a crease forming between his brows.
“Your wounds are healing, but as I avoided your inquiry, you have avoided mine.”
You huffed, licking the blood off your lips as subtly as possible, though his gaze flickered to the movement of your tongue and you doubted he had missed it. “I don’t really know how to answer. I feel…like I’m hanging on by a thread, like one strong gust will blow me over and my magic will take my place and control me. I’m afraid, but also, I’m beyond grateful that I am here with you, that I…get to love you for longer.”
You hadn’t talked about anything that had happened between you in that cave. You hadn’t addressed the confessions or the way you’d melded together and kissed him with desperation. Nervousness churned in your gut as you spoke your love for him aloud in the dim light of day, wondering if he could still feel the same way despite how your magic had already displayed defiance, how you looked without the shadows to hide your burned skin. You met his gaze, and that doubt faded away like a distant memory.
He leaned his forehead against yours, your eyes fluttering shut as his breath ghosted across your lips. “As am I, Miláček.”
Viktor leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours in a feather-light caress. You tilted your chin up in silent invitation, inviting him closer. His gaze dropped to your parted lips and he let out a soft, shuddering exhale.
And finally, his lips pressed against yours with a tender urgency that stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his mouth was a gentle flame, spreading through your body and melting you from the inside out. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his soft hair, the strands silken between your fingertips. As he deepened the kiss, Viktor's metal hand slid around to cradle the back of your head while the other firmly gripped your waist.
You melted into his solid frame, feeling every inch of him pressed against you. Your hands slid up his chest until your fingers curled around the back of his neck. The thrumming pulse of his changed body resonated through you, a steady drumbeat in time with your wildly racing heart.
You lost yourself in the languid dance. All the fear, the pain, the uncertainty faded into the background until there was only this – only him and the reverent way his mouth worshipped yours.
Despite the unknowns of what the future held and the daunting task of finding a solution to Viktor's decline, you knew that you were not alone. You would figure it out together.