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The first time Viktor took a blade to his skin, he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. He knew it would hurt… knew it would leave a mark. But in the end, it hadn’t been that bad, really.
He’d experienced pain his whole life. The pain of his leg, the pain that came with living in the undercity, the pain of his illness…
So really, what was one more variation of pain? His entire existence was cultivated by it. It was a constant; whether it be the ache in his leg, the rasp in his chest, the metallic burning in his throat. To Viktor, pain had become a loyal friend. A thing he could rely on when nothing else in his life was consistent. No matter what changed around him, the certainty of his suffering was a steadfast reminder of who he was:
A broken man, destined to be forgotten amongst the scores of topsiders -- a social pariah that had slithered its way out of the undercity through some horrible mistake.
But… perhaps that didn’t have to be the case.
Viktor was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to change everything he hated about himself. And not the trivial things like his nose or his blemishes -- no… something more. Things like the way he seemed to attract pity like moths to a light, or the way that his body was slowly shutting down -- persistently betraying him until he could almost feel his time ticking away with every breath.
The things he wanted to change about himself were worth a little extra pain.
If the hexcore needed blood, he would give it blood.
The first time, he didn’t think twice. His mind was void of hesitation as he carved the symbols into his leg. It had stung, tears had welled in his eyes, but he was alive. For the first time in so long, he felt truly, viciously alive . And, for the first time in so long, he was in control.
He was taking matters into his own hands, not sitting by helplessly while life kicked the shit out of him. So, when he sliced his hand and held it to the blue, metallic glow of the hexcore, the only thing he could feel was the life surging through his veins.
When it was all over, the cuts on his skin were gone. Then again, so was his skin, but that wasn’t the point. When he walked for the first time in his entire life without a crutch, when he ran across the harbor, feeling the energy coursing through him -- that was what made it all worth it. That was being alive in a way he never had before.
And that had been enough… for a little while.
He told himself that that was all he needed. He’d fixed the biggest thing that was wrong with him. He could be content, now… couldn’t he?
But something more than just his leg had changed. He realized it too late-- and by then, he couldn’t stop it.
The hexcore called to him. He felt its pull every moment that he was awake, and he dreamt of its power while he slept. It was calling to him, beckoning until his whole being ached with the absence of it.
He tried to fight it off, tried to convince himself that he didn’t need it anymore, but he couldn’t manage to push it out of his head.
Sitting alone in the lab, lit only by the glow of the hexcore as it writhed and shifted, beating in time with his heart, Viktor lifted his blade. He looked at it, catching his ghostly reflection in its glint.
You could be so much more , he heard.
His eyebrows raised in confusion… fear… or maybe… anticipation?
Just what exactly could he become?
He brought the knife down on his chest. It bit into his skin as he etched a symbol from the hexcore. A drop of blood rolled down his collarbone, but he didn’t feel it. Didn’t feel anything but that old, familiar friend he’d grown so numb to.
He couldn’t stop. He reached across his body, moving now to his left arm where he cut another symbol into his bicep. He winced, gritting his teeth and trying to blink back the tears that had begun to pool in the corners of his eyes.
With a shaking hand, he finished the mark. Then, as if waking up from a nightmare, Viktor sat back with a gasp, and the hexcore grew still, the metallic hum of it gradually fading away.
Viktor slumped against his desk chair, eyes wide and chest heaving with effort. Now he didn’t bother holding back his tears, and they flowed freely, cutting lines down his sunken cheeks.
What am I doing? He thought as he threw the bloodied blade onto the desk, bringing his hands up to cover his face.
This wasn’t the plan. He’d only wanted to fix himself, not completely change who he was. His leg was better -- that was enough.
That should be enough , he screamed into the echoing caverns of his mind, slumping across his knees and grabbing fistfuls of hair.
It’s… enough .
This time his inner voice was a whisper -- a plea. It had to be enough.
Starting slightly, he straightened up as he caught sight of the blood running down his chest. Holding his arm out, he found a similar trail. The thick red liquid dripped down his elbow and onto the floor.
“Shit,” he weakly rasped.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to be the one in control here.
I’m… I'm losing it, he thought.
No. No , he was still in control. He could still fight it, if he tried hard enough…
With a renewed sense of vigor -- or perhaps desperation would have been a more appropriate word -- he searched his desk for something to clean up the blood. Finding an old, oily cloth, he painfully eased himself onto the floor.
I am in control.
As he erased any evidence of what had happened, he repeated the mantra in his head. Over and over again he told himself the thing he feared most to be untrue. He had to be in control. If he wasn’t…
When all the blood was gone, he pulled on his clothes and began the long walk home.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep was a joke. No matter how hard he tried, it escaped him, and all Viktor could do was lay in a desperate, fitful silence while the hours ticked by. In the end, he surrendered to the fact that he simply wasn’t getting any rest.
Dragging himself out of bed, he left his home without bothering to lock it. Out in the street, he walked with blind eyes, not caring where he ended up.
Even though he didn’t need to, mechanical leg and all, Viktor was still in the habit of relying heavily on his cane. He told himself it was only for the sake of keeping up appearances -- him suddenly being free of the condition he’d had since birth would be more than a little suspicious -- but in his heart he knew that wasn’t the case.
For some reason, his mind had a hard time accepting that things were different. And, save for the time he ran in the harbor, Viktor still felt like he needed his crutch to get around. In spite of the life shattering alteration he’d endured, the most intricate parts of himself still felt the same.
Which was yet another reason he shouldn’t tamper with the hexcore any further.
As if on cue, the fog that had been inhabiting Viktor's mind cleared, and he found himself outside the laboratory building.
It was kind of hard to avoid something when it was in your job description, Viktor lamented with an inward groan.
Not knowing what else to do, he stiffly climbed the steps to the building and pushed the door open. The hallways were dark, considering it was about three in the morning and anyone in their right mind was at home in bed. The only people Viktor passed were a few guards, none of whom seemed surprised to see him. They gave him friendly nods, and he tried his best to reciprocate.
His arm and chest burned with every movement he made. The cuts in his skin, which normally would have disappeared in exchange for… well, metal , were very much still there, and now that he was fully awake, Viktor could tell it was going to be a long day.
His old friend pain never did seem to leave him, no matter what he did. Only this time, he only had himself to blame. He couldn’t play innocent with this one, and somehow that made the pain both more bearable, and more bitter.
Either way, he was too tired for this.
Shouldering his way into the lab, he let the door click closed before he felt himself crumble. Sinking to the ground, cane clattering across the floor, he buried his head in his hands. He was too exhausted to cry, but his body shook with silent sobs.
Why did life have to be so hard?
He thought about his leg, about his life in the undercity -- about all the children who had to grow up in a place like that, and all the adults that had to try and survive a system that was literally built against them.
He thought about his and Jayce’s work, and his body shook harder.
They could do so many things. But time… time was against him. He would die before he had the chance to help anyone -- before he could make life better for those suffering in the undercity -- and there was nothing he could do about it.
His head snapped up, eyes flashing open.
Almost nothing.
The hexcore sat dormant on his desk, like a ghostly judge who would decide Viktor’s fate. He could feel it tugging on him, calling him near -- offering promises of all the things they could do together .
Viktor dug his nails into the sides of his head.
No no no . No more.
But think of all the lives you could change.
No! Not this way… there has to be another--
But there isn’t. This is the only way.
No… please…
Viktor did begin to cry, then. He didn’t realize it until the tears dripped onto the floor between his feet. He didn’t bother trying to stop them, and his whole body trembled as the sorrow flowed out of him in waves.
Viktor didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but when he finally lifted his head, the sky outside the lab had turned a soft shade of blue, and a dim light was streaming through the windows.
He let his head fall backwards against the door. He was wrung out. There was nothing left inside him but an empty void.
Staring blankly across the lab, he had a vague realization that Jayce would be arriving soon.
Without a change in expression, Viktor dragged himself to his feet. He had to lean heavily on his crutch, and even then, barely managed to stop himself from tumbling back onto the floor. Stooped over, he grit his teeth.
Looking up through the hair that had fallen across his brow, Viktor glowered at the hexcore. He hated it more than anything he’d ever hated, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from longing for it.
Straightening up and trying his best to maintain some level of dignity, as if that would show the hexcore who was boss, Viktor took a deep breath. Putting one foot in front of the other, he slowly made his way to Jayce’s desk across the room.
So much for dignity , he thought. He couldn’t even trust himself to sit near the thing. Not when its symbols were already traced into his skin. Not when he was alone.
Falling into the chair, Viktor slumped against Jayce’s desk. His cheek fell onto some research papers. Viktor pushed them aside in just enough time. Tears leaked out of his eyes, and he couldn’t stop them so he let them fall. They soaked into the desk, staining the wood like dark spots of shadow.
As he finally drifted off to sleep, the last thought Viktor had was that at least his tears weren’t ruining Jayce’s hard work.
Somewhere in his fitful state of sleep, he heard the door slam open and closed, but that wasn’t enough to stir him. Viktor only awoke when a hand was placed on his back. It felt crushingly heavy, and he woke with a start, sitting up and splaying his hands on the desk in front of him for support.
“Woah, woah there. Easy, Vik, it’s just me.”
He heard Jayce’s smiling voice behind him. Craning his stiff neck around, the other man floated into view, his image wobbly.
“Jayce?” Viktor asked, voice slurred.
“That’s me. Bet you’re glad my pretty face is the first thing you get to see this morning.”
“Mmhm,” Viktor gave a strained hum, looking around like he couldn’t quite figure out where he was.
It was the presence of the hexcore that sobered him up. He could feel it looming over his shoulder.
With a groan, Viktor slumped back onto the desk. Jayce raised a concerned eyebrow.
“Pull another all-nighter, eh?”
“Something like that,” he replied weakly, voice muffled.
“How about some coffee?”
Suddenly a mug was plopped down next to his head. Viktor stared at it, then painstakingly dragged himself upright. With an arm that felt like dead weight, he picked up the cup and stared at its contents, swirling the dark liquid around a little before taking a disinterested sip.
Jayce, who had been standing next to his desk, considering Viktor was still sitting at it, and rifling through a notebook, looked up to watch the other man. He put his notebook down, a determined look on his face.
“Viktor.”
There was a certain edge to his voice, and Viktor’s eyes wandered up to meet his partner’s.
“Are you alright? You seem a little…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Viktor could guess what he was going to say.
Weird. Tired. Sickly.
All of the above.
Viktor passed a hand down his face.
“It was… a bad night,” came his honest admission. “But I’m fine,” he immediately followed it up with a lie.
Jayce shifted his weight, propping a hand on his hip defiantly. Viktor looked up at him with dazed, pain-filled eyes, hoping he wouldn’t push this.
He wasn’t so lucky.
“You don’t look alright, Vik. You look like you got hit with a laser beam. Either that, or you got in a bar fight, and knowing you, my money’s on the laser.”
Viktor exhaled a weak laugh.
“No laser,” he replied.
No, just the hexcore .
“You sure? Do you need anything? I can--”
“No,” Viktor hastily interrupted. “No, thank you. I-- I just need to get some air.”
Actually, the last thing that Viktor wanted to do was get up. He wanted to lay on Jayce’s desk, surrounded by the other man’s work until he died. But stronger than that was the need to get away from the hexcore -- and, he hated to admit it, the need to get away from Jayce and his concerned gaze.
So, forcing himself to stand, and trying to make it look like it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world, Viktor made a run (or a hobble, really) for the door.
But before he got halfway across the room, Jayce’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm.
It wasn’t a harsh gesture -- it was actually quite gentle -- but when Jayce’s hand wrapped around the fresh cuts on his bicep, Viktor’s vision went black. Pain seared through his head, and he couldn’t stop himself before he cried out, shoulder jerking back to try and alleviate the agony that Jayce’s grip was causing.
Jayce let go of him as if he had suddenly burst into flames.
“Shit, what’s wrong? Viktor? What happened?”
Viktor tried to open his mouth to reassure his partner. Tried to wave it away, to think of an excuse, but he was doubled over himself with pain. Too late he noticed that a bloom of red had started to soak through his shirtsleeve.
“Viktor,” Jayce spoke up, his voice deathly serious. “You’re bleeding.”
Jayce moved to grab him by the shoulders, but when Viktor instinctively flinched away, raising a hand in an attempt to block the touch, Jayce froze.
“Okay. Hey, just… hold on a minute,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender, or perhaps to stop Viktor from running.
The other man was seriously considering it, and if it weren’t for his damned leg and his current state of sleep deprivation, he would have. Instead, he shifted on his feet, eyes darting around as if looking for a magical escape route that he somehow didn’t know about. His right hand was cupping the red splotch on his arm, trying desperately to hide what had already been seen.
“It -- It’s nothing. Really, just… I’m fine,” Viktor frantically tried to explain it away, turning to leave before Jayce had a chance to question him further.
Unfortunately, Viktor wasn’t moving very quickly these days. Or ever, really.
“Wait, Vik, please. Wait.”
Jayce’s voice sounded desperate. Viktor stopped, his back to the other man, and sighed, shoulders slumping. How was he going to talk his way out of this one? And, more importantly, did he even want to?
It didn't matter, he realized. He had to. Even with Jayce. Even with the only person he would ever consider telling the truth to. He had to lie.
The only problem was, he had no idea what to tell the man. His weary mind came up blank when he tried to think of anything that might offer a satisfactory excuse.
So instead, he just stood there, head hunched between his shoulders as if that would protect him from Jayce’s prying eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Jayce began, unsure of how to apologize for something he didn’t understand. Then, sitting heavily onto his desk, he said, “You wanna tell me what happened?”
Viktor’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. He turned slightly, face tilting to peek out from behind his hair just enough to see Jayce’s face in his peripheral.
“It was a mistake,” he replied, voice dry and spent.
Jayce stared at him evenly.
“Did someone do that to you? ‘Cause I’ll kill them.” There was nothing playful about either his tone or his expression.
Viktor turned around an inch more, his arm still crossed over his chest. Jayce looked at him, and Viktor felt so exposed it was as if the man was seeing him naked. Clenching his jaw, Viktor straightened up, filled with a surge of pride like a man about to be executed, though he still kept his arm protectively across himself.
“No,” he said, his voice so soft that Jayce instinctively leaned forward.
He repeated, “No. No one did this.”
Then, in a vain attempt to lighten the mood, he added,
“You shouldn’t be so quick to risk your newfound counsellorship with threats of murder, you know…”
Jayce just stared back at him, the expression on his face unreadable. It was somewhere between disbelief, anger, and a profound pain, as if Viktor had slapped him in the face.
Viktor shifted uncomfortably, wondering where they went from here.
Jayce didn’t leave him in suspense for long. He got up off the desk, and all of the sudden Viktor was reminded of how much bigger Jayce was than him. Despite not being that much taller, right now Jayce seemed to loom over him.
In swift, easy strides, Jayce took the few steps that had cost Viktor so much effort to complete. As he drew nearer, Viktor vaguely considered the notion that Jayce might hit him. He’d never been a violent man -- at least as far as Viktor had seen -- but Viktor felt as if he deserved it. He almost wanted it.
Almost.
When Jayce closed the distance between them, Viktor took an impulsive step backwards, eyes searching the other man’s face. He realized that he had tripped over his crutch a moment too late, and felt himself tumbling backwards.
But he never hit the ground.
Jayce’s arms shot out. Hands snaked behind his back and pulled him upright again -- and directly into Jayce’s chest.
The breath caught in Viktor’s throat as he peered over the other man’s shoulder, his face twisted with confusion.
“J-Jayce,” he stammered as the taller man wrapped his arms around Viktor’s shoulders, tightening their embrace.
Viktor felt a hand slide up his neck, coming to rest lightly on the back of his head. The hand played with a strand of hair for a moment before falling still. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe.
“I want to help you. Tell me how,” Jayce murmured.
Viktor’s eyes flickered wider. He took a deliberate breath just to remind himself that he still could.
“I…” Viktor gasped. “I don’t know how.”
It was a lie. He did know how.
The hexcore pulsated on his desk.
Jayce took a deep breath. When he let it out, it ruffled the hair on Viktor’s neck. He shivered.
“I’m sorry, Jayce. I… I wish I could do more…”
He felt the other man shake his head, still holding him tight. Hesitantly, Viktor brought a hand up and placed it between Jayce’s shoulder blades.
Suddenly it was like the floodgates had been thrown open. Viktor hadn’t thought it was possible for him to have any tears left to cry, but as they streaked down his cheeks and stained Jayce’s shirt, he was proven wrong.
Viktor dropped his crutch, letting it clatter to the ground, and wrapped both his arms around the other man. Jayce held on tighter, his hands drifting down to Viktor’s waist to support him almost fully. Taking advantage of the moment, Viktor leaned heavily into Jayce’s chest, tucking his nose into the other man’s neck.
“I don’t want to die,” he rasped, shuddering slightly. “Which is foolish because I’ve always known I was going to. I just… don’t want to go yet. Why can it not wait a little longer…”
Jayce shook his head again, and Viktor felt his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath. He realized that he was still leaning all of his weight against the taller man’s body, but he was too exhausted, too empty to care.
“I don’t know, Viktor… I don’t know," Jayce said, tracing his fingers along Viktor’s shoulder blades. “I wish I could give you some of my time. If I could give you my years I would do it without question.”
Viktor’s shoulders began to tremble, and Jayce pulled him closer, if that were even possible. Now the hand that had been inching up his body made a final move to cup the back of Viktor’s head, pressing him firmly against Jayce’s shoulder.
They stayed like that for a while, Viktor silently weeping and Jayce not willing to let go -- not for anything in the world.
Eventually, just like before, Viktor felt himself turn numb as he ran out of tears to cry. Reduced to only a few wobbling sniffles, he tried to focus on the warmth that was coming off of Jayce’s body -- on the way that the other man was quite literally holding him up at this point.
Slowly, and wishing that he could have stayed there forever, Viktor lifted his head from Jayce’s shoulder. He let out a weak chuckle, barely more than an exhalation of breath.
“Jayce…”
“Hmm?”
“I’m pretty sure I got snot on your shirt,” he admitted, voice only slightly embarrassed.
Jayce snorted and gave the smaller man a squeeze.
“I’d take the snot any day,” he said with a smile, but both of them knew what he really meant.
I’ll take whatever you have for me while you’re still here.
Viktor sighed deeply, feeling as if he were breathing for the first time in centuries.
“Um… Jayce?”
“Yeah, Viktor?”
“Could you perhaps get my cane for me. If I try to bend over, I don’t think I’ll be getting back up.”
Jayce chuckled lightly.
“Pretty soon, we’re gonna have to start building forts around wherever you decide to plant yourself. You know, you have a bed to sleep in at home.”
Viktor didn’t know how to tell him that every second he was home, he felt the loom of death like a thousand staring eyes. Or how he felt like every moment he wasn’t working, he was betraying people in need -- people he could help.
Keeping one arm around Viktor so he was snug against his side, Jayce stooped down and retrieved his crutch.
He held it out, but when Viktor caught hold of it, Jayce didn’t let go. With a little tug, Viktor looked up at the other man. Jayce’s eyes were glued to his arm, where a small patch of blood had soaked through his shirt.
Viktor closed his eyes, swallowing hard.
Finally surrendering the cane, Jayce brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck.
“Look, I won’t push, but… we’re partners. More than that, you’re my best friend, Vik. So… I just need you to know that you can come to me with anything. And I mean anything .”
Viktor looked down briefly before lifting his sorrowful gaze to meet Jayce’s.
“Even if it’s just to snot on your shirt?” he asked with weary humor.
Jayce smiled.
“Yes. Even if it’s just to snot on my shirt,” he replied.
Viktor smiled sadly, shifting on his feet. He felt like he needed to sleep for a hundred years just to recover from the life he had lived. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that much time.
Suddenly, something inside him shifted. He felt the change, and it had settled within his chest before he even knew it was happening. Straightening up, he looked at his partner.
“Jayce… Thank you. Really. I appreciate you... and... your support.” He felt his throat constrict with gratefulness.
“Always,” Jayce firmly replied, laying a hand against the side of Viktor’s neck and giving him a gentle squeeze.
And he repeated it.
“Always.”
Viktor closed his eyes, filling his lungs with as much air as they could hold. Then, gathering what little strength he had left, he gave a clumsy shrug.
“Well, uh… I better go. I think I’ll try to go home and sleep, considering I didn’t get much last night.”
Jayce immediately nodded.
“Sounds like a plan. Do you want me to drop by later, check in?”
“No,” Viktor quickly interrupted. “No, I’ve uh -- I’ve got some things I need to take care of later…”
Jayce almost seemed disappointed, but the emotion wasn’t there long enough for Viktor to be sure.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Jayce chipperly replied, a strange smile on his face.
“Yes. T-Tomorrow.”
Reluctantly, Jayce let his hand slide off of Viktor’s neck, brushing down his shoulder for a lingering moment before it fell limply at his side.
With a sheepish backwards glance, Viktor gingerly made his way out of the lab. As he struggled through the seemingly endless walk home, his mind was only occupied by one thing:
He had to keep living. No matter what it took from him, Viktor had to stay alive long enough to make a difference -- long enough to help Jayce complete his vision. And for that, he needed more time.
No matter what it cost.