Recurrences, Recurrences

Getting lectured was not how Jayce wanted to spend the day. Heimerdinger had invited them, innocently enough, for a spot of tea. Viktor promised he would join “sooner or later,” but the clock has chimed at least twice now, and the tiny professor across from Jayce is no closer to wrapping up even his first point. Out of five. Several teacups sit on the table between them, all gone cold.

Sometimes, it feels like every choice Jayce makes turns out to be the wrong one. Sometimes it’s something small—like today, choosing to wear both his vest and long-sleeved button-up in this sweltering weather, making him want to keel over and die of the heat. Other times, it’s something big—like deciding to meet Heimerdinger without Viktor there to tag-team the event, yet another mistake. 

“Jayce,” Heimerdinger says, startling him back to the present. He lifts a bushy brow. “I’ve seen you in class often enough to know when you’re not paying attention.” The room is bright, airy—a deliberate setting for another of Heimerdinger’s polite reprimands. The Yordle certainly knows how to set the scene when he wanted to tell him off for yet another thing.

“Sorry,” Jayce mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I understand there are risks. We both do. This technology has so much potential, though.” He’s itching to get back to the forge. Or even the lab. If Viktor manages a breakthrough with the hexcore before Jayce can figure out a way to harness it, he’ll never hear the end of it. Viktor’s face floats through his mind, a slight upturned smirk. A teasing little jab.

“No one is doubting that there is great potential, my boy. And like anything with potential, there is also great risk. I’m not entirely confident you understand that.” The smaller professor hops off a stepstool, gesturing for Jayce to follow. “Even if you do, any caution you or Viktor might exercise seems to vanish once it’s just the two of you in the lab.”

It’s the same dance they always do. Heimerdinger points out how horrifically wrong things could go; Jayce argues, complains, and pleads, until both are exhausted. There is eventually an unspoken agreement to drop the matter until their next bout. Honestly, Jayce can’t blame Viktor for wanting to arrive “later.”

Heimerdinger shakes his head, whiskers trembling. “It’s not that I doubt your ingenuity, my boy. You and Viktor have done remarkable work. But we must be methodical. Magic is fickle; even the smallest miscalculation could lead to catastrophe. It’s far more important that we do it right the first time, and that means going slow. I know it’s hard for you humans to understand, but the goal is not to finish things within this lifetime. Quite the opposite—we set the foundation, and watch the future blossom.”

Jayce sucks in a deep breath, doing his best not to snap at the other man. It’s almost more infuriating that Heimerdinger—so many times smaller than him—is one of the few who remain utterly unmoved by Jayce’s persuasive charms—or threats. “I understand. Really, I do. But every second we delay, we lose another chance to help people. Isn’t progress about taking bold steps forward? We have the chance to do this now, we just need a little more work.”

“Progress is a marathon, not a sprint,” Heimerdinger replies, clicking his tongue as he pushes the door open. “What’s the point of a few brisk steps if you tire too quickly to finish? You’re rushing to a finish line, not letting yourself figure out whether it’s the finish line of not.” Jayce’s face probably gives him away. The Yordle laughs, and gestures to the hallway. “You don’t understand it now, but fine. Come. Let’s see what your partner has been up to—whatever’s so revolutionary he couldn’t spare time for tea.” There’s a knowing twinkle in his eye as he waits for Jayce to trot over and join him.

Perhaps it was years of knowing him, of tutoring him, of training and of scolding him, but Jayce couldn’t help but feel excitement stirring as Heimerdinger calls him over. When he was still at the academy, their lessons mostly consisted of long walks around the garden discussing exciting new theories and being quizzed on all things Hextech. Annoyance fades at the prospect of a stroll, of going to talk to Viktor and poke around what he was working on. 

The hallway is empty, as usual. On such a beautiful day, there are few who wouldn’t take advantage of that to leave the grounds. Sunlight floods through the skylights, turning the marble floors into a sheen of gold. The quick, steady one-two-three-four of Heimerdinger’s smaller footsteps reminds Jayce of their drastic height difference, and he slows to match the professor’s pace.

“You’ve achieved so much,” the Yordle continues. “Truly, my boy, there’s no need to hurry. You have all the time in the world—focus on the little things, you understand? Roses and all that.” He stops mid-step, beckoning for Jayce to lean down. He does, and smiles faintly as Heimerdinger delivers a reassuring pat on his head.

“Thank you, Professor,” he says. “I… We, will try.”

They slip into a companionable silence as they continue on, but Jayce’s mind is already thinking of the lab, and of the man inside. There was a little game Jayce plays when he gets to the lab after Viktor. There are five common places that Viktor tends to be. Hunched over a table, standing, sitting, scratching away on a blackboard, or hovering around the bookcase flipping through a book. There are several other places he could be found, but those are the main ones. Jayce found early on that he got a great pleasure from correctly guessing where Viktor would be when he entered the room. 

Today, Jayce guessed that he would be hovering around the bookcase. Viktor would look up and smile slightly at him when he entered, and call him over to look at a new theorem he wanted to explore. They would while away the time talking and experimenting, and maybe go for a snack later on in the day. That sounded nice.

When they reach the lab, the door stands slightly ajar. Several sheets of paper lie strewn across the hallway, ink scrawls crisscrossing their surfaces. Alarm rushes through Jayce like a wave. Viktor was always meticulous about security, and while his workspace can be a tornado of half-finished prototypes and notes, the mess was always contained.

“Jay—” Heimerdinger begins, but Jayce already bolted across the corridor. He slams his shoulder against the heavy wooden doors, shoving them open with a dull thud. The air within is unnervingly still, and the faint hum of machinery does nothing to temper the silence. Viktor isn’t at the bookcase, or the balcony. Tools scatter the workbench, and the trail of papers leads directly to—

“Viktor?” Jayce calls, feeling his heart sink. A familiar form lies sprawled on the floor, crumpled like a ragdoll and in a pool of blood.  Trickles of red along the tiles’ groutlines look black in the shadow of his body. “Viktor!”

He rushes forward, dropping hard onto his knees with a clang of metal and leather. Viktor lies painfully still, eyes half-shut, a dark gash on his forehead. There’s a crimson stain on the edge of a nearby desk. Imagining the sickening impact that must have caused it makes Jayce’s stomach churn. Jayce gathers the man in his arms, so light that he feels like nothing. A sticky wave of warm blood coats Jayce’s hands and arms, seeping its way into his white sleeves. Viktor is so thin, bones poking out along his wrists and collarbones. How had he become so frail without him noticing?

“By the gods…” Heimerdinger’s voice floats into the room, before Jayce hears the Yordle’s panicked footsteps retreating down the hallway.

For a moment, Jayce can’t move. He’s paralysed with how pale Viktor looks, how his body is so slack in Jayce’s hold. With shaking fingers, Jayce presses two fingertips to Viktor’s wrist, so thin that he worries about crushing the bone. The brunet lets out a breath he doesn’t realise he’s been holding when he feels the weakest pulse. The faintest promise that yes, I’m still here. 

So many times. So many times… Every time Viktor said he was tired, or that his head hurt—every moment Jayce dismissed because the work was so urgent. Why did he dismiss them? Had Viktor always been that pale? He looked exhausted. A fresh wave of panic crashed over Jayce.Every wrong turn, every missed sign. Viktor’s fatigue. The constant headaches he never actually mentioned. The silent grimaces Jayce blamed on various failing experiments. When Viktor suggested they take a walk, or a break, he hadn’t been asking for Jayce’s benefit, had he? 

Viktor’s eyelids flutter, just slightly. Instantly, Jayce cups his cheek with his hand, startled at how cold the other man feels. He can feel his cheekbones, flesh sinking in with how gaunt he looks.

“Viktor,” Jayce whispers, voice raw. Tears prick at his eyes as he presses his forehead against Viktor’s. The sticky, slightly warm feeling of blood scares him. Is that where all his warmth is going? To the blood that drips out of him without abandon? He lifts the hem of Viktor’s shirt, jamming it against the gash in his forehead, ignoring how it soaks up blood immediately. If it’s bleeding, then Viktor is alive—he clings to that silver thread with all his might.

“You’re going to be fine,” he says, the words wavering with desperate conviction. “Just—stay with me. Please, I’m sorry. Please.”

Viktor’s fingertips twitch faintly at Jayce’s chest, as though trying to grip his shirt. Gripping those fingers right back, Jayce holds on with as much calm as he can muster. Why had he left? There were signs—surely, there had to be signs. Signs that of all days, Viktor was not well today. Something told him, earlier in the morning, not to go see Heimerdinger. They had been hanging out in the lab, poking fun at what the Yordle might say to them this time. “You should go deal with him,” Viktor had laughed. “Go deal with him with your… charm. When we have a proper breakthrough, he’ll see that we were right all along.” And so, off Jayce had gone, promising that he would be back within the hour. 

How long has Viktor been lying here alone, hoping Jayce would return?

“Easy, easy. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here now. I’m sorry, Viktor… I’m sorry,” Jayce breathes, sinking onto the floor. He holds Viktor’s body in his lap, panic surging when Viktor’s head lolls back, exposing a delicate neck marked by bruises and dried blood. “What happened to you? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Please, Viktor. I’m sorry.” Viktor surely hadn’t known what was happening. He wouldn’t have hid this, or he would have figured something out. 

Booted footsteps crash through the doorway. Medics swarm in, Heimerdinger’s frantic voice guiding them to the pair on the floor. Jayce clutches Viktor closer, hardly noticing the men and women gathering around until two of them yank him back, trying to free Viktor from his grasp.

“No! No, please! You can’t!” Jayce howls, panic swelling through him as tears burning his eyes. 

“Sir—please. Sir! Ow—!” A medic howls as Jayce twists his body, biting down hard enough to force himself free and sending the man stumbling to the floor. He lunges forward as he breaks free, but only for a second. He glimpses Viktor’s limp form, half-hidden by scurrying figures, bandages turning crimson in seconds. Before he can even come close to the mass of people surrounding Viktor, two more medics close in to hold him in place.

“Let me go! Let me go, he needs me, please!” Jayce’s voice cracks as he strains against the hold he’s in. Forced to his knees, he can barely just make out Viktor’s unmoving form sprawled on the cold tiles, surrounded by frantic medics shouting orders at one another. Boots squelch through the blood, a sickening splatter painting Jayce’s face on the diagonal. He can just make out bandages, the pure white material turning a dark crimson. “Please—Please, don’t let him die. Please.” 

One of the men holding him says something, but Jayce couldn’t make out what he was saying. Another word, and a female medic walks closer to converse. As soon as she blocks Jayce’s view of Viktor, there’s another surge of panic as the man restarts his struggle to crane his neck around the figure. A sob tears from his throat. All the eloquence he can muster is a, “Please, please!” He wants to scream and to tell her to move, damn it! But nothing came except for more sobs, and snot, and tears, and guilt. He’s going to drown, in tears, or snot, or maybe the pounding of blood in his ears. 

When he catches sight of Viktor being moved onto a stretcher, terror is not a word sufficient to describe the horror Jayce feels as he realises Viktor’s being moved away from him. Where would he go? Who would look after him? Would he be scared, going alone? Viktor’s lips are parted, just slightly. A gasping fish desperate to breathe. His eyes are glazed over, one foot in the other world as it is. 

“Jayce…” 

Someone’s hand is on him. Heimerdinger, maybe, or another medic. Someone says something about cleaning up the mess, or moving Jayce, or doing both. It doesn't matter.

There’s only one hand he wants right now, and he's not here.