Work Text:
The energy of magic is scalding hot, if enough of it is kept in one place. Viktor thinks perhaps this is part of what kept Jayce seeking it his whole life. The magic that saved him, chasing out the chill, two fingers too late but two lives early enough.
The place where they keep it all to power the hexgates would be like the interior of his forge, if not for the icy refrigeration within the chamber. Arctic conditions to stave off an inferno.
Jayce does what he can to forget the glacial chill that tried so valiantly to snuff him out. It represents his greatest achievement, now. Their greatest achievement to date.
Some days, it's harder than others.
*
The day has been a fucking nightmare. He started it sleep deprived, woke late, had no breakfast and managed a handful of mixed nuts for late lunch. The hunger and exhaustion throb through his body, unpleasantly reminiscent of his academy days. The primary difference now is that the entirety of Piltover is aware of and relying on him. Janna help him.
Half the day is still ahead of him when he and Viktor venture into the cooling chamber that houses all the energy cells for the hexgates. It is exactly as unpleasant as it has always been, no more, no less, but his capacity to cope has been completely kneecapped before he steps foot inside. Blood sugar low, mood even lower, and body temp seeming to follow suit, Jayce is barely hanging on as technicians go over recent fixes they've rolled out.
The chatter is incoherent, a buzz of information he knows and understands scrambled into anxious noise, high pitched and crystalline. The minutes tick by, and amongst the droning, the only clarity is Viktor's smooth voice answering all inquiries from techs, soft and steady. He's distantly grateful that Viktor is handling it, but the gratitude slips further as tendrils of freezing dread skitter through his veins.
The cold is a creature, and the creature wants him dead.
Its hands wrap around his spine and send frost through his bones.
No-- that's not right. Something so uncaring can't be alive. Whether it kills him or not is irrelevant to the cold.
He can't feel his hands
He can't feel his hands
He can't feel his hands
He can't feel his hands
She can't feel her hands
Her fingers are turning black
Please, someone, help.
*
There is a hand he can feel, now. Not his. Someone else's. It's not quite warm. But it's not quite cold, either.
“Excuse us,” he hears, somewhere far away, and the not quite cold hand lands at his mid back, coaxing him elsewhere. If it was quite cold, maybe he would resist. But he's so, so tired. Everything is drenched in blue, the glow of it shivering through him. His teeth creak under the pressure of his anxious jaw. The muscles at the base of his head tighten uncomfortably. He watches his feet, unable to take anything else in.
He's guided to a hallway. Yellow light. Warm light. His hands are gathered in not-quite-cold hands, and his brain starts to engage with more of his senses. The glint of a cane tucked in a familiar forearm, a soft looking cravat, then Viktor's eyes, golden, sunshine, safety.
The edges of his vision blur, and somewhere he can hear Viktor say, “Deep breaths, Jayce,” but Jayce isn't even sure where his lungs are, how to operate them. There's soft curses, and the hands around his are gone momentarily in a way that has him floundering. But they're back in short order and his are guided to a surprisingly warm abdomen, skin soft and lovely, flinching only slightly when his icy fingers make contact.
As he warms, he finds his lungs again, trying to follow the instruction Viktor offered before. Deep breaths. There is no frigid, hollow bite at the bottom of them. His thumb brushes across a mole on Viktor's waist, and his fingers tighten involuntarily, a possessive impulse twitching through them. Another finger caresses along the bottom of Viktor's back brace, and he's half a breath away from another spiral when his partner pushes forward into an embrace, keeping Jayce's fingers safe against his skin.
“It is late spring in Piltover,” Viktor murmurs, just audible enough to steady Jayce. “Our work day can end now, if needed. Official obligations have been met. I have tea, back home, hm?”
Jayce isn't sure if he's ready to speak, yet, so he nods, the motion of it mussing Viktor's hair, and they disentangle to start the trek. Viktor doesn't bother to tuck his shirt back in, and Jayce doesn't bother to examine the strange twinge it sends through him, only grateful for the warmth that accompanies it.
*
Jayce doesn't recall the journey. Just remembers one hand tucked in his pocket, and one tucked inside the back of Viktor's shirt, and then Viktor saying “step up,” at the threshold.
The tea is tremendously comforting, couch threadbare but drowned in fluffy throw blankets. Jayce is wrapped in at least two. Viktor's shirt is still untucked. Jayce supposes there's no point to tuck it back in, now. He considers untucking his, but it would involve relinquishing his desperate grip on his mug, and he just isn't there yet. His fingertips are still tingling from the regulation of blood flow.
“With me?” Viktor asks, kind but firm.
“Yeah I'm-- I'm with you,” Jayce confirms as Viktor settles into a space beside him, wrapping a blanket around himself in solidarity. Or perhaps, due to poor circulation. Maybe both, Jayce muses internally, leaning closer just a hair when their thighs press together.
“Do you think you are alright to talk through what happened? Where you went?”
Jayce brings his mug to hover beneath his chin, warm steam soothing him. Viktor will understand. Has the context already, but needs confirmation.
“I was-- back with my mom, I guess. Before the Mage showed up. Before I knew anyone would help. Felt trapped.”
Viktor hums his understanding. Sets his mug down on the side table and turns to face Jayce properly. Jayce can hardly manage eye contact in anything more than glances, but Viktor has the grace to not seem bothered by it.
“What can we do to keep you from feeling trapped again?” he asks, his now quite warm hand finding its place on Jayce's back, rubbing small circles there. Jayce's shoulders relax minutely, and he considers the question.
“Gloves, maybe? I should leave some in the lab, I think. I don't -- I don't think I should go back there if I haven't eaten?”
“I could always receive the reports there and debrief you. If ever needed--”
“--No I-- sorry. I just. I don't think avoiding this will make it any better. I think… I think I just need to be more prepared.”
Jayce chews on the inside of his cheek, flicking anxious glances at Viktor and trying not to worry that his interruption will be taken poorly. Viktor is steadfast as ever, a small smile on his lips.
“You are likely right. Okay. We will make sure you are more prepared next time, yes?”
We.
“Yeah,” Jayce's says, warmth blooming in his chest. He sips his tea and leans closer, allowing himself to accept the help offered.
“We will.”