Jayce/Viktor; after suffering a terrible accident, Jayce wakes up in Viktor's lab only to discover that it was the machine herlad who saved his life by augmenting his body.
The first thing Jayce notices when he wakes up is the searing heat running up across his torso and down the length of his leg. It’s a burning, flesh-on-metal sensation, but his muscles are too sore and his bones too weary from sleep for him to let out anything more strenuous than a groan.
“Oh, you’re awake,” comes a distant voice to Jayce’s right, and Jayce groans again in response. The voice is scratchy, nasally… A bit overly robotic.
“Don’t get up yet, though,” the voice continues as Jayce’s head clears, “you’re still weak from the blast–” And Valoran be damned, Jayce thinks, because that voice belongs to none other than Viktor–Viktor, the crazed lunatic who (not seconds ago, his mind happily reminds him) had been trying to blow him up.
“Fuck, I–ugh,” says Jayce eloquently, clenching his teeth as he tries to push himself up into position better suited for combat.
A metal hand pushes him back down with some amount of struggling. “Didn’t I just say ‘don’t get up’?” Viktor says with an exasperated sigh, and Jayce curls into himself–vividly aware of burning metal joints–with a pained curse.
“Fuck,” Jayce says again, mind reeling, and Viktor tilts his head in sympathy.
“Your left leg should be fully functional in the next couple of days, but until then, I’d refrain from such strenuous activities,” Viktor jokes half heartedly.
“What the hell did you do to my body?” Jayce snaps, his voice going faint at the end. “You… Viktor, you blew off half my body…”
“I wasn’t aiming for you,” Viktor replies defensively, and Jayce growls.
“No, you were trying to blow up the whole god damn city.”
“Not the city,” Viktor tuts, “just your research.”
“Like that makes it any better,” Jayce spits, sinking back into the bed of the cot with a resigned sort of fury.
Viktor watches him a moment, not knowing what to say, before moving to tighten the bandages bound around Jayce’s forearm. Jayce’s face darkens as he pulls away–clutching to himself what little remained of his own flesh and bones–until Viktor drops his hands.
They remain rooted to their places in silence, each waiting for the other to speak again, and it’s Jayce who finally breaks.
“Why did you save me, Viktor?” he asks, and when Viktor doesn’t answer, Jayce continues, quietly, “I’d have rather died than end up like this.”
Viktor draws in a breath. When the man looks up at him again, his eyes are cold–iridescent in the light of his workshop and as hard as the metal mask that hides what little remains of his face. His posture, however, is weary, tired and resigned in a way that Jayce doesn’t entirely understand.
“I’m sorry,” Viktor finally replies, and his third arm creaks as he moves to leave the room. “Go back to sleep, Defender, and the pain will be gone by the next time that you wake.”