Chapter Text
Jinx was in Bilgewater when the idea struck her.
The heap of an airship that she had stolen decided to show exactly why it had been in that small Piltover repair shop in the first place and started smoking and losing altitude at an alarming rate.
Bilgewater was still too close to Zaun for comfort. She had hoped to be halfway around the world before she stopped. But her daring escape had been brought up short, and Jinx found herself forced to be around the public for the first time since she fled her city.
The port town was too much of a hub of everything-people, news, goods, vices- to be unaware of the dramatic events in the Dual Cities. She couldn’t afford to be recognized, not now, not ever again.
Ekko’s graffitied coat, which she had liberated while they had been preparing for the last battle, helped greatly.
(She definitely hadn’t been reluctant to wear it because its former owner’s scent still lingered on in it.
She also definitely hadn’t felt her stomach clench as she shrugged it on, at the thought that this trace of him would fade.
Everything fades away around you, Claggor had, less than helpfully, added.)
Its bulk and length on her small frame made her into a shapeless mass, which worn with a hood, obliterated any identifying features other than height.
It covered her roughly shorn hair, her distinctive tattoos, her many bandaged wounds, and the bright paint that still stuck to her body days after Ekko had splattered it there, mostly because the ship had no shower.
Janna, she probably stank.
But as she walked through the dirty, crowded city’s twilight-dim streets, she quickly discovered that she was not anywhere close to taking home the prize for foulest smelling person in the city. Nor was she the only one who walked with her head down, hood over her face. Plenty of people on these streets had no desire to be recognized.
However, most of the buccaneers of Bilgewater did not seem inclined to anonymity. They swaggered down the streets, bellowing greetings to old shipmates, threats to enemies, orders to tavern keepers as they stormed into the establishments. They wore their best clothes on shore, flashing new jewelry, buckles, and hats.
In any other circumstances, it would’ve been great fun to join in with the rowdy atmosphere of the town, break some property. She couldn’t afford that sort of fun at the moment, maybe never again.
She skittered past taverns and shops, scoping out vulnerable-looking metalsmiths whose shops she could break into after hours to take the parts she needed.
A large group of belligerent-looking pirates forced her to duck into a dark alleyway to avoid any confrontation. The aches and pains of her still-injured body were rapidly draining what ambition she had for this little exploration.
She idly scratched under the coat’s sleeve, cursing the itch of the bandages on her upper arm. As she withdrew her hand, a small flash of white caught her attention in the wan light. Flecks of pale paint stood out against the remaining dark polish on her broken fingernails.
Her breath caught. There was only one mark on her entire body that was not in vivid hues of pink and blue and green.
Ekko surprised her by pulling her into one last embrace. Jinx froze for a moment, fight and flight warring desperately with the voices that screamed her unworthiness, screamed at her to push him away before she jinxed him further.
Her own desires won over all sides, and she slumped into his arms, forehead resting on his shoulder. The warmth of him penetrated the persistent cold that lingered in her limbs since Isha’s…
She inhaled the smell of metal and paint and something musky and male, using it to soothe the burning pain of that particular wound.
After a few moments, his thumb began to move idly back and forth on her upper arm as he held her, and she used that soothing motion to ground her. The rough skin of his thumb was real, real, real…and wet?
She realized what he was doing and squawked indignantly, pushing him back.
Ekko looked far too pleased with himself, standing there with the bright pink X across his chest that she had painted there despite his objections.
“Ha! Gotcha!”
On her upper left arm was his signature hourglass mark in white paint. He had tagged her.
Panic brought bile into her throat. All the other marks he had painted on her were one thing, slashes and X’s thrown haphazardly but that was Ekko’s signature on her, and now that was fading away, too, like his scent on the collar of the coat.
A crash and a roar of voices forcibly drew her from her thoughts. Immediately, she was on high alert.
Two pirates had crashed through the door of the tavern across from the alley, bringing a flood of gawkers out to watch the fight. Money changed hands over heads as bets were placed.
Aaaand, that’s my cue to exit stage over there.
Making certain her hood was secure, Jinx slid silently out from the alley and into the street, moving away from the crowd.
The brawl was brought to her, however, as one gigantic brawler got under her equally massive opponent and tossed him like a sack of potatoes over Jinx’s head. He landed with an almighty crash on his back right in the Zaunite’s path.
She blinked at the boulder-like head at her feet. He blinked back, eyes a little unfocused by the likely concussion he had just suffered. His barrel chest, covered with intricate, brightly covered tattoos, heaved.
Jinx tilted her head to the side, looking at the living canvas in front of her, and her earlier thoughts caught on an idea. Huh.
“Like the tattoos.”
The man grinned up at her, revealing a number of missing teeth and a long history of brawls.
“Thank ye, lass.”
His opponent by this time had chugged a mug of ale, as her supporters raucously cheered her on. Wiping her mouth, she turned to finish the fight.
Seeing Jinx, her eyes, green eyes that almost glowed in her dark face, narrowed. The smaller woman groaned. So much for keeping a low profile.
you’reajinx!you’reajinx! the voices chanted gleefully as the pirate charged.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Vi gives him the idea. Not purposely, and he can’t help but wonder what she would think about it.
It was nearly a day before he managed to find Vi after the Battle of Piltover.
He spends almost eight hours unconscious after the Z-Drive’s explosion. It was probably the most sleep he’s gotten in a long time, though the splitting headache and the blind panic upon waking kept it from being refreshing.
He managed to shuffle and then stumble through the night, the smoke, the cries of the wounded and dying. Whispers of conversation began to catch his attention, as Zaunites recognized him, their voices only half real in the hellscape of the aftermath of the battle.
Jinx fell. Jinx gone. Jinx dead. Jinx caught in one of her own explosions. Took the monster with her.
Tears began to collect behind his eyes and catch in his throat. He began a half-run, only as much as his aching body and screaming lungs could manage.
It could not be true, not when he had just gotten her back, had just begun to prove to her that he hadn’t given up on her. Not when he had saved the whole damn world for their city, their future, her.
An old rule of Vander and Benzo crept into his mind and gave some order to his wildly disordered, half-formed thoughts: If you lose each other, go back to where you got separated.
It seemed he was not the only one who remembered the rule.
Violet was there, slumped against a pillar, head pressed against her knees. Caitlyn sat next to her, arm wrapped around her broad shoulders. The enforcer looked up sharply at his footsteps. A heavy bandage covered nearly half of her face and over one eye. Her expression was tense and wary, and her one visible eye red-rimmed. Recognition registered, and pity softened the tension on her face. She looked away.
He only just barely suppressed a sob, walking toward the hunched figure next to Caitlyn. No, no, no. He wouldn’t believe it, not until…
Vi lifted her face. The lurid light from nearby fires and emergency lights caught the tears tracking down through the soot and bruises on her pale, drawn face.
“Ekko,” she sobbed, “I couldn’t. Jinx, she’s…” A helpless choked wail ripped its way from her chest.
He collapsed to his knees at her feet, a howl of grief finally found its freedom as he pressed his face into her knees.
Vi rearranged her legs, pulling him forward and into her embrace, curling around him protectively, and he wept against her shoulder. He allowed himself, just this once, to feel like the boy who had only ever wanted to be Vi and feel safe in her strong arms.
Ekko had no idea how long they sat like that, crying over their loss, maybe the only ones in the city not mourning the idea of Jinx. They mourned the wounded girl they both loved, the mad girl.
He dimly registered Caitlyn leaving at one point, murmuring something to Vi that he didn’t bother to listen to.
Vi brokenly told him the story of Jinx sacrificing herself to save her, to eliminate the threat that had once been their beloved father. The big fat hero.
Morning light was weakly pushing through the lingering smoke when he finally pulled away. Every muscle and joint protested the movement, and he sat back on the floor in an ungraceful flop. Vi chuckled in spite of herself.
She took a moment to take a good look at him, taking in the injuries that marred his middle and arms.
“Is that her work?” Vi made a broad gesture at him, and, for a moment, he was convinced that she meant the whole of him. She seemed to register that he wasn’t understanding and pointed this time, straight at his chest.
He looked down to see that bright pink X across his shirt had survived.
Jinx had asked him to cut her hair even further, chop it to the skull. He couldn’t deny her much of anything at this point, though he couldn’t bring himself to hack off her signature bang.
It wasn’t his best work, but she also could not stop moving for more than five seconds, talking about the final prep needed on the ‘copter and the plans for the attack, hands gesticulating wildly.
After he finished, she touched the remaining longer strands curiously, looking over her should at him with a quirked brow.
“You gotta have something of your old look. Brand recognition or something like that."
She snorted and picked up a piece of scrap, looking at her fuzzy reflection in the metal. He noticed that she had been avoiding the cracked mirror in her workshop, where a child’s drawing sat stuck to the glass and a bunny ear headband perched on top.
He had begun to piece together what had caused the state he found her in, ready to end it all. When she had napped at her workbench the day before, he had taken the opportunity to look at the drawing more closely.
Two stick figures. One with long blue braids, a smaller one with an oddly shaped hat. A name in the corner in shaky capital letters, ISHA.
One day he would talk to Jinx about it, about Isha, but not now. They had time after, time to talk and laugh and cry and begin to heal. For now, they had a war to fight and win.
Jinx slammed the piece of metal down and turned to him.
“Not bad. If the whole Savior Boy thing doesn’t work out, you could go into the hair biz.”
He shrugged. “It’s a thought. I mean, not a good thought.”
She was already on her feet, moving to the cans of paint and spray paint sitting at the edge of the propeller.
He expected her to continue the spray job on the side of the copter that she had been working on in their few free moments. Instead, she shook the can, turned the nozzle to herself and sprayed a wide pink X across her chest.
An incredulous laugh burst out, “What the hell?”
“We’re going to war. We need war paint.”
She dipped her fingers into an open can and swiped it under her eyes. She turned to him and grinned, spray paint still in hand
“Look ferocious enough? Like I’ll strike fear into the hearts of my enemies?”
Ekko pointedly kept himself looking at her face and not where that first mark on her chest was trying to draw his attention. He felt his ears go hot, a tell since he was a kid, and he forced himself to look away before answering her.
That was all the opening Jinx needed. Suddenly she was in his space, her face peering up at him.
“I said we need war paint, wonder boy, not just me.”
And with that, she sprayed an X across the left side of his chest, right where she had always nailed him with her paintballs.
She cackled in triumph at her handiwork, but Ekko was already moving. He dove past her to the paint, dipped his hand into a pail and flung it at her, leaving a wide blue splatter across her side.
This was apparently the signal for all out war. Jinx tackled him. What ensued was a paint battle for the ages. One would get the upper hand when the other was laughing too hard to fight, pining the other and getting a slash here, an X there until their bodies were littered with each other’s marks.
Eventually, they were too tired to do anything but lay on the propeller next to each other, sides hurting and eyes watering. Ekko dipped a finger into a nearby puddle of paint and lazily traced a star design on her upper arm.
As they lay there in the quiet before the coming storm, his chest felt lighter than it had in ages. It felt like having his best friend back. But as he turned onto his side to watch Jinx tracing patterns in the air with her fingers, it also felt entirely new.
He let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, war paint. It was Jinx’s idea.”
Vi reached out almost reverently and touched the pink X. She spread her hand on his chest, right over his heart.
“You should keep it.”
He did. In the days that followed, he refused to take off the outfit he had worn into battle as he administered to his depleted Firelights and tried to argue reason into the provisional Council.
It wasn’t until Scar took him by the shoulders, looked him dead in the eye and told him that unless he was using his smell as psychological warfare against the Council, it was time to take a damn shower.
In his room, he removed the shirt and chest protector carefully, laying it out on his bed to preserve the her work. He knew he couldn’t keep it there forever, but he couldn’t bear to lose the last physical imprint Jinx had left on him.
Vi’s advice came to mind again, as did the image of the dark ink which spread over her arms and shoulders. He would keep it.