Chapter Text
Jayce realizes he made a grave mistake as soon as the landlord opens the coin pouch. Mr. Evans’ eyes widen for a split second, then he quickly tries to mask his reaction with a cough. Before Jayce can change his mind, he swiftly hides the pouch in his back pocket and reaches for a set of keys. He hands Jayce a big one, with a rusted handle. “All yours.”
In Jayce’s defense, he has no idea how much renting an abandoned chicken farm costs. Also, he doesn’t really care. He’s been on the road with quiet, catatonic Viktor for several days now, and he’s grown weary of suspicious glances at the inns and hotels they passed through. There are two types of murmurs: first, from people who nearly recognize Jayce, with mentions of Piltover, the Man of Progress, Hextech - and second, which is way more concerned. They wonder about the unkept, muscular brute leading a skinny, sickly tramp everywhere. Jayce just wants to settle - anywhere, as soon as possible, and farming sounds kind of nice. Peaceful. Far from others. Like the kind of place where he and Viktor can rest for a while.
“I need a hen and a rooster,” Jayce says, because at least he remembers that they can’t have a chicken farm without chickens. Mr Evans just nods. His cooperation and indulgence of Jayce’s request tells him even more about the shitty deal he got himself into. He leads him to the coop, hands him two crates, and instructs him to just ‘pick the one he likes’.
Jayce looks back at Viktor, lingering at the entrance. His gaze is glossed over, vacant, still, like he barely registers the animals around them. Some chickens are still sleeping soundly, some stare at the intruders, some immediately ran away when the coop door opened. Jayce doesn’t know what makes a good chicken. This should be a joint decision, he thinks, even though he’s so tired he just wants to get this over with and find a warm bed to crash into. Maybe even a cold bed. His expectations aren’t too high for this place.
But if these chickens are going to be the source of their livelihood for the next month or even year (maybe not years, plural), they should choose carefully. “What do you think, V?” he calls out over his shoulder.
There’s a calm hen with a disfigured wing that catches Jayce’s eye. Getting a disabled chicken probably isn’t a good idea, but Jayce likes her for some reason. He approaches her carefully, a crate tucked under one arm. Grabbing her off the ground and stuffing her in just seems wrong, so instead, he places the crate on the ground and beckons to her. “Hey there.”
The hen doesn’t acknowledge him at all, but then Viktor leans down next to him with some seeds in his hand. Where did he get those? The hen approaches the feed and Jayce watches them both nervously. It strikes him as odd to stress about this interaction after everything they have been through. But this is the first thing Viktor has done unprompted and he really, really wants it to go well.
“She has a certain charm,” Viktor says quietly, voice hoarse. Jayce can’t believe it’s the first thing Viktor said in days, and it’s about a chicken.
Jayce lets out a little breathless “heh,” then clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Encouraged by the seeds, their new hen makes it to the cage. Jayce carefully clicks it shut and lets out a sigh of relief. “One down. Thanks, Viktor.” He offers up a small smile. It feels good to work together on something, again, even if it’s not particularly glamorous.
“The rooster, then, Jayce.” Viktor already seems tired. As if those two sentences wore him out.
Jayce straightens up and helps his partner do the same. “Right. Let’s try to find one that will get along well with her.”
Viktor clears his throat. “A gentleman cock, if you will.” A joke? Hell, this chicken farm business might be the best idea Jayce had since their exile started.
Jayce grins from ear to ear and nudges him lightly. “Can you grab the other crate? I’ll do the seeds this time.”
There are just four roosters in their secluded part of the coop. The one that catches Jayce’s attention has a shiny coat of feathers and is a little smaller than the other specimens. Younger, perhaps. “There’s a handsome fellow…” Jayce crouches down and extends his hand the way Viktor did earlier. The response isn’t as good. The rooster pecks at Jayce’s hand, taking the seeds but not moving from his seat.
“I think you must grab him.”
“No, no, I got this. Come on, little guy.” Jayce backs away slowly while still holding his hand out. No dice. Another, more aggressive cock pecks at his hand. “Ow!” Jayce drops all the seeds and wags his hand sorely.
“I told you,” Viktor comments flatly.
Jayce sighs. This isn’t going to get any less painful the more he puts it off. “Alright. Come here, you.” He rolls up his sleeves and goes for that shiny spoiled rooster. It makes some noise, annoying all the other chickens around them, but doesn't try to wriggle out too much. Jayce manages to stick him into the cage Viktor is holding.
The rooster still complains loudly as they carry the chickens out of the coop. Their new landlord is waiting outside, incredulous. As if he thinks they are pranking him. He hands Jayce a small bag of feed. "For the first few days," he explains. "And..." He adds another sack. He looks between Jayce and Viktor, eyes lingering on the latter's skinny body. "Dinner for you two. Courtesy of the missus." The bags are pleasantly heavy in Jayce's arms.
A solid start to a new life. Jayce offers a worn smile. “Thank you, my friend.”
The landlord leads them to the farmhouse he’s renting to them - it’s a few minutes of walking, and on the way there, he tells them what they need to know. How to get the water running, how to heat it up, where the coal and wood are stored. When he runs out of house topics, he starts talking to Jayce about the chickens, how to care for them. As much as Jayce appreciates the tips, he also kind of wishes he would shut up. It’s been a long day.
The plot of land is small with a worn out fence around it. The cottage is nothing special, but it still feels a little exotic to a man used to the apartments and mansions of Piltover. There’s not much to see there. Three chambers. An open kitchenette in the main room. A big masonry stove guards two doors, one to a small bedroom and the other to the tiled bathroom.
“Have a good night, lads.” The landlord leaves them there. When the door closes behind him, it's just Jayce, Viktor, and their two clucking chickens.
Food. Jayce should prepare some food. He sets the cages down, releases the chickens and tosses some feed their way. They peck away, their beaks hitting the wooden floor. It occurs to Jayce that they’ll have to stay inside until he fixes up the fence. “You hungry, Viktor?”
His partner is observing the chickens. "It feels like I'm dreaming," he says slowly, ignoring Jayce’s question. On her pursuit of seeds, the hen approaches the floor by Viktor’s feet. He leans down to give her a gentle pet, which she easily accepts. It’s a side of Viktor that Jayce never got to see before, not with them holed up in the lab all the time. He wasn’t around to see Viktor’s kindness with his followers, either. He only arrived just in time to see the end.
He gently takes ahold of Viktor’s shoulder. He tells himself it’s to anchor Viktor down to reality, but maybe he also needs some reassurance that this is real. That Viktor is here, alive and…human.
Viktor looks up from the bird to meet Jayce’s eyes. “Do we have any tea, Jayce?” he asks politely. “My throat feels awfully sore…”
“Yeah - yeah, of course.” Jayce says this without actually knowing that they do - but thankfully the landlord’s wife included some tea leaves to go along with dinner. He gives the kettle a good wash before filling it up and setting it on the stove, stealing glances at Viktor every once in a while.
Once Viktor is done petting the hen, he approaches the heavy wooden table in the middle of the chamber. He runs his hand over it, examines the dust that gathers on his fingers, and sits on one of the three chairs. He’s deep in thought, but it’s different from his catatonic silence of the past few weeks. His mind was so far away, he seemed barely aware of their surroundings. Now he’s definitely here, the same way he was there when he was musing about something in the lab. Viktor’s eyes curiously search every nook and cranny of their new home.
Jayce sets Viktor’s cup in front of him before finally collapsing on one of the remaining chairs. His tea sloshes dangerously around in its cup. “What a day…”
Viktor’s fingers, long and slender, wrap around the cup for warmth. “Thank you,” he says, and brings it to his lips. It feels normal. Almost. Like how they used to drink their coffee and tea in the lab. Viktor took it with…
“There’s probably some sugar around here somewhere…” He noticed some dry goods in the cabinets. He’s not sure if they would be edible, though. Does sugar go bad? Jayce angles his head at the cabinets, but Viktor speaks up again:
"You can rest," softly. Then, "You've done plenty."
Jayce really must be tired, because even that small bit of praise melts straight through him. He slumps in his chair and sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Still plenty of work ahead."
Viktor looks like he wants to say something. But instead of doing that, he just continues drinking his tea. Jayce fidgets a little, itching to hear Viktor speak more, worried that he said or did something to discourage it. He sips his tea and takes a wild swing at it. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be a downer."
“Ah… Hardly.” A pause. Again. Jayce just about accepts that he will have to continue filling the silence with his blabber, but then… “You’re exhausted,” a simple statement. “Maybe you should just… go to bed. I can take a swing at…” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the ceramic hearth, which Jayce kind of likes, actually. It reminds him of the forge.
Even though he’s exhausted, Viktor’s offer makes him uneasy. “We should eat,” he points out. “We haven’t eaten all day.”
It seems like the very idea of food didn’t cross Viktor’s mind before. But now he nods, gets up from the table, and reaches for the bag with their dinner. Jayce watches him go through the motions of picking up a pot, washing it, filling it with whatever the landlady packed for them, and setting it on the stove. He seems so… determined. It feels to Jayce as if a ghost gained the ability to walk among mortals again, just to… reheat dinner. He’s afraid Viktor might disappear as soon as Jayce takes his eyes off him. "It really does feel like a dream," slips out of him, softly.
His ghost makes an amused noise. “Yes… only in a dream would I cook instead of getting takeout.” He pauses. “Well, it’s not really cooking either,” he points out, ever precise. “Perhaps it’s not that far from reality.”
Jayce laughs, feeling lighter now. Gods, he missed the banter. "Well, now you're worrying me. Do I need to come over there and supervise?" he teases.
“Stay put,” Viktor orders him. “You’re being taken care of for the next five minutes. Do your best to take it gracefully.”
"Fine, fine..." Finally, Jayce tears his eyes away to occupy himself while Viktor finishes up. He takes a look at their new feathery roommates, who have finished their pecking and settled against that masonry stove… And before they fell asleep, one of them shat on the floor. Damnit. Jayce sighs deeply through his nose and, with a low grunt, pulls himself back up to his feet to take care of it. He scrapes at the filth with the fire poker and heads outside to dispose of it.
By the time he’s done and back, the room is filled with the smell of Mrs. Evans’ stew. Jayce’s mouth waters. It’s been a while since he had a homemade meal…
“Our landlady seems to be quite a cook,” Viktor comments, pouring the food into two bowls.
“I can ask for the recipe tomorrow.” Jayce quickly washes his hands - though he’s careful to be thorough about it - and rushes to join Viktor at the table. “Gods, I am starving.”
They start eating. Jayce fast, Viktor slow, like he’s getting used to it. These past few weeks, he’s mostly had soups and oatmeal, so Jayce worries a little about his stomach handling a heavier meal like this one. But he seems okay. He remembers Viktor scolding him earlier and decides that they should chat about something light, something that isn’t about the future, or the past, or how hard either of those things were or will be. Those things take up so much space, though, and he struggles to think about literally anything else.
“Do you…have any food allergies? Just so, uh. I know for the future.” Great start, Jayce.
“Jayce.” Viktor looks up at him from his bowl. “We’ve been having meals with each other for nearly ten years. Don’t you think it would have come up by now?”
“Hey, just had to be sure. I’m sure you didn’t know about my cat allergy.”
He cracks a smile. “I suppose we’re not getting a cat, then.”
A thought appears to occur to Viktor; his eyes shimmer with interest, and he observes his hand, flexing his fingers. They, like his entire body, are covered in a pale webbing of scars, a memory of where that metallic flesh used to be. “I never had any food allergies. However, my reconstructed body might react differently to allergens… I should keep vigilant.”
Jayce observes his fascination cautiously. He hadn’t said anything about it up until now, uncertain if it was off-limits. But since Viktor brought it up… “How does it feel?”
There’s a long moment of silence as Viktor weighs his words. “Do you recall the sensation of fresh, sensitive skin underneath a scab?” he asks eventually.
The visual sends a shiver through Jayce. He nods.
“All of me feels like that,” Viktor explains. “It’s preferable over a broken spine, blocked airways and nerve damage - all of which I’ve dealt with before… But it’s still quite intense.”
Jayce grimaces. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” The answer is immediate. “It’s unpleasant, but it doesn’t hurt.” His eyes wander down to Jayce’s brace. “What about you, Jayce? Are you in pain?”
Jayce shifts in his seat and considers the question. “I’m…doing okay,” he decides to say. Then adds, “I’m not dying. I think that’s my threshold for okay for the time being.”
That line earns him another weary smile. “I know the feeling.”
He smiles back and playfully bumps their knees under the table. Then winces when he remembers. “Sorry. You just said you’re sensitive.”
Viktor waves him off. “It’s fine.” A beat. Then, “We should name the chickens. They are the firsts of our flock, after all.”
“Right…” Jayce sits back and takes a peek at where the chickens are dozing. He figures he should let Viktor name the hen, so he picks… “Richard, the First.”
Viktor smiles wryly. “Of many, I presume. An auspicious name,” he teases. He follows Jayce’s gaze and thinks. “Then his companion will be…Hennifer.”
Jayce lifts his eyebrows. “Hennifer?”
“Would you prefer a more regal name for her?” His tone is mildly playful.
“W-well, no. Hennifer’s good.”
“Then it’s settled. Hennifer and Richard, the First. Almost as if a king chose a peasant as his betrothed.”
Jayce grins. “Richard definitely acts like he owns the place already… I hope he treats her well.”
“So do I…” Viktor rises from his seat. He didn’t finish his food, but Jayce doesn’t comment on it. He approaches the masonry stove and tinkers with it to start the fire. The farmhouse gets pleasantly warm. That along with the fullness of his stomach makes Jayce start to feel drowsy. He stifles a yawn. “We should start getting ready for bed.”
Viktor nods. “You can take the bed.” He eyes the single lounge chair in the far corner of the room, probably estimating how he can settle in it comfortably.
Jayce blinks. “What do you mean? There’s…” He gets to his feet and checks. Great. Of course there’s only one bed. He sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t know. But there’s no way I can let you do that. The guilt would keep me up all night anyway.”
“Why would you feel guilty?” Viktor looks up at him from where he’s kneeling by the fireplace. In the old days, seeing Viktor in that position would mean that something went wrong; he slipped, or his cane gave out, and he would have issues getting up. It’s a little weird to see it now. Good weird, probably. Maybe.
“Why wouldn’t I? You deserve to sleep in a real bed, too.” Jayce glances at the bed again, studying its width. “We could both fit in there,” he decides.
Viktor joins him in the doorway to examine it. “Yes… I suppose we could.” Jayce looks at him, trying to gauge his reaction - he’s deep in thought again.
So it’s fine. That’s what they’re doing then. It’s fine and it’s what they’re doing and it’s, oh, it’s what they’re going to keep doing until they can afford another bed. Jayce nods firmly to himself. It’s fine, this is fine. “Alright. Mind if I take the bath first? Pretty sure I saw a tub around here somewhere.”
“Go ahead,” Viktor tells him.
It takes a lot longer here to heat up the bath than at home - but he can’t think like that, because this is home now. Seems like it would be a pain to heat up the water all over again once one of them is done bathing, though. Maybe they could - no, they couldn’t - but how else - fuck. Jayce buries his burning face into his hands, sitting naked in waist-deep lukewarm water. This whole situation is as absurd as it is overwhelming. He can’t even take a bath without it spiraling into a crisis. He doesn’t even know why he’s so easily flustered now when Viktor is just - Viktor. A benign and pleasant constant at his side. But all of this is just too new. He hasn’t seen this side of Viktor before; never even so much as spent the night at his place, since so many nights were spent at the lab instead. Sharing a bed and a bathroom and a kitchen is something he’s only done with Mel and his own mother. With Viktor, it’s uncharted territory.
He wants to discuss the water situation with Viktor, but when he leaves the bathroom, his partner is asleep. Fully clothed, in the very corner of the bed, leaving plenty of space for Jayce. He’s facing the wall, curling inward, breathing deep, even breaths, and his long hair spreads on the pillow.
Jayce hovers in the doorway for a long time, watching him. He hasn’t shared a bed with anyone since Mel. Hell, he hasn’t shared a bed with another man since ever. But as he creeps towards the bed, quiet as to not disturb his partner, the self-consciousness and awkwardness of it slips away. He remembers how tightly he held onto Viktor’s hand as the rune tried to tear them apart. He remembers Viktor’s closeness in that moment, the closest he has ever allowed Jayce to be. And maybe he’s pushing too far as he drapes an arm over Viktor’s waist and brings him closer to the center of the bed, but it feels like he’s just picking up where they left off. Viktor stirs in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. His body relaxes somewhat, unfolding, taking some more space in their shared bed. He smells of skin, sweat, and dust from the road, in a mix that reminds Jayce of damp wood from the bathroom he just left. Not great, but Jayce is used to it after being on the road with him for a while now.
Still. He should let Viktor take the bath first next time.