Chapter Text
“Shimmer,” she spoke the word. Poison from soft lips. Mel held the vial of purple liquid in her manicured hand. Gold against lavender. Sloshing, tilting it side to side. Haunting. Taunting. Threatening. The snake in the garden of Eden.
Jayce sat at his desk. Disheveled, as per usual. Even more so. Nothing had changed but the chemistry in his brain. Melting reality and forming a new mold with the leftovers. His own design.
A stained shirt and sweatpants. Slightly overgrown nails, skin underneath the beds. Scratches decorating his body. The dark circles under his eyes warranted medical concern, but were ultimately ignored.
He ran his hands down his face. The brace on his wrist now made of thick leather instead of pathetic bandages. Jayce rubbed the back of it to ground himself, missing the rune he was hiding. The scent of fresh leather and gun smoke filled his nose.
“Silco had proposed the idea to me. Briefly. Didn't even say the word, but I knew.” He explained. Of course he knew. Jayce had witnessed the results of the production of shimmer first hand. He killed a child over it. How could he not harbor resentment and lividity?
All that it did to Viktor. A sexual relationship of power and depravity. Mingling with blood and drugs and metal. In the end, it couldn't save him. It only helped encourage his mental decline.
Mel sat the vial down, sitting alongside Jayce. She glanced at the papers and notes displayed across his desk. Certain sketches caught her eye, although she ignored it and decided to focus strictly on business.
“Silco introduced it as a medication. To inject or to drink — quite an odd conundrum of ingestion.” She sighed, placing a hand on Jayce's arm. Rubbing it up and down to comfort him.
Jayce took a deep breath. “Has he provided the side effects?”
Mel glanced at him. “‘It is potent and corrosive’, I quote.” She removed her hand so she could instead lean against Jayce. “He said although it is an anxiety inducing sight, the people who subject themselves to the healing powers of shimmer will no longer fear what they cannot understand.”
There was a dry chuckle. “That's what he said? To the counselors?”
She nodded. “I do have quite the memory.”
Jayce would've cracked a smile if he had it in him. “So, what was the conclusion?”
“They're talking about it, so they say.”
“There wasn't a verdict?” He scoffed.
Mel shrugged, flicking the vial. It rolled over the desk and stopped beside Jayce's arm.
“It is peculiar. But I suppose there are…precautions to be taken.” She partially mumbled.
Jayce grabbed the vial, abruptly throwing it against the wall. Shattered. A myriad of shards of glass tossed across the floor. Purple ooze settling between divots and tile. Sizzling.
Mel stared with parted lips, hands gripping the sides of her chair. His back was facing her, but she could picture the expression on his face. Something dark and full of rage.
There was not a time that Mel could pinpoint in which Jayce began to separate from reality and his surroundings. All she knew was that one day after the party, after herself not having access to his lab, after he claimed to be too busy raising his family's orphaned child, she saw a man that was not who she had fallen in love with. Maybe then, at the Kiramman’s, there was a hint of himself left. Some kindness and manners. An ounce of life in his eyes.
Now, she was full of concern as much as he was void of consideration. Jayce ran his fingers through his hair and groaned, standing up with so much force, it sent his chair flying across the room.
Mel didn't know what to say. So on edge, it was nearly impossible to talk him down these days. She softly sighed. “I'm sure they won't approve of something like this.”
Jayce scratched his beard as he walked into the kitchen. He grabbed two beer bottles, wordlessly leaving one in front of Mel. At least there was an attempt of thoughtfulness there.
He popped it open and gulped half of it down. Lacking the strength he was most familiar with, the potent bite of drunken allure, it was bitter, and the only thing he had in their quaint little home.
“It would be a death sentence.” He stated.
Mel inspected the beer and opted not to drink something so cheap, so she shoved it out of the way. “I'm surprised you're so against shimmer. I thought you'd consider it for Viktor,” she added. It was genuine. It was forthright.
“Excuse me?” He asked, beer dripping down his chin.
Jayce looked scary. He always did now. And he was loud and his voice was rough. But Mel did not fear him how he wanted her to.
“Haven't you thought about how this drug could aid his leg?” She questioned.
He practically stomped over. Towering over. Dark glare shooting daggers into a golden shield. “Viktor is never touching shimmer. He isn't looking at it. He isn't even going to hear about it. Got it?”
Mel's eyebrows furrowed. She stood up, inches from his foaming maw. She was snarling some herself. “You are to speak to me with respect.” She snatched his bottle, pouring the leftovers on his head. It dripped down his face and chest, staining that already ruined t-shirt.
He knocked the bottle out of her hand. A lucky man that it didn't shatter in pieces, only cracked. Not completely broken yet. An unlucky man to be met with a burning cheek by the hand of someone who had only been tender towards him until now.
Mel had slapped him so hard, her own palm stung. “I know you're going through something. And I'm sorry — I am. But you won't even speak to me about it, and I won't just allow you to treat me as if I am beneath you! I am a counselor. I am a Medarda. I am a woman in power before I am ever your friend, confidant, or anything synonymous with the word.”
She took a step back, arms crossed over her chest.
Jayce panted, cold beer dripping from his upper body. He wiped off his eyes and mouth, mumbling incoherent words under his breath as he also took a step back.
There were moments of clarity still deep within him that could be reached with enough digging. An excavation. Moments where he realized his behavior or remembered something that calmed him down enough to act like he did before this.
He could see his Viktor lingering beside Mel. They had always had a difficult time getting along, but he encouraged him to comfort her. His sad, sympathetic eyes. Tired, low voice.
That's when Jayce knew he really messed up. If his Viktor didn't approve of his actions, he had to withdraw. It was the switch buried underneath wire and cable, mixed signals and jammed pathways.
“I'm sorry,” he breathed.
Mel clenched her jaw. “Then why do you keep doing this, Jayce?”
Jayce licked his lips, hanging his head down. “I….I don't know.” He balled up his fists. Mel was the first to move, grabbing his face.
“Please. Let me get you some help.”
He placed a hand on top of hers. “Nobody can help me.”
“That's not true. Everyone can be helped.”
They shared a long look before Mel pulled him into a hug. He weakly reciprocated. Peeking over her shoulder. But nobody was there.
In a moment of vulnerability and release, at the cusp of convincing — a childish scream ripped through the hallways.
Jayce's eyes widened. “Viktor?!” He yelled.
Jayce was already in the bathroom by the time Mel was halfway down the hall. And there, was Viktor.
The images his brain swallowed and spat back out in graphic detail rattled the man beyond his own stipulations. Imagining his leg had somehow already experienced a complete atrophy, that something broke, that he'd found the blade a good twenty years early, anything and everything except what he was truthfully presented with.
Backed up against the outside of the bath, Viktor looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Eyes of a child he hadn't seen in a few months. Captivated by that same fear he could instill in him, himself.
Tears trickled down his face as he trembled. Blood, dark and fresh coating the palms of his hands. Jayce stepped inside the bathroom. At a better angle, he could see it now. The natural agony of the chemistry of his body, painted and stained on his inner thighs and the tile floor with his panties puddled around his ankles.
Viktor wasn't really supposed to even get his period for a few more years. But Jayce underestimated how much he was doing by providing him proper medication and nutrition.
Even in such a horrifying moment for Viktor, who was never taught what a period was, who was aching and hot and under the assumption that the blood that sometimes came from his nose and mouth was all coming out of him from a bigger exit this time; that he was going to die — Jayce noticed what everybody else would not.
The small, barely formed lumps on his chest that would develop into breasts poking through his white tank top. It was summertime and he’d barely been wearing any clothes lately.
His cheeks were rosy. Most of his skin was. Obviously from getting so upset. But they charmed Jayce against porcelain skin with a constellation of moles and bite marks and bruises. As if he was embarrassed to be caught with his underwear down.
Over the last few months, his hair had grown even more, to now barely flow above his shoulders. Messy, sweaty strands stuck to his forehead. The pudgy thighs and little tummy to thank for his new diet.
Oh, he looked just like a girl. In a way Jayce had never, ever seen him throughout any of their time together.
Mel arrived soon after, gasping as she peeked inside. Out of respect for the boy, she turned her back but remained just outside of the door frame.
Jayce placed a hand on Viktor's knee. He yelped like a wounded dog. “Papa!” He then gasped, as if he'd been stuck in a trance beforehand.
“V, take a deep breath —”
Vik threw himself onto Jayce. He wrapped his arms around him, nonreactive to the warm blood sliding against his legs and clothes. “I'm dying, I'm dying!” He sniffled, snot smearing against his dad's chest.
Jayce rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles. “You aren't dying, Viktor.”
“How do you know? I'm bleeding! From, from…”
Jayce looked up at Mel. She caught sight of him out of her peripheral vision.
“Please. Send for my mother,” he requested.
It was an odd request seeing as Jayce had only made contact with his mother over the past year in passing. Eye to eye, he knew he couldn't face her. Yet, left to his own devices, his child was helpless. And that would not suffice. So who better to call in his time of need? In Viktor's time of need.
Mel did as requested. As they waited for her to show, Jayce did what he could. Or at least what he thought was right.
Although there was a grown woman just a few feet from him with all of the answers and abilities to fix all of this quickly, he simply refused to allow her to see Viktor like this. To see a hint of his body or vulnerability. It was nobody's to witness but his. For the most part.
Jayce took a dry towel to wipe off his legs. Skin stained red, body still spewing blood, he pulled his panties up and sat him on the toilet.
The blood on his hands had dried by the time Ximena arrived. Jayce held Viktor's face in his hands as he kissed his forehead.
“Everything is okay. Okay?”
Nothing felt remotely okay. Viktor didn't understand why all of these people were around and why he couldn't leave the bathroom and why he was in so much pain, left without an answer. Still, he nuzzled into his father's large palm.
Jayce could hear the muffled voice of his mother making way down the hall. It made his stomach churn something acidic and putrid. Guilt. Anxiety. A deadly concoction.
He turned away from his son to face the open doorway. After greeting Mel, she stepped into the bathroom. Their eyes found each other and the rest of the world seemed to crumble and flake away.
Ximena's expression held sympathy. Sorrow. Hurt. Jayce was embarrassed. Suddenly aware of just how sick he truly looked, having only ever allowed his mother to see him at his best. Pristine. Prideful. Alive.
“Mamá,” he breathed, finally prying his eyes away. Inspecting the floor. “This is Viktor.”
The boy curled in on himself, arms wrapped around that small torso. He couldn't look at her. Was his mom a doctor? Maybe that's why she was here.
“Mel informed me of what was happening.” She stated. She always had a way of holding herself together in moments where she wanted to fall apart. “May I?”
Jayce nodded. He kneeled before Viktor.
“This is my mom. She's a very nice lady,” he reassured, rubbing his knee. “I'm going to be right here while she helps you. Alright?”
Viktor panted, whined. He began to cry again, shaking his head. But he knew there was no way out of this. There never was a way out if Jayce was in the room.
Ximena instructed Mel to shut the door. Then, she rolled her sleeves up and turned on the faucet. Grabbing a rag from the cabinets, she soaked it in cold water before she approached Viktor. With one movement, Jayce got out of the way. His mother smiled at Viktor. A smile he remembered receiving when he was sick — so different from her real smile.
“Hello, honey. My name is Ximena. Your name is Viktor, yes?”
Viktor sniffled, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists to stop the flow of tears. He nodded.
“I know you're scared. Are you hot?”
Once more, he nodded.
“Is it alright if I wipe your face? I have a nice cold rag for you.”
Viktor swallowed hard. He glanced at his dad, who gave the okay. “Yes,” he answered, a stuffy nose clear in his voice.
Ximena gently grabbed his chin and dabbed the rag on his cheeks at first. Then his forehead and neck, which soon turned into more firm wipes.
Viktor sighed at the cool sensation which helped bring down the overall temperature of his body.
When she was finished, she placed the rag around the nape of his neck to keep his temperature regulated for now. Then she kneeled.
“I see you're quite messy. That must be uncomfortable.”
He nodded, again, and again. “Why does it hurt? Am I dying?”
Ximena smiled once again, unable to stop herself from grabbing his hand.
Jayce had no right to feel that pang of jealousy when he witnessed it. But he did. He clenched his jaw and mentally retreated.
“You are far from dying, child. I've got an idea.” She squeezed his hand. “Why don't we get you a nice warm bath to get rid of this mess and I can tell you what's going on?”
“Can you make the pain go away?”
“Easily. Jayce,” she pointed. He perked up.
“Yes, mamá?”
“Go get Viktor some water and medicine. And a comfortable set of clean clothes.”
Jayce was quick to get up under the orders of his mother. He pressed a kiss to Viktor's forehead on his way out.
Ximena stood, too, starting the bath. She allowed one rinse of the tub to clean any grit or dirt that may be lingering. Then, she adjusted the temperature until she was satisfied and stuck the plug in the drain.
“Alright, dear. Can you remove your clothes for me?”
It was only two pieces. But Viktor had only been naked in front of two people, and really only preferred it to be Jayce if it had to be anybody.
But this woman was really nice. Her voice was soft. Everything about her was gentle and foreign. It made him miss his own mother even more.
Jayce would be right back, too. He'd never let anything happen to him. Not by someone else.
Viktor stood up, first removing his tank top. Then he slipped off warm, wet, ruined panties. He kicked them to the side, awkwardly staring at her.
He reminded her of Jayce, in certain ways. At least when Jayce was his age. Ximena offered her hands out and helped Viktor step into the tub, sinking into the bubbles she added as little surprise.
The water was hotter than usual, but it felt so good on his aching muscles. Viktor sighed with relief as he rested his head against the back of the tub.
Ximena kneeled by the edge. Jayce returned then, with everything in hand. He sat his outfit down on the sink counter and brought the water and pills over to his mom.
“Thank you, mijo.” She said while handing it all to Viktor. He popped the medicine in his mouth and drank half of the water before handing the glass back.
Jayce sat on the toilet. As Ximena began to wash him, even though he was capable himself — a trait she and her son shared, being overbearing — she began to explain what was happening to him.
It was simple enough for Viktor to understand. It was biology. A form of science. He hated it. But it was inescapable as most things in his life were.
Both of them helped Viktor dry off and get his clothes on. When Ximena grabbed his fresh panties, she pulled out a small pad from her pocket and taught the boy how to apply it, then pulled them up for him.
“There are more sanitary products in the lab. Make sure you keep them stocked from now on.” Ximena softly lectured.
Afterwards, they each held one of his hands and brought him to bed. Being tucked in by a father and mother figure made Viktor feel dizzy, and he swore he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
It had seemed Mel had seen herself out. Once they were far enough from his room, Ximena grabbed Jayce and slapped him. Seemed to be something he'd have to get used to.
“How could you?!” She scolded.
“Mamá — “
“Look at you! What have you done to yourself? And you think you can care for a child?!”
Jayce bowed his head like a guilty dog. He knew, now, as if his mother's touch contained the power of true sight, that he was a shameful son to bear witness to. Disheveled, unclean, sinful. Smelling of cigarettes and alcohol and filth. His name rolling off of her tongue must've been disgusting enough to make her vomit. She was only being polite, swallowing it all down. It was common of her to spare her child of ill feelings.
“I don't know what happened.” He admitted softly, childishly. Such a consistent case with Ximena. A six foot seven man. A baby barely up to his mother's waist.
Ximena shook her head, now taking his face in her small hands. Gently, she lifted his head up to see the tears in his eyes. Her expression and voice both softened. “You do, mijo. Please, do not lie. Not to me.”
He parted his lips. There was something he wanted to say. More than one thing. A plethora of his inflictions. But the tears came first.
For the first time in a year, Jayce Talis was crying.
Ximena knew if she were to wrap her arms around him, he would collapse under the release of pressure that had built up overtime. It didn't take a scientist to know this fact. So, she simply wiped his tears, even as they continued to flow past her thumbs and onto the floor.
“Please, show me to your room. Viktor is not the only one who needs my help.”
It was foreign, now. It had been foreign for a while — forgetting the warm touch of a loved one who actually understands you deeply. To know the way your muscles suffocate your bones and how veins intertwine in a dance underneath a cell pattern memorized by sensation and sight.
Jayce had access to that for a long time before he ever got bad or even lost Viktor. But he was drowning in obsession. Passion was rotten. Spilled food in the corner buried under trash and dirty clothes. Under empty pill bottles and dried blood and doctor's notes. So, he didn't really think about his mother much. Or his needs. Or intimacy or love or comfort or a life outside of a lab.
As he guided Ximena to his bedroom, hesitantly opening the door to more filth she didn't so much as glance at, he considered why he didn't reach out before or insist on living out the last days of Viktor's life peacefully, happily, without stress or desperation speeding up the process to grief. Why that greed to keep him in his life even a little longer lead him here, where his mother knew nothing of what he was like before.
Even then. It seemed in every universe, he had a habit of neglecting his mother in the pursuit of his endeavors. And that was one more issue he wished to resolve.
He could hear her starting the shower. She brought out a pile of dirty clothes and threw them on the floor with the rest of them.
“Do you have anything clean?”
“What?” He nearly slurred, lost in thought. Floating in a calm, sharp spiral.
Ximena didn't bother to repeat herself. She checked his dresser, thankful there were at least two shirts to choose from. After grabbing one, she managed to find a pair of boxers. They were left on the edge of his bed.
“We need to get these clothes clean. This room is a mess. You…” she licked her lips, clenching her jaw to keep from crying. “You have forgotten yourself, Jayce Talis.”
Jayce looked at her. Pathetic and weak. He just nodded. She sat beside him and began to untie her boots. They were scuffed and damaged, signs of hard work.
He mirrored her. Removing barely touched sneakers, soft pads to soothe his remote feet. Then came the socks. Then Jayce paused when Ximena slipped off her blouse.
“Ma — “
Ximena shook her head. “It is not what you think. Your head is full of sin.” She stood up, angrily tugging off her skirt. “If I had not been the one to bathe that child, would you have taken his vulnerability as an opportunity?” She snapped.
Jayce's mouth hung open. Did she know? How couldn't she, really.
She huffed. “I will not do that to you now. Take off those clothes and get in the shower with me. Okay?”
He nodded, doing as he was told.
Hot water was an absence in his routine for about a week now. It melted away the dirt, the tension, an ounce of the sadness. It rolled down his body, clinging to thick strands of hair stuck to his face. Ximena gently pushed them back with soapy hands, massaging shampoo into his scalp.
He closed his eyes, letting out a gentle sigh. It was really nice. Just nice to be touched so delicately. Profoundly. A forgotten art, a fleeting expression of love.
After rinsing out the soap, she then applied conditioner. Taking her time as she lathered it on piece by piece.
“Are you ready to talk, mijo?” Ximena asked gently.
Jayce wasn't. He never would be.
“It's a long story. I don't even know where I'd start,” he admitted truthfully.
“You don't have to tell me the story. Tell me…notes.”
He chuckled a little. “Notes?”
She nodded with a gentle smile. “Notes. Maybe like you would with a project. The most important…outstanding bits. What are they?”
Jayce bit his lips. He watched her rinse the conditioner from his hair, tilting his head back to avoid getting any in his eyes.
“Oh, mamá. I am lost. The notes are all…jumbled. Sticky notes piled up on top of each other. I've…” he took a deep breath.
She grabbed the bar of soap. Wordlessly rubbing it against his body.
Another deep breath. “I have yet again lost myself in the pursuit of something good. I'm…I'm a really bad man, mamá. I've done horrible things to the people I care about.”
Ximena tried her best to just listen as she cleaned her son. Raw and open and as naked as him, fond of their closeness, grateful to lack lust in such a crucial moment.
Jayce sniffled, tears mingling with the stream of water. “All I can seem to do is hurt. There is an anger inside of me…a hunger.” He gasped, barely able to keep up with his own thoughts. He broke out into a fit of sobs, knocking the soap from his mother's hand as he wrapped his arms around her smaller body. Dipping his head into the crook of his neck, wishing he could burrow there forever.
“I'm trying to fill a hole, but mamá, the only thing that can fill it isn't here anymore. I'm unfair, I'm cruel, I'm…I'm sick. I only called you here for your help. God, I don't even know how you are….oh my God, I don't — “ he hiccuped.
Ximena shushed him, rubbing his back in slow, smooth circles as she swayed their bodies side to side. “Shh, shh, my boy. It's alright. It's alright. Just let it out.”
As if he only needed her permission this whole time, he did. Falling to his knees on hard tile that split skin, he brought his mother with him, who's fall was more gentle.
Jayce sobbed so loud, his mom had to place a hand over his mouth so as to not wake up the boy sleeping just a wall away.
He vomited on the floor. It was an easy clean up, bile flooding the drain.
“Baby, baby, please, you have to breathe!” She pleaded.
Jayce coughed, heaving, panting. “I just want him to be happy, ma, I just wanna save him. Wanna save him, can't save him, can't save him. No, I can't do it.”
Ximena didn't know what to say. She didn't understand this attachment he had to that boy, but if it was provoking this reaction, she would make herself understand so she could help.
They stayed like that until the water went cold. Until Jayce was too exhausted to cry anymore. Until she was the first to stand up and shut off the shower.
That night, she took care of him like a little boy again. Brushing his matted hair out before dressing him in fresh, soft clothes, and joined him in his bed, wrapping her arms around his large frame while he shook and cried and mumbled nonsense into his pillow until he drifted off to sleep. Once he was out, Ximena pressed her forehead against his back and allowed herself a few tears.
The next morning, Jayce woke up to see his clothes stuffed into a laundry basket. His side table now absent of trash and empty bottles, the floor rid of grit and grime. Ximena smiled at him before ripping the warm blanket off of him, ushering him to get up and start his day.
She took the time to trim his nails, remove the dead ends from his overgrown hair, and shaped his beard to her best ability; it had been quite some time since she'd tamed her husband's facial hair.
As any mother would, she made sure he brushed his teeth and lectured him about keeping this room clean. This was a one time thing, and she certainly wouldn't be around to do it for him. He's sick. He's disturbed. And he needs the help. But she will not morph into a servant, a presence strictly requested only in a time of desperation.
Jayce gave her a long, tight hug. He kissed her forehead and smiled warmly. He had to admit that he did feel a little better.
“Thank you, mamá.”
Ximena nodded. “I have something for you.” She spoke softly, offering a piece of jewelry in her wrinkled palms. “I found it in the pocket of one of your jeans.”
He stared down at the shiny piece of silver, inhaling sharply. Licking his lips, he shook his head. “It's okay, ma.”
“No, mijo. You need this. Please, put it on.” She urged, practically shoving it in his face.
Jayce clenched his jaw. Then he sighed as he grabbed the cross and slid it over his head, letting it dangle on top of his chest.
“I have not prayed in a very long time.” He admitted. Didn't seem like much of a secret, though.
“You still can. And I urge you to.” Ximena grabbed the cross and kissed it, then hugged her child again. “Confession has saved you in the past.”
Jayce pet her head. There was some truth to her words, but he was never as religious as his mother. He thought believing in science and a God was impractical. He thought it was embarrassing.
And he often heard it was a last resort for people in times of struggle. Because it often worked.
“God will not forgive what I have done.”
“He forgave me.” She pulled away. It was a heavy sentence, to know what she had done in order to seek it out.
Jayce scratched at his arm. The one with the brace, hissing as his skin burned at the touch. He looked down to see small swirls and broken patterns of purple, red, and green. It mimicked the ooze that surrounded the wild runes that had brought him here in the first place. The hair on the back of his neck stood at full attention. His blood ran cold. He hid his arm behind his back as his mother grabbed his face.
“I've heard good things about the men of God in Zaun. They are not so judgemental as those that reside here.” With a kiss to his cheek, she left the room, lingering by the doorway.
“I'm going to wake the boy. Why don't you prepare us breakfast?” She suggested — more so instructed — before disappearing.
Jayce swallowed hard. He brought his arm back into view. It glowed and sparked and ran underneath his skin like the veins bulging against flesh.
Maybe he should consult a holy figure.