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Silco was not a selfish man. Not by nature, and certainly not nurture. It’s not a moral choice as much as it is a consequence of his birth. There’s no place for things to want when there’s so many to need, and he’s already been selfish twice at her expanse.
He’d saved her life the first time only to kill it slowly after. Jinx deserved better.
He remembers the urgency he'd had to get her to Singed the first time, how he couldn't bear to see her harmed. To think her gone. He remembers the panic, her weight in his arms as he rushed her to the mere hope of safety.
Now he doesn't rush
She's lighter than she was back then, wrapped in nothing but a blanket, and he walks through the New Zaun, as if she can see it, can see what she suffered for. He wonders if her ghosts kept haunting her, kept her company or if she was left all alone save for the Enforcers. He wonders if her ghosts, her first family are with her or if she’s alone.
Piltover had made him selfish. It’s something about all the things being in grabbing distance, about so many roads, so many boundaries suddenly gone, so many ways he’d have to carve out only to find them wide open with entry signs. Piltover has made him rotten and her absence miserable.
It’s inane, all this internal chit chatter when his thoughts used to be clear. But in ten years they’ve gotten clouded, almost as if the place in his head reserved for her demanded its occupant back. She’s here and she’s quiet because she’s dead, and her voice is a thing he realised he missed and that he’ll probably never hear again.
His arms and shoulders strain under her weight, yet he still moves, because Jinx deserves to see what she’s died for. New Zaun is beautiful, unworthy and she would’ve probably blown it to pieces for the offence.
The thought is both warm and painful.
He takes her to Singed. For what, he doesn't know. Embalming he assumes. Zaunites have always been cremated, there was never enough space for graves. But he now can afford one, so he’ll give her one last Piltovan luxury.
He lays her on Singed’s table and she’s different and all the same from back then. She’s way too thin, way to small, way too dead to matter, yet he pillows her head the best he can and it still rings when it hits the table.
There’s no hair to cushion it.
He wants to hold her face one more time, but it feels a travesty.
Singed comes to the table unannounced and doesn’t seem surprised. Doesn’t speak all that much either. He takes her face with precision, studies the wounds that neither bleed nor heal, opens her eyelid and stares inside when Silco averts his gaze. The man doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, but it’s not the doctor’s words:
“I guess she’s fresh enough”
Silco’s head snaps up his neck gives out a protest and he stares at the doctor as if he’s spoken riddles.
“For what?” he asks, although he knows the answer.
They never stopped making shimmer. They closed the factories, yes, but Singed never gave up the plants, or Rio, or the small secluded lab where he made history that would never get written. He’d kept perfecting the formula, because Silco wasn’t given many upper hands and he holds the ones he has close to his heart.
All this assets but one.
The doctor ignores him and moves around the table, already to his tools. “The original Shimmer dose preserved her enough for a chance.” the man said, voice slow and grating, and Silco wanted to grab and shake him till the answers came out at the speed he needed them at. “It will be worse this time.”
She’ll suffer more. More than the first time, more than probably Stillwater. She’ll also hate him for it, hurt him like she’s entitled to. Silco thinks of peace and of pain and of corpses drained down the river, of leaving the dead rest.
But Silco is a selfish man.
~O~
Singed doesn’t sedate him this time. There’s no need.
Jinx is unconscious for most of it. Well, dead, more accurately, but Silco doesn’t think it that way. The first time Singed put him under so he didn’t have to watch. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear his child’s suffering.
He couldn’t bear it for a decade and he’d left her to rot, so this time he watches. He watches and he holds her cold, rigid hand while the doctor works, looks into her face so he doesn’t have to watch the doctor cut her open like a fish and meddling with her insides till something starts to tick.
It’s her heart. Pulse in frigid hand, no grip to follow.
~O~
It takes her a few days to wake up. He put her in a different room, one that’s foreign because The Last Drop has had plenty of modifications since she’s seen it last, and it’s the only room secluded enough that no one can stumble, close enough to the Doctor in case of anything and safe enough for his taste.
She’d probably prefer her old room, her original room with the fan blades and her lab and her toys, she’s most likely prefer that one, but it’s had no railings and she’s not strong enough to catch herself if she were to fall. Her guns and grenades are still there – he hasn’t moved them, hasn’t moved anything – he’s told himself there was no use he’d have to it and didn’t visit at all, because he knew he couldn’t bear to see it empty – and Jinx was strong before he’d thrown her into Stillwater, but he doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to resist using them.
He puts as many of her non lethal things in the new room – awfully little, some clothes, some crayons and as much paper as he could find – and waits for her to wake. He brings her food when she does, and knocks on the door. He enters despite not being welcomed. He didn’t expect it, it was more of a warning.
Her eyes are pink, the one recognisable shape upon her now gaunt face. They snap up at him and they’re no longer familiar.
“Hello Jinx.” he sais it as soft as he dares. She only stares, doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, barely reacts save for how her eyes follow him, and for a second, one horrible second he wishes her dead, because stillness was at least natural on her corpse.
Silco doesn’t know how to continue from here. An apology would feel like a mockery.
“I brought you food” he sais dumbly and sets the tray on the table. It’s plain and nutritious, but has a few sweets in any way. A poor attempt at a peace offering.
Jinx moves. With moves that are slow, not calculates, but sluggish, she pulls back. Away from him, buries her face into her knees. Doesn’t yell, doesn’t curse, doesn’t even cry. Silco wants to say something, to go to her and try and comfort her, but he knows she won’t lean into his touch anymore.
Baby steps.
“Try to eat something, okay?” he said, and leaves without an answer.
~O~
He comes back every day, every day the same. She barely throws him a look, huddles over in a corner. The crayons lay untouched, same as the paper and it hits Silco that she might not be able to move. Atrophy is a terrible thing, and the man doesn’t know how much she got to move around the small cell they’ve shoved her in.
She also doesn’t eat anything. He replaces the tray, pushing it closer every time. She doesn’t take it, and he takes it before it gets to go bad. Ten years ago, it would’ve been a waste. Now they have enough food it gets to go bad, enough benefits to match the wounds on her skin, every scar a luxury.
Singed told him not to go too far. To let her get accustomed, to let her know he’s safe to be around – safe, what a joke. She should probably be visited by someone else, but she hadn’t had any friends, anyone loyal to her enough for him to contact. For a few seconds, he thinks of her sister and his mouth sours, because he can’t trust Vander’s kid not to try and drown his once again.
Jinx also doesn’t speak. She still has her tongue attached, so that’s not what it is, but Silco hopes he’ll get to hear her voice even once more. Her face is also different without the hair. Too thin, too defined. Silco misses the way the soft locks would curl around his fingers when he braided them, and the man ponders how long it’ll take to grow back.
Not that she’ll ever trust him that close again.
Today he steps closer. He’s only bringing her the crayons, some of the toys, something for her to do. She could never be still back then, he doubts she can now, and she might not be strong enough to get her crayons herself. Her head snaps up, the first motion in a while and a sound comes up. She whimpers.
She’s scared.
Silco looks at Jinx, at his kid who’s now no longer a kid, who should be a full grown woman had he allowed it and sees terror. He remembers how she's stabbed him in the eye. Her viciousness, how terrified he'd been to lose her. Not fear of pain, but of loss. To think that he’d take her sister’s offer and leave him.
He'd been so scared she'd leave him, but she stayed long enough for him to give her away.
Part of him wants her to get back, go hurt and attack him because.... because he’s betrayed her. Betrayed her like Vander had betrayed him, and he knows he deserves her anger and her ire.
It would be so simple for her to kill him. There’s tools and a knife and Silco can’t imagine he’d be able to raise a hand against her should she decide to strike.
But she doesn't.
She huddles in her corner of a bed, curled up as small as she can make herself and doesn’t look at him. Her blunt nails dig into the hills of her spine like she wants to pull it out, and there’s sounds coming out of her but no voice. No words, nothing he could recognise her by.
She's small and scared like Powder wasn't.
~O~
She eats something, finally, after a few weeks. She throws it up an hour later.
It’s one of the sweets, not even properly finished, barely a few bites out of the pastry. Singed mentions, almost matter of factly after:
“She’s probably not able to consume food anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Silco sais, the growing pit in his stomach more and more pressing by the second.
“Upon starvation, the body starts consuming the digestive enzymes. Usually, one dies shortly after, but since I never got to test the effects Shimmer had on her… it’s possible she survived based on that.”
The doctor makes one solution that’s meant to help her replace what she’s lost. It’s the most fight she’s ever put, to keep the man away from poking her with the needle, and Silco would be almost releaved. But Singed is old and frail and Jinx can’t even push him away, no matter how much she struggles.
~O~
The new wave of discovery sends a hit of thrill through the man. It’s been quite a while since anything of notice was worthy for Ekko to truly invest himself in.
No matter how much he hates the man, and how unashamed he is to take advantage of the benefits of the deal he made, Silco did a good job bringing Zaun to light. They’re not Piltover. They’re never going to be, but they’re more than they used to be.
The Firelights had gotten bigger in the past decade. Few are still fighters, few remember how it used to be. They’re content to forget and Ekko is content to let them.
There’s more kids who’ve never known what it’s like to starve, and there’s enough fighters they can start again in case they need to.
Still, the news of a possible drop sends almost forgotten excitement down his spine. Singed has been spotted near one of his old labs, some of the forgotten things that got tuned into warehouses that no one truly needs. Ekko knew Shimmer was never truly gone, and he wants – no needs – to see what’s going on.
He goes unaccompanied. It’s not arrogance per se, but experience. He’s scouted the place and it’s positively empty. Hard to get to, hard to sneak in.
It is clean though. Used. There’s no dust on the floors, the electricity is working as intended. It’s suspicious.
There’s only one room that looks truly used. He touches the handle and a feeling of foreboding falls over him in waves. There’s something akin to fear where his fingers touch the metal, but he presses down on it anyway.
The room hits him like a whiplash. He’s expected a lab, a cage, something to fit the feel of the cannery and everything after.
The room is nice. No windows, but enough cushions to comfortably lay on, a bed, a table and trinkets all around it. It’s cozy, with a distinct piltovan air of minimalism. Ekko fully steps into it, the soft rug swallowing his footsteps and something moves. His head snaps in that direction, hand on his blade’s handle before he even registers what it is.
At first, he thinks it’s a creature, something Singed has made and managed to keep under. The shimmer use is obvious, from the pale, iridescent veins under the skin.
But the more the man stares, the more the pieces start to fit, familiarity clicks.
It’s weird to see Jinx without her braids.
It’s weird to see Jinx.
His breath catches in his throat as he takes a tentative step forward. He hasn’t seen her since the night she’s tried to kill the both of them, has tried not to think of her since he’s learned what happened to her.
It was easier to be mad at Silco. The man had killed his friend once already, but he needed to do it twice and be cruel about it too. Ekko hadn’t liked Jinx, no matter how much he’d still cared for Powder, but Silco should have killed her. Should have given Piltover a corpse to cut open, not a person, because Stillwater had been harsh on Vi when they were content to ignore her.
Vi… he hasn’t thought of her in a while. She’d been heartbroken, enraged, yet still went to Piltover and Ekko preferred to worry about everything else.
He takes one more look at her before he can steel himself for a step and hates himself for saving her back then. He shouldn’t have pushed away the grenade, should’ve run himself and allowed her a semi painless death than whatever Silco was willing to prolong for the sake of his own twisted greed for everything he thought had been denied.
“Jinx?” He asks, as softly as he can. He takes a step forward and Jinx pulls back. Her arms – thin and scarred – lift to her face to shield herself from him and this is wrong. Jinx was vicious, she’d have rather died than shown weakness. She should have died and not shown weakness.
He takes a step forward and tries again. “Pow-pow?”
She doesn’t flinch, but she freezes, stares at him like for the first time she realises who he is. Her arms lower from her face, but she doesn’t relax anymore than that. There’s a few toys on the bed, some new and some he recognises from the time Benzo taught the both of them how to mend their tears and plush wounds.
Finally, he looks at her face. It’s jarring.
Ekko is twenty-seven. She should be twenty-seven.
Jinx doesn’t look much older than she was that day on the bridge. Hell, with the shimmer currently glowing and what he’s heard from her last days before the deal, he could bet she still looks seventeen, and the age is given by the gauntness.
It’s reckless. She could be faking, but Ekko kneels in front of the bed till he gets to her eye level. Jinx watches him, nails digging into her legs with abandon, and how she doesn’t flinch when he cups her face is more a sign of fear than of trust.
Her face is small and pale and gaunt, and her equally frail hands try to pull his away with little to no avail. She doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t speak, and Ekko wishes she’d taunt him even once.
He should kill her. Should wrench her head as hard and fast as he can, her neck should still be fragile. He should kill her like he should have done that day on the bridge, end the misery of it all and give the tortured soul the rest Powder should have gotten instead of everything else that followed.
But if Ekko’s ever had one flaw it was his softness.
~O~
Disaster doesn’t come with a warning. It rarely does.
Silco returns the next day as usual, nothing out of the ordinary. He knocks, he enters, he freezes.
Jinx is gone. Her bed is empty, her clothes are still in the dresser, the only things missing a few old, patched toys she used to love when she was Powder.