After Saturday, this fic is now my therapy... yeah, guys, I'm not okay about episode 6.

This chapter is still unedited, but it will be in a few weeks! I just wanted to bring y'all more content, even if it's a bit rougher around the edges at the moment.

THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND BIRB! It was meant to come out on their birthday, but... I may have taken a longer time with it than I aimed to.

AND! HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO MY FRIEND RAY, who also reads this fic.

And I just wanted to say: thank you so so much for every comment you guys have left on this story. Every time I get a notification I genuinely lose my shit. I'm so sorry I haven't replied to some of them yet, (uni is being a bitch) but I will do that very soon! Just: thank you so so so so much. I'm so glad you're enjoying my silly writing.

Now.

I thought it was time we took a look at what happened before it all began.

||

|| FOURTEEN YEARS PRIOR ||

It was a nice day.

All the days had been nice that week, there had been rather three of them so far.

Faint, balmy streaks of sunlight snuck through the thick veil of ozone that hung and brewed above the town, giving the normally dreary surroundings a smidge of life.

It was a rarity to get some proper heat in that corner of the Undercity this early into summertime — the sun scarcely reached the Sumps, seemingly also not too keen on meddling with matters concerning Zaun. Usually, the expected forecast was only ever toxic, muggy rains, and no one really raised their hopes for anything more than that.

But that one summer had been warm.

And today was a nice day.

Viktor shifted the strap wrapping across his torso and over his shoulder: the satchel moved, sliding from his side to the back, where it would obstruct his legs a little less. After all, it was a long climb downhill and he honestly did not feel like tripping this early into his morning.

You barely could've called the winding path that stretched before him a 'path': it was a sandy and slippery hazard, that came into being through what one could only describe as human nature — from equally as cautious people weaving their way through straws of discoloured grass and slick rocks, which protruded at every angle of the impossibly steep slope.

Still, it was the closest thing one could ever get to a 'road' there. And it was definitely safer than worming your way through knee-high foliage this deep into rattlesnake season.

Summoning all the crumbles of his courage, Viktor positioned himself sideways.

Slowly, he started his careful shuffling down the dusty track.

Brows pinched in concentration, Viktor's eyes flickered diligently between his shoes and the bottom of the incline.

It was the pebbles that were killer.

Whenever one wedged itself under his bad foot, he'd always wobble and have to waste a good few seconds trying to regain balance. It was miffing more than anything, and in this case, would've undoubtedly cost him a nasty tumble. So he really had to watch out for the pesky things and avoid them where he could.

He gripped the handle of his cane into a steely hold. It made the heel of his palm dig deeper into the wooden material, the skin there pulsating, bruised and painful. But that sort of hurting was second nature to him at that point, and it mainly just melted into the background.

So Viktor persevered.

All he needed to do, was stay concentrated.

Stay focused.

Calculate each and every move: compose a system, a structured course of action.

He paid no attention to the beads of cold sweat that were pooling at the back of his neck: they trickled past the collar of his sweater and slithered down his twisting spine, making the cheap material stick to his skin.

Just keep going. Follow the path.

He attempted to ignore the sound of his own breathing. It was needlessly distracting, so he began holding his breath without even realising.

He just had to stay focused.

He had to play it safe.

But even precision fails at times.

A rebellious, Damoclean curl snuck out of its unruly formation.

Viktor's expression scrunched up in discontent, and he made haste work to blow the dangling thing out of his vision, when a pebble appeared seemingly out of nowhere and snuck right under his sole.

His ankle twisted, and Viktor hissed but wasted no time in reacting. He threw himself back on his cane and planted his feet firmly into the ground: the shoes skidded of a few grating inches and he moved along with them, sending rocks and granules of sand rolling downhill.

The satchel he'd laboured on keeping out of his way, slung ahead where it rammed painfully into his gut, so hard that he had to physically hold himself from doubling over.

Viktor froze.

He was disarrayed and paralysed in his spot, hanging off his cane with strained, gangly arms.

Viktor waited: he was too scared to give into the most minuscule of shifts in case it might upset his precarious situation.

His erratic heartbeat pulsed loudly in his ears and snuck all the way to the ends of his little fingers, making them quiver without his outward consent.

Viktor stood still.

It took him a moment to regain his bearings — to make sure his feet were properly placed, that his weight was rightly distributed on his legs, and his shoulders were as straight as they could be in his particular case.

He checked every box on his cautionary list until he was absolutely sure that yes, everything was fine, and he was not about to go plummeting several miles down. His mother would not be happy to find fresh scratches on his forehead: not after the last time when it'd cost him the scar above his brow.

Gingerly, he straightened: taking his time, going slow and steady, careful and precise. Diligently shifting his satchel away, he raked a shaky hand through his hair to keep it properly off his face; then he peeked at his shoes and tallied all four of his limbs.

And finally, when he was completely certain that he was up and standing and that his legs were not about to give out from under him...

He smiled.

He grinned a small, triumphant grin that revealed the few, tiny gaps between his teeth — privately celebrated that moment of his personal victory.

He was standing.

He didn't fall.

He'd managed to stay upright, all on his own.

Beaming to himself, Viktor rolled the handle of his cane into position.

And, finally, a tad more jolly and just a smidge more content, he decided to recommence his descent.

Because, when stripped to his bare minimum, Viktor was anything but impatient.

And today was a nice day.

By the time Viktor reached the bottom —stumbling only slightly— he was accompanied by the several pebbles he'd sent rolling from up top.

He dusted his trousers, clasped the strap of his bag, and went forward through the mud and the filmy strands of scattered grass, down the sandy riverside.

It was always very calm in that corner of the Undercity. Few of the local kids knew about it, mainly sticking to the Promenade or the upper levels of the Sumps, where their humble lake stretched and served as a swimming spot during warm summers like these.

The water, blue and purple, and green from all the pollution, dripped steadily into the scrawny stream, where he often wandered off in order to test one invention or the other.

It was a familiar walk that he'd grown accustomed to, and he could already vaguely hear the waterfall now, broiling and flowing right behind the easily recognisable boulder.

One turn past it and a short walk after that would lead him right to his destination — to his new job as an assistant. One of his proudest accomplishments, which he was still pleased with even a week and three odd days later.

He was eager to get there, fervent to see what sort of challenge the day had in store for him, so Viktor followed the sound, enjoying the quiet, the noises of nature, and the pleasant heat that prickled at the uncovered bits of his skin.

And as he rounded the boulder, expecting to see the usual barren, unpopulated path, a happy voice in his head mused, jolly and serene, that today truly was a really nice da—

Viktor's footsteps stopped.

His spine went impossibly rigid.

He blinked.

He swallowed — his breathing skipped a beat.

All the while, his wide eyes stayed uninterruptedly focused on a specific spot.

Or rather, a specific bundle of brown colours, huddled compactly by the stream.

Viktor swallowed again.

Her back was turned to him.

She seemed busy with something, sitting hunched over her lap with legs crossed and a posture worse than even his own. It was a wonder how he'd managed to spy anything over the spilling mass of her long curls, but he could see a pencil in her hand moving in practised motions one stroke at a time.

Viktor bit his cheek.

It was time to move on.

He was going to be late.

He had things to do, he had a job to get to, he was an assistant, after all...

But...

It would be impolite not to at least say hi...

Dread washed over him before he even had the time to process his own fleeting thought. His heart picked up its arrhythmic beating, an uncomfortable feeling a little too similar to the one he'd gotten when he'd almost fallen downhill just then. It sent a wave of nauseating unease into his stomach.

No.

This was a bad idea.

He was not good at this, she seemed busy, and he was really not good at this.

He had to get going, he was going to be late, but lo and behold, his legs seemed to have gained a will of their own, because he was moving ahead and couldn't have stopped himself even if he tried.

His actions were fighting his more rational thoughts.

On the one hand, he could physically feel his anxiety: an acidic-like substance that dripped into his bloodstream and engorged it fast, pooling in his veins and guzzling every cell. He wanted to turn around and leave, speaking to others was not his strongest suit, and despite what his mother said, he actually did like being alone.

However, on the other, more irksome hand, he had been raised to be polite.

The noble value seemed redundant now that it was guiding him towards what was bound to be one of those horrible moments where he made a complete fool out of himself.

Stop that, there is no reason to overreact.

His palms were starting to sweat.

I am simply... saying hello.

A small voice in his subconscious begged his feet to reconsider.

This is not a big deal.

Every tendon and muscle in his body felt tense, and they taunted further when he realised, with arising horror, that his mouth had started rolling open.

It is not a big deal.

Yes, it was.

It is not, how could it be! She is just one, little gir—

"H-Hello..."

The bundle squatting by the shore turned her head his way when he spoke.

She squinted: her freckled nose twisted upwards as she tried to discern the figure that had approached her through the bright beams of the morning sun.

He stiffly waited for some sort of recognition to pass across her features. But the friendly, if somewhat uncertain smile he'd encouraged himself to wear, dwindled a fraction with every longer moment that she didn't speak.

An emotion passed over her face then.

Or not an emotion, not really — it was her nose, that lost every one of its scrunches as her expression drained, reverting back to its blank, inexpressive self.

And it dawned on him that she did recognise him.

She just didn't seem to care.

As if to confirm his suspicions further, her disinterested eyes swept over him once. And his heart fell when she turned away and returned to whatever it was she was doing on her lap.

"Hi." she muttered, half-heartedly.

Viktor gulped.

His thumb was back at doing what it did best: assaulting the skin of his hand, rubbing deep, hasty lines into it.

This was not going well at all.

"I have not seen you for a while?" He cursed himself for the nervous timbers that latched to his voice.

"I can only visit dad a few times a week. I live with my mom. They don't like each other."

"Are you visiting today?"

"No."

She wrung her attention towards the highly-strung boy, who tensed further once her neck craned to look at him a bit better.

"I am out on a walk."

As she declared that, two of her fingers reached upwards — they settled on the side of her nose, and went and tapped there languidly, twice.

It was at this point that Viktor noticed she was smirking.

The snicker was small and puckish, her eyes glinting at him with mischief. A sly, confidential sort of smirk, that twisted the corner of her lip up, and invited him to accept a secret.

A secret she wished to share with him.

A show of her trust.

Viktor grinned when he understood that, and a singular, delighted giggle escaped his lips against his better wishes.

Canari smiled a little more openly.

A little more gently.

And almost out of reflex, his shoulder relaxed. His heartbeat slowed and his anxiety drained a smidge.

He felt at ease, even as she proceeded to turn away once more.

His thumb stopped its anxious ministrations, and he felt bolder — enough to take a few steps forward until he was stood directly on her right.

She made no move to stop him or hurry to cover her work. So Viktor did not bother restraining his curiosity when he glanced down at the notebook splayed in her lap.

"I like your drawing." He said, his careful eyes tracing the rough sketch of what he presumed was the same crow currently nestling on the rocks opposite side of the river. "Do you like birds?"

"Wings."

"Oh!"

He didn't really understand what she meant by that. It was a simple enough concept, but he found it quite odd regardless. Nevertheless, he tried to look interested, too eager to make a new friend — inwardly hoping she didn't register the confusion behind his expression.

Unfortunately, one look at him was all it took for her to spot it.

"Feathers lift them." She explained courtly. "Don't know how it works. Want to learn."

"Ah." Slowly, Viktor nodded. And he muttered absent-mindedly, more to himself than to her, "The Bernoulli principle."

He was still very much engrossed in her drawing. It was easier to look down at it instead of her anyway, so he focused on analysing the details of the crooked feathers and her attempt at jotting down the bird's spine.

He didn't notice that Canari's head had propelled to the side, where she was now mutely and expectantly staring at him with big, interrogative eyes.

When he became aware of her gaze, he almost winced back.

"Oh, um, he was a mathematician! A long time ago. He discovered that, when air moves around an object, it creates different pressures. Which, ehh, is part of what makes birds fly, actually."

"Hm."

"I have a book on it at home? You can borrow it? If you like." Viktor offered with a smile, excruciatingly aware of just how skittish he sounded.

Canari did not comment on it.

Instead, her hand had stopped its sketching and her eyes had fallen to her notebook.

She stayed quiet for a very long moment, frowning.

Viktor's hand gripped the strap wrapped around his torso a little tighter, the other cementing its hold on his cane.

His mouth opened to speak. He didn't really know what to say, but he did not like the silence that had descended on them and wanted to fill it with whatever his brain would manage to supply.

Before he had the chance to utter anything, Canari's head snapped to him in that characteristically fast, and frankly startling manner.

"You draw?"

Viktor was too young to have a heart attack, but her every move seemed to inspire precisely that. "Sorry?"

"Do you know how to draw?"

"I wouldn't... say that I—"

"I will teach you." Canari proclaimed with resolved finality. "Mom draws real well. She's showing me, and I will show you. That way... I could borrow your book?"

Viktor blinked.

He stood very still, unable to quite look away from the eyes that were staring him down.

Canari sat, waiting. One of her spiralling curls had wafted across her forehead and now hung pendulously before her eyes. The brown, unevenly split ends swayed gently from side to side, narrowly avoiding sticking to the whites of her eyes.

The ordeal would've driven Viktor insane. He hated when his own hair did that, it was uncomfortable and annoying, and it made him lose focus when he was at work.

Yet, Canari didn't seem to mind it. She didn't give any sign of being aware of the pestiferous thing falling out of its formation.

She just sat, waiting and staring.

They were both too young to know what a quid pro quo was, but the gist of the concept was not alien to either.

He suddenly realised that her offer to teach him how to draw was posed as a means to repay him.

Nothing in the Undercity came for free —definitely not knowledge — and this sort of mercantile mentality had been drilled relentlessly into both of them since they were much younger than now.

This was how adults dealt with matters in Zaun: and they were children, so naturally behaving adult-like was the pinnacle of their day-to-day existence.

Of course, she hadn't needed to offer — Viktor didn't need anything from her: he was simply happy to be of service, as a personal rule. He'd thought of it as just another way of being polite, really.

But Canari seemed hell-bent on her decision. Or at least he thought she was: it was hard to decipher anything about her through that stony front she always wore.

Regardless, Viktor settled on the thought that countering her offer would be more rude than anything.

"That... would be good." He said, through a small, hesitant smile.

Canari gave him a brief nod.

With that, the pencil was back in her hand and she returned to her sketching.

Silence dawned on them: a quiet filled with the gentle swooshing of water that cling-filmed the stream and shinned over sparse rocks.

Somewhere in the far distance, a muffled caw ricocheted off the hills. It made the crow posing for Canari momentarily raise its head.

The bird stayed still for a second, tense and alert, searching invisible orifices; before it clearly decided that answering was not really worth the hassle, and resolved to make itself comfortable in the sunshine once more.

"You should go."

Canari spoke, making Viktor's attention abandon the snuggling crow.

"Dad doesn't like lateness."

"Oh! Right. Well..."

Shifting on his feet, he busied himself with fixing the handle of his satchel. He confirmed that he had all his belongings, wheeled his cane to his side, and made sure to triple-check there were no unexpected pebbles in sight... All in all, truly going the extra mile to stall.

His eyes were unable to resist fleetingly flickering to Canari.

Perhaps, hoping, in vain, that she'd look at him too.

Maybe even ask him to stay.

He didn't really know how this whole 'friend' thing worked, but he knew it to be a state of being people usually reached by spending quality time together.

Although perhaps he had been too optimistic. After all, two brief interactions did not necessarily mean that he and Canari were friends now all of a sudden.

The thought left him a bit saddened.

So, when she made no move to stop him, he stole a final glance her way. And finally, he decided to set off.

His brows were furrowed while he walked; he watched his feet swish about and rearrange granules of sand. Anxious thoughts swooped in readily and filled his head with dubious questions, encouraging him to overthink what he'd done and said wrong.

His lips pursed and fell away, and he attempted to muse to himself, for the second time that day, that no, despite what his mother said, he really did not mind being alone.

Truly!

But then why did that normally heartening thought sound so weak now...

Viktor trodded off, not realising that his head had drooped lower, or that his smile had tapered off completely.

Until—

"Viktor?"

Viktor turned back a little too fast.

Canari's face was arched over her notebook, and the avalanches of her curls spilt into every direction possible: over her back and shoulders, some longer strands marginally avoiding touching the ground.

Her attention stayed focused downward, so much that it was a surprise she hadn't burnt holes in her journal thus far.

But he noted that her sketching had paused.

So Viktor stood, patient, though really quite puzzled.

And suddenly her eyes shifted towards him, in her peripheral vision.

"I will visit tomorrow."

Viktor let her words sink in.

Before a smile surged to his face, so wide it almost began hurting his cheeks. It left all the little gaps between his teeth exposed and beaming, while his eyes filled with bright and honest excitement.

Canari smiled back, a much more modest smile.

Then, they turned to resume their activities: Viktor recommenced his walk forth, and Canari flipped a page in her notebook to begin another drawing.

Yet, both children smiled a tad brighter for the rest of the day.

||

The following morning, Viktor's chances of slipping on his walk over increased considerably: trying to make your way down the steep hill was risky enough without rushing, let alone doing so.

By the time he'd hiked the length of the shore, squeezed through the rocky tunnel of the cave, and staggered towards the hut's front door, he was noticeably panting.

Still, he straightened his clothes, his hair, his precious satchel. Only then, did he finally knock.

Canari wasn't there.

Viktor made sure to scan the room as soon as the door opened: his eyes ducked and darted under the gaunt arm holding the door agape, inspecting the furthest corners of the dingy interior.

He barely heard Singed regard him with one of his customary scratchy, if somewhat surprised good mornings — Viktor simply murmured one in return, sounding so patently absent-minded that it even made the aloof scientist raise an eyebrow.

Singed didn't comment on it.

Nor did he bother asking Viktor why he came so early that day.

He merely trudged back to his table, waved a vague hand towards the station on the opposite side of the room, and said something about Viktor's charge for the day.

Viktor registered the words.

But he was too busy contemplating another, much more disappointing notion.

Canari wasn't there.

She said she would be, but she wasn't.

Maybe she wasn't coming...

Viktor frowned.

Stop that, you are being ridiculous!

You are here to further your studies.

Besides, it is early: she will come.

She said she would.

The thought prompted a smile to pick up the corner of his lips.

So Viktor adjusted the strap hanging over his shoulder and went ahead to complete his tasks.

He tightened the screws that'd come loose on one engine or the other, oiled the rustier-looking gears, rearranged entangled wires, and chiselled the edges of grimy metals.

Every other moment he'd look up, casting eager glances at the clock hung on the wall. His eyes would latch on the crooked, thinner arm counting away second by each painful second.

Several minutes turned into three long hours — by which point, Viktor's leg was bouncing so rapidly that a muscle in his calf seized up and cramped.

He ignored it, simply huffing rather indignantly at the defiant hairs that kept catching on his goggles.

And just as he'd as well as surrendered to crushing his lingering smudges of hope, and settled on the fact that today wasn't going to be a nice day after all...

The door swung open.

"Hi, papa!"

Viktor's head propelled in the direction of the sound so fast he almost lost balance and fell off his stool.

His hand shot up, hastily shoving the raggedy glasses to the top of his head.

Surely enough, there she was.

Planted rigidly at the centre of the threshold, Canari stood looking habitually stern.

She wore her signature large, brown trousers, that were most definitely three times her size. One of the pant legs was rolled up to her knee, revealing a striped pink-and-purple sock, cloth patches of the same colour littering her slacks; the hem of the other pant leg was caught under the heel of her shabby, oversized shoe.

He stilled completely when her eyes wheeled and latched securely onto his, but neither uttered a word to acknowledge the other.

"Ah! My little songbird!" Singed's voice echoed then, making Canari's head snap abruptly sideways.

The chemist had removed his own safety goggles and was now leaning back in his chair, looking at his daughter with a soft smile. It was a gesture that looked a little bit odd on his scraggy features, but it was gentle regardless.

"I did not know you would be visiting. You are up early, no?"

"No!" Canari quipped back, expression unchanged.

Singed chuckled, "Of course... Come in. Viktor is occupied with his work. Try not to disturb him. You could take that bench for the day?"

"Okay!"

As Canari tottered off in the direction of a distant table, hauling a sizeable bag along with her, Viktor looked brusquely down at his desk.

His eyes were wide, and his heart followed the tempo of a broken metronome. His hands, gloved in protective gear, were laid out on the table before him — there where he could see his thumb quickly brushing along his index.

Viktor bit his cheek.

She came! She really came, like she said she would!

He should go and say hi, no? That's what being friends meant?

Would it be strange if he did it now?

He should have said it earlier when she first walked in...

Stupid.

Viktor frowned at himself and stifled the urge to tsk discontentedly.

As if to add to his already bubbling annoyance, a longer strand of hair slipped intrusively into his sight.

He went to brush it off, sweeping it further behind his ear while contemplating his own frustrating idiocy... when something flickered in his peripheral vision.

Viktor's head slung to the side as a reflex, and his eyes shot two sizes wider.

He had not heard her approach.

But a completely silent Canari was now rooted in the spot beside him, studying the materials scattered about his desk.

Her arms were folded behind her back, and the mayhem of hair was brushed off her face for once. The round, freckled features were marked by their usual blankness, but her eyes stared on, round and big and very curious.

Viktor's gaze fleeted to Singed in the corner of his eye, perhaps in an attempt to seek aid. But the scientist's back was turned to them fully and he seemed entirely preoccupied with his work.

Dammit.

Viktor's attention slid back to Canari.

Without truly meaning to, he gulped. And maybe she'd heard the sound of it because it was at that precise moment that she finally looked up.

To say Viktor was infinitely uneasy under the intensity of her typical gaze would've been an understatement.

He always seemed to feel several sizes smaller when she looked at him like that, but that moment right there was truly up for winning first prize in all that came before, because he knew he couldn't move now even if he tried.

Canari did not speak.

She just stood, mute and expressionless.

Viktor was on the verge of exploding and crumbling. He could physically feel the beads of sweat pooling at his temples.

Gods, why did she always look at him like that?

But just as he thought his heart was about to leap out of his throat, Canari's expression softened.

She smiled.

The same barely-there, minuscule smile from the day before: so small that if one were to blink they would've surely missed it. Viktor almost did, and he was sat mere inches away from her.

Despite his raging nerves, he smiled back.

Canari's eyes lit up. And she moved her head, to give him a small nod of acknowledgement.

One that Viktor translated into her way of saying:

Hi.

Hesitant, he mimicked the motion.

Canari grinned a little brighter, looking infinitely pleased. Then she reached for an abandoned wrench on the table in front of them and handed it to Viktor.

Before she spun on herself and proceeded to skip happily back to her table. Where Viktor spotted her bag now lay open, empty of what looked like several stacks of papers, pencils, and crayons.

Viktor watched her go in silent bafflement.

Wrench in hand, he sat rigidly on his stool, observing as the little girl hopped atop the bench, tucked her legs close and folded them atop one another. She twisted towards the desk and readily bounced to work on whatever it was she was doing, careless and carefree.

Meanwhile, Viktor remained understandably puzzled.

And perhaps mildly shell-shocked? But that was truly down to the interpretation of a bystander because he really didn't know what he was feeling at that point.

His eyes remained wide even when he resolved to slowly wheel back forward, to return to his own tasks.

Yet, as he willed his mind to focus and hone in on the engine pieces strewn before him, his thinking reeled to an abrupt and categorical halt.

Oh, he thought dumbly, staring at a sizeable cog he didn't notice had somehow managed to come loose:

That is why she gave me the wrench...

||

The next few hours were passed in complete silence — bar the occasional, gentle clinging of metals, shuffling of papers, and sizzling of chemical liquids.

To his credit, Viktor tried very hard to stay on track.

He'd squint when writing calculations, focus assiduously when screwing in screws, and throw in extra strength to his grip when using the piston filer.

But no matter how much he tried, things just did not click.

He'd lose track and miscalculate a portion of an equation, then would have to squiggle it out with an indignant huff. He'd miss the screw he was screwing, sending the tip of the screwdriver skidding across the engine's side in a discoloured gash. And he only narrowly avoided chopping a piece of his index finger that one time he attempted to use the filer.

After a while, it became plain ridiculous, and the boy grumped to himself, brows tangled into a knot.

He didn't know what was bothering him — usually, when working, his mind had a habit of drifting off on different tangents, and it was always hard to pin down those thoughts when they scattered so quickly in so many random directions.

All he knew, was that there was simply no way that his absent-mindedness was caused by Canari's presence — he wasn't thinking about her at all!

Not even a little!

Well...

Maybe sometimes.

Exclusively when he'd turn and glance at her.

It was an accidental motion he'd execute whenever reaching for the toolbox stashed somewhere under the desk. Bending over made it inevitable for his gaze to fall where she was huddled at the far right of the room.

It was not conscious or intentional.

Canari looked fine where she sat, with her back to him. Sketching away, focused in a way that he envied, she appeared completely engrossed in her task: too engrossed to pay any attention to his.

Actually, she hadn't looked at him once.

And, well, that was good.

Yes.

Good.

Viktor shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

He resolved to lean over, reaching a hand to dig and rifle through the toolbox. He was too restless and unable to sit still, which was so out of character for him that it was starting to become frustrating.

His neck craned to look at Canari once more. And he didn't see anything out of the ordinary: she sat as she had sat for the past three hours, pencil wiggling in hand, back hunched and twisted, legs strewn about in a way that would've put the most expert of contortionists permanently out of a job.

Viktor's lips pressed into a line. And he went to return to staring blankly down at the mile-long equation sitting on the page before him when he noticed something.

It was the pencil, balanced between her small, stubby fingers.

Instead of working away on the paper, it was being bounced and drummed relentlessly against the table, the sound muffled by a stack of sheets.

Viktor frowned.

Her knee was similarly on tenterhooks, jolting up and down in an almost invisible fidgety tremor.

Viktor's frown deepened.

Canari looked at him then, her gaze flickering to the furthest corner of her eye.

Something was clearly off.

It was the way her mouth was mushed together: as if she were in the process of labouring a bit of skin off her bottom lip.

If he knew any better, he would've said she almost looked torn about something.

But what could she possibly be—

"Papa?" Her voice slashed neatly through the silence that had dawned on the lab. "Can me and Viktor go play now?"

Viktor shot up in his seat.

To say he was taken aback was an understatement.

The request had sprung out of nowhere, it was understandably surprising.

His spine went straight as a plank and his jaw popped shut, in a way that made him look much like a fish out of water.

He tried (in vain) to catch Canari's eye for a moment, pleading for a silent inquiry convergence.

Canari did not regard his expression: she sat staring uninterruptedly at her father's back.

Singed's shoulders rattled, and he released a brief, quiet chuckle.

"Viktor and I, songbird." The doctor corrected, without turning to look his daughter's way. "But naturally, go ahead. I expect you both back in an hour. Do not wander off."

"Mm-hm!"

Singed had barely been halfway through his sentence when Canari sprung into action: she slammed her forearm onto the table and bulldozed every single crayon, paper, and pencil off the table, swooping them into her bag.

She was slinging the backpack over her shoulder before Singed was even done talking, and practically teleporting out of the door.

But she paused at the threshold, one foot past it, turning to glance into the depths of the room. There, where Viktor sat somewhat meekly atop his stool.

He didn't really know what to do.

He just sat, very tense and confused, with his hands folded awkwardly in his lap.

Canari's calculative eyes flickered between him and her father's back for a moment.

Then she smiled, the usual small, but reassuring smile, and waved a hand to beckon him over:

Come on!

Viktor was moving before he even had the time to register it. His hand fumbled blindly for his cane, and he was standing up before the blasted thing was even in position, making him nearly trip over his shoes.

And he followed Canari eagerly, watching as she grinned a little brighter, before spinning around and skipping out of the hut.

Outside, Rio was sleeping on her designated boulder, basking in the rays of sunshine seeping through the cavity in the cave's ceiling. She was curled up on herself, looking like she was having a grand old time during her afternoon nap.

Her head raised when she heard footsteps drifting past her, and her attention zoned in on the person in the lead with immediate effect.

The creature released a sound, which very much resembled a joyful meow, and she went to gather herself off the rock with the clear intention to follow.

"Rio, stay, please!" Canari called, busy hopping past the rocks in the canal.

A very much confuddled Viktor was trailing closely behind her, but his attention lingered momentarily on the creature.

He did not know how Rio could grumble, or if such a thing was even possible: but she seemed to do exactly that, muttering a discontented complaint in in a way that made her gills rattle. Still, she settled back down on the boulder, nothing but utterly miffed.

The sight was so amusing it almost made Viktor chuckle.

"Viktor?"

He spun around at the soft, hushed whisper.

Canari's eyes were peeking at him from the jagged tunnel leading to the surface. She seemed to have realised that the clicking of his cane wasn't following after her, and had stopped to peer back his way.

Viktor nodded, "I am coming."

And so, careful as ever, he began making his way past the slick rocks of the stream, up to where Canari patiently waited for him.

It was warm outside.

Viktor was unable to resist squinting at the intrusive sunshine barraging into his retinas. An expected side-effect of spending so many hours in near-darkness.

His hand came up to shield his eyes for a moment, and he blinked.

He realised this was a different entrance from the one he usually used. The path he took was suffocated by a hall of tall stones, that lined the sides of the stream his boat had followed into the cave that one, faithful day.

This exit led out to what must have been the back.

A stretch of dusty, barren lowland splayed all around them. A river flowed through the middle, much bigger than the brook he often sat by — the water disappeared into the fissure close to where he and Canari had surfaced, undoubtedly splitting into thinner strands somewhere deep within the secret cavities of the cave.

What caught his attention was the impossibly high wall at the far back: a barrier of pure concrete, incredibly out of place amongst the desolate, natural surroundings. It towered over the plain and cast a long, domineering shadow over the ground, leaving only a slight portion illuminated by the sun.

A large, circular hole was built into the very top, and water poured out of, cascading in whooping gushes into the stream below.

The waterfall slushed and broiled; the gentle breeze played tag with the few scattered leaves littering the area, and the shade provided perfect shelter from the summer heat.

The place was completely deserted.

It was ideal.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the muscles in Viktor's shoulders eased a smidge.

This was... truly very nice.

His eyes skipped sideways, in search of his chaperone.

Somewhere in the distance, Canari had jogged up to a spot in the shade, her bulbous backpack bouncing with each step. She stopped by a rare, vibrant patch of green grass growing from the dully-coloured sand and gave it a prolonged, assessing look.

She hummed in satisfaction.

And she proceeded to haul the bag off her shoulder, then dump all the contents onto the ground in the same remiss manner you'd empty a bin: shaking it free of every last crayon and pencil, waggling and brandishing the poor object until everything was out.

Viktor watched her do it as he approached, eyebrows raised in silent surprise. He made a note of how her freckled nose scrunched up in concentration, while her teeth sunk and gnawed at her bottom lip.

Chewing on the skin there seemed to be a habit of hers.

Once a sizeable (and honestly quite impressive) mountain of stuff had piled up at her feet, Canari chucked the backpack aside and snapped her attention to him.

Then she flung her open arms outward, towards a specific spot on the grass.

"Sit!"

Viktor was stumped again.

But he complied, nodded, and staggered clumsily down.

While he carefully laid out his cane, Canari flumped before him, her legs tossed inelegantly about her form.

She went and shoved the sleeves of her brown, knit sweater past her elbows, crumpling the blue shirt underneath. Then she reached and snatched a journal buried under the mess of pens and sheets in a single incautious motion.

"Drawing is important!" Canari announced, flipping through her notebook with practised ease. "If you want to make plans, to build your inventions properly, drawing is what you need! It will serve you very well. Dad says so!"

She'd pushed the journal to him halfway through talking, while her eyes busied themselves with scanning the scattered stationery.

"It is all about starting, and practising after! If you start now, and practice a lot, the shapes will start looking like you want them to look! It sounds dumb, but it is not as easy as you think, if you—"

"You made this?" Viktor blurted out before he could stop himself.

He had looked down at the pages she'd given him in confusion — but that confusion quickly morphed into unabashed gaping.

It was astonishing!

A rough blueprint of his toy boat spilt over the two pages, drawn from the up, down, front, and back. Samples of cogs and various calculations were sketched in between each figure; a few observations on mechanics were jotted on the far left, and the two sizeable propellors he'd attached to the sides of his construction were delineated in great detail on the right.

It was remarkable!

He couldn't tear his wide eyes off it, he was wholly and utterly enthralled.

Those good manners his mother had drilled into him were completely forgotten: he found himself gawking at her in open and honest awe.

Incredible!

Canari paused her talking when she was interrupted, midway through wrestling with several pens and pencils balanced between her fingers.

Her gaze fleeted to the journal in his palms, before she seemed to understand what he meant, and her lips spread into an impossibly wide grin.

"Yes! And you can, too! I will show you!" Canari promised earnestly, her accent shining through brighter with her excitement. And she bounced back to rifle through her belongings, chattering enthusiastically: "Give it some time, don't give up, and practice! Also, don't get upset. I get upset about it sometimes. When the shapes don't come out proper. But mom says it takes time. Just— don't get upset."

Viktor could only watch her in mute wonderment.

Drawing aside, this was the most he'd ever heard her speak. Not the usual court statements she always delivered in that monotone way — actual long sentences.

The skin around her mouth squidged up slightly, a barely-there dimple making a passing appearance every time an elongated vowel left her mouth. Her arms were flailing wildly as she explained her points, her fingers coming to wipe a few rebellious curls behind her roundish ears.  

Her freckles were more prominent in the light of day: brown and ginger, they enveloped her nose and upper cheeks entirely, strewn all over the vibrantly pink skin.

And she was smiling. Grinning, and giggling, and smirking, big and honest, and utterly elated.

He'd never seen her smile like that.

Maybe it was the drawing that was still sitting in his lap, or perhaps it was the way she was talking so amicably to him now, that prompted his own lips to fall open.

"Thank you for your help, Canari."

Her head shot up.

"Nari."

Viktor shrunk back, shocked.

The friendly smile she wore mere seconds prior had dropped off her face completely, and her brows rammed into a thick, rotund knot.

"I told you, mom calls me Nari." She ground out gravely, fully and completely stone-faced, and Viktor blinked at her in startled shock.

"Dad does it also. Sometimes..." Something shifted in her expression then: her eyes drifted down for a moment and the dimple beside her lip quavered. But Viktor was too slow to study the movement, and her glare was up again almost immediately, pointed directly at him. "Not Canari. We are friends.", she declared as she extended a pencil she'd fished out of the pile his way. "So you call me Nari, too."

In any other situation, Viktor would've been elated at the sound of his newfound sobriquet: but it was a slightly harder feat after he'd just witnessed such a drastic shift in her behavior.

So he simply goggled at her, speechless and alert.

She noticed it.

And suddenly her usually collected resolve cracked a little. The hand holding his pencil fell an inch, and several emotions fleeted across her face: hesitance, regret, and mainly — guilt.

Her pink complexion turned a smidge darker: the colour crawled up her neck and engulfed every freckle, slithering up to the tips of her ears. And her gaze, which on any normal occasion would've undoubtedly won a staring contest with the concrete wall behind them, drew an octagon shape around his features in one jumbled, fidgety go.

"I, um..." she blinked, clearing her throat. "Sorry... Didn't mean to— um... you want to... try drawing the boat?"

She held the pencil forward once more: but the motion was shyer, and her meek eyes couldn't quite meet his own. They fluttered and zigzagged, unable to actually turn his way — her frown twitched, and her fingers quivered minutely.

Viktor did not like that.

So when he reached to collect the pencil, he made sure his hand lingered on hers for a second longer. And he gave it the most minimal, most tentative squeeze.

He didn't really know what elicited such boldness out of him all of a sudden.

Not until her eyes found his.

Those brown, inexplicably big eyes — surprised and filled to the brim with hope.

And Viktor smiled at her, small and encouraging and very honest.

Because this is how the whole 'friend' thing worked between them way back then: you forgave one another, and you simply moved on.

She grinned at him, incredibly wide.

With that, the two turned to their pages and started on drawings.

"Your book, the one you talked about yesterday..." Nari muttered after a few minutes of comfortable silence, sketching a circle in several expert flickers of her wrist. "What is it about?"

Viktor told her about the Bernoulli principle.

About how a bird's wing is shaped like an airfoil.

About the alternating states of air.

About how it is precisely that which creates the force which we call 'lift'.

About physics, and pressures; about what it is that allows birds to fly.

Nari hung on his every word.

At some point during his talking, she twisted and rolled forward, stretching onto her stomach; she lay listening to him attentively, cheek propped on her hand and legs kicking in the air.

She'd wholly forgotten her own drawing, absorbed entirely in his explanations; but the ever-diligent Viktor carried on his sketching while he spoke, gaze shifting continuously between the example in her journal and the clean sheet she'd given him.

"Ah, it will help! Yes!" She'd exclaimed when his voice trailed off, lugging her notebook forward, "I got to write this down! Sorry, Viktor, I will give it back right away."

The way she said his name was quite funny. Her accent was softer than his, even though a passerby would've surely pinpointed them as identical. Whilst his consonants tended to be a tad sharper, Nari elongated her vowels.

So whenever she said his name, it came out sounding more like 'Veektor'.

It made him chuckle faintly to himself, watching as she scribbled haste sentences into her book with teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Viktor's attention drifted then: off the toiling Nari, towards their surroundings.

"Nari?"

"Mm-hm?"

"What is that?"

"Huh?" She looked up from her journal, following his gaze. "The wall? I don't know. I think it is part of the sewers. There is a metal mechanism inside. I guess it cleans the water."

"Oh?"

"Yeah! If you climb up there—" she nudged her head in the direction of the cave's roof, "—you can see it better. There's a big swinging thing inside. Big big. Well... I think it's very big. You cannot really see it from down here. Looks a bit like the inside of an old clock. Dad says those tunnels run all the way under the river."

"To Piltover?" Viktor's eyebrows raised in surprise.

A grin curled on either side of Nari's lips, and she peeked at him through her eyelashes, "Cool, no? If you scale the wall, there's a passage, and you can sneak into the city through the tunnels. The enforcers wouldn't even know!"

"Huh."

"I've tried climbing it once."

"You did?"

"Mmhm! Very slippery. There's barely any cracks. It's annoying. Very hard to—OH!"

Viktor nearly jumped right out of his skin. He'd never heard her shout this loud before, and his wide, panicked eyes propelled to her with immediate effect, ready to spring up and help in the best ways he could.

Instead, he found her staring somewhere far off on their right, her mouth open into a gigantic, awed smile.

"A Genus Pica!" Nari looked like she'd discovered a miracle cure, because she was leaping out of her seat in the span of a second, and dashing away with her journal in hand. "Be right back! Keep dra— Oof..."

She'd scrambled up so fast that one of her feet didn't have the time to align into a proper position: which led it to skid along the slippery sand, sending her far too excited self face-first into the sod.

Ouch.

Viktor winced, expression scrunching up pitifully.

That looked like it hurt.

She lay there, face buried into the ground, her mane of curls dispersed around her; arms stuck to her sides, foot pressed to foot, her journal splayed out a few inches away.

Viktor's wide eyes flickered around her form.

Should he... go help?

Oh, dear...

What if she was dead?

Horror washed over him instantly, and he began wrestling his form up.

But before he could shift, a thumbs-up was shot his way.

"...I'm okay!" She mumbled, voice muffled by the ground.

Then, she was hauling herself upwards, wiping at her cheeks and spluttering out a few granules of dirt that had ended up in her mouth.

"Keep drawing!" She simply called as she darted off.

Viktor realised that the object that had captivated her interest was not an object at all — it was a magpie, that landed on a nearby boulder, no doubt imagining this desolate corner of the Undercity a peaceful refuge; a place of leisure, to rest one's weary bones and wings.

Instead, the bird was treated to the sight of a small, gangly, dirty girl face-planting into the dust.

Heck, it looked just as shocked and concerned as Viktor when the thunk echoed in their surroundings, and perhaps it stayed put out of compassion when Nari trotted towards it at last.

A stupefied Viktor watched her draw zig-zagged circles around the animal, journal and pencil in hand: sketching away, jolly and absolutely fine.

It turned out, Nari was nothing like he'd expected.

He thought her to be a calculated, aloof, somewhat rigid person. A girl of little to no words, hardened and worn by the horrors of their home; the daughter of a prodigious inventor, similarly brilliant and well versed in the field of science. Disinterested and emotion-free, wholly shut off from the pains of being anxious about the more trivial things.

But now he saw it.

It was in the way her curls were always tangled.

How the cloth patches on her trousers were sown on with no real system whatsoever. How her movements were not so much calculated as they were instinctive, and how she seemed to thrive in a state of perpetual bedlam.

How her backpack was always messy, pens and papers mixing together in an experimental sort of soup, but how, despite that, everything had its own specific order.

Her sentences and ideas had little to no pattern, her mannerisms even less so — but that did not mean for a second that she wasn't smart.

She simply was the picture-perfect depiction of flawed, wondrous chaos.

He'd spotted the sadness buried in the depths of her eyes a long time ago — the same sadness he often spied in his mother, in the vendors on the streets, and even, on more than one occasion, in his own mirror.

Still, her eyes shone bright, so warm and content.

Those eyes were pointed at him now, when she was skipping back to his side. When she'd dropped down, inelegant as ever —legs scattered, posture twisting— and shuffled closer to his spot, to show him her new drawing.

Viktor watched her shove the curl of hair permanently wafting across her forehead off her face as she looked at his own sketch.

"That is very good, Viktor!" She told him, beaming openly. "Well done!"

And Viktor smiled.

Truly, actually smiled.

Not one of those small, timid smiles; not the restrained ones he'd often give around his mother.

He smiled properly: a smile so inexplicably difficult to describe on paper or put into words.

"Thank you, Nari."

They shared a look, friendly and cheerful.

And they carried on with their work: Nari slumped forward again, where she started refining the feathers on her drawing, the fingers of her left hand picking and twiddling with the green strands of grass squished under her journal. 

Viktor gave another go to sketching his boat, finding the activity Nari introduced him to quite enjoyable.

The sloshing, cascading waters gurgled and rushed in the river.

The cool, afternoon breeze shuffled the sands around them into castles and dunes. 

The magpie chirped happily in its spot on the rock, twirling and hopping left to right.

When its song was joined by a multitude of similar voices, Viktor and Nari looked up — a flock was migrating past them, high above the level of the Sumps, black and blue feathers jumbling together and shimmering down at them from the heights. The two children watched as Nari's muse perked up and shifted, before it opened its wings and lifted off.

"Nari?" Viktor called to her then, much less hesitant than he would've been that very morning. 

"Hmm?"

"Are you... visiting tomorrow?"

She'd glanced at him, from where she was stretched out on the grass beside him.

"I will." She promised.

Viktor's smile lustred his features, the small gaps between his front teeth showing in full.

Nari grinned back, a lopsided grin that tweaked then spread across the left corner of her lips. And she turned away, pivoting her attention to the sky once more.

In the afternoon warmth of a very nice summer day, Viktor sat and observed as Nari's brown, longing eyes followed the conventicle of magpies: who rose and gathered and flew off, into the wide blue yonder.

||

"Flawless... Exquisite... Chaos."