Viktor Vektor x Reader

Twenty-Two

You hurriedly slid back and forth on the operations chair. The old leather nestled against your hands as you leaned back and took a deep breath.

At that time you had passed out, but you remembered that you had been lying on that very chair. Life had passed between your fingers. And now you were in that very place again.

Viktor moved closer to you on his rolling stool. His hand wiped across the screen.

Briefly his eyes jumped over to you and a smile twitched at the corners of the ripper's mouth. Numbers and letters were reflected in his glasses. He seemed satisfied with the result.

"Your body adapts quickly.", he turned the monitor so that you could get an overview for yourself. "It picks up the chrome well. You should be back on your feet soon."

Your eyebrows drew together. Although it was only a tiny gesture, he noticed.

"Not the answer you were expecting, it seems.", he noted with a nod in your direction and rolled back to look directly at you.

Uncertainly you chewed on your lower lip.

"Soon...", you murmured before your eyes found him. "How long is soon?"

His head dropped to the side, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"A few weeks, maybe. Give or take."

Again you couldn't hide the dissatisfaction that twisted your guts. You didn't have that much time. You had to be able to fight again sooner.

Not only that, you had to be able to win.

"I'll be able to do sports, won't I?", you asked.

Again he just looked at you. Although his face was covered by his glasses and it was difficult to read his emotions, you thought you knew that he was not happy with your attitude.

He would have liked more restraint. But he also knew that the young ones did not have the privilege of shifting down a gear.

"You want to box?"he asked without answering your question.

Pressing your lips together, you nodded.

"I have to."

"Hm.", again, that deep voice of his vibrated in his throat. "I used to love boxing. Was like just another way of breathing."

A huff escaped you.

"I feel you, Viktor... I used to need boxing to survive too.", a sigh made you lower your head, your shoulder sunk. "But I don't have that luxury no more... Gotta make these bucks."

"Through boxing?"

You shrugged.

"Nothin' else I'm good for.", as you raised your gaze to meet his face again you smiled.

It was off just how many times you smiled in his presence. Every time he looked at you you felt the need to be happy and show him.

Maybe it was just him.

"You a good punch, sweetheart.", Viktor leaned back to spread his legs and shake off the stiffness. "I'm sure you'll win some good fights."

"Maybe.", you shrugged. "But I'd like to play it safe, ya know?"

"What are ya askin'?", maybe you were just imagining it but you believed to hear a hint of teasing in this question.

You slid to the edge of the chair, leaned your legs against it and protected your head with your arms. Uncertainly, you looked at him for a moment.

Not a word was said. Actually, silence was something unpleasant. At least for you. But in his presence it was more as if he wanted to give you enough options before you had to decide.

"Can I call you Vik?", you suddenly asked with a thin smile.

You were tired. Everything about this life made you tired.

As a child, you had never wanted anything else than to box, to climb to the top of a league. And maybe make some money along the way.

But life being what it was, you never got that simple wish. Everyone had seen to that, both because of your parents and your sister, and ultimately because of your own decisions. Maybe you would do better if you could get out of the contract with Dexter.

But that was not possible. Your signature was like a blood contract and it was binding until Dexter said otherwise. Or you stopped breathing.

"Of course.", how soft his voice sounded, so calm.

Every word out of his mouth made you feel like you could lean on his shoulder and close your eyes. You just wanted a safe place to rest. A single day where you could do whatever you wanted without any obligation.

"Thank you...", sighing heavily you rubbed your face. "My parents are, no, were addicts. I... don't remember them well, mom died when I was... fuck, I don't remember. Dad went a few years back. Selfish fucks."

"Night City ain't a good place for a kid."

"Kids. As in multiple."

His eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You got..?"

"No.", you huffed. "I have a sister to take care of. A big one."

You could feel his eyes darting over your face. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you thought you could feel his fingers twitching.

Was he trying to reach for your hand?

If you were honest, you would have let him. Maybe you even wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by him.

He didn't say a word as you poured out your heart to him, told him everything, about Dexter and the contract you couldn't get out of, your sister's eaten away implants and how she could barely be called a living person anymore.

He listened to everything, didn't judge and didn't try to find solutions you hadn't asked for. When you reached the end, you buried your face in your hands again and growled. Frustration was tightening your throat.

What had you done to deserve this life?

"Shitty life, huh?", he finally asked, wiping your forehead.

You huffed.

"You got no idea..."

His hand was arm as he didn't pull back but rested it on your cheek instead. Gently, he held your face and waited until you felt strong enough to meet his gaze again.

He smiled, trying to encourage you. It was then that you noticed that he had a scar that stretched across his nose.

It made you smile.

"I know.", he said, his thumb creasing your skin. "Trust me."