With tense shoulders, Silco sat in his chair, his head tilted back to look at the ceiling. The look on his face was indifferent, almost serene.

But you could see his fingers digging into the arms of the chair, so hard that his pale knuckles turned white.

He was restless, nervous even.

But you couldn't blame him. You would have been worried, if not scared, as well if someone suggested the idea of sticking a needle in your eye and initiating a drug.
If he was lucky, the eye was numb to pain. But the fact that he could move it and still see something through it made that possibility seem unlikely.

The nerve had to still be active.

Carefully you filled the syringe with the shimmer, not much but just enough to cover the width of a finger. An overdose could mean, at best, that he would lose the eye.

In the worst case, you would have a patient sitting in the chair with brain damage. You wanted to avoid both that and the other. If the dosage was too low, the worst case would be that the effect was not noticeable.

As you turned back to him, a soft sigh escaped you. At that moment, you caught a glimpse of his startled reaction.

The tension increased, his fingers literally clawed into the wood of the chair and his shoulders tensed. For the first time, real emotion shimmered in his eyes. The fear was even visible inside the orange of the infected eye.

Carefully, you lowered the syringe to remove it from his sight.

"Silco.", when you said his name, his head jumped up. "I'm afraid there is no other way than this. The second option would be to leave it."

Taking a deep breath, he closed his blue eye. When he exhaled again, his head tilted back against the soft cushion of the backrest.

"Samaritan...", he muttered, looking at you, suddenly tired. "Have you ever had to make a decision that wasn't truly yours?"

You were puzzled by this question. Frowning, you had to think for a moment.

Suddenly something occurred to you, something you didn't really want to share. But at that moment Silco seemed so weak, so vulnerable, that you lost yourself in the belief that he would understand.

With a sigh, you put the syringe down on the table and sat down on the edge, directly opposite him.

"My son...", you murmured and smiled softly at the memory. "He was heavily injured by an enforcer. Shot, lungs shredded and several bones shattered. He would never have recovered."

Listening attentively to your words, he turned to you. His fingers twitched and suddenly he had to fight the urge to reach for your hand.

"Did he pass quickly?", he asked in such a careful and tender way that it seemed unfit for his usual attitude.

You shook your head.

Suddenly that pain was back, the pain you had buried deep long ago in the hope of never having to feel it again.

"It lasted for weeks. I... could not help him. No one could have. Not even the arcane itself."

His lips moved, a soft gasp escaped him. But he did not dare to say a word. It would have been disrespectful. And Silco was a man whose principles said that those who earned his recognition should also be respected.

"His pain was insatiable, life a torment. He asked me... to end it... he... begged me.", the feeling of tears burning in your eyes, but you forced yourself to keep your composure. "The enforcer made the decision that he had to die. But I had to carry it out."

As the words left your lips, a bitter taste spread on your tongue. It was the most digesting feeling you had ever experienced. Your breath began to shake, but you did not allow yourself to cry.

Not in front of him.

"And you, Silco?", your eyes met his. "Who made the decision for you that the infection must be stopped?"

With a tortured expression on his face, he had to take another deep breath. As he turned away, it was clear to see how difficult it was for him to be honest at that moment.

He didn't want to open himself up and make himself vulnerable. It could have meant betrayal.

But at the same time, the loneliness was eating him from the inside.

"Zaun is so much more than a hole where Piltover can throw its trash.", he said in a thoughtful voice as his eyes wandered out the window. "I was born here, forced to fight. Forced to be the monster inside of me. I have to live to make this life better. Otherwise, no one else will."

With a compassionate smile, you bowed your head. At that moment, you couldn't help but reach out and force him to look at you.

At the touch of your warm skin on his scarred face, he flinched in surprise. Slowly he turned his head to look at you. There was this spark shimmering in his eyes, this surprise to feel the tenderness of someone else after such a long time.

You smiled.

"Why are you really doing this?", you asked, gently stroking his scars. "For every great ruler, a better substitute can be found. Zaun can't be the only reason. It is... too little."

He swallowed, his mouth a bit open. While his eyes wandered over your body, he couldn't help but let his face press into the feeling of your hand. So soft, so unknown. This was a gesture of comfort rather than one that was supposed to please him.

It did not matter to you if he enjoyed it, you just knew he needed it. Most of the time those two things were different.

Closing his eye, he took a deep breath in and held it until the air began to burn in his lungs.

"Before Vander died, I though that this is the only reason to keep living. Zaun's rise.", he said and placed a soft kiss in your palm. "But Jinx showed me that it's so much more. So many more. She deserves better. The children that didn't ask to be born deserve better. She's not a drug lord, no criminal. She's just... a child. My child."