He should recognize that room. It hasn't changed that much; the rose window is just as impressive as ever, there is still that old couch in the corner, and the coffee table in front of it, and the same floorboards, and the same rafters, now adorned with a lot more of Powder's neon scribbles. Mostly, it's the large desk that's new.

And the fact this isn't his office anymore.

Not that he used it a lot. He met Grayson there once or twice, though usually the enforcer only visited him while he was behind the bar, downstairs. Otherwise, he consented to stepping into it once a month to set the books straight. Straight-ish. He had never been the best at dealing with numbers and theoretical strategy. His strength resides in his people skills – alongside, well, brute strength itself.

"You can come closer."

Silco is seated at the other side of the desk, holding a book open with one hand while he writes down a note with the left. He looks like he belongs there, much more than Vander ever did. The very put-together look is also doing some things to his lower bits as he briefly wonders how this version of Silco would look bent over this very desk. He bits his lip, feeling his cheek heat up.

"Give me one second."

It crosses his mind that Silco is making him wait on purpose. A display of dominance. That wouldn't be too out of the picture, not for him. Vander lets his gaze travel around the room again, finding nothing new except for the cover hanging from one of the beams overhead, one that looks like someone tried to make the bare wood comfortable enough to lounge here for hours. Even without the toys – are they even toys? – scattered up there too, it isn't difficult to piece out who this little hideout is for.

There is the mug over the desk too, close to Silco's hand, and the drawings over his ashtray, and a stray pink crayon next to a fountain pen. It clashes with the rest of the office, with the quiet sense of power it otherwise radiates, and it makes Vander wish he could have introduced his children to Silco in other circumstances. Maybe he wouldn't have had to introduce them at all, maybe Silco and he could have made that decision together – if only all things in his life at the time didn't end up in blood.

The light catches on something, buried underneath a few papers, hints of metal glinting under the greenish rays, and Vander curiously reaches for it. It's a knife, alright, he's not surpris- except, he recognizes this one, the long curved bladed, chipped but otherwise well-maintained, large handle that fits just right in his palm. He lets his thumb slide over the letter carved into the wood – a single "V", surrounded by scratch marks, clearly readable even though.

"That's mine," he muses, still looking down at it.

Silco snatches it from his grip, by the blade, not even flinching as the sharp edge cuts into his skin, drawing a thin crimson line across his palm. He flips it around, fingers as agile as ever, catches it by the handle, and jams it into the desk between them, hard enough that it vibrates all the way down to its tip. The varnished wood speaks of it as a habit, half a dozen deep scars carved into its surface.

"I'm surprised you even kept it."

"It was a reminder."

Vander can't help his gaze flickering up to the other's scars. Silco sneers.

"A reminder that I fought back."

"Oh. Right."

He looks back at the knife. It was a gift – for his own name day, he remembers clearly, frayed dishcloth as wrapping paper, bony fingers holding it up for him to take. A smile pulling thin lips up, just a hint of chipped front teeth, sea-green eyes fixating on him, eager to see his reaction. "It's made from driftwood, picked up on the shores," Silco had said as Vander trailed his finger over the waves motif on the handle, and it made him laugh.

"Is it what you stabbed me with, at the cannery?"

"… Yes." Silco looks down at the knife in turn. "Maybe I shouldn't have, not like this. Not in the back. Though it felt fitting," he notes, though there isn't much edge to it. "Everything was just going to shit. This wasn't what I wanted."

"Yeah, I'm sure getting most of your drug supply blown off wasn't exactly the plan."

"All," he corrects automatically. "It all was destroyed in the fire, except what wasn't at the cannery, of course. Though it was for the best; I wouldn't have Pilties getting their greedy paws on any of it. For once, we have something to tip the scales our way. Zaun's way. But" he goes on, shaking his head as if to push that train of thought away, " I wasn't only talking about the Shimmer. Your kids, the two boys… That was a shame. Especially if they were even half as bright as Jinx."

Vander stares at him. This isn't an apology, not per se, and that vague subtext of the kids' value being linked to their usefulness… He could take it the wrong way. He could get angry. One might say he would be justified to do so, hell, even that he should do so.

But for what? The boys' sake? There had been enough violence in their short lives already. And maybe it was even to be expected, despite his meager efforts to shield them from… Zaun itself, probably. Vander had enough time, back in Stillwater, to mull over the events of that night. To distribute the blame, like slices of an exceptionally bitter cake. To recognize that in Silco's shoes, he would probably have done the same – if not worse… – and that neither Powder's nor the enforcers' intervention were his doing.

"Are you done with what you needed to finish?" Vander asks instead.

"What I- Oh, yeah."

He turns his attention back to the papers in front of him, properly closing the book he was using and pushing it all aside. It reveals the entirety of a map pinned to the wood – a small bit of Piltover on the side, and Zaun right in its center, sprawling almost up to the borders in each direction. Vander has never quite seen one like this before, and he wonders idly if it was specifically made for this office.

There are a few black "X" here and there, and sectors marked out in red ink.

"What are the markings for?" he asks.

"Chembarons' headquarters and territories. Hush Company, Slickjaws, the Vyx, Sludgerunners, the Scrap Hackers," Silco lists, standing up and pointing at each on the map. "Each is in charge both of their specific business and of any minor troubles on their turf. Of course, they get to keep most of the profits from both activities. Oh, and no one wanted the Sumps, for… obvious reasons. So, they remain autonomous territory."

"And… what's yours?"

He has sensed somehow this wasn't the right question to ask, which is only confirmed by the predatory kind of smile that pulls the corner of Silco's lips tense. Slowly, deliberately, he lays his hand over the map and sprawls his fingers out, before looking up, right into Vander's eyes.

"… I see."

His throat feels dry all of a sudden. He knows what it's like, to rule over the Lanes. He knows the power that goes with it already. But this… is so much more. This is all of Zaun. (All of the Undercity, united as one – Silco's words echo in his mind, and he realizes right there and then that, at the time, he didn't believe it to be possible.)

"The Children of Zaun are everywhere," Silco goes on, apparently oblivious to Vander's… well, amazement. Though, he probably is well aware of it. "They report to me and they maintain control over the city. Mostly, though… they are the ones in charge of distributing Shimmer, and that's where the power lays nowadays."

Vander had tensed up at the mention of the drug. This… this is as good as a time as ever to have this conversation, right? Better sooner than later, after all. Even though he doesn't want to. He knows far too well this can only dissolve into an argument.

"Are you ever going to stop producing Shimmer?" he says, with the feeling of stepping blindly into a room he knows to be laced with spring traps. Silco's hand has halted mid-motion.

"And why would I do that, pray tell?"

He doesn't like that tone of voice, sweet, sticky. He doesn't like it one bit.

He straightens back to his full height, forcing himself to meet Silco's gaze over the desk separating them, and to hold it.

"Because this is destroying lives."

"Does that stop Pilties from dumping all their waste down there? From reaping the fruits of our labor, of our sweat and blood? From enslaving people down in the mines, deep enough that the sun never reaches them, even if it? Tell me, Vander. Does that stop them?"

"No, but fuck, Silco… This is not the way, for Janna's sake. At the cannery, you talked about scaring Topside, but right now Shimmer only serves to make more money for you, doesn't it? And if this is what it means, working with you, I'm not sure I want a part. Come on, don't tell me you can't see this is wrong-"

"I offered you to work for me," Silco cuts him off. "Not with me. Weren't you the one, all these years ago, that said there could only be one leader? That the movement would dissolve into infighting otherwise?"

Vander grits his teeth. He does remember those words – and his hands around Silco's neck, also, because that was on their last day.

"I was wrong," he tries nonetheless.

"No, you weren't." It's said so calmly, matter-of-factly, that Vander can't find it in himself to object this time. "Ultimately, power isn't something that can be shared. Not if you really want to make a difference."

Vander glances at the map laid out between them. All of Zaun, sure, and for what?

"And tell me, Silco, what exactly do you think you're going to achieve with flooding the streets with even more drugs?"

"Same thing I've always wanted to do."

"Bringing freedom to Zaun? But what- fuck, Silco, what will be left of it when you're done? Given that the Pilties won't just wipe us all out, what will Zaun even look like by then? A bunch of gangs ruling by force over a bunch of junkies? I've seen the ones near the Sump, what your fucking Shimmer did to their bodies-"

"It's better now. The side effects. Even then, it only got that bad because they overdosed on it."

"Be-"

"And," Silco cuts him off again, "Shimmer isn't addictive. Also, you can talk about ruling by force…"

"What?"

Silco looks up, mismatched eyes catching on the radioactive green glow from outside.

"Which part do I need to repeat?" he asks, dragging the syllables along. "Which part did not make it through your thick skull?"

Vander does not take the bait – barely registers it, to be honest. His mind is stuck on a one-way track.

"Shimmer," he says. "It's a drug."

"Yes, I suppose it can be considered as one."

"Drugs are addictive."

Silco's mouth thins into a tight line and he moves away from the desk, stepping past his chair and Vander alike. He comes to stand in front of his office window, looking down at the street below, his sharp profile cut out against the greenish light.

"You know, there are two ways addiction can set in. One is purely physical: withdrawal symptoms and all. Your body breaks down if you don't get your fix. The other reason… it's more about the effects each particular drug has. You see, Shimmer gives you power. And power… in and of itself, that's addictive." A glance in Vander's direction, something unreadable in his expression, before he turns back to the window. "I believe you, of all people, would know about it."

"You can talk all you want," Vander argues, shaking his head, "I just can't fathom how anyone would throw their whole damn life away just to get a temporary… what, power boost? That makes no fucking sense."

"Of course, it doesn't to you. You never were powerless."

He can't help but glance at their shadows then, pinned to the floorboards by the outside light filtering through the rose window, at the way his own completely swallows Silco's. Looking back up– at the way, too, his tailored clothes only highlight how slim his frame is.

"That's not true," Vander finally says, more softly. "I am from Zaun, just like you."

"Hmm-mh." The silence stretches out for almost a minute, and Vander is considering whether it's worth it or not to pick the fight back up when Silco speaks again: "You know, I take Shimmer. Every day, too. Oh," he adds quickly, raising a hand to silence Vander before he got the chance to voice his shock, "it's not exactly the formula that's circulating in the Sumps. It exists on the streets too, don't get me wrong, it's just… more expensive. Harder to get your hands on."

He walks to his desk, opens one of the drawers, and takes out a small glass vial. With how the liquid inside glows and shimmers… yes. There is no doubt over what it is, though it has a slightly pinker hue than Vander remembers from the cannery.

"It's more refined," Silco continues, looking at the vial in his hand with a certain fascination. "It doesn't act in such a flashy way as the version you already witnessed. We have to keep it a secret from the Topsiders so they don't find a way to steal that too, and sell it back to us with the price blown up tenfold. So it doesn't become just another means to enslave us. Because you see, that version… It's medicinal. And the only way we currently know of to combat chem poisoning."

He raises his head, purple catching on the fractured iris of his bad eye, and Vander suddenly puts two and two together.

"That's what saved you," he says out loud.

"I was one of the earliest human lab rats, yes. And the only one still alive from that time."

"Silco, I'm sorr-"

"Don't finish that sentence." He steps closer and Vander finds himself taking a step back on instinct. "I don't give a shit about your guilt. You deserve it."

He raises his hands slowly, not missing the way Silco quickly glances at them before going back to his face.

"Yeah," he says. "I do."

Silco watches him for a few more seconds before some of the tension bleeds out from the tense line of his shoulders. He goes back to the desk, letting the Shimmer vial roll out of his hand and onto the wooden surface.

"Silco?"

He turns towards him, one brow raised as he waits for Vander to summon the courage to continue.

"You- I… You know I'm not good with words. I… I keep searching for something to say, something that's more than just I'm so fucking sorry… But I am. And I know that's not enough. That it will never be. That's just all I can offer right now. And then, tomorrow, I will… I don't know. Disappear into a corner of Zaun when my face isn't that known, I guess. Maybe enlist in a ship crew, at the docks, see a bit of the outside world, eh? I would just like to still be able to see my girls, though I guess if Powder wants to… wants to stay with you, and Vi with her, I-"

"Or you could work for me."

"… What?"

"I asked you that already, at the cannery. Remember? Oh, I knew it was probably not going to work, I expected your refusal. But I still hoped."

Vander tries to meet his gaze, because his ears have to be playing a trick on him, right? but Silco isn't facing him, seemingly absorbed by the light playing around the wrought iron and the green glass.

"I don't understand you," Vander finally says.

"Hmm. I have figured as such by now." He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, before turning his head a bit, the sharp line of his nose hiding the worst of his scars. "So? What would it be?"

Vander strokes his beard, watching in turn the rose window without truly seeing it. Then he sighs, shaking his head.

"Yes," he says. "What else? But I want to have a say in what I'll be doing."

Silco looks surprised, briefly, before he regains his composure.

"I wasn't planning on having you work even remotely on Shimmer, if that's any better. I knew you would have something against it. Somehow. In fact, it won't be much different from what you were doing around there, at least from what I was aware of. Except the Last Drop is mine now."

"You- you were spying on me, back then?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah, that… makes sense, I guess." He hesitates, then: "How much did you know?"

"I knew the names of your children. I didn't know they would be the only ones who would try to come and rescue you."

Ah, that. It still stings, in a way. He would have preferred that no one comes, too, because then his two boys would still be alive… But there wouldn't be his kids if they hadn't. For all the times he tried to teach them to stop and think and don't punch first, it seems like actions, once again, spoke louder than words. He should have foreseen that before taking them in.

"Anyway", Silco says, bringing him back to the here and now. "You can still walk out now, if you want. You know where the exit is. I won't search for you or anything, though I can't guarantee the enforcers won't do the same. They step into Zaun a lot more prudently these days, though."

"Why? Why do you… then and now both- why do you want us to work together? Or, that I work for you, whatever."

"There are a few people around the Lanes that still think of you as their true leader. Oh, they won't act on those feelings, I made sure of that… Nevertheless, it would be easier to have you on my side. Also, here, instead of whatever corner of Zaun you were planning to retreat into, I can keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't get any ideas."

"Silco…"

"No need for promises, I won't believe you."

"I know. Just… will you tell me what you plan to do, long-term? About Shimmer, and Piltover too, and… all of Zaun, I guess."

"No." A pause, then, a bit less assured: "Not… today."

The Shimmer vial still lays on the desk, splashing its purple glow onto the surrounding papers. Vander reaches over to push it away, wishing half-heartedly it would roll off the desk, hit the ground, and break. If only it would change anything.

"Fine. What should I be doing, then?"

Even as he agrees to it, he can't help but wonder if this is a good idea. How much of a risk this truly is.

For himself – but that wouldn't make any sense, to allow in close again, if all he wanted was to kill him… right? For the girls, except his gaze is drawn again to the mug Powder decorated, and he is pretty sure there is a "dad" hidden amongst the scribbles on the ashtray, half-hidden by the end of a cigar.

For Zaun too, maybe. He believes too, once. This way, also, he will be able to be as close as he can to where it's all happening, where decisions are made – he has a suspicion he is standing right there at this very moment.

But this time, mostly… he wants to trust Silco. For better or worse.