Viktor knows, deep down, that Jayce is right, but he's still finding it difficult to consider the fact that the procedure might not even work, and he might be gone, and they can't even keep his notes on the Hexcore for fear the government will find them. That all of his work might still be for nothing, only carried on in what Jayce can remember of it, to maybe rebuild when it's safer.

"I know, I just--" He trails off, hands dropping into his lap and eyebrows furrowing in frustration. Surely there must be some way. A safe, a lock box, something hidden in their apartment. Some record of notes and his genius and the fact that he existed at all. "It's my life's work."

So if there's a way...if Jayce can somehow safeguard even a little of it, he wants to think it's possible, but the more sensible part of him knows it isn't worth the risk. He seems to realize this, though it leaves him slightly despondent.

"I'm sorry. I know that's too much to ask."

They both know how devastated he would be, if his work was used posthumously to build weapons or cause destruction.