Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kerry wasn’t sure whether he needed to be more sober for this or less.

So, this fucker. Breaks into his house, right? Helps himself to some of the top shelf while Kerry’s in the shower after somehow getting past the robo-goons and then plonks down to have a go at one of the guitars on the wall. And fuck if that ain’t ballsy, breaking into a fucking mansion and then settling in like you own the place. Do something like that and you’re either stupid, or you don’t give a fuck what some rich bastard thinks about property rights, and… Well.

Johnny Silverhand didn’t exactly believe in property rights.

But this wasn’t Johnny. Not in the flesh. He played, talked, acted like Johnny, but this guy looked nothing like him. Johnny would’ve never let his hair go grey, for starters. And he never would’ve sprung for gorilla arms or white-blue Kiroshis or the military-grade Sandevistan that Kerry could see poking just past the edges of that familiar Samurai coat’s collar. Johnny was old school, an as-needed kinda guy. The kind of jacked you had to be to do that kinda chrome justice just wasn’t his style.

This body had lived a whole nother life without Johnny in it, and it was obvious even before Johnny admitted to it. Sleek, modernized, yet raw in its power. Two meters tall and stacked as fuck (was that natural? Or was that some kinda augment too?) with chrome around the eyes, extra ports behind the ears, a data jack that a corpo netrunner would be envious of. And that scar slashing through his brow, all wicked and gnarled—Johnny would’ve gotten that shit fixed up the second it happened. Wouldn’t have been caught dead letting a facial scar like that stick if it didn’t fit his image.

Eh, whatever. It was just idle musing anyways. Why question it? Johnny was back in a body that didn’t belong to him, so what? Still looked like a million eddies to Kerry. Combine that with that Silverhand magnetism Johnny had always had—and a strangely compassionate undertone as they reminisced that’d been completely absent fifty years ago—and Kerry was as hooked on it as he’d been back in the ‘20s. Completely weak to that shit.

Then, right as they were talking about maybe getting the band back together for one last gig (fucking stupid, right? But then, Kerry still wasn’t totally convinced that he wasn’t just hallucinating his balls off), Johnny staggered. Winced. Kerry rushed over to him as he sank heavily into a seat, watched him reach into a pocket to pull out a pill with sharp movements that didn’t match how unsteady the rest of him looked. Pale, bloodless, pained.

Before Kerry could do anything—before he could even ask what the pill was—it’d been popped into the other man’s mouth and swallowed, like it was being done on some kind of autopilot.

The pinched look fell away from those sharp features, relief flooding in. Broad shoulders sagged so heavily that for a second Kerry thought the guy might fall forward right out of the chair and bean himself on the expensive-ass coffee table, but he somehow remained upright.

“Apologies, Mister Eurodyne,” that rough voice murmured, accented. Holy fuck. That was not Johnny. “It appears Mister Silverhand went a bit beyond the bounds of our initial agreement.”

Fuck. Fuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Kerry swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and hastily stepped back, tying his robe more tightly around his waist. “You must be the one that actually owns this pile’a chrome,” he said. He was going for cheerful and aloof but ended up sounding reedy to his own ears.

The stranger huffed, just the faintest amused chuckle with his narrow lips pulling into a smirk. He offered up a hand strong enough to crush a man’s head like a fucking grape in a friendly gesture. “Weston Vilim Carlisle,” he said.

Kerry reluctantly took that hand, feeling the cool synthskin and carbon fiber mesh of it. “Johnny called you V.” What the fuck? Lame-ass thing to say, Eurodyne, way to go.

V chuckled again, warm in a way Johnny never was. “Do you remember how government forms used to be filled out way back when, with the middle initial?”

“Hah! Like you’re old enough to remember that shit yourself.”

“Fifty-two is more than old enough for that much, Mister Eurodyne.” Really? Damn, this fucker looked good for fifty-two. At least on a merc budget. Wait, how the fuck—just how often did mercs even survive to fifty-two? “Regardless, my sincerest apologies for the extended and undue intrusion into your home. I shall endeavor to keep Mister Silverhand on a shorter leash in future.”

He started to get up, but Kerry surged forward to shove him back down. It shouldn’t have worked, but the absolute mountain of a man just let it happen and sank back down with a bemused smile. “No, no. You nearly passed out on me a second ago, there’s no way you should be up on your feet again that quick.”

“Nor should you have lied about the genuine nature of your suicide attempt, but I’ve found it to be simple human nature that putting on a brave face is often deemed to be the lesser evil.”

Kerry went still. He felt the blood drain from his face as he blinked at this man he’d known for all of two minutes that apparently had him dead to fucking rights. Strong, gorgeous, well-spoken, British, and now this fucker just had to go and bring the big guns verbally too. Everybody else had water pistols and this guy went and got the armor-piercing tankbuster munitions just for the occasion.

And then he had the gall to look soft after. “Johnny knows, yes,” V said solemnly. “He’s suspected ever since we spotted the automated security on the way in. Suspicions based on what he saw in the screamsheets are why we came.”

“Fuck you,” Kerry hissed. He was trembling by then. Shaking like a fucking cyberpsycho. “I told you it was a publicity stunt. I don’t even need those ‘bots.”

V went to stand, this time successfully. He absolutely towered over Kerry. It was like standing in the shadow of one of those ancient California redwoods. “Would it help?” he asked. “This reunion of yours.”

Kerry shivered. “I… I dunno. Fuck, I really dunno.”

“You were humoring Johnny,” V pointed out. “You needn’t do me the same courtesy. Whether it would help or not, I am at your disposal regardless.”

“Sound like a fuckin’ Delamain cab.”

V sighed. A little irritated, but it was overwritten by like… Fuck. For a guy that decked out in chrome, there shouldn’t have been any kinda capacity for that sorta patience anymore. The streets had made cyberpsychos outta less, hadn’t they? That kinda gentle, wistful look shouldn’t have been possible to even accomplish with a face that sharp, with optics that unnaturally bright. “Mister Eurodyne…”

“You can call me Kerry, y’know.” Or Ker. Like Johnny did. Kerry wished that V would speak to him with the same venom that Johnny used to. Get close just to drive the knife in then twist it. At least then Kerry would feel like he deserved what this guy was offering him.

Cool carbon fiber brushed his cheek and he jerked, startled. Blinking. He ended up getting caught in those optics again, white-blue like fresh snow on a clear day. The kind this part of California just didn’t see. V’s fingers retreated as quickly as they’d approached, like he’d been burned. Like the wordless rejection had seared him, or like he’d just remembered himself as he caught himself in the act of doing something unforgivable.

Kerry had almost never wanted to apologize to Johnny, but he was just a few minutes in and he already wanted to apologize to V. “What is it you wanna do?” he ended up saying instead.

V’s whole expression sobered. Closing up and locking down tight behind a cold, sad wall of practiced stoicism. “Whatever it is you might need of me.”

“You sure you’re up for it?” This was insane. All of it was insane. Maybe Kerry should’ve been more sober for this, or less. But the universe had dropped a beautiful, towering hunk into his lap that wanted nothing more than to help him. How could he say no? How could he not at least let the guy make an attempt? “Bein’ on stage, pretendin’ to be my output if anyone asks, all of it.”

Slowly, V nodded. Solemn and serious. This man was dangerous as hell, in every possible way. Kerry could feel it in his bone marrow. So why did he feel so safe around the guy? Didn’t make sense.

He sucked in a breath and let it out nice and slow to steady himself. “Okay.” They were doing this. Really fucking doing it. “I… Alright. I’ll give you Nance’s detes so you can start makin’ calls.” Didn’t matter how this ended up shaking out, Kerry just couldn’t stomach the idea of this big gorgeous merc getting upset over his ass. This V guy had been dealt enough of a shit hand as it was.

Fuck Johnny though. Seriously.

Chapter Text

[What’s this really about, Ker?]

Kerry sighed, flopping back in his bed. He was glad Nance was okay, but the impression she’d gotten was that Kerry had heard she was in trouble and sent in the scariest goddamn merc in all of Night City to rescue her. And yeah, it was obvious that V was a merc at a glance—no normie would be willing to drop that many eddies on chrome that high-end, the rebuilding that’d been done was way too extensive and the prep alone could flatline any idiot who tried to bulk up the wrong way—but he hadn’t been expecting, well. This.

V was former Arasaka. A straight-up corpo scumbag up until not too long ago. Word was that he’d been involved in Saburo Arasaka’s death a few months after he’d been canned. That he’d been responsible for a city-wide blackout a few weeks back, that the only reason he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere was because fucking Militech owed him favors, that nearly every gang in the city had some kinda beef with him except the Valentinos, the Mox, and the Voodoo Boys. He even had ties to some nomad clan out in the sticks.

It made the thing about Johnny living on an Arasaka chip in his head make a bit more sense. But it meant that him being Kerry’s new output made way, WAY less sense in comparison.

Worse yet, Nance was smart enough to figure out that it was bullshit. So, fuck it, if he had to be honest to make this stick… And it wasn’t like V was actually able to hear a conversation going on through Kerry’s implants even if he had snuck in the house again.

[Nance, you ever…] He trailed off, wincing at himself, scratching idly at his beard. Picking the nearest bottle up off of his nightstand, he uncorked it to take a swig—wine, stale and unpleasant. A gift from some MSM gonk that’d been trying to chat him up if he remembered right. [You ever meet someone and think, “fuck, I wanna get to know this person.” Not like in a sex way—I mean, shit, that too, you’ve seen the guy—but like…]

Nancy hummed. [We’re a little old for love at first sight, I think.]

[Fuck, you think I don’t know that?] And he did know. Fuck did he ever know. He hadn’t even experienced anything like that since he was in his 30s, and hey! Last guy had not only been an asshole, but he’d fucking died. [But he’s not just some groupie looking for an autograph and a handjob either.]

[No, he’s a mercenary who beat one chrome junkie to death with the cyber-arm he’d ripped off of another one bare-handed.] Nancy’s tone was flat, her words pointed. Kerry tried to imagine it and found it hard to reconcile with the man he’d seen in his living room. [He’s a lot closer to Johnny than he is to you or me.]

Fuck no. V was nothing like Johnny. [Then he’ll make a good stand-in, huh?] Kerry couldn’t keep the bitterness from his ‘voice.’

And of course Nance heard it. Sighed like Kerry wasn’t listening. Except he was listening—to everything and then some. [I’ll… I’ll just get everything set up for us, alright? You see if you can get the others on board.] Then… [Be careful, Ker. It’s already taken you this long to get over the last bad break.]

[Yeah, fuck you too Nance.] The line went dead, and Kerry took a long swig of his stale gifted wine, staring moodily at his ceiling. He felt like he was going insane, like he had to be the cyberpsycho. Because he kept trying to picture V, covered in blood, fists flying. Snarling and tearing through Maelstrom gonks like they were made of paper, literally dismembering them with hands that’d almost been afraid to touch Kerry at all.

He thought about how much force it must take to rip apart all those connective tissues and turn a human body into paste. He thought about the glimpse of the military-grade Sandevistan augments under V’s coat. He thought about a faint brush of carbon fiber against his cheek. Apologies, Mister Eurodyne.

Sucking in a breath, he set the bottle back down on the nightstand with a heavy thunk and dialed V’s number. Two rings, and then a pickup—no noise. Internal. Of course a fancy bastard would spring for that shit.

[What seems to be the trouble, Mister Eurodyne?] Fuuuuuck, that voice. That accent. Kerry scooted up along the bed to lean back against the headboard and curl a leg close to his chest.

In spite of everything, talking to V came easy. [I hear you made pullin’ Nance outta the fire look like pickin’ up groceries, Mister Carlisle.] There, taste of his own medicine. Fancy bastard. [How much do I owe you?]

V scoffed. There was a grin in his voice. [Owe me?]

[Yeah. You did a job, you deserve to get paid. I know how mercs operate.]

[Hmm.] There was amusement in that hum, warm and sweet. Moreso when he spoke again. [Mister Silverhand has plenty to say about this, by the way. Most doesn’t bear repeating.]

[Tell Johnny he can fuck off. It’s not like I’m offerin’ some kinda sugar daddy arrangement.] Kerry paused, considering that. [Unless you’d be into that.]

[Hah! Oh, he hates that idea. He just made the most ridiculous face.]

[I can imagine.]

[Do you think BDRec software might pick him up? To my understanding, the visual is a simulation projected directly towards my optic nerves.] V hummed again, thoughtfully. [I wonder if you might be able to see him through my Kiroshi implants with a direct connection.]

A direct connection with V? Did he even realize what he was saying? [Didn’t know you had BDRec software.]

[Worried I’ll record something of you, Mister Eurodyne?] Oh, he so knew what he was fucking saying. Asshole.

Kerry pretended not to notice. [Wouldn’t be the first time. Most Kerry Eurodyne XBDs are deepfakes, but a few… Well.]

V chuckled. [Don’t worry, I’m not about to record anything of that nature without your consent, and if you did feel like uploading it, I would get an editor I know involved. She works with the Mox and some of the joytoys around town, takes such things very seriously. No one would recognize any part of you by the time she was finished—and you would still get to indulge in a spot of exhibitionism, if you wished.]

[Do you?] Kink negotiation! Not how Kerry had expected this conversation to go. Hi, you punched people to death real good, let’s talk about sex. And the fucker was so casual about it too. Calmly and easily picking up what Kerry was putting down.

He was a natural. [Mister Eurodyne, I am the one with the software.]

[I mean…] Kerry swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. He reached for the bottle from earlier. [If you’ll fuck me with that Sandevistan of yours, sure.] Fuck. Fuck. Had he just said that? He’d been thinking it since he’d spotted the fucking thing, yeah, but… Shit. He drained the rest of the bottle in one nervous pull. [That’d give it a few more kinks to tag the thing with. Make a killing off of that even without my face tied to it.]

[At the risk of completely destroying your spine, perhaps.] That was not a ‘no’ and Kerry was seriously starting to wonder if his shitty wine had been spiked with something. [We’d need safety measures. For ourselves, even if they weren’t shown in the BD. And we would have to decide how much we did want to show, which audiences to cater to—]

[Yeah, yeah. Fuckin’ logistics-brained corpo-rat.]

V paused, and when he spoke again there was something to his voice that was… He should’ve been mad, shouldn’t he? Except he wasn’t. He sounded like he thought it was hilarious. [Now who told you that? I can’t seem to remember Mister Silverhand ever admitting to it.]

Kerry was seriously debating the pro’s and con’s of peeling himself out of bed just to get something else to drink. [Nance,] he conceded. [Told me about you when I tried the output cover with her.]

[Ah.] V was quiet for a while. [Does it trouble you?]

[Whaddya mean?]

[My… My current and former corporate ties.]

Kerry frowned to himself, pushing himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. [Sounded like it was just former to me.]

[Some yet remain. Perhaps they always will. Though in my case it stopped being a ‘sins of the father’ situation decades ago, long before I accepted the transfer to Arasaka’s counterintelligence department here in Night City. What I am—what I became—is not something I can blame others for.] V’s deep, gravel voice took on a somber tone. [I am not what most would call a good man, Mister Eurodyne. Your friend’s impression of me was correct, likely on all counts.]

So that’s how it was. Kerry poured himself out of bed and into his fuzziest slippers to head for the bar. [Johnny’s lookin’ for one last hurrah,] he said, [but you’re lookin’ for redemption. Have I got that right?]

V didn’t say anything for a while. [What can I say that you would believe?]

[Not a lot.] Kerry went for the top shelf for this, picking out a bottle of bourbon that was dark and rich and tasted like V’s voice sounded. The only pause was when he debated whether or not to bother with a glass. [Could try the “Johnny’s in love with you and has been for years” trick. Or maybe you could say you’ve been secretly whacking off to my centerfold photoshoots for decades, I still get that one sometimes from fans or people at MSM.]

[He hasn’t been. And, to be perfectly blunt, celebrity photoshoots are a dime a dozen.]

[Fuckin’ rude.]

The merc hummed again. At least he wasn’t denying it. [I saw his memories.]

Kerry stopped with the bottle halfway to his lips.

[I saw how he treated you. How he treated everyone, in fact. But none so badly as you.]

[That’s bullshit and you know it.] The bottle was set down on the counter; Kerry had started shaking again. [Alt died, man. And yeah, Rogue and I fuckin’ hate each other a lot of the time, but like… I know damn well she doesn’t deserve what he did to her either.]

V’s tone turned sharp. [And he didn’t regret it near as much as he should have until I was the one he was riding with. Think, man. The neural pattern is obviously bleeding in both directions. And of everyone I met through him, it was your doorstep that my feelings led him to darken.]

Kerry was stunned into silence; V took the opportunity to keep going, sounding honestly… Flustered? Really?

[Doubt everything else if you wish,] V said. [Even yourself if you must. But do not ever doubt that I still think you to be deserving of more. This is no redemption arc for me, Mister Eurodyne. I am well beyond that. I am here for you, and you alone—you need only ask.]

How the hell had they gotten from kink negotiations to these… These declarations of devotion or some fucking shit—? Kerry’s head was spinning. His eyes were beginning to blur and burn. There was a wet feeling running down his throat; he tasted salt and snot when he swallowed it. [I, I don’t… Fuck.]

Sitting in Johnny’s memories. In his head. Railing against his mean, bitter, manipulative ass in silence. Unable to do anything. Unable to fix what’d been broken. How long had V just been stewing in all that? Soaking in that feeling of one-sidedness that came with it, just as impossible to do anything about as pining for Johnny had been back then.

This could go to some very dark places if Kerry let it. He couldn’t let V drown the way he had when he’d been younger. The guy wasn’t an obsessed fan who only saw what they wanted to see through his music. V had let a known manipulative bastard take control of his body just to be able to check on Kerry’s wellbeing, saved the life of someone close to him, and expected absolutely nothing in return. Even all the sex talk had just been V matching Kerry’s freak, reading his mood, letting him yap in safety without any expectations.

[I’ll leave you to the rest of your evening,] V said after some silence, his voice soft again. [Again, my apologies for—]

[Don’t fuckin’ apologize for havin’ feelings. You’re allowed.] Kerry leaned his arms against the bar and let his head rest against them, turning the bottle in his hand without moving to drink from it again. [How long’ve you been sittin’ on this?]

[Since I awoke in a gutter after being shot in the head.] Ah. Yeah. Probably no other way to be about that except blunt.

Still not something Kerry wanted to think about, though. [Not long after Saburo kicked it then, I guess.] In a place like Night City, that was a long time to hold a torch if it was one that liked threatening to go out. This was real, huh? [I, uh… I was serious about the Sandevistan.]

V let out a soft huff. [We can work our way up to it if you’d like. I think you may be underestimating what that particular augmentation does.]

[I think you might be underestimatin’ the gonk-ass things I’ll do in pursuit of having a good time.] But as eager as Kerry might be to get railed, it wasn’t happening tonight and he knew it. [You gonna be okay?]

[Hah!] There was a smile in the response. Why was it funny? Was it that Kerry had asked at all? Or was it the question itself that was stupid? [Sleep well, Mister Eurodyne.]

Oh, there was zero chance of that happening.
__

They got the band back together, mostly. Kerry hunted the last couple of members down, but hadn’t realized they’d had a falling-out. Henry, the resident hot mess, had decided to take the opportunity of learning Denny’s address to fill her pool with concrete out of spite. Son of a bitch.

And then V, crazy bastard that he was, somehow managed to coax the baseball bat from Denny’s hands and calm her down. Defused the situation just like that. Sure, Henry wouldn’t be playing with them, but at least he figured out he wasn’t wanted in time to keep all his teeth. Kerry hadn’t had to do a damn thing in the end, that shit was all V. Handling things like it was easy while Kerry stood on the sidelines. Which, hey, competency’s great and all, sure. But Kerry couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been upstaged.

So he came over to V afterward and took him aside. “Can we talk?”

V tilted his head, but gave an obliging nod a moment later. There was something both comical and imposing for Kerry about having someone that big slipping that easily into his shadow; the habits and body language all screamed ‘corpo’ if he gave it even a half a second’s thought, but Kerry had been too busy thinking about how well-fitted V’s pants were when they’d first met.

Obedient, too. Waited for Kerry to say something first, watching him with a quiet kind of patience. “Listen, uh…”

“It was clear to me who was in the wrong,” V said plainly. Welp, so much for obedient. Took Kerry opening his mouth as permission. “The more we waffled, the more we risked escalation. And all three of you have Trauma Team biomonitors; were anything to happen, those vultures would’ve been on us like a fresh kill.”

Kerry blinked a bit. “Uh… I wasn’t gonna say anything about that.”

That seemed to catch V off-guard. He paused, eyeing Kerry more closely. “Really?”

“Can’t complain. Nobody got shot, nobody got their faces rearranged. An’ don’t tell me you weren’t tempted with Henry, I know damn well that you were.”

“He would’ve deserved it,” V agreed. No shame whatsoever.

“Maybe, maybe not, but with your chrome you’d just turn what’s left of his coked-out brains into soup. Pop every aneurysm he’s got at once with one good knock.” Kerry shook his head. “Nah, choom, that ain’t it. I meant to ask somethin’, more like.”

V nodded. No hesitation, just a slight frown of concern. “Ask away.”

“Were you… Are you cheatin’? With us, I mean.” Kerry processed how that sounded, then backtracked. “Like, have you got Johnny in your head feedin’ you the right answers all the time?”

“No, but I do have Mister Silverhand attempting to convince me of how much of a messy whore you are at the moment,” V said blandly.

Kerry just about blew a fuse. “He what?!”

“I think he does it to see if I’ll react.”

“Does he now? Son of a fuckin’… ugh.” Kerry kicked a rock across the dirt. Wait, no, a piece of loose concrete, not a rock. From the concrete truck that’d been used to fill Denny’s pool. Man, this was a weird past couple of days. “Stupid piece’a shit Johnny motherfuckin’ Silverhand—”

He paused mid-rant, glancing back. V was smiling at him. Fuck. Kerry’s last two remaining brain cells tried to dredge up some annoyance about it but came up empty, and somehow that lack of being able to get mad at V’s dopey-ass expression was even more of an irritant.

“If you’re recordin’ this, I’mma find out where you live an’ set all your shit on fire,” Kerry warned.

V’s smile became a slightly lopsided grin, like the scars on his face made it slightly harder to keep things symmetrical expression-wise or something. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yeah?” The rockstar scoffed. “Shit, it really is just that easy with you, huh?”

“For you? Yes.” V’s grin fell away, turning more serious. More solemn. “As it should be. If you’re ever in a position to feel like I’ve backed you into a corner against your will, then I’ve likely made a series of grave mistakes that could very much do with addressing.”

“So what I’m hearin’ is, if you fuck up, I should go full Denny on your ass.”

V nodded. “You can even have your pick of my blunt weapons with which to do it,” he promised.

“Guns too?”

“I don’t keep many. Rarely do I have more than a pistol on me at any given time.” That made sense given all the chrome. But there was a smile crinkling the corners of the merc’s eyes all the same. “You’re more than welcome to them if you wish, however.”

Kerry swallowed. He’d forgotten what he intended to talk about. Kinda hard to concentrate with a goddamn mountain of a man saying shit along the lines of ‘I’d let you kill me’. “I, uh… Sure thing, man.”

V watched him for a while, quiet. Then: “Care for a ride home?”

“What, on—on your bike?” Fuck fuck fuck fuck, alright, the last two brain cells had just spontaneously fucking combusted. “Is there even room?”

“There’s room.” Okay, maybe. Yeah. But only if they squeezed. And if Kerry had to squeeze onto a bike with V like this then he would just die on the spot, because almost no matter how they managed to orient themselves, somebody’s dick would end up mashed against somebody else’s ass.

It was tempting as hell. But for all their yapping, Kerry wasn’t ready for that yet. Not if it was gonna mean something. “Nah,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll just call a cab. Frequent flyer with the Delamains at this point.”

Thankfully, V didn’t look insulted or anything like that. Maybe a little dejected. “Alright.” He offered a brief smile, then turned to head back to his bike. “Call if you need anything before the gig. I won’t be far.”

“Is that a way of sayin’ you’ll break traffic laws to get there?” Kerry teased.

V chuckled as he climbed onto his bike. Bright red with custom Valentinos paint. Scuffed, but well-kept; a real preem set of wheels that came from love instead of money. “Mister Eurodyne, if you knew how traffic laws were written, you would also regard them as suggestions.”

Kerry had to grin. “Already do.”

“A man after my own heart.” The rockstar’s guts filled with butterflies, distracting him so that the sound of the bike’s engine roaring to life didn’t register right away. Fuck, V couldn’t just say shit like that. Asshole. “Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell me what to do.” There was no venom in it. How could there be? Kerry watched as V sped off into the twilight on that bike, sleek and cool as hell. Fucking picture perfect bastard.

How dare Johnny drop something this tempting into his lap after fifty years? Fucker.

Chapter Text

Fuck, Kerry had missed being on stage.

‘Good’ didn’t even come close to describing it. Performing for a live crowd was like this… This transcendental experience, every time. An exchange of energy, the vibes all shared by every single soul out in the crowd and on the stage, circulating through the air itself. It was euphoric. Amazing. Exhausting. It left Kerry feeling like he was crossfaded on every single drug he’d ever tried, so wired that his hands shook. His throat was raw, his lungs ached, his heart was racing, his head throbbed.

He sank into a seat down at the bar afterward, still strung out on that high. Tried not to think about how the whole time, Johnny had been making V’s fingers fly over the frets, about how he’d screamed and sang with V’s voice. About how much better it could’ve been if it was V on stage, for real, and not some remnant of a dead man. Sharing that air with V would be the real dream.

“Didja have fun?” a voice asked. V’s voice. But even before he looked up, Kerry knew it wasn’t V speaking.

Shit, he didn’t need this. “Did you?” Kerry shot back.

Johnny snorted, plopping down on the nearest barstool and leaning over the counter like he owned it. “Can’t believe you still got that in you.” Wait, what? “Really did work on your vocals, huh?”

Ah. So that’s where that was going. “Fuck you,” Kerry sighed. Even the compliments were backhanded. And with that high of performing (and the amphetamines he might’ve taken beforehand) still in his system, Kerry didn’t feel like dealing with the bastard’s little jabs. “...Yeah. I had fun. More than I thought I would, honestly.”

“There ya go. Was that so hard to say, Ker?”

“Y’know how V seems to think you’ve actually changed from the old days?” Kerry shook his head with a chuckle. “’Cause I don’t. Every time we talk, you gotta go outta your way to prove his ass wrong an’ make yourself look like a dick again. Man goes to all that trouble to launder your image, make you look like you’re turnin’ into less of an asshole—”

“—by making himself look better in comparison,” Johnny pointed out. “He’s a corpo prick through and through. All that bowing and scraping, puttin’ you on a pedestal? It’s straight outta their playbook on how to get what you want. Advancement in the corporate world isn’t about real growth, it’s about how well you can stand the taste of somebody else’s boots.”

Kerry’s face twisted in disgust. No. That wasn’t what it was. “You don’t know shit about him.”

“I’m living in his head. I know how he thinks.” Johnny leveled him with a serious look. “This isn’t gonna end well for you, Ker. He’s gonna chew you up and spit you back out.”

If Kerry said anything he was gonna explode. All that swirling emotion from earlier had turned to a stewing rage, threatening to boil over. Because, fuck, Johnny was wrong. He was so goddamn wrong. Doubt didn’t have an inch of wiggle room to try and needle its way in because of how wrong Johnny was (which was rare in itself, because Kerry had done a lot of drugs in his time and sometimes doubted reality based on that alone). And if it was so obvious that even Kerry could see it then Johnny definitely knew too, which meant the fucker was lying through his teeth to try and fuck them over. The same way he apparently made jabs about Kerry that only V could hear, those mean little asides that Kerry could imagine all too easily because he remembered what it was like to hear them every single goddamn day.

Eventually, Johnny sighed. Sagged. The same way he always did when his goading didn’t work. Reaching back, he pulled his guitar out and set it down gently on the counter, with the kind of tenderness that was always reserved for things rather than people. Then, he scooted it towards Kerry with a soft, solemn pat.

Kerry blinked at it dumbly. “Johnny…”

“Go on.” An apology. That’s what this was. “She’s yours. Wouldn’t play without you anyway.”

“I—I can’t—” Kerry’s fingers wound around the neck of the guitar. His thumb stroked over the worn frets. All the anger had left him apart from a tiny shred in the back of his psyche that reminded him this was probably just another one of Johnny’s attempts at manipulation, love-bombing or some therapy-speak bullshit like that. But the rest of him was brought back to V’s words about the two of them bleeding into each other… “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Johnny’s lips curled for a second with something like distaste, and he thrust his hand into his pocket to pull out a pill—that uncharacteristic jerk, like from before. V taking over. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

He popped the pill, swallowed. There were a few seconds where it felt like Kerry’s heart had stopped. Everything was still, quiet except for the sounds of the club winding down around them.

Then V’s body lurched forward on the bar stool with a grunt, barely caught by the hand on the bar counter. The man gasped, coughed, shuddered as he visibly fought the urge to heave. These transitions between the two of them were bad enough to watch, but just how bad were they to live through?

Kerry dragged his teeth over his lip. “V?”

V let out a slow, shaky breath, only to cough again. “Don’t mind me,” he wheezed. “I’ll be… This won’t take but a moment.”

Right, sure. Might pass now, but what about the next time? And the time after that? This shit definitely wasn’t getting easier on V with time, and that was just from what Kerry had seen; there was no way to know what was going on when he wasn’t around, how bad it really got. “And Johnny?”

“I’ll let you know when we’re back on speaking terms,” V huffed, pushing himself up to sit up straighter with a wince. “Ugh. Worthless cunt can’t even sit correctly. Either he turns himself into a fucking liquid or does his best impression of a shrimp, without fail.”

Kerry had to smile. Even as his fingers tightened around Johnny’s guitar. “Guess no amount’a you two bleedin’ together can correct bad posture.”

V made a noise like a large, annoyed dog. He took a few more seconds to breathe, settle into himself, get his bearings. When he looked at Kerry again, it was with much more focused eyes. A clearer head. No more traces of Johnny.

“I, uh…” Kerry swallowed hard. “Listen…”

“Did it help?”

Kerry blinked a bit. “Did it—oh.” His last two brain cells scrambled to come up with an answer. “Uh. Yeah.” He cleared his throat and tentatively picked up the guitar, tugging the strap across his torso and feeling its solid weight against his back. Still warm, from when V had been holding it. From when Johnny had been holding it. “Thanks.”

This was all such a mess. Kerry could feel himself spiraling. And he knew, he fucking knew that if he stared for too long at V’s gentle, relieved smile he was gonna get caught up in it like a tidal wave because it was just too damn easy to get swept away by this guy. If it really was all just a big scary corpo act to get what he wanted, then V deserved an academy award for that shit.

“I should, uh… I should get goin’.” Sliding away from the bar, Kerry tried to look at anything that wasn’t V. “But really—thanks. It was a good time, V. If some gonk in the crowd managed to get a recording, I’ll send it to ya.”

V chuckled. “BD recording software, remember?”

Fuck, right. “Ain’t the same,” Kerry told him anyway, because it was true. “You looked fuckin’ good up there. Even if it wasn’t you. Deserve a chance ta see that shit for yourself.” He was talking on autopilot, yapping away. All his instincts screamed at him to get out because if he stayed any longer he wouldn’t want to go home. He needed a drink, or maybe five, and some time to himself to clear his head. And he needed to delta the fuck out now before he said something they’d both regret later.

“In that case, I’ll be looking forward to it.” V had a smile in his voice again. “Shall I give you a ride home, Mister Eurodyne?” Motherfucker.

It took everything for Kerry to not give in and say yes. “Nah, no need.” He started heading for the door, already ringing up a cab internally. He gave a wave without looking back. “Keep askin’ though. Might take you up on it sometime.”

“Count on it, then,” was the last thing he heard on his way out. Almost too quiet to register.

This fucker was gonna be the death of him.

__

Immediately after arriving back at his mansion, Kerry made every effort to get as wasted as possible. What had been a messy ending to a beautiful night became a blurry haze of disconnected moments and words and feelings. For the next couple of days he was a human puddle of goo on the floor fueled by booze and drugs, only occasionally staggering to his feet to take a piss or pick up his takeout orders from the front step.

He got a lot of texts in that time. Managers, agents, producers. Some were mad about the little impromptu concert since it hadn’t been something that was necessarily easy to monetize. Others were just nagging him about collabs, new tracks, what he was working on. A couple bugged him about V, who’d been spotted in the footage from their gig, but that was more just his handlers and PR team getting pissy about having to pay the screamsheets to lay off on the rumors for a bit until they could get Kerry to make some kinda statement (turns out the ‘he’s my new output’ excuse had worked a little too well and now people actually believed it).

But none of that mattered. Not really. Well, alright, the part about V getting put on the spot was probably gonna be a pain in the ass, but like. Even that just barely overshadowed the fact that Kerry’s tongue felt like it’d turned to cotton in his mouth. It was kinda nice to just, y’know, exist. On the floor. No worries on the floor. None whatsoever. Floor time was a sacred millennial art and Kerry was officially declaring its latest renaissance, or at least he would if he hadn’t been locked out of all his socials by his PR team ages ago.

Wait, what was that last text about? He’d only skimmed it. Something about J-Pop bitches…

Kerry froze for a second, scanning the text over again in his optics. Irritation began to prickle at the back of his skull, bright enough to pierce the fog and wake up his last two brain cells. Those little bubblegum pop sluts—

The next hour was spent getting into one-sided shouting matches with anyone and everyone he could reach. It was out of his managers’ hands; under contract. Out of his lawyers’ hands for the same reason. All under contract when it shouldn’t have been. Kerry knew damn well what he’d signed and it didn’t have any fucking clauses about how his shit was just up for grabs for any bitch who happened to be signed to the same label. He owned the rights to his own music, and he’d been around long enough to see what happened when a song didn’t get the right accreditation. It was worse than losing everything in the divorce had been, at least to him. You lose your music, you lose a piece of your soul.

Well, fuck it. If these bitches wanted problems, he’d give ‘em problems. No more legal avenues he could take? Fine! He could improvise.

[V!] Kerry was in full yapping mode the second he heard the other man pick up. [Got a job for ya, big fella. Merc stuff.]

There was a pause. [Mister Eurodyne,] V sighed, and Kerry could just picture him rubbing a hand over his face, [must we do this at three in the fucking morning?]

Kerry scratched his beard. [I thought you mercenary types were all night owls.]

[Normally I would agree, but I’ve been awake for the past twenty-two hours.]

[Jeez, the fuck you been doin’ for twenty-two hours?]

[Merc stuff,] V replied archly. [A former Arasaka colleague set things up so that his personal effects and intel would be wired to me in the event of his death. I already have a target on my back, so I assumed there would be little harm in… Well. Either way, nothing you ought to be worrying about.] Kerry wondered where he was. What he was doing. Had he just gotten home? Pulled off to the side of the road? Had he already been in bed? In the shower, maybe? [What seems to be the trouble?]

Kerry felt like he was about to vibrate out of his own skin. [I wanna blow somethin’ up.]

[Hah!] That’d been an out-loud laugh. Came through the pickups in a way that Kerry could tell. Shit, V probably had those crinkles around his eyes again like he always did when he got even a little bit of a smile. [Alright, you have my attention.]

Chest fluttering with excitement, Kerry made his way over to his closet to pick out something to wear that wasn’t a thong and bathrobe as he launched into his explanation of what he wanted to do. The J-Pop bitches, them gunning for his track without his permission and his label just giving it to them, their planned gig in Night City where they were gonna perform, the supply truck, all of it. He could snag a ride, he had the ordnance.

All he needed was backup. Just in case. And, y’know, for emotional support. ‘Cause even if it might not be necessary, V was good at making him feel safe. Like he was doing the right thing, like he could do anything he set his mind to, like anything was possible. Kerry didn’t say the sappy parts out loud, though, ‘cause like. Fuck.

V’s warm chuckle snapped him out of his thoughts.

[If I had to guess, this is likely down to a common clause in licensing agreements that allows for the company that wrote the contract to change its terms at any time,] the merc noted, amused. [It’s an old tactic from nearer the turn of the century, and a lesser-known one that rarely sees any sort of legal challenges due to most not knowing that they can. But if the contract was amended, then the amendments made to it may be in conflict with current NUS labor law.]

Kerry blinked. [So…] He frowned a little to himself. [You don’t wanna blow shit up with me?]

[I didn’t say that.] That audible smile. [But the intellectual property theft is a symptom. Get me a copy of your contract with MSM after we’re finished, mm? We can look it over for anything that might be used in a class-action suit. And if it can’t become a lawsuit, then we can surely turn it into one hell of a scandal.]

Fucking shiiiiit, this man. Where had he been all Kerry’s life? [I feel like Arasaka must’a lost a lotta money when they fired your ass.]

[And they lose more and more every day,] V agreed.