When Kerry first meets V, after the dramatics and the breaking and entering, he thinks: God, this kid looks sick.

And that's obvious, of course it is. He logically knows V is sick even if he selfishly forgets to mention it during their little talks. V walks and talks and fights as if nothing is wrong and it's almost easy to pretend it's not real until you look and look.

The kid looks gaunt, almost.

Kerry shakes the thought away with a few quick blinks. Tells himself that he cares for the kid because he cares for Johnny. Duct tapes on a nonchalant face before asking V if he takes sugar in his coffee.

The kid shakes his head, no. Kerry wishes he did. Puts a little in anyway and hopes he won't notice. Looks all thin.

Fuck.

They get closer.

It falls apart.

Kerry has no idea if he expected this or not. No idea if he could afford to expect this.

He's pacing. He realizes. Pacing and shaking and racing. On top of the world and then crashing and burning.

"It's ok," V says from the edge of the bed. He's holding one of Kerry's tank tops against his nose. The nose that hasn't stopped bleeding since the boat half hour ago.

"It's not fucking ok!"

They were fine. Had dived over the edge of that stupid boat and swam a few paces from shore before V had an episode. Collapsing and twitching while Kerry pulled his dead weight from the water.

Sick.

V pushes himself back on the bed. Taps the other side like Kerry's some sort of wounded animal. Like he'd just let this go.

Kerry continues to pace.

V sighs.

"Don't be a gonk. It's nothing-it's fine! Fine now!" he throws the bloody shirt across the room as if that proves it, "look-I'm sorry, Ker. It must've been shitty to see that. But really it's all good now," he laughs but it's dry, "it'll take more than that to kill me. "

And wasn't that just it. The dreaded word. Kerry lost Johnny but now he's back but not just him. Another. Another one dragged down with him on his blazing path and, fuck, he wasn't supposed to care. Didn't need to care but he does. And V is dying. Practically dead, already. Waiting on a goddamn miracle.

Kerry puts his foot through the coffee table.

Kerry wakes up to cigarette smoke.

Strong. That nasty brand Johnny favored in the aughts. He'd smirk when he plucked one from his teeth and blew the smoke over Kerry's jacket. And Kerry would screw up his face in a way that made Johnny laugh before shoving him, hard, on the shoulders.

Kerry shakes the thought away because it was a weird one. Even with Johnny's weird new presence in his life. Returning from some deadly hiatus and bellowing out an encore as if nothing had changed. And it has. Obviously.

Kerry pushes himself up on his elbows, shifts the covers, feels a tinge of pain in his back and promptly ignores it. The same way he ignores the smokey feeling in his throat and the noticeable cold on the other side of the bed.

"G'morning."

V is sitting on the window sill. One leg propped up and the other hanging off, swaying. Cigarette in shaky hand. The right one with the metal implant finger tips that tapped on the tech in Kerry's cheeks when they kissed. That rubbed against the Swarovski crystals in his teeth when they fucked.

And now they are wrapped around a cig. Kerry isn't some priest, some good guy, all holier-than-thou, against putting God knows what in his body. He is in no fit state to judge. None whatsoever.

But V.

"Thought you didn't smoke."

Kerry tries to say it casually. Keeps the sleepy husk in his voice so it doesn't seem like it has any semblance of concern.

Habits change, they are grown men.

V crushes any pretence, stomps it into the curb for good measure. He blinks at the cigarette and then blinks at his hands and then blinks at Kerry. Before shrugging his shoulders, pulling his face into that easy, lopsided grin that feels more in character.

Tosses the ciggy out the window.

"Can you blame me for pickin' it up, eh?"

Kerry shrugs at that. He is right but it felt strange saying it. Kerry presses because he'd never shy away from rocking the boat. "Just seems a bit random though, heh. You get shot in the head, stuck with ol' Johnny, but sleeping with me is what makes you lose it?"

"Never a dull moment with a rockerboy."

He sounded far off somewhere, not here. Kerry didn't quite know who he was referencing.

V hops down from the window sill and crawls into the bed, all smirking and cheeky and him. V is shifting the conversation. Pushing it out the door and shutting it behind him.

Kerry wakes up a little later to a copper smell.

"Y'bleeding," shove, shake, "V! your bleedin' again."

Kerry's voice almost surprises himself. All dry and resigned. Unsurprised.

V groans and looks about. Eyes barely there, barely focused. Dried blood caked on his nostrils and cheeks and pillow cases. His runs his tongue over his lips and catches some dried in his stubble.

Kerry is a selfish man. Always has been. Wouldn't piss on a man on fire. He lives and breathes all anger and irritation. Slams bloody fists into concrete when he doesn't get his way.

Kerry takes his night shirt of in one swift motion. Cups V's face with and gentleness he is simply not allowed before pressing it into the blood flow.

V is looking at him, more aware but still half there. Weakly grips the wrist that's holding the shirt. More so holding on than helping.

"I'm so fucking sick of this." More a whisper than words. Their own private mess. Kerry blinks pinpricks from his eyes.

"I know."

A miracle. God forbid, a fucking miracle.

V collapses into Kerry's arms battered and bleeding and shaking all over. Grips his jacket in both fists and screams a bloody raw sound. Alone but alive. Rejoice and mourning in a disgusting cocktail that Kerry can't get enough of.

Kerry asks V if he wants sugar in his coffee. He'll say no, Kerry will put in in anyway. V will pretend he doesn't notice.

His hands shake when he holds the cup. And Kerry puts gloves on over the metal cyberware in his hands because, on day's like these, V hates the feeling of metal on his skin. Screams his lungs raw with the night terrors.

There's a gap. An absence that can't quite be filled. Kerry knows it and V knows it and yet neither of them are quite ready to say. Johnny's gone. Gone again.

Kerry looks and the newfound light in Vs eyes and it makes his chest feel a little less pained.