Johnny hadn't stopped shaking since Mikoshi.
Maybe it was the sudden jolt into reality, V thought, or some good old-fashioned combat trauma.
Either way, V didn't mention it. Neither did Johnny. Ever touchy, twitching, like some kind of ready-and-waiting grenade. Temper fiery like the pin slipped, just so, leaving you precious milliseconds to wonder where the fuck the conversation went wrong before your heads off your shoulders.
That and the hypocrisy. Jumping in, asking if Johnny was ok like V was anything even remotely resembling the pinnacle of mental well-being. Like he wasn't the one having panic attacks in the bathroom like some rookie Merc.
Knock knock.
There was someone at the door.
V pressed his hands over his mouth. Tight. Calloused fingers pushing into the overgrown stubble about his cheeks. Then they loosened, momentarily, grabbed Dying Night from its spot on the sink just next to the shower before clambering into the corner and letting the water scold his back.
Knock knock.
"V, answer the goddamn door!"
V wanted to. Wanted to scream about how perfectly capable he was. How admirably unafraid, never been better, so Johnny could fuck right off.
He clamped his hands over his ears.
Knock knock.
Boots stomped across the tile. A metal fist thumped, one, two, three, on the wall adjacent the shower curtain before retreating. The front door hissed when it opened.
"How fucking long does it take to open a door?"
"Shut up, Kerry."
Kerry.
It was Kerry.
V exhaled. Shaky and raw. Putting that little episode out of the way and promptly pretending it never happened. Pretending a simple 'knock knock' didn't send his thoughts whirring to half lived assaults on Arasaka Tower or Jackie's dead body in the back of a fucking taxi.
"Where's V?"
"Shower."
A pause. V imagined Kerry's eyebrow raising. All high and disbelieving that he'd ever be caught doing something so mundane. Then, another knock on the shower wall, lighter this time, a soft clang of metal plates on bathroom tile.
"Hey, kid, you good?"
That made V pause, because, truly, was he? It seemed a stupid question. After everything. V rubbed his wrist, felt the chrome against skin, all sharp, and allowed a moment of weak contemplation. Would it help? Probably not. Would only succeed in therapy leaflets 'accidentally' left on the coffee table or an awfully sad Misty. She'd tap him over the head while scolding him in some unique mix of Spanish and Polish and you're better than that before recommending some essential oils.
V hummed, leant his head against the shower wall and shocked himself by thumping it on the tile. "I'm good, Ker."
"You'll let me know if you need anythin'?"
It was interesting how Kerry's asshole nature seemed to slip when V was about. How, despite it all, Kerry had the decency to soften his tone and pretend he was here for V. Liar.
"Yeah." V said after a while. Honestly surprised Kerry waited for an answer, could practically feel those icy blues burning a hole through the shower curtain.
A tentative sigh and some retreating steps. V was alone again.