Johnny and Troy talk. It's a first for them, kind of. Pre-SR1, originally done for a prompt, but 3-sentences didn't seem to cut it.

They didn't go over this in training. Sure they went over the basics, tried to get him ready to walk the walk and talk the talk, but there was no foolproof handbook for getting in tight with your marks.

And there was no fucking handbook for getting close to those a tier above that. Julius he'd worked for. Bled for. He'd thrown in his lot and tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that justified every action.

What was going through Troy's head right now, however, wasn't the usual warning. No, it was calling him a grade-A dumbass for thinking this was a good in with someone.

Though this wasn't what he was initially going for. What he'd wanted to do was make it clear that if things went bad, he'd have the other guy's back no matter what. He did forget one huge factor, though. The guy in question was Johnny Gat, and subtle didn't have a place in his vocabulary. The guns were going to come out at some point, and in the short amount of time they'd worked together Troy should've predicted that. Seen it coming soon after they'd made it to the meet.

Now he was weathering his poor performance best as he could while also trying not to bleed all over the inside of Johnny's Venom. The thing was spotless, easily one of the best kept cars he'd seen, so when Gat had given him the go ahead to hop in he'd nearly balked. But here they were, and as his vision continued to clear, he was surprised they'd even made it that far under that much fire.

"Think we got them all?" Troy asked, checking the rearview mirror. The meeting was supposed to have been a one-on-one between the Saints and the Vice King's reps, but Green had bailed. He'd left one of King's other lieutenants to pick up the slack, and he'd brought back up.

"Don't know, and don't care. Green was supposed to be there, and he fucking choked. We do this again, and I'll give him something better to choke on."

Troy chuckled. "Bet you will." He leaned an arm against the door and tried not to start when Johnny turned. Johnny had a lead foot, but Troy didn't give a shit with the pain currently running through him. Distance was good. Not getting shot at was better. "Fuck, what a mess. Thanks for the out."

He nodded once and Troy sat up, blinking a few times to steady himself. The streetlights made it almost difficult to pick out the signs dangling above, but he knew this area well enough to ignore them. What he didn't ignore was Gat's turn onto the street past the one leading to the church.

"Hey, that's not our street," he threw out, holding his hand to his side. "Thought we'd hit the church first."

"Not going there yet. Boss'll be there when we get there, so we might as well get this shit off."

"Yeah, 2 AM's not his usual." And it wasn't his, but that was what caffeine was for. "I think we've got at least three hours to burn before he'll head back."

"Long enough." Johnny wiped a hand off on his jeans and turned the corner fast, making Troy grab for the door. "I'd also like to pick up something special for the VKs in the area. For later."

"Later." Troy wasn't sure if the chill came from the air conditioner or his smile. "I think you'll get your chance after this. They'll come knocking."

He turned back to the road. "Good."

It took a few minutes for the conversation to finally click. They weren't going to the church. They were going to Gat's apartment, and Troy wondered just how bad they really were at the moment. He'd caught himself in the mirror briefly, and didn't get a good look, but he didn't have to chance a guess to say that he looked like shit. Gat wasn't much better, so it made sense to get cleaned up.

That's what he kept on telling himself as they came to a stop in front of an older building. It wasn't far from the church either, he noted, checking the street and the apartment number as they lumbered towards the door.

"Hope you're not at the top."

Gat gave him a sidelong glance. "Nice up there." When Troy frowned he shook his head. "I'm not fucking carrying you if that's what you're going on about."

"Just...I'll follow you, okay?" He ran a hand through his hair and pointed ahead. "I'm not that fucked up."

He shoved the door open, and Troy made sure to grab it before it closed behind him. It was only a couple of floors, but by the time they reached Johnny's door he felt drained. It was pretty damn pathetic, but he kept his mouth shut as he went inside and Johnny kicked the door closed behind them.

It was quiet. Quiet and empty apart from the furniture and television sitting in the middle of the living room. Troy looked over each piece briefly then stepped further inside to give Johnny space as he cut around him.

"Mind if I...?" He gestured toward his face and Gat pointed to a room behind him. "Thanks."

He parked himself in front of the mirror and flipped on the light. It felt like he'd been punched again as he took in everything, and the shiners he had were definitely going to stick around tomorrow.

"Jesus." He lightly touched his cheekbone and didn't bother with his eye. It was swelling already, blurring his vision enough to irritate, and he was lucky that hit had glanced. He reached for the cabinet to his left and pulled out a towel, leaning into the doorway to hold it up.

Johnny had his gun out, and Troy felt his body tense. It flashed under the fluorescent light of the kitchen as he placed it down on the old wooden dining table, and Troy took in a quick breath once it was out of reach.

Gat turned towards him, giving him a quick scan, then pulled out a large gleaming knife. "Knock yourself out."

Troy ducked back in before Johnny could say anything else. Part of the towel went under the faucet as he stared forward, paler than he had been, and sighed when he pressed the cool cloth to his face. It wasn't much of a relief, but it was something.

"So, you live alone?"

"...You see anyone else?"

"No, just curious," Troy said, scrubbing off the blood on his hands. "Looks like you haven't been here long either."

No pictures were up, leaving the walls dull and bare. The only thing that had character in this place aside from the owner was the armchair in the living room, and Troy wondered if Johnny even bothered to sleep here.

And with the lack of response, Troy swore as he poked his head around the corner again. He wasn't in the spot he'd been in before, and Troy swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to listen for anything over the water running. "My place's kind of the same."

He'd walked into this with the intention of treading carefully, but still had no clear idea what counted as okay to Gat. He'd done small talk before with little success, but couldn't help opting for it when silence was the alternative. Still, this was one of his better attempts. Johnny hadn't said more than five words to him before, so this almost-conversation was the most progress he'd made yet.

"Move around a lot?"

The voice came from the room to his right and Troy did his best to calm his breathing before responding. "Not if I can help it. I'm just not used to the space. I had a smaller place before this one, and I almost don't know what to do with it. Could throw random shit up, but what's the point?"

Gat chuckled, and Troy nearly jumped when he came in. He ducked around him for the same cabinet and pulled another towel out, tugging at his stained tank. "Ain't none. There's better use for the space."

"Uh, you want me to-" Troy pointed towards the exit and Johnny raised an eyebrow. The cramped space didn't leave a lot of room for shuffling, and when Gat pushed the shower curtain to the side Troy got the message. "Right."

He cleared out and tried not to think about the fact that most of the blood covering Johnny wasn't his. With nowhere else to go he flopped down onto the couch and winced. The door slammed shut, and Troy waited for the shower to start. The water came on and he sat up to take another look at the room.

It was generic in every way, form, and fashion, and by the time he was done going over it he knew he wouldn't find anything out here.

The bedroom would be the best bet, but crossing that line even with Johnny holed up in the shower was asking to get a bullet in the head. There wasn't a guarantee he'd be able to move fast enough to get out if Gat threw the door open either. Both of his legs felt like he'd run a marathon to avoid the VKs, and right now he wouldn't be able to manage a brisk jog let alone a sprint.

When the water cut off he tossed the idea out and stayed put. Now wasn't the time, and if he played his cards right then maybe he'd get another chance later.

Can't rush with this. Rushing's sloppy, and you can't afford that, got it?

So, couch it was. It wasn't too bad either, and Troy knew he was getting a little too comfortable as he waited. Minutes passed and he felt his eyelids starting to drift shut.

The door opened and Johnny took a detour into the room Troy had pinned as his, bloody clothes in tow. He'd changed into something similar to what he normally wore, and Troy didn't miss the knife at his side as he passed through.

"You don't mind bloodstains on your couch, do you?" Troy muttered as he rubbed his eyes, "I picked the first spot in front of me and didn't think about it."

"That one's seen worse. Now if you stained the car you're fucking paying for it." Troy quickly glanced up only to see Gat aim a shit-eating grin at him. "And I'm talking deep-cleaning and detailing."

He sat there in place, his mouth hanging open a bit, then pursed his lips. "Yeah, red's a little tacky with that paint job."

"You better not be saying what I think you're saying," Johnny said, crossing into the kitchen.

"And insult your lady? No worries there." Troy let himself lean into the couch and closed his eyes. "But on that subject, that whole thing with the Vice Kings could've gone better."

"When I get the last word in it usually goes better."

"Yeah, getting the shit kicked out of me is a pretty awful conversation ender. I try to avoid that if I can help it." Troy held a hand to his ribs and pressed down gently, but the dull throbbing didn't stop. "But do you start all conversations like that?" With a fucking bullet to the head?

Troy heard a door close, and he cracked open an eye a second later to see Gat holding out a beer to him. "They didn't want to talk. Motherfuckers wanted to open fire, so I saved them the trouble. Fired first."

The Vice Kings had given them a frosty reception, but anyone would've with the way Gat had been moving around. They had only had the time to get their opening statement out before he'd started firing, and it'd gone to hell from there.

Still, they hadn't walked in their with their guns out. The Vice Kings had. If he stretched it, he could've called it self-defense or self-preservation. Stretched it thin and far. "So, it's you or them?"

"You or them," he agreed.

He'd seen Gat from a distance before and heard more than his fair share of rumors from cops and bangers alike, but this was the first time Troy had been there to see his handiwork and the facts had weight. It left him cold the longer he thought about it, but it'd been something to witness and be fucking grateful he wasn't on the other end of.

"Yeah, it was kind of one-sided when I was able to catch it." And fucking brutal. He'd been fixated on the damage being dealt, so when the guy to his right had landed a hit he'd taken it full-force.

Johnny fell into the large armchair next to the couch and laughed. "It wasn't pretty."

"What, you or my fucking spill?" Troy asked, tilting the beer back.

Gat grinned, the look of it sharp but nothing like before, and drank from his own beer.

"Ah, great. Guy must've hit a grand slam if you're not willing to talk."

"Didn't say I wouldn't."

"And I did get that guy that was closing in on you."

Johnny rolled his shoulder, and kicked his legs up on the ragged coffee table. "Once you found your way back up. Took you long enough."

Troy groaned. "Fuck. This your way of saying I should get better at taking a hit then come crawling back to you? "

"Maybe."

The grin grew wider and Troy flipped him off. "Sorry, man. No can do. My skull's thick, but not that fucking hard."

"What's Julius's deal anyway? Having us aim low like that?" He finished the beer off and put it down on the worn table with a hard clack. "We should be going for King or any of the other fuckers."

"He wants to fix the Row. Told you that up front and he's being careful about it."

"One hood at a time?"

"If he has to."

Johnny tilted his head in his direction and the edge to his words wasn't missed. "If he has to?'"

Troy started to nod, and Johnny snorted. "What? Don't believe him?"

"Boss knows how to talk, but he's not ready. He can't fight or take shit long as the Saints are stuck where they are."

"Hmm." Troy drained the rest of the beer and pulled out a cigarette. "Not even going to try and sugarcoat it, eh?"

"No point."

"True. No need to mince words there."

He lit it - using up his last match - and took a moment to let it catch before inhaling. He could handle this any number of ways, the careful omission, the non-answer, the diversion, but he couldn't see Gat playing well with any of that. So he stuck with what worked for now. The truth.

"We've got a lot of ground to cover, I'll say that much. We're still feeling things out and growing. Can't do much more until we're secure in that."

"They're not going to wait for you."

"We know, but you're right. We're not ready, not yet, and tackling any of the others head on's a recipe for disaster. We've got to play it smart until we've got a better foothold, even if we've got some heavy hitters playing for us. You've got a decent swing, but you're not going to hit a home run every time, right?"

Johnny didn't bother to respond, and Troy exhaled, clenching his teeth as he let go of the breath carefully. Minutes passed as he puffed away, and his attention kept on wanting to drift to his left as Troy tapped his fingers on his leg.

"Yo."

"Yeah, man?"

"Got an extra? Ran out before we hit the motherfuckers."

"Sure. Brand matter?"

"Fuck no."

"That works for me." Troy fished for his pack and handed over the cigarette. "Three left. You're lucky I've got spares."

"Yeah, yeah." Gat said, placing the cigarette between his lips. "How about a light?"

He reached for the matchbook in his pocket. The empty matchbook. "Just used my last one. No lighter?"

"Not on me."

"Well, I'd offer to help, but the only option I've got's kind of up close and personal."

Johnny leaned over the side of the chair and flicked his eyebrows up. "There's worse ways." Troy coughed, inhaling when he meant to exhale, and Gat backed off with a laugh. "Careful. Shit'll kill you."

He got up and walked into his bedroom, leaving Troy alone to keep from hacking a lung up. Each motion reminded him of the bruises traveling along his ribs, and he cursed under his breath as he pressed a hand to his eyes.

"Get back here, Gat," Troy managed, clearing his throat. "If you hand it over I'll get it."

He wandered back within a minute, his unlit cigarette still dangling from his mouth, and held up a lighter. Johnny flicked it on as he walked towards the fridge and Troy gave an internal sigh of relief.

"Want another?"

The door to the fridge opened and Troy heard the bottles clink together as Johnny reached inside for one. "Sure."

Gat had a good light on his cigarette by the time he came back, and Troy took the beer without meeting his eye.

"Forgot mine at home. My lighter usually never leaves my pocket." Troy replied, popping the lid off then holding the bottle to his face. "I would need it tonight."

Johnny threw himself back into the large armchair, not even bothering to kick his feet up this time. "Tell me something."

Troy let his eyes drift over to him. "Yeah?"

"You want this to work?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You're going to need some serious hardware. This shit ain't enough."

Troy took a swig of the beer to wash away the dry feeling in his throat and nodded. "Yeah, I know. Got any suggestions in that area?"

"A few."

"Like that gift of yours?"

"That's one of them."

"Might as well share. I don't think I'm going anywhere anytime soon," Troy said, leaning into the couch again. "Legs aren't working."

The slow buzz was starting to work its magic, and he took another drink to push it along. He felt ready to doze off as well, which wasn't exactly wise given his environment and current condition, but didn't feel a rush to move. Even within reaching distance of the department's bogeyman.

"Bullshit."

"Maybe it is, but hit me anyway. We've got time to kill remember?" Troy yawned and grabbed his cigarette before he dropped it. "Just not literally, okay? I think I've had enough of that today."

Johnny shrugged and exhaled, the smoke coming out in a large cloud. "Fair enough. Let's start at the top."