commitment (cyberpunk 2077, ending spoilers)

[mother_herbivore]

Kerry hangs up on Kovachek mid-sentence when the text comes through.

are you busy rn?

It’s been days, over a week since he heard from V, since that melancholy, oddly chilling phone call from the space station. He’d hung up so that he could call friends of friends who knew someone that might know someone else, spent a few hours trying to get somewhere, get anything other than maybes and I’ll let you knows and when he tried to call V back, there had been no answer. The phone just rang and rang and rang. It was the same story every day after that. Leads dropped off, people didn’t call back, and V never picked up.

It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, he thought—he’d seen plenty of friends go silent for days only to reappear with a new tattoo and a fading black eye, acting like nothing had happened. Hell, he’d done it himself more than once. Even when he’s doing alright, there is never a moment that he doesn’t have at least three missed call notifications on his screen—it’s not a crime to just want to be left alone.

But Kerry finds himself thinking of the last time Arasaka Tower had been attacked and the utter silence that had followed. V hadn’t said anything about going after the heart of the corporation, but what else was he going to do? What else could he do, with Johnny in his bones?

So it’s a relief when V’s name appears in his peripheral, the text message short enough that he doesn’t have to open the notification to read it.

are you busy rn?

What’s up?

need a ride if you can swing it

Flick me the address

It’s so casual that Kerry is starting to feel foolish. What had he been so worried about? He knows V doesn’t like texting much, so he doesn’t ask for details yet, doesn’t say What the fuck happened? yet. He just gets in the car and drives where V tells him.

The address takes him to a park-and-ride near the bay. There are plenty of cars but not many people, and it just takes a second for Kerry to spot V, sitting on a bench near the entry driveway. He’s wearing a poorly fitted, clinical-looking white shirt under his gold-rose embroidered vest, and his pants are torn in places, stained with dark splatters and splotches. His hair is limp and his posture is worse. The bags under his eyes could be carry-on for a trip to Masbate. All in all, he looks like shit, half-dead, like something inside of him is broken. Kerry wants to kiss him, just to let him know he cares.

V doesn’t move until Kerry is standing right in front of him. He’s just been staring into middle distance, head leaned back against the wall behind him so he’s looking through half-lidded eyes. Even the artificial gold of his irises looks dull. They slowly turn to look at Kerry.

“Hey,” Kerry says. “Let’s get you out of here.”

V mutters something that sounds like yeah. He gets to his feet and picks up the duffel bag from the bench beside him. It looks mostly empty, and the Arasaka logo is embroidered on one pocket. Kerry doesn’t ask about it.

He’s silent as they get in the car and he puts it into drive, half unsure of what to say, half hoping that V will break the silence himself, but V just rests his head on his hand and stares out the window. The faint smell of medical antiseptic sticks to him, reminding Kerry of a trip to the doctor’s office.

They make it about a mile before Kerry says anything.

“How was space?” he asks, half-joking. V doesn’t look at him, but his free hand curls into a fist in his lap. Shit, Kerry thinks, bad question. No space, no Arasaka. Not yet.

“Have you eaten?” he asks instead.

“Fuck if I know. I don’t remember eating anything up there.”

So much for avoiding the topic. Kerry frowns. “What—at all?”

V just shrugs. Kerry wonders if he’s being too pushy, too mother hen-ish. Things are supposed to be fun still, barely two months in. Hell, he’s supposed to be the aloof one, right? The rockstar dating some merc off the street. V should be the one who’s a little too clingy, trying a little too hard to stay on Kerry’s radar. Under normal circumstances, it’s refreshing—V is honest and laid-back and doesn’t put on airs for anyone. This is different. He’s barely looked at Kerry at all now.

“We’ll stop and get you something,” Kerry says.

“Not hungry.”

They roll up to a red light, and Kerry taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Okay, V,” he says. “What are we doing, then?”

V is silent for a long time. The light turns green, but Kerry doesn’t move, ignores the honking from behind him. They’ll go around. He just waits, watching V. V doesn’t meet his gaze. Kerry knows he is quiet by nature, not given to blustering or nervous chatter, but this quiet is different. This is worrisome. What did they do to him up there? It scares him to think about.

“Will you drive me to Rancho Coronado?” V asks finally.

Kerry hands him his phone to plug in the address.

They pull up across the street from a house that looks just like every other house they’ve passed: faded paint, a dead lawn, a banged up car from the 2050s in the driveway.

“Wait here,” says V, and Kerry has no problem with that. V gets out of the car and crosses the street without looking both ways.

He gets as far as the porch steps before he stops. He doesn’t turn back or look around. He just stands there, one foot on the bottom stair, motionless for a long, long moment. Kerry finds himself frozen too, watching, waiting, worrying.

His phone chimes with a text from Kovachek, where the hell are you?

Fuck off I’ll call tomorrow

Kerry, seriously, I’m trying to make amends, give you everything you want but you’re making it

Kerry stops reading and turns his attention back to V, who still hasn’t moved. Somewhere a street over, someone’s car alarm goes off, and Kerry can see him jerk in surprise. Then he runs a hand through his hair and skips the next two stairs to the porch to knock on the door.

An older woman in yellow overalls answers it and just stands there. V spreads his hands from his sides a little, shoulders going up in a way that tells Kerry this might not go well. He can’t hear any words being exchanged. He hopes he didn’t just give V a ride to a fistfight or something.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the woman pulls V into an embrace, her face scrunched up the way a person’s face does when they’re about to start sobbing. V hugs her back, and they stand there for a long moment, swaying slightly as the woman’s crying shakes V, until V carefully leans back and jerks his head toward the car. The woman’s mouth moves, saying something as she wipes her eyes. She glances at the car. Kerry flicks his hand in greeting even though she shouldn’t be able to see him through the tinted window. She goes back inside, and V comes back to the car.

Kerry rolls down the window.

“What’s that all about?” he asks.

“That’s my mom,” says V, like it’s not a big deal. “You have plans tonight?”

“Not anymore,” says Kerry. “Your mom?”

“I had to come from somewhere. If you want, you can have dinner with us.”

Of course Kerry wants to. V gestures to the house.

“No one’ll mess with your car,” he says. “Not while it’s parked in our driveway.”

“What, you got a reputation?”

“Me? No.”

V leans on the car for a second longer, searching Kerry’s face for something, then taps the roof twice and straightens up.

“Just go ahead and park,” he says, and Kerry does.

“Anything I should know? Household do’s and don’ts?” he asks as he makes his way up the porch steps. Louise’s parents had been sticklers about not wearing shoes in the house and not sitting on that one antique chair in the living room. They’d also hated it when he sat around holding his drink in his hand instead of setting it down on a coaster in between sips. Of course they hadn’t said anything to his face, they’d just smiled and waited until he was out of the house before they started complaining to Louise, and he’d avoided them after that. He can only imagine how much they’d hate him now if they were still alive.

V just says, “Don’t light the place on fire.”

Natalia is a short woman with out-of-date fashion cyberware in her arms and a firm set to her square jaw. Her eyes are dark brown. Kerry imagines V with eyes that color instead of gold. It’s not hard—she has the same look that V does, hooded eyes with a half-lidded, hard-to-read gaze and a mouth that turns down at the corners, just enough to make her look perpetually stern. She’s composed herself after crying on the porch, and she offers Kerry her hand.

“What was your name again?” she asks.

“Kerry,” V answers for him as Kerry shakes her hand. Notably he leaves off the Eurodyne, and Natalia doesn’t seem to recognize him. Not that Kerry would complain—more people know his name than his face, and tonight doesn’t feel like a Eurodyne kind of night.

“So how do you two know each other?” Natalia asks. Kerry has never met a mother who didn’t ask that question like it’s an interrogation. She isn’t trying to be discreet as she looks him over, sizing him up, probably judging the cost of his jewelry and cyberware. He’s used to being stared at, but she isn’t looking at him with any awe.

“A mutual friend introduced us,” he says. It’s kind of funny to him, saying it like that, but when he catches V’s eye, V isn’t smiling.

“You one of his merc friends?” Natalia asks.

“No,” V answers for him again, and Kerry gets a clue that he should follow V’s lead here. “I have friends that aren’t solos.”

“Well, last I heard you were hanging out with that Jackie Welles again. I heard his mama took you in.”

“More work in Heywood,” says V.

“You got a car.”

“Don’t wanna step on the Street’s toes.”

“David...”

V looks at Kerry (who pretends that he didn’t hear anything), then back at his mother. “Not in front of company, Ma. At least pretend you’re happy to see me.”

“Of course I’m happy to see you,” says Natalia. “My oldest boy, you think I wouldn’t be happy to see you? That why you’ve been avoiding us? So bad you couldn’t even pick up a phone and call? You know, when I heard about Jackie getting zeroed, I thought—”

“Ma,” V says, and his voice gets soft as he tries to steady it, “seriously, stop.”

Kerry decides that it’s time to excuse himself to the bathroom. He asks V in a low voice, and V points silently up the stairs. No one is really fooled, but it’s better than staying in the room and trying to pretend that he can’t see tears welling up in Natalia’s eyes.

Upstairs, he leans against the bathroom sink, idly flipping through the apps on his phone, ignoring texts from his manager for the better part of thirty minutes before there’s a soft knock at the door. Kerry opens it to V, one hand at the back of his neck, looking even more exhausted than before.

“Sorry,” V says. “Didn’t mean for things to turn to shit as soon as I walked in.” He sighs, lets his hand drop like it’s made of lead. “I shouldn’t have dragged you out here. Shouldn’t’ve… a lot of things. Anyway. Sorry. I’ll send you some eddies for gas.”

Kerry blinks. “I don’t want your money,” he says, more sharply than he meant to. He pauses, taking a moment to soften his face and think of something to say. V just stares at him. “C’mon, V. I just spent the last week worried sick about you. If you need some time, I get it, just… don’t go silent on me again.”

V scoffs, then starts to laugh. He puts both hands over his face, turning away slightly, his shoulders shaking. He mutters fuck, and Kerry realizes that he isn’t really laughing.

“Ah, shit,” Kerry says, “didn’t mean—”

“No,” V says. Even just that one syllable quavers. “It’s not—you.” He seems to shrink for a moment, his shoulders hunched, arms tucked in close, the heels of his palms pressed again his eyes. Then he inhales sharply and straightens up, looks Kerry in the face. “I’ve had… a hell of a few weeks. Few months. Got a lot of shit to unpack.”

“I know,” Kerry says, “I get it. Johnny always did manage to tear through our lives like a fucking hurricane.”

V tenses visibly at Johnny’s name.

“Yeah,” he says, “Johnny.”

There’s more he isn’t saying, something bad and just barely held behind his teeth. Kerry opens his mouth to ask what the problem is, then decides against it. He’s sure that it will come up again later, when V’s nerves aren’t so raw.

Instead, he asks, “So, David, huh?”

It’s a risky move, but it pays off. V laughs breathlessly, some of the tension fading from his face.

“Don’t start calling me that,” he says. “I’ll lose all my street cred.” He wipes dried tears from his cheeks, then runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I need a shower. Change of clothes. Can’t stand this hospital shit anymore.” He plucks at his white shirt.

“Your bag is still in the car,” Kerry says, but V shakes his head.

“No, that just has the rest of the stuff I wore to...I was wearing when I got there, and the rest of this white set. I’ll borrow something from my stepdad. You…” He trails off uncertainly, clearly trying to think of a better way to end that sentence than telling Kerry what to do.

“I’ll go charm your mother,” Kerry says, “see what else I can dig up on you, David.”

“I swear to God, Ker,” V warns him, but he’s smiling a little, and Kerry stands there for a moment, just looking at him and wondering what it would take to see him smile completely again. There isn’t a lot he wouldn’t do to see that, he thinks. He reaches out, brushes a lock of hair out of V’s face, lets his fingers linger on V’s cheek. Then he claps his other hand on V’s shoulder and steps aside to let him into the bathroom.

“See you downstairs,” he says.

Natalia isn’t in the living room anymore, but he finds her in the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel and sniffling. She glances at him when he enters, and her eyes are still red but that stern expression is back.

“He’s taking a shower,” Kerry tells her, before she asks about V. “Said he’d borrow clean clothes from his stepdad.”

“Okay,” Natalia says. She gives him another up-and-down look, then asks, “So how did you really meet?”

Interviewers try this all the time, try to catch him off guard and get an honest answer out of him. It never works—Kerry replies, “Like I said, a mutual friend.”

“David doesn’t hang out with famous people,” she says. Okay, so she did recognize him—she just doesn’t care. Kerry rubs the back of his neck. Well, he might as well start practicing a story, because no one will ever believe the truth.