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The neon lights of the city oscillate between a blur of colours and crisp lines so bright they hurt V's head as he staggers down the street.
It hadn't been any of his business, really, but the kid behind the counter had looked to be about fifteen, and there'd been three armed robbers in the store and not a single cop to be found, so naturally, V had taken matters into his own hands. Three against one was a walk in the park compared to jobs he usually took on, but there'd been two in the back who hadn't shown up on his initial scan, and they'd managed to get in a few shots before V had dropped them. That had drawn the attention of the rest of the gang who'd been close by—today was collection day for protection money, apparently—and injured and outgunned, he'd been forced to flee.
The shootout seems hours away now even though V knows he can't have gotten that far in his current condition. He's used so many inhalers he can feel his heart pounding in his ears, but their effectiveness seems to have worn off after fixing the worst of the bullet holes because blood continues to drip through his fingertips from the cut in his side where a machete had sliced through his armour.
His vision flickers and stutters and for a moment he thinks the relic's acting up again, but no, it seems like his left eye has chosen this moment to give up after the beating it'd taken. Half his field of view flickers again, then a good chunk disappears from the left side. V tries to pick up his pace a little in case his right eye decides to go the same way; he doesn't relish the thought of stumbling blind through the streets.
Thankfully, the comforting blue glow of the sign that proclaims Misty's Esoterica comes into view soon, and he all but throws himself through the door in relief.
It's one of the rare occasions where Misty has a customer at the counter, and they both turn to look at V in shock as he puts a hand out to steady himself against the wall.
"V!" Misty rounds the counter and reaches out for him.
V tries very hard not to fall onto her, but he has no strength left to muster to stay upright, and the ground quickly rises up to meet him.
-
"V." Vik's looking down with that tired half-resigned, half-concerned look he seems to wear all the time around V now.
"Hey, Vik," V croaks out around the dryness in his throat. He wonders how long he's been out.
"You scared the hell outta Misty." Vik wheels away on his chair and comes back with a glass of water that he helps V take small sips from.
"Remind me to apologise to her." V coughs as some of the water catches in the back of his throat, threatening to go down the wrong way. "I shoulda used the back entrance. Didn't realise she'd be with a customer." Not that he should be dumping this shit in her lap even when she wasn't, though.
"Scared the hell outta me too." Vik's look is all concerned now as he sets the half-empty glass on the tray next to him, and V squirms a little under the weight of Vik's furrowed brow.
"Aw, come on, Vik. You've seen me in this chair plenty of times. In worse situations too." How many times had he and Jackie had to drag each other in to get patched up? V tries on a grin to lighten the mood.
"I know. That's part of the problem." Vik doesn't smile back.
"Don't tell me you're sick of me already."
"V, you're always welcome here. Don't think for a second that you're not. But I just wish…" Vik rubs at his temples with one hand. "You're not gonna listen, but I'm gonna say it anyway: the living part of living legend? That's the most important part. Sometimes, when I don't hear from you for a few weeks, I'm just waiting for the next body they report on the news to be yours. If it even makes it that far; seen far too many would-be legends left to rot for days in landfills and back alleys before being discovered."
"If you're saying I should—"
"Nah, I'm not tellin' you how to live your life, I know from experience that sorta shit never works. Just…be more careful, alright?"
"Want me to call you every night when I get home too?" V asks, unable to resist alleviating the serious atmosphere that's settled in the clinic.
"Ah, get outta here, kid." Vik waves a dismissive hand at V.
Despite his words, Vik watches closely as V eases himself out of the operating chair and carefully transfers his weight to his feet. No buckling, swaying, or blurred vision; mission accomplished.
"Thanks, Vik," V says with a grateful smile. "What do I owe you?"
"Oh, nothing much, just your life. Again." Vik crosses his arms and stares V down. "Which you can repay by being more careful with it."
"Can't just take eddies like the other rippers, huh?" Even after all the time he'd spent with Jackie and the Welles family, it still floors V to realise there are people in the city who care about him for him, and not just because he can do a job for them or make them eddies. "I'll try," he says as sincerely as he can.
Vik nods. "That's all I'm asking. Now go, no one's ever become a legend by loitering in their doctor's office."
V's got a rendezvous with a client he can still make if he breaks a few traffic laws on the way, but he still takes a second to look over his shoulder as he leaves the clinic. Vik's finally returned his smile, watching him go with a slight tug on one corner of his lips that softens the hard lines of his face immeasurably. The smile grows a little wider when he sees V looking back. V gives him a jaunty wave and ducks out into the alley.