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hell opens its maw too fast and too wide - hell's teeth are sharp, hell has camellia flowers that never fade and its saliva is colored scarlet like the brightest blood. v knows - this is the beginning of her end, this is something that will never, ever be different.
johnny in her head is whispering, screaming, banging on the bars - burn the arasaka, the sons of bitches should be dead - but v just presses her fingers into her own eyelids, rubs them, and takes a deep breath. they say to know true loss you have to have everything in front of you, but did she have that? Hardly, to be honest. she was never the best, she was never irreplaceable, and the corporation showed her that - chewed her up and kicked her to the curb, zeroed out absolutely everything, and now she's forced to squat in a small apartment and share her own head with johnny.
johnny silverhand spews venomous remarks seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day, making her want to scream - shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up - but johnny never does, appears in hologram, smokes, adjusts his glasses and grins, “just don't fuck up my bike,” but v does worse.
v could have burned it, thrown it away on the outskirts, she really could have, but v’s death has eyes blazing with devotion to the arasaka. her death has hair the color of a crow's wing, shaved on one of his temples; v’s death has blue eyes - not like most of those described as the eyes of the purest sea, no.
they are blue and white, with a small dot of pupil - and v doesn't notice how the game of hunter and prey is changing its rules.
v thinks it's just a cough, the aftereffects of the blows that oda gave her in the last battle when she took the mantis blades from him. she thinks it will pass, but it doesn't; her death has eyes with a squint, her death has a grin as sharp as any katana, and she spits camellia flowers.
“oh kiddo, have you really decided to give up like that?,” silverhand laughs again, leaning his hip against the damn sink and looking almost sorry, which just makes v sick.
“get the fuck out of my head, johnny, just once,” but v knows it'll never happen. they're tied up and the sink is painted in camellia flowers and blood as she spits again. the doctors say the count is in weeks, they won't even give her a month, but vctor says, “just need to do the surgery, and you'll be fine.”
but v knows it won't be fucking fine. this goddamn love sickness is such bullshit - but oda looks at her like she's risen from the dead when they cross paths at the club. neon catches v's figure so sharply, and oda can't take his eyes off her, he can't even do anything because his chest doesn't hurt.
maybe he'll never understand what's wrong with her. maybe v will remain a mystery to oda, but he just hums, sitting down beside her:
“darling, you look like shit. overdoing it on the implants?” but she coughs and oda frowns. the red flower is impossible to miss and oda acts faster than he realizes what he's doing: he grabs v's hand, pulls her to him and forces her to open her fingers. his grip is tight, keeping her from escaping, but v doesn't flinch.
“what the fuck, v?” he's lost, confused; oda doesn't know what to do or how to be, but her gaze is too sharp, too piercing, and he has to let go of v, has to unclench his grip.
“tomorrow the arasaka will burn, and I will burn with it.” - she says it quite calmly as she drinks the slop they call alcohol here. v doesn't have to tell him any of this, but, ”I'm not likely to last much longer, so you can dance on my bones later.”
But oda doesn't want to. not going to let that happen, no, no, no, no, the woman who put him on his back couldn't possibly die like that - it's a dog's death to a rabid dog, but v was so much more. no, no-no-no...
“I'll think of something,” oda doesn't say it as a plea to wait, he just states the fact as he leaves the club - and doesn't even see v coughing again.
and arasaka truly burns to ashes, as she promiced - johnny in her head is rejoicing, is cheering, but v is anything but. v feels barely perceptible pain before loses consciousness; when she comes to, v only hears the ticking of the clock, and some far-away voices. there’s tubes in her hands, a lot of them. she feels like she's being drugged with something, but she can't move or do anything about it.
maybe, that's why she's suddenly humming to herself, but... breathing is getting easier.
“good morning, kiddo.” - the voice cuts through the silence, and v prepares to tell johnny to fuck the right off once again, but... she sees oda standing next to her. and he's grinning a bit too much, all while pulls up a chair to her bed, “it looks like you're meant to live a little longer after all.”
v is unable to respond to that (was it a joke? who knows, she sure the hell isn’t), noting only that it's a fucked up thing to say, but... if fate demands it, then so be it, right?
“oh, don't tell me you picked that shithead again,” johnny in her head starts going pissy again, but v doesn't listen to him, because oda's lips smell like sea salt, smell like absolution of every possible sin and she, hugging him, no longer feels the pain in her chest.
“you know, getting nuts was definitely the best decision I ever made in my life.” - and the laughter melts into the space between their lips and the hands that no longer part.