Work Text:
“Come on, choom, you’re not actually thinkin’ about taking this job, are you?”
“I’m desperate for eddies, Vince. This job’s the only thing between me 'n spending the night on the streets.”
Tune was struggling to light a cigarette, cupping his hands around the sparking lighter against the wind. Vincent huddled closer, eventually yanking both from his shaking hands. It was too damn cold to be out, but Tune had insisted they look for work at the Afterlife. Hours had gone by, hustling around the bar, practically begging any fixer for work. He towered over Vincent, watching his silver fingers fiddle with the lighter.
“You could crash at mine, man.” Vincent mumbled around the cigarette.
“Nah, dude. Don’t trust your ugly ass cat. Thing’s mangy.”
“Aye, don't diss Ziggy like that, he’s my number one. Known him longer than you.” Vincent said with a smack to Tune’s arm.
“Exactly, he’s too damn old. He gives me the creeps.”
"He's not that old!"
"V, that cat was already too old when we met. It's a miracle he's still alive."
“You’re just mad he always steals your spot on my couch.”
“No, I’m mad cuz’ his breath smells like rotten synth— tuna and he’s always yakkin’ in my shoes.”
“Haha!” Vincent laughs, finally lighting the cigarette, taking a long drag and passing it back to Tune.
Huddled together behind the Afterlife, both mercs were unsuccessful in finding any fixer willing to dish out gigs. Eddies would eventually run out, and both men needed scrap for bullets and cheap noodles.
Tune ran a hand down his tanned face, a disappointed sigh leaving his lips.
“So… ‘bout that job. You’re not serious about taking it up, right?” Vincent questioned between shivers.
“I need the scrap, mano! What other option do I got? We've gone through every fixer we know.” Tune exclaims, gesturing his arms to the snow that swept around them.
“I get that, man, but I wouldn’t trust a job from Kirk if it’d save my life. Guy’s a total gonk! He’s no smarter than his meathead bodyguard.”
Vincent motioned for the cigarette still burning in Tune’s hand, taking a hit and cradling it in his chromed fingers.
”I mean,” he continued, smoke billowing from his lips as he spoke. “When have you ever heard of a successful gig comin’ from him? Even somewhat successful? Every merc he hires ends up dead, or worse off than before.”
“He just wants me to klep some shard, I wouldn’t even be doing it solo.”
“What, so you don’t even know all the deets? Who’s he got you working with?” Vincent snapped his eyes up to Tune, his black irises already staring down at him.
"Some random merc, calls himself Cash. Got no clue who he is, but Kirk talked him up."
"Fuckin' Cash?! Cash Cleveland?! Fuck, no, dude you can't take this job."
"What's wrong with him?" Tune furrowed his brow, taking back the cigarette from where it was pinched between the netrunner's fingers.
Vincent huffed a frustrated sigh.
"He's a fuckin’ chrome jockey! He couldn’t hit the broad side of a fucking megabuilding without his goddamn smartlink! And even then, he’s a shit shot."
Tune rolls his eyes, leaning away from the shorter man, but Vincent followed, getting right back into his space.
"He's only been on the scene for a month and anyone who's anyone knows he's a jackass." Vincent gestures wildly, regretting it instantly as the action releases all the heat trapped in his jacket.
"So what, he's not the best in the game. At least I'm a good merc." Tune reasons, taking a deep drag from the cigarette.
"So you'd risk this asshole getting both of you killed, just for a handful of eddies that you'd have to split anyways? I'm telling you, man, this gig stinks. Kirk likes to take advantage of new, braindead mercs who couldn't sniff out a bad gig if they stepped in it. He's just gonna fuck you over." V rambled through chattering teeth.
"You calling me braindead?"
"You might as well be."
Tune takes a final inhale of smoke before throwing the butt to the ground, snuffing it with the heel of his boot. He flicked his head to the side, and stepped away from the wall, starting down the alley towards the street.
"Even we weren't as bad as Cleveland when we started out." Vincent added on.
Vincent followed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying his best to match Tune's longer strides.
"If you're really hurtin' that bad I'll just give you the money, man."
Tune huffed out a laugh with a smirk. "Yeah, you've got the scratch to spare, and I'm Kerry fuckin' Eurodyne."
Vincent looked away, shrugging and nodding with vague assent.
Snow was a rare sight in Night City, so it was just their luck it decided to come down in thick blankets upon the city that night. Sensible people stayed huddled within the paper—thin walls of their megabuildings, or warmed their freezing hands against the heaters of their cars.
The pair trudged their way to the metro station, fridged fingers nearly dropping their metro cards. The cabin was nearly empty, and only slightly less cold than the outside.
Tune sat on a questionably stained seat, while Vincent leaned against a pole, gazing down at his uncooperative partner.
"Listen man, this gig stinks to high heaven. You don't need to deal with Kirk's shit." Vincent spoke into the desolate car. "I could think of a million other fixers I'd work for before him."
"Who, V? How many times do I gotta tell you before you get it, hermano?" Tune flicked his eyes up to meet Vincent's. "Unlike you and your freaky ass netrunning skills, fixers aren't falling over themselves to work with me."
The blond rolled his eyes with a huff.
"You're being dramatic, when was the last time someone asked me to join an op? My tech's one step above back—alley scrap."
Tune huffed and rolled his eyes, settling them on his rosy fingers in his lap with a sigh.
"I ain't from here, nobody's got any faith in me yet. Nobody's gonna give a damn about any nomad that comes begging for work."
"Choom, you've got 'major leagues' written on your fuckin' forehead. Who gives a fuck about them? They'll be sorry they didn't give you a chance when you're King of the Afterlife or some shit, and the cash comes rollin' in."
Tune said nothing, still thoughtfully gazing at the scuffed metal floors.
Vincent stared down at him, feeling nothing but worry and annoyance. Annoyance at Tune for even considering taking a job from such a gonk fixer, and worry for what could have brought him to such a decision.
"Okay, T," he started. "If you promise not to take this job, I'll get us something leagues better. No Kirk, double the eddies, half the risk of untimely, violent death."
Tune finally tore his gaze from the floor, and back up to Vincent, his eyebrows pinched up, like he didn't quite believe him.
"And no Cash Cleveland." Tune said pointedly.
"Absolutely no Cash Cleveland."
Tune stared up at Vincent, dark eyes cloudy with doubt. He raised one eyebrow in question.
"There aren't any fixers in this damn city we haven't harassed for money, who the fuck could you possibly go to?" Tune pointed out.
"I know a guy." Vincent replied, folding his arms across his chest.
Tune huffed out a laugh. "You don't know nobody, I'm literally your only friend."
"I know loads of 'somebodies'! Gotta have a little faith in me. I know this city like the back of my hand." Vincent said, probably a little too loudly for the tiny metro car.
"Just trust me, choom. I'll set us up, you'll get enough eddies for this months rent… at least." Vincent nearly begged, his cool grey eyes wide.
The metro jolted to a stop, sending the blond off balance, forcing a chuckle out of Tune.
The taller stood, towering over Vincent.
The two stood at a standstill, eyes locked on one another.
Tune eventually spoke with a sigh.
"Fine, V. Get us that gig and I'll take you to that fancy sushi booth you like." He acquiesced.
"Oh, fuck yes, I can't stand that other booth. Their shit tastes like dog ankles wrapped in aquarium gravel."
"You better pull this off, mano." Tune said with a fond smile, stepping off the train and making his way off the platform.
"I told you to trust me!" Vincent laughed, matching his footsteps, bounding up next to him. "I know my shit, T, we'll be swimming in eddies by tomorrow."
"Ha-ha, right." Tune said, voice laced with sarcasm.
The pair stepped out of the metro station, instantly regretting it as the chill in the air sapped the heat from their bodies. Making their way through the Kabuki Roundabout, snow fell in fat flakes along their heads.
The alleyway in front of Vincent's one—room apartment was nearly invisible beneath the blankets of snow, forcing the smaller to trudge through the piles of frozen sludge.
The pair bid their goodbyes, both eager to be out of the cold.
"Wait, hermano, you gotta cig?" Tune asked before the blond could take refuge inside the heated walls of his apartment.
"We smoked my last one, choom." He answered, with chattering teeth.
"Mierda! Well, I'll see you tomorrow, huh?"
"You sure will, Tuna Fish."
Tune rolled his eyes at the unfortunate nickname, spinning on his heel to hurry home.
"Meet me at the Coyote!" Vincent shouted after him.
"I got it, V!" Tune replied,