Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Breaking news,” the WNS journalist chirped when the spacecraft was halfway back to Earth. “Startling developments aboard the Crystal Palace during the Forbes EDGE conference. Yorinobu Arasaka reportedly regained consciousness in an undisclosed location aboard the Crystal Palace during a skirmish between Arasaka, Militech, and Lazarus Group factions.”

The screen cut to an exhausted-looking Yorinobu before a grey backdrop. “I am Arasaka Yorinobu,” he said in Japanese. “A year ago, my father, Arasaka Saburo, made the morally indefensible decision to steal my body as a shell for his engram. This had been something he had been planning to do to me for decades—the reason why I chose to form my Taka faction, why I chose to rise up against my father. Not only for myself. But for my niece and her children. It…” He paused, coughing, snarling under his breath.

Yorinobu shook his head as Michiko said something offscreen that the camera didn’t catch. His breaths were coming in heavier, with longer pauses between words, as though Yorinobu was desperately fighting even to speak. “I don’t have… much time. The engram’s influence… has only been held back for now. I call upon the CEOs at the Crystal Palace… to denounce the Secure Your Soul program and demand for Mikoshi to be... dismantled. It is, as Mister Lundee has said… a moral outrage. Secondly. My niece, Michiko. Who never lost faith… who never… lost her way. I name her… my successor. I ask the board of Arasaka to… respect my wishes. May Hato, Taka, Kiji… be one once more.”

The news cut back to a WNS panel, eager to discuss the ramifications of Yorinobu’s declaration. From the couch in the luxurious spacecraft, Takemura watched the news, rapt, with V curled in his arms. Everyone was in new clothes, after being patched up by the Crystal Palace's onboard trauma and tech teams. Further down the spacecraft at the bar, Red Menace poured everyone a drink of their choice. “That’s it, right?” Blue Moon asked in a low voice. “We won?”

“There’s never anything like ‘we won, the end’,” Kerry said as he accepted a glass of scotch. “Happy endings are just endings that haven’t gone on long enough.”

Purple Force laughed, even as she knocked back a beer. “Should we just have left Michiko-san in the Crystal Palace?” Red Menace asked, worried.

“Yoshitune-san’s with her. She’ll be fine,” Purple Force said.

“Can’t believe I got involved in some sort of Arasaka political dustup,” Rogue said with her legs up on another couch, nodding as Blue Moon passed her a beer. “Feels a little dirty, somehow. Even with all the money we got paid.”

“Especially with all the money we got,” Shaitan said gloomily. “I think I’ve gone against my principles.”

“Michiko-san’s different,” Dorsett said in her corner, nursing her beer. “She wants to take Arasaka out of its nationalist obsessions and use its resources to help the rest of the world. After all, Michiko-san and her kids don’t live in Japan and don’t want to.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Shaitan said. He accepted a beer, though since he couldn’t drink it, he held it carefully in one huge hand. “Job well done, anyway. No one died. Call me shocked.”

“Job well done,” Blue Moon agreed. She raised her beer. “Kanpai!”

“Kanpai!” Kerry, Dorsett, and the rest of the Us Cracks echoed. Even Takemura raised his glass of whisky. V smiled, pretending to drink from his beer. The first smile he’d managed since Blue Moon and the rest had found him and Takemura in the hangar.

As the others began to chat about plans, Blue Moon sat on the couch close to V. In a lower voice, she asked, “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” V asked with a wan smile. “Bit tired, that’s all. Wish I caught the show—sounds like you ladies and Kerry had a blast.”

“Oh, that.” Blue Moon laughed. “Sure, even when the fighting broke out, it wasn’t as scary as I thought it might be. Kerry-san broke his guitar over someone, though! And Red Menace smashed a guy over an amp.”

“Wait, what? It got that close to you?” V asked, horrified. “Fuck. I didn’t know. Thought you’d all be far from the mess.”

“Nobody got too badly hurt. Though, we did have to get rescued by Rogue-san and Sandra-san,” Blue Moon said.

“Sandra-san fought?” Takemura sounded surprised.

“Oh yes. She's not like V-san, but she can also throw quickhacks.” Blue Moon mimed putting her fingertips to her temple. “Very cool. I should learn.”

“If you ever need some pointers or recs on gear or anything, let me know,” V said. He shifted against Takemura, sitting up, looking less lost. “And if you ever need help in Night City, give me a call. Seriously, you’ve gone above and beyond. I owe all of you.”

“Come to our next concert. We’re planning something big—Kerry-san’s going to leave his label too. Maybe we’ll all strike out together, form our own company. If we do, we’ll throw a big party,” Blue Moon said. She grinned cheekily at Takemura. “Bring Takemura-san.”

“It would be a pleasure,” Takemura said. Solemnly, his fingers sketched the sigil from the concert before Arasaka Tower.

Blue Moon laughed in delight, even as V said, “You keep surprisin’ me, Goro.” Takemura squeezed V’s shoulders lightly even as Blue Moon excused herself. It looked like they were going to be okay.

At Yorinobu’s Otsuya in Tokyo, his body lay within a closed coffin, wreathed in flowers beneath a framed photograph. A formal image, at least a decade old, of Yorinobu in a kimono. A Buddhist monk chanted a sutra while the guests came by to offer incense. Most were from the Taka faction or the Steel Dragons. Arasaka’s board attended, as did some of Yorinobu’s staff. Along with a few more… esoteric guests.

Standing with Michiko off to a side of the hall, Hanako’s expression froze as Takemura walked into the chamber in a black and white suit, trailing V, who was similarly attired. “You would invite them?” Hanako whispered in Japanese.

“Why not? After all, they’re part of the reason why your brother can even be buried under his own name,” Michiko whispered back. Power meant no longer having to tolerate her aunt’s bullshit, especially on this day of all days. “If anything, I shouldn’t invite you.”

Hanako’s expression didn’t change, nor did she shift her gaze away from the unwanted guests. “You know full well I had no choice.”

“You did have choices. You merely chose the easiest way out.”

“I did not wish to believe that my brother killed our father. Yet when V confronted me with the evidence, I chose to act.”

“If you’d wanted to bring Uncle Yorinobu to justice? Sure. Seize power yourself? Fine, I might even have helped. But this? No, hell no. There has to be a limit to human arrogance. Even grandfather’s.”

“We could have been Gods,” Hanako whispered, finally glancing away to the coffin.

“I have no interest in being a God. Especially not the sort who attain godhood by eating their children. Besides, it’s hard enough trying to be a decent person. Something that the rest of our messed up family fails at.” Michiko eyed her aunt calmly. “Retreat to your estate if you like. I’ll support you for the rest of your life, like the mascot you are. You can continue to live like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

“Or?”

“Or nothing. You’re my aunt, but now I can do whatever I want. So. Don’t. Get in my way.”

Hanako’s fingers twitched. Bereft of her usual jewellery today and wearing light makeup, dressed in a black kimono, she looked older than usual. Still beautiful, but the hollowness of her seemed more evident than before. “You are very American,” Hanako said after a while, as though it were the worst thing she could think of.

“Today? I’ll take that as a compliment,” Michiko said, inclining her head. “After all, you’re free now too. Whether you like it or not.”

“Thought you’d be all for living somewhere shiny and chic like Corpo Plaza,” V said as Takemura started slotting books into the new shelves in the Little Rogue apartment. “Didn't think you'd buy this place off Michiko.”

“I like the view,” Takemura said. The windows looked out toward the sea. This far up, you couldn’t make out the trash. “Also, I like the bakery on the ground floor. And the griot in the market.”

“Man cannot live off a diet of baked goods and griot alone,” V said, grinning as he snuggled against Takemura from behind, kissing his shoulders. “Though, if you keep that up, I’m gonna have to seriously reconsider getting digestive system implants. Complications and all.”

“Life is interesting only when bookmarked by useful complications.”

“Finally,” V said, circling his arms around Takemura’s waist.

“What?”

“When we first met, you used to fire off all these weird, poetic lines. Wasn’t sure if you were fuckin’ with me or not. Like you were pullin’ lines out of some B-grade hack samurai film or something.”

Takemura sniffed. “You should read more often. Perhaps I should buy more shelves and books.”

“Physical books are so fifty years ago,” V said, just to hear his lover sputter in indignation, to have Takemura turn and glower at him, gorgeous even when exasperated. As Takemura tried to explain why he preferred physical books over databanks, V leant up, brushing a kiss over his mouth. “How about we stop with the shelving for now and christen the kitchen counter?” he asked.

That got a bemused stare. “Christen… you want to name the kitchen counter? Why?”

Sometimes V forgot that Takemura’s English was formally taught and, until Night City, barely used. While the translator compensated for most of the slang that Takemura heard, sometimes it was hilariously wrong. V laughed. “I mean, you should strip me down on it and—”

“What? Why?” Takemura asked, even more astonished.

“…Sex,” V said, reflecting that the word ‘sex’ was ridiculous when said aloud, but not daring to trust any more slang at this point.

“I know what you imply. Why in the kitchen? That is very unhygienic—I cook in the kitchen,” Takemura said. He froze, frowning at V. “Please do not tell me that you have done anything in your kitchen in the Glen. Where we made onigiri.”

“Darlin’, you’re killing the mood,” V said. He pulled a still indignant Takemura over for another kiss, until the gorgeous man in his arms stopped grumbling about Americans in Japanese, until Takemura’s breathing grew shallower, and his hands slipped down V’s waist to his hips.

“Ah, that reminds me,” Takemura said, looking further down. “Of another American thing.”

“Mmhm?” V rubbed lazily against Takemura, only for big hands to jump back to his waist.

“Shoes are no longer permitted in this apartment beyond the entryway. I will have the floors and carpets washed and a shoe rack installed. When you enter the apartment, you are to remove your shoes. Today is the last day you will be allowed shoes this far past the door.”

“So you want me to walk around the apartment in… socks? Bare feet?” V said.

“Yes. Soft, apartment-only slippers are also permitted. That will keep the place clean.” Takemura paused. “Also, should you need to disassemble and clean your guns, you must do it on the balcony. Or spread out a tarp. Do not do it on the kitchen counter. Further—”

“C’mon. I ain’t that feral,” V said, amused. “Seriously, Goro.”

“Have seen the state of your other apartments,” Takemura said, wrinkling his nose. Michiko had arranged for V’s repossessed apartments to be returned—even most of the vehicles he’d once had. V wasn’t even sure how she’d done that. Or perhaps Arasaka had temporarily taken over as a renter during the year he’d been MIA for some other reason. “There is one with cigarette butts and cans all over the floor.”

“The Corpo Plaza one was fine, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Because it has a daily cleaning service.” Takemura eyed V warily. “While Michiko-san has recommended a discreet one, you should not take advantage of it.”

“Somehow, even this part of you is cute.” V kissed Takemura on his cheek. As Takemura huffed, V said, “Sure you aren’t gonna return to the fold? Heard Michiko say you could go back to whatever you were doing in Kagawa. Or take up a position on her new board of directors.”

“I told you before that I have had enough of working for Arasaka.” Takemura kissed the edge of V’s cheek. “Now, I will do something different. Try your line of work, perhaps. Live for myself. Pet cats. It does not matter, as long as I can share this new stage of my life with you.”

“Bed, now,” V said in a hushed voice, sliding his arms around Takemura’s neck.

“I go to all the trouble of installing a full digestive system for you, and first thing you want to do is eat skewers?” V asked, sceptical as Takemura led him down a narrow stairway into a dark stone chamber. The chill from the street outside quailed against the bank of heat rolling off the grills at the U-shaped cypress counter, where guests sat on stools before the chefs. Fat from the yakitori skewers sizzled and smoked as it hit the hot binchō-tan coals, making Takemura’s mouth water.

Ignoring V’s question, Takemura sat in the corner where indicated by the staff, with V by his side. V was the only non-Japanese person in the restaurant. A wall of old wooden plaques detailed the entire menu—staff brought V the limited English menu, printed on a piece of cloth wrapped in bioplastic. “This is wild,” V said, staring at the menu. “Wait. Does this place serve raw chicken? As in, actual chicken?”

“Not so loud,” Takemura shot back.

“You can eat raw chicken?” V asked, if in a lower voice.

“In Japan? Yes. Though, it is an acquired taste,” Takemura said.

“…You told me that yesterday about raw sea urchin on rice. Not sure I’d ever acquire that kind of taste. You do you, though.”

Sometimes, Takemura wasn’t sure why he’d fallen in love with V, a man whose favourite types of food seemed to be things smothered in hot sauce. “I’ll order,” Takemura said. He paused. “Perhaps it is better if you eat what I get you.” People could be squeamish about organs.

“Okay,” V said, returning the English menu.

Takemura ordered a tokkuri of sake, then a range of his favourite types of yakitori. As they waited, Takemura said, “This restaurant has been here for a century. I used to visit on my days off.”

“That’s what you do on your days off? Eat yakitori?”

“I also read. Go for long walks. Also, something is always happening in Tokyo,” Takemura said. He usually avoided large crowds, often leaving central Tokyo during the daytime.

“Place is real different. I mean, I knew it flyin’ in, but fuck. So much greenery everywhere, no rubbish on the streets, decent food’s a lot more affordable, and the air smells better. I see why you keep saying Night City’s a bad copy of Tokyo.”

“It has changed. Very much because of Arasaka. Before, the city was not so accessible, not so green.” Takemura had seen pictures of what Japan had been like in the 20s. There were, for one, far more concrete stairs, just like Night City, instead of slopes or lifts that everyone could use. The city was still imperfect, but whenever Takemura returned to Japan from overseas, it felt a little like returning to a different, more advanced world.

“Maybe I see why you used to venerate Saburo so much.”

“For a time.”

“Michiko’s doing well, ain’t she? Notice her daughter’s taken over giving out Danger Gal contracts. Guess Michiko’s too busy for that kinda stuff now.”

“She is fine,” Takemura said. He received the occasional update from Yoshitune, of all people.

“Misty did a card reading, said it was possibly positive. Or it could go to hell. Every time I go away from those sessions, I feel like nothing’s real anymore,” V said.

Takemura sniffed. He hadn’t seen the point of the tarot reading and had gone to talk to Viktor instead, conscious that he hadn’t yet thanked the ripperdoc for saving his life. Before he could comment, the first plates of yakitori arrived—tsukune, the minced, elongated meatballs charred on either side and juicy in the centre, served with small dishes of raw egg yolk.

“Isn’t this what you had with me in Japantown?” V asked, studying his skewer.

Takemura gave him a pitying look. Dipping the tsukune into the yolk, he took a bite. It crumbled in his mouth, velvety and rich, perfectly moist within. Beside him, V made a strangled noise of pleasure. “Oohfuck,” he mumbled.

“Exactly,” Takemura said.

“I sense you’re never gonna let me live that down,” V said, polishing off the rest of the skewer. “I could eat a hundred of those. Wow.”

For someone who had previously wondered whether it was worth being able to eat again, V was more adventurous than Takemura thought—not even batting an eye at the more esoteric skewers. Luscious chunks of grilled chicken thigh served wedged between roasted leeks, rich and creamy, lightly salted pieces of liver, tender and springy wing tips, chewy and fatty chicken neck, crispy folds of chicken skin. Plates of lotus root stuffed with ground chicken and other delicacies were served between skewers, the meal concluding with hot, white broth chicken nabe. Afterwards, packed back into the cold, V said, “That was amazing.”

“I know.”

“No need to be smug.” V curled his arm around Takemura’s waist. “Though it’s also cute.”

Down the street, neon lights traced towers against the sky, new and old, their greening cloaks hidden after dark. Great holograms lit up between buildings, some just as tall, advertising anything from cup noodles to cars. V laughed as a giant nekomata on the roof of the building they passed waved a translucent paw at him. “If you respond, a bank will ping you a loan application,” Takemura warned.

“Why the hell not.” V waved back, chuckling again as the nekomata rolled in delight. “I maybe see why you love this place so much. Sure you want to stick with me in Night City?”

“My home is beautiful, and when I’m away, I miss it,” Takemura said, his gaze tracing the skyline. “But if I were here without you, it would be an empty life.”

V buried his mouth against Takemura’s throat, pressing words Takemura couldn’t hear against his skin. It didn’t matter. V had said them before, performed them—words of devotion that he compressed into Takemura’s soul every day that he was there. It filled the hollowness Takemura had never been aware of until he had known V, a warmth he had, in turn, grown to crave. In a dying world that was all they had ever known, with the stars overhead swallowed by the lights of one of the most vibrant cities in the world, they kissed, tenderly, on the street.