#takevik

    Finally, an elevator ride and two flights of stairs later, Takemura was standing in front of the ripperdoc’s apartment door, gingerly putting his hand on a scanner while trying to catch his breath, the short climb showcasing how far from his usual form he still was. After taking it’s sweet time to verify a new ID, the device beeped and the doors slid open, inviting him in. Relieved, he stepped into the dark corridor and reached out a hand in search of a light switch. It turned on with a soft click just as the doors closed behind him.

    The corridor opened into a combined kitchen and living area, with a long counter creating an impromptu barrier between the two. A small desk was tucked in the corner on the far side of the room, barely enough space to house a desktop and a few books stacked on top of each other, the pile dangerously swinging to the left, threatening to collapse at any moment. The rest of the available space was occupied entirely by a big, comfortable looking sofa and a tall shelf housing even more books and boxing trophies, maneki nekos in various colors and shapes perched up in between. As Takemura walked further into the room, he passed the door leading into a bathroom and what used to be another room for the bedroom, but with the wall dividing it and the rest of the apartment gone, different kinds of floor tiling were the only indicator that there used to be anything between them,

    Takemura shook off his coat with a heavy sight and looked around for a place to hang it, eventually deciding on just placing it over the back of a chair, faced with a lack of a more traditional hanger. He walked up to the desk and placed the coat over the metal frame of the chair, careful not to let the heavy material crease in ways it wasn’t meant to.

    That’s when he noticed the photographs. Not digi-frames, but actual, paper photos hung on a wall over the desk, small, carefully cut pieces of tape on each corner. Takemura leaned in a little to take a better look, intrigued by this old-fashioned display of nostalgia. It wasn’t out of character for Viktor, judging by the sheer amount of trophies he kept in his clinic, but still, this specific type of reminiscence wasn’t something that Takemura came upon too often. Moreso, despite his efforts to the contrary, his curiosity about the doctor’s personal life was only growing. It was impolite to sniff around his apartment like this, pry into the other man’s privacy, but the photos were there for him to see, practically luring him in. Moreover, it made him realize how little he knew about Viktor.

    Shortly after their first meeting, the ripperdoc would let him hang around the clinic for a few hours when Takemura stopped by to check on V during the weeks it took her to recover and a few times even offered to watch boxing matches together, throwing in anecdotes from his own sports career in between the speaker’s commentary. Takemura appreciated the gesture, these times they spent hunched over the tiny screen on Viktor’s desk, a moment of downtime Takemura didn’t realize he needed back then, alone in a foreign city, persecuted by his own people. Compared to the chaos that Night City was, the clinic felt stable, safe and consistent. Check on V, chat with Viktor, reluctantly accept his invitation to stay for a few hours. Rinse and repeat. Takemura wouldn’t admit to himself how comforting Viktor’s presence felt, how easy it was to drop his guard around him, kept telling himself that one of these days he’d just see if V was still breathing and go on his way, work on a plan while laying low, blending into the crowd. However, all things come to an end - eventually V pulled through and Takemura felt he had lost an excuse to visit the clinic and so he stopped coming, throwing himself into putting the pieces of his old life back together. There was no time for indulgences anymore. He had to stay vigilant all the way through and not let himself get distracted as he and V miraculously managed to pull off each part of their insane plan.

    They weren’t friends, exactly, their relationship bordering on acquaintances, but before that there was only one thing connecting them - V. With her gone, that thin thread between them was bound to break, wither away into nothing, and yet it didn’t the moment  Viktor was thoughtful enough invite him to V’s memorial.

    Takemura raised a hand to straighten the corner where the tape gave out, a centerpiece photo of Viktor, V, Misty, and a man with a square jaw and smiling eyes, arm thrown around Misty’s shoulders. They were at a diner of some sorts, washed out, red leather of the seats reminding Takemura of the same restaurant he spent hours nursing the same cup of coffee so he wouldn’t be kicked out. Plus, he still looked like a corpo back then. That also could’ve helped his case.

    There were more photos of them, the group hanging out in various settings, at what looked like some sort of a festival, a bar, karaoke even, all these tiny moments forever captured in a single frame. Viktor and the man from the first photo after a sparring, foreheads glistening with sweat, a wide grin on their exhausted faces. There were a few others, ones where Viktor was noticeably younger, wrinkles that now lined his face not yet visible. Some of the photos were creased with white break marks where the pictures have been folded, the corners worn with age.

    Just as Takemura was about to turn away, already feeling like he was leering, he noticed that one of the pictures had fallen to the ground. He leaned down to grab it and put it back where it belonged, filling the empty space it left behind on the wall, but not before he could take a look. The photo was quite old, though not quite as old as some of the others. Viktor was standing with an arm casually thrown over another man’s shoulders, both in Trauma Team uniforms, smiling for the camera.

    Takemura hummed. Of course, that Trauma patch Viktor wore wasn't for show, but at the same time, the ripper didn’t seem too open about his career there. Takemura looked at the man next to Viktor. He was much leaner, Japanese heritage clearly visible in his features. He was smiling, too, practically leaning on the man next to him, daring eyes looking straight into the camera. Takemura let himself wonder, gently fondling the photo between his fingers. A good friend? He turned the photo and read the date. April 23rd, 2068, nearly a decade ago. More than enough time for circumstances to change, new opportunities to arise, friendships to dissolve, Takemura thought as he placed the photo back in its place.

    Enough of that. What he needed right now was a hot shower, the kind that almost burned, forcing the strained muscles to relax. Takemura could feel how clammy his skin was, covered with layers of dried sweat from the days he spent tossing and turning, battling the ever rising fever. Washing it all off was bound to make him feel better, and even if it didn’t, it was certainly a start.

    Takemura made his way to the bathroom, taking note of a fresh towel and a small pile of clothes left there, a small note laid on top of a neat pile. He smiled softly at an I hope it fits this time written in small, jabby cursive, but let it be for now, instead leaning down to turn the faucet of the bathtub on. It took him some time to figure out the proper ratio of cold to hot water, the pipes gurgling warningly at every turn, but eventually, he was satisfied. While the tub filled, he took off his clothes and folded them carefully, placing the pile in the laundry basket and waited until the tub was finally full.

    Careful not to wet the bandage covering the entirety of his left arm, Takemura slipped into the water with a deep sight. The bathtub was quite big, long enough for him to straighten his legs comfortably. Left arm resting on the edge of the tub, he let the rest of his frame submerge into the water completely, already feeling the sheer temperature of it forcefully untwisting the knots that his muscles have turned into. Brushing away the wet strands of his long hair, he grabbed a bar of soap resting on a small stand and started sliding it over his skin, carefully washing the crevices where chrome met flesh. Soon enough the clear water dulled into milky whiteness and Takemura let his head rest on the edge of the tub, closing his eyes and letting himself simply enjoy the warmth surrounding him. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, skipping over his plans for the foreseeable future. After regaining access to his account and the little money he managed to stash there, the first thing he’ll do is pay Viktor off, twofold for all his trouble. Then what? He didn’t want to think about it too much in the moment, but soon enough he’ll have to. Maybe he should just take these few days off, let his body heal before he has to make any big decisions. With his old life ending the way it did, sooner or later he’ll have to start building a new one.

    Because in a way, a part of him died in that abandoned parking lot in North Oaks. By not accepting the fate Saburo-dono decided for him, Takemura denied everything he ever sworn by, this final act of disobedience ending the man he once was. The only man he knew how to be. If he was honest with himself, he was scared that not much else might be left.

    Takemura didn’t even notice when the water turned cold until he felt himself shiver slightly, the pleasant warmth no longer engulfing him. He must’ve lost track of time, he thought as he stood to get out of the tub, careful not to slip. Takemura reached for the towel and started drying himself, surprised at how soft the material was. Eventually, he wrapped it around his hips and leaned over the edge of the sink, feeling as if it was the first time he had really looked at his reflection in months. Silver threads in his hair had crept up beyond his temples, making his skin look even paler, even more so with how deep the dark circles beneath his eyes were. He looked thinner, too, muscles he considered his own personal armor, an essential part of what used to be his job for decades, giving way to the bones straining against his skin, a palpable testament to the toll the last few months have taken on him. Takemura let his fingers ghost over the skin, dancing around the fresh scar right where the left side of his ribcage ended, until he reached up, all the way to his sternum where flesh met metal and further, to his cybernetically modified neck.

    He rubbed his hand over the insolation, red threading still wet from the bath. The touch felt distant, his fingers going over the cables and metal elements, all connected in an intricate pattern keeping the entire construction functional. Takemura felt a sudden need to tug at the cabling, see how much manhandling it’d allow before giving way. It felt suffocating, Arasaka logos all over the metal plates loudly declaring to whom he belongs. With that collar on him, could he really be something else?

    Takemura turned his eyes away from the mirror, as if afraid of what else he might see if he stared at it any longer. He pulled his still wet hair up into a messy knot and got dressed, the entire ordeal taking him an embarrassingly long amount of time. Viktor clearly had an eye, because the clothes, a charcoal pair of dress pants and a simple, navy shirt, fit him almost perfectly. Takemura hummed in appreciation, making a mental note to thank the doctor later and stepped out of the bathroom, but as he was making his way up to the chair where he left his coat, he saw a pair of yellow eyes staring right at him, seemingly just as surprised as he was. Was it the same ghost that kept haunting him for a while now?

    “V…?” Takemura heard his voice in the otherwise completely silent apartment, the merc’s name escaping his lips before he could even think about what he was about to say. The animal in front of him let out a meow before jumping off the counter and making its way to where Takemura was standing, still unable to move. As he felt its small body, very much corporeal, rub against his legs, he finally allowed himself to exhale. It was just a cat. Not a bakeneko, but an actual feline, one that seemed to take a liking to him almost immediately. As he passed the kitchen, only now noticing the two small bowls placed in the corner of the counter. Takemura scoffed at himself, embarrassed that such a thought would even cross his mind as he walked up to the couch, the cat following him closely. When he reached out a hand to grab his coat, the cat jumped onto the couch and meowed once more.