Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As a general rule, mercs do not touch each other. It’s a kindness, V thinks, but perhaps for most it’s just an acknowledgment that laying your hand on someone who might be able to kill you is pretty damn dumb. V knows that sometimes all you have is your body, and that the mind will betray it, and that deliberately not touching was a way for mercs to silently say, this is yours and yours only, just as mine is only mine. 

Jackie, of course, had not followed this rule between the two of them. But then, they’d never simply been mercs to each other. Jackie had been the best friend she’d ever had. A bond forged in blood and shitty jobs for shittier pay, sure, but a fairly innocent one despite all that. He’d been a hugger, and she’d loved that about him. For a fairly vicious merc with fairly vicious goals, he must have been the gentlest person in Night City. The only one who’d been gentle with V, at any rate.

Had. Jackie is gone, and the friends she has now are not mercs. They can’t understand that a gentle touch from them is not the same—however appreciated it might be—as one from someone who had seen and done the same things as V. With her, even, as Jackie always had been. Had.

V thinks of this because there are fingers skittering feather-light across her right shoulder blade, then pressing so, so briefly against her spine, then moving to and away from her left shoulder blade. She very carefully does not tense, knowing that she is safe in the Afterlife if not all that well respected.

“V,” greets a familiar voice behind her, to her left, heading straight to the most respected seat in the building. Rogue. Realizing this, V is once again very careful not to tense, willing all the nerve endings where she’d just been touched not to spark in direct betrayal of her mind.

Well, the body could give as well as it got, so V failed completely not to twist her hand behind her and rest it on her back, where Rogue’s fingers had just been. For less than a moment, V thinks venomously to her traitorous body. It’s only a friendly greeting from someone who’d made out with her body while Johnny had the wheel. Probably best not to think about that very much.

V thinks these are extenuating circumstances and not the intrusion it would have been from someone else, so she does not stutter when she lifts her hand and calls back, “Hey, Rogue. How ya doing?”

Rogue only turns her head and smiles a little in answer. It really isn’t even a nice smile, V decides. It’s one of those where you can see the gears turning behind her eyes, calculating and a little scary. So that’s V’s excuse when her eyes go wide and she turns back toward the bar.

Johnny, the gonk-brained asshole, laughs out loud in her mind. He doesn’t deign to materialize beside her, which V thinks is a little rude, but maybe for the best. Yeah kid, I always felt that way when she looked at me, too. Never stopped me, though. She can feel his grin, and she scowls outwardly in response, making Claire raise an eyebrow at her. 

I have no idea what you’re talking about. She—it’s not. V exhales hard through the nose and takes the last swig of her Johnny Silverhand, thinking that he did not deserve to taste his favorite drink. Shut up, Johnny.

Johnny’s sharp laugh and sharper grin still pressing into the back of her skull, V musters up a smile that is not scary like Rogue’s or shit-eating like Johnny’s and thanks Claire, who just grins back and waves her off. 

Emmerick grunts in her direction as she heads for the stairs, and V says, “Later, Emmie,” with a grin that could be somewhat shit-eating. The cute little nickname for the huge, should-be-intimidating merc suits him so well. After all, he’d questioned Rogue right in front of her when they’d gone out. V probably had every right to be offended, even if the “going out” part was not about her at all in reality. Emmerick hadn’t known that and thus had been rude. 

V jogs up the stairs and out of the building, slowing when she reaches the sidewalk, and she makes her way to her H10 apartment. Johnny does materialize then, his image crackling a bit around the edges as they walk.

He’s grinning when he asks, “Are you planning on stealing my output?”

“No, you gonk. Shut up.”

“Ouch, V. I thought we were chooms.” His smile widens even more, if that’s possible. It pisses V off just the way she knows he wants it to.

Rising to what she knows very well is bait, she huffs out a little laugh. Says, “First of all, she hasn’t been your output for 50 years, so you don’t have much of a claim on her.” His smile turns downright ugly, a cat with a mouse right where he wants her. She goes on anyway. “Second of all, can you really call a program that’s eating your brain a choom? Third of all, she approached me, and then made a scary ass face that I had every right to be scared of!”

“You love me. And you know that scared isn’t exactly what you were feeling, and you know I know it, because I’m ‘eating your brain.’ And she was definitely my output a week ago, when she was making out with me on the hood of a car, and she only stopped because it was your stupid face instead of mine.”

“It was two weeks ago,” she tells him through the scowl on her face, and she regrets it immediately.

Johnny stops smiling then, adopting a calculating look that was not unlike Rogue’s except his features weren’t quite so—well. V wishes so strongly that he was a living breathing person, so she could strangle him right there in the elevator they’re riding up to her apartment. He stops flickering for a moment, becoming more solid than he normally looks.

“V, do you know that when you aren’t used to being in the back of your own brain, it is really, really hard to suppress your thoughts and emotions and, eugh, your hormones? You’re pretty fucking bad at it,” he finishes and promptly disappears, retreating with a vicious laugh back behind her eyes.

There’s nothing for it. She turns red, grouses a much louder than necessary “Fuck you, Johnny,” and stalks to her apartment. She doesn’t bother changing, just throws herself on the bed and counts rockerboys falling off towers until she’s asleep.

Chapter Text

When V wakes up, she feels a phantom pressure over her shoulders, against the top of her head. It should be relaxing, but instead she feels restrained. Inhaling sharply, she pushes herself off the mattress and notices fresh blood on the once-white pillowcase. But that’s par for the course these days. Sitting back against the wall, she rubs her face roughly, knowing the blood is smearing further across her face. She sighs and flips over the pillow, only to reveal a larger bloodstain on the other side. Flips it back over.

In and out of the shower, in and out of her closet. V looks in the mirror just before she heads out, hating the every-day-darker circles under her eyes. At least she got the blood off her face. The sun is coming slowly into view in her window, blurred by smog but burning bright. She lets her optics unfocus, just looking at the reflection of the sunlit skyline for a moment. Johnny, as ever, ruins it.

How a face that V is only imagining can block her view is beyond her, but Johnny manages valiantly. At the irritated pinch between her eyebrows, he sticks out his tongue at her. “You look like shit, kid. What’d ya do, stay up all night thinking about Rogue? I think she made my nose bleed once or twice or ten times. Fuckin’ shimra.” He smirks, and V just closes her eyes against the assault. 

Truly, she feels like shit, and she knows he can tell. Waking up bloody but unbruised is happening more often than not lately, and they’re both trying to ignore what that means. The gonk is probably trying to take her mind off it. She flicks her eyes over his face, only very briefly entertaining the thought of what he’d do if she were to actually pursue Rogue. Decides not to entertain it ever again, when his eyebrow quirks up.

“Let’s just go,” she sighs, not really knowing where she intends to take them.

For lack of anything better to do, V walks to the diner. At this hour, the place is full of Night City’s finest, so she slips quickly back out after grabbing a scop burrito from Tom. Eating and walking, she contemplates calling Panam or Dakota, half-wishing she was back in the Badlands, back with the Aldecaldos or even—on her worst days—the Bakkers. The city could be so oppressive, confining in a way that she’s sure city peeps don’t feel, and she craves that wide, wide swath of desert sometimes.

But she made a choice when she rejected Panam’s offer to join the family. V neatly finished the gigs Dakota had lined up for her and turned her back on the place, sure that if she stayed without a purpose, she would lose whatever’s left of who she used to be. 

So V only knows where she won’t go. Unhelpful. She decides to call around and see if anyone has a gig for her, and finally gets a bite when she rings up El Capitan. 

“Yo, V! How you been, choom? What can a humble businessman like myself do for ya?”

“Heya Mu, been just dandy. Got an itch under my skin, though, wanting some work to do. You got anything for me?” V smiles honestly at him. Muamar may be a fixer first, but he’s a charmer second, and you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn’t like him.

“Aw, not a social call?” He laughs, then continues, “Yeah, yeah, I got something. Won’t be easy, but I know you don’t like ‘em to be. Need you to bust somebody outta the loony bin down in Rancho, right off Sequoia. Name’s Jasmine Dixon. The chick ain’t crazy; she’s a badge who heard some shit she had no biz hearing. She wouldn’t shut up about it, so they threw her into Night City’s Center for Behavioral Health.

“‘Cept, they don’t care much for health in there. Corps write off treatment costs for their employees, so the psych ward makes sure their patients don’t get better. Lobotomies, electroshock therapy, all that jazz. Jasmine’s husband wants her back, preferably before she’s in diapers. He’s got the eddies, I’ve got a trusty merc, so we’re gonna make it happen. Whatcha think?”

“Sounds good, choom. A little surprised I’m klepping a cop, but you always keep things interesting. I’ll head that way now. Anything else?”

He frowns, thinking. “Well, the place is pretty heavily guarded; surveillance everywhere, too. Even the docs are armed to the teeth. If you gotta take somebody down, wipe ‘em all. Don’t want any loose ends,” and if there’s any hesitation there, V can’t hear it.

“Gotcha covered,” she tells him, sounding more confident in the idea of flatlining every person in the building than she really feels. 

“Lemme know when you got her and I’ll send a car that way. Later, V!” 

-

V arrives at the psych ward with the mid-morning sun beating down on her head. It’s fairly run-down to have pockets lined by the corps, but it would probably be suspicious to have a shiny building in Rancho Coronado. She parks the Mackinaw behind a nearby house that appears to have been a 6th Street hangout fairly recently. She wonders if the doctors feel lucky to have a nearly endless supply of bitey corpo lapdogs so close to home. 

The merc hops the fence and surveys the area; she clocks a window with broken blinds, some scaffolding she could scale with relative ease to get to the roof, a guard post being manned solo, and one other guard sitting casually on a bench.  And there’s always the option to walk in like you own the place, she reckons.

V walks casually around the edge of the building toward the window, glancing at the dozing guard in the small out-building and deciding laziness is a trait she prefers in men. When she arrives at the window, she slides Johnny’s sunglasses off her nose and hooks them securely onto the neckline of her tank top. She scans the blinds with her optics and is rewarded with a stripped screw. From one of the pockets of her synleather jacket, she draws out a small but mighty multitool. The screw is easy enough to remove, and she completely disassembles the unit from there. A nomad is always prepared for a little light tinkering.

Slipping silently into the window, her nose is assaulted by an acidic aroma barely masking the unmistakable smell of piss. Well-used to these things by now, V breathes out sharply through her nose and forces herself to acclimate to it. She crouches and takes in her surroundings. Thermal sigs bloom in her field of view: two to her left, seemingly sitting in chairs, and two in the room directly at her 12 o’clock, one standing and the other…kneeling?

Then she hears the nonsensical whimpering and the unmistakable k-chk of a gun’s safety being flipped off. Her eyes go wide. Whipping her head around, none of the signatures she’d picked up seem to be coming her way. But if she hasn’t been caught, why is someone preparing to fire a shot? The whimpering kicks up then, volume rising until it’s a scream.

Realization comes to her quickly, and V’s blood runs cold. She closes her eyes and does not flinch as the gun goes off. It has a silencer, she can tell, but it must be a shitty model because there’s still a crack. Or maybe that’s the bullet fracturing this defenseless person’s skull.

Fuck, V!

Yes, Johnny, she feels the same way. Fuck. She watches the heat sigs for a few seconds as the standing one begins to pace and the kneeling one hits the floor. She knows that if she keeps watching the red signature will seep into an orange, then a yellow, then be nothing at all.

V takes a centering breath, almost grateful for the olfactory assault. The people to her left have not moved, so she turns in their direction and flicks on a different scanning filter, picking up a monitor, a television, and a call button. Ignoring the room she knows now contains a dead body, she slinks into the hallway, peeks into the room and sees two lounging guards.

She is blindingly furious then. How could these people be sitting idly by when one of their compatriots has obviously just killed a patient? This is a cruelty she has never witnessed, despite all the horrible things she’s seen in her two years in the city. 

If El Capitan’s intel is good, which it always is, the patients in this facility are permanently impaired. If they aren’t when they are admitted, they are made so. For some reason, V had not let that sink in until this very moment. She thinks of what it must be like to come to a place forcibly and be imprisoned not only in a cell but also in your own mind. Thinks of her own deep-seated fear of confinement, the barely-suppressed nomadic urge to fly, fly, fly.

[[SYNAPSE BURNOUT]]

One of the guards in the room begins to clutch his head. He swings around in his chair, searching for his friend but finding V. His eyes go wide as he cries not tears but blood. The other guard jumps up, going to his dying friend’s side, and V snaps his neck the moment he crouches down beside the other man.

V gazes down at her handiwork, unable to feel anything but gross satisfaction. Distantly, she admires the gorilla arms Vik had recently installed for her; without them, she wouldn’t have the strength to snap a neck. Sighing, V resigns herself to the fact that she now has to kill everyone. For some reason, it bothers her less than she had thought it would.

Unruffled, V shoves the body out of the swivel chair and sits down in it herself, jacking into the computer and accessing the cameras. Thermal filter back on, she takes note of a couple guards in the public-facing front rooms. Those would be her last marks. She also spots a few sigs in the larger rooms connected to the hallway, but she’s unable to ascertain whether they’re doctors, guards, or patients. Finally she switches to the upstairs camera, spots only one guard, who appears to be pacing back and forth.

Her own surveillance done, V disables the security system. She notes that all the cameras seemed deliberately pointed away from patients’ rooms. Against her better judgment, she reads, is disgusted by, and downloads the messages on the monitor. 

Johnny, V calls in her mind, knowing he’s there but wanting his specific attention. I’m thinking I wanna burn this place to the fucking ground. But I’m subtler than you ever were, so I gotta turn on the BD soft. You always say it feels weird, so if you wanna… I don’t know, make yourself scarce, now’s the time.

She can feel, if not see, the grim set of his mouth as he says, Nah, I’m gonna stick with your gonk ass for this one. I’m a lot more practiced at burning shit down than you are, so you might need the help.

Sure, she replies lightly as she switches on the software. There’s almost no change except for a barely-there buzz in her ears.

As V leaves the room, she continues to scan for heat sigs in her immediate vicinity.

The gunman in the cell is turned away from the door having a quiet conversation. She watches and waits until he puts the holo away before she comes up behind him, squeezes her forearm against his throat until she’s sure his windpipe is crushed. She drops him, watching him open and close his mouth, unable to find the breath his body so desperately craves. In a blink, she is kneeling, pressing the man’s own gun against his forehead, pulling the trigger without hesitation. She looks back at the patient the man had killed just minutes ago, takes in his wide, unseeing eyes, and imagines the terror he must have felt. She leans forward to close the poor man’s eyes.

She goes to the bathroom next, where yet another guard has brutally murdered yet another patient. She dispatches him quickly and leaves him there with his victim. The storeroom holds a doctor with a pistol strapped to his leg. Thinking of the message she’d read about pregnant patients and drug trials, she snaps his neck. When she looks down at the nametag, it’s the very same doctor who’d told Biotechnica that more patients could become pregnant, if the corp wished.

V creeps into the hallway, aware that the thermal reading here shows more people in less isolated conditions. She looks into the windowed room and sees a nearly-naked man in a wheelchair wearing some strange wired headset. She can’t tell if he’s breathing. There’s a doctor standing over him and a guard to his left, leaning casually against the wall. 

[[SYNAPSE BURNOUT]]

[[SYNAPSE BURNOUT]]

Using two high-RAM quickhacks in such quick succession isn’t very wise, and the cyberdeck burns hot in her head. She dizzies for a moment, and her hand trembles as she reaches out and presses it against the wall to steady herself.

You dumb deckhead! You can’t fix this shit if your brain boils!

Gritting her teeth, V makes herself stand. She enters the room and goes immediately to the wheelchair-bound man. He has a pulse, but his eyes are rolled into the back of his head. The headset doesn’t appear to be connected to anything, so V decides there isn’t really a way she can help him now. 

The room on the opposite side of the hall appears to be for employees on break. There’s one guard inside, and his attention is focused entirely on the coffee machine. He barely registers it when V’s hands come up around his ears and she wrenches his head at an impossible angle. He sinks to the ground, coffee still brewing above him.

Doubling back, V walks silently up the stairs. She forces herself to look into the patients’ cells, forces herself to see the frantic scrawling all over the walls in some, the blood spatters in others. The patients never notice her; all of them seem completely unaware of their surroundings. She wonders if it’s drugs, or if all of these people have had their minds broken.

The guard she’d seen in the camera is still pacing upstairs, though he occasionally turns to speak harshly to the two patients nearest him. They’re both women, and V abruptly recalls her original mission. The one on the left, the blonde, must be her mark. She seems much more lucid than the other woman, who is leaning against the wall humming to herself.

The blonde patient sees V, and her eyes go wide. She shouts, “Please! Please! He has a key, you have to get it, please!”

At this, the guard whips his head around to look at the woman. He stalks toward her, and she cringes back in fear.

“You crazy bitch, nobody’s coming to help you,” he spits, even as his eyes dart all over the room, searching. “Who the fuck you think you’re talking to, huh?”

[[MEMORY WIPE]]

The guard’s face slackens, no longer the ugly expression he’d worn when speaking to the woman. He blinks slowly. V is reminded of the patients, feels a twist in her gut for all that she knows this state is temporary.

Now, V. She waits.

V, you have to wipe him before he notices you! Don’t be a gonk! She waits. Watches the fog clear from the guard’s eyes.

Shaking his head, the guard turns away from the woman’s cell and continues pacing. So, so slowly, V creeps up to him. The blonde woman, who must be Jasmine Dixon, is still cowering away from the guard, hiding her face in her hands, so she doesn’t see when V snaps his neck.

After grabbing the access card, the woman still hasn’t noticed her, but V thinks this is for the best. She has a job to finish, after all.

Walking down the hall, V wonders if all the people in these cells are casualties of corporate sabotage. She wonders if any of these people needed help, before it was forced upon them.

She hopes that what she’s about to do will help.

Nearing the public waiting room, V hides and hacks the door, opening it without touching. The guard standing on the other side of it turns, looks curiously at the door and into the hallway. 

She can see the moment the guard notices the hand sticking out of the doorway, the way his eyes widen and his fingers stretch for the gun at his hip.

These gonks never think to call for backup before they investigate their comrade’s dead body. As the man approaches the body, V shuts the door and rushes him, the hydraulics in her cyberarm hissing as she holds him by the throat. She presses the gun she’d taken from that first guard against his temple and pulls the trigger.

That done, she peers into the waiting room and notices that all the civilians who’d been hoping to see a patient have left. The secretary, who has a poorly concealed pistol in the waistband of her slacks, is smoking a cigarette and studying the vending machine. V wastes no time in dispatching her.

Only one guard remains in the building. He’s manning the front desk and appears not to have a care in the world. Walking out of the waiting room, V strides right up to him. She gives him her saddest smile, lets tears come to her eyes. It’s not as hard as it perhaps should be. He looks up at her, seeming a little annoyed. As he takes in the waterworks, his frown deepens.

“Ma’am..? Is there something I can help you with?” he asks, and V just sighs, squeezes out another tear.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sorry to bother you. It’s just my dad… today’s his birthday, and I wanted to surprise him, but the receptionist says he’s under isolation protocol,” she tells him as she crosses her arms under her chest and leans down onto the desk. “I just wanted to see him, is all. He’s in room 103, I think. I really can’t see him? On his birthday?” 

The guard’s eyebrows go up, even as his eyes are drawn down to where V’s cleavage is now on display. Stupid horned up bastard. She can see the alarm and the lust fighting for dominance on his face. 

She hadn’t been sure, but now V is certain that this is the individual the murdering guard had on holo right before she’d killed him. Her optics glow blue, and she can see the alarm win over as he notices this.

[[SYNAPSE BURNOUT]]

She wipes the tears from her eyes and heads outside. There’s a patient in a wheelchair staring blankly at the sky just to the left of the door, front wheels coming dangerously close to the ledge. V coos softly at her, as one might a baby, but is careful not to touch her as she rolls the woman a safe distance away from it. 

The guard who had been on the bench is nowhere to be seen, and V’s pulse ratchets up a bit. She flicks on her optics’ thermal filter, searching. She walks around the building, trying hard to look inconspicuous.

Glancing over at the guard post, she breathes a sigh of relief when there are two heat sigs instead of the one she had initially noted. She jams a hand in one of her jacket pockets and fishes out a little baggie of pills. She picks out two light blue capsules and swallows them dry, the buzzing of the BD soft turning into more of a frenzy.

She slips up to the window of the guard post unnoticed. The one she’d seen dozing earlier is awake now, but the other one seems to know that he hadn’t been paying attention and is giving him a dressing down. 

[[SYNAPSE BURNOUT]]

[[SYNAPSE BURNOUT]]

V’s head is so hot, but she can’t stop now. The well-rested guard bites it immediately, but the other one is shaking off the pain. V slams the door open and shoots him point-black once, twice before he hits the floor. 

With all the guards dispatched, V sprints back into the building and up the stairs. The blonde is sobbing now, having clearly noticed the dead guard in front of her cell. When she catches sight of V, she freezes. She opens her mouth as if to cry for help again, but she flicks her eyes to the guard, back to V, and scrambles back instead.

V puts her hands up in easy surrender, access card visible between two fingers. “Easy, easy, I’m not gonna hurt ya. Your husband misses you,” she tells her, speaking so low it’s nearly a whisper.

The woman hiccups and asks, “Who are you? Did you… did you kill that man?” She points at the guard. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it, please don’t let them hurt me I swear it wasn’t me, please!”

The door to the woman’s cell opens, and V hovers outside of it, hoping desperately she doesn’t appear as threatening as the guards had. 

“You can call me V, and you’re Jasmine Dixon, right? Come on Jas, we gotta delta. Like I said, your husband misses you, and I’m here to help you get back to him,” V soothes, walking slowly into the cell and getting down on her knees in front of the blonde. She holds out her hand and holds back a flinch when she notices a little blood. That certainly isn’t going to do her any favors. 

Jasmine looks searchingly into V’s eyes then down at her hand. She stands with difficulty but doesn’t take the merc’s offered help, instead swiping furiously at her face to banish the tears. She nods at V. In answer, V’s eyes flash blue as she sends a message to El Capitan to get the car out there, now.

“Alrighty then, let’s delta. You’re sure you can keep up?” V asks, concerned. 

Jasmine avoids her eyes as she says, “Yes, I’ll be fine. Please don’t touch me.”

At this, V turns and walks resolutely down the hallway, down the stairs, and right out the front door. She tries to ignore the little flash of hurt that dashes across her heart. With all the horrible things Jasmine is sure to have endured in that place, it’s no wonder she doesn’t want anyone touching her. V tells herself this, but the hurt doesn’t really go away.

When they reach the parking lot, there’s a car waiting. Silently, V thanks Muamar for his occasionally irritating punctuality issues. Late for a meeting one time, and you’ll hear about it for the rest of your potentially very short life. 

Before getting into the car, Jasmine turns to V. She seems much more present than she had when V found her, but it comes with a sort of heartwrenching new awareness of everything that had happened to her.

“What… what’s going to happen to the others?” she asks, still not meeting V’s eyes.

“Jasmine, don’t worry about that. Please trust that I’m taking care of it. You just get to your husband, let him take care of you. Muamar should be in touch with you both soon,” V tells her reassuringly. Jasmine just nods, tears welling up again, so V shuts the door and nods at the driver. 

Turning her back on the car, V calls up Muamar as she walks back to her truck. When he answers, she tells him that Jasmine is safely on her way, that she’d flatlined all the doctors and guards. That the patients were mostly safe, but two were already dead when she got there. At this, a crease forms between his brows.

“Whaddaya mean? No loose ends, right?” he asks, squinting at her. Now it’s V’s turn to look confused.

“Umm, yes, that’s right. I just told you? Guards and doctors are done for. The patients may be a little worse for wear, but hopefully nothing we can’t fix, and certainly nothing the—” El Capitan clears his throat, interrupting her. “What?”

“I told you, V, no loose ends! Now you’re telling me there’s a building full of loony toon witnesses, and you think we need to be helping them? Choom, no offense, but even you aren’t this gonk-brained. I’mma have to cut your pay for this one, send somebody else to clean this mess up. Fuck, V, you shoulda known better.”

“Mu, what? They’re practically vegetables. They couldn’t witness anything if they tried. It’s fuckin’ depressing is what it is. But I have an idea, man, I know this media who’d be all over it. We can do good here, man, I just gotta call him. The guy loves me,” V tells him, feeling a little desperate now, burning behind the eyes in a way that she knows has nothing to do with the damn cyberdeck. 

“I got it, man. Do not send somebody to kill these people, please. Cap, look. Keep the scratch for this gig if that’s what it takes. But don’t send your fuckin’ fodder down here, because it won’t end well for ‘em.”

He glares at V and grinds out, “Fine, you gonk merc. But if this shit comes back to bite, it’s your ass. I’m out of it. You don’t know me, I sure as hell don’t know you.

“Thanks, Mu. Seriously. This’ll be good for Rancho, I swear,” she smiles tiredly at him and hangs up.

By this point, she’s arrived back at the truck. Pulling open the driver’s side door, she punches another number to call. She swings herself into the seat and taps her fingers impatiently against the wheel while the holo rings. Johnny materializes in the passenger seat just as Max Jones picks up, scowling. 

“Heya, princess. Look, I got a helluva story for you, and I know you’re sick of sitting with your thumb up your ass. Lemme tell you what I got into today…”

Chapter Text

V reclines in the worn-out booth, flicking Johnny’s sunglasses down over her eyes to shield against the diner’s fluorescent overhead lights. 

“Johnny,” she calls without lifting her head. “You think this’ll work?”

Across the table, Johnny considers the merc, takes in her scrubbed-clean hands and the foreign feelings brushing against his own. “I don’t know, kid. Ya can’t trust a culture-vulture like Jones. But he owes you a hell of a lot, whether he wants to admit it or not. Ask me, he’ll at least get it out there. If anybody’ll give a shit, I can’t say.”

V does lean up then. Takes a sip of her Chromanticore Lime, grimacing slightly at the bitter flatness. She turns the can around in her hands, finds an expiration date and sighs. “My shit luck… A drink with a ten-year fresh period, and I still get a fuckin’ expired one,” she grumbles, then tilts her head to shoot Johnny a quizzical look.

“Undoubtedly, right? What we saw, Johnny, it was—even the fucking scavs don’t torture their vics like that. They’ll see what I saw, feel what I felt. Can anybody just let that slide?”

“V, you ain’t from here. Two years, sure, you’ve seen some shit. But you gotta be born and bred NC to really get it. They’re so desensitized to the corps’ meddling, the day-to-day cruelty peeps inflict on each other. If you were a civvie, no combat training, no real chrome, would you stop if you saw some gonk getting beat up in an alley? Or would you keep walking and hope to God they don’t grab you next? The average Joe can’t afford Kiroshis like yours, a deck like yours, hell, even an arm like mine!

“And that’s what the corps want! They wanna keep people poor and defenseless, pouring every enny they can get into basic needs. Even if you hate the corps, you depend on their products. Because they made it that way. So when peeps hear about shit like this, maybe they don’t think about how bad it is. Maybe they think, ‘Damn, I’m glad that’s not me.’ Or maybe they think your braindead chooms are lucky, cuz at least the corps are paying for their right to eat and drink and piss and shit.”

“Johnny,” V sighs, cutting him off before he can really get going. “I’m really not interested in another one of your terrorist rants right now. You’re saying it was pointless? I was just supposed to leave those people there, surrounded by dead bodies, and let them wait ‘til the night shift comes in?” she demands, angry now despite herself.

“It’s not a rant if I’m right,” he grouses. “And anyway, that’s what you did, ain’t it? You still gotta get the BD scrolled, then Jones has to do something with it. It won’t be overnight, V. But no, I’m not saying that, and you know it, you gonk. Congrats, you did the right thing, but the right thing don’t always count for what it should. Not everybody has your bleeding heart. If we did, we’d all be fuckin’ dead, bled to death all over the peeps we wanna help.”

V scowls, indignant. She knows he’s probably right but refuses to concede the point. He can tell he’s won, anyway, because he grins at her and claps his hands together.

“So! Now what?”

V just groans and collapses into the back of the booth. “Ugh, I don’t know. We gotta find a BD editor. Max said he couldn’t trust any of his old contacts, and I think he’s the only media Regina kept up with.”

“You could always ask Judy,” Johnny says with a sly grin.

“No. She left NC, and for good reason. I won’t give her something to worry about when she’s finally out.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “You know she’d help if you asked. You just think it’ll be awkward, and you don’t wanna deal with it.”

Since they’re in public, V can’t stick her tongue out at him like she wants to. But it’s a very close thing. Instead, she narrows her eyes as she asks, “Are you actually trying to piss me off? I’m not calling her. She’s probably busy anyway, getting settled in and all. I’m sure she wants to spend time with her grandparents more than she wants to work on something for me.”

“You’re such a chicken-shit.”

“Oh fuck off, Johnny. I’ll call Nix or something, he should have some techie friends that can help. And besides, just because you like asking your exes to do shit for you—”

V is cut off by the shrill ringing of her holo. She pulls it out of her jacket pocket and sees Rogue calling. As she answers, Johnny laughs and says, “Speaking of my exes…”

“Hey, Rogue! What’s up?” V greets, choosing not to think about their brief—and really entirely irrelevant, so why would she?—exchange last night.

“V. You still in Santo?” Rogue asks, all business. 

“Um, yeah, how’d you know?”

“I make it my business to know where my mercs are. I got a gig for you, if you want it,” she tells the merc by way of explanation. It really isn’t much of one.

With a lopsided grin, V sighs, “Oh, well as long as I’m yours. Hold on, lemme get out of here. Just a sec.”

Johnny cackles in her ear, but it still takes a couple beats for V to realize what she’d just said. As she does, her face pinks, but she forces the smile to stay. In for an enny…

“Okay, anyway. Whaddaya got?” V asks, making a valiant effort to sound passably professional. Mostly she hopes Rogue will let the comment slide, but a very small, very foolish part of her wants to go down that road. She dismisses it as Johnny’s gonk-brained influence, tries and fails to stamp it down.

Instead of ignoring it, Rogue laughs, and V blushes harder. She’s still laughing as she says, “Watch it, V. Listen, there’s this corpo attack dog, Vic Vega. He’s terrorizing workers in Rancho Coronado that’re fighting for better pay. Back in my day, they would’ve had unions to fight for them, but now they’re too poor to even hire a fixer.

“Lucky for them, I’m known for my charitable nature,” she says, laughing at her own joke now. But she’s serious as she says, “Vega is being paid by the corps to attack these people, and they’re practically defenseless. I want you to find him, take him down, and bring him to me. It’s about time he gets a little lesson on loving thy neighbor.”

“Alright, I gotcha. Know where he’s hiding?” V asks as she settles into the driver’s seat. 

“Yeah, he’s in an office building on Carsten Street. ‘S well-guarded, but the problem isn’t his C-Team cronies, it’s the regular office workers also working there. The gonk can’t come up with a halfway worth a shit name for his little group, but he’s got good strat. Buncha civs lined up to protect him, and they don’t even know it,” growls Rogue. V isn’t particularly impressed either.

“Say no more. When he gets to you, this guy’ll be wrapped up with a big bow on top. Be in touch,” V grins a little viciously as she signs off. 

The truck, V decides, won’t work for body transport. The bed isn’t covered, for one thing, and she’s certainly not letting a limp body hang out in her passenger seat. The truck is just too exposed, and it’d come back to bite her if some camera were to catch something. Drumming her fingers on the Mackinaw’s wheel, she takes stock of her surroundings. There’s a gas station just down the street, and a motel she knows is 6th Street territory right next to her. Plenty of cars are sitting around, but she wonders if she could steal one without the cops or some gangoons getting on her ass. 

Without a doubt, there’ll be cars at her destination, but V doesn’t think it’s a good idea to take anything remotely connected to her target. Resolving to find something on the way, the merc slips out of the truck and begins the walk from the BuryGer to Vega’s little hideout. 

Ignoring the sulphuric scent in the air, the cough-inducing smoke from all the factories around her, and the garbage rotting all over the ground, V thinks the city really could be beautiful. The sun is just beginning to set as she walks, and the hundreds of windows visible on megabuilding H6 are beginning to light up. Arroyo is so heavily industrialized that it seems almost odd to see little shrubs under overpasses waving in the breeze generated by cars speeding past, but it makes her feel just that little bit more at home. In all her time here, she’s never been able to shake that feeling of unbelonging. Otherness. But little things remind her that wildness has its place here, that nature will find space even in the most inhospitable environments.

As she crosses over into Rancho Coronado, V spots the perfect car: a completely unremarkable Thorton Colby sits unoccupied in the megabuilding parking lot. She strolls over, appearing perfectly confident to the people milling about if they even spare her a glance. Since her childhood, V has known how to break into cars. The Raffen Shiv may be made up of a bunch of criminals and crazies, but they have good cars sometimes. And the Bakkers occasionally found themselves liberating those cars from their less-deserving owners.

As she slides into the driver’s seat, V finds herself smiling at the memories. Back when the Bakkers had a backbone, she thinks. 

It’s a short drive to Vega’s office from there. As the merc arrives, she surveys the area. The building is just on the outside of a residential neighborhood. There are no guards posted outside—it’d be suspicious if there were. The first-floor windows are all blacked out, which V thinks will be to her advantage. Oddly, there’s a garage connected to the building, and she parks there as a possible exit point once the job is done.

For lack of a better place to start, V checks both the door and the garage gate. Both locked, but she thinks she’ll be able to pick the lock on the door if necessary. Hugging the side of the building, V turns the corner and continues to look for potential entry points. She could hop up on the roof of the garage relatively easily. There’s also, strangely enough, an open window into a bathroom. That’s what she needs, the merc decides.

V flicks on the thermal lens of her optics. There’s nothing in the room ahead of her, so she hoists herself up through the window. Her boots squeak slightly as she hits the tile, but the red-orange bodies blooming in her field of view don’t seem to be moving toward her. She hides for a few minutes in a stall, just watching the thermal sigs. Most everyone she can pick up seems to be relatively stationary, including those closest to her. 

Thinking back to the holo call with Rogue, V considers her options. She could kill everyone in the building but Vega. That would make her exit pretty simple, but it doesn’t feel right. This whole gig seems to be about helping the people in Rancho, so murdering them seems pretty counterintuitive. Especially since Rogue doesn’t even want Vega killed. 

But now that she’s here… there are probably fifteen people in this building, spread out between both floors. She won’t know until she sets eyes on them how many are office workers and how many are Vega’s dogs. Strategy has never been V’s strong point, and she just doesn’t know how she’s going to find and incapacitate Vega without being seen, not to mention how she’s going to get him out of the building stealthily.

Pushing the bathroom door open, V decides she’s going to have to try. After the gig earlier today, she can’t make herself hurt innocent people, even if it is just knocking them out. But if she knocks out just Vega’s people, the office workers will find the bodies and freak out. She’ll have to be stealthier than she’s really sure she can be, but there’s nothing for it. She’s got to make it work.

Now out of the bathroom, she peeks around the corner to see one office worker standing at his desk. He’s looking down, but it would only take a flicker in the corner of his vision for him to notice her. To the left, there’s a guard hovering over someone. As she watches, he turns away and walks to a vending machine on the far wall.

As quickly and quietly as she can, V moves to her left. She’d seen a stairwell through a window, and she figures that Vega’s office will be upstairs. By some miracle, the office worker doesn’t see her, so she gets up the stairs with ease. As she reaches the top of the stairs, she takes in the new scene. There are five or six more people up here. All of them seem preoccupied for the moment, but she feels exposed in the open hallway. Spotting an empty room to her left, she scrambles in before someone looks up to see her standing around like a gonk.

Well, the room isn’t as empty as it had appeared just moments ago. One of Vega’s little soldiers is rifling through a cabinet. For now, he hasn’t seen her, so she takes in the rest of the room. There’s a door near the guard that leads back into the larger office space. The room has absolutely no place for V to hide until the man leaves the room, and he’s starting to look frustrated, slamming the open drawer closed and yanking the next one open. She figures there’s not a lot of time before he stops looking for whatever it is he’s trying to find, and that it is imperative that he doesn’t find her instead. 

With no other choices showing themselves, V crouches down low and slinks to the other door. Peering out of it, she has a perfect view of the office next to her, and her eyes widen as she sees the back of a very special someone’s head. Can’t have bad luck all the time, she thinks as she opens the door and slips into what she now knows is Vega’s office. 

The gonk has his nose buried in a tablet. For a professional hitman, he’s pretty oblivious. Standing behind him, V spins around his chair so he’s facing her. Before he can react, V rares back and punches him square in the nose with the full power of her gorilla arm. It knocks him out immediately, still sitting in his chair. She grabs the tablet he’d been so invested in and sticks it in the waistband of her jeans, in case it may have intel Rogue would be interested in.

V sends a message to Rogue asking about the rendezvous point as she picks Vega up, hydraulics in her arms hissing against his weight. She looks out of the open window into the parking lot below. V figures it’ll probably hurt like a bitch, but she could jump out of the window without killing herself or her mark. Glancing behind her at the workers, who are still blissfully unaware that she’s even in the building, she resolves to do it before she gets caught. She jumps.

She stifles her cry of pain as she hits the asphalt, back spasming as her legs protest. But she’s still on her feet, and she hasn’t dropped her mark. With a slight limp, she walks to the little Colby and pops open the trunk. She throws him in and slams the trunk closed, almost wishing he was awake to feel it. 

As she gets in the car, V’s holo pings with Rogue’s response. The ferris wheel at Kendal Park. Sort of an odd choice, in V’s opinion, but she supposes the fixer queen knows what she’s doing. As she leaves the parking lot of the office building, V notices how dark it’s gotten. Turning right toward the park, she can see the ferris wheel’s purple-pink glow. Even rusted and fallen apart, she’s always thought it was a beautiful sight. 

Arriving at the park, V understands why Rogue chose this place. The NCPD must have raided the homeless encampment recently, because the whole park is deserted.

It’s easy to spot Rogue. She’s sitting pretty on top of a broken down car, silver-white hair turning pink under the light. She’s beautiful, V thinks as she parks, and can’t stop the blush warming her cheeks. So unprofessional. 

Rogue raises a hand in greeting as V walks toward her. She’s wearing a white turtleneck cropped just under her ribs with a black syn-leather jacket. The metal plate on her stomach reflects the ferris wheel lights. She’s beautiful, V thinks again, a little helplessly.

“Hey, Rogue. Got you a little present in the car,” V greets, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “And this, too. Dunno if there’s anything good on it, but Vega seemed pretty interested when I caught him.”

V holds the tablet up to the fixer, who smiles down at her as she says, “Good girl. I’m sure Nix will find something; he always does.” Rogue hops off the little car and starts walking, but not in the direction V would expect. Instead of going to the car holding Vega’s unconscious body, she walks over to a pod that had fallen off the ferris wheel and climbs in. A little dumbfounded by being called a good girl, V follows and stops at the doorway.

“Are you coming in?” Rogue asks, eyes glittering as she tilts her head at V. This time, the merc is able to stop the traitorous thought about how beautiful Rogue is, but only just. 

“I… Do you want me to come in?” she responds, still dumbfounded and more than a little confused by this turn of events. 

In response, Rogue just pats the bench beside her. V is helpless but to come in and sit. The fixer shifts the way she’s sitting, crossed legs angling until one knee presses against the merc’s thigh. Unsure of what exactly is supposed to be happening right now, V looks over to study Rogue. She’s smiling, just a little, like it’s more just how she feels than a deliberate expression. She’s also looking right back at V, and the merc looks down hastily in alarm.

“You did good today, V. No civs hit, and you got the bastard I wanted as soon as I asked for him. Couldn’t have done it better myself,” Rogue tells her, clearly pleased. 

V looks back up at Rogue, who is still looking at her, and blushes slightly. “Oh, thanks. Yeah, I wasn’t doing anything, so there was no point in sitting on it. Vega seems like a piece of shit, anyway, and I figured the sooner he’s off the streets, the better.”

Rogue grins openly at that. “Yes, he is. And when I’m done with him, he will be very, very sorry. But anyway, I know you didn’t do this gig so Night City would be oh-so-grateful. Your eddies are on the way,” she tells the merc as she starts to stand.

V grabs the older woman’s wrist to stop her. Why did she do that?

Rogue just looks at her, one eyebrow quirked, and V releases her immediately, raising both hands in surrender. “Sorry!” V squeaks, “I just wanted to ask you something. If you have a second. Do you… have a second?” V can’t believe how stupid she is. Mercs never touch each other unless the job requires it, and here she is grabbing one of the best mercs to ever do it and probably the only one who’s lived to tell it. 

“Sure, I got time. As long as Vega is out cold,” Rogue says as she sits back down, looking at V quizzically. “What can I do for you?”

“So I’ve got this thing, and I need a BD scrolled. Discreet-like. You know anybody?” V asks, glad to have a real question to ask after the gonk-brained move she just pulled.

“What about that Mox girl? Thought she was your personal editor for ‘discreet-like’ biz,” the fixer responds, and V suddenly wishes that she hadn’t asked. This is like Johnny all over again, except worse because Johnny was being a gonk, and this is an honest question.

V sighs, shaking her head. “That’s not happening anymore. Judy, um… well, she left Night City, and I’m not dragging her back into my bullshit. I don’t know anybody else.”

Rogue tilts her head, studying V’s face. “Huh. Okay. In that case, you’re gonna have to tell me what this thing of yours is. I can’t go asking peeps for favors when I don’t know what I’m getting into.”

V explains the situation in the psych ward. She tells Rogue she wants to fix it, if she can. And her voice almost cracks when she tells her why. “Rogue, you know my deal. I probably don’t have that much time left, but I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna try to do something right with what I do have. It was sickening. I wanted to burn the place down, and then I thought this could actually make a difference.”

“Fuck, V…” Rogue begins, resting her hand on the merc’s bicep. V tries not to lean into it. “Yeah, I can get you a braindance editor.” She huffs out a laugh. “Didn’t know when I called that you’d already dealt with some fucked up sitch today. You said your media is Max Jones? He’ll go wild over this. The guy doesn’t know when to stop. We can talk to Nix about it, if you wanna come back to the Afterlife with me. Jones ain’t exactly easy to work with, so we’ll have to find somebody who can tolerate him.”

“Yeah, sure, that’d be great. How much do you want for the intel?”

Rogue squeezes V’s arm, unaware of the way the merc’s stomach ties up in knots at the pressure. “No charge, kid. Let’s just say you owe me a favor, and I’ll call it in when I get ready. C’mon, let’s get to the club.”

A little displeased at being called a kid, V fights a scowl. When Rogue lets go of her arm, it gets harder to fight. The two women stand up at the same time, V leading them out the little door. Rogue stays behind her, presses a hand into the younger woman’s back for just a second as they walk to the car. V doesn’t understand why, and she thinks the touch fries her brain a little.

“I’ll drive,” Rogue says as she pulls her hand away. “You check on our friend before we go.”

V opens the trunk and looks down at Vega. The blood from the broken nose she’d given him has started to dry, but he’s still out cold. She reminds herself to thank Vik for the arms again. She closes the trunk and slides into the passenger seat. Rogue has already started the Colby and tuned the radio to Morro Rock.

“Still out. Not sure how long it’s been now, but it looks like he hasn’t moved at all, so I’d say we probably have another hour.” V turns to look at Rogue. She’s twisted around to look out the back glass, reversing into the street. Distantly, V thinks she’s just as beautiful without the ferris wheel lights. She turns away before she can say anything gonk-brained.

“Perfect. We’ll head straight to the Afterlife and get him squared away for later, then we can talk to Nix. Hey, these your wheels?” Rogue asks mildly.

“Oh, no, I stole it outta the megabuilding lot. I didn’t think I should take mine since you wanted everything to be done on the down-low. Why?”

“No reason, really. I’ll have Emmerick burn it so there’s no loose ends. Was gonna say I know a guy who can clean it for you if it was yours. But this’ll be much easier. You’re pretty smart for a merc, you know. And I already know you do good work. If you aren’t careful, I’m gonna stake a claim.”

V blushes. She can’t help it! Who says that! 

Rogue laughs and reaches over to pat V’s leg. “Oh, I’m just kidding. Besides, you said earlier you’re already mine, didn’t you?”

V’s face goes from scarlet to crimson. She looks at Rogue, sees the city lights reflecting like stars in her dark eyes, and looks resolutely away. “Is that what I said?” V breathes, honestly a little proud she manages any words at all. 

Rogue laughs again, not moving her hand, and V knows she’s smiling that terrible smile. “Yes, I think so.”

V shouldn’t have gotten in the damn car. You’re fucked, kid, Johnny says in her ear, and she silently agrees. Fucked.

Chapter Text

Rogue reverses into a parking spot at the Afterlife, bracing her right hand against V’s shoulder as she twists around for a better view. When she stops, she catches the younger woman’s eye to get her attention. “Go open the trunk. I’m gonna unlock the garage door.”

“Yes ma’am!” V nods and snaps a mock salute as she shuts the car door. When she opens up the hatch, she sees Vega still passed out. He’s twitching a little, though, so it’s obvious that he’ll be up and about before long. She tells Rogue as much, and the fixer nods as she pulls the door up.

“In here. We’ll put him up someplace nice and cozy,” Rogue ushers them all inside and turns on the flickering overhead lights. 

“Huh. I thought this was some kinda security place. You own this?” V asks, unable to hide her surprise. She’s never really given the place much thought, and now that she’s in the building, it’s not at all what she would have expected. 

“Yeah. You’re not wrong, it was a security place a while back. There are so many of ‘em that no one really pays it any attention, so we left the sign up. Couldn’t tell you the last time somebody tried to go in. It’s convenient for me; close to the bar and so ordinary that it flies under the radar. Really, it doesn’t get much use, but it’s perfect for sitches like this.”

Looking around, V has to agree. They’re in a storage room, ammo boxes stacked to the ceiling and gun safes lining the walls. Towards the back of the room there’s a row of cells, and they look to be professionally built, no expenses spared. The frames are made of steel, V thinks, but the walls of each cell are that sig-jamming plexiglass. So thick you’d bounce right off if you tried to run through it, and criss-crossed with electrified wire for good measure. 

Now focused on a switchboard mounted to the wall, Rogue calls over her shoulder, “Throw Vega in there. If he’s coming to anyway, hitting the ground will be a good wake-up call for him.” One cell door swings open, and V wastes no time as she heaves him into his new home. She hears him gasp as the wind is knocked out of his lungs, and she steps out of the way quickly to avoid getting locked up with him. The door swings shut, and Rogue looks at V, ignoring Vega’s wheezing. “Alright, let’s leave our guy to get settled.”

“Great,” V says, falling into step behind Rogue. “This place is kinda wild. Guess I fell for the same thing everybody else does when they pass by, didn’t I? Makes me feel like a gonk now that I know what’s in here.”

“Nah, don’t. How long you been in the city, two, three years? This building has looked the same for fifteen at least. I bought it a few years after I moved the Afterlife up to Watson. Peeps who’ve lived here their whole lives don’t give this place a second glance, and only a handful of mercs have ever been in here.”

“And did any live to tell the tale?” V teases. It’s only a joke, but she figures the ammo and weapon stockpiles are a well-guarded secret. It feels like a show of trust from Rogue, to let V walk freely here.

“Just you, V,” Rogue replies, smiling slyly as she holds the garage door up to let V out before locking it behind them. 

They walk side by side across the parking lot into the bar’s neon glow. Mercs and customers alike are milling around the entrance, never paying the duo any mind. Normally V might appreciate the familiar sights and sounds, but the bright lights and loud conversations are exacerbating the rapidly forming headache behind her eyes. Down the stairs, Emmerick glances at V and calls out to Rogue.

“Meeting with Nix. If anybody asks, we’re not here,” she tells him. He nods, giving V another look, but says nothing. V grins at him as they pass. Really, it’s immature, but she’s still a little sore about his comments before Rogue and Johnny’s date. She actually likes the guy, generally speaking, but that was just rude.

With a quick wave in Claire’s direction, V follows Rogue to Nix’s office. She stumbles slightly at the entrance when she feels a stabbing pain under her ribs. She throws out a hand to steady herself against the doorframe, hoping it wasn’t a noticeable blip. Rogue appears unworried and isn’t looking at her, so she figures it’s all fine. Nix is just leaning up from his netrunning chair, jacking out of the computer. 

“Hey, y’all. Whaddaya got for me?” he asks, looking between the two women but settling his gaze on Rogue. She looks to V, who nods as she closes the door and leans casually against it. 

“We need a BD scrolled. ‘Discreet-like.’” She pauses to flash V a smile. “Our V here is gonna broadcast it to all Night City if all goes to plan, but it needs to be kept quiet in the meantime. V?”

V crosses her arms as she says, “It’s not exactly pretty stuff I’ve got recorded, but I’m not looking to make an XBD for some freak to get off to. It’s to go along with a piece a media friend of mine is doing. I can—” V coughs, hard, and her hand comes away from her mouth a little bloody. She clenches her fist, wiping at her mouth before continuing.

“I can give you all the deets if you want them, or you can watch the unedited footage yourself. Point is, whoever we get needs to be professional, but I want it to be clear that what happens—” V coughs again, and it’s so obvious that she can’t hide the blood this time. Rogue’s eyebrows are creased, and Nix looks vaguely uncomfortable. “Fuck. It’s fine, just. What I recorded is pretty terrible, okay? I need that to be clear. Not torture porn bullshit. You know anybody?”

Looking thoughtful, Nix glances between the two women again. “Yeah, I can make some calls. Who’s the media? Coupla my chooms won’t work with certain medias, they say they’re bad luck.”

“You can’t trust ‘em, that’s for sure,” Rogue agrees. “Max Jones is on this one. Vulture though he is, the guy’s got balls. I don’t know him personally, but I hear he’s fuckin’ hard to work with. And always provoking the corps. Should be fun.” She looks at V, who’s swiping at her mouth, trying to get any trace of blood off her face. 

“Yeah, he’s a real piece of work. Owes me big, though. He’s comin’ out of hiding for this, for me, so I wanna make sure he gets everything he needs. Whatcha think, Nix?” V asks, crossing her arms again to hide the tremble of her hands. Wow, her head is pounding. But she’s got to get through this meet. 

“I’ve heard of ‘im. Last I knew, he’d pissed off Militech big-time and had gone underground. Guessin’ you had a little something to do with that, V. I’ll have to find somebody willing to dance with the corpo devils, but it shouldn’t be too hard. Let you know tomorrow?”

“That’s fine, Nix. You call me when you’ve got somebody,” Rogue tells him, and Nix turns to his computer with a calculating expression. “V, let’s go.” She grabs the merc’s bicep as she opens the door, steering her out into the back hallway. 

V wants to lean into Rogue’s grip. She’s seeing stars, and she wants nothing more than to lean into the older woman, let her support her weight and do what she will. She won’t be that weak, certainly not in front of Rogue. But god damn, does her head hurt. 

V pulls her arm away from Rogue, stumbling a little as she puts distance between them but staying determinedly upright. “Alrighty then. Thanks a bunch, Rogue. Think I oughta get home now, it’s been a damn long day. You’ll call me when Nix has something?”

“Yeah, I’ll call you. But hold the hell on, you gonk!” Rogue follows V as she turns the corner. She grabs her shoulder, with enough force to stop the younger woman in her tracks. “Let me drive you. Obviously you feel like shit, and I know—”

“No, no, I’m fine. Over-did it today, that’s all. Deck’s running a little hot, and it makes the biochip act up. I’m just going to the megabuilding. It’d be a waste of CHOOH. ‘Preciate the offer, though,” V insists, though her body is feeling the exact opposite of fine. She slips out of Rogue’s grasp again, tries to make a run for the door.

“Don’t interrupt me, kid. I’m driving you. Can’t let one of my best mercs fall dead on the sidewalk just because she’s feeling a little under the weather. I swear, you’re just as stubborn as he was…”

V scowls, but when she opens her mouth to argue, a cough comes out instead. And then she’s doubled over, holding her stomach with one arm and covering her mouth with the other. Every breath is interrupted by more hacking, and her chest heaves painfully. When it finally stops, Rogue puts her hand on V’s back. 

“Come on,” is all she says. V nods miserably and allows herself to be pulled into the storage room. Rogue directs her over to a stool, and V sits while the fixer rummages around for… something. When she pops up looking triumphant with a towel in her hand, V understands. 

“Here, get cleaned up. You’ve got blood all over your face,” Rogue orders her, and V takes the towel from her without complaint. She scrubs at her face, grimacing when she glances down at the towel and sees just how much blood she’d managed to cough up. When she’s done, Rogue scans the merc’s face and nods approvingly. “Better. Now then, we’re leaving.”

“‘Kay. Lead the way,” V sighs, resigning herself to this pathetic fate. She braces herself and tries to look better than she feels as Rogue opens the door.

Rogue walks leisurely through the bar’s front room, waving dismissively at the bar patrons calling her name. V goes largely ignored, which suits her just fine. When they reach Emmerick, he raises an eyebrow at V but keeps his attention on the fixer.

“There’s a car backed up to the garage that needs to disappear. I want it taken care of before I get back, if possible,” Rogue tells him. V sways at her side, feeling a little dizzy now.

“Got it. You taking the kid with you?” he asks, looking down at V now. If she didn’t feel like scop warmed over, she would stick her tongue out at him. Really! She’s not a kid, and anyway why’s it matter if she goes home with Rogue? Not his biz! 

“Not your biz, Bronson. I’ll be back soon,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. She turns and goes up the stairs without another word. V looks up at Emmerick, and he turns to look back, unblinking.

“Um… ‘Night, Emmerick. See ya later,” V says tiredly. He quirks his lips up in an almost-smile, and it’s so startling that she can do nothing but rush to follow Rogue. 

V stumbles going up the steps when another cough wracks through her. When she finally makes it out to the parking lot, Rogue is leaning against her Type-66, waiting. Earlier in the day, V might’ve waxed poetic at the scene, but her brain feels like it’s melting out of her nose, so she really doesn’t think anything at all. Once she notices V, she opens the door and slides into the driver's seat. The merc gets into the passenger side and bends forward ‘til her head touches her knees. 

“Not gonna get blood in your car, promise,” V tells Rogue, for lack of anything better to say. Rogue laughs, and V might smile at the sound if she had the energy.

-

It only takes a couple minutes to get to the megabuilding, and V does manage to keep the car blood-free. When Rogue asks, V tells her to roll into the parking garage. She parks, and somehow she gets out and makes it over to the passenger side to open the door before V can even lift her head.

“Ohh, shit,” V whines as she tries to climb out of the car. Her body has begun to revolt. Her head is spinning, and she can’t get her hands to move like they’re supposed to, instead just shaking uncontrollably. It’s painstakingly slow, but finally V manages to get out of the car. Without Rogue’s help, thank you very much. 

A little wobbly, V leads them into the elevator and punches the correct floor. She leans hard into the wall and looks over at Rogue. The fixer is already looking at her.

“This happen a lot?” Rogue asks. V huffs out a laugh, regrets it when a cough quickly follows, shaking her sense of humor out of her body and onto the floor.

She wipes her mouth before answering, “More ‘n more lately. ‘S’not a big deal, honestly. Y’get used to it, I guess.” V knows she’s slurring a little, but she can’t seem to form the words any better. Rogue doesn’t respond, only furrows her brow as she looks at the merc. 

When the elevator stops, V goes to push herself off the wall, but Rogue catches her and slides an arm around her waist. “Don’t argue, you gonk,” she orders, and V just sighs. She swings her arm up over the fixer’s shoulder and lets herself be helped.

V points at her door as they round the corner. When they reach it, she tries to extricate herself from Rogue’s vice grip, but the older woman doesn’t budge. There’s no sense in arguing, V figures, so she just opens the door and leads the way to her bed. 

Nibbles is curled up sleeping on her pillow, so V tries to be gentle as she sits down on the bed. She brings her legs up to sit cross-legged and leans back on her hands, trying to make a show of just how fine she is. Rogue stands above her, and V looks up at her as she breathes, “Thanks, Rogue. I’ll be alright once I get some sleep. Sorry about all this.”

Rogue sits down beside V. “Don’t mention it, kid, just get some rest. We got work to do tomorrow,” she says, patting V’s thigh. That’s enough to break V’s concentration, and her elbows buckle behind her back. She manages to catch herself, but decides there’s no point in this little charade. She lies down on her side, curling her knees up and resting her head beside the pillow Nibbles has claimed. 

“‘M not a kid, y’know,” V slurs, closing her eyes, and even in this state she isn’t sure how that thought made it out of her mouth. 

Rogue laughs, reaching over push her fingers into the younger woman’s hair. “No,” Rogue agrees, “you’re not. Goodnight, V.” She kisses V’s cheek and stands up to leave.

Exhausted, V barely registers what just happened. She opens her eyes at the sound of Rogue’s clothes rustling, and she watches her walk over to the door. “G’night, Rogue,” V calls, but it comes out more of a whisper. 

Still, Rogue must have caught it, because she turns back before closing the door and takes one last look at V. After a long moment, the fixer closes the door. V rolls over with a weak groan. Sleep comes slowly, somewhere between ragged breathing and bloody coughs. 

Chapter Text

V wakes the next morning with a heavy weight on her chest. Literally. Nibbles had migrated during the night from her pillow to sleep on top of her. She scratches her little forehead for a moment, making kissy noises. The cat purrs and stretches her toes, hooking her nails into V’s skin. The sting of it brings the merc out of her sleepy stupor, and she sits up quickly, making the cat jump off her with a hiss. 

V hums laughingly as she pushes her hair out of her eyes. She passes the mirror to get in the shower and catches her reflection. Her normally slicked back hair is sticking up everywhere, a black halo to match the darkness under her eyes.

Really, despite the rough end to the night, she doesn’t feel bad. After her shower, she feels more or less like her normal self. She stretches before she leaves her apartment, sighing contentedly when her back cracks loudly and the muscles in her shoulders strain pleasantly. 

She stops just outside her door, turning to lock it. As she does, she realizes she doesn’t actually remember getting into the apartment last night. Gears turn in her mind; she recalls making Rogue laugh in her car, driving out of the Afterlife’s little parking lot. V wonders if she’d passed out, if Johnny had had to take over or—the merc’s cheeks burn at the thought—Rogue had had to carry her. 

But surely not. There are vague impressions refusing to form any real memory, no matter how hard she concentrates. Nibbles on her pillow, Rogue’s voice in her ear, eyes catching at her door. When she asks Johnny, he’s as unhelpful as ever.

“Nah, I didn’t have the wheel. Actually, I thought you might jump Rogue’s bones, so I peaced,” he tells her, leaning against the elevator wall with a frankly infuriating smirk on his face.

V scoffs. “Dude, I was coughing up blood. You think I’m gonna make my move half-dead? Don’t be a gonk,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

Johnny’s grin goes impossibly wide, and V doesn’t really understand, but she narrows her eyes at him anyway.  She might look crazy if anyone could see inside the elevator, making facial expressions, looking at no one. Sometimes he seems so solid, and he’s so damn obnoxious that she wants to reach over and punch him.

Still grinning, he asks, “So you are gonna make a move? Good on ya, V. Knew you had it in you. Even if ‘it’ is just me.”

Briefly, V considers actually attacking him. Imagines herself from someone else’s point of view, wailing on an imaginary opponent. Really not that uncommon a sight in the city, all things considered. It might be worth the damage to her street cred.

Johnny interrupts her daydreaming. “You wouldn’t. Just admit it, kid, you love me! Actually, you oughta be grateful; if it weren’t for me, Rogue wouldn’t know you from some gonk off the street. ‘Cuz of me, you might actually have a chance,” he looks her up and down before continuing, “Well, maybe. I can’t fix everything.”

V rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Johnny,” she grouses. He didn’t even answer any of her questions from last night. All he did was successfully irritate her. Par for the course, she thinks. Honestly, it’s her own fault for trying to have a conversation with the man.

Down on the street, V notices that she’d slept later than normal. The sun is high in the sky, making the city around her appear vibrant, just shy of overexposed. The scop stand at the foot of the stairs is open, so she decides to eat there instead of walking a block and a half to Tom’s. She’s got time to kill, anyway; there’s nothing to do until she hears from Rogue.

“Hey, what can I get ya?” the man cooking behind the stand asks as she walks up.

V slides onto a stool before answering. She remembers that Jackie had liked this little stand. Well, he hadn’t exactly been a picky eater, but any time he’d come to the megabuilding to meet her, he’d get a carton of noodles. He’d always offered V his chopsticks, trying to get her to try it, but she never had.

“Hey, man. Can I get… the noodles with synth-sirloin? And d’you have anything spicy? Chili oil or something?” The man nods. “Preem. Can you add that to the top?” He nods again, turning away as he sets to work.

V smiles to herself. Jackie’s order. Guess she’ll finally try what he’d always nagged her about.

While she waits on her food, she thinks about her friend. They’d only known each other for three years, max, but V feels like she lost a piece of herself when he died. 

Certainly, he’d been her first friend in Night City. She remembers that first gig they’d done together, getting some freakish animal through the border. An iguana, Jackie had called it.

And then he’d opened his family’s home to her. They’d eaten dinner together almost every night for well over a year. She’d tried a handful of times to shake off their hospitality, searched for some shitty little apartment so she wouldn’t impose any longer. But every time she’d brought it up, he and Mama Welles had given her twin glares, their arms crossed. Mama Welles would list every crime within a mile radius of the place that had happened in the last month, and Jackie would shake his head, telling her that there was a Valentino, or Tyger Claw, or Scav, or Maelstrom hideout somewhere close. Too close, chica, he’d say, and V would roll her eyes and insist that she could take care of herself. 

But she never left. Not until she found the H10 apartment. Jackie had approved of it. Real close to Misty’s. You’ll let me crash here sometimes, right? V had laughed, punching him in the shoulder, and told him of course he could, he could come over whenever he wanted. She hadn’t told him that she wanted him to be there, that she wasn’t sure she really knew how to live alone in this city.

V’s thoughts are interrupted by a bowl clattering in front of her. She thanks the guy absently, picks up her chopsticks and pokes at her food. It’s very… orange, she thinks. The bright red chili oil lends its coloring to the beige noodles and syn-meat in an unappealing way. She takes a bite, chews thoughtfully. 

It’s actually not bad, V decides. Not really her thing, maybe, but certainly nothing to turn her nose up at.

As she eats, her thoughts return to Jackie. He’d been much gentler than his exterior suggested, and she’s grateful to have known that about him. But he’d also been exceedingly professional, serious about his work and determined to become the best. He hadn’t cared that it seemed like a silly dream to become a legend. He’d only cared about getting there. 

V figures he is a legend, in his own way. Misty would always know that he’d loved her. Mama Welles could never forget her son. V would never, ever forget his kindness, and she’s sure she’ll die trying to become a legend. Just as he had.

She wonders, in a purely intellectual way, if anyone will remember her the way she remembers Jackie. There won’t be an ofrenda, of course, but she wonders if the people she cares about will laugh or cry or even drink for her. 

V feels a shock, and she winces, her eye twitching involuntarily. The man at the stand glances at her, and she smiles innocently with a little chuckle.

“Thanks, choom,” she calls as she pushes off the stool. She makes her way back up the stairs, punches her floor as she enters the elevator. 

“Johnny,” she growls, “do not do that shit again.” He doesn’t appear in the elevator with her, and that pisses her off even more. 

V stomps back to her apartment when the elevator stops, flops onto her couch next to Nibbles. The little cat cracks an eye open to look at her. She exhales irritably, tail flicking, but she still stands to climb into the merc’s lap, curling up against her stomach. V turns on the TV, resolving to get herself up to date on the goings-on of the world while she waits for Rogue’s call.

-

V is at the gym, play-fighting with Coach Fred’s robot, when her holo buzzes. She picks up as she bows out of the ring, smoothing her hair back.

“Rogue, hey. Nix found someone?” V asks in greeting. Keep it pro, no need to think about how the woman on the other end had taken her home last night.

“Hey, V. Yeah, the guy’s name is André Morellon. He can’t meet ‘til tomorrow, and he wants your media there. Can you get him?”

That hadn’t been part of their agreement, but V figures she can convince Max. He’d been so pissed about going into hiding in the first place, he’s probably itching to get out on the town. She tells Rogue as much, and the fixer nods. 

“Good. Will his fixer input let him go?” she asks.

“Huh. I didn’t think about that,” V admits, twisting her mouth as she thinks. “It’s not like Regina’s holding him hostage. And I think they’re just chooms. I’ll talk to her, keep her in the loop, but honestly, it’s not her job. You’re my fixer. I mean. For this, obviously.” She stops herself before the words coming out of her mouth get any more ridiculous. Her cheeks feel hot. 

“Okay,” Rogue nods, smile obvious on V’s screen. She smiles back, wishing her blush would fade. “Before I let you go… How are you feeling, V?”

Oh. “Oh, I’m fine! Yeah, I should’ve said. Sorry about last night. It’s not that big of a deal, really, I’m used to it now. Thank you, though. Seriously,” the merc says sincerely, dropping her smile when she sees Rogue’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah, you said that last night,” Rogue tells her with a questioning lilt. She narrows her eyes before continuing, “And that this happens a lot. You’re overdoing it that often? I don’t take you for some amateur deckhead, but Jesus, V. That wasn’t pretty.”

V winces at her tone. It’s safe to talk here, back in her apartment, but she finds she doesn’t really want to have this conversation. 

Frowning apologetically, the younger woman says, “Sorry. I don’t really remember what happened after we left the Afterlife, so I could’ve said any number of gonk things and you’d just have to tell me.” Rogue smirks here, and V refuses to consider what that might mean. Surely nothing too incriminating.

“Anyway. It wasn’t really just my deck superheating last night. I mean, to be honest, I did overdo it yesterday. I got mad, I guess, at the psych ward, but,” she pauses to take a deep breath before going on, “But it’s the Relic doing this. Killing me, so Johnny can claim my body. It’s not on purpose; Johnny isn’t doing it. The chip is just fucked up.

“I… It’s happening more and more often because I don’t have much time left, Rogue. Far as I know, I’ve exhausted all leads. I got one last chance, and I’m only taking it when I’m at the very end of my rope,” V says with a shake of her head, thinking bitterly of Hanako. “That’s why I wanna do this, with Max. I’ve got to leave my mark, do something before I ghost off and Johnny takes my place.”

Rogue’s eyes are wide as V finishes her spiel. It’s the only time she’s seen the fixer look truly surprised. “Jesus, V…” she mutters. “I knew all that, but it didn’t really occur to me until last night that it’s so—” She cuts herself off. “You really don’t remember getting home?”

V blinks. “Well, no, not really,” she answers, confused by the subject change but generally happy to oblige the older woman. “Like I said before, I remember leaving the Afterlife. Getting in your car. I guess I blacked out or something, but Johnny said he wasn’t around, so. Uh, why?”

Rogue ignores her question, instead asking, “And you feel alright now? Seriously?”

She can’t help it. V raises her eyebrows. She’d already answered this question, hadn’t she? “Rogue, I’m fine. Honest,” she insists. “It’s weird, maybe, but I have a theory. I could tell you about it sometime, if you want.”

Rogue nods absently, like she’s not even really listening. “Listen, go talk to the Joneses about our meeting tomorrow,” she directs, back to business. “Then stop by the Afterlife. We should talk.”

V opens her mouth to agree, but the unnerving smile Emmerick had flashed at her last night gives her pause. She’s already got to see him tomorrow, and he’s sure to have more to imply about her relationship with Rogue—fixer and client, really nothing more.

“Sorry, Rogue, I’m not sure I can,” V says regretfully. And she is sorry. She’d like to see Rogue for her own selfish reasons, but spending three nights in a row at her bar is too much. “I’ve got some biz to tend to, might take a while. But I’ll call you?” she adds when Rogue’s mouth flattens into a displeased line. 

“Call me,” Rogue agrees with a nod before hanging up. 

V sits back with a sigh. That’s not really how she expected that call to go. And now she’ll have to find something to actually do, because you don’t just lie to the fixer queen. Not if you like your balls, Johnny supplies unhelpfully, and V ignores him.

-

V walks to Regina’s place. It does the body good to have a purpose, she supposes, because she honestly feels better than she has in weeks.

Dogtown had left her hollow. She’d really thought that So Mi would be her saving grace. It was impossible to dislike her, someone whose situation was so much like her own. And she’d wanted to help, if only V could help her first. 

She should have known better. Although Songbird technically isn’t—wasn’t, maybe, but V hopes beyond good reason that she made it—a merc, she’s a killer for hire, an agent of violence working for the will of the Who. So it’s close enough, in her opinion. Mercs keep a careful, deliberate distance, and V had foolishly crossed that line. Of course she’d been burned. 

So Dogtown is a black mark in her memory, and the people she met there are little scars on her heart. 

That all seems so far away, here and now, with the mid-afternoon sun warming her shoulders. She cuts through an alley to get to Regina’s quicker, and there are kids playing horse on the little half-court tucked into it. Their bubbling laughter makes V smile to herself. 

The alley opens up right across from Lizzie’s. The merc runs to cross the street, spinning into the bar’s parking lot as she dodges a car. 

“Woah, V! Watch yourself,” calls the bouncer.

Chuckling, V waves. “Hey, Rita! How ya doing?” she asks, going over to lean against one of the Mox’s cars. Rita, as ever, is blocking the entrance of the bar, baseball bat resting casually across her shoulders. 

“Oh, I’m good. Haven’t seen you around in a while. You know, you can come by even though Judy’s gone,” she says, narrowing her eyes slyly.

V suppresses a groan. Damn gossips. Feeling caught out, V looks away as she says, “Aw, my bad, choomba. Just been busy, I guess,” Busy avoiding the place, certainly.  “Haven’t made it out this way in a while. Actually, I gotta delta now, but I’ll come by soon, promise. No hard feelings?”

“Holdin’ you to it, hun. Later!” Rita calls after her, laughing, as V turns to leave. It’s a strategic retreat, probably, and who can blame her? No one wants to have a drawn out conversation with a friend of a friend who’s also kinda your ex.

Rounding the corner, V sighs inwardly. She’s really digging herself a hole here, first lying to Rogue and now making promises to one of the other scariest women she knows. 

But her spirits are still high as she reaches Yaiba Tower and enters the elevator. It’s always good to see the fixer, and fun is really not a sufficient description for conversations with Max. His shitty attitude should be annoying, but V just loves riling him up.

Stepping out of the elevator, Regina’s turrets swing around to point at V, but they deactivate almost immediately. She hears the fixer call out a greeting.

“Reggie! I’m here to talk to you and Max, if you’ve got a sec?” V calls back. She walks through the little hallway and peers into the larger room, expecting to see the fixer there. But the room is empty, so she about-faces to head into the small computer room.

Regina is perched on a desk beside Max, legs crossed. She blinks expectantly at the merc.

“My knight in shining armor,” Max grumbles. “You got my BD?”

“Good to see you, too, princess,” V responds with a huge grin. A couple of Bakker elders had tried to teach the kids to kill ‘em with kindness. That particular precept had never come naturally to her, but it serves her well now. Max grimaces, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t have it, but that’s what I’m here to talk to you about. The editor can’t meet ‘til tomorrow, and he wants you there. Whaddaya think?” she asks. Hook, line…

“God, yes. I can’t wait to get out of this rat-hole,” he breathes, leaning forward in anticipation. And sinker.

“Hold on now, leadhead. You forget that Militech wants your head on a stick?” Regina interrupts, clearly not swayed by Max’s sudden excitement. “Where’s this meeting supposed to be?”

“Reg, you know I’m not gonna let anything happen. We’re all getting together at the Afterlife. Rogue is setting it up; couldn’t be more secure,” V assures her. She hopes that throwing Rogue’s name in there will put Regina at ease.

Max rolls his eyes. “This isn’t your biz, anyway. This is my story, and it’s my decision,” he declares.

The fixer shoots him a truly murderous look before growling, “Oh, really? If it’s not my biz, get the hell outta my building.”

Max raises his hands in surrender, his eyebrows rising above the line of his glasses. V doesn’t think she’s ever seen Max look anything other than aggravated, but he’s abashed now. She wants to laugh at the sight, but she, too, might cower if Regina looked at her like that.

“C’mon, Reggie… I don’t mean it like that,” he pleads. “But I’m going stir-crazy here, thumb up my ass with nothing to do. My brain’s turning to scop. This story’s got real potential, and I wanna get it out there. You remember what that feels like, don’t ya?”

She squints at him, then turns to look at V. “He’ll be fine at the Afterlife,” she concedes after a long moment. “Who’s the editor? Won’t be some yono off Jig-Jig Street if Rogue got him.”

“André Morellon. Either of you guys know ‘im?” V asks, glad the tension passed quickly. Max and his big gonk mouth.

“Nah, don’t think so. Max?”

“Huh. Name’s kinda familiar, I guess, but I don’t really keep up with braindances,” he says, looking thoughtful. 

“Well, you and me’ll meet him tomorrow,” V tells Max. “You good, Reg?”

She nods. “S’long as Max lets me proofread. Your spelling’s always been shit,” she says matter-of-factly. V grins at the media’s answering scowl.

“I’ve come a long way since I was your apprentice at WNS, Regina. Since you quit,” he spits, adopting a lighter tone to say, “But sure. I’ll let you help, if you wanna play like it’s the good old days.”

Regina rolls her eyes and ignores him. “Anything else, V?”

“Well, actually, was wondering if you might have a gig for me,” the merc says. She doesn’t say that she needs to find some work, ASAP. 

“Maybe. Follow me, let’s see if we can find you something.”

She pushes herself off the desk and heads to the main room. V turns to follow, but she’s interrupted by the holo buzzing in her back pocket.

It’s Nancy. That can only mean one thing, and V doesn’t know whether to jump for joy or out the window.

Chapter Text

V is aware, in that same distant, dreamlike way she always is for these things.

She’d left Yaiba Tower—through the elevator, not the window, tempted as she’d been—immediately after taking Nancy’s phone call, expressing apologies that were more to herself than to Regina. At Johnny’s request, she’d gone to the H10 apartment and changed into his clothes, then she looked into the mirror and returned her own gaze with a not-quite-her smirk. She’d grabbed the pills and driven to the Red Dirt. As she drove, she’d found the courage to call Rogue to let her know she wouldn’t be able to visit the Afterlife tonight, and then she let herself be needled into saying why. She’d parked just as the sun began to set and settled in, resolving to wait for nighttime to come in the comfort of Johnny’s car.

When it had, Kerry had waved her inside. The man seemed lit up in a way V had never seen for herself, though she knew with a strange sense of not-quite-her certainty that he’d always been this way when it came to the music. She’d felt Johnny rattling at the bars of his cage—her skull—at the sight of him, so she’d gone to the bathroom, taken the pills, and wrested the reins from her own hands to give them to him.

Her heart had pounded in riotous joy throughout the show, alive and electric in a way that was totally separate from her. She’d felt her fingers sliding across the fretboard in the same way a handicapped soldier feels the leg he lost in one or another pointless war. She’d hardly seen the crowd, although she felt strangely like she was a member of it. A spectator, or maybe a specter.

And here she now sits, watching in that abstract way as Kerry babbles excitedly, his body bent toward her own. Johnny’s feelings brush against hers as he gives away his guitar: warm, maybe a little sad, but unwavering. He takes the pills when Kerry steps away, and there’s a bizarre moment where her body doesn’t belong to anyone.

Bizarre, because she had once believed that her body was the only thing she’d ever truly own. That it could never be taken from her, even if all else was lost. Yet here she is, now a stranger in the only land she’d ever known.

V returns to herself in a whirlpool of sudden sensory input. She’d been treading at the edge of it, and then it caught her, sent her under and trapped her at the center of itself. Her chest heaves in a familiar way, so she grounds herself on that real, quite actively painful thing. Kerry returns to the conversation with a golden smile that she can tell is meant for someone else. Their eyes meet.

It’s odd, watching someone realize they aren’t in the company they thought they’d been in. He flinches almost imperceptibly away from her, grin morphing into something more akin to a grimace. It might hurt. A little. But she smiles a very-definitely-her smile and greets him pleasantly. 

“Hey there, V,” he says, a little awkwardly. She doesn’t blame him for the stilt of his voice, for the way he angles his body carefully away from her now. Actually, she thinks it’s a little funny, but that might just be the shots Johnny had taken coming back to her. 

“Kerry! Sorry, I hopped back into the driver’s seat. He can still hear you, though,” she apologizes, even though it isn’t really her fault. 

“Ah, no thanks. Not really into hoodoo,” he declines, eyes drilling a hole into the floor. “What’d ya think of the show?”

V smiles at him again and cocks her head to the side. “Well, I’m not really around when Johnny’s drivin’. You tell me how it went.” It’s an easy lie, and she watches Kerry accept it without question.

“Fuckin’ shimra, kid. Samurai is so back. Seriously, thanks for agreein’ to all this. S’good of ya,” he tells her, and then he reaches behind him to pull out a frankly ridiculous pistol. “Look, I wantcha to have this. Tried to shoot Johnny with it when he broke into my house.” He grins, and he actually looks at her as he does it. 

V opens her mouth to respond that he’d actually tried to shoot her, but she’s cut off by a hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She doesn’t turn to look, only stretches her fingers toward the gun on the counter, but she watches Kerry’s eyes go wide in alarm.

“You tried to shoot her, you mean,” comes a voice, and V recognizes it. She resists the urge to straighten her spine, if only because the voice’s hand might move if she does.

“Rogue,” Kerry begins, pressing his lips into a polite smile and clearly hating it. “Damn, girl, been a while. You… know V?” His eyes flicker questioningly between them, lingering on the hand before settling somewhere behind them both.

Rogue’s hand wanders up from V’s shoulder, comes to curl—possessively, V thinks wildly—at the base of her throat, thumb making dizzying circles at her nape.

Before Rogue can say anything that could be misinterpreted, V answers, “Yeah, I work for Rogue sometimes. She’s helped me out a lot with the whole Johnny sitch.” She turns her head to look up at Rogue, and if she lets herself lean into the fixer’s grip just a little, that’s no one’s business but her own.

Rogue nods shortly, keeping her eyes trained on Kerry. He doesn’t say a word. V isn’t really sure what kind of standoff she’s somehow found herself in the midst of, but she decides that she’s not enjoying it at all.

She grabs the gun after a long, tense beat and examines it for a moment, then looks up to smile honestly at Kerry. “Thanks, Ker. This thing must pack a helluva punch. Double thanks, I guess, for not shooting me in the face with it last month.”

He chuckles, seeming to suddenly remember their conversation, and he meets her eyes. “Hey, anytime, kid,” he says as he rises from his stool. “Be seein’ ya, V, Rogue.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, the pleasant pressure of Rogue’s hand leaves V’s skin. She slips into the now-unoccupied stool and waves the bartender over. She orders two identical drinks, then pushes one over to V as she turns to face her.

“So, you blew me off to satisfy some dead rockerboy’s sick need for attention?” Rogue asks, perfectly casual but for the venom in her tone.

V doesn’t think she’s ever seen Rogue angry. Irritated frequently and nervous once or twice, but never honestly, truly angry. But for some reason, she gets the feeling that she’s looking at it now. She had gotten used to seeing amusement sparking in the fixer’s eyes, but they’re dark now.

“This wasn’t for Johnny. I mean, he did ask me to do it, but the whole point was to help Kerry. I didn’t mean to blow you off, honest. What’re you doing here, anyway?” V defends, petulant. Why’s Rogue pissed at her?

If Rogue’s expression changes, it’s only the crease between her brows deepening. “Hm. So you’re satisfying a live rockerboy’s sick need for attention. That’s much better,” she deadpans.

V opens her mouth to argue, but Rogue interrupts her to continue, “You really are a gonk. I could hardly believe it when you called, so I came down here to see for myself. And there you were, up on the stage, Johnny’s little meat puppet. Jesus.”

Offended, V spits, “Oh, screw you. It was fine for him to use my body when you wanted to fuck him at the drive-in, but now it’s a problem?” The merc realizes abruptly that it really was possessiveness that had Rogue’s fingers pressing into her collarbone earlier—over Johnny. Shame and anger swirl dangerously in the pit of her stomach. She takes a swig of her drink and narrows her eyes at the fixer.

“I get it,” she says with a bitter laugh. “You’re worried that Kerry’ll actually manage to get in my—Johnny’s—pants. I’ll be sure to let you know if it works out for him.” 

Something flares in Rogue’s eyes. If it were any other night, any other argument, V might want to kiss that fierce look right off her face. But she’s a little drunk and more than a little stung, so she looks away, knocks back what’s left in her glass, and stands to leave. 

Rogue grabs V’s wrist easily. “Sit the hell down,” she orders, and oh, V really is mad now. 

The merc wrenches her arm away from the older woman. “Don’t touch me,” she growls, and she finds that she actually means it. She’s so sick and fucking tired of being yanked around by everyone all the goddamn time, especially Rogue. It is still her body, for now.

It occurs to V suddenly that the fixer’s constant touches are a sadistic combination of lacking respect for V herself and laying claim to V’s body because Johnny is in it. Her face burns, embarrassed that she’d ever let herself think Rogue might want her. Angry that she’d let it happen. 

She waves off Nancy, Denny, and the bassist Kerry had hired, promising to be in touch. She slams the bar door open, only stopping to catch her breath when she reaches Johnny’s car. The blind fury is beginning to fade into weary acceptance. She’s the fool here, after all; she misread the situation and built a fantasy in her head. So really, it’s hard to stay mad at Rogue.

Then she hears boots crunching in the gravel behind her, and her blood starts to boil again. V turns angrily, ready to say something ugly, but Rogue is standing there with her hands up. Like a surrender, or maybe like trying to calm a wild animal. V’s hackles lower slightly, almost against her will.

“What,” she grinds out. She puts a hand on the door handle, making it clear that she’ll leave at the first provocation. 

Rogue scowls, but her words don’t have that sting from earlier when she says, “Look. I didn’t come here to argue. I was just gonna check up on you. But it was… a shock, I suppose, seeing Johnny instead of you up there. It was always easier to fight with him than just have a damn conversation, so that’s what I was doing.”

“Well, I’m not him,” V spits back, grip tightening on the handle. She tries to choke out the gonk part of her that wants to believe Rogue came for her.

“Fuck’s sake,” she mumbles under her breath, taking a long stride toward the younger woman. V resists the animal urge to flinch away. “Just listen. I’m trying to tell you I don’t want you to be Johnny. You two are nothing alike.”

Glowering, V says, “Great. I’m nothing like a terrorist. What’s your point? I don’t—” She stops, exhaling sharply through her nose and willing herself to be calm. “You have to tell me what you want from me. Until I flatline and Johnny gets my body, you’re stuck with me, me-as-him, whatever.

“Back at the drive-in, you wanted to stop because it wasn’t fair to Johnny. I agree. It’s not right for him to only have moments of life here and there. But I can only do so much without killing myself even faster. We’ve talked about it, and he understands. I need you to understand. I hate disappointing you by not being him, but I won’t apologize for it,” V finishes, eyes burning. She feels wrung out, physically and mentally past her limit. But she holds Rogue’s gaze.

Rogue takes another step toward her, now close enough to touch. V lets her hand drop from the handle. Not getting out of this conversation by running, it seems. 

“V…” Rogue sighs, frowning. “Why don’t you come with me? We need to talk, clearly, so let’s go back to the club. I’ll drive.” She reaches out to take the younger woman’s wrist, but stops short. 

V crosses her arms across her chest. “Not the Afterlife. We can talk, but not there,” she says, shaking her head. Rogue’s face pinches in disappointment, and V sighs. “If you wanna go somewhere private, I guess we could go to my apartment in the Glen,” she offers.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Just tell me where to go,” Rogue agrees. V thinks she looks pleased, and her traitorous heart flips. The older woman turns and beckons for V to follow her behind the bar, where her Type-66 is parked.

As V slides into the passenger seat, she recalls the previous night. “I didn’t get any blood in here, did I?” she asks.

“No,” Rogue replies tersely. She taps her thumbs on the steering wheel. V wonders if she’s lying, but she doesn’t ask again. She looks out the window, lets the blur of the city calm her nerves. 

-

They ride mostly in awkward silence until they come upon El Coyote Cojo. 

“You want a drink? We could stop here. Jackie’s mom owns the place, and my apartment is just a block down.” V points at the bar to their left. She knows she needs to visit, but it’s hard being there without him. And she’s never sure if it helps or hurts Mama Welles to see her. 

Rogue slows but doesn’t really look for parking. She shakes her head as she says, “Let’s go straight to your apartment. Next time, though.”

V can’t say she blames her, but she would really like to delay this conversation. “Sure,” she replies easily. “It’s up here on the right, a little ways past the intersection. You’ll have to park in front of the building on the left. Fuckin’ corpos always block the alley.”

Rogue nods and does as she’s bid. V climbs out of the passenger seat and looks over to the older woman. She’s looking up at the apartment building they’ve parked in front of. Realizing she’s being watched, Rogue turns her gaze to the merc. 

“Why don’t you just live here if the parking’s better?” she asks, and V can’t help it. She laughs.

“Come on,” V says, motioning for Rogue to cross the street with her. When they reach the other side, she glances over at the woman with a tentative smile. “Y’ever heard that you shouldn’t return to the scene of the crime? That’s why. Klepped something for Padre there a while back, and pigs’re still watching the place.”

Rogue hums her understanding as they enter V’s building. The ever-present desk clerk looks up from her tablet to greet the merc pleasantly, and V smiles back. She waves Rogue into the elevator, and they ride in—still awkward—silence up to the twelfth floor. 

“I’m gonna run and change my clothes real quick. You can sit wherever, and feel free to check out the kitchen if you do want that drink.” V sweeps an arm out as the elevator door opens into her apartment. 

“Go ahead,” Rogue says, heading straight to the back, toward the liquor cabinet.

V jogs up the stairs, trying to ignore the growing sense that this conversation will end badly. She slips Johnny’s jacket off and hangs it carefully on her clothing rack, then shucks off the tank top, his horrible pants, and his boots. 

She pulls on her favorite pants—she keeps an extra pair at every apartment—and then considers her shirt options. After a moment, she picks a simple grey cropped tank. 

Johnny materializes as she turns to head downstairs.

“Hey,” he says. He’s reclining back on her bed, feet crossed and his arms behind his head. V thinks he looks much more comfortable than she feels.

“Thanks for tonight. Can’t believe Kerry just left like that, but at least ya got Rogue here to look out for you.” Johnny grins a little viciously as he says this, and V rolls her eyes.

“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “I don’t think Rogue’s interested in ‘looking out’ or doing anything else for me. She’s just waiting for you to take over again. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and the next time I take your little pills’ll be the last. Make sure you call her.”

Johnny frowns at her. “V, stop being fuckin’ dramatic. You know I don’t want that. We’re gonna get Alt into Mikoshi, and she’s gonna fix you.”

V looks away from him, deflated. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “This is just makin’ me crazy. What’s with her?” She sits on the edge of the bed and puts her head in her hands. The bed shifts as he slides down to sit beside her. He claps her on the back and shakes her shoulder, chuckling. 

“Kid, I’ve never known what Rogue’s thinking,” he laughs. “You, though, I get every gross hormone spike. Y’oughta just make your move. Like we talked about!”

“Ugh. I can’t tell if you want this because of me or because you’re a voyeuristic perv,” she tells him. V straightens up and looks at Johnny, stifling a smile.

He grins. “Why not both!” Johnny exclaims, and V just shakes her head. “For real though, V, ya just need to talk to her. Might even get a happy ending.” He waggles his brows suggestively.

“Definitely just a perv,” she informs him. His laugh echoes in her ears as he flickers away.

Back down the stairs, Rogue is fixing them both a drink. She looks up as V approaches and smiles. “You look like you again,” she says, and there’s a warmth in her voice that throws the younger woman off.

She wants to ask what the hell she’s supposed to think when Rogue is being… weird one second and cold, or downright rude, the next. But her body constantly betrays her these days, and her nose burns as a blush spreads across her cheeks. Maybe it’s not noticeable.

“Yeah, I guess,” she responds lamely.

“Let’s talk,” Rogue says. She grabs both glasses and saunters over to the couch. V follows helplessly and takes the drink the older woman offers her as she sits.

Rogue reclines back and takes a long sip of her drink before catching and holding V’s gaze. “So,” she begins calmly. “You mentioned something I said while me and Johnny were on our little date. He told me you aren’t around when he’s got the wheel. So how’d you know about that?”

V winces. “He didn’t lie. I’m not… really there. When I’m me, he can see and feel everything I can if he wants to, or he can sit back in my memories or something if he doesn’t. But I just can’t control it like that.

“It’s sorta like I’m underwater. I don’t always see everything, and my other senses are so dulled they may as well be completely void. I don’t have any say in it. I feel far away, most of the time,” V explains. It’s more honest than she’s been with anyone else.

But Rogue doesn’t look satisfied. “But you were there the other night,” she insists, not quite a question and not quite a declaration.

V’s cheeks burn—with shame, or maybe at the memory of what had almost happened. “Yes,” she answers, looking down at her still-full drink. “I was pretty much there for the whole thing. But I didn’t mind. I mean, it was fine. That was none of my business, and I can assure you that you were with Johnny, not me.” 

Rogue looks at the younger woman, considering. V blushes harder, discomfited by Rogue’s unwavering attention.

“You know, I really never wanted to talk to you about this,” the older woman admits. V huffs out a laugh.

“Well, you started it,” she replies, and Rogue smiles.

“Guess so,” she agrees. “But it’s different now, since you were there. V, me and Johnny could never get it right. I told you earlier, we were always better at fighting than talking. It was always off and on. He was a manipulative bastard, and I was a gonk for falling for it every time. But obviously someone’s been a good influence on him, based on what you’ve both said. 

“So when you, or he, asked me out, I thought maybe it’d be different this time. Worst case, he’s exactly who I thought he was fifty years ago. I didn’t really consider the best case.” Rogue stops, shaking her head almost to herself. 

“Okay,” V says gently, wanting to soothe the older woman. She has to stop herself from reaching out. Mercs don’t touch each other, and that’s one rule she just won’t break again. Even if she wants to.

Rogue looks up at her, brows furrowed. “At the drive-in, Johnny was just what I wanted him to be back in the day. Still himself, sure, but there wasn’t any of that old bullshit. It was just a good time. But I gotta tell you, fifty years is a long time.

“I’m not who I was back then, and I don’t want the same things. Don’t get me wrong, Johnny’s always gonna be important to me. But it wasn’t fair to him at the drive-in because I don’t want him anymore,” the older woman admits, looking intently at V.

This isn’t really what V was expecting. She thought maybe Rogue would say, sorry, but I really do just see you as a temporary vessel for my ex! I want him, not you, so can you hurry up and die already? So she’s not sure how to respond to this.

“Okay, well… If you don’t want Johnny, why’d you get all pissed at me and Kerry earlier?” V asks. She doesn’t think it’s the right thing to say, but Rogue laughs. The sound of it loosens the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

“Me and Ker go way, way back,” Rogue says laughingly, “and we’ve known each other a lot longer without Johnny than with him. I’m not gonna sit here and act like I particularly want him trying to get in your pants, but any bitterness we had for each other over Johnny is long since settled,” she tells V, searching the younger woman’s face for… something. V’s not sure what, but she smiles a little and nods to show she’s listening.

Rogue sighs before saying, “Anyway, he owes me for a job. He seems to think that since I know he’s good for the scratch, it’s not a big deal if he doesn’t get it in the air for six months.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be giving him a call tomorrow, believe me.”

V hums in understanding and swirls her drink around. She still hasn’t taken a sip of it, but it’s a comforting weight in her hand. The movement draws Rogue’s attention.

“You don’t like the drink?” she asks.

“Oh, no, it’s not that. To be honest, Johnny did a bunch of shots while he was in control, and I don’t wanna get drunk,” she informs her, grimacing. “Actually, I think I’ll get a coffee. You want one?”

“No thanks,” Rogue says, lifting her drink up in a mocking toast before taking another sip.

V nods and stands. She twists side to side to stretch her back and sighs at the pleasant burn in her sides. The merc walks over to the coffee machine and sets to work, abandoning the drink Rogue had made. 

She turns around when she hears clothes rustling behind her. Rogue is taking off her jacket. Under it she’s wearing a cropped black tee, and her pants are slung so low that V can see her hipbones jutting out just slightly. She imagines her thumbs curling up around them, pressing her fingertips into the older woman’s skin—someone clears their throat.

V flinches out of the daydream. Without realizing it, she’s taken a step forward, and her fingers are curled into a loose fist. She glances up to see Rogue smirking, her eyes glittering. V flushes pink as she realizes she’s been caught.

“Sorry, um,” she mumbles, looking away in alarm. This night could not possibly get worse, she decides.

“V,” Rogue calls. She walks toward the merc around the counter, stops just when she’s close enough to touch. “I guess I need to be clearer about this,” she sighs.

That’s intriguing enough to bring V’s gaze up from the floor. She furrows her brow at Rogue quizzically. In response, Rogue steps closer to her. V thinks she is way, way too close, but she can’t seem to make herself move back. Her fingers twitch treacherously toward the fixer. 

“Listen, V. I don’t want Johnny. I only care if Kerry wants him because he has to go through you to get him,” she says, her voice low. 

V thinks about that for a moment, searching the older woman’s face for meaning. Rogue stares back at her, exasperated. The merc bites her lip, wishing she knew what to think, what to say. Rogue’s eyes flicker to her lips. And, well, that’s a little hard to misinterpret.

“Oh,” V breathes, disbelieving. She brushes the exposed skin of Rogue’s waist experimentally, lets her hand come to rest at the curve of her hip. She takes that last step, sliding one foot between Rogue’s. The younger woman tilts her head in question.

“Finally, you gonk merc,” Rogue murmurs, and she’s smiling when V—almost kisses her. The coffee maker screeches, and V flinches away in shock.

“Fuck!” she exclaims. The machine continues its heinous song happily, and she’s forced to back away from a laughing Rogue to make it stop.

“Stupid fucking machine… Coffee’s not even any good,” V grumbles. She punches buttons at random until the sound finally ceases. Triumphant, she turns back to the older woman, wanting very badly to pick up where they’d left off.

But Rogue is glaring down at her holo. V hadn’t even heard it chime over the sound of that god forsaken coffee maker.

“Rogue?” V calls, concerned. The fixer looks up, and V can see the apology before she hears it.

“I gotta go. There’s a sitch with one of my clients, needs to be dealt with personally,” she tells V grimly. 

The younger woman stamps out her disappointment before it can rear its ugly head and simply says, “Alright.” 

“Later, okay?” Rogue asks, but for V it’s not even a question. The older woman reaches out, places a hand on V’s waist, and kisses her on the cheek. It takes more willpower than V believes she has not to catch her wrist and beg her to stay.

So she watches Rogue go. She smiles softly when the fixer turns in the elevator and lifts her hand. Then she strides over to the counter and downs the drink Rogue had fixed for her in one go.

Johnny materializes in a barstool, looking as sympathetic as she’s ever seen him.

“No happy ending, huh,” he says, sounding truly put out. V chunks her now-empty glass at his head.