Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

V takes a long step over a pile of puke before continuing toward the city center, titan-enforced heels meeting concrete with satisfying clicks as she dials the number from Mr. Peralez.

‘I knew this was bad business from the start.' Johnny appears at her side, as disgruntled as always when she picks a job that doesn't directly bleed one of Arasaka's veins out. 'Never get involved with politicians, V; it always ends up with a knife in someone's back.' He leans in closer, as if his voice doesn't fill her ears from the inside out already. 'Anyone’s back. You're not safe simply because you're the one getting paid.’

"Oh, quit moaning, you baby," V mutters absently, too busy rummaging her handbag for the car fob to care about another tantrum. "Just because you’re allergic to titles doesn’t mean they’ll immediately fuck me over." 

‘Says the one who got fucked over by a title.’

V jerks at the beep in her ear and focuses on the image on her HUD. Looking back is a tired, weatherworn man sporting a buzzcut with a suspicious frown and advanced optics.

“This is Ward. Who am I speaking with?”

"Oh."

'V, don't you fucking dare—' 

"Cop guy is kind of cute."

Johnny sighs with the exasperation of a thousand disappointed mothers and pinches his nose. 'You fucking slut.' 

"Detective Ward, I take it? My name is V. I believe we can be of help to each other regarding a certain politician's parting."

Ward raises an eyebrow. "Which politician are we talking about? They drop like flies in a place like this. Gotta be a bit more specific."

"This dead fly is Lucius Rhyne," V replies in practiced business monotony. "You've had the pleasure of saving him from getting shredded into ribbons, I believe? Before his tragic, natural death, that is."

"Right." The man reeks of apprehension on the small video screen. "And why's that of interest?" 

"Not so much to me as it is to the person paying me to get a closer look. You were at the scene, which I have analyzed, and I found some interesting details, so I figured we might meet and share knowledge?"

Preferably knowledge that's enough for her to solve this mess before Saturday. 

Contemplation reads easily on Ward's face, though curiosity claims whatever doubts he's got. "Alright, V, let's meet. I'm heading to Chubby Buffalo’s in a bit; meet me there?"

"You have yourself a date, detective."

‘Chubby Buffalo’s?’ Johnny echoes when V clicks the call away and proceeds down the sidewalk. 

"Don’t ask me—it's likely some fast-food chain serving lab-grown substances in dry buns." She clicks the call button on the key fob, sending a quiet prayer to whoever might listen not to get involved in another remote crash. "One of those places you’d beg your parents to take you to because all your friends got to go, showing off their new toys from kid's meals afterward."

‘Did you beg your parents to take you there?’

"Once." V exhales her relief when the car rolls down the street, only to mutter a curse when it stops in the middle of the intersection, about twenty meters away.

‘And?’

"And… well." She hurries to get inside when a line forms from both directions, flipping off a honking car. Burnt rubber flows through the aircon when she hits the gas, tires skidding on black asphalt before getting traction. "Let's just say my father gave me good reason never to ask again."

She types the address while keeping the car somewhat straight, following the meandering streets toward Heywood. It takes passing Stylishly before Johnny appears in the passenger seat.

‘What—we’re just gonna go there? No excessive shopping?’

"Oh, please—you’ve seen this look?" V runs her hand down her thigh, where the slick, double-nanoweaved dress ends just above her gold-chromed knees. Rosy pink, sleeveless, with a cleavage deep enough to be distracting but not enough to look cheap. "Mrs. Peralez thought it was cute! If it’s good enough for her, then it’s good enough for some small-town cop." 

And it has pockets.

‘Mh, I’m sure a politician has nothing but good things to say to someone who offered to fix a fuck-up.’

The pearly white, bulletproof blazer isn’t a perfect match, but it’s close enough that no one will think she had nothing else in her closet to match the dress. The same goes for the shiny white heels—after she got the bloodstains off.

‘You look like any fancy-ass whore who can’t hold on to an eddie if it saved her life.’

V rolls her eyes, then grabs the wheel with both hands and stomps the brake when the car in front stops at a red light, the front just about brushing against a rusty bumper.

‘Drivin’ like one, too.’

"Oh, shut up, you glitchy ass—"

The car behind her honks when the light turns green, and the engine of her Hella EC-D coughs once she gets it going, taking a too-wide turn onto the highway that almost costs her a headlight.

- In the next intersection, take a left turn—your destination is on the right side of the vehicle.

"I miss having a private driver so much." 

'You are such a fucking princess.'

"And proudly so." 

'Ugh.' 

Chubby Buffalo’s looks just like a place with that name: greasy windows for walls, a flashing neon sign with a dead letter, and a parking lot swimming in trash that looks perfect for drug dealing. 

It takes all of V's focus to park between two other cars and not trash anyone’s paint, sweat beading on her brow when she turns the car off.

'And here I expected we'd have another insurance disaster on our hands.'

"Who knows, maybe miracles do exist." V checks her ponytail in the rearview mirror and adds another layer of lip gloss before stepping out of the car, pushing the door shut, and hanging the purse on her arm. "Now, how about we get this going so I can get paid?"

A bell chimes above the stained glass door, opening to a small restaurant that looks exactly like she guessed: bright vinyl seats, plastic tablecloths, checkered floor. Like picked out from a movie set. 

Sweat and oil hang in the stale air, steaming off yawning truck drivers and workers in dusty high-vis nurturing coffee served in chipped cups. A few families are there for lunch, children running back and forth between their table and the bar, waving plastic toys around. 

Cop guy's beefy shoulders and buzzcut are easily spotted even without a scan; he is currently busy talking with someone in a booth, and V embraces sticking out like a sore thumb in her Rozovaya dress and bubblegum pink Kuomori handbag, basking in the guests ogling as she approaches the table.

"Detective Ward?" she greets, the famous corporate smile plastered on her lips as the two men look up from their sloppy lunch. "I believe we have an appointment." 

Ward stares owlishly, blinking as he takes her in before coming to his senses with a cough. "Err, V, right?" 

"Correct." 

Whatever shock overcame his company washes off as well, and a smug grin takes its place. "What the hell, River, you gonna sell the place? Need a realtor all of a sudden?" 

V barks a sharp laugh, shrill and cold, and trains her eyes on the man long enough for his smile to turn stale, then shifts focus back to Ward before Smartmouth catches his tongue. "Would you mind talking in private, lest I be forced to dabble in whatever services might encourage your friend to stop talking?" 

"My, my, that sounds like a threat." The smug grin returns, and the man shows his palms. "You know it's an offense to threaten the NCPD, right?"

'Fucking badges, always with their pride and balls.'

"Yes," she replies without moving her gaze from Ward, who seems mildly confused. Up close, his optics resemble what the force is usually outfitted with, and she summarizes his puzzled gaze as being unable to get a proper scan of her. "Well?"

Despite Ward insisting that his colleague, Detective Han, as it were, should sit in on the conversation, he opts to leave, and V makes a show of glaring until the man is all the way out the door. 

"So." She slides into the booth, cracked vinyl sticking to her legs. 

"So." Ward regards her with caution. His shoulders sit tense beneath a hideous coat lined with dark fur, thick eyebrows knitted together. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk." 

They exchange what's possible in a public setting in hushed voices, pausing only for V to order when the waitress comes by. There aren't any fancy hot drinks on the menu, and while considering skipping out not to risk infection from whatever the chipped cups might be tainted with, a generic coffee probably won't kill her. 

"Thank you." She forces a smile and glances one last time across the digital menu above the bar, her eyes catching the bottom left section. Chubby's Jolly Meal, toy surprise included. 

'Thinking of getting one?' 

Something old and suppressed beneath tons of dirt stirs in V's soul. "No."

'Liar.'

V shakes the thought from her head and turns to Ward, ignoring his raised eyebrow. "This club seems important. I'd dare say it's a good lead."

Guided back to the topic, V takes to regard the detective while he shares what he's learned about the cyberpsycho attacking Rhyne. It doesn't take a lot to pinpoint him as a small-town badge with a heart too big for a city this cruel; a good-doer who probably sees the best in everyone before they stab him in the back. She's seen the like many times, and they all end up either infected by the mold of corruption or silenced when they peek around one corner too many. The lucky ones end up beneath the corporation's thumb, playing puppet until they are no longer needed. 

If Night City doesn't swallow him, the mold definitely will. 

"So." V sips her sweetened coffee and barely holds down a shudder at the density of it. You could probably use it as mortar. "Cherry Blossom market?"

"Yes." Ward dips one of his remaining fries in the third ketchup cup, coating the pretend potato. His posture has softened, but the frown sits firm on his forehead. "It would be interesting to learn more about where Horváth got all that chrome." At the mention, he glances down as if he can see V's golden legs beneath the table. "And, if someone messed with the security checkpoint to allow him entrance, well. All clues are welcome."

V's mind is already set on finding out about the Red Queen's Race, busy sorting through memorized files, tapping her long, coffin-shaped nails against the cup. If the place is rich enough to entice the mayor, someone from her old department must have visited it or made a booking there. Angelique might know— 

"Another thing, if you don't mind." 

"Hm?"

"What do the corpo suits want with the Peralez?" 

V raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm with them?"

She knows why he assumes that; everyone does, and rightfully so. Still, watching that frown turn upside down is quite pleasing. For a small-town cop guy, he's not too bad looking. 

'You and your fucking daddy issues.' 

"Shush it, rocker boy. It's not my fault my parents failed me."

'No, but you could've developed a better taste in men—fuckboys. Troy's only achievement is digging the bar lower into the ground than stink-breath Stanley. I swear to God, if you make me tongue wrestle that fucking amoeba one more time.' 

"You're not…? I, uh." Ward's eyes dart up and down V's figure, and he leans back to fully take her in as if he missed a tattoo on her forehead. V laces her fingers beneath her chin and waits for his confusion to rise and fall. "I mean, you look like you're… affiliated." He scratches the back of his neck and smiles for the first time since V entered the restaurant. Albeit awkwardly, she indulges nonetheless.

"Appearances get you a long way, detective." V sips her coffee, letting Ward scramble for words another few seconds before ending his misery. "I believe the word on the streets is 'merc' for my line of work."

It never ceases to amuse to watch their eyes pop out of their sockets, jaws hang slack as if she hadn't been hired to do dirty work since she turned eighteen—the only difference now is needing to get her hands sticky with the blood she spills.

"You're a… merc?" He emphasizes merc as if she told him she's a dragon. 

V shrugs and brushes invisible dust off her blazer. She'd rather introduce herself as something to be proud of. Maybe again one day. "Call it what you like. Problem solver, dirt handler, debt fixer, or whatever you fancy. Either way, we seem to want the same thing—answers." She steeples her fingers. "So, I plan to walk out of here and figure this mess out, and you get to decide if you want in or not." 

The look she gets in return is skeptical at the least, and Ward rests against the seat, arms stretched along the backrest like some opulent king of his cracked, vinyl throne. "You really think you can work this out yourself?" 

"Oh, please, don't be cute." V scoffs and brings the questionable cup back to her lips. "You think I'd contact the NCPD out of all people to get assistance solving anything?" She quirks an eyebrow when Ward's frown returns, though the way he breaks eye contact makes her comment seem personal. "I reached out because you were at the place at the time, not because I required a drowsy cop to slow me down." 

Finishing her coffee, V pushes her bag further up her arm and slides out from the booth, smoothing her dress before turning to Ward. He stares at the table, tapping cybernetic fingers against the backrest. They look expensive enough to be of some quality. "I suggest making your mind up quickly, detective, because I won't wait around." 

'Well, that was a waste of time.' 

"It did shed some light on the whole cyberpsycho situation," V points out and lights a cigarette when the door chimes behind her. She saunters across the parking lot, humming in thought. "The more names we dig up from this stinking pile, the easier the research will be." 

'And the quicker we can get back to zapping thug brains and not meddling with badges.' 

"V, wait!"

"Speaking of." 

'Ugh.'

V stops by her car and watches Cop Guy hurry over, craning her neck further and further to hold his gaze the closer he gets. He's…tall, she remarks silently, and broad. Not to the same degree but not that far off as he towers over her, shading the sun from her face. 

"I want in," he says, shifting his weight back and forth, still frowning. "I've been forced to sweep this one under the rug, and I want the truth, so." Something akin to excitement grows on Ward's face. "How about we work together and get what we need?" 

"I don't do duo jobs." V enjoys another drag of her cigarette. "Never turns out well." 

Ward crosses his arms and dares to smirk, which, frustratingly enough, is quite charming. "What, you're one of those 'lonesome rider' types? Fight all your battles alone so you won't take anyone down with you?" He tilts his head and squints. "Or are you the rugged, bitter protagonist whose traumatic past made them incapable of trusting anyone and opts to live out their life in solitude?" 

Part of that hits dangerously close to home, but V crushes those thoughts beneath her heel together with her cigarette. "Don't be absurd, detective—as preferable as it might be to live in virtual reality, life is rarely so dramatic. I simply work alone because people get in the way, and I don't care enough to save them when they do."

Ward's amusement fades, and V uses the moment to search for the car fob in the dark depths of her handbag. "I'll gladly share whatever finds I make in return for the information you so kindly shared," she proceeds as she claws through crumbles and candy wrappings, "and should you by some miracle make a finding of your own, please do let me know." She pulls the fob out with a victorious "finally" and turns to him with a patronizing smirk. "And I might even let you come along."

Seemingly unbothered, Ward snorts and, for some absurd reason, opens the door for her. "So, if I call you to give you the address to this secret club—"

V enters the driver's seat. "If indeed, and before Friday."

"—you'll set aside your anti-partner protocol and work with me?"

It's a terrible idea, and V doesn't need Johnny to remind her, which he still gladly does, but there is a challenge in there; track down the address to the club before Cop Guy gets a lead. And she is excellent at tracking things down. 

"Fine, why not?" she agrees with a shrug to Johnny's dismay. "Just don't get your hopes up, detective." She flashes a pearly white smile before grabbing the door handle. "I do my job very well."

Chapter Text

'So, what, you're just gonna lie here all day? Stare at the ceiling until you become nothing but mold, limbs dissolving into darkness?'

V groans miserably, robbed of blissful silence, and peels her heavy eyes open. She swears the eyeliner cracks when she does. Despite being awake for over an hour, her brain hasn't evolved from useless sludge to anything substantial, and each movement feels like crawling through cement. She snorts a laugh at the tragedy of it all, the sound scraping against the inside of her skull. 

"Is that a song lyric of yours? Or does my hungover brain always make you this poetic?" 

'Bah.' Johnny flickers into V's view on the edge of the bed, lighting a cigarette. The flame illuminates his glitchy face in a warm glow in the otherwise dark room. 'If there was anything valuable to pick from that corporate-washed goop of yours, I would've found it by now.'  He looks across the round bed when Troy makes this choked noise next to V, then proceeds to sleep soundly. 'Gods, I can't believe you're returning to this shit stain. Dickhead's got nothing but canned vacuum behind those stupid eyes.' He turns back to V as she attempts to sit up, pushing Troy's arm off her stomach. 'Seriously, princess, you need to cut it with this crap, both meat-brain here and those fucking pills.'

"Oh, so the pills remain an issue, but cigarettes are perfectly fine?" V shoves the silky cover aside with a groan. The world spins as she sits on the edge, and Johnny's annoyance tingling in the back of her brain isn't helping. "A bit of a double standard there, don't you think?"

'At least the smokes don't fuck your brain up like that.'  Johnny snorts when she crawls out of bed and onto the carpeted floor, where she decides to stay until the room stops spinning. Closing her eyes, she can almost pretend to be lying on a cloud floating among the skyscrapers. 'Messes with your lungs, sure, but at least those can be replaced.'

"It's too early for this," V decides and slowly opens her eyes again. "Or late." Thick, velvet curtains block both sun and neon from entering, though the only artificial light making it this high are billboards and spotlights on passing freight carriers.

V inhales dust off the carpet that adds to the stale air, thick with the scent of musky sheets and champagne gone flat. She dozes off again, only to awake with a jerk that echoes through her head like an earthquake when her phone starts buzzing. 

Troy groans while V crawls to her bag beneath the oaken coffee table and pours its contents onto the floor to find the phone among makeup palettes (she pauses the search to add some gloss to her crusty lips), loose tampons, cigarettes, three packages of bubblegum, her Kenshin gun, and candy wraps. She clears her throat before answering, a vile taste rising into her mouth. "Good morning, Miss Jones." 

Regina pops up in the corner of her HUD, her regular stoic expression contorting into a deep frown. "Morning? Damn, V, please don't tell me you've been out of it again. Aw, shit, girl, you look like absolute trash."

"Always lovely to talk to you." V finds her earpiece among a handful of SourNanoSugarSkull wrappings. "I suppose it's not morning, then." She pushes onto her knees and grabs the table when the room spins again. "Got any new jobs for me?" 

"Why, yes, though I wonder if I should give it to someone who isn't a fucking mess."

"Oh, don't mind me, Mother—I'm perfectly fine." V makes it to her feet with a lot of effort. "Or I will be, just… give me an hour or so." She drags a hand down her face, crusty mascara sticking to her palm. Alright, perhaps she'll need a bit more than a few hours. She looks over to the bed when Troy mumbles something and pulls the cover over his head. "Now, do you have work for me?"

Regina begrudgingly lays the job out for her as she makes it closer to the shower, which is nothing more complicated than usual—Tyger Claws are in possession of someone's precious data, and that someone wants it back. "Look, V, I'm in no position to tell you how to live your life—"

V squints at the painful light in the bathroom reflecting on gold-painted tiles. "I'm sensing a 'but' coming up." 

"— but you're not making life any easier getting messed up on that stuff. There's help to get, y'know?"

"Well." V disregards her reflection in the mirror and stumbles over to the shower. "As long as I've got you sending high-paying jobs my way, I might afford that someday."

Regina drags a hand from forehead to chin. "Trust me, V, I'm doing what I can, but I can only give you so much special treatment before the others get jealous."

"And I appreciate that you do, truly. Now, I need to tidy myself up." V gets the water going and reaches for the earpiece. "I'll let you know once the job is done. Take care."

It's magical how much a shower can ease: nausea, headaches, and dizziness, all chased down the drain together with crusty cum and saliva. She tries not to rush this moment of relief while her mind's already fixed on the next job, counting everything she needs to take care of once the reward rolls in. Car repairs and fuel, ammunition, rent, and getting her gun cleaned. A new outfit for the upcoming yacht party. 

"Always something or someone to pay, hm?"

'That's life beneath the boot of corpo trash, princess. No offense.' 

V rolls her eyes. "Look at you trying to insult me while being all sweet. Either be a dickhead and stand for it or keep your uneducated mouth shut."

'And here I thought you didn't appreciate me calling you a soul-sucking desk whore.'

"Did you suddenly change your mind on that, or are you just pretending to be nice so I'll keep bringing you to the Afterlife to ogle Rouge?"

Johnny appears cross-legged on the toilet, cleaning his shades on his T-shirt. Something uneasy stirs in V's stomach. 'Yeah, well, maybe I get you better now compared to being rudely awakened as your brain tumor.' He holds the shades up to the light, then continues to polish them. 'Can't blame me for being antsy in a corpo's head, can you?' 

They've had this conversation several times across the months, and, to be fair, no, but he also didn't have to spend the first weeks blaming the pain of his existence solely on her. 

'Also, as I already said, if we're stuck like this, there's no reason to pick fights just for the sake of it,' he proceeds as if that's not going to change the second he's reminiscing about his past. 'Shame you're a fucking slut for fuckboys, though.'

"We've been through this, rocker boy; now let me cleanse in peace." 

What little energy V can muster goes into washing her hair and scrubbing her body clean of the memories of Troy's hands and wet lips before wrapping up in one of his plush robes, each with his initials embroidered into the white fabric. She dozes off in the hairdryer, head lolled to one side until it beeps, leaving her with a strained neck. Failing to rub it out, she exits the bathroom on weak but less wobbly legs.

The apartment bathes in dimmed light from the many spotlights across the high ceiling, and the previously heavy air has been filtered through the air con, now lighter and carrying a scent of coffee. Troy sits on the bed, his platinum blond hair disheveled and dark circles framing his overpriced eyes. He looks up from his phone when V enters and grins.

"Ah, there's my honey cake," he coos, managing hoarse and nasal at the same time. He throws his phone aside and raises his arms in a long stretch, showing off an impressive six-pack and solid chest that didn't cost him a single day at the gym. Even if he did work out, he's probably too skinny to get muscles of that volume. "And here I thought you had snuck out." 

"Awh, come now, I wouldn't do such a thing," V purrs sweetly, resisting another onset of retching that has nothing to do with the dizziness. Johnny doesn't suppress his, though. "I'd never leave without a cup of coffee."

"Is that all I'm good for, hm?" Troy leans back on his hands, pouting plush lips in dramatic sadness. "Coffee and fucking?"

'If the coffee wasn't made in an automat, it would've tasted as bad as his fucking breath. Fucking hell, someone get this man a dentist. He'll outdo stink-mouth Steve if he keeps this up.'

V bites down a grin at Johnny's comment. "Don't forget the cozy robes," she adds jokingly and hugs herself. "I'm always here for good-quality organic cotton." She walks over when Troy pats his knee and straddles it with her best impression of eagerness, wrapping her arms around his neck. He reeks of sweat and whiskey, his breath reminding her of a couple of alleyways she's stalked across the year.

'Yeah, he's definitely winning.' 

"I just got cleaned up," she chides when his hands travel beneath the robe, fingers digging into the sore dents from last night before moving on to her chromed legs. She sighs when he ignores her. "And I have a job I need to take care of." 

"That's who you were on the phone with?" Troy graces the edge above her knee, where her flesh stops and the gold-plated modifications start. "Sounded like you knew them." 

"We've worked together before. An old client." She looks over to the kitchen when the coffee machine beeps. "How about I serve us some coffee? I'm sure you've got enough on your schedule to fill your day, as do I."

"I've got something else I'd rather fill," Troy whispers darkly against her neck, hands running up and down her legs, pulling her flush against his cock. Amazing how he even manages to get hard after all the benzo. "You know I make it worth your while." V swallows a wave of nausea while Johnny might be throwing up for real this time. "Come on, honey cake, surely you've got time to spare for pretty little me?"

'For fuck's sake, V, just fry his brain already. Bet it won't even make a difference. And tell him to stop calling you that; you're not a fucking housewife.' 

"You know how it is, sweetheart—business first, party later." She suppresses a shudder when Troy sloppily kisses her neck, leaving a damp spot that cools in the air con's breeze. "Besides, don't you have a party to plan?"

Troy relents with a sigh, and V gets off his lap the second he drops his hands. "Always the workaholic." He gets dressed while V shoves the content back into her bag, lighting a cigarette before dragging her feet to the coffee machine. "You're coming to the party, right?"

"Of course." V pours a cup for Troy and a glass for herself, adding a dash of brandy when Troy isn't looking before stirring down three cubes of sugar and a splash of almond milk. She contemplates poisoning Troy's cup before remembering arsenic being a thing of the past. Maybe an outdated plate of oysters could do the trick. "I'd never miss one of your parties. Especially not one on the yacht."

V can hear the smirk on Troy's lips. "That's my girl, always got my side." She sips her coffee in hopes of settling her upset stomach while listening with half an ear. "By the way, did you hear that Lilith was seen at Kabuki market with some lowlife? Yeah, apparently a director's daughter wasn't good enough for Little Miss Trust Fund Baby, so she moved on to some tattooed piece of trash to make daddy angry. I swear, if she dares show up on Saturday—

'What is it with fuckers like this to always jerk off to the sound of their own voice?' 

"It's inherited."  V flicks ashes off her cigarette in the sink and inhales another deep breath of smoke. "From parent to child, generation to generation, we all learn that there's no one as important as ourselves." She exhales slowly. "Except the corporation, of course."

'Yeah, until they stab you in the back and leave you for dead.'  Johnny glitches into her view, sitting on the marble counter with arms crossed. 'What's so fucking good that you cling to a bag of shit like him? Because if it's only for a taste of the past, I'm sure anyone you'll find at Yagami Market is better than this useless airhead.'

This is hardly news—Johnny brings it up every time V ends up here, and she still doesn't have a better answer for him. 

"Just feels safe," she replies begrudgingly, aware of their toxic involvement. "My world got snatched from beneath my feet, and he's one of the few things that remains the same. Him and the girl squad."

Johnny rubs his face with a groan. 'God, don't remind me. Bunch of fucking bird brains.' 

Troy joins her in the kitchen, thanking her for the cup with another sloppy kiss on the neck. It takes everything not to wipe the spot immediately. He combs a hand through her wavy curls. "You were cuter in the blond perm," he informs, probably thinking he's doing her a favor. "You matched better with me then, too." 

"We can't all be as fabulous as you, Mr. von Clinten." V bats her eyelashes. While she did enjoy being blond, it turns out skulking around shady warehouses is too filthy for platinum. Also, all of Johnny's rambling of "old times" made her nostalgic, so her natural brown tones were released from bleach hell. 

"True that." Troy fists her hair and tugs gently, as if that alone would make her soak her underwear. She sips her coffee while the platinum king proceeds, "Sooo, when will you tell me about your new job?"

"You know that'll never happen." V puts on a sugary smile at Troy's sad pout and enjoys a long drag of her cigarette. "I deal with highly sensitive information, and the whole deal with the job is privacy." She exhales a cloud of smoke and pats his artificial pec. "And I'm going to keep it that way. Now, I need to get ready and head out."

V works around Troy's grabby hands while dressing and covering her dark circles with foundation, managing to escape without another sticky kiss, promising to show up at the docks the following weekend. 

'What's the point of partying on a boat, anyway? Makes no sense to get batshit drunk near water.'

"His father owns a one hundred and fifty million dollar, 2073 model Fincantieri Harmony; four decks, two AV landing pads, a swimming pool, and most importantly, a secret vault for his precious limited edition Dom Perignon and boxes of exclusive Gurkha cigars. Some of which I know Wakako is very interested in."

'That's why you convinced him to host it on water? Hah.' Johnny joins her side when she exits the elevator. 'Damn, princess, maybe I should give you some cred now and again.' 

"Yes, you should." "Bye, Suzy!" V waves at the girl behind the desk and exits into the busy afternoon, matching the stressed suits hurrying home from work until she's far away enough to catch the subway to Little China, wrapping her coat closer to not show off the expensive dress. 

Chapter Text

'You know, if you weren't such a fucking princess, this experience would be easier for the both of us.'

"Do you see the same thing I do?" V points at the grayish muck on her previously white-now-stained wedge sneaker, eyes boring into Johnny's black shades. "I washed these two days ago!" She flings her arms out with an exasperated sigh. "Why does it always have to be goddamn alleyways?"

'God, have some fucking mercy,' Johnny groans and dunks his head against the brick wall. 'Not even in death can I rest.'

V snorts as she struggles to navigate heaps of fast-food boxes and trash bags—and potential body parts, judging by the stench—in the faint light of variously colored neon signs. It's just enough to reflect a glow on plastic containers and tetanus-riddled scrap metals. V wrinkles her nose when the cool midnight wind carries a pungent smell of mold past her nose. 

"I hate this," she mutters to the ground and begrudgingly settles against the wall, distancing herself enough from the supposedly "abandoned" factory currently crawling with Tyger Claws that she'll be out of sight but within range. She pings off the armored person smoking out a window, ensuring no one has strayed outside, and releases contagion to wipe the building out. 

"Now, we wait."

'Ugh. You netrunners are so fucking boring.' 

Ignoring the sharp tingling in her temple, V lazily scrolls through her phone, catching up on everyone's pretend-perfect life on social media. The second quickhack round hit harder than usual—normally, she gets to round three before noticing anything, and the impending migraine serves as another reminder to buy a new deck. The list of needs never shortens, always added on with clothes, ammunition, gas, cigarettes, and, most importantly, saving for a new apartment. A deck somehow always ends up last. 

"Oh damn, Luca's got a seventh facial job already?" V squints at the image of her old colleague, the bridge of his nose now as sharp as his shaved jawline. "It seems just like yesterday when he returned after having his forehead smoothed out." 

Johnny leans in to look at her screen, snorting at the overly edited portrait. 'Yeah? And how many did you have?"

"Other than a breast augmentation a few years back, I had one as a child. An endoscopic sinus surgery because I couldn't breathe properly."  V touches her nose, clearly recalling the discomfort of recovery. "However, I wouldn't be surprised if my parents told the surgeon to make some aesthetic adjustments—they both had several jobs done, so I might've looked like someone else's child." She lights another cigarette and exhales the first cloud of smoke with a sigh. "I would've preferred that, though."

'That's it?' Johnny raises an eyebrow above his shades, the black glass shimmering red and orange from the Allworld Insurance sign peeking into the alley. 'Aren't beauty treatments part of the benefit package?'

"That I know of, at least—I can't speak for if any gene manipulation was done before I was born. It's common today to 'correct defects' beforehand, reducing the risk of birthing a child who won't grow up looking like a magazine model." V rolls the cigarette between index finger and thumb, humming. "If you have the funds, that is. These were a gift, though, so I don't know what they count as." She looks down at her legs, the golden chrome hidden beneath a pair of black, pressed slacks, slightly wrinkled by the thigh holster. They don't quite match her marine blue hoodie, but it's one of the few pieces she won't weep over if it gets dirty. Besides, who's going to see her? 

Johnny exhales a bitter laugh and lights his own cigarette, blowing out a cloud of glitchy smoke. 'Vanity—the greatest poison of them all.' 

Panicked screams echo along the narrow walls, ebbing off into the constant buzz of cars racing up and down the highway. V scans the building, pinging the survivors before setting off another round of contagion that jabs her temple with enough force she might have been physically stabbed. Rubbing it, she returns to her phone, almost dropping it out of surprise when it rings.

"Yes?"

The small frame in the upper-left corner flickers, and V raises an eyebrow when Ward appears. The resolution isn't near 12K, but more than enough to make out a shit-eating grin.

"Ah, Detective Ward." V rubs the increasingly throbbing pain as it moves across her forehead. "Good evening."

"Hey, V, sorry to call you so late," Ward's deep voice rumbles into her ear, though nothing in his tone sounds apologetic. "I just happened to have the address to the Red Queen's Race in my very hands." God, the pride shining on his face is almost endearing. Almost. "So, y'know, since you haven't mentioned locating the place yourself, I figured I'd give you a call."

Gearing up to blame her lack of information on desperately needing money for survival (which, yes, does include fresh makeup and custom dresses), V decidedly bites it down and sighs, "How annoying." Ward preens on the other end, and she rolls her eyes. "I refuse to believe that your NCPD database had anything useful on this, so you've clearly got other channels." 

V knows this because she's already checked. After returning home from Chubby Buffalo's, she spent the entire evening locked up in her IT den, scouring data from both the NCPD and several channels from her old NET department, making good use of weakly protected backdoors. 

Still, she would've needed another day or two to bleed each vein dry of information and get replies from old friends, and Goop Guy clearly has a better source. Perhaps one she can make use of as well. 

"Well, what can I say? I know my way around enough to get decent intel." Ward's smile grows, and V only needs to wait two seconds before he spills it himself, "I have an informant who sticks his nose in all the wrong places. Took a bit of persuasion, but, hey, as long as you make a good point, people tend to bend your way." 

"You mean 'gunpoint'?" V chuckles despite herself at the theatrical innocence Ward displays, then snaps her attention down the alley. A series of whip-cracks splits the air as someone inside the factory panics and guns their friends down, followed by shouting. 

"You, uh, are you working?" Ward asks when V smiles to herself, satisfied with the result as the next ping shows no activity. "Unless that's your neighbors having a shootout, which would be concerning."

"That's the sound of my job being done for me." V enjoys a victorious drag of the cigarette. "So, where is this address, then?" 

Ward's expression turns… smug? "I figured I'd come pick you up, and we can check it out. You know, together, like we said. Also," he adds when V moans in unison with Johnny, "I can't be sure you won't get there ahead of me and sneak away with potential evidence." 

V can't argue his caution as much as she wants to, especially if this case has been eating at his mind since Rhyne's death. That doesn't make it less annoying, and she now regrets her clothing choice for the night.

'Don't worry, princess—he won't care about your damn outfit. He'll be too busy trying to find a way to zero you the second he's got the intel he needs.'

"At least I'd die in something prettier than an old hoodie." 

'Vanity. Greatest poison.'

"Fine," she relents and gingerly steps out of the alleyway, double-checking the street before crossing it to fetch the data chip for Regina's client. Ward fist-pumps in the corner of her eye with a quiet "yes" before clearing his throat. "If you'd be so kind and pick me up on Raymond Street in Watson in, say, an hour, we can hopefully get home before sunrise. I'll be visiting the old factory down from the gas station." She puts on a sweet smile for the rugged man. "If you can get your hands on a few tungsten tip rounds and a sweetened iced Americano, I'd be very grateful." 

An hour is more than enough to skim through the factory for the data chip, and V tucks an unopened bottle of Suntory into her bag along with it, cushioning it with the adorable hot pink cropped jacket she found hanging over a chair. It also leaves her with enough time to pop a couple of Toradol and breathe through the sting of a rising migraine. 

'Think you'll make it through tonight without an aneurysm?' Johnny asks, breaking the silence with a whisper once V sits up on the sweat-reeking couch. The throb and sting are gone, leaving a sore spot behind her forehead. 

"Of course I will," V shoots back and checks the time on her phone. Cop Guy should be around soon, so she better pick herself up. Johnny stays silent, save for a frustrated huff. 

Detective Ward obviously drives an obnoxious car like the Thorton Mackinaw—it makes so much sense that V approaches the vehicle before spotting him through the open window. She inhales one last drag before crushing her cigarette beneath her poor, ruined shoe and pauses when Ward reaches over to the passenger side to push the door open for her. 

"Taxi for Miss V to Red Queen's Race," he announces cheerily as V climbs into the car, that smug grin sitting firmly on his lips when she rolls her eyes. "Drinks included. Couldn't find the ammo you need, though, sorry. Stuff like that's a special order in most places." 

V can't stop a thrilled gasp when Ward hands her an extra large iced Americano and clamps her mouth shut too late. Ward blinks owlishly as she accepts the plastic mug, muttering her gratitude and breaking eye contact. The first sip almost makes

"Right," Ward manages at last and finally quits gawking, then gestures to the center console. "I got some treats as well. Figured you've had a long day already." 

'Okay, the badge is clearly playing at something; don't fall for all this cutesy bull—V? C'mon, princess, really?'

Ignoring Johnny's warning, V rummages through the assorted candies and bars, struggling to contain her excitement—she does, of course, because she can't have Cop Guy figuring out her weak spot already—though she seems to have been discovered judging by the satisfied smirk playing on his lips. 

'Didn't your parents ever teach you not to accept candy from strangers?'

About to answer, V stills when holding up a familiar bar to the dim interior light: oat and cashew with dark chocolate coating. That one is definitely safe to eat, while the others… Wait. She looks closer at each package, finding honey-dipped sesame crisps, sugar-coated peaches, and another oat bar with roasted almonds… "Well, isn't this curious?" she remarks airily and finds Ward watching her with feigned innocence. "I am very aware of what information you can find on me in the NCPD's database, and these," she holds up the package of sweetened peaches, "are not in there."

"What a coincidence that I happened to pick up your favorites, then," Ward says, not even trying to cover up the guilt steaming off him like water in a searing pan. He shifts gear and gets the big boy car going, making himself a perfect reason not to meet V's suspicious glare. Again, he's either too proud or stupid to keep it to himself. "I may have happened upon a more detailed file outside the station's limitations. A back once scratched who was happy to scratch mine back." He flashes a knowing look before focusing on the increasingly busier streets. "It's rare to find ex-corpos clearing out filth on the streets and running jobs for fixers, so, you know. I got curious. Even more so when all I got out of scanning you was your name."

'I told you he was bad news.'

"You say that about everyone."

'That's because you have awful taste in people.' 

"And? Did you satiate your curiosity, Detective Ward?" V peels the cashew and chocolate bar open and takes a bite. God, she hasn't had one of these in ages. It's almost delicious enough to make her not care about Ward snooping through her old Arasaka files. 

"Not that much, really. I found your medical data alongside a few pages of mentioned achievements and promotions." 

That explains the lack of peanuts. 

"And those." He nods at the snack stash. "Alongside a few favorites, like foods and music. Never heard about Hyper before, but they make, um. Interesting songs. Other than that, well." He fans his fingers with a shrug, then grabs the wheel again. "Nothing. You corpos have a lot of secrecy going on."

"He took the time to listen to Hyper because it's in my file?"

'Badge is sus, V, don't trust him. And stop snacking! He could've poisoned it for all you know.'

"With what, vanity?" 

'...I won't hold any speech at your funeral.'

"Sharing information about the Red Queen's Race would be very interesting, though," V points out and washes her mouth with more coffee, shooting Ward a sideways glare. "If you are anywhere near as smart as you want to come off, I don't believe the only detail you've figured out is the address."

Being at least smart enough to get the point, Ward gives her a rundown of the information he's gathered. It isn't a lot, though V files away any technical details regarding systems and automatic defenses. Other than that, there have been curious receipts on shipments moving in and out of the area resurfacing on the street, and, most interestingly, the club's immediate shutdown following Rhyne's death. 

"That's about it," Ward concludes with a sigh. Streetlights roll by outside the car, one after another illuminating a frustrated frown on his forehead. "The fact that they closed it after Rhyne's death can't be a coincidence, right?"

"There are no such things as coincidences," V states dryly and bites down on another sweet peach, making a show of enjoying it just to indulge in Johnny's seething frustration. "And I'm certain we'll find out just that once we get there."

While the ride isn't long, V still stretches with a groan once they step out of the car, possibly because Ward drives with such gentle ease he'd put her to sleep just lapping the city center a few times. Wishing as much as she wants, she'll never develop that sort of grace behind the wheel. 

"So." 

"So." Ward walks a few paces down the road and back up, though it's difficult to gather anything from a dead concrete yard and a handful of hangars. "How do we do this? Since I'm not allowed to enter without a warrant—

"Oh, don't worry about that." V lights a cigarette and leans against the car door. "As long as you look out for us, I'll do the rest."

"Right. Certainly."

Working through the cameras and disconnecting alarms is child's play, and after unleashing contagion to deal with the few poor idiots inside the warehouse and turning the lookout's brain into a sizzling mess, V disconnects, ignoring the faint sting near and around the cyberdeck slot. Ward jumps at the sudden yelp before the lookout collapses inside the booth. 

"That's it?"

"For now." V opens the package of honey-coated sesame crackers and takes a bite, sighing at the sweet stickiness melting on her tongue. "The first floor is just storage, so if the place really is here, they've done well keeping it out of sight." She meets Ward's gaze. "Are you certain it is here?" 

"Absolutely." He looks across the empty yard, his expression mirroring something resolute like he's either perfectly certain or desperately wants it to be so. "Based on everything, this is the place."

V holds her palms up in surrender. "If you say so, detective." She pulls out her custom Arasaka JKE-X2 Kenshin—bubblegum-pink grip and under-barrel with gold-plated body and slider; a gift from her last promotion. If it wasn't so pretty, she'd exchange it for something that doesn't remind her of those days. 

"I'll go and see what they're hiding so well," V proceeds and checks her gun before sliding it back into the holster next to the two remaining magazines. "And come back with whatever I find." She turns to Ward, finding him ogling her thigh and likely her outrageously fabulous pistol. "Do you want to join me live, or…?" 

"Yes! Yes, of course, I, uh." He calls her up and settles by the car, arms crossed and possibly a dark tint on his cheeks. "I'll make sure no one comes to disturb you." 

V redoes her ponytail and scans the outside one last time. "I sure hope so." She doesn't wait for Ward to reply before crossing the street and making her way through the door she unlocked from afar. She keeps Ward updated on her surroundings as she progresses through the warehouse, scanning each centimeter of the vast room before pinging off something more interesting than bodies or access points—which she definitely will be taking a closer look at later. 

"There we are." Pride surges through her chest once she's gotten the peculiar container open, not even breaking a nail, and she stares down a set of stairs bathing in red neon leading to an elevator. "Seems you were correct, detective." 

"I knew it!" Ward exclaims in her ear, and she can almost feel his relief on her own shoulders. "Thank God we got to the right place."

V decides not to point out how there's really no "we" in all of this and descends the elevator into what hits all the points for a shady nightclub. She remains near it as she works through the camera system, wreaking chaos among the bored Tyger Claw members that sit around what remains of the club—furniture, screens, and wall-mounted speakers alike have been torn and shattered. Oddly, there are no bodies lying around that would indicate a shootout. 

'Please tell me we'll go see Viktor after this.'  Johnny implores when V's migraine threatens to flare up after a third round of contagion and overloading a fellow netrunner's cyberdeck before getting her position revealed. Ward voices concern now and again when she rubs her head, each one waved off into the void.

"As if I've got anything to pay him with," V counters bitterly and closes her eyes for a second, collecting some strength before pinging the room again. The few remaining are on high alert, and V inches closer to the elevator when hearing their voices.

'As if you need anything to pay him with! C'mon, the guy's practically your dad. He'll swap that shitty piece of plastic out for something that won't turn your brain into crisp fucking coal.'

"Are they close?"

Johnny groans wearily and steps out in front of the door. 'Yeah, t-minus about twenty seconds, if you're lucky. Time to get guns blazing, princess.'

V groans and takes her gun out. Her basic training at Arasaka, combined with surviving on the streets, is enough to make her a proficient shooter, but it's so goddamn loud. Each shot reverberates inside her aching skull, splitting the pain into several stabbing points. It hurts like a thousand daggers still after putting her gun away, and she can't dredge up enough energy to convince Ward she's perfectly fine.

"No need to worry," she assures and wipes sweat from her brow. "Everyone's out, so I just need to find some evidence." 

"Yeah, sure, I bet," Ward deadpans in her ear, followed by the distinct sound of rushed footsteps. "I'm coming in. Wait for me."

Wanting nothing more than to argue, V doesn't. Instead, she pushes off the wall and enters the club. Sex, sweat, and iron hang in the stale air as V slowly moves around bits of furniture, soon joined by a frowning cop. 

"I told you to wait," he chides but backs away when V scowls at him, very much not in need of a disappointed parent. "Right, so, let's see what we can find."

It doesn't take a hot minute to find the office, and V regards Ward with silent sympathy after watching a surveillance tape showing his colleague covering up the murder of Rhyne. 

"Now we know," she mumbles and downloads the file to show the Peralez, which will hopefully be enough to have them send a paycheck her way. "I'll look around some more." 

With Ward staring into the void in the office, V snoops around the club with less of a migraine and more of a hangover-like cloud pushing against her cranium. There isn't much to find besides cheap alcohol and suspicious stains on velvet cushions, save for a few brain dances in the VIP area. Obviously, she fires them up, much to Johnny's dismay. 

The first is as assumed—porn. So is the second, and the third seems no different until a blast of white-hot pain shatters her brain.

'You fucking idiot!' Johnny screams over the white noise blaring in her ears as oily black tendrils slither across her vision, wrapping around her eyeballs and pulling, crushing, slamming against the firewall protecting her synapses, tugging— 

It stops just as suddenly. The world goes from white to black to flickering, and once the room returns, she's staring at the faux marble floor tiles. Pale gray, cold, dotted with red. It takes another few seconds to localize her hands and knees on that same floor. Something warm and viscous trickles down her chin.

"V? Can you hear me?"

A quiet song of electrical buzz hums in her ears like a distant lullaby, fading further and further alongside the searing pain. Ward's voice sings just as calmly. She nods. 

"Good. How do you feel?"

She wants to say she's alright, that she'll walk it off in a moment, but every nerve ending screams "not good.". She registers Ward's hand on her shoulder then, heavy and warm. She's actually leaning into it. "It's… I've been better." Her voice comes out surprisingly hoarse. Ward guides her backward until she's sitting against the velvety couch, careful so she doesn't tip over. The more she feels, the more pain blooms across her face, pulse throbbing around her eyes. 

"What the hell happened?" 

Messy brain and frazzled thoughts. V carefully focuses on each string to help them back into place. "I think I know how Rhyne died." She touches her lips and confirms that the blood is, in fact, hers, then looks down at her hoodie. "Ah. How annoying." Ward stirs at her side, still holding onto her in case she'll randomly collapse. "Blood is impossible to clean out." 

'Fucking princess.'

"There you are." V surprises herself with relief. "Thought you got burned out of my brain."

'Sorry to disappoint.'

"Mh." 

Ward snorts a laugh at her complaint and holds his other hand out. "C'mon, let's get you out of here." 

Being stubborn is clearly out of the question; the one time she complains about being able to walk on her own, Ward lets her go, then catches her when her knees immediately buckle. She surrenders quietly and allows Cop Guy the Chivalrous to escort her back to the car, where he lifts her onto the passenger seat before she gets a second to object. He rummages through the glove box and offers her a package of napkins. 

"So, where do I take you to get you looked at?"

V shakes her head, which is an awful idea as everything spins while she hangs on not to throw up. She peels the package open and wipes blood from her face. "That's very sweet, but no need. I just need some rest." 

'Tell him to take you to Viktor,' Johnny seethes. 'Don't be so fucking stupid; your brain's practically turned to ash.' 

"Err, no, I don't think so," is Ward's skeptical reply, and V meets a stern glare in his eye—hell, even his high-tech optic seems to scowl. He's strategically positioned himself in the passenger door, blocking her from potentially escaping, which, even if she wanted to, is impossible. "You need to be monitored by, I don't know, someone, because no one is fine after screaming like a fucking banshee and trying to claw their damn eyes out."

Ah. That… explains things.

"Detective, really, it's—"

'Tell him to take you to Viktor, '  Johnny booms in her ears; the wave of pain reverberating between her ears makes her whine. 'Tell him!' 

"So now we're trusting him, huh?" V retorts with diminishing strength, eyes fluttering close as the single streetlight down the road is too bright. "And here I thought we hated badges." 

'We do, but Detective Pure Heart over here is the only one capable of getting you any help, and you're too fucking stupid to take care of yourself!' 

"Please, stop screaming." 

'I will when you do as I fucking say!' 

"V?" Ward's voice is soft again, like fuzzy cotton against steel grating inside her head. "V, please, let me take you somewhere to get help."

Seems she can't wriggle herself out of this one, especially not with Johnny gaping curses in her ear, and V finally relents with an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Misty's Esoterica in Little China." She opens her eyes when Ward remains quiet and finds his eyebrows raised so high they might fall down his neck. She'd smile if her face let her. "There is a ripperdoc there that I trust." 

"Oh. Right." Relief floods Ward's entire posture as if he thought she'd get herself fixed with incense and mantras. "Let's get you buckled up, and we're off."

The scent of Detective Ward's horrendous coat lingers in V's nose as they glide through Night City—something old, like clothes hanging in the same closet for fifty years, and cinnamon, out of all things. She tries not to dwell on it—as agreed, they have assisted each other in finding out the truth, and now they shall part. 

After he's helped her out of the car, and after he's waited at her side for Misty to unlock the place, and after he's steadied her down the alley to Viktor's clinic, and after he's ensured that she is in good hands. Then they part. After he wishes her well and thanks her for all the help, and after giving her shoulder one final squeeze. 

Then, they part.

Chapter Text

"Well, well, well." Viktor smiles flatly at V's disheveled state and shakes his head, eyes bleary and red and tired, not just from being rudely awoken from sleep, but at her. "'s always something with you kids plugging your shit into every goddamn outlet like you're immortal."

V chuckles weakly and curls up a little in the familiar chair, a smile pulling on all sore spots when Viktor begrudgingly throws that scratchy blanket over her before rolling his stool over. Johnny has been silent since the car ride, pleased enough to leave her head in peace.

"I swear to God, V, someday you'll end up in this chair, and even all my magic won't be enough to save you."

"Probably," V croaks, because she knows that if she doesn't take a bullet to the brain one of these days, something will misfire and her brain will melt out her ears. Sure, she's misjudged her chances of survival now and again, but she's not silly enough to think she'll remain alive on the street. "I didn't want to disturb you, but I wasn't allowed much else than to come here."

"Yeah, I could tell." Viktor combs both hands through his hair and grabs his glasses from the desk. "Your friend was very keen on you being taken care of." He snorts and squares his shoulders. "The guy clearly hasn't heard of me."

V shakes her head gently, this time not to disturb her scrambled brain bits. "He's not my friend. We just helped each other out in a common matter." She watches with heavy-lidded eyes as Viktor connects her to the many vital-monitoring screens surrounding the chair, then plugs her cyberdeck into the separate computer for troubleshooting. It shouldn't matter if they're associates or besties, but it's easier to declare distance to someone she'll never be in contact with again. An old habit from back with the company. "He was stubborn to get me here, as was my sassy tumor."

'I'm still here, princess.'

"They seem smart compared to you." Viktor shoots her a cautionary glare when she opens her mouth to protest. "You are not in a position to argue, missy; do you even know what messed-up shit you jacked into? Goddamn—look at this!" Viktor angles one of the screens for her to see, but the harsh light is too bright to even glance at. "Encephalon annihilation worms! You know what that is? It's bad, that's what it is." Viktor turns the screen back with a groan. V very much knows what that is; she's developed types of it herself once or twice, but the question is rhetorical, which she also knows. "Sheesh, if your ICE wasn't this advanced, you would've been dead."

"Well, um." V rubs the coarse blanket between her fingers, sore eyes trained on her pink nails. She contemplates keeping it to herself until Viktor makes a demanding, inquisitive noise. "It did kill someone, actually. Or, most likely. Mayor Rhyne, to be precise."

Silent fury radiates off Viktor with increasing strength, to a point where she might leave the clinic with a tan. Still, she shrinks beneath the glowering gaze that cuts through her ego like a white-hot blade. "I swear, I didn't know that when I tried the BD," she hurries to add. "I went there to find evidence, and I didn't want to miss out on anything of value, so—"

"So you hooked into a random BD in some random club related to a politician being murdered?" Viktor's voice is flat as he speaks, followed by a joyless laugh.

V huffs offendedly. He has a way of dragging everything into the spotlight that's just aggravating enough to make her pout, though there's nothing to argue about, as always. "You make it sound far more stupid when putting it like that."

"It's idiotic, V, and I can't believe you don't know that already. Though, I'm more inclined to think you do know but actively refuse to use that intelligence just to make me anxious. Also." Viktor touches the base of her skull, where the skin around her cyberdeck slot is swollen and sore. He sighs, deep and rumbling, when she flinches at the discomfort. "What the fuck is this?"

"It's a recent development," V explains, since it hasn't been an issue for that long, then proceeds with great reluctance, "The deck isn't holding up too well. I've been meaning to look into a new one, but… you know."

Viktor tsks and guides her head to one side to gently prod the area, then rolls away on his stool to get his exoglove. "Told you this would happen sooner than later. This cheap MK.1 isn't made for advanced hacks—this is for baby weefles, not cyber magicians." He leans aside to catch her gaze as she opens her mouth. "And don't let that get to your head, missy; you're still a bloody idiot."

"At least I am an idiotic magician," V mumbles despite her best interest and yelps when Viktor flicks her nose.

"Shush, child, and let me de-tangle this fucking mess you've put yourself into in peace, or I'll fix you up with a frying pan."

It hurts to laugh but also helps ease the previous shame of getting dropped off like a limping puppy on Viktor's doorstep. She yields with a "yes, father," if only to make Viktor blush and awkwardly clear his throat, and lets the man work in silence. He pulls out plastic tubing from a drawer and a pair of gloves. "Let's make sure you get some rest, hm?"

Mournful mewling stirs her awake a couple of hours later, which is highly disorienting when she didn't notice passing out, followed by the stool squeaking and Viktor chuckling.

"Always want part of the action, hm?" he chides affectionately, and the iron gate rattles as it opens. "Or did you just now notice her?"

Rosy yells at him for keeping the gate closed as she trots over and leaps onto V's lap, and V peels her eyes open in time for the peachy pink cat to headbutt her chin.

"Hello, my beautiful girl," she whispers, brain foggy and slow. She runs a hand down Rosy's back, smiling when she arches into her palm. "Here to ensure the old man does a good job, hm?"

Viktor scoffs, "Bah, it's far easier to do a good job without a mobile tripping hazard. One that screams as well."

"Oh, nonsense. You'd miss her if she wasn't around." V chuckles at Viktor's snort and lifts the blanket with much effort, allowing the cat to slither beneath it and drape herself across her chest, purring away like an anti-anxiety weight. "If I weren't so busy, I'd love to have you at home, sweetheart. I'm glad Misty spoils you rotten." She glances at Viktor, who's busying himself with cleaning his glasses. "And the bitter old man."

"You'd do best to keep that mouth shut, Miss 'self-injecting deadly malware because I'm stupid,'" Viktor mutters. V feels a little sorry for him; he's busy as it is on a good day and doesn't need her to have him pull an all-nighter to piece her back together. "On a serious note, you need to swap your deck out. It's not broken yet, but it's just a matter of time before those dry plastic bits crack or melt, and then we'll have a real problem." He inhales, pauses, and V senses the hesitation in the air. "Better yet if you hadn't exchanged the—"

"You know why already," V snaps, defenses flaring up alongside the heart rate monitor that beeps above her head. "We've had this conversation, and we're not having it again."

Viktor deflates with an exhale and shows his palms. "Alright, I'm sorry, it's just… Fine, never mind." He drops some instrument that clatters on top of the metallic drawer and rubs his face. "Still, you need something far more powerful than this toy. Anything less than an MK.3, and you can kiss that brain of yours goodbye."

V pats Rosy on top of the blanket, the heat and comfort helping her calm her pulse. "I know. I know, it's just… They're so damn expensive."

"Yeah, and for good reason," Viktor points out as if V doesn't know that already. "I can get you one at production price, but those still range between ten to fifteen grand, and I don't have enough funds as it is to order one before the end of the month."

"As if I'd ask you to put that money out for me? Don't be silly." V hears her tone grow snappier with each word leaving her dry lips and takes a long, deep breath that doesn't help. "Could you hand me my bag, please?"

Viktor gently sets it down on V's lap, next to the bulge that is Rosy's vibrating body. He then places the ashtray on one of the armrests. "Guess there's no use in lecturing you about smoking either?" He quirks his eyebrows when V shoots him a tired look. "Still a no, then."

"Don't you have enough on your plate teaching Rosy not to chew your cables?" It takes some rummaging before finding the moisturizing lip gloss and then the cigarettes. "Surely you don't have that much energy left to argue about my habits?"

"Depends on how dumb they are," Viktor mutters under his breath as he flicks through different values on a screen. "What about the pills?"

V sighs, tired and frustrated, and lights a cigarette before she says something completely uncalled for. "I didn't ask to be dropped off here to get scolded on how I live my life."

"So you're still taking them," Viktor concludes, still focusing on the screen. It's always like this when he's airing worries—eyes on the job, mouth in her private life. "I'm only asking because the chemical reaction can do bad shit to the neurotransmitters connected to the deck, and if your deck is already falling apart—"

"I get it," V cuts him off, regretting her tone immediately, and tries to amend, "I understand why it's bad. I'm not in the mood to discuss it." She inhales a long breath of smoke that does far more to soothe the frustration skittering beneath her skin than the sterile air. Feeling as though Viktor deserves something more, since he is currently repairing some stupid damage, she adds, "I don't take them as often. I'm trying to stay busy with other things."

Expecting Viktor to say something in the way of "like getting your brain zapped," which is definitely called for, instead he says, calmly and patiently, "That's good. I get that going through life is hard already, and with your circumstances, well." He faces her then with a wan smile. "The harder we fall, the harder it is to rise."

"Always the poet." It doesn't hurt as much to smile now, though the healed scratches around her eyes strain a little, meaning she'll do good hiding indoors for a couple of days.

Wait.

"What day is it?" she asks as cold realization washes over her and grips her chest. "Is it Wednesday?"

Viktor gives her a nonplussed look. "No, it's Friday, or well, it'll soon be." His eyebrows knit together when V feels the blood drain from her face. "Why, what's wrong?"

God, she can't tell him—she's made one utterly stupid mistake already tonight, and trying to explain that she promised a self-centered trust fund fuckboy to be his pretty arm candy in turn to steal a fortune of alcohol and tobacco beneath his nose is very much pushing what little faith Viktor has left in her. So, when he makes a quizzical noise, she shakes her head.

"Just… plans that I forgot about for the weekend," she mumbles, realizing she's crushing the soft filter between her fingers. He obviously tells her that she shouldn't be doing anything but resting the following week, to which she obviously agrees, and he sighs as if he knows she'll disregard it.

"How about you sleep the worst of it off here, and then you can go back to living fabulously and stupidly?" He offers, his words tinted with concern. He raises a hand when she's about to decline. "If only to soothe my nerves, alright? I'll rest easier knowing you'll at least get half a night's sleep."

Well, she can't really say no to that, can she? Not when he's giving her the 'please, child, you're about to give me a heart attack' look.

"Fine." She taps the cigarette against the ashtray and inhales another long drag to help convince herself that staying is the right option. It's not like she's in any state to make preparations for the yacht party like this, and she will probably pass out in the shower. "I'll stay for the night, but only if Rosy can come."

The relief flooding Viktor's soul is palpable, and he gently pats down her hair before kissing her forehead. "Thank you," he whispers, and V can't help but smile at the comforting warmth enveloping her for those few seconds. "Let's get the both of you to bed."

Rosy is anything but tired when Viktor helps them into his private space—she's not allowed in there, and rarely in the clinic at all, so she zooms back and forth across the room, in and out beneath the slim bed while Viktor helps V settle in. "Are you sure this is alright?" she asks for the tenth time, and Viktor replies with the same "Yes, I wouldn't have it any other way," then adds, "This might not be as luxurious as Konpeki Plaza, but I'm not having you lying on that broken old couch."

Leaving her with no room to argue, V lets him help her to bed in the small space, returning with a bottle of water and some pain relief for the inevitable headache she'll wake up with, then leaves her with an arguably tender "goodnight" and settles on said broken old couch in the clinic. Once Rosy is satisfied rubbing her scent into every corner of the room, she settles in the crook of V's arm, and V's heart hasn't felt this full in forever.

Chapter Text

The concept of time is lost in Viktor's borderline claustrophobic room, which is far more a blessing than a curse, allowing V to ignore all responsibilities for as long as she remains beneath the plush cover, inhaling the faint scent of Viktor's aftershave and listening to the busy world up above. Rosy has claimed most of the bed and pillow during the night, and V lazily pats down her stretched-out body, recalling the first time she spent the night in Viktor's bed after the whole fiasco fetching the relic.

Letting, or forcing, the memories aside, V rolls over onto her back and eases herself onto an elbow. The headache is, as predicted, godawful, each movement rumbling like thunder. Still, the swelling around the deck slot has decreased, and the dull ache is preferable to the hot blades puncturing her brain yesterday.

The pain of checking her phone isn't far off from it.

[21 unread messages]

5 messages from Regina ranging from 'Hey, V, heard about the gig; how did things go?' to 'V, PLEASE REPOPLY AND TELL ME THAT YOURE ALRIGHT,' which is both sweet and a little overbearing.

1 from Wakako, asking her to call for a new gig.

2 from Angelique regarding the Red Queen's Race. Had she been a little faster, V would've gotten there before Detective Ward.

9 from Troy, most of them drunk and increasingly difficult to decipher, though everyone's a different version of "come here, I want to fuck" and "I've got goods," which he probably downed all himself.

1 from Viktor informing her that Misty will drive her home once she's ready and also imploring her not to run off without eating something first (that's when she spots the plastic-wrapped sandwich next to the bottle of water and almost sheds a tear at his doting)

And finally, 3 messages from… Huh.

'The fuck does he want?'

Knowing she should delete and block the number for her own good, curiosity tickles V's fingers, and she opens the inbox.

Peralez cop guy
04:23
[Hey, V, just wanted to check in and see how you're doing. Took quite the punch to the brain tonight, bet that shit can leave a mark]
04:27
[Thanks again, btw, for helping me out. I wouldn't have been able to get the intel without you. I need to talk to Han about this whole mess, can't believe the guy would cover up shit like that. Anyway, lemme know how things are, alright? Just wanna know everything's good :)]
10:54
[Talked with Han. Don't know what I expected but I hoped he'd be different. Seems I was wrong, sadly. I'll be taking the whole Rhyne ordeal to internal affairs, the stuff you helped me find should be enough to reopen the case. Hope you're doing well]

V painstakingly eases herself to sit against the headboard, cool metal bars poking her spine, and opts to get the medicine and some water down before making any decisions.

'You're not actually going to reply, are you?' Johnny asks, or rather cautions, and V only has enough energy to shrug. She knows it's no use to keep a conversation—their combined effort is made and over, and unless Ward ends up in another crime scene that V gets paid to sort out, they've got no reason to stay in contact.

Still.

'You are. Great.'

"Makes sense that he's asking about my health," is all the reason she shares when returning to the messages after eating the sandwich and washing it down with the entire bottle of water. He went on and on about the whole partner thing, so letting him know she isn't dead is professional. At least, that's what she tells herself.

'You'll regret this.'

15:34
[I am well, thank you. Sorry to hear about your colleague, I'd say it isn't too surprising regarding how it usually goes, but I understand your disappointment. I'll forward your involvement when I deliver the information to my client.]

She also sends a short message to Regina, confirming that she is alive and has the package. Then sends one to Troy, promising they'll have fun on the boat, and to Angelique, thanking her for the information. She remains in bed for some time, spoiling Rosy with pats and scratches before making the arduous journey to standing.

Everything aches down to her toes and fingertips, expected but unwelcome, and she does her best tidying up in the dusty mirror, gently patting foundation on the scratch marks. She exchanges the bloodied blue hoodie for the pink jacket before stepping into the clinic, nearly stumbling over an excited Rosy who darts ahead.

"Good morning," Viktor calls from the chair, voice echoing behind the metal mask covering his face. He's busy fiddling with someone's leg, soldering tiny cables together with impeccable precision. "Did you eat?"

V can't help but laugh at this doting nature of his; she's never really missed having a parent before Viktor took her on like a cygnet lost in a murky pond, unfit for the rugged streets of Night City.

"Yes, father, I did eat," she replies with the dramatic annoyance of a teenager and grins when he deadpans at her from behind the mask. "Thank you, I appreciate it. That, and everything else." She shifts side to side on the spot and hesitates for a few breaths. As much as she knows Viktor cares about her, she can't stomach him giving away favors. "You'll send me the bill later, yes?"

"So long as you keep your link out of any scummy terminals, kid, we're square."

"Viktor, I can't—"

But Viktor dismissively waves her off, hearing none of it, and makes a point by bending over the wires he's tinkering with. Equal measures of appreciation and shame lead her upstairs, reminded of the difference between scraping to get by now and randomly taking a weekend off in the Swiss Alps at an all-inclusive ski resort.

Even with Misty's encouraging words and promises of a future filled with possibilities, she still mopes when the purple Volvo slows to a stop outside her apartment complex.

"Look, V," Misty's soothing voice cuts the silence as V stares into nothingness. "Life is hard right now, but I know you will pull through. Sometimes, you know, life has to take a sharp turn to open our eyes to new possibilities and find new sources of happiness in our daily life."

As much as V wants to believe that, it's getting increasingly hard to get up in the morning if there's no job on the horizon. "Are you saying I should be grateful to have been robbed of my life and then shot in the head?"

Misty gives her that look, like when she's being difficult on purpose, which maybe she is. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that when we are challenged by things we cannot control, it can help us find meaning in things we did not consider before."

"Then how did Jackie's death make you happier?"

V bites her tongue the second the words are spat into the sage-heavy air. Misty winces, either at the question or the anger in it, but rather than getting angry in return, she smiles sadly.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," V mumbles and looks down her lap. As if she wasn't ashamed of her mere existence already. "I shouldn't take any more of your time."

"When Jackie died," Misty speaks slowly, affectionately, and V pauses with her hand on the car door, "the pain was so bad that I didn't know what to do with myself. For a while, I felt I had no purpose, as if walking on the earth without him was meaningless." Her fingers twitch around the wheel, then relax. "But it also taught me that even though the loss broke my heart, my heart has never been so full as when we were together. He carried this light in his soul that ignited every particle of my body; his presence alone made me feel invincible." She smiles then, bright and warm, and meets V's gaze. "It made me fearless in the face of love. Because even though my heart will likely be broken again, the wonder of sharing that light with someone is so magical, so fulfilling, that it will be worth the pain."

Speechless, V stares at this mythical woman who foresees futures and who is apparently capable of taking the fear of loss in her hand and crushing it to dust. She'd probably let it blow away in the wind, firm but gently, then brush her hands and wake up to a bright new dawn and a will to experience the world.

Now V's really embarrassed of herself.

"Don't worry, V." Misty puts a hand on her knee and squeezes the chromed exterior. "You will get all the things you want and need in life. You just… You know." She shrugs lightly, her smile turning encouraging. "Need to be open to change."

"I don't like change," V begrudgingly admits and places her hand over Misty's, squeezing it back. Misty makes an affirmative noise—she's likely aware of the fact. "I want things to return to how they were before all this."

"Do you really want that life? Or do you want to go back because it feels safer to know what your everyday looks like?"

V's jaw clenches in protest to even concern herself with an answer, and Misty pats her knee before grabbing the wheel again. "Now, go and get some more rest, okay? And please, keep Viktor updated. You know how he gets."

"I do indeed." V smiles flatly and turns to Misty while opening the door. "Thank you. I appreciate your words and your… patience with my state. I'm not always this rude."

"Oh, I know, don't worry about it. Just take care, okay? We want you to be safe and happy. And don't be so hard on yourself; you are doing your best with a situation you didn't ask for. That's a battle on its own."

'Well,' Johnny sighs while they wait for the elevator to rattle to the right floor. 'Maybe voodoo girl isn't as crazy as I thought.'

"She's got her… way, I suppose, of seeing the world that's… unusual." V glances at the news playing on the screens where some officer is making statements on rising wars between 6th Street and Valentinos and a recent increase of kidnappings. "And a way to pick out glimpses in everything."

'She's not completely wrong, y'know? Even when life's nothing but hellfire and burning sacks of shit, we gotta have a little something to go by.'

V turns to stare unblinking at the personified neoplasm casually smoking beside her, shooting her a 'what?' as if he didn't just say a full sentence that didn't drip with bitterness.

"Did you get fried with me yesterday, or have you suddenly grown an affection for positive affirmations?"

'Bah, I'm just saying how it is!' Johnny walks ahead when the elevator rustles to a stop, through the closed doors. 'C'mon, princess, even a cold-hearted corpo drone like you gotta have something that sparks a taste for life?'

"I used to."

The door swishes open and comes to a stop with an ear-wrecking screech, as if returning here wasn't regrettably already. Stepping into the apartment is like stepping across a threshold to another planet—one hosting alien flora inside takeaway boxes, flourishing in stale air and constant darkness. Maybe if she had an inch of love for this place, she'd take better care of it. Instead, she kicks a dirty bra from her path and undresses on the way to the shower.

'Well?" Johnny prods while V sits in the corner of the shower, appearing across from her on the floor. 'What was the thing?'

"Pfth," V snorts, sputtering water droplets dancing across her lips. "Nothing you'll enjoy hearing about."

'What, because it's related to being a desk rat?'

Frustration coils up V's spine. "See?" She flings her hands at him through the warm rain. "This is why I can't bring it up. Your only perception about Arasaka is the one you saw yourself, so you can't possibly view it in any other way." She dips her head beneath the water one final time before getting out, using the momentum of anger rising through her weary body.

'How the fuck else am I supposed to see it?' Johnny counters, his flickering image moving in V's peripheral as she towels off. 'All my life, corpos were nothing but a shit stain draining the common people of life and cash—you think growing like a fucking tumor on your brain made me like them more? I am like this because of them.'

V rolls her eyes—how often has this come up already? "I know that, and as much as I want it not to be so, I can't." She wraps the towel around her body. "People in that industry do what they believe is right with little regard to reality or the ones affected."

Johnny laughs in bitter disbelief and ruffles his hair; his growing annoyance vibrating in a hidden corner of V's head. 'It's always the same thing with you rats—always got a weak fucking excuse to roll out, and we're supposed to just deal with it.' He dramatically raises his hands. 'Ooh, my, an entire town got poisoned by toxic waste from one of our chemical plants; whoops, that's our bad. Here, have a few mills and a pretty suit give their regards on TV.' He eyes V as she steps past him to the mirror and, while ignoring her reflection, detangles her hair with a brush that needs a good cleaning.

"I am aware," comes her stiff reply as she carefully works through the mess. Her scalp is still sore around the deck slot, which doesn't help the stir of emotions. "People love to remind us of how heartless and cruel the entire corporation is, how we have no souls, and that we deserve to die to give place for those who actually deserve the funds."

'Pfth,' Johnny snorts and raises an eyebrow at her reflection. 'As if any of us held any importance to you people. We're nothing but expendable pawns to further your rise to the sky—hell, you even own parts of space! How's that not enough?'

"Johnny, not now." V doesn't have the patience to ask nicely, not that it would matter, because Johnny is pacing, meaning it's already too late. "I don't have enough resources to deal with your rants."

'Like any of you ever have? Like you ever cared to fucking listen when we cried for aid, for you to stop using us as rats for your experimental science with the promise of paid rents, only for us to be discarded at some fucking dump!'

Aaand now it's personal. Fantastic.

'But yeah, sure, have your fucking peace of mind! You wouldn't know anything about suffering beneath the heel of suited gods that wake up each day praising their privilege and taking a morning piss on people begging for some goddamn rights!' He leans in by V's ear, lips curled back as he all but growls, 'But you wouldn't know what that's like because you're nothing but a fucking princess.'

Something twists and pulls and snaps, and—

"So what if I am?!" V screams at the mirror, at the glitch of her imagination back-stepping in surprise; her constant reminder of everything she lost. "What if I am a goddamn princess, and I'm happy with that?" She swirls around and throws the brush that glides effortlessly through Johnny's form and clatters against the shower floor. "Don't you think I know how privileged I've been—that my entire life has been a gilded cage filled with champagne and drugs and full coverage health insurance, that I took all my travels for granted, and how success was rolled out before me before I was even born?" Her voice cuts like glass through her headache, but the thrumming anger drowns it out, whipping up to a blaze inside her chest where loss and shame mingle like a 3am cocktail. Johnny stares at her, his shock a distant tingle.

'That's not what—'

"And why can't I want that?!" She goes on, ignoring the towel falling to the floor and the pain from slamming her hand against the tiled wall. "Why is it so fucking wrong of me to want to have that back? I had everything! I loved my work, my 'filthy' privileges, and my weekends brunching at expensive restaurants or random trips to Italy. I—I want that! I miss all of it, and I want it back!" Her throat burns as hot as her eyes, the next words fighting through a growing lump. She bangs her fist on the wall when it gets too much to handle. "My entire life got snatched beneath my feet; I had no choice but to restart! I got shot in the head and woke up with a whiny anarchist in my brain! And you dare be mad with me because I don't sit beside you on a doorstep and weep over how horrible big corporations are?"

The bathroom falls silent save for the blood rushing in V's ears. Johnny inhales to say something but stops himself for whatever reason, opting to remove his shades and rub some stubborn spot with his shirt. It takes the edge off her anger, or maybe it's his anger—either way, it's enough to unclench her jaw.

"I understand that Arasaka is your passionate enemy, but they're not mine, and you can't honestly expect me to suddenly become some anti-capitalist, corporate hater simply because I don't work for them anymore." V stomps through Johnny to get the brush back, then returns to the mirror to tear through the remaining tangles. "I'd leave this nightmarish low-class state and return to being a spoiled fucking princess with my pretty shoes and custom dresses in a second."

She wraps her hair with a small towel before leaving the bathroom, naked, cold, and exhausted—if someone isn't shooting at her or trying to overload her brain, it's Johnny's seething anger for anyone above middle-class. Their fights aren't as violent now as in the beginning, but despite each one ending with Johnny muttering an apology into a corner, they always return.

Throwing wrinkled clothes from the drawer, she digs out a pair of velvet sweatpants and a matching hoodie before flipping the blinds open, groaning at the sharp light. They rattle to the top at the click of another button, inviting sunlight to illuminate dust particles hovering in the stale air. They twirl tornado-like when she opens the window as a warm breeze blows some life back into the tragic apartment.

Johnny remains silent as she smokes and watches the world shift into late afternoon, trying desperately to get a break from everything and simply exist for once, but all she does is reminisce about long walks on the beaches of Greece and being able to laze around in the sun with a full glass and a company of backstabbing colleagues. Sure, few in her line of work are trustworthy, but at least they all knew that at any given opportunity, one of them might get pushed in front of a train for another to snatch their promotion, both literally and figuratively.

At least with them, she knows where she stands in the world, whereas here, she feels impossibly lost.

After creeping downstairs and picking up a box of fried Chinese food, content better unknown, V retreats to her dimmed stash-turned-IT den, uncorks the bottle of whiskey she grabbed from the club, and enjoys it on ice. One of the machines is working on finding loopholes in Arasaka's latest firewall addition, which is a laughable attempt at keeping anyone out, while another is debugging a malware she's been working on for some time. Its name remains undisclosed until she comes up with something better than 'neuro blast' because she's superior to Militech at naming inventions.

The third screen is currently empty. V hesitantly taps the keyboard before giving in to curiosity and typing 'River Ward' into the NCPD's database search engine.

If he's got a hold on her personal files, scarce as they might be, she better make sure to have something in return if he thinks of using it against her.

Chapter Text

Peralez cop guy
20:43
[Good to hear you're well :) How's your head? Bet an attack like that leaves a nasty hangover. It feels rough, you know? Or maybe you don't, I shouldn't assume.]
20:44
[The whole ordeal with Han, I mean, it's so fucking weird. I know the NC cops aren't known for being honorable, but I had hopes for that guy. Always the ones you think you know, just like in the movies. He barely flinched when I mentioned it.]

20:58 draft
[Calling it a hangover is a bit of an understatement, but I'll survive.]

V takes a slow drag of her cigarette, contemplating adding to her unsent message or not. Johnny has been silent the entire evening, allowing her brain some peace amidst the lingering headache. Surprisingly enough, he didn't even bitch about Detective Ward's message. If she didn't feel the rockerboy's shame grind her stomach like a sharp stone inside a boot, she'd assume he's angry about her not siding with his passionate 'burn Arasaka to the ground' philosophy. No matter. She's glad he's finally silent, allowing her to pretend none of this is real.

Closing her eyes, it's almost possible to imagine she's smoking on her old balcony in Charter Hills overlooking the penthouses of North Oak, dreaming of one day owning her own with a CEO title and enough money to fill a wardrobe with all the dresses and pairs of shoes she ever wanted. Also, if she ever made it up there, maybe her parents would finally like her enough to hug her.

A cool, smoggy breeze carries the cigarette smoke out the window, dispersing it into the neon-lit night. When squinting, it's possible to make out the fog-like aura around the signs: filthy air particles gently illuminated by pinks, greens, and flashing blues, so dense it makes smoking arguably more healthy than breathing. They give off a low buzz, barely noticeable amongst sirens, honking cars, yelling, and the constant city pulse.

At times, it's hard to discern it from her own.

Looking back at the screen, something urges V to open up a little to the misplaced man with too big of a heart who so effortlessly shares his emotions without her asking. It's annoying, but perhaps it's the dim mood softening her defenses or that she just read about a robbery gone wrong when he was just a child, leaving him without parents.

"Always the tragic ones," she mumbles to no one, holding the cigarette between her lips while typing.

21:03
[Calling it a hangover is a bit of an understatement, but I'll survive.

If you're asking me if I know of betrayal, then yes, I do. The corporate world is navigated through backstabbing and poisoning, both figuratively and literally. You get used to it, though I'd prefer it if it didn't bleed into our supposedly loyal forces.

How did your 'internal affairs' business go?]

"We're not friends," she reminds herself yet still sends the message. They have nothing more to stay in contact about, so all she can do is blame an onset of sympathy caused by her fragile state. Also, and she shakes her head at the thought, the detective isn't hard on the eyes. Perhaps Johnny is right about all her parental issues being the cause of her bad judgment regarding men, but thinking of Detective Ward fills a small hole in her soul with safety.

Tall, muscular men with shoulders broader than door frames tend to do that to a woman who's never felt protected.

Peralez cop guy
21:07
[Bet not just anyone can walk off a brain blast like that, though I shouldn't be surprised that you are. Didn't need to check your files to figure out you've been at this long enough to handle yourself :)]
21:08
[Shit. Can't say I'm surprised, everyone mentioning Arasaka talks of it like a pit of cobras, and I guess that doesn't come from nowhere. Imagining it's a whole other world up in that tower. Don't think I'll ever get the charm of desk jobs, suits look so uncomfortable.]
21:08
[It's moving slowly, I'm currently gathering all the intel to send off to IA. It should be enough with everything you helped me find, but idk. Everything feels so bizarre.]

V can't help but smile sadly at the man's honesty, shared with someone he only knows the name and favorite foods of. Is he lonely, perhaps? Or maybe not, regarding everyone new with an unhealthy dose of suspicion that hinders potential relationships, which V may or may not be guilty of. She inhales one last lungful of smoke before crushing the cigarette in the ashtray.

21:10
[Despite my excellence, I suppose I'll also have to accredit you for assisting me. Viktor was quite upset with my state, and not driving me to his clinic likely would've worsened the situation. So, thank you for taking me there.

I don't think the corporate lifestyle would fit you very well, detective, given it demands trusting no one in any circumstance, something you clearly failed at already. My intentions could all be evil, as far as you know.]

"Curiosity and all that," V blames the continuous contact and closes the window to the pulsating city. Kicking dirty clothes out of her path, she returns to the bathroom to do her nighttime skincare routine, pretending the creams from the nearby drugstore are just as silky and lavish as those she used to shop for at Rituque. She gently dabs the sore scratch marks, hoping foundation will be enough to cover them up tomorrow.

Her phone pings as she crawls into bed, and ignoring the reek of old sheets, she dims the lights to only have the screen light up in her lap.

Peralez cop guy
21:38
[Don't worry about it, secret corpo lady, I'm glad I was able to help at all after something like that :D Happy to be of service]

V rolls her eyes and battles a smile while the three dots wiggle beneath his message, indicating he's writing. At least he's funnier than the men back with Arasaka, though that's a low bar to exceed.

21:38
[Haha nah, I don't think you're evil. You don't have that air around you, or a flowy black mantle. Didn't catch you cackling maliciously even once! ;) if I had to guess, you're one of those tough-skinned people who's always done everything by themselves and wouldn't trust their closest friend to get something done right.]

"Well, that's annoyingly on point."

21:39
[Not that I blame you, you know, I probably wouldn't either if I worked in a cobra pit. Hell, working with the force isn't much better, it seems, but hey, not everyone can be a lying piece of shit, right? Don't want to think that, or I wouldn't be able to sleep at night.]
21:39
[Speaking of, imma try and get some rest, this whole thing has been exhausting, though I bet it doesn't compare to your last 24 hours. I hope you'll feel fit for fight again soon! I've got a paper war to prepare for. Goodnight! :)]

21:40
[Best of luck with your document battle, detective. I hope it goes well. And thank you, I appreciate it.]

"Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it."

21:41
[Sleep well :)]

"Definitely exhausted," she concludes—why else would she be communicating with smileys like some teenager? Still, their few lines of communication shared in person and via text leave that usually cold spot a little warmer than usual.

"We can't thank you enough for all your help, Miss V. Know that you have our eternal gratitude."

It takes all of V's willpower to tear her eyes off the hefty sum of dollars that just rolled into her account; even Johnny blurts a 'holy shitballs' when the numbers shift from single to double digits.

"Oh, well, the pleasure was all mine," V insists amicably and smiles genuinely for the first time in years. "Please let me know if you ever require my assistance again. I'll gladly lend you my services."

"See, dear? I told you we'd do well reaching for outside help," Mrs. Peralez chimes softly, caressing her husband's now relaxed shoulders. She exhales as well, seemingly relieved by having a little more clarity. "And please, make sure to give Detective Ward our deepest regards—if he was as involved as you say, then the two of you did just as much for our sake. We'd gladly offer him a reward as well, though it won't look good on our part. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I'm sure he does," V agrees, dizzy from the high of suddenly feeling rich, which on its own is absurd since this amount used to be pocket money. "I'll forward your appreciation."

"Thank you, V. Now, I believe we have a few calls to make." Mrs. Peralez stands from the couch, and V does as well. "I'll show you to the elevator and let you be on your way. I'm sure you have other business to attend to."

The last thing V wants is to leave the Peralez's penthouse - - the place reminds her of her previous apartment to the point that she almost feels at home, the main difference being the size and their gorgeous panoramic view. So, reluctantly, she shakes Mr. Peralez's hand and joins Mrs. Peralez, admiring the tasteful decorations one last time.

Visiting Regina isn't anywhere near as exciting, though her joy swells as she trades the data chip for another couple of thousand. It's barely enough to dent her wallet, but her fortune is slowly growing to something substantial. So maybe getting a nicer apartment isn't too far into the future.

'Figured,' Johnny deadpans with an eye-roll when V practically skips through the door to Appel De Paris and celebrates her overflowing bank account by purchasing a new bikini for 1500 dollars.

"For the yacht party!" she chirps when leaving the store with a silvery shopping bag, swinging it joyfully on her way to the station. Johnny mutters about a waste of money but shares no further feelings about her investment. Possibly because he's still ashamed after yesterday, if that gnawing in her stomach is telling her anything.

The following hour and a half is spent at Kristina's nail salon, where the goddess of gel fits her with a fresh set of nails: hot pink with delicate diamonds that glisten in the sunlight.

'At least you can blind someone as a distraction,' Johnny sneers as they move on to V's hair appointment with Gulia, where she spends another hour pretending to be back before this inferior nightmare of a life began. 'Y'know, you don't need eddies to enjoy life.'

V bites back a laugh. "Is that something you low-class people tell yourselves when you can't afford luxury? Besides." She glances at the side table with her glass of champagne, where Johnny's perched. "Why would I not want this?"

'And here I thought you might have grown a tad bit tender. How stupid of me.'

He'll never understand, and V doesn't care. Her excitement lingers even when she steps off the reeking subway and walks the rest of the way to Troy's apartment, enough that she doesn't mind a sloppy wet kiss to the neck when she's buzzed inside.

'Why do you let him treat you like this?' comes Johnny's frustrated voice when V shows off the bikini to Troy, whose immediate reaction is calling her 'pretty eye candy' and grabbing her ass with the eagerness of a claw machine. 'I get that he's some vital part of your fabulously fake lifestyle, but what the fuck?'

V rolls her eyes. "I don't have any other answer for you. You've complained, and I have explained."

'Yeah, but your reasoning is dumb as fuck. You're prancing around Night City like some fucking royalty—why are you settling for fuckboys instead of finding a—and I can't fucking believe I'm saying this—a prince?'

V can't believe he just said that either and stares at Johnny pacing back and forth in Troy's living room.

"When you put it like that, it almost sounds like you care about me, despite me not being as tender as you want."

'Yeah, well, maybe I do? Maybe I don't want my host to get fucked over by an airhead who treats her like a trophy housewife.' He folds his arms. 'And here I thought the kids of the future would come with some proper values.'

Troy rambles in the background about the guest list and something something gummy bears while V tries to make sense of what Johnny is telling her. "What, even a 'soulless corpo bitch' like me who deserves nothing more than to get skinned alive and hung from Arasaka tower?"

'Okay, fine, I admit, maybe I was being a bit dramatic at the beginning of all this,' Johnny grumbles around a cigarette, lighting it with frustrated movements. 'But this shit's just…' He gestures at Troy, trying to decide between two near-identical shirts that only differ in brand while moaning about the lack of clothes in his walk-in closet. 'Even you deserve better.'

V wants to argue that where she comes from, this is the best you can get: a wealthy guy with a bright future in a multi-billion company that serves you whatever you want for something in return. Romance isn't a thing for those bred to succeed—they get matched by loveless parents whose only aim is to get their offspring to a powerful enough position to be shown off to friends and family as a successful showpiece. And don't they dare pick a partner who isn't equal to that demand.

"Honey, which one should I pick?" Troy calls from the apartment-sized closet, and V closes her eyes with a head shake. Princes only exist in fairytales, or maybe for those whose lives haven't been built on the grounds of someone else's rules.

"Whichever makes your shoulders look the broadest," she calls back, leaving Johnny to join Troy in the other room. "They were expensive, so you should show them off."

Something sad sits firmly in V's gut when they leave for the party, something that disregards the warm fuzz of whiskey and a gummy bear. She decidedly ignores it, and Johnny remains quiet during the taxi ride.

"Vivica!" Jacqueline's shrill voice cuts through the smog-dimmed air like a blade across a sleeping stock owner's throat. "Awh, my liefling, you look amazing!"

Dressed in a gorgeous orange swimsuit beneath a flowy white maxi dress, Jacqueline Abimbola glides across the pier like a goddess descended from a realm beyond worlds, with the breeze leading the sheer fabric in a dramatic dance. It takes willpower not to fall to one's knees before her.

"Say you, darling, goodness, no one could look as divine!" V holds her arms out, and they embrace carefully so as not to ruin makeup or hours spent on hair, and for a moment, she gets to pretend to be a gossiping party addict on the shores of Greece again as Jacqueline pulls her away from Troy and guides her to the monstrosity of a boat.

It's not V's first visit to La Regina—she's spent several weekends sunbathing on the top deck between lazy swims in the pool, keeping her blood pleasantly diluted with whiskey and Long Island teas served on the imported wooden bar. On board, there is no Night City, no scummy apartment, and no hour-long night spent traversing garbage-littered alleyways.

La Regina only serves bone-pulsing bass and sugary sweet gummy bears.

"Lilith is here?" V observes when spotting the beautiful woman further down the pier. She looks over her shoulder, spotting Troy busy talking with Kaitlyn, who just stepped out of a taxi. Girl's always been after him, and V would gladly offer the man up like a dead bird on her doorstep if she didn't have any use for him. "I thought Troy erased her name on the guest list."

"Ah, well, she mentioned that he did," Jacqueline stage-whispers and loops their arms together. "So I told him that if she isn't allowed, I won't bring any candy." She gives a knowing look and smirks. "Pretty little boy had no choice then, nah. We don't leave our girls behind."

'Astonishing how the birdbrain clan has more morals than the entire Arasaka company.'

"Loyalty to the corporation comes first, but the one to the ladies isn't far behind."

'Still behind, though.'

"Hi, Vivica!" Lilith Ruzicka chirps like a beautiful songbird and waves, causing the beads hanging off the peachy, sheer tunic to rattle and glimmer in the sunshine. "I wasn't sure you were going to join us!"

V lets go of Jacqueline to eagerly embrace her friend, her chest warming up with soft, fluffy love. "So lovely to see you again, Lil. It's been ages! Though time still doesn't show on your beautiful face." V pulls back enough to regard her smooth, soft skin and doesn't need to fake a smile when Lilith laughs, sweet and bubbly as always. Her hair remains the same honey blond, curling at the ends despite the heavy layer of straightening spray.

"You know it's all thanks to Irene; her infrared treatments do wonders!" she says, her youthful glee still bright and untainted. Life really must be different on the economics floor. "I'm so glad you could come! No one knows what your schedule looks like nowadays."

"I barely do myself," V says with a chuckle. "I wouldn't say no to a weekend on deck with my favorite ladies."

Disregarding the whole 'theft situation' behind urging Troy to organize this event, she has missed her friends, and no sooner than stepping onto the ship does the fourth member sweep across the deck like a purple mist.

"Viv, my love!" Jiang Liyuan sing-songs with her arms out as she strides towards them, her lavender tunic fluttering in the salty breeze. "How dull the office is without your presence!"

V hurries past the line of crew welcoming them on board to greet her old colleague, and from there on, there's no issue forgetting about her cruel reality.

Whiskey, margaritas, vodka shots; floor-shaking EBM and strobes; sugar-dipped gummy bears and top-shelf joints with gold-rimmed paper; the evening shifts to night and over to morning between sips and puffs—between laughter and screaming over the sound of the speakers and dancing to the vibrating beat of soul-soothing music.

Amidst the high, there is an additional speck of content in the pocket of her mind belonging to Johnny—giving it some attention, he's there enjoying the alcohol and drugs with her, despite all his preaching about her lifestyle. Given his life, she can't imagine it was much different from hers in this regard, other than the time and place.

'Don't forget about your plan, princess,' his voice rings above the music, echoing in the soft, mindless void. 'We came here for a reason, not just to get you fucked up.'

"I know, I know." When focusing a little harder, she spots Troy on one of the lush couches near the bar, head lolling side to side out of rhythm to the music, lost in the beat and a freshly filled vape. "We'll get there."

Begrudgingly, she turns down the silver plate offering candies and joints to ease out of her high, still keeping her blood hot with whiskey as the sun rises above the yacht. The party slows as people turn to laze by the pool or sleep beneath a parasol, some enjoying Russian caviar on saltines from the buffet. She joins them to indulge in lobster tails, Iberico ham, and white truffles dipped in chocolate, listening to gossip and rumors from Arasaka while sipping iced champagne, name-dropping politicians and CEOs she's never met, but they wouldn't know.

Just like the good times.

The music picks up as the sun bleeds across the horizon, and everyone who slept away during the day emerges to pick up the pulse. V can't tell if her head is pounding from an oncoming hangover or the music; either way, she downs another vodka shot before approaching Troy, steeling herself for what she needs to do.

'Is there really no other way? Surely, you can just pop his brain, and no one would notice.'

"I need access to the master suite, and he's the only one with authorization. Not sure why his dear old father trusts him with it, but I'm not here to question it."

'Okay, so here's what we'll do: you lure that fart-brain in there, and then we fry his neurons—V, please don't make me go through this again.'

V sighs as she approaches Troy near the pool. "I'm not overly keen either, just… Go to your happy place."

'Oh, sure, like there's any spot in your brain that isn't traumatized or fucking miserable.'

After ensuring the camera in the cabin is paused, she smiles sweetly as she steps into Troy's space.

"If it isn't my pretty little honey-cake," Troy drawls, bleary eyes roaming her figure. She barely sits down before he wraps an arm around her waist. "Finally have time for me, hm?"

"I always have time for you," she purrs, touching his thigh. Johnny retches in the background. "I've just appreciated all your hard work put into this party. And, speaking of." She leans in closer, enough to inhale a lungful of salt-tinged perfume. "Are we going to make this a private party or not?" She slides her hand to the inside of his thigh, subtle enough not to get everyone's attention. Looking around, though, it seems everyone is either too drunk or too high to care about their private interaction.

Troy stirs beneath her touch. "Voyeurism, hm?" He grins crookedly, his whole body swaying on the sea of whiskey and fentanyl-laced candy, and slides a hand between her legs. "I knew you were a kinky slut, but that's new."

'I swear, one day I'll take over your body and throw that sewer-reeking, pea-brained, fucktard of a human being overboard and piss on his sorry-ass—'

"What about that luxurious bed upstairs?" V suggests. "I remember it being very comfortable with you on top of me." She gently bites his earlobe. "Or kneeling on."

That does it, as usual, and Troy grabs her jaw before kissing her hard, teeth clashing against her lips. "You'd like that, hm?" he whispers against her lips, breath hot and reeking of old and new alcohol. "Stand on all fours and get rammed by my cock?"

'I'd rather drink bleach and jerk off with a grating iron.'

"Same."

"Oh, you know I do." V braces to kiss him back, holding her breath to help stand the close proximity. "Are you really going to let me wait? I'd rather be in bed and beg you to fuck me."

Not that Troy needs drugs to get dumber, but they help direct every bit of focus between his legs, and V giggles when he rises to snag her along. They meander between friends and strangers dancing and drinking while the music vibrates beneath their feet to the cabin on the top deck.

"Dismissed." Troy waves the two security guards away from the door, none looking too convinced as the trust fund child drags a woman into their boss's room.

Before Troy gets his hands on her, she dances inside on unsteady legs, giggling as he stalks after her and drapes herself against the wall, arching her back.

Troy doesn't care for pleasantries, which leads him to tug her bikini aside and rub his cock against her dry lips. He slurs something about "always so horny for me," and V closes her eyes to try and summon a sexy scenario to make this less unpleasant. Johnny doesn't make it easier by getting nauseous in the background.

'You doing this shit freely is almost worse than being an Arasaka whore.'

"The things we do for money and fame, hm?" she counters, and Johnny falls silent. V traces her finger along the safe, the metal cool on her skin, and finds the port.

While scrolling through memorized scenes of muscular men drowning her in heated kisses and eating her pussy like an exquisite banquet, a cheekily grinning River Ward invades her fantasy. She tries to discard it, but it's hard to focus with Troy rubbing a spit-slicked hand between her legs, though he mostly gets her thigh, and suddenly, she's sitting on the gold-hearted cop's face, which turns out to be quite… arousing.

Unable to stop herself, V imagines how he'd treat her in bed, if he's as sweet as he seems, or if he's got some dark, naughty desires that only come forth in the dimmed light of a bedroom. If his large hands would explore her body with nervous curiosity or tear off her clothes, needy to have her naked in his embrace.

"Focus," she reminds herself when Troy wrangles his cock inside her and sneaks her link out to plug into the safe.

Between Troy's grunting and bunny-like thrusting, V breaks down the firewall, holding her free hand between her forehead and the wall so as not to get a concussion. It's bad enough her back might snap in two. The decryption takes a lot more focus, which would be easier if Detective Ward stayed out of her head, but she gets there in the end. The metal door clicks open; as expected, Troy doesn't notice, and V allows her fantasy to run wild for as long as needed. Imagining how Ward's tongue feels against her clit is far more exciting than anything Troy is trying to achieve.

'Great, so we're walking out of here with a thigh burn and a police fetish.' Johnny throws his hands up before lighting a cigarette. 'And here I thought shit couldn't get any worse.'

V gently tucks two bottles and five packs of cigars into her handbag, biting down a groan at the pain flashing through her back. "At least these will sell for a nice price."

'Is it worth it?'

"Shush." V waves him off when the hangover makes itself better known, encouraged by Johnny's frustration. "Scold me tomorrow." She pushes the safe closed and looks over her shoulder at Troy sleeping in the bed, limbs pointing in all directions. It's worth it, she tells herself before locking the bathroom door and stripping down to collapse in the shower, scrubbing and dozing and scrubbing and dozing, hoping the stench of Troy's perfume won't stick to her skin.

It has to be worth it.

Chapter Text

'Still worth it?'

V frantically flicks the spark wheel until the cigarette is finally lit and inhales sharp enough that the heat rushes through the filter. It won't do anything to the throb around her eyes, the ache in her lower back, or the weakness in her knees. Neither will it fix the oozing pool of disgust in the pit of her stomach.

Her veins are still tainted with remnants of alcohol and drugs, the hangover lingering like a bloodthirsty parasite in the back of her head. Or perhaps that’s Johnny; it’s never easy to tell.

"Got the things sold, so yes."

Johnny's disbelief tingles as she stalks along toys dancing in neon-lit windows, eyes trained on the crowded street. Jig-Jig makes her nose hairs curl and her skin crawl; it stinks and reminds her of why she hates mingling with low-class humans. Desperation, indulgence, helplessness.

What's even more frustrating is how little they care, that these people who barely scrape by and find their sole reason for living through contaminated needles and powders mixed with road dust are the ones living their pitiful lives to the fullest.

'Told you, princess,' Johnny sing-songs. 'Eddies aren't everything.'

The idea of suicide has never crossed her mind, though blowing a bullet through the infected bit of her brain Johnny inhabits is often tempting.

"How about you stop talking for once and leave me with a second's peace of mind?" V snaps and ignores exhaling smoke in someone's face, the person coughing and cursing. "I have no energy for your gloating."

’That’s cuz you know I’m right. Makes your fragile little ego all sad, doesn’t it?’

”Shut up, you wretched tumor, or I won’t take you to Afterlife on Saturday.”

Johnny barks a sharp laugh. ’So you can keep pretending your life is wonderful and fulfilling in peace? C’mon, princess, you’re smarter than that. Or at least you’re doing a good job acting like you are.’

”There is nothing wonderful about my life as of now.”

If anything, shouldering her way through the masses of Jig-Jig Street after getting paid for filthy thievery shows how low she’s fallen. And it stings, damn how it grinds in the depth of her soul that this is her reality. It struck even harder after the weekend on the yacht, where she got to escape it all, and stepping off the boat was enough of a reminder of what her life had become. The pre-menstrual cramps added to her sore lower back aren’t making the situation any easier.

’Don’t tell me you’re gonna sulk now? You’re actively refusing to accept reality instead of just getting with it. It’ll ease the pain, y’know.’

V snorts and breaks off the main street to a dimly lit park nestled between two partly collapsed buildings facing a view over a smoggy downtown. Save for a drunk couple enjoying the neon-lit landscape, she’s alone and takes a seat on what hopefully is a clean bench. ”Says the dead man refusing to let go of his corporate hatred.”

A small part of her knows he’s right, but accepting this as her new life means she’ll have to let go of her old one. Like throwing out those old jeans you’re convincing yourself will fit again one day.

The idea has crossed her mind and been discarded just as quickly. Just thinking about this as a future makes her stomach turn cold, that she’ll remain a merc for the rest of her life and never see the luxury of a billion-dollar corporation desk job again.

Jackie kept urging her to enjoy her clean slate; that this new start was perfect for shaping the life she’s always wanted. He, too, never understood that she already had it. The shoes and dresses, a private driver, sunset walks on synthetic beaches. What could possibly be better as a street rat struggling to make ends meet?

The veil of sadness shudders when her phone rings, and a thin beam of light peeks through when spotting who the caller is. Not that it makes any difference, or so she convinces herself, and considers not accepting. What good is it for, anyway?

Still…

“Yes?”

“Hey, I figured you were up at this time,” Detective Ward’s deep voice rings in her ear in an alarmingly soothing fashion. He looks surprisingly energetic for the late hour. “You working?”

“Not at the moment. Just… enjoying the serene nature,” she replies with as much energy as she can muster. However, it’s not enough to pass the keen attention of a dedicated detective as that familiar frown crosses his face.

“Did… something happen?”

“No,” she replies around a new cigarette and spits a curse at her dying lighter.

“Y’know, for a cobra girl, you suck at lying.”

V rolls her eyes and finally gets a lungful of smoke. “Simply because you reveal your heart to anyone passing by doesn’t mean I make that same mistake.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t react other than raising an eyebrow. No ‘That attitude won’t get you a proper man’ speech or anything. “Damn, spittin’ and biting, hm?”

“I am a snake, apparently, so I best do what is my nature,” she jeers with a wide, poisonous smile, to which Ward raises his palms in surrender. “Throughout my life, I’ve been reminded that Arasaka does nothing but ruin humanity and profit on the weak, so I guess it suits me.”

Detective Ward breaks eye contact from the call and scrambles while V tries to calm her pulse with another drag of her cigarette. He isn’t at fault for her state, but she’s never been one to wear cotton gloves for others’ sake. Perhaps that’ll be enough to keep him away.

“Didn’t think of it like that,” he says instead of hanging up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’ve dealt with many comments like that already.”

What’s even more surprising is how his sincere apology softens the sharp edges of her mood, enough so that she heaves a sigh. “You get used to it.”

“Kinda like you get used to being called a useless pig for being in the force, I bet.”

’At least he knows his place.’

"Quiet."

She snorts a bitter laugh and nods. “I suppose so. Everyone judges your label before your person in this world.” She glances down at her pink vest and black slacks, sighing at the stain on her white wedge sneaker that she still hasn’t been able to scrub off.

“Behind the snake label, how’d you describe yourself?”

’Aaaand we’re back to digging out enough details to screw you over.’

”Afterlife is still on the line.”

’Bah.’

She can’t completely disregard Johnny’s caution—at least they agree on those points, at most times—and curves an eyebrow at the shimmering curiosity in Ward’s eye. “I can’t tell if you’re stupid or naive for thinking I’ll give up private information like that.”

Ward chuckles and shrugs. “Naive, perhaps, or hopeful.” His smile stretches into that cheeky grin that V’s grown a tad bit fond of. “Maybe I’ll have to find out for myself, then.”

Something tingly and sharp forms in V’s chest; as much as the fuzz of admiration is flattering, the cold walls of defense always win. “And what would you get out of that?”

“And there’s the tough, distrusting ‘solo ranger’ persona on the ready.” He doesn’t sound as annoyed as she imagined but rather intrigued. “And my reason remains the same; I’m curious. Your file is shorter than a train ticket.”

Another onset of cramps ripples through V’s abdomen that she breathes through, gently rubbing the spot. “Yours isn’t.”

There’s a pause as Ward blinks, then huffs. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He perks up when a group of people shouting and laughing passes by the park. “Hey, are you safe out there? I know you’re perfectly capable, but…”

V can’t help but smile. “But what? Is the gold-hearted boy scout ready to spring to action to save a lady from the dangers of Jig-Jig Street?” It’s hard to tell on the small screen, but she’s pretty sure the detective blushes. “No need to worry about me, Ser Knight. I’ve managed so far, so—“

’Hey, we got company.’

V looks up to spot a trio of twenty-something gangster boys approaching, donning patched vests, ripped jeans, and everything.

“I don’t have the energy for this,” she sighs and rubs her eye, then leans back to fully regard the pitiful boys. Ward makes a puzzled sound. “And what do you dumpster divers want?”

One of them steps forward, brave and bold, with a steel-decorated smirk illuminated by humming street lights. “Eh, just wanna ask for a smoke from a pretty corpo bitch. No need to get all rude.”

V raises an eyebrow and barks a hollow laugh. “Crawl back into the cardboard box you came from and leave me alone.”

Ward mumbles a “damn” in the background while the boy’s smirk stiffens into a thin line. Whatever confidence he desperately tries to convey only makes it to his shoulders, and the uncertainty in his eyes makes her smile. “Yeah? W-well, what about I pick that pack off your corpse, huh?” He reaches behind his back, and V sighs audibly. “Some of us are important, don’t you know?”

There’s rustling in her ear. “Err, V, Jig-Jig Street, was it?”

“Oh, please, indulge me, piss boy,” she chimes and crosses her legs, linked up and ready. “Or perhaps it says on your collar?”

’See, you can be terrifying and hot if you just want to,’ Johnny encourages, appearing beside her on the bench. ’Shame it only happens when you’re in pain.’

The boy jabs a thumb at his chest. “We're working for Mr. Kobayashi, so you better shut that whore mouth of— “

“I will say this only once, so I suggest you listen closely, you shameful excuse of a maggot.” V rises as she speaks, ignoring the gun pointed at her. The other two boys remain in the background. So much for comradery. “I’ve had a very long day. I am tired, my head hurts, and my ovaries are trying to shred my insides to pieces, so you either vanish from my field of vision, or I swear to whatever invisible force you might place your life with.” She steps closer, smiling when the boy flinches. “That I will fry whatever sits between your ears and enjoy watching you scream in agony.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing before one of the other boys tugs their friend away, and V barks a laugh when they scramble back to the busy street. “And tell your puppy master to teach you some damn manners! Ugh, men.”

Detective Ward clears his throat in her ear. “You okay?”

V sniffs. “Naturally,” followed by a groan as another onset of cramps stabs her abdomen. She eases herself down to the bench with a sigh. “Just fine.”

“Where are you?”

“Why do you ask?”

Ward shrugs. “Guess my boy scout heart can’t handle a lady being alone and in pain.” He does such a horrible job of looking innocent it’s almost sweet. “At least let me come keep you company?” More yelling breaks free from the busy street, and there’s something arguably pleading in Ward’s voice as he adds a “please?”

V struggles to light a new cigarette. “I don’t need you to stay safe.”

“I know.”

Sighing, she gives up as the lighter refuses to assist in easing her misery. In an odd sense, she relates to it having no gas left to produce a spark but drops the thought as it dips into Johnny’s philosophical territory. Feelings of emptiness were usually filled with champagne and French tarts, but there are none here. It’s just her, a broken lighter, an angsty tumor, and the filthy streets of Night City.

“Please?”

And a stubborn cop.

“Fine,” she relents with a heaving sigh and throws the lighter into the nearby trashcan. “But only if you get me a new lighter.”

Ward’s face cracks up in a smile so bright it almost warms her through the holo. “That I can do. What color do you want?”

Rather than instructing him, she goes with “Surprise me,” and Detective Ward appears surprisingly excited by this task. They hang up after V has given him the address and regret even answering the call. They have no business to make. He’s a cop busy trying to de-tangle corruption from a cesspit of a city, and she’s…

Pathetic is the first word that pops up. Even if that’s not the truth, and she knows it, somewhere behind all the mental chatter, it feels the most fitting. Certainly in this situation as she perches on a dirty bench that’s still preferable to her horrendous apartment. She could always visit Viktor—he’d probably prefer if she lived there for him to keep an eye on her—but the last thing she wants is to bother them at this hour. She’s already used too much of their hospitality.

She stares at the trash-covered ground while running through her different options—motels, hotels, people, and so on, anything not to return to that horrific place she's forced to call home. All it does is remind her of her state, all she's lost—

“Delivery for Miss V.”

Startled out of the darkness, V finds herself staring at a gigantic takeaway cup. Further up is the furry rim of an atrocious coat and, above that, Detective Ward’s smile shining as bright as the flickering streetlight.

“I—oh.” She accepts the cup, ice cubes clinking against each other and the hard plastic container. “Thank you.” She doesn’t get time to ask before he holds out a lighter next, and a laugh bubbles up her throat. “Really?”

“Hey, you wanted a surprise.” He smiles even wider when she accepts the pink BIC lighter with a dozen small golden crowns. “It seemed fitting.”

Johnny’s rant about princes and princesses surfaces briefly before she swipes it aside. “Sure don’t feel like royalty tonight,” she mutters around a cigarette and lights it with an eager flame. Then, soothed by a lungful of smoke, she leans against the backrest, only to crunch up again when pain flashes through her abdomen. “All the innovations of mankind, and we still have to suffer.”

Ward takes a seat beside her with a sympathetic “I’m sorry” and fiddles with a cup of his own. V waves him off and enjoys a long sip of her sweet, iced Americano.

"So."

"So."

Ward taps his cup. “You’ve been out long?”

“Out of my mind or my home?” rolls off her tongue before she catches it and drops her head with an exasperated laugh when Ward blinks in confusion. “I—Don’t mind me, detective, I’m just… ” She clears her throat. “A few hours? Since before noon, I think.”

“That’s about nine hours more than a ‘few hours”,” Ward points out. V shrugs. “You look tired.”

“Immaculate eye for details, detective.”

“Comes with the job.” Ward sips from his styrofoam cup and turns to better face V, who dares sit up again. “Busy schedule?”

“Suppose that’s one way to put it." She regards him then with a frown. "How did you get here so quickly? You don't live nearby.”

Ward raises an eyebrow. "Right. Shouldn't be surprised you looked me up. I was already in the car when you sent me the coordinates."

"That confident I was going to agree, hm?"

"Well." He rests an elbow on the backrest and shrugs casually. "I can be very persuasive."

Refusing to agree to that, V finishes her cigarette in silence and crushes it beneath her ruined shoe. “Why did you call me tonight?”

“Got some new intel on Horvath and his impressive chrome collection. Not that it matters, but I just wanted to share what I found out.”

“How considerate.” V forces a smile at Ward’s deadpan expression and takes another sip. “Please, by all means, indulge me.”

As uninteresting as the topic is, it is rather nice listening to Ward go into detail about what sources he used to find out who hired Horvath and how it connects back to his treacherous colleague and how easy it is to spot his passion for his job. There are no doubts that he loves what he does; just a shame that he seems to be the only one who does.

“Still bothers you, I see,” she says once he’s done. “There haven’t been any repercussions for his involvement?”

“None.” Ward sighs and rubs his buzzed head. “They just sweep shit like that beneath the rug and move on. I don’t know if anyone would care even if it got out to the public.”

V hums as a wave of creative ideas floods her mind and tucks one of them away for later.

’I keep telling ya you corpo monsters are evil.’

”Oh, so now you’re upset about me wanting to “stick it” to the NCPD? I’m starting to think there’s no satisfying your dissatisfaction for, well, everything.”

“All kingdoms are built on well-kept lies and dirty secrets,” she says, keeping a smile to herself at her plan. “I would bet that if anyone tried going public, they’d end up silenced within a few hours.”

“Probably.” Ward sighs and relaxes against the graffiti-covered backrest, allowing them to fall silent for a moment before he reaches into his coat. “Almost forgot, I got you this.”

“You got me more things? That’s—oh.” V sets her coffee aside and accepts a bright yellow bar the size of an AORUS 4090 graphics card, needing two hands to hold it properly, and stares baffled at the cursive print. “You… You got me chocolate?”

Tearing her eyes off it, she finds Ward shifting a bit, possibly blushing, though it’s hard to tell when he faces the ground. “I, uh… I overheard you on the phone, and my sister always appreciated chocolate when her period was real bad, so I just… ” He waves his hand around as if it will find the words for him. “... figured it might make it suck less.”

V stares at him for what feels like an hour, trying to make sense of it while Johnny babbles about how she needs to be careful and how ‘badges aren’t trustworthy.’.

“I made sure to get one without nuts,” he adds as if she doubted that, which strikes as another chaotic realization: she trusts him enough to ensure her food is allergy safe. “Dunno if you like it though, and it’s fine if… If you don’t, I mean, I— “

“Thank you.” She chuckles when Ward stutters to a stop and looks as confused as she just felt. “I appreciate the thought. Truly. And I do enjoy chocolate. It’s…” She fiddles with the bar, still surprised that he even thought about her. “It’s very kind of you.”

Ward exhales a laugh and sits back up straight, facing her again. “Glad you like it. Seems like you’ve had a rough enough day.”

“You could call it that,” she mumbles and gives the bar a closer look. “‘Premium,’ hm?”

“Of course.” Ward gestures his cup at her. “Premium chocolate for a premium lady.”

V snorts and curves an eyebrow, but it’s impossible not to laugh when Ward shoots back with that goddamn cocky smirk. “Fine, I’ll admit, detective, that was rather smooth.”

’I’m gonna throw up.’

”Enjoy yourself.”

“At least you know good quality when you see it,” she says, turning the bar over to peel it open. “Suppose that means you’re not a complete airhead.”

Ward chuckles. “I’ll take a compliment where I get one.”

Part of her wants to give him more—wants to point out the attractive width of his shoulders and hips, that the worn jeans straining over his thighs would be intriguing to peel off, that his face would look pretty between her legs.

’I wish I got fried alongside that spiked BD the other night.’

”Trust me—you and I both.”

The chocolate even smells like the real deal, and she doesn’t waste any time before biting off a mouthful of smooth, ‘not-trash-quality’ cocoa treat. As much as she tries not to moan, a vibrating sound of pleasure escapes her throat, and she chews with the intent of savoring each flavor sensation despite there not being many. It’s not Belgian, but it’s… better than nothing.

“That’s acceptable,” she announces after washing it down with coffee, facing Ward, who’s staring at her as if she turned into a leech with a top hat. “What?”

“You’re not supposed to eat it like that.” He points at the chocolate. “You break it up in squares—you don’t just… Bite it like that!”

V snorts and holds up a hand, showing off her pretty pink nails. “You truly think I’ll get these dirty just for the sake of "properly" eating a treat? Maybe I was wrong about you not being an airhead.”

“Still! They’re meant to be snapped!” He shakes his head like some parent finding out their child snuck out. “Only psychos eat chocolate like that.”

For some reason, and the gods couldn’t explain why, V pulls out her best imitation of a villainous cackle. “Oh, had I only donned my black mantle of evilness this morning, this wouldn’t be such a surprise.”

Detective Ward loses it, and it’s the most endearing thing V might ever have witnessed.

Not only does his laughter echo between the ruins, but it lights something in V’s chest that bubbles and fizzes, something that makes it past old barriers, and then she’s laughing too. Laughing along as Ward clutches the bench not to fall off it, as he wipes a tear away and tries to gather himself. There’s a different shine in his eye when he manages to meet her gaze, like it means… something.

’Fuck’s sake, please, don’t grow soft for a badge.’

”Anything to make your suffering worse.”

’Evil fucking corpos.’

“Never took you for having any humor,” Ward manages between harsh breaths, still chuckling while sipping his drink. “Shows me not to make assumptions.”

“I usually dabble in ways to tell people they’re idiots without doing so upfront.”

“Yeah? Do me.”

’Well, at least he’s honest with what he wants.’

V shakes her head. “You showed up to my rescue with coffee and chocolate, detective. I couldn’t do that to you after such a gesture.”

Ward regards her for a moment, that smirk growing to life again. “So, you admit you need rescuing?”

Well, that changes things. V curves an eyebrow and leans in a little closer. “Imagine if your IQ matched your confidence; then you might’ve made it through kindergarten.”

It takes a second for Ward to catch on before he gapes and dramatically touches his chest. “Ouch. That was good, though.”

V straightens and enjoys more chocolate, leaving the detective to lick his ego, though he doesn’t appear too offended; impressed, if anything.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” he asks after a minute’s silence. “You want a ride home or somewhere?”

“No, I…” V sips more coffee and takes another barbaric bite of the bar. She doesn’t need Ward to know about her struggles or frustrating emotions, yet it’s annoyingly easy to talk with him. “I’m not on the best terms with my home as of now.”

“Did you have a fight?”

V snorts a laugh and swallows. “Something like that. I don’t enjoy going there right now.”

“Too many bad emotions attached to the walls?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, whenever you come home, you’re reminded about a bunch of bullshit or bad memories that happened in there? It’s like,” he waves his cup around, “like you’re reliving those situations every time you come home?” He smiles sadly and hums when V breaks eye contact. “I had that with a few previous flats. So many things went down before and after I joined the force, and that shit just… sits in the walls.”

“Perhaps that’s so.” V plays with the yellow wrapping while recalling the soul-wrenching darkness enveloping her each time she returns home and is hit with the realization that she’ll probably feel the same no matter where she moves. Even if she returns to Charter Hills, those walls will reek with the same depressing odor as the ones in her rat-hole of an apartment.

“Got some other place to go that doesn’t suck? Your ripper friend, what’s his name?”

“Viktor, and no, I can’t go there.”

’Bullshit. Vik would welcome you with wide fucking arms and tuck you in with a kiss on the head.'

"Soo… What's the plan?"

V shrugs. "As much as I hate to admit it, I don't have a plan this time. Perhaps I'll waste some time at Yagami Market and see where it goes from there. There's… one person— "

'No.

"Rather we go stay with Steve?"

'Absolutely fucking not. Can't we just go home? I'm sure that whiskey bottle will make you all cozy and warm.'

"So will the pills."

Johnny grumbles but falls silent and retreats to the background of her brain, his existence a distant hum that never quite disappears.

"— but he's more of a, hm, last resort type of option."

"Right." Ward finishes his drink and throws it at the trashcan, misses, and glares at V before she gets the chance to speak.

"I haven't said a word, detective," she chimes, putting on a sweet smile that Ward rolls his eye at before getting up. It hits her again how tall he is when he walks to properly throw the cup away, tall and broad and probably warm beneath that ugly coat.

"Wanna come back home with me then?"

"What?"

'What?'

"What?" V stares at the man, who stutters something incoherent before finding his words.

"Not like that, I mean, like, if you want someplace to get some rest that isn't home and isn't with that last resort, then you can come stay at my place for the night. It's just you, uh." He rubs his neck and gestures at her. "You look exhausted, and with the kind of work you do, I bet you need all the energy you can get. And I know the pain of hating your own place."

V still hasn't comprehended the suggestion properly, and Johnny screaming warnings at her isn't helping.

"You barely know anything about me," she points out, and she shouldn't have to, but the man is clearly too trusting for his own good. "You don't know if I'll steal all your data and money and leave you with nothing. I could ruin your life, and you're inviting me home?"

"Would you?"

"Well, no, but you don't know that."

"Nah, I don't think you will. You don't seem like that kind of person."

V can't tell if he's plainly dumb or actually skilled enough to know that she wouldn't strip him of his entire livelihood. "So, what, you're inviting me to stay at your apartment for the night simply so I can sleep?"

"Yeah." Ward shrugs as if that isn't an insane idea. "Got a big bed for you, a comfy couch for me. I'll even throw in some breakfast if it makes you consider accepting."

'V.'

"I know."

'PRINCESS. PLEASE.'

"Well—"

'He's a fucking pig! A rotten badge! Why are you even considering this?'

"Because I don't have any issues with the police or any bad experiences with them. That's you. You hate that I spend time with corporate employees, and you'll hate me for spending time with a cop, so what's left? Me spending time with the poverty-stricken gutter rats simply to make you happy?"

'No, I just…' Johnny writhes in frustration. 'Just not a fucking badge.'

Ward being a badge isn't her issue—him wanting to spend time with her is. As trusting as he is, V isn't, and that innocent persona might as well be a mask hiding someone nasty. Not that he seems the type, but she isn't going along that easily.

"I don't have any change or toiletries."

Ward smiles. "We can swing by your place, and you can get whatever you need."

"I might bleed all over your bed."

"Aha? I've got more than one set of sheets."

V snorts a laugh. Stubborn does suit him well. "I see." She regards him in search of where the bluff is hidden. "I have a terrible morning mood."

"And I brew amazing coffee that'll make your morning much better."

"What if I snore horribly?"

"Then I'll know you're getting some sleep."

"Not giving up, hm?" V chuckles when Ward shakes his head, and, honestly, it is very tempting. She can come up with a hundred reasons not to, but they're all just to protect herself from getting involved and letting someone in on seeing her miserable life. "Just how good is this coffee?"

'You'll regret this.'

"I have already lost everything, so please, tell me how this will make anything worse."

Unsurprisingly, Johnny doesn't have a clear answer other than seething annoyance tingling in the depths of her stomach.

Grinning now, Ward holds a hand out to her. "I promise you won't be disappointed."

V gently pushes his hand aside and rises from the bench, smirking when he shows his palms and steps aside. "We'll see about that." She finishes the coffee and throws it at the trash bin, scores, and flicks her hair over her shoulder when passing a gawking Ward towards the busy street. "Shall we?"

“I—yeah, uh, sure.”

Johnny is still grumbling when V sweeps through her apartment to pack her necessities and keeps going when Ward holds the door open for her to re-enter the car.

'I can't believe you're putting me through this.'

"Remember that whole prince speech you went on?"

'HE'S A FUCKING BADGE.'

"And you dare get annoyed with me when I look down on poor people?"

'Oh, fuck off, that's nowhere near the same thing. Poor people don't pick that life for fun. They're either born into it or forced into it by money-horny assholes like you.'

"I didn't pick to be born into the high life, but you still give me a hard time about it every time you get the chance."

'Out of all the airheads on the planet, I had to get stuck in yours. Fuck me.'

Again, the drive is so safe and comfortable that V almost dozes off before they arrive at Ward's apartment, her sweet tooth satisfied with chocolate. She scarcely recalls being in the area at some point for a job and familiarizes herself with the comparatively quiet neighborhood while Ward leads the way.

"Here we are," he announces at the end of an open hallway, one side facing a dry lawn with a couple of struggling trees and bushes. "It's no castle, but I hope it'll do."

The apartment comprises one large room with an island dividing the kitchen and living room. A double bed is pushed against a corner, and across it, a couch facing a wall-mounted TV. It's sparingly decorated save for a few framed movie posters, a plush rug by the TV area, and some colorful cups on the island sitting next to an old-timey coffee machine.

The immediate impression is 'tidy,' which is a surprise since he, from what she knows, doesn't have anyone cleaning for him. There are no clothes on the floor, and no clutter, save for a stack of movies by a TV. No moldy takeaway boxes.

"I suppose it'll do." She puts her bag down and steps out of her shoes before further entering the apartment, gently rubbing her sore back. "You don't keep a lot of things, I see."

"Nah, I've never been in a place long enough to get to collecting gnomes or anything."

V chuckles at the image and eyes the kitchen area. "That's where the magic happens?"

"Yep, it sure does." Ward preens and shrugs out of his coat, revealing a red t-shirt straining across his wide chest. V tears her eyes away. "I'm willing to bet it'll be the best cup you'll ever have."

"Oh, is that so? And what are you betting, exactly?"

"My honor?"

V laughs and unbuttons her vest, easing out of it to enjoy more freedom in her white dress shirt. "Does anyone have such a thing anymore?"

"I do." He grins when V snorts at him, then gets out of his shoes to show the way to the bathroom. That, too, is a tidy room with light blue tiles and—oh.

"You have a bathtub," she blurts, gawking at the crispy white tub.

"I do indeed, and a shower," Ward adds proudly and steps inside to pat the tub like a car dealer. "At your service."

"I might marry him."

'Fucking slut.'

"In return for a tub? That'll make me a prostitute, thank you.'

"You don't mind?"

"Not at all." Ward leaves the bathroom, returns with her bag, and gently sets it down. "Take your time."

V stares at the door closing behind him and wonders for a moment if she overdosed on the boat and never woke up.

"I'd hopefully be free of you if that was the case."

'Most likely.'

Not having seen a bathtub in over a year, V descends into the steaming hot water with a moan and does as told, taking her time washing her hair and face, letting the heat envelop her until she's fresh, relaxed, and a little wrinkly. So far this has been a great idea, though he might be preparing to kill her off the second she exits the bathroom.

Emerging with toweled hair in her lounging shorts and matching hoodie, face clean and soft, V spots Ward in the kitchen. He's elbow-deep into a plastic bag, fiddling with what appears to be takeout, and not executing a plan to murder her, it seems.

"Dinner wasn't on the schedule," she teases, grinning when Ward jerks in surprise. She moves to lean against the island, arms crossed while watching him pull out a round container. The faint smell of food teases a growl from her stomach.

"I'd say it's far too late for it to count as dinner. Maybe a, um." He looks at the clock hanging above the door. "Midnight snack?" He unpacks the rest of the bag on the counter. "Feeling better?"

"Very much. Your hospitality is most appreciated." She meets his gaze when he looks over his shoulder, and that amused shimmer shifts to something softer. She does her best to ignore the warm fuzz, as well as Johnny's annoyance. "I assume you don't own a hairdryer?"

Ward chuckles and rubs his head; the few millimeters of hair probably dry within a minute. "You assume correctly. Sorry about that."

"Don't be. So, um, what did you get?"

"There's an Italian place around the corner; got some nice synthesized carbonara. Hazarded a guess that you might be hungry as well."

"Aren't you thoughtful?" She watches as Ward moves around the kitchen with comfortable ease, grabbing plates and glasses that aren't stained or chipped. It's strangely soothing, and she gladly accepts a plate on the couch. It feels weirdly domestic as they eat and chat (mostly Ward doing the chatting and V refusing to share anything personal), though settling in the detective's bed is beyond that.

'Surreal' is a good word for describing wrapping herself in the faintly cinnamon-scented duvet and watching Ward settle on the couch, happily giving up comfort for her sake.

Surely, he's got something up his sleeve, and him offering his space will come back and bite her when she least expects it. Or she'll be indebted, and he'll expect her to give up something in return.

Still, knowing this doesn't stop her eyelids from growing heavier by the second, and she yawns before she knows it. Accepting one night can't be that bad, right?

"Well, goodnight, then, detective," she calls from the bed, probably sounding as weirded out as she feels judging by Ward's laugh.

"Goodnight, Miss V. Sweet dreams."

Even with Johnny seething in the background, V dozes off before long, face buried in a fresh pillow between four walls that don't reek of failure.

Chapter Text

Part of V, or perhaps the Johnny part of V, doesn’t want to admit to waking up from the best night’s sleep she’s had in a long time and is currently doing everything in its power to disclaim this serenity.

’It’s only cuz the neighbors are quiet like fucking mice here.’ Johnny argues in his annoyed might as V stretches out like an opulent starfish across the large bed. ’They might as well be dead. Y'know, they probably are.’ He turns to her with his cigarette held high like he's just had a eureka moment. 'The pig probably murdered them all, and you'll soon see that this chivalrous persona is nothing but a cloak to hide his true nature!'

”Mhm.” V revels in the soft sheets and rolls over to her side. Johnny sits on the edge of the bed, leg jumping with irritation, and across from the bed is Detective Ward tiptoeing around the kitchen. At first, she thought she woke up in a hotel, but this is better, which is a frustrating realization since all her relationships are purely for profit, be it pleasure or some sort of beneficial exchange.

This one, if she can even call it a relationship, has started out very differently from her previous ones.

’We’re leaving, right? Princess, please, tell me we’re not engaging in this.’

V rubs her eye to help clear her sight and revels in the glee of Johnny getting off the bed to pace, pulling his hair. She raises an eyebrow. ”The one man I’ve encountered since you infected my brain that doesn’t treat me like a sex doll, and you’re seething because of his profession?”

’You saw his fucking colleague—that’s what they’re like! Power-abusing shitbags who overstep the law as they please only to be protected by the blue line.’ He throws his cigarette into nothingness and slaps a new one out of the package. ’Deep inside, they’re all rotten pieces of shit looking to piss on people and get away with blowing their brains out for looking at them sideways.’

”Please, Mr. Boy Band Anarchist, mind waiting until after coffee before you go on about the world's injustice?” V yawns and detangles some hair from her face to better watch Ward move about in the kitchen, all domestic. ”Also, since apparently no one I’ve met is good enough to your impossible standard, then who do you think I should pick? Some Jig-Jig Street rat?”

Johnny points the glowing cigarette at her. ’At least rats are honest. That scumbag,’ he then points it at Ward, who’s currently easing out dishes from the washer, ‘is waiting to screw you over, and not the way you’ve been fantasizing.’

”Shush. Coffee first; angsty pep talks later.”

Johnny snorts, and his figure disperses into pixels, allowing her to peacefully wake up to a calming, comforting view.

Ward sneaks around the kitchen in gray sweatpants and a black tank top, gently putting dishes into cabinets and cutlery into drawers. It’s only a matter of time before he drops something, hissing a curse when a spoon clatters to the floor.

“You’d make a terrible ninja,” she tells him, chuckling when he starts and whips around. He laughs then and nods, and V gets a bit warmer beneath the cover.

“Not really built for stealth,” he admits, scooping the spoon off the floor. “Did I wake you up?”

“No.” She rises slowly, rolling her neck and adjusting the cropped hoodie from twisting around her waist. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I woke up from being rested and not from, um… ” Shootouts, screaming, wall-banging, aggressive traffic. “... the surrounding.”

Ward cracks up with a bright smile. “I’m glad to hear that.” He puts the spoon away and moves on to deal with the rest of the cutlery in that domestic manner. “And that I was able to be of help. Lacking sleep and shit like that really messes you up.”

“So very selfless of you.” V makes slow work of getting out of bed, stretching and yawning, and reveling in the odd feeling of relaxation without back pains from a cheap mattress. Now it’s just the premenstrual aches combined with the physical memory of Troy almost snapping her in two. “I hope your night on the couch wasn’t terrible.”

“Nah, I got a comfy couch to pass out on peacefully.” He glances over his shoulder when she walks to the bathroom, eye raking over her legs before finding her face. “Those late movie nights would be a real pain otherwise.”

V pauses at the door and tries to recall the last time she watched a movie from start to end without getting interrupted by work or responsibilities. “You have time for those?”

“I make the time. I need it to stay sane.” Ward wipes his hands on the domestic towel draped over the domestic oven handle. “I’ve seen some shit throughout my years on the force, and I’d probably go insane with nothing to escape to.” His expression turns wan. “You ever watch anything?”

”The story of my life shattering with every step I take.”

'Such a fucking poet.’

She taps the door frame. “No. Well, I used to a long time ago, but then the daily hours became sparse. And I had to… prioritize.” She nods as if that helps justify selling her free time for a chance at a promotion all those years back. “Do more important things than waste it away on avocations.”

“Avocado?”

V snickers. “Hobbies. 'Every hour is an hour well spent if you spend it on something valuable.'” Ward gives her a look like she’s an alien, followed by a throaty, inquisitive sound. “It’s something my mom used to tell me growing up.”

Ward raises his eyebrows with a choked laugh. “Wow. She sounds… fun.” He clears his throat and turns to the coffee machine. “I’ll, um, get some coffee started while you… do your thing.”

V does—she spends all the time she needs freshening up, brushing her hair, and flossing her teeth before rummaging through her purse on the counter, sneaking a peek at Ward fiddling with some settings on the machine. It's a far more complicated-looking one than Troy's.

“You want it outside?” he asks when V pulls her cigarettes out. “Can’t really have any furniture out there, but, uh, I mean— “

“It’s alright. I’ll be right back.” But, mostly, she needs a moment to sort out waking up in basically a stranger's bed and enjoying the most pleasant, relaxed morning she’s had since… Well.

Johnny appears beside her with a lit cigarette in hand. ’Didn’t you ever relax before this bullshit?’

”Define relax.” V lights her own cigarette and studies her new lighter. It’s cute. "I did rejuvenating things. A lot of spas and sunny weekends.

’Yeah? Without getting shitfaced on whiskey and benzo or stims?’

V turns the lighter around a few times while ransacking her memory for a moment to punch back at Johnny. He barks a laugh when she silently gives up.

’See? ‘Fucking junky.’

”Pfth, you’re one to talk, you alcoholic, adrenaline-obsessed terrorist.”

’Perhaps not.’ Johnny leans on the cracked, concrete balustrade. ’But at least I don’t pretend I’m not.’

V inhales slowly, jaw tensing as she crushes the filter between her fingertips. She tries to focus on the dying shrubbery below as her ego twists and sparks, trying to soothe it with deep inhales of smoke. Unfortunately, it doesn't do much.

’I keep telling ya, princess.’ Johnny taps ashes off his cigarette. ’Pretending doesn’t change reality. No matter how hard you try. You’ll never be free while clinging onto the past.’ He snorts a joyless laugh. 'I should know.'

Huffing, V blows smoke in Johnny's direction and does her best to ignore him. Not that he's wrong, though, but V isn't going to waste energy on contemplation.

“As promised,” Ward announces when she enters the kitchen, holding two colorful, steaming cups. The pleasant aroma of freshly ground beans brings her back to a sunny vacation in Brazil some five years ago. “World’s best coffee.”

V hums with curiosity and accepts the cup in both hands. “My, my, dare I ask where you’ve gotten this blend from?”

“Weeell.” Ward shrugs with an abysmal attempt at innocence and leans against the sink. “Let’s just say I didn’t come across it at the local K-Mart.”

“So ‘no,’ then,” V concludes and eases up on the counter opposite the detective, crossing her legs. “What does my cup contain?”

“For now, plain coffee.” Ward points to a round container on V’s side of the counter. “There, you’ve got sugar; if you want milk, you’ve got rice milk in the fridge.”

V plops two cubes into her cup and raises an eyebrow. “Why rice milk? That’s a bit expensive.”

Ward gently blows on his coffee. “Can’t stomach regular, and rice is nice and sweet.”

“Oh.”

Johnny’s sardonic voice fills her brain. ’Uuuh, the strong, muscular man has a weak stomach; oh, may his heart be just as sweet!’

”And here I thought you only fancied skinny prostitutes and emotionless anarchists with hearts of concrete. Should've known he hits a spot with you.”

Johnny gags to V's amusement, and she turns her focus to the cup. Underneath Ward's analyzing gaze, she sips the hot content, then again, and a third time, closing her eyes when a rich, bitter sensation fills her mouth. A complex variety of flavors with notes of caramel and something zesty that warms her bones and soul.

'... Alright, fine, the badge isn't completely fucking useless.'

"Well?"

Opening her eyes, she meets Ward's apprehensive gaze. It softens the more she struggles not to smile, and he beams when she laughs in amazement. "It's… It's good," she admits and sips more. "It's phenomenal, even. I can't remember having a cup this nice."

If 'pride' had a face, it's Ward's as he preens and squares his shoulders. "Told you it would be worth it."

V's too busy enjoying herself to snap back and put the man's ego in place, and he lets her enjoy herself without further comments. He doesn't even say anything when bringing the pot over for a refill that she gladly accepts. Johnny mutters about never having seen her smile so much, which she disregards, busy relishing in each flavor.

"Can I ask something?"

V hums an affirmative without losing focus on her coffee.

"Are those cumbersome?"

Looking up, she finds him studying her gold-plated legs, head tilted. "Not really, they're very lightweight." She looks them over, too, the chrome fitted between knees and ankles with some added details stretching over the top of her feet.

"Expensive, I guess?"

"No clue; I got them as a gift."

Ward pauses, blowing at his second serving of coffee. "What occasion calls for a pair of legs?" He bites his lips as the final word leaves them and waves V's giggling away. "Not like that! You know what I mean."

"They were an engagement gift."

The softness hardens around his eyes, and V doesn't need to squint to catch his disappointment. "You're engaged?"

"Of sorts. It's complicated. A… corporate life thing, I suppose one might call it."

"Oh, this I gotta hear." Ward eases himself onto the counter with an eager gesture. "Go on."

He did give up his bathtub for her, so perhaps it isn't too dangerous letting him in on a few details.

"When I was twenty-seven, my parents matched me with the son of an investment banker. He worked as a data analyst at the Arasaka office in Berlin at the time and was then transferred to a similar department here, and our parents sort of… " She takes another sip and pinches her thumb and index finger together. "Locked us into a room and told us to get along."

"Really? Shit." Ward scratches the side of his neck. "And, what, you had no say?"

V laughs. "Of course not. He was a prosperous young man from a respected family with a bright, wealthy future. His name alone was enough for my parents to finally put me on display as the trophy daughter they always wanted." She wiggles her fingers, showing off the lack of a ring. "It's not an official engagement, though, more of a business agreement. He gave me the legs to show off his wealth, and I bought him a car in return."

For a moment, Ward just stares at her, probably processing the story she just told him—which does sound quite absurd when said out loud—then shakes his head. "That's fucked up. Like, I guess it's not for you, but that sounds like… a forced or arranged marriage. Do you, uh, like him?"

"Well—"

'Don't tell me you're gonna lie about that fucktard.'

"Oh? So you want me to be honest with the dreaded badge?"

'That's not—ugh, whatever.'

"He's… lacking in a few qualities, to put it kindly," she admits, then begrudgingly adds when Ward quirks an eyebrow, "He's got a very particular way of showing appreciation and maybe a bit too excited about refreshments. And drugs."

"Sounds like a catch," Ward deadpans, his expression tensing as if it hit close to home. He sighs when it's V's turn to make an inquisitive noise. "My sister, Joss, had a husband with interests like that. Useless piece of shit who spent all his time drinking and getting into fights. Even took one of their kids to a bar and got completely wasted. Dragged him out of there myself and got their son back to Joss' place." He shudders and takes a sip. "I've never been a heavy drinker myself, but goddamn, that made me wanna drink even less."

'Hey, look, all you need to do is show him your shitty excuse for a booze cabinet, and badge boy will run to the hills. What, you're not going to tell him that you're a drug-addicted whiskey whore?'

"Sounds charming." V clears her throat. "Sounds like he's out of her life now?"

"Yeah, rather brutally so, but at least she's free of that idiot." His gaze drops to her legs again. "So how does the deal between you work? Are you technically, um, not engaged, then? Are you a couple?"

V can't help but smirk. "Are you curious about my relationship status, Detective Ward?" She chuckles when his cheeks turn pink. "Looking to woo a corporate snake?"

"I'm mostly curious about the whole arrangement thing," he murmurs into his cup and sips. "Sounds like some fucked-up fairy tale stuff where you get sold off to some title against your will."

"If it doesn't render a profit, then there's no point." He's got no business in her business, so she can't offer an acceptable reason for continuing; "But, if it quenches your curiosity, then no, we're not involved in any romantic way. He does his thing, and I do mine, and we make our parents happy by portraying the perfect couple."

Ward drums his exo-fingers on the cup with satisfying clinks. "Everything's business in the business world, right?"

"Correct." She finishes her coffee with a satisfied sigh. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

'Yeah, like us still being here, princess—what's the fucking point?'

'Do we have to do this?'

V rolls her eyes and pushes the golden chain of her clutch higher up her shoulder. "You yell at me for spending time with Troy and then more with Detective Ward, so now we're going out, and we'll see if you can pick someone suiting your impossible standards."

'How are my standards impossible?' Johnny spits around a cigarette. 'Just don't get with posh fuck boys! How difficult is that?'

"And your definition of 'not a fuck boy' is some rank drummer wasting away at Afterlife?"

'At least that guy was grounded, had a passion and a dream, nothing like those fucking airheads of yours.'

"He had vomit on his t-shirt." V gently eases a curl from her face and back to where it belongs with the rest of her painstakingly organized hairstyle. "I can't believe you thought for a second that I'd want him in my presence."

Johnny grumbles a line of curses as they enter a busy Corridor 44, Yagami Market's exclusive champagne bar. For the occasion, she even brought out her glittery black cocktail dress—the fitted one with a deep back that reached just above her knees, layered neckline, and thin shoulder straps. It's obviously matched with a pair of black pumps she invested in repairing after her latest big job and a black purse.

'I hate it here.'

"I suffer through your filthy bars for your sake," V argues and lets the attendant take her long coat before walking up to the bar, feeling right in her element. She slides onto a bar stool next to a couple busy chatting over a plate of caviar, crossing her legs. "Now it's your turn."

'As if I don't suffer through your miserable life daily?' Johnny appears to sit beside her, scanning the room with a frown. It's a comparatively small bar with half a dozen tables, plush seats, and dim lighting adding to a comfortable atmosphere with rich red and black interior.

Luxurious.

She orders a glass of Krug Grande Cuvée, and it’s barely poured before Johnny alerts her to a stranger's presence, and she looks up to a generic trust fund son with the pressed suit, unbuttoned shirt, gel-slicked hair, and an obnoxious signet ring.

"Well?"

"Good evening; I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

'Tell him to go suck a moldy cock and get the fuck out of your face.'

V puts on a pleasant smile. "I'm currently not looking to socialize; I just want to enjoy a drink in my own company."

"Of course, have a lovely evening."

'That's not what I said.'

"It is; I just use fine language, something you clearly haven't heard of."

'Bah, suck it, princess.'

Another three men are declined on Johnny's orders for being too preppy, too slimy, and too rich (apparently, offering someone a bottle of champagne isn't desirable, though she's sure he only said no to mess with her), and it takes two hours before he finally agrees to someone sitting next to her. She's positive the only reason this guy got a yes is because of the length of his hair.

"Is he reminding you of someone?"

'Hey, at least the man's got some fucking drip that isn't sewer waste. And I've got a good eye for people, you just see. Guy's gonna be a fucking catch.'

V doesn't know what most of that means, but she invites the dark-haired man to sit with her either way. Luis, as his name is, turns out to be a lawyer for Sullivan & Rothman with a degree in intellectual property and specializing in trademark laws. The biggest difference from the previous guys is his genuine smile and not presenting himself like he's about to sit down at a business meeting.

'See? Told you he was better than the fuckwit.'

"Fine, I'll let you have this one."

What starts off as a rather generic conversation trickles into exchanging office party escapades and holiday memories all the way to the very personal pocket of life dreams. As far as suits go, this one even makes her smile, though that’s where her luck ends for the night.

’I can’t fucking believe this bullshit.’

”Hm?”

V shifts her attention from Luis when a tall, slim figure in familiar gray colors approaches, and her heart drops down her stomach and through the floor.

Fitted wool suit, red tie, low-fade strawberry-blond hair slicked back with the power of hairspray doused styling gel, shaved jawline, and eyes that pierce your soul to the wall and tear it to pieces.

“Vivica! What a pleasant surprise.”

"Evening, Steve," V greets through gritted teeth and forces a smile. Out of all the people to be out and about tonight, it just had to be him, didn’t it? “I’ve never taken you for a champagne connoisseur.”

“You know how it is, sweetness; there’s always a market to be scouted and scoured.” Steve flashes that 1.3 million dollar smile that somehow didn’t fix his horrendous breath and turns to Luis. “Enjoying some company, I see.”

As the two greet, V’s hands grow cold and clammy in her lap. Steve came as sort of a package deal with Troy; the two quickly found ways to exploit each other’s status and became the closest thing a corporate employee may call ‘friends,’ meaning they won’t stab each other in the back without proper reason. They’re equally privileged and unsympathetic with parents in billion-dollar industries, so them snuggling up to each other to cash in on connections was inevitable.

Also, Steve is V’s dealer.

Not only hers, but the majority of her old colleagues rely on him for the top-shelf stimulants to keep them ahead of the game. In a city built on the foundation of drugs and crime that millionaires sit upon and smile, it’s almost impossible to find a reliable source of anything within the area of drugs and alcohol.

And, given that she’s now basically at the same social status as the rats of Jig-Jig Street, the chance of her happening upon anyone to deal her proper stimulants that aren’t mixed with washing powder and burial ashes is slim at most.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Steve places a hand on her naked back, his coarse suit scratching her skin. Claiming her as his. “New career made you too good for the rest of us?”

’I hate this fucking guy so much. I didn’t think anyone could sound as much of a movie villain as this idiot.’

V downs what little is left of her champagne, hoping to ease her nerves. “A new career comes with new responsibilities, as I’m sure you are aware. I’ve simply had a full schedule and a lot to organize.”

“Aha.” Steve runs his fingers up and down her spine, and she does her best not to squirm. “And the one night you’re free, you don’t call me to take you out?”

’The only ‘taking out’ we’re doing tonight is taking this fucker out with a bullet.’

V swallows a snerk alongside the imagery of shooting Steve between the eyes, which does ease the anxiety of sitting like a frozen stone in her stomach.

“I went out on a whim,” she claims, raising her glass for the bartender to refill. Her hand trembles a bit, both from nerves and Johnny’s anger. As much as she defends her company, even she understands why he starts boiling every time Steve is around—he’s got that private school bully air around him, and that’s when he’s in a good mood. “I’ll make sure to contact you next time I’ve got a moment to spend downtown.” She inhales to bid him farewell and stares at the outstretched hand.

“Come join me now, then,” he orders, more than anything, smirking when V blinks in surprise. “I’m sure your company won’t mind. I have business colleagues at the table that would love to meet you as well.”

Remembering Luis's existence, V meets his annoyed glare. She definitely doesn’t want to exchange him for Steve, but—

“Actually,” Luis straightens a bit, either to show off his wide shoulders or the silvery ‘Frederick Dars’ brand on his vest, “we were enjoying a conversation before your intrusion, and I’d prefer to continue it. If the lady wishes, of course.”

’Why do all you guys talk like you’re aristocrats in some British period drama?’

”Probably because we’re raised to be pretend aristocrats.”

‘... Huh. I guess so.’

Steve fakes a hearty laugh, exhaling a reeking breath right by V’s nose, and grabs her by the hip. “This lady has immaculate taste and knows what’s best for her. Come now, sweetness, I’ve gotten you a seat already.”

’Princess, please, don’t. Please, don’t go with him.’

“I have to.”

‘No, you fucking don’t! You don’t need those goddamn pills; you’re not living that life anymore, and the longer you deny it, the longer you’ll feel pathetic and fucked.’

Is that what this is about? If she stops treating her weariness with stimulants to spend 26 hours in front of the screen, does that mean she’s distancing herself from her previous life?

Does that mean that she’s accepting her new reality?

“Well?” Steve prompts, tugging her to get off the stool. “Let us go already.”

Fear coiling around her spine, she inhales one deep, long breath. “Actually, I’d rather stay here.”

Steve’s fingers curl into her hip like talons, manicured nails denting her skin. “Pardon?”

“I said,” she sips her glass and forces herself to meet Steve’s gaze, “I’d rather remain here. I’ll spend another evening with you.”

Steve's brown eyes darken into that same shade she's feared for so long—the one threatening to grab her and force her along; to keep her out of the stimulant loop unless she obliges to be his arm candy or gives her body up for a night.

Perhaps Johnny isn't awfully off track regarding her embarrassing history with men. Though, to her defense, there haven't been any better ones in Arasaka Tower.

Shocked, he snorts a laugh. “Don’t be silly now, Viv. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I believe she’s made up her mind,” Luis intervenes, clearly annoyed by Steve’s behavior if that frown is anything to go by. “And pretty clearly, as well. Would you mind leaving us to it?”

“I’d stay out of this if I were you, Mr. Martínez. This is none of your business.”

“Actually— “

V jerks when her clutch vibrates and thanks whoever is looking after her for the phone call. It couldn't have happened at a better time, and V dislodges herself from Steve’s grip with an excuse to answer by the door, away from the buzz. Johnny groans miserably at the name on the screen.

'It's been, what? Two weeks? Think he wanna share the bed with you this time?'

V rolls her eyes and accepts the call from someone much more interesting than the boys at the bar. "Yes?"

"Hey, I figured you'd be up by now," Ward greets with a gloomy shroud hanging over his head, which surprisingly sparks alarm in V’s chest. "Sorry to call like this, seeing you're out and about, but I, uh, I need your help."

'And here comes the price for accepting all those fucking snacks, you whore.'

"You're just cranky because you haven't eaten in a thousand years."

Still, she's been anxiously awaiting the moment Ward demands payment for all his generosity, and this might be it. They've been texting back and forth since V spent the night at his place, Ward asking if she's getting sleep and feeling well while she's been inquiring about his internal affairs war.

"Oh? And what might the detective need help with?"

"Vivica!" Steve's nasal voice cuts through the soothing lounge music. "We're not done talking!"

Ward exhales a hard breath. "You alright over there?"

"I'll manage," V replies with a sigh and flashes a venomous smile in Steve's direction. "Now, what do you need from me?"

"Is it alright if we meet? I don't want to take this on holo; it's… Do you have time? I don't want you to end your night for my sake, but it's important. Like, very important."

Stay at the bar and be served champagne in Steve's cursed presence, or go on a mystery date with an NCPD detective who may be about to demand repayment that she may or may not be able to pay?

"I have a feeling you'll nag no matter what I decide."

'See? You're learning.'

"I think my time is up at this place anyway," V decides when Steve makes a frustrating gesture at her to come back. "Where do you want to meet?"

Once they've decided on a meeting spot a few streets down from Yagami Market, V gathers some strength before returning to the bar.

’You go, princess, I believe in you.’

“... Thank you, I suppose.”

"What was that all about?” Steve demands when she reaches for her champagne, standing between the two. “We were in the middle of a conversation!"

She downs the fizzy goodness and throws her hair over her shoulder, then turns to Luis, who's looking between her and Steve with uncomfortable annoyance. "Thank you so much for the time tonight; I very much enjoyed speaking with you, though I'm afraid I have to cut it short."

Steve snorts. "Really? You're not even going to—"

"Here." She flicks him her number. "I'd love to continue this at another time." She turns to Steve then. "You can contact me when you've grown into a man and stopped behaving like a toddler. It's embarrassing."

'Fucking finally.'

Steve stares at her as if she just cursed his entire family line. "You should watch that pretty mouth, Viv. Many things hang on a very thin thread when you don't."

'Tell him to fuck off, princess; one fuck boy is enough; you don't need him and his shitty pills,' Johnny pleads, appearing next to Steve and poking through his head. 'There's nothing here of value anyway. Just drop this piece of shit.'

Pulling courage from Johnny's 'fuck around and find out' attitude, V clutches her purse and lifts her chin. "I'll cut that thread for you, then, so there's no need to hold on for my sake." Without waiting for a response from the dumbfounded Britt, V spins on her heel and leaves the bar, picking her coat up before exiting the building into the cool, smoggy night.

'Fucking hell, you have no idea how good that felt,' Johnny sing-songs with a relieved exhale as he walks beside her down the busy road. 'I've been sick of that idiot since the first time I saw his ugly face.' He frowns when V can't feel anything but ice in her stomach. 'What, you're not proud?'

"I doubt you've ever sat beneath another one's thumb, but stepping out from underneath it is not a pleasant experience."

Ward is already at the meet-up spot when V arrives and pushes the door open for her from inside. A wan smile sits on his lips, his forehead creased with deep lines. "Sorry for dragging you out like this," he says, turning to stare out the window. He looks exhausted, despondent even, which is new. "Something came up, and it’s, um… quite serious.”

V eases onto the seat and closes the car door. “Honestly, your call was appreciated to get me out of there.” She turns to sit towards him and crosses her legs, spotting a familiar takeaway iced coffee in the cup holder. “Is that mine?” Appreciation floods her when accepting the cup, and she takes a long sip. “Thank you. Now, what do you need?”

They sit in silence as V watches the news report of some teenager getting tracked down and shot by the NCPD, linked to this Peter Pan figure, sipping away at her coffee while growing more confused, then stares in shock at Ward’s reveal of his nephew, followed by his disallowance to engage in the case.

“Randy’s shoes, hm?” She whirls the partly melted ice cubes around the cup, humming. “Do you know anything more about his disappearance?”

Ward shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “No. My sister and I aren’t on good terms, so we don’t talk much. And now, I couldn’t be there for her when she needed support.”

“I see.”

“And, also, I… I just needed someone to talk to.”

V’s brain stops working briefly as she stares at the detective. So he’s… trusting her enough for this?

‘An awful decision, clearly.’

“You tell me.”

“Well, um.” V toys with the straw and looks out at the busy street rushing past them. She’s been a confidant to some colleagues, but this feels far more serious. “I don’t know how much help I can offer in that regard, but I’ll gladly lend a hand in finding your nephew.”

Appreciation shines in Ward’s tired eye. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”

V snorts. “I do owe you for all your kindness.”

“That’s why you’re helping me?”

It should be.

“No. I don’t need maternal instincts to see how messed up the situation is.” She sips more chilly, sweetened, bitter coffee and recalls the heavenly cup from Ward’s home. “The NCPD is useless at best, so there’s little chance that this will be solved before someone else succumbs to these… hormonal drugs.” She nods with resolve and faces Ward again. “So, where do we start?”

The drive to this apparent ‘dream lab’ is mostly silent, though the detective is again too curious for his own good.

“You said ‘no maternal instinct,’” he recalls, keeping his gaze glued on the street ahead. “Not looking forward to that kind of family life, huh?”

“I’d never put a child into my world,” she tells the passing streetlights. As reluctant as she is to let go, she’s been distanced enough to see the gilded cage and its toxic feed. “I have no interest in children, but even if I did, I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them succumb to the corporate prison.”

Ward hums and taps the steering wheel. “That bad, hm?”

“No one believes it when we say it. I won’t deny that we are privileged with a very different outlook on life, nor that I wished I was born into poverty, but it’s….” She sighs. Maybe the interaction with Steve got her into this mindset, or it’s the awakening after losing everything bubbling to the surface. “It’s difficult. Even more so when I’m not allowed to think so because I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, so, clearly, my troubles can’t be that bad.”

“Huh. Never thought about that.”

“Don’t mind it.” V enjoys the last of her coffee and looks out the window, watching the top floors of Arasaka Tower skim the clouds above the crumbling Night City. “No one does.”

Chapter Text

"So."

"So."

The car beeps twice as Ward locks it, leaning against the hood next to V, where she studies the tall, glass-paned building. She lights a cigarette. "Seems rather late for an appointment, hm?"

"Well, uh. Don't really have an appointment." Ward rubs his neck when V quirks an eyebrow at him. "And we're not entering through the main door."

V gasps like a scandalized aristocrat, clutching her chest. "Are we going to break the law? My, my, detective, I didn't know you had it in you." While not in an amazing mood, Ward still smiles sheepishly. "So, you brought me here to help you break into a dream lab?"

"Not so loud, please?" Ward looks around them at the sleepy crowd moving down the sidewalk that’s too busy being on their phones to care for them. "Look, I'd rather not do it this way, but I don't have much choice."

"I suppose." V connects to the lab's security system and lazily flicks through the camera feed, finding nothing but empty white halls. "What are we looking for?"

"A physical file, most likely. Hopefully, a brain dance too."

"Ugh." V taps ashes off her cigarette. "You people and your paper libraries." She pulls her coat closer before sauntering down the street, scanning the interior before coming up on a side door that opens easily enough.

'Breaking the law side-by-side with a pig, huh? And here I thought living in your head would be duller than a fucking chess game.'

"You must like him a bit more now, hm? He IS breaking and entering a government building, after all. Isn't that one of your kinks?"

'Don't get ahead of yourself, princess.'

The lab is far larger than the camera shows, a pale labyrinth made of rows upon rows of corridors with adjoined rooms crammed full of cabinets. With all her skills, none are helpful in a sea of brown folders. Linking up to the main computer, however, gets them closer to the goal, so she leaves the paper skimming to Ward while searching through embarrassingly disorganized files.

About an hour of drawer pulling, file flipping, and binder skimming later, Ward shows up with the correct documentation, just about when V's brain has grown sore.

"Paper has been apprehended, I see," V notes, rubbing her stiff neck. "Now, what do we need?"

"We, uh… um." Ward fiddles with the file but doesn't present it, and V finds him studying her face when lifting her gaze.

"What?"

"I just… noticed that you're looking nice tonight." He smiles stiffly, cheeks taking on a faint pink hue. "Didn't see all your makeup in the car."

V had forgotten about getting dolled up from toes to teeth while searching clinical hallways; smokey eyes and velvet lips weren't a look she'd opt for had she known this was her final destination for the night.

"Oh. Well, thank you, detective; it's nice that you noticed."

“‘Detective,’ hm?” Ward shifts uncomfortably. Whatever comes to his mind seems hard to express. "Well, about that, I—"

"River?"

They spin around to find a perplexed woman at the door whose eyebrows knit into a deep frown. Ward stares back, though not nearly as surprised as V is, who curses her decision to drop out of the camera feed.

'Oh?'

"Oh indeed."

"Yowen, I—"

"What the hell are you doing here? You're not supposed to have access to this place anymore!" She turns her blazing red Optics in V's direction and gestures at her. "And who is this? Did you drag some uptown harlot into this mess, too?"

Johnny laughs, materializing to take a seat at the desk. 'I mean, she's not wrong.'

"Oh, I would be nice if I were you." V folds her arms, looking the woman over with her nose scrunched. "This harlot is very creative."

Yowen's face grows redder. "Is that a threat? That's it, I'm calling the cops," she turns to Ward, "the actual cops."

They go on back and forth like an old married couple while V stands next to Johnny; Ward argues for the sake of his nephew while Yowen nags him about some old trust issues, the most interesting bit being about Ward apparently not being in the force any longer.

'My, my, a pig with secrets; who knew that would happen?'

"As if not everyone has secrets."

'I don't.' Johnny spreads his arms wide open. 'I'm like an open book! Ask me anything, and you'll get my full, honest opinion.'

V raises an eyebrow while trying to recall one time she's ever been interested in his opinion on anything. "No, thank you."

'Bah, don't you know that you're supposed to seek out your elders for knowledge and… Y'know, wisdom and shit?'

"I don't think that applies to deceased rocker boys from the gutter."

"That's it, River! You need to go. I'll open the front door for you."

Yowen turns to leave the office, staggering to a stop when the door slams shut in her face. She mutters a curse while swiping her card. "What?" She swipes it again when the reader beeps; the small red light never turns green.

In the corner of V's eyes, Ward watches her anxiously. Hearing his explanation for all this later will be interesting, though, after dealing with Yowen, who stalks over and up into V’s face.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"It means that whoever is in charge of your disorganized database should've hidden your secret key," she explains while gesturing at the computer that she's still linked to. "So that your employee's access data isn't readily available for someone who can figure out an Excel file, like us harlots."

Yowen's frown dips into a scowl. "I don't know who you think you are, but—"

"The brain dance, please, Doctor Yowen Packard, or someone will have to break you out of this facility. But, oh, look at that." V pulls up her phone, not really looking at it. "It's Saturday night! Guess you'll be in here until Monday morning." She brushes a few stray strands behind her ear. "I hope you keep snacks in your desk, dear."

The anger contorting Yowen's face doesn't come out of her mouth; what does, however, is a long-winded explanation as to why Harris isn't dreaming. She and River get into another argument about techniques to encourage someone with a partly blown-out brain to dream while V waits by the door.

'Not a fan of neuroscience, huh?'

"You are aware of that. If I were, I'd find a way to cut you out of my brain."

'Fair enough.'

As V knows already, Ward is very persuasive, and Yowen relents to him begging for the sake of his nephew.

"If you by some miracle find a trigger, I'll see what I can do," she mutters, arms crossed and frown returning when she looks over to V. "See? I have done as you asked; now give me my access back."

V rolls her eyes with a bored sigh. "Fine, I guess I should. Though not because you're particularly nice." She saunters over to the computer to make the changes, not bothering to hide her glee at Yowen's relief when the card reader turns green. She takes the lead to exit the building, passing Yowen with a "See you soon, dear," and Ward hastily thanks her again before following V outside to the cool night.

"So."

"So, uh." Ward fumbles for the key fob with his eye turned to the ground. "That didn't go as planned."

"Getting caught while breaking into a lab or getting discharged?"

Ward rounds the car with a sour grunt, then turns back to open the door for V, then goes back around again. "Neither," he admits as they take their seats, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while V watches him, expecting an explanation. Ward clears his throat. "How about we go get some more coffee, hm? And I'll tell you."

'Oh, this is gonna be interesting.'

It isn't. Not really; getting suspended for wanting justice within the force isn't new. Wanting to set things right always includes stepping on the wrong people's toes, so hearing the story barely makes her raise an eyebrow.

"Well, that's about it." Ward stares down his chipped coffee cup. The sun barely touches the horizon, drowning Chubby Buffalo's in dust-sprinkled gold. The two of them are the only visitors now that a group of drunk teenagers has stumbled out the door, leaving them alone with the sleepy employee watching TV behind the counter. "I wanted to tell you, but, uh, it's not something you write over the phone."

V looks around the restaurant with a shrug, her eyes catching the kid's menu above the counter again. Johnny teases her about it. "Don't fret. It's none of my business."

"No, I suppose not. Still." Ward sips his questionable beverage. "Doesn't feel right to keep it from you."

"I'm not your priest; you don't need to confess to me. Still, I… suppose it's kind of you to think so highly of me that you want to come clean."

A wan smile grows on Ward's lips. He stops himself from whatever he wants to say, his expression growing bewildered. "I forgot to tell you about Han! He's been kicked off the force, packed up, and left the other week."

"Oh, is that so?" V puts on her surprised eyebrows, adding a few blinks. "Whatever happened?"

"Someone tipped off the chief that he had some weird shit on his computer, and, ugh, geez." Ward rubs his head. "They found some nasty fucking stuff on there, like payments for, y'know… women, and not the kind of purchase you do on Jig-Jig street."

"Trafficking?" V asks, parting her lips with a disgusted noise. "Damn. He couldn't get protection from that one, could he?"

"Nah, shit like that doesn't go down well with anyone." Ward shakes his head with a sigh. "You think you know someone, and then all these things just… Damn. I figured he was rotten, just not that kind of rotten."

V bites her cheeks not to smile. Turns out Johnny's filthy friends are good for collecting dirt from the gutters, at least, and for very little in return. "It's usually the last person you guess to commit the most heinous crimes."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Ward heaves a sigh that ripples his coffee. "Anyway, I need to see Joss and talk about this whole messed-up situation." He taps the plastic cover on the table and stares at his fingers for a moment before meeting V's gaze. "I've already asked so much of you, but, uh…"

V quirks an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how I can be of more help with this."

“Haven’t found him yet.” Ward taps the warped plastic sheet. “And I dunno if I can find him alone. NCPDs’ aren’t gonna help, and… y’know.” He shrugs before meeting V’s gaze with hesitant hope. “You seem good at what you do. I’d be dumb not to ask for your help.”

’Bah, the pig needs nothing to be dumb.’

“At least he knows quality when he sees it.”

Johnny rolls his eyes so hard they almost fall down the back of his neck. ’You tell yourself that, princess, while wearing a dead chick’s heels.’

“Says the dead terrorist.”

V crosses her ankles beneath the table. She’ll gain nothing by helping Ward get this mess sorted other than time spent together, which should be the least of her interest. “I suppose I could give it a try, though I can’t promise anything. As I mentioned, you have done a lot for me, so it’s only fair that I assist you in return. Besides,” she gives her shiny nails a lookover, “I am a Net genius, and you have good taste, so it’s only natural to ask for my help.”

Chuckling, Ward nods. “No denying that.” There’s a twinkle in his eye when he continues, “So, you admit I have good taste, hm? Any other positive traits you’ve noticed so far?”

V points a coffin-shaped nail at him, barely holding back a smile. “Be careful, ex-detective, or that clever mouth of yours will get you in trouble.”

“Clever mouth and good taste.” Ward proudly pats his chest while V rolls her eyes. “Sounds like I’m getting a nice reputation going.”

“Oh, sure,” V deadpans, followed by a laugh when Ward fake flicks hair over his shoulder. “And where will a nice reputation get you?”

Whatever Ward’s impulsive answer is, he swallows it with coffee, cheeks tinted pink, then clears his throat.

’Into your panties, probably.’

“That includes yours.”

Johnny swings at her, and she bites down laughter when his hand goes straight through her head.

”So moody.”

‘Fuck off.’

“Trust me; I would if I could.”

“Well,” Ward manages, stealing V’s attention. He’s still blushing, which is disturbingly sweet, and struggles to keep eye contact. “I wouldn’t mind having you over for another coffee sometime. I… enjoy your company, both privately and when we’re working together.”

Together.

To V’s surprise, her heart flutters at the innocent confession; perhaps Ward being a bashful prince in shining armor is what gets past her protective walls more than anything. Johnny’s snarky grumbling remains a background buzz when her mind races in all the wrong directions.

“Oh. Is that so?” She forces her face into a smile, though her reaction is easy enough to read, judging by Ward’s relief. “I, well. I can’t deny that you make a decent cup of coffee.”

A smug grin grows on Ward’s lips that V has to force herself not to stare at. He puffs his chest out a bit, making V chuckle at the ridiculous peacock display. “Right. Well, maybe we can sort something out. Or, y’know, I could make it worth your while getting all done up for a night out. Still feels like I kinda ruined your evening.“

Images of Steve’s seething rage fill her mind, forcing her to suppress shudders. “Oh, don’t mind that. Breaking into a lab was a much more fun way to—”

They both jerk when V’s phone goes off, snapping her out of the moment to fumble through her bag. At this early hour, it's usually only one person who calls, and her heart drops seeing Troy's name on the screen.

'Great, fucking great,' Johnny mutters, appearing next to her on the sofa. 'I can only guess what that asshole wants.'

"Same as always."

Reluctantly, she answers the call, mouthing a "sorry" to Ward. "Yes?"

"Hey, honey cake sweetness," Troy slurs on the other end. Of course, he's drunk at this time. "Get your cute ass over here. It's been long enough, and I've got some pretty little pills for you."

V's stomach twists into a knot. She's been avoiding him as much as possible, but she can only skirt around his invites that many times before there'll be consequences. Her abstinence hasn't kicked in that badly yet, mainly because she's serving herself at home, but the sound of it makes her skin tingle. With Ward here, though…

'You don't actually need help picking, do you?'

"You'd pick one of them for me?"

'No, I'd pick your trashy-ass apartment over both of them.'

Out of the options at hand, that's the last one she'd go for.

"You've been going all night, hm?" V taps her nails against the table. She tries to sound intrigued, but it's hard to fake when her throat tastes sour.

"You know it, sweet cakes." Troy giggles, then proceeds in a low purr. "And I can't end the night without that wet pussy of yours, can I?"

"No." V smiles through the rising nausea. "No, that wouldn't be a proper night, would it?"

Troy laughs, followed by what sounds like inhaling. "That's my clever girl. So, hop hop girl, get your pussy over here so I can fill it up with—"

"I'll be over as fast as I can," V promises, spirit crumbling when meeting Ward's faltering gaze. She probably should pick him, but as brave as she was with Steve, she can't be with Troy. Not yet. "Don't pass out on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Troy hangs up, stealing her happiness through the phone and leaving her with a void sitting firmly in her stomach. She can survive one visit and then draw it out until the next one.

Ward clears his throat. "You got someplace to be, hm?"

"Yes." V tries to smile, but Ward doesn't appear to believe it. "My contracted 'fiancé' needs my presence. I do need to show up now and again."

"Yeah? Is he good to you?"

V makes a puzzled noise. "Why do you ask?"

The softness is gone from Ward's face, now replaced by that concerned frown she's spotted so many times. "You don't look too keen to go."

Part of her wants to tell him; wants to tell on Troy's nasty habits, how he treats her, how small his cock is, how he uses spit for lube, but that won't make any difference. It's her lot in life, and there's no use dragging Ward into it.

"No need to worry yourself for my sake, former detective." V eases along the couch and out of the booth. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"So you don't want to go."

V rolls her eyes. "This is just how it is. What I think of it makes no difference." She raises an eyebrow when Ward gets up and places himself between her and the door. He simply watches her for a few seconds, his eye drilling into her soul by the feel of it, picking apart her facade until she breaks eye contact and walks past him. "I have to leave."

"Let me drive you, at least."

V pushes the door open, the chime jangling behind her when Ward follows. "I can take a taxi. No need to get out of your way for my sake."

"It's really not," Ward insists, walking up to V's side when she rummages through her purse for a cigarette. "Look, you helped me a lot tonight, so it's the least I can do. Hey, V, please."

V looks up from lighting her cigarette when Ward blocks her way again and sighs a cloud of smoke. She'd be annoyed if he didn't look so pained. "You're very adamant all of a sudden."

"I just want to drive you there. A favor, simply that, that's all."

'He's a shitty liar.'

"I know."

'So? What's he up to, then? Think he's gonna kidnap you?'

V snorts. "Judging by it, he'd probably rather drive me someplace else than to Troy's."

'At least he's got half a brain cell, then, compared to you.'

"Please?" Ward repeats, daring to put on a puppy eye and everything. It shouldn't get to her, but maybe the long night has taken its toll as she relents by turning on her heels and walking over to his car. Ward cheers a "Yes!" behind her, making it difficult to fully hate life.

"Call me if you need anything," Ward says as V steps out of the car by Troy's apartment complex. "Anything."

V chuckles. She can't tell if Ward thinks so little of her or if it's his Boy Scout heart coming out again. "Think I can't take care of myself anymore?"

"Nah, I know that's not an issue; I've seen you." Ward's smile falters as quickly as it comes. He taps the steering wheel and looks around the car before continuing. "Just… I just want you to be safe, you know? So, um, if anything happens, I'm a phone call away, okay?"

'Someone smells desperate.'

While easy to dismiss it as such, the look in Ward's eyes says otherwise, though she can't allow herself to care too much.

"Don't worry, boy scout; I'm a snake, aren't I?" V pushes her handbag further up her shoulder. "This is just another viper pit; nothing serious."

Ward's eyebrows say he doesn't believe her, but he surrenders with a shrug. "Alright."

Maybe it's due to pity that she adds, "I promise to call if the world comes to an end, okay?"

Like a puppy, Ward perks up, and V waves him off as his obnoxious car disappears down the road. Johnny is still gagging as she walks through the gilded entrance, greeting Suzy at the reception before getting into the elevator.

'I've seen gory BDs with less gross shit in them than that.'

V pushes the elevator button to the top floor. "You have questionable taste, so that doesn't surprise me."

'I'm not into piss porn if that's what you're thinking.'

"Ugh, I don't need that from you."

Johnny flickers into existence opposite her in the elevator. 'Well, I don't need you sucking up to a fucking pig only to go suck fuck boy dick, but I have no say.'

"This has nothing to do with pleasure." The elevator dings, signaling for V to plaster a pretty smile on her lips. "You know that."

'Doesn't make it less messed up.'

There's no arguing, but admitting to that is treading onto a path of thorns with bare feet that she would much rather walk down in heels.

The door slides open into Troy's kingdom of an apartment where the king sits smoking on the bed, dressed in nothing but gold-lined underwear, grinning beneath the dimmed spotlights. A pompous, arrogant nepo child—nothing like the caring, puppy-hearted ex-cop spoiling her with iced coffee.

'Ugh, when you put it like that, he's almost preferable,' Johnny moans. 'Though piss porn is preferable to that piece of filth.'

"There's my honey cake," Troy coos, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that mingles with the dimly lit particles dancing between them. The door slides close behind V. "Did you have a nice night out?"

Unease slithers like oily fingers up V's spine, mirrored in Johnny's frown. Seems someone ran and wept to his friend.

"Partially," she replies airily and steps out of her heels, turning to Troy when something solid punches her across the face. Pain blooms as she crashes into the hallway dresser, stomach first, brain in shatters while Johnny takes turns shouting at her to get up and at the person attacking her.

Twirling around, she faces Steve as he snatches her by the throat, breathing toxic fumes across her throbbing face through gritted teeth as she connects to his pathetic excuse of a brain, working through the firewall protecting the tiny pea. He tsks when she grabs his wrist.

"So, you think you can treat me like garbage, hm? Think you're too good for me?"

'Fry him,' Johnny seethes, pointing a finger gun at Steve's temple. 'Take this fucker out for good.'

"That's no way to treat a friend, now, is it?" Troy chimes in, clearly unconcerned by the situation. Amused, if anything. "In our circles, we don't act like that."

Our circles, meaning the one Troy allows her to stay in despite having left Arasaka, which in turn means letting her in on all the extravagant parties, dinners, travels, and—most importantly—all the drugs.

Disrespecting the circle will have her kicked out of it.

'Princess, please,' Johnny pleads when V retracts her assault on Steve's firewall. 'Don't fucking do this. It's not worth it.'

Troy rises from the bed to crush his cigarette in the ashtray. "I think you owe him an apology, don't you?"

Johnny panics when V's immediate anger fizzles out in exchange for fear to overcome each cell and limb, screaming at her to fight back when her body goes stiff.

'Princess, don't do this. They're not worth it—this tragic fucking excuse of an existence isn't worth it! You know that!' He places himself between her and Steve, pixelated pupils boring into hers. 'I know life didn't turn out your way, but is this really what you want? To sit under the thumb of these fucking morons?'

"Sorry," V chokes out around Steve's fingers. Johnny shakes his head, his disappointment mingling with her anxiousness like a post-3 a.m. drink. "Must've been the champagne talking. It's been stressful these last few days."

"That's my girl." Only when Troy joins them does Steve let go of her throat, but Troy doesn't care for her coughing as he yanks her by her ponytail, forcing her to meet his artificial gaze. "Now, you are going to properly apologize."

Johnny flickers away when Troy drags her to the bed, his existence compressed into a pall of sadness shrouding V's heart, one she tries to focus on to disengage from the room, from Troy's wet kisses on her exposed skin, from Steve's reeking breath forced into her mouth. Any place is a happy one compared to here, but she has no defenses against the claws of 'good old days' or the pills she eats from Troy's hand.

Chapter Text

For once, it's quiet.

Johnny hasn't spoken a word, his presence nothing but a dour tingle in the back of her head, mingling with the glass-shard migraine. Or maybe he is talking, but the throbbing is too loud, pulsating like a nightclub speaker, enough to drown out the pitter-patter of water.

Hours have passed since she woke up on the floor, but she's still floating on top-shelf Benzo, still hasn't landed in the dry blood slowly rinsing off of her thighs, the crusty patch of cum tugging the small hair on her back, the sore swelling across her jaw, the tearing from disregarding lube.

”I'll ensure you remember me for days, honey cake.”

When Troy later joins her in the shower, grabby hands and sloppy kisses, the fuzzy veil slowly lifts. Pain ripples through her body when he spreads her wide with eager fingers, the saliva washing away before he pushes inside her. Another tear, another cut, another bruise forming around the fingers curled into her breast like talons.

“So wet for me,” he babbles into her shoulder, breath reeking of old Scottish whiskey. “I'll fill you up so nicely, sugar. Do you feel it?”

It's too much. "Stop."

Troy grins against her neck, his voice dripping with malice. "I'm sorry? Did you just... tell me to not do as I please?" He grips her hair and pushes her face against the wall. "Have I not humbled you enough?"

Warning bells ring alongside her hammering pulse, urging her to relax against the will of her heart. “It hurts,” she gasps against the sweaty tiles, quickly adding to amend, “Gentle, please?”

Troy's laugh is soft and bubbly. “Do you really deserve that after yesterday? After how you treated Steve? No, sugar.” He pulls his cock out almost all the way before slamming it back inside, banging her hip against the wall. V yelps, to which Troy strokes her hair. “Next time you misbehave, I won't be as nice, okay? Or maybe you've grown bored of my generosity?”

”It's all for a good cause,” she tells herself while shaking her head, biting down whimpers not to have Troy hear her suffering as he fucks her against the wall. ”Just let him do it and be done. It's better than fighting.”

Tears mingle with the shower rain when Troy finally stutters to a stop, exhaling with delight as he gives her ass a few pats. He doesn't mention the blood trickling down her legs.

“We're meeting mother for lunch. I've ordered you a dress, so get ready.”

It hurts.

“I will.”

Everything hurts.

The dress Troy ordered is a gorgeous white mock neck sheath dress with a discrete side slit and lustrous light pink synthetic details; the perfect lunch attire, combined with a pair of white stiletto heels. An impeccable match to Troy's navy blue blazer, pink shirt, and white trousers.

After adding a thick layer of makeup to cover the bruises, they almost appear like a happy, healthy pair of successful suits.

A picture-perfect couple.

”At least the clothes are free,” is an embarrassing excuse to bite through the grinding pain and walk arm-in-arm with Troy to the Delamain taxi waiting for them outside, tears teasing the corners of her eyes when taking a seat in the luxurious car covered in stale black leather. Johnny's presence stirs, like oil popping in a searing hot pan, but it's more bitter than angry. Sad, almost.

The swelling increases from stinging to throbbing as they ride the meandering streets down to the city center, as dull as the migraine that's slowly subsiding with the help of a handful of hangover medicine. She tries to relieve it by shifting how she sits to ease the pressure, quickly catching Troy's attention. He leans across the seat, mint-covered whiskey breath fanning over her foundation-caked face.

“You're not eager already, are you? I can pay the car firm to ignore a few… stains.“

V forces a chuckle through a wave of nausea. “I am very satisfied, thank you. It's just the dress; the seams are a bit itchy, but it's no worry.” She holds her breath before facing him, plastering a stale smile on her lips. “It's perfect.”

The valets outside Wing Chang hurry down the draped stairs to open the doors for them, and it almost feels like years ago when life was easy. V accepts a hand to get out, wobbling on her feet when pain crackles like lightning between her legs.

“Is everything alright, miss?”

V steadies herself with an embarrassed laugh. “Perfectly fine, thank you.” She retracts her hand with a small shrug. “New shoes. You know how it is.”

Troy leads her by the arm inside the restaurant with a grin, either being too dumb to notice the cold sweat forming on her brow from climbing the stairs or ignoring it. The conversation with the maitre d’ blurs together with the buzz, followed by a too-long walk to a private room with a view over the downtown park.

“Mother, so lovely to see you! You look beautiful as ever.”

Troy greets his parent with enthusiastic cheek kisses and continues to fawn over her dress, her shoes, her entire existence, really. It's showy enough that one might not think their relationship is solely made up of branching across Arasaka to gain more power for their family name.

“Ah, Vivica, my dear girl.” Elke reaches for V with her uncanny, wrinkle-free hands that V takes in her own, hoping her clammy palms won't smudge the synthetic skin in return. “It's been forever! I half expected you to be married the next time I saw you.”

“I'm sorry it's been so long, truly. Things have been busy as always.”

“Of course. Come now, have a seat!”

It doesn't take a minute before V's attention drifts from conversing about Caribbean ferry trips to the window, listening with one ear while studying busy suits walking to and from across the artificial park. Pixelated leaves flutter through the air, disappearing momentarily when someone walks past, phone in hand or gesturing at a holo call, free on the outside but most likely bound to responsibilities and impossible standards on the inside.

In the middle of the park, towering over the fake trees, beams of sun reflect on sputtering water from the massive fountain, turning the droplets into rainbow beads that don't fit the smog-filled air. Too pretty for the dirt.

’There she is, the hungover philosopher, back for another performance.’

V jolts at the sudden reverb of a voice, almost having forgotten about Johnny after all the silence.

“Are you alright, dear?” comes Troy's sugary voice that V puts on an equally sugary smile for.

“Yes, I'm perfectly fine. I was surprised by a shiver, that's all. Please, go on.”

Johnny flickers into view opposite V on the empty chair, hunched over and polishing his sunglasses on his shirt. A sense of sadness settles in V's stomach.

”Can't wait to yell at me until we leave, hm?”

‘It's not like that.’

“Oh, sure. I'll believe it when I see it.”

‘Well.’ Johnny waves his sunglasses around, eyes fixed on his lap. ’You're looking at it, so there's that.’

“Vivica, aren't the Hervey Bay scallops marvelous? I heard that the trawler companies are competing for the last remaining ones, even sabotaging each other to bring the largest harvest back! Isn't that exciting?”

“Oh, really? I had no idea. Where did you hear that?”

With Elke going off on another “when I visited this continent” story, V shifts focus back to Johnny. ”What am I looking at, exactly?”

Johnny fidgets with his sunglasses, reluctance playing in his squirming body language. ’Look, I'm… sorry, I guess.’

As hard as V tries to make sense of the conversation, it’s impossible to think through the sludge of a headache. ”Sorry about what?”

’About… Fuck, I don't know. All of this shit.’ He gestures at the table. ’About yesterday.’

V reminds herself not to frown at nothing since the last thing she needs is to look like a maniac and forces another piece of scallop down her throat, pushing through the nausea by hoping food will stop her hands trembling. At least her stomach is slowly settling. ”You couldn't have picked a worse time?”

‘It's either now or never, and I'd rather get this shit out before I regret it.’

”I'm not following.”

’Fuck's sake.’ Johnny throws the sunglasses onto the table where they glitch through V's wine glass, pixels shuddering now and again. ’It's fucking easy to be mad at you for all this dumb shit, but it's… well.’

They all look up when a small army of servers enters the room, swapping out empty plates for new ones filled with all sorts of delicacies. V spots grilled skewers and makes a polite gesture for Troy to hand them over, not wanting to interrupt Elke's fifth story.

”Well, what? Are you suddenly okay with my prior ‘filthy Arasaka whore’ lifestyle and want to make amends?” V suppresses the urge to snort. They've never had a conversation about her career without him having a tantrum about poverty and unfair treatment, as if she alone could save Night City.

’Don't be stupid, princess; I'm not that delusional.’ Johnny digs out his cigarette package and slaps it against his palm. ’Fine, look, as much as I want to yell at you for being a goddamn idiot, I guess I just… I get it, kinda. Not really, but a little.’

V enjoys her barbecue lamb as best she can while watching the rainbow droplets outside. She's already given up on trying to puzzle Johnny's words together. ”If you start making sense, this conversation won't take the entire day.”

’I get why you're still doing this shit, okay? Or it makes sense, after yesterday.’ Johnny lights his cigarette, which in turn makes V long for one of her own. If she focuses, she can taste a hint of smoke when Johnny inhales a deep breath. ’I felt the desperation you did and the fear. Feeling pathetic and weak. Lost.’

”Are you trying to bully me or challenge me for the Master Poet title?”

Johnny rolls his eyes with a groan. ”Fucking hell, princess, no, that's your title to die with. I'm saying that… Usually, when you mingle with that disgusting mollusk, I try to ignore it, right? Because I'm not a fucking masochist, but yesterday, I sort of… felt what you did. Picked your brain, for lack of better words. Went through it with you.’

”What? Why?” V turns to the others to keep the appearance of interest up, sipping some wine while Johnny cringes like a wounded snake in the chair.

’I guess I want to understand. Can't say I do, but I get what it's like feeling like you're nothing on your own. Like, if you're in a room full of strangers, who the fuck are you? What makes you you without your reputation or established identity?’ He rolls the cigarette between his fingertips. ’I've felt that a long time ago. Being part of a band, knowing my place, my people. When shit got too bad, I had friends distancing themselves until I got back into my skin. It's not the same, but those moments, being alone?’ He shakes his head, black strands of hair dancing across his shoulders. ’Worst moments of my life.’

“More wine, dear?”

“Please.” V nudges her glass over to Troy with a clump of sorrow in her stomach. Maybe it's hers, maybe it's Johnny's; either way, it's intense enough that she'd rather drink it away. Everything he says hits a sore spot in her chest, many of those feelings she'd rather bury than bring to light. Perhaps that's why he changes the topic.

’What did he mean about being generous?’

V slowly drinks while trying to formulate a sentence that won't sound completely idiotic. ”Same things as always. Top-shelf drugs, vacations, clothes, champagne. Private parties and yacht trips.” Still sounds stupid, doesn't it? ”Things I can't afford.” She watches the erratic champagne bubbles desperate to escape their glass prison. "A pretty life with a handful of heirs I won't be giving him."

Annoyance stirs in Johnny's section of her brain. ’And does he know that?’

”No.” “Oh, yes, how can I not expect him to outperform everyone?” V nods along to Troy's retelling of his latest project at work like the proud fiancé she's supposed to be. ”But the majority of luxuries are funded by and for Arasaka employees. And since I'm not one anymore—“

’— You're clinging onto these fucking morons to get the good stuff.’ Johnny rubs his face. ’Christ, V, do you hear yourself?’

V holds back rolling her eyes. ”I never claimed it was smart. It doesn't matter how much I hate it; he holds a big part of my identity, as well as my parent’s approval. Without him, I'm not only left without everything I know, but if I actively leave him, I'll have to answer to them.”

Instead of immediately arguing like usual, Johnny folds his arms with a thoughtful frown. V returns to pretending to care about Troy's achievements while he brews, focusing on not vomiting from random pangs of pain.

It takes about an hour into the lunch before the nausea is gone with a tummy full of Chinese food and Long Dai wine, her head less achy as she dreams of an easy life. Not that she knows what that would look like other than lounging on exclusive beaches, or how she'd get there alone, but the imagery is nice.

“... and the wedding is going to be marvelous, I'm sure!”

Elka's voice cuts through V's daydreaming, forcing her to pay attention.

“Of course it will!” Troy looks over at her with loving doe eyes, twisting both hers and Johnny's stomachs. “Only the best for my darling.”

V briefly leans against his shoulder in mock appreciation. “I have no worries about it.”

At last, the lunch comes to an end, meaning V can flee from Troy's company once she gets up from the chair. It takes a moment to discern the soft sadness as sympathy, something she doesn't recall Johnny ever feeling for her, as she clings to the table until Troy takes her arm.

“Vivica, a word before you leave, please?”

’Please, V, can’t we blow the brains out on both this fucking bitch and her useless son? Then we’ll blame it on a terrorist and move on with our lives.’

V bites down a laugh while telling Troy she'll meet him outside, then faces her mother-in-law-to-be. “Yes?”

“Are you alright, dear? You looked a little uncomfortable today.”

Sounds like she's done a decent job of keeping it together, then. Still. “It's nothing to worry about, I assure you. I've had a lot of work to focus on lately, and it can be difficult to disengage even in such lovely company.”

Johnny mutters something about getting an acting award while Elka nods, regarding her with that feigned kindness she so often sees in Troy's eyes. “I understand, of course. Climbing within a new company can be a hard job! I was thinking that, maybe… You couldn't possibly be, you know.”

“I don't think I do…?”

“Come now, don't be silly.” Elka chuckles as if V is playing games, which she definitely doesn't have time for. She needs to lie down, preferably immediately. “I know the contract states it needs to happen within three years of the marriage, but an old lady can have hope, can't she?”

Oh.

‘Princess.' Johnny's eyes grow wider than plates, which is a bit fun. ’What the fuck is she talking about?’

V forces her lips into a smile. “No, sadly, I'm not pregnant. Yet,” she adds at Elka's disappointment. Johnny freaking out isn't helping her try to appear collected. “It wouldn't feel right to proceed with that clause before the marriage is settled, for the sake of our reputation.”

Despite sneering, Elke nods in agreement. “I suppose you are right, dear. You always were clever, and I see that hasn't changed.” She puts that pleasant mask back on and gestures at the door. “Come now, let's not make my son wait.”

Several servants side-eye V as she grits her teeth not to collapse in tears with the friction of each step making her underwear rub against her injuries like sandpaper, all while she keeps smiling when being handed over to Troy outside the restaurant.

”Almost out.”

Goodbyes are thankfully brief before Troy assists her into the car, which is more for show than anything, and the car is drowned out with him dreaming aloud about where their wedding will be held, who will be invited, and what music will play—all things one might discuss with their loved one and not decide on their own.

“Are you joining me?”

V carefully shakes her head. “Not right now; I have a deadline coming up soon that I need to tend to.”

“Always business.” Troy leans across the seat when the taxi comes to a stop outside his complex, grabbing her by the neck to kiss her hard, his other hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. She clenches in defense. “Remember to be a good girl now, and we'll have a lovely time in the future, hm?” He faces the empty driver's seat before she gets a chance to reply. “Take this pretty lady wherever she wants, and put it on my tab.”

“As you wish, Mr. von Clinton,” the standard Delamain AI voice rings through the speakers, “I shall deliver Miss Rogers to whatever destination she requests.”

The second Troy leaves the car, V wipes his saliva off her mouth and slouches against the door with a sigh. She shouldn't have to question whether this is the life she wants or not because it's glaringly obvious, but it's becoming palpable now.

“Which destination, Miss Rogers?”

Where should she even go? Home feels impossible, as does a motel. Maybe…

’Do it.’ Johnny appears next to her. ’He'll freak out more if you don't go there.’

“I guess…”

“Will my end destination be shown on the receipt sent to Troy?”

“Correct, Miss Rogers.”

She can't have him see Viktor's address; it'll be bad enough to spot her in Watson. However, there is one place she might get away with without suspicion.

“Take me to Stylishly in Watson.”

“As you wish, Miss Rogers.”

“May I smoke in the car?”

“Yes, Miss Rogers, the Excelsior package includes a permit for alcohol and tobacco consumption, with moderation, of course. Allow me.”

The window rolls down a few inches as V digs through her disorganized handbag for her cigarettes.

’So, you no longer agree to have kids like in ye olden days, but instead you sign your body away on paper?’

“Something like that.” Warmth sweeps through V's body at the sight of the lighter Ward bought her. She gives it a squeeze before lighting her cigarette. ”I never planned to get this far into the contract from the start. Had I still been with Arasaka, I would've made enough money to disappear before the wedding was even mentioned.” She inhales a calming lungful of nicotine, then watches the smoke get sucked out of the window. ”You said you picked my brain yesterday.”

’Yeah, so what?’

It's a reluctant question to ask, but curiosity convinces her tongue. ”What did you find, exactly?”

’Sadness. A fucking lot of sadness and loneliness.’ Johnny lights a cigarette of his own. ‘That you're angry for not fighting back and scared of the consequences if you do. Scared to not have anyone.’

V stares down her lap, fighting back tears like her life depends on it. ”Pathetic, isn’t it? It would be so easy to just sever the bond and move on. You've told me a hundred times already.”

’Well, yeah, but I didn't get it. Can't say I really do now either, but, as I said, it makes more sense with your… abandonment issues.’

Anger quenches the sadness as V's ego flares up in defense of her pride. ”Abandonment issues? What are you, a psychiatrist?”

’Fuck's sake, princess, don't be so dense. Hey.’ He turns towards her. ’Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me you don't have issues. You can't, can you?’

No, of course she can't. She'd be dumb to pretend otherwise, which Johnny knows when she stubbornly stares out the window instead.

“We have arrived at our destination. Thank you for using our services, and have a nice day.”

The walk from Stylishly to Misty's Esoterica is slow. With each step, another burning twang, another memory of claws tearing her dress to shreds, pulling her hair. What is she supposed to say when she gets there? 'Help me, I'm an idiot'?

’Bet they know that already. Hey, don't collapse on me now, okay? We're almost there. It's just across the street.‘

V supports herself against the filthy exterior of a kiosk when exhaustion crawls up her legs like oily vines, spots dancing before her eyes. The sign is just up ahead, but the distance feels impossible.

’C'mon, princess, just a few more steps. You can do it.’

“Such a cheerleader.” V closes her eyes for a moment, hoping the world will stop spinning for long enough that she makes it, then pushes through across the street.

The bell chimes like a gentle breeze when she pushes the door open, staggering into a wall of sandalwood that smells like home.

“V?” Misty rises from behind her cluttered desk, voice shifting from surprised to concerned. “Goddess, V, what happened?”

V all but collapses against the wall where Misty rushes over to grab her. The room blurs into a mess of colors. “I'm sorry, I… I didn't know where to go.”

“No, no, no, it's okay, don't apologize.” The words tumble out of Misty's mouth as she folds herself beneath V's arm. “Come, let's sit down, okay? I've got you; it's alright.”

The plush old chair creaks when Misty lowers V into it, finally allowing her to exhale. Moments later, the weight of four cold paws appears on her lap, and V chuckles at Rosy squeezing into her embrace. Misty mentions Viktor before disappearing, followed by a dark gap, and then a calloused hand rubs her arm.

’Princess, look. Daddy is here to save you.’

“V? V, can you hear me?”

Waking with a start, V struggles to focus on the blurry human form squatting next to the chair, instinctively curling up to protect her battered body.

“V, it's me.” The whisper is familiar and warm. “It's Viktor, see?”

It takes a moment, but, yes, she does recognize those tattoos, those glasses, and that awful hairstyle she's been trying to convince him to change.

Comforting calm envelops her when Viktor squeezes her hand, but the guilt clings to her like glue. “I'm always such a mess, aren't I?”

“Nah, you're alright, kid.” Viktor regards her miserable state with a sad smile. He's got a stripe of oil across his cheek, meaning she probably interrupted his work. Typical. “What did you stumble into this time? More weird murder outlets?”

’Please, tell him,’ Johnny pleads when the embarrassment is too strong to admit it's all her own fault.

”What if he thinks— “

‘He won't.’

No, probably not. Viktor, while berating her for taking dumb risks now and again, never judges her for them, even when she'd deserve it.

“It's, um… Troy.”

Viktor blinks in puzzlement, then frowns for a brief moment, forehead wrinkled like when he tries to scrub out malware. “The rich brat?” When V nods, his eyes narrow further, voice dropping an octave. “He put his hands on you?”

Shame has V's lip trembling, forcing her to break eye contact when Viktor's breathing grows shallow. He doesn't need this on his mind; he's got more important things to deal with than her being troublesome. “I—I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I just—“

But Viktor hushes her, rubbing her arm so tenderly one might never think he used to punch people for a living. “You did nothing wrong, kid; don't be sorry. How, um… How are you feeling? Anything... hurting?”

Tears blur V's vision when she nods. Viktor doesn't ask, instead telling Misty to call off his next client.

“You don't have to do that for me,” V protests, but Viktor shakes his head.

“I'd rather take care of you than fix some old guy's rusty knee. Come, how about we get you downstairs, hm?" He stands up and holds out a hand for her. "Can you walk?”

She attempts to stand on wobbly legs only to collapse in Viktor's arms, making her feel impossibly useless. “I'm sorry, I—I just need a moment.”

“C’mere.” In one fluid motion, Viktor sweeps her off the floor like she weighs nothing, carefully cradling her against his chest. Helplessness and comfort mingle like a shaken cocktail, topped off by her ego screaming for independence. She ends up clinging to his grimy shirt, crying into his shoulder like a child with scraped knees.

“It's alright, baby girl, it's alright,“ Viktor coos as he walks them down to his clinic. “You're safe now. Dad's got you.”

Chapter Text

Despite having an ego the size of a skyscraper, there are a few upsides to being coddled, like the honor of wearing Viktor’s worn-out boxing hoodie.

It’s the ugliest piece of garment to ever be produced: woodsy brown with chipped, neon yellow print across the back reading ‘Night City Devils,’ stretched-out frayed cuffs, and stains that won’t come out no matter the thousand times it's been washed.

An abomination deserving to be burnt on a pyre, yet V loves it because it smells of Viktor’s aftershave, which has become equivalent to home. 

“Feeling better?”

V adjusts the dress-length hoodie around her thighs, wearing a pair of Misty’s vivid cotton leggings beneath it. After a warm bath where Misty cleaned the crusty makeup off her skin, she’s almost a whole new person. “Yes.” She meets Viktor’s concerned gaze while trying to keep the battered side of her face out of sight. “Thank you. I bet you must be sick of dealing with me by now.”

“Hardly.” Viktor turns the volume down on the small desk TV before rising with a suppressed old-man groan. “I’d rather you show up here than hide away in your apartment.” He gestures for her to hop up on the chair but ends up lifting her onto it at her slightest grimace. “Don’t,” he warns when she opens her mouth. “Let me spoil you a bit before you run away again.”

V rolls her eyes with a dramatic “Yes, father,” which earns her a dark blush and a huff. 

After connecting her for another evaluation, which mainly seems like an excuse to keep an eye on her drug-to-blood values, Viktor nudges the side of her face until she reveals the bruising.

“Fucking piece of trash,” he mutters, gently prodding the area. “I’ll get some anti-swelling cream. Can’t do anything about the bruise, but I may be able to calm it down.” He meets V’s gaze for a second before she focuses on one of the monitors. “Troy, was it?”

“Um.”

Johnny appears next to the chair, arms folded. ’You’re not gonna lie to daddy, are you?’

“Please, don’t call him that."

“V?”

“Well. Yes, but there was someone else as well. It’s quite a, um… long story.” She tracks Viktor as he rounds the chair to get his stool and rolls it over, through Johnny, then plops onto it with an expectant look.

“I’m listening.”

So, after a bit of nudging from Johnny, she tells him.

Everything.

Viktor doesn’t say much during the story and sits in silence once she’s done, eyebrows knitted together, chin resting on his fist. “You should eat,” is his conclusion, still frowning in thought when he rises from the stool. “You must be hungry after all this. I’ll order something and get you that cream.” He taps his fingers on his hip, sighing when V’s worries show. “You’re good, kid, just… Just give me a moment to process everything, okay?”

”I suppose it’s a lot. ”

‘Yeah.’ Johnny leans against the armrest. ’Not something any parent would like to hear.’

V chuckles at how silly it sounds, but he’s not wrong. As hard as Viktor’s persona is, these soft moments keep surprising her. Also, speaking about being soft. 

”Why are you being so nice all of a sudden? Did you grow sympathetic simply just from taking a peek into my brain?”

Johnny evaporates into a pixelated cloud, which is quite telling, though she doesn’t get any time to ponder before Viktor returns with the cream. Dabbing her swollen face is a slow, gentle affair topped off with a head pat that melts her heart.

It doesn’t take much convincing for her to agree to stay for a few days despite her income anxiety, promising a distraught Viktor to be in his care until her body levels out and stops hurting, though she suspects he just wants an excuse to coddle her.

After an uncomfortable, sleep-scattered night, V spends most of the day dozing or chatting with Misty, enjoying an unusual calm before realizing her phone died.

She immediately regrets recharging it.

Messages and emails pour in, most of them being from the same people; Regina texting about a job, followed by several follow-up messages since she hasn’t responded, Troy has sent several ones as well that are more or less discernible as they go on, and there are a bunch of emails including product spam, product scams, a rent reminder, a barrel-cleaning discount at Mr. Wilson's 2nd Amendment, some new car model available at the new online vehicle store that’s popped up all over the place, and, of course, new positions at Arasaka that she’ll never apply for but clings onto like a worn-out plushie with matted fur and chipped button eyes.

Beneath the rows of pop-ups, beyond Regina's desperate attempt to get a response, sits a cluster of messages from former detective Ward.

‘Of course he’s been trying to sniff you out.’ 

“He seemed rather concerned when he drove me to Troy’s place. Do you think it’s all an act?”

Johnny scoffs.‘Obviously.’

“Why?”

‘Because he is a fucking pig, and pigs are all the same.’

V clicks on the notification. “If you know them all so well, then what is he planning, hm? Why is he sticking around?”

“He needs your help, doesn’t he? To get the kid out of those disgusting fucking claws of that kidnapping psycho.”

It makes sense, doesn’t it, to pretend to like someone to get your way with them, be it business or pleasure. They don’t even have anything in common.

With her cheap, slightly burnt iced coffee in one hand, V scooches up on the bed until she’s resting against the wall before reading through the six, no, seven messages from Ward. There’s a lot of information about him going to meet his sister and how it didn’t go as badly as he thought, also mentioning a laptop he needs her help getting into. Between those messages are questions about her well-being; is she okay? Did the night go well? Does her not-fiancé need to be put in jail? Can he pick her up somewhere, or did she make it home?

Annoyance vibrates in Johnny’s private corner of V’s brain when she’s finished reading, which is highly amusing.

“Well? Adding all the worrying, is he still only using me to find his nephew?”

‘He’s fucking stalking you at this point!’ Johnny appears on the edge of the bed, fists pulling on his hair. ‘Fucking creep’s what he is! Don’t trust all that bullshit, V; he’ll lure you in like a fucking fish and snatch you out of the water when you least expect it.’

V slurps up more coffee. “What does that even mean?”

‘It means he’ll make you trust him and then BAM!’ Johnny slams the bed. ‘Knife in the back! Bullet to the brain! Baseball bat to the knee!’

“How dramatic.”

‘Just you wait and see, princess! All those snacks and drinks are gonna lull you right into safety, and then, when you least expect it, he’ll fuck you over. And not in that filthy way you’ve been daydreaming about.‘

While Johnny curses her beneath every star in the sky, V replies to Ward that she’s okay and currently at Viktor’s place. Not that he’s got anything to do with it, but Johnny vibrates beneath her skin, which makes it worth it.

An hour passes of scrolling social media, chuckling at videos of cats tumbling off of furniture, and another coffee graciously delivered by Viktor that V slowly sips her way through when there’s a knock on the door.

In comes Misty, a hesitant smile on her lips. Whispers of a heated conversation trickle into the room. “V, someone is here looking for you.”

Panic rages through V’s stomach at the idea of Troy having tracked her down. He’s not smart enough to tag her with a GPS, though she wouldn’t be surprised if he tried, and her system would’ve picked it up already. Steve is too lazy to try and hunt her down, so does that mean—

“It’s that guy who brought you here a few weeks back when your deck went crazy. Tall, brown coat, soothing aura?”

“Ward?”

‘Fucking creep, I told you! Now he’s tracking you down like some goddamn psycho!’

“Um, I think? Vik is having a word with him, up in the store. He mentioned wanting to know if you’re, um, alive.”

“He thought I might’ve died?”

‘Well.’ Johnny rubs a smudge off his glasses with his shirt. ‘Wouldn’t put it past the fuckboy to flatline you if you didn’t serve a purpose.’

V would laugh if it weren’t true.

‘Doesn’t mean it’s the only reason he’s here. He’s probably just desperate to get your help.’

“Do you want to see him?”

“I mean— “

‘Don’t be stupid, princess.’

“Yes,” she decides because it’s a little sweet that he’s been worrying, but the best bit is Johnny crying out like a dinosaur that stepped on a sharp rock. “You can let him in. Oh, I need a hair tie, though.”

‘You better grab yourself a fucking noose, you dumb skank!’

“Such drama.”

V turns her sad state of a hairstyle into a neat ponytail and hides the batik leggings beneath the cover before Misty returns, gesturing into the room, and a disheveled Ward appears in the doorway; even the fur on his ugly coat looks like it hasn’t slept. He exhales through his entire posture, tension draining out of his shoulders like a cleared creek. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

V snorts. “I wouldn’t take us for being close enough to lose sleep over each other’s health.”

“I dropped you off outside the place of a pill-chugging abuser; it doesn’t matter how close we are for me to worry.”

V puts her phone aside. “Did you look him up?”

“Of course. Knowing the address, it wasn’t difficult to figure out which one of the nepo babies you meant. There are even pictures of you together. I’m trying not to judge people on looks, but he’s got the eyes of someone who enjoys hitting people. Women, specifically.”

“Ah, the ‘Fabler & Clinten Charity Ball,’ I assume? I miss that dress.”

Ward steps into the room, brow furrowed. V’s gaze dips to the military-grade laptop in his hand, only to be distracted by the unusual degree of disgust as he speaks. “He’s got multiple charges on his neck for domestic abuse. Hardly surprised nothing happened with them, with his family.”

“The wealthy always escape justice.” V takes another sip of coffee. “You know how it is. I went through all your messages. Sounds like it didn’t go horribly with your sister.”

“Better than I expected, so that’s something.” Ward leans against the wall across the bed, regarding her with such intensity she fears he can read her abnormal pulse, see her nerves fire, and hear the silent prayer that he won’t prod. Maybe he can hear the relief when he changes the subject and keeps on retelling how the visit went, about Randy’s trailer, the laptop, and the anxiety.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get my phone working earlier.” V glances at the said phone still recharging on the nightstand. “I would’ve reached out sooner to help.”

‘What, while you were staggering around like a limping dog? ‘Fuck off.’

“I’m guessing you’ve, um… had your own thing going on.”

“You could say that.” V hopes her smile comes across as genuine before clearing her throat. “So, that’s the laptop, I suppose?”

“Ah, yes. Here.” Ward hands over the briefcase-looking piece of technology. “I gave up the second I couldn’t figure out the password.”

“Naturally,” V mutters while plugging into the USB port, cursing when turning it two times before it slides into the slot. She’s in no state to connect to anything, her head still achy and more sludge than solid, so the static tingling isn’t helping when booting up Medusa.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a password cracker, more or less.”

“No, I meant this.”

V looks up, and Ward points at her cheek. She frowns. “My perfectly exfoliated skin with a custom hydration setting?”

“Yeah? Does it turn purple when hydrated enough?”

Unease slithers through V’s body, whispers of threats should she slip up and tell an officer, suspended or not, and she turns back to the laptop. “Maybe it does. Either way, it’s none of your concern.”

“V— “

“I said ‘no.’.”

Ward snaps his jaw shut, though annoyance oozes off of him as they scan links and files and videos until coming up with enough information to send to Yowen. As much as he doesn’t deserve her sympathy for secretly reading her this entire time, even she can’t help the tangled anger when reading the emails of a psychopath grooming a kid into trusting them with their most vulnerable secrets.

Silence falls over the following minutes as Ward seemingly holds back from punching a hole in the wall, or the floor, or whichever surface is within reach, nostrils flaring with each sharp inhale as they read through every email.

“Hopefully that’s enough.” V shuts the laptop before handing it back to the brewing former detective, who gets up.

“It has to be.” Ward rubs his head, cheeks tinted red. “I swear, once we find Randy, I’ll rip that maniac’s fucking brain out and set it on fire. Who turns out like this?”

“I don’t know. Some turn their traumas into good things; others don’t.” V shrugs at Ward’s glowering gaze. “Some are just evil, I suppose.”

“Fuck.” The plastic casing creaks beneath Ward’s clenching fingers. “I’ll… I’ll go get this to Yowen.” He steps towards the door, pauses, then adds a “thanks” before leaving. The room still vibrates with anger when Viktor peeks inside to ensure she’s alright, and not even his presence eases the bundle of knots in her stomach.

‘Fuck,’ echoes a whisper in the back of her head. ‘Kids are annoying as hell, but… but shit like that? Preying on their depression? Jesus.’ There’s a mix of emotions fighting over dominance: anger, fear, annoyance, and disgust. The one ending up stinging in the back of her head is reluctance. ‘… We’re gonna help him, right? Get the kid, I mean.’

V hums in intrigue. “I wasn’t aware children were the way to your heart.”

‘C’mon, V, don’t be a bitch.’ Johnny appears pacing across the room. ‘It’s not his kid anyway, so it doesn’t matter. It’s just…’

“I know.”

Johnny mutters a curse while banging the cigarette package against the heel of his palm until one eases out. ‘Piece of shit humans, fucking hell.’ He meets V’s gaze across the cigarette, amidst the pixelated flame flickering across his lips. ‘So, what’s the plan, princess?’

“Naturally, we are going to get Randy back, then make this monster wish he died a long time ago.”

Reluctance morphs into glee both in V’s head and behind the dark shades.

‘Now we're talking.’

Chapter Text

Talking.

Talking, then more talking, coffee break, then more talking, smoking, smoking, and talking.

Talking until V’s throat grows sore, her head throbbing in need of rest until Johnny paces the room, fisting his hair, annoyance seeping into V’s part of the brain, itching, festering.

“Viktor, please, I’m getting exhausted.”

“I just want to know the plan.” Viktor holds his hands out before sinking into the chair across from his bed, where V curls up on herself, hoping that hiding physically can make the ache go away. “I get that everything is shit right now; I do. I don’t want to minimize that or tell you it’ll all get better, but the pills won’t add any glamour.”

“As if I didn’t know that.”

“V, please. Just give me something.”

“I’ll… I’ll come up with a plan.”

“A plan? Holy shit, princess, we haven’t had one of those since picking a new hair color before hitting the hairdresser!” A gust of pixels reaches towards the stained ceiling before flickering away. “You aren’t gonna come up with some fucking plan.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

V breathes through the urge to lash out, to yell that she’s perfectly fine as she is and she doesn’t need any goddamn plan. “Like going to sleep and figuring something out when my brain has reassembled itself.” She rubs her face, grateful for having removed her makeup earlier. The last thing she needs is crusty mascara blending with the dark circles. “I know you want me to have a bright, pretty future, and I appreciate you, but I can’t do this more tonight.”

Sighing, Viktor shows his palms in defeat. “Alright, girl, alright, I get you. I just don’t want you to leave here and not have a clue how to get out of this shi—situation, this whole… addiction.” His smile is somber enough to tug at V’s heartstrings. “I don’t want you to end up like one of those mouth-frothing maniacs in an alleyway.”

“Bit too late for that, daddy-o.”

“Also, this fucking… Troy figure needs to be taken care of.”

V hides in her hands. “I know. “

“Maybe I can call someone— “

“You can’t just wipe a banker’s son off the earth like that. They’ll never let you live it down. Viktor, please,” V urges when flames meet her gaze. “I’ll come up with something, but I really, really, can’t do more of this tonight.”

Viktor sighs deep and sad in resignation before getting up from the chair. “Alright, alright, get your beauty sleep. Just…”

It pains to see defeat on Viktor’s face. Maybe he knows that she doesn’t know what to do, or he feels helpless, or perhaps he doesn’t trust that she’ll actually do anything to fix the situation. Either way, he still leans in to kiss her hair before exiting the room, leaving her alone with an overwhelming sense of failure.

“I’ll figure something out.”

‘Think all you want, princess; it isn’t gonna fix your shit.’

The following day starts with an erratic call from Ward about Harris; he’s dreaming, there’s a braindance, and suddenly she’s packed into the obnoxious muscle car with an iced Americano, watching flickering scenes of lecture halls, of a child caring for sick farm animals, living through scenes of child abuse, neglect, and hatred, “I’ll think of a plan to get out of this,” taking the form of a man stalking a bleeding, crippled boy desperate for freedom. Sure, princess, you do that. Pfth.’, senses trembling with sorrow and abandonment and twisted reflections of life as Night City swishes by outside the virtual reality, the car bouncing lightly over potholes being an absurd juxtaposition to standing still in a braindance and moving down a bumpy road.

“Stop the car.”

Ward veers into an emergency pocket, a thousand questions on his lips as V yanks the car door open and vomits over the cracked pavement. Johnny shudders in the background.

‘And here I thought inventing mustard gas was the most vile humanity would come to be. Fucking hell. We’re blasting this guy’s brains out, right?’

“He for sure isn’t going to keep on dreaming for long.”

Ward watches her with confused sympathy as she gets back in the car, offering a tissue that she wipes the corners of her mouth with, careful not to smudge the coral lipstick.

“What… What did you see?”

V drinks more coffee to rid the sour bile from her throat. “Someone who became the same person who hated him.” They’ve had this talk, and knowing Ward’s history, she’d rather not share the images now burned to her retina, no matter how curious he is. “Let’s just go get the kids, hm?”

Ward’s intrigue pales. “Kids? You mean… How many?”

“More than ten, I think.”

The tires screech before finding traction, with numerous cars honking as the obnoxious Thorton weaves in and out of three lanes to race out into the Badlands.

Skyscrapers, neon signs, and commercials broadcasted through crunchy speakers are all exchanged for seas of yellow dust spotted with dead shrubbery.

‘You ever been out here, princess? Ever tanned in the heat of a deserted desert?’

“No. I’ve seen the dunes from balconies, but I’d never step foot in this dry, forsaken place by choice.”

Johnny laughs at her environmental standard, now crushed on behalf of rescuing children from a psychopathic groomer, but the dust doesn’t bother her as much as the destination they’re headed to, or the lack of solutions to her broken life.

“This is it.”

The car stops abruptly before mowing down the weaved metal fence, and Ward rushes out before the engine has shut off entirely. V hurries after him, her white stilettos sinking into the sand, but there’s no time to make adjustments for comfort, not when Ward has been hyperventilating the last few miles, not when numerous young men’s lives are on the line.

‘Well, fuck me.’ Johnny chuckles when she pulls her shoes off and throws them into the car.

“That must be the place?” Ward asks, hopes, when the barn comes into view, protesting when V digs her nails into his arm to stop him from launching ahead. She ducks under his fuming gaze. “There’s no time!”

“Look where you’re going!”

Ward paces impatiently as V disables every mine produced this last century spread across the yard, slowly making their way to turn off the security system, the turrets, and more mines, wiping blood from her nose when breaking through the locked door breaks something in her head in turn, but there’s no time to care, though whatever snapped turns the rest of the experience into a comforting fever dream.

Tubes and tubes and tubes, lines of beeping machines looming over unconscious innocence, boys needing someone to talk to tricked into the comfort of sympathy now drooling on cold beds, victims to a broken man breaking others. 

It sits beneath her skin, once the mechanical buzz quiets down, once Ward stops screaming in fear and cradles his nephew, like maggots crawling inside her fingers from pulling slimy tubes out of children’s throats, chewing, burying, images itching inside her eyes as she tries not to drop the warm cup of coffee someone from the Trauma Team shoved in her hand. The foil blanket rustles as dusty winds sweep by, tearing up sand from the dry yard where people in brightly colored suits run back and forth to rush abused children with bleeding throats to the hospital.

Ward is there too, closely watching them load Randy onto the helicopter, hands gently tucking the yellow blanket around his thin body. Their eyes meet, but V can’t make much out in the sand. Once Randy is safely onboard, he joins her side.

“So.”

“So.” V looks down at the burnt contents of her cup as if the darkness can wash away every other image. “Will they live?”

“Yes. Yes, they’re likely to recover. Physically, at least.” Ward pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Mentally, on the other hand… Fuck. How do you recover from… that?”

“I don’t know.”

Ward nods, facing her. “And you? You, uh… alright?”

“Don’t worry about me.” V’s cheeks strain from the forced smile. “You’re the one who needs that question. It’s your family, after all.”

“I… Well.” Ward rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, honestly. It’s too much to digest. I’m just glad we made it here in time; if we hadn’t, I…” He shakes his head. “No, we made it. Thank you, V. I wouldn’t have made it without your help.”

Johnny retches in the back of V’s brain.

“Don’t mind it, former detective; you’re the one who stole the case from the start.” V looks over at another child being pulled onto the helicopter. “What now? What about Harris?”

Ward’s expression grows cold. “I have a few ideas.”

“I guessed as much.” After a second’s hesitation, she adds, “Let me know if you need any help with your ideas.”

One of the officers calls Ward over, leaving V to process the imagery in her head alone, failing horribly at it, before getting a lift to Watson when Ward joins the Trauma Team to keep an eye on Randy.

“You, uh, your feet okay, ma’am?”

V follows the officer's gaze to her torn-up stockings and bruised toes. It’s an ironic match to the filth of the district she lives in, enough so that no one passing either notices or cares. She’d be upset to forget about her shoes if they weren’t a gift from Troy. “Not quite, but I’ll tend to it; no need to worry.”

There’s an unease in Johnny’s part of V’s brain when they make it to her apartment and wade through piles of dirty laundry to reach the shower.

‘How about we call Viktor?’

V chuckles in the warm rain. Call Viktor. Like Viktor doesn’t have better things to do than coddle her?

“I don’t have a plan yet,” she tells the filthy bathroom. Johnny appears leaning against the stained sink. “I need a plan, Johnny.”

‘You think you’ll come up with a plan like this?’ He gestures his cigarette up and down her slouching body. ‘Don’t be stupid, princess. Fine, if we’re not calling him, then at least sleep.’

She tries. Even with the room dimmed, static noise on the dusty machine, and a blanket that doesn’t reek of smoke, all she sees are boys with self-harm scars and tubes down their throats, eyes rolled back, and purple bruises. Johnny’s discomfort is as palpable as her own, sitting in her stomach like flu, twisting and turning until she rushes back into the bathroom to vomit. 

‘Y’know what we need? Booze.’

V washes her mouth with water, deliberately looking away from the mirror. “My, that’s the first smart thing I’ve heard from your mouth.”

‘But I’m not talking about that caviar and champagne bullshit you desk whores like; I’m talking proper, ‘burn your throat, make you blind’ booze.’

V rolls her eyes. “You want us to go to Afterlife.”

Johnny’s grin is all teeth. ‘Fuck yeah, we’re going to Afterlife.’

They go to Afterlife.

While usually forcing herself into the filthy lowlife club, this time around V welcomes the lack of suits and expectations on etiquette for the more fitting chaos of bar fights, drunks stumbling over each other, thundering music, and, most importantly, vast variation of strong alcohol.

Guided by Johnny’s lack of taste, she shows up in black latex leggings, a white top that’s scarcely bigger than her bra, and the cropped pink jacket from that one job Ward picked her up from.

“I hope he and Randy are doing okay.”

‘Ugh, they’re fine, princess, now stop thinking about that fucking pig and order tequila. God knows I fucking need a buzz after all this bullshit.’

Once in a blue moon, they fully agree on something, and V plasters a pretty smile on her pink lips, which gives her a free shot from a homeless-looking guy at the bar, and the rest of the day slowly blurs into vivid colors and pulsating beats.

At Afterlife, she knows no one except for Rogue, meaning no one cares when she lies on top of the bar and gets cheered on when someone in a yellow jacket pours whiskey into her mouth, over her face, and down her neck; no one cares when someone else licks remnant alcohol from the dip between her collarbones while she straddles his hips; no one cares when she dances like an overdosed cyberpsycho while reality morphs in and out of view. However, when it returns, so do haunting images of innocent teenagers with bruises and scars.

‘Snap out of it, princess!’ Johnny yells over the music, annoyance flaring as his buzz dies alongside hers. ‘Get another drink!’

V flirts a Red Pixel with a tattered little umbrella from a useless-looking guy at the bar that blocks out the images for another hour, then a few shots keep them at bay for another, and so on she goes, remembering, forgetting, remembering, blocking, remembering, washing the imagery away with a shared bottle of something that burns her throat next to someone in motorcycle gear. Who cares? Who cares? echoes as she joins whoever out into the acid rain, into a taxi, giggling her way into a club with velvet rope barriers, blowing a kiss to the burly bouncer before she’s dancing again, drinking something translucent with Johnny cheering in the background.

‘I told you it was a good idea!’ he screams when she tries to meet her own gaze in the mirror, blinded by harsh white light reflecting in broken tiles. Her skewed image grins back, mascara smudged on the edges of her eyelids, hand slipping on the wet porcelain and into the sink. ‘I knew there was a way for us to bond after all this miserable fucking time.’

V laughs without knowing what’s so funny, just laughs at everything, enough that the two women down the line of sinks join her with their sweet-smelling cigarettes, either curious or cautious of her hysterics, but V bats her eyelids at the seductive glow of the joint stuck between lime green lips regardless. Lips that strain with a smile as the joint is passed to V’s; patchy pink with what little lipstick is left, and Johnny’s merriment simmers down a notch when thick smoke mingles with the syrupy remnants of candy shots.

‘Hey, don’t get all stupid now, y’hear me? We’re supposed to stay wasted, not fry what’s left of our dumb brain. We need it for the plan, remember?’

“Yeah, a plan,” V tells the fluorescent lights. “We need a plan.”

The woman in a little black dress chuckles, her beautiful curls bobbing over her shoulders. “Whatcha need a plan for, bestie?”

Johnny sighs. ‘You dumb whore.’

“I need to… get my life together.” She inhales a long, too-deep drag of the joint that burns her lips. “Pull myself out of the dirt. I had everything, and now… Now I just hear voices and feel empty.”

“Mood, girly-pop,” green lips laugh, her LCD irises pulsating with the dull beat of the music seeping beneath the door. “Hey, how about joining us and getting out of here? We have more fun drinks at home.”

Excitement buzzes in Johnny’s compartment of her brain. ‘Let’s go, V, maybe they have drinks that won’t dry out your pathetic excuse of a bank account.’ 

Neon signs pass in a blur outside the taxi, contorted in streams of rain, melted prisms slithering down the window as they drive down another chaotic street lined with trash, going and going until she’s led inside an apartment with frayed wallpaper and ceiling stains, dusty windows shuddering with the beat of electronic music. It’s as crowded as the club: people dancing in the living room, in the kitchen, a trio making out in the bedroom while a spaced-out guy strips on the table with people cheering.

‘Fuck me, this reminds me of the parties at Kerry’s shitty-ass apartment when the bars kicked us out,’ Johnny reminisces like the fossil he is to the point that fuzzy feelings bloom in V’s chest. ‘Wonder what happened to him after everything went to shit.’

Getting pulled by the hand, V ends up in the kitchen where a hairy guy in a cute purple skirt pours shots from some unnamed bottle and offers her one. It tastes like gasoline smells and numbs her brain for another hour, where Johnny’s glee mingles with her calm until it doesn’t—until images of Ward cradling an unconscious Randy flash by, the sound of his broken screams for V to turn off the machines a whisper in her ears, forceful enough to slam her back to reality.

No one notices her crying into her glittery drink on the couch, not even the woman with beautiful curls sitting with an arm around her shoulders. She’s too busy arguing about some sports team while V sinks into sadness where Johnny’s yelling doesn’t help, nor does his clunky attempt at sympathy when she recalls her life before getting shot, where poverty and horrors of the lower class were nothing but TV news and breakfast came served on real porcelain with a skyline view.

‘Princess,’ Johnny cautions when V digs her phone out of her clutch bag, the screen too bright as she squints at the contact list. ‘V, it’s not fucking worth it.’

“I just want to go back,” she whispers to the blurry phone number. “I want everything back to normal.”

‘That isn’t gonna happen. Nothing can ever make it go back, princess; you just gotta make it good with what you have.’ Johnny appears crouching before her, sunglasses in hand, dark eyes demanding her attention. ‘Remember what voodoo girl said about fear and shit? About clinging to the past cuz the unknown is scary as fuck?’

“Yes?”

‘Well, use your little brain to make it make sense! Look at us!’ He throws his arms out and gestures at the party. ‘We saved a bunch of kids from a braindead psychopath, and now we’re drinking the bad shit away, and tomorrow we’ll get some of that goopy Chinese food you like and stay in bed all day! It’ll be great!’

V wipes her cheek, smearing what little blush is left with her palm. “It doesn’t change anything. It won’t bring anything back.”

‘Fuck’s sake.’ Johnny rubs the annoyed glare from his eyes like he’s properly trying to be supportive this time and not yell at her for being a pampered Corpo whore. ‘No, it won’t bring anything back, you dummy, because life doesn’t work like that. Just… what do you want?’

“What do you mean?”

‘Out of life.’ Johnny gestures at the room again, at laughter and dancing. ‘What did you have at Arasaka that you can’t have here?’

V looks around them, at all these strangers forgetting about their own troubles in the sea of alcohol. “I had privileges. Money. A ladder to climb. A secure future.”

‘Secure future, my ass,’ Johnny spits, rising to take a seat at the cluttered table. ‘To get married off to that fucking mold brain who beats you for not acting accordingly and get that weird-ass bitch for a mother-in-law? Ain’t shit stopping that fuckboy from discarding you like a malfunctioning doll.’ He leans forward on his knees, pointing a pixelated finger at her phone screen. ‘That limp dick won’t promise you security or happiness, princess. All he is is a reminder of a life that kicked you in the teeth and left you for dead. C’mon, V.’ Johnny sighs when V clutches her phone like a lifeline. ‘You died once, and now you’ve got a chance to do whatever the fuck you want! We can get rich by blowing a few brains out, get you some hardware that isn’t melting, and then—‘ He braces himself with a deep breath, pushing the words through gritted teeth. ‘— go to the salon and get pretty nails or some shit like that.’

V laughs out loud at Johnny’s disgust, catching her couch companion's attention.

“Having a good time, bestie?” she asks over the music that morphed from bass house to electro-pop. “Hey, are you alright? Whatcha crying about?”

What even is she crying about? Lack of safety and reassurance? Missing a life where every day was pre-written and the only bad days were the hungover ones? “I don’t know. I guess I just can’t turn back time and it’s making me sad.”

While getting hugs and a few encouraging words, V tries to wade through the sludge of her brain to do as Johnny said, to think outside the pre-built box and find a trace of ambition that isn’t connected to Arasaka.

“I guess I enjoy netrunning. It’s fun, but my cyberdeck can’t handle the strain anymore.”

‘Then we have a goal,’ Johnny declares, and despite the haze, lights a small spark of hope that one day, she won’t be running back to Troy to get a taste of a life that threw her into the gutter the moment she lost value.

Even more, when waking up the following day on someone’s bed with crusty mascara and a breath to challenge Steve, among the messages on her dying phone, is a particular someone that makes her heart buzz.

Someone who asks if she has dinner plans the following weekend.

Chapter Text

“You’re not seriously considering this?” 

“And why not? Oh, how about this color?” 

“Peach? Nah, that’s ugly as fuck. Go for that one.”

“This? I thought you said that one’s too bright for my—what was it?—pale-ass skin?”

“Yeah, well, you’re tanned now, so go for it. Maybe add glitter.”

“Oh, excellent idea.”

V points at the turquoise swatch for the nail technician and swipes the catalogue away from the mirror. 

'It’s a shitty idea because he’s a fucking pig, suspended or not, and they never change. Once a pig, always a pig.'

“Once a fuckboy terrorist, always a—”

'That’s different!” Johnny appears with folded arms, sitting on the stool next to V’s chair like a sour toddler. “It’s about morals and fighting for justice for those stomped like dog shit beneath Corpo boots, not abusing a shiny badge to sniff coke off some fancy whore’s ass.'

V places her hand on the metal tray for the machine to scan her nails, gears whirring alive as she reclines. Earning two thousand for stealing a USB has been her best deal in some time.

“Hmm, I don’t know if there’s that much of a difference.”

‘IT’S DIFFERENT, I TELL YOU!’

“Mhm.”

“Not this… Probably not this one either… Or this one… Oh, what about this?”

“You want to wear a cocktail dress out in the boonies?” 

“It’s a family dinner, is it not?” V holds the piece up for Johnny to view. “What’s wrong with the dress?” 

‘You’ll look like a fucking real estate agent who’s there to scope out their land and sell it from under their feet.’

“Oh. I suppose I forgot about that.”

‘What, that poverty-stricken people can’t trust anyone not to steal their entire livelihood because there happened to be an oil asset beneath their house? That thing?’

V hangs the dress back in her wardrobe, the only part of her apartment that isn’t in complete disarray. “… Yes, that thing.” Waving the guilt away, she pulls out a pair of pressed trousers. “What about these?”

‘Only if you pair it with something casual.” Johnny points his cigarette at her. ‘And no, a suit jacket is not casual.’

Sighing, V picks out a black tank top dotted with pink hearts she found in some meth addict's home after retrieving intel for Regina and combines it with her cropped pink jacket. Together with a clump of nerves and Johnny’s reluctant approval, she exits her building a few hours later, pretends not to see the guy vomiting in the trashcan outside the elevator, and sighs some of the heaviness out when the obnoxious Thorton rolls to a stop by the sidewalk.

Ward, wearing the same ugly coat but with black jeans and a white, slightly wrinkled dress shirt, pushes the door open for her from inside the car with a beaming smile that melts the tension out of V’s nerves.

“Your ride, my lady,” he welcomes her, even holding out a hand to assist her. She doesn’t need it, but the sparking joy in his eye would only make her feel bad. 

‘Don’t drop your guard just because he makes your pussy tingle,’ Johnny warns, retching when she accepts Ward’s gesture, which on its own makes her heart flutter annoyingly. She quickly spots the snack stash between the seats and turns her focus on that. “My, will we be traveling the whole day?” 

“Not quite.” Ward hands over an iced Americano once she’s strapped in, which only adds to the list of fairytale prince traits the man’s collected over the months. She ignores Johnny's warning that she’s being used and sips the refreshing drink. “It’s about two hours away, but I didn’t know what you felt like.”

V rummages through the pocket, one package of treats at a time. “So, you got one of everything?” 

“Um, well.” Ward smiles sheepishly when she quirks an eyebrow and decides to roll onto the street, suddenly busy watching the traffic. “Can’t have you hungry, right?”

There’s an odd sense of calm to ride with Ward through the city and beyond, back to the endless dunes they raced past to reach his nephew and a handful of other children, though this time they take a right turn long before being anywhere near the farm.

“How have you coped?” Ward asks, perhaps too reminded of the nightmare as they pass rows of windmills on each side of the road. 

“Not in any way that would be deemed healthy,” V admits to the yellow landscape, resting the iced coffee straw against her lip. Ward never ceases to impress her and simultaneously sicken Johnny with all these little gifts, which is incredibly impressive. “Bucketloads of alcohol and a pair of very expensive shoes.” She lifts her foot to offer a peek at her black chunky heels with gold buckles, which the remainder of the two thousand went to. Ward sounds an appreciative hum. “Nothing substantial, of course, but it helped in the moment. How about you? Did you take any action on the psychopath?”

“Almost.” Ward’s usual calm expression deepens in a frown. “Made it all the way to his bed, gun in hand, and thought of ending it right there, but… I don’t know.” His mouth flattens into a straight line. “Made me think back to that moment when I was a kid. When, um. Well, my folks were… murdered.” He flashes a crooked smile. “Not the funniest car ride story, but it happened.”

Old articles resurface in V’s memory. “I did find those news when I dug around your past.” She offers an equally crooked smile in return for his raised eyebrows. “My condolences. I can’t imagine they deserved such a fate.”

“No, they didn’t.”

V sits in silence as Ward retells the story of the burglary gone wrong, how the criminals tried to turn him into a murderer at the pure age of eight. Even Johnny keeps quiet, staring out the window, his unease blending into hers as Ward goes down a dark, blood-splattered memory lane.

“So, yeah,” he concludes with a sigh. “Standing at that hospital bed, gun pressed against Harris’ forehead, it brought me back, made me hesitate. Made me think I wasn’t any better than the meth-head who killed my parents.”

‘Sounds like a pussy excuse to me.’

“If you had any humanity at all, you’d see beyond your own needs.” V glares at Johnny’s image in the rearview mirror, where she’s met with a middle finger. “Or is that reserved for the lesser fortunate fucked over by Arasaka?”

‘You wouldn’t know about being less fortunate if it hit you across the head.’

“So getting robbed of my entire livelihood and shot in the head still counts as privilege? Good to know.”

“Spotting something?”

V turns back to Ward with a forced chuckle. “Always good to be on your guard. Coast is clear, former detective.”

A shadow of disappointment flashes across Ward’s face at the speed of a passing streetlight. He focuses on the road again, re-gripping the wheel a few times. “Still going with formal titles,” he notes, shoulders tensing. “Not the easiest one to befriend, hm?”

A clawing mixture of threat and shame grows in V’s stomach. As much as she secretly wants to open up all the rusty doors to her sad life, just as frightened is she to end up in another scrapyard. “No, I don’t suppose I am,” she admits, despite Johnny’s frustration itching in the back of her head. She can imagine the fuckboy’s glee if she shut Ward down once and for all, but with each time they’ve met, the lesser the urge to bar those doors tighter. “Are you suggesting we should move past it?”

Ward’s cheeks turn pink, and he adjusts his grip on the wheel again. “Well, um. I’d… I’d like that…? I mean. I would like us to be more personal.” He side-eyes V, whose stomach knots. ”Unless you don’t want that.”

Johnny whines miserably in the backseat while V’s emotions boil with panic and excitement. “We barely know each other.”

“Another good reason to, yeah?” He turns a sharp corner with such ease they might as well be traveling via hovercraft. “To actually get to know each other. Privately.”

‘This is it, princess; this is what I’ve been warning you about! It’s all a fucking show to get under your skin, inside your panties, and then you’re too deep in it to notice until he shoots you in the back of the knee!’

It takes all of V’s impulse control not to turn around and gawk at the madman. “You need serious help.”

However, as much as she blames Johnny’s worries on unreasonable paranoia and general distrust in everyone above the poverty line, she can’t discard his caution entirely. She too lives surrounded by opportunistic, power-horny egos.

“Are you hoping to learn something in particular?”

Ward briefly meets her gaze with a tired expression before focusing on merging onto the highway. “You worry I’ll dig out sensitive information and sell it off?”

‘See?! Even the pig gets it!’

“Oh, shush, you dramatic toddler.”

“Not necessarily.” V pops another peach into her mouth. “I’m used to restricting personal information for my own safety. I don’t expect you to deliberately hurt me with my favorite brand of champagne or pet preference, but there are people out there who can take the smallest detail and use it to run your career into oblivion.” She watches Ward watching the traffic ahead with a flat smile. “Does it annoy you?”

“Yes. I also understand it, and it annoys me that you’ve had to distrust everyone to survive.”

“It has saved me a lot of grief.”

“What if you missed out on something good?”

“Like what?” She can’t help but ask even though she knows. Perhaps she only asks because Ward’s blushing is cute, or because she wants to dig around his intentions.

“Like, um. You know.” Ward’s shoulders creep towards his ears, making him hunch over the wheel like a cooked prawn. “Someone who wants to enjoy a pretty view with you, or relax with you after a long day watching a movie, or maybe spend the morning at a cafe with you.” His voice drops an octave. “Someone who treats you nice and doesn’t abuse you or guilt you into spending time together.”

The urge to defend herself and Troy is nothing but pathetic, so she tries to bite back arguing by chewing on another piece of candy. Tries. “I never said he hits me.”

“Oh please, I don’t need twenty years of detective service to figure that out. Didn’t need to check out his history either.” Ward relaxes in the seat again with a troubled frown. “I won’t ask you to tell me any details if you don’t wish to, but I’m not stupid enough to think whatever deal you’re having is healthy.”

It’s a mix of relief and frustration in being figured out. Her ego hates it, hates that she hasn’t been more careful of what she puts on display, while her heart soars at Ward already knowing. 

“It’s complicated,” she mutters around the straw and sips some coffee.

“Do you want out?”

The scarce landscape keeps on forcing images into her mind that she still fights endlessly to suppress, be it with fantasies or with alcohol. Tubes, bruises, scars. Johnny too has gone eerily quiet, and something resembling hope gleams in his designated corner of her mind, like even he dares to believe V can get out of this cursed situation. “I don’t know.”

Even in the corner of her eye she can spot Ward’s bafflement. She tries to swallow the nightmarish memories with more coffee. “Don’t get me wrong; I’m well aware that it’s a bad situation. I’m just so used to it that I struggle to find a reason to change.”

The following ten minutes of the ride are spent in silence, save for rustling candy wrappers and the occasional gravel hitting the side of the car. V shouldn’t care what Ward thinks, but it’s hard not to grow anxious when his steely gaze won’t budge from the empty road.

“What would be a reason, then?” Ward asks. “To get out?”

As if she hasn’t tried to figure that out since getting shot in the head?

“If I knew, I might’ve tried already.” V fiddles with a sugar-coated peach, gently squeezing it between her nails. “Perhaps… if I knew my life wouldn’t fall apart? If I knew that, in case I managed to step away, the choice wouldn’t haunt me, and I wouldn’t end up like a discarded doll on the sidewalk.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

V laughs, though it quickly dies down when Ward doesn’t join in or admit to being joking. “Don’t be silly; you have no obligation to save me.”

“No, but I want to.” Ward looks over at her long enough to spot the unmistakable sincerity. “And I’m not just saying that. I get that you’re distrusting of everything that moves, but I’d help you out of there. The last thing I want is another woman being mistreated and abused in my life.”

“Tell me he’s lying.”

Johnny clears his throat and meets V’s gaze in the rearview mirror, though the usual conviction isn’t there, which is perhaps why he pushes his shades up higher. ‘As if you’d believe me now all of a sudden? Of course it’s a trick.’ 

“You don’t sound too sure.”

‘I am!’

“Another woman?” V prods.

Ward’s knuckles pales around the wheel. “Remember I told you about Joss’ ex?”

“Oh. Right.”

V tries to imagine what it’s like to have a trusting pillar at your side to lean against when all else crumbles. The first emotion responding is annoyance, then her ego bursts out crying that she’s capable of taking care of herself and doesn’t need a hero, quickly followed by anger at the idea that anyone even considers she needs protection.

Then, sneaking in from the sideline, longing peers through the clawing mess of emotions, like a hibernating animal woken by the promise of spring.

Fear joins the sleepy beast.

“It all sounds… quite committal,” she tells the worn interior, undecided on which emotion to let lead. “Like too much energy being wasted on someone you barely know.”

Ward hums. “Maybe it is?” He suggests, meeting V’s frown with a quick side-eye. “Maybe I won’t get anything out of supporting you. But it would feel right.”

“Is it a cop thing?”

Another, longer hum, and Ward tips his head side to side in thought. “No. I’d say it’s a ‘me’ thing. I’ve been told enough times that I give people too much faith, and perhaps I do. But, y’know, someone’s got to, right?”

The conversation is cut short when Ward accepts a remote call, and V gazes out at the vast nothingness of the desert with the drowsy beast slowly becoming alert enough to poke at her heart. Could it be that she’s actually worth the energy to be assisted out of this burning trash heap of a life?

“Blasted, disgusting feelings.”

‘Y’said it, princess; I’m two seconds away from vomiting all over this ugly-ass car.’ There's an uncomfortable pause where Johnny looks down his lap, and V can't discern if the says or thinks it, but the words 'You're worth it, you dumb bitch' sounds in her brain, making the sleepy beast purr in agreement.

About ten minutes later, Ward turns the car into a busy street lined with trailers, both mobile and stationary, most with rundown cars parked at the road. V spots a few missing tires but shifts her attention to the driveway, where they roll to a stop. She didn’t feel nervous earlier, but seeing Joss’ home, hearing children laughing, and counting metal scrap and trash strewn around the area suddenly makes this meeting very real—and important.

They’re not dating, yet still she wants to give off a good impression on Ward’s sister, if only to prove to someone that she’s not a complete failure—which is apparently hilarious because Johnny all but chokes on his own spit, guffawing in the back of the car—though that thought quickly crumbles when Ward assists her out of the vehicle and is immediately met with a frown so deep, it’s visible across the driveway and probably all the way from The Crystal Palace space station.

“Well… fuck.”

Joss gauges her with the same eyes as the store clerk near her apartment complex when she puts on a clean, pretty face to buy cigarettes, like she’s unreal. 

And not in a complimentary kind of way, but more in a "Who the fuck are you trying to convince?" way, which makes V's palms clammy.

Johnny flitters into existence, circling Joss with a contemplative hum. ‘Trailer girl’s seeing right through those fancy clothes. Ain't no tricking this chick.’

V smiles through the surge of discomfort and waves a nervous “Hello” while Ward introduces her to his sister. From what V remembers, they haven’t had the strongest relationship until this whole situation with Randy, which is a sad ingredient for reunion, but Ward spoke well of her on their way there. 

The only question is what he’s said about V to her in return. 

Despite looking like she’d rather put her cigarette out on V’s throat, Joss half-waves back and thanks her for helping rescue Randy.

“This whole ordeal has been, y’know… a lot,” Joss says with as much of a smile as a distraught mother can muster. “He’ll be in the hospital for a while, but at least he’s safe and recovering. I don’t know about his mental state, since he isn’t much of a talker…” Sorrow shades her eyes until she picks herself up with a deep inhale. Gosh, who can imagine the stress she’s gone through? “At least he’s alive. So, thanks, V, for helping that happen.”

“It was mostly Ward’s—I mean River’s work.”

River’s mouth twitches into a suppressed smile, and the urge to roll her eyes at his little antics is almost overwhelming, though they’re immediately interrupted by Joss’ children, one more eager than the other to greet her and immediately take over the task of showing her around. V chuckles nervously when being grabbed by the hand and pulled across the yard, looking over her shoulder at Ward, who waves her farewell with a smug-ass grin.

“Traitor,” she mouths, but perhaps it’s for the best not to stick around when Joss seemingly has opinions to share already. V’s stomach knots.

“I don’t think she likes me.”

Johnny appears sitting on the stairs to the porch, lighting a cigarette squeezed tight between his grinning lips. ‘Told ya, princess, she’s seeing straight through all your bullshit.’ He pockets the lighter and smirks when she’s led past to be shown the outside gym, which apparently is Ward’s favorite spot. ‘If you wanna impress that hard-ass lady, you better cut the crap already.’

Because Ward’s sister is definitely the first person who needs to learn about her drug addiction.

“Great. Absolutely great.”

Chapter Text

“… and this is my room!” Monique announces proudly, opening a door down the short hallway through the trailer with a fling of her arm. V bites back the urge to gasp, and not in awe.

Dorian utters a wounded sound and hurries into the room with wide arms. “It’s my room too!”

“It was my room first!”

V forces a smile while taking in the shell of a children’s bedroom while the siblings shout at each other over the privilege of calling it their own: frazzled sheets, peeling wallpaper, chipped toys, and a crooked bookshelf with barely enough books to earn the name. The floors are all fake wood and most inches are covered with mismatched carpets, perhaps to make up for the fact and failing horribly. It doesn’t smell anywhere as bad as her current apartment posing as a laboratory for mold spores, though it’s still not near the standard of a child’s resting place and eons away from the room she grew up in.

‘Getting all sad for the poor now, are we? Fitting.’ Johnny’s smug voice echoes through her head and into the room as he appears in it, gesturing with his cigarette. ‘What, you think all kids sleep in bedazzled beds and silk? Don’t be so fucking dumb, princess.’

V withholds the urge to roll her eyes in front of Monique and Dorian, who fight to show off their latest set of building blocks that Ward got them—old, rugged, and possibly gnawed on. V summons joy to match theirs with much effort. “Wow, those are… some nice blocks you have!” She holds her hand out when Dorian offers a block with faded red paint and feels the chipped texture beneath her thumb. Imagine being thrilled about something so damaged because it’s one of the nicest things you own. “That was very kind of him. What else do you like to play with?”

“Trouble in Haywood in VR!”

“Battle trucks!”

V keeps her mouth shut when the siblings immediately start fighting over which one of their favorites is ‘correct,’ unsure if she should interfere or just leave it, though at least Johnny enjoys her discomfort, which is… something. It all ends when Joss calls her children out, leaving V awkwardly standing in their bedroom with the tattered block in her hand. 

She’s never been blind to poverty, but it’s always been a concept shown on the news whenever some poor neighborhood got attacked or evacuated in order for a new drilling operation to take place, relocating people to somehow worse conditions than the trailer parks, the corrugated metal sheds, or even sewers in some cases. 

Here, in a tattered child’s bedroom with cracked ceiling paint and sticky plastic floor, there’s no screen to filter out the cruel reality from the comfort of a penthouse apartment with an infinity pool. Here, it’s just tragic, and V doesn't know what to do with those emotions.

‘Sucks, doesn’t it?’ Johnny sits on one of the beds and looks out the dusty window, a touch of sadness in his voice that’s traded for bitter salt the second he meets V’s gaze.‘Realizing people have it worse than you.’

“Oh, please, now you’re just trying to be nasty. I’m well aware that my privileges aren’t universal.” Still, as she returns the block to its group on the floor, sorrow grows into a palpable thing in her throat, alongside a sudden urge to clean her apartment. She hurries out of the room, away from the discomfort of reality.

Outside, the world smells of burning sand in the warm afternoon. Ward has tossed the heinous coat over the back of a chair and is currently preparing a variety of vegetables next to an outdoor grill. The wrinkled sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and, so far, he’s made it without a single stain, which is almost as impressive as his driving skills.

Which, as impressed as she is by that, it’s nowhere near the level of awe as his exposed skin fills her with. 

‘Damn women and their damn hormones,’ Johnny mutters before disappearing in a mess of pixels, letting V and her damn hormones enjoy a pair of well-crafted forearms. She’d never doubt him being strong—his sheer size and width is enough of a testament—but it’s more of a struggle than she might admit to to tear her gaze away from the impressive girth his sleeve strains around.

“Looks like your ears are intact,” Ward comments when she approaches, her new heels a little wobbly across the uneven yard where tufts of grass stick out here and there in the sand. He smiles, and V’s heart shudders a little. “Honestly, I’m impressed you made it out alive.”

V exhales a laugh and stops by the setup, featuring a somewhat rusty grill sawed out of a barrel and fitted with a grate where hot coal sizzles below, heating fist-sized pieces of white bread. A whiff of garlic reaches her nose, mingling with the dry air that’ll be awful for her hair. Next to the bread sits a huge pot with butter bubbling in the bottom, soaking into a variety of herbs. Further down the yard, Joss is forcing the whining kids to help her plate a parasol-shaded table, though all she hears is more squabbling between the kids. It makes her wonder what it would’ve been like to have a sibling. “You’d be surprised to learn how used I am to having someone babbling in my ear all day.” Not really thinking it through, she’s met with a puzzled smile and Johnny sighing so deeply it vibrates through her skull. “It’s um… I’ll tell you at a better time.”

“Right.” Ward’s curiosity doesn’t mellow, but he remains quiet long enough for V to try and change the subject. She’s given up on the idea of hiding anything from the detective, but her ego hasn’t.

“So, this all looks…unfamiliar,” she comments airily on the different vegetables, recognizing some of them but not enough to summarize a dish. She points at a green, tube-like vegetable. “What’s this one?”

“That’s okra,” Ward informs her with a rather sweet enthusiasm. “Or ‘ladies fingers,’ they’re also called, though I’ve never met a lady with fingers looking anything like that.”

V looks at her own fingers; while hardly rough, the originally smooth, high-moisture Biotechnica filter has been in need of an update for at least a year now, though that’s far out of her funding options. If she squints, she’s even able to pick out a few fine lines, which is all the more reason to look away and instead focus on Ward’s knife work; it’s clumsy at best, leaving each dice of vegetable cut in a different shape and size, but V couldn’t care less about symmetric plant food.

It’s domestic.

The Beast of Longing purrs in delight. Johnny retches.

“So,” she starts, turning to fiddle with her hands when the looming question won’t come out right, no matter how she twists it in her head.

Ward looks up from dicing the okra into somewhat similarly sized bits. V recognizes it now that she sees the inside, though it’s been fried and topped with golden flakes at The Coastline. “So?” He echoes.

V makes a subtle nod in Joss’ direction, stubbornly staring at the butchered lady's fingers. “How bad is it?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Ward turns back to the vegetable, carefully cutting it into sloping circles. “She’s just… worried, I guess. Haven’t had many good moments with bureaucrats or…corpo suits.”

And there went any hope out the window that dressing down would help. Johnny snorts at her from his corner of her brain. “I see,” she mutters, what little confidence she arrived with seeping through the grains beneath her already dusty heels.

“Don’t think too much about it; she’s a good person, just… you know.” Ward waves the knife in slow, contemplative circles. The muscles in his forearm flex from the motion, and V swallows an excessive amount of saliva. Would it physically possible, Johnny’s vomit would fill her brain and seep out her ears. The image makes her shudder in disgust. “She’s been surrounded by a lot of bad people, and now this whole thing with Randy.” He chops up the rest of the okra. “It’s made her wary.”

Well, at least they have something in common already.

When Ward later asks V to go inside and find a package of rice, a cold lump of nerves grows in her stomach when finding Joss in the kitchen rummaging around a cluttered cabinet with chipped yellow paint. The only homes she’s gone through are the ones belonging to whoever her client wants her to retrieve something from: a USB, jewelry, a sentimental T-shirt, exclusive bottles of alcohol, and the occasional guitar. 

Searching Joss’ home, even on demand, just doesn’t feel right. Maybe because Joss doesn’t want her there, and V can sense it.

“Hi, um,” she starts off like an awkward teenager looking for a glass in her classmate’s home, “Wa—River asked me to get some rice.”

Joss glances at her over her shoulder, her familiar dark eyes unimpressed, like she’s watching a clown failing to tie a balloon animal. V sure feels like one. “On the third shelf in the pantry,” she informs flatly and returns to searching amongst vases and refurbished jars. “The door to your right.”

V spots said door with a murmuring “thank you” and gets as far as reaching for the handle when Joss speaks again.

“You’re not his type,” she points out with equal measures of disinterest and suspicion, her voice mingling with clinking porcelain. “I’m tryn’ to figure out why you’re here.”

The knot grows colder in V’s stomach. Part of her wants to jab back with a vicious remark to establish status, but a voice in the back of her head reminds her that this isn’t an office brawl for respect—it’s a concerned sibling who’s been done over numerous times. It’s Johnny’s voice, and V breathes the hurt away.

“You’re quite right,” she responds instead and pulls the pantry door open with a click. “I’m not his type. I’ve been trying to tell him that, but he’s rather stubborn.” She opens the pantry fully, and her heart sinks at the sparse variety and dusty shelves. Ward must be the one who brought the vegetables for today’s dish, and she has an inkling that Joss had opinions on that, too. “And too kind.”

Joss snorts. “Yeah, I know; I told him a thousand times, but he’s too thick to listen.”

V smiles for a second and decides to try this lane instead of attempting to be impressive, given her curriculum vitae being horribly poor outside an office. What could she awe Joss with—a moldy apartment and a bleeding brain?

“Good to hear that I’m not the only person who has failed to make him see it.” V immediately spots the rice, which is the only grain on that shelf. Next to it are a couple of half-full packages of pasta in different, child-friendly shapes. The shelf above features canned sauces and vegetables, a glass jar with pickles, and a can of pineapple slices. It reminds V of an exclusive, generous dessert she ate as a child at a friend’s birthday party, and it was the most delicious thing. She makes a mental note of looking for something similar next time she visits the Plaza. “What is his type?”

“Fancy-pants, apparently.” Joss side-eyes her across the kitchen, and V doesn’t need to see it to feel it. It’s a nasty, stinging type of look, one she’d get from commoners when sauntering down the pier to board another five-story luxury boat with a helicopter pad, and she’d feel so proud, so rich.

So accomplished.

Now, all she feels is the void between herself and Joss, between herself and someone who’s never eaten anything on a gilded spoon.

She can’t imagine what the reaction would’ve been had she shown up in that dress she first picked out. 

“He used to be into bikers,” Joss goes on, and V's heart sinks a notch. “Found him drooling by the road when they came by in hordes, women in leather gear and all mysterious behind tinted helmets.” She eases down on her heels as V closes the pantry, clutching a large glass jug that she fills with water from a plastic reservoir on the counter. She side-eyes her again. “You don’t look like you ride bikes.”

‘Fuck, what a pathetic sight that would’ve been.’

“Gosh no, I’d never.” V chuckles alongside Johnny at the imagery of her falling off a motorcycle. Her with embarrassment, him in joy. It’s easier than imagining Ward getting tired of her since she’s neither very mysterious nor enthusiastic about leather. Would he? “I grew up with a private chauffeur. My parents would disown me if I so much as purchased one.” She fiddles with the rice package as a gust of sadness sweeps through her chest. She couldn’t imagine the look on their faces if they learned that their perfectly molded princess busied herself shooting thugs in the back alleys of Kabuki. Mother would faint. Father would slap her. “Though, to be honest, they would disown me if they knew I got fired as well, so perhaps I’ll look into one. I imagine they come in pink.”

Joss huffs, and it almost sounds amused. “You got them career parents, then?”

“No need to lie about these bits, I suppose.”

‘Princess, you don’t want to lie about any bit to her, I swear it.’

For once, V wholeheartedly trusts Johnny, because while she knows pompous snobs, he knows people.

“Yes,” V confirms with some reluctance. The last thing she wants is to come across as more of a brat than she’s already being accused of, be it non-verbally. “My family has a long line of successful entrepreneurs, lawyers, and one or two doctors, so the pressure as the only child is… suffocating, if I’m honest.” She leans against the pantry door, which creaks gently beneath her weight, and takes a moment to recall one of the last talks with her mother. There were a lot of remarks about career ladders, future heirs, weight loss, and the obligatory jab about dying her hair dark brown. Oh, if she only knew how vibrant grime is in platinum blond. 

Not that that’s her original hair color either.

“They already picked out my life for me, and I’m continuing to fail their expectations. I still haven’t figured out how to drop the news of not belonging to Arasaka anymore.”

The pouring stops, and Joss remains quiet for long enough that V quirks an eyebrow at her back. “What life’s that?” she asks, and it’s not as wary as previous questions. She almost sounds curious, and V won’t lose the chance of getting through her laser grid of caution.

“Oh. Well.” V chuckles at the absurdity of it, of herself, of memories from her loveless upbringing popping up like bubbles in a glass of Louis Roederer Cristal Brut. Antique. “One that gets a pretty title, at least fifteen articles of praise in some paper no one affords to read, and that makes a fortune in anyway possible. Also, a wealthy husband with an equally impressive status, preferably a millionaire, who can give you an offspring they can mold into the next star.”

‘Pathetic,’ Johnny mutters in her brain, though the word is spoken in sympathy. Or something close to it. V hums in agreement.

Joss puts the jug down and turns around to lean against counter, hands on her hips like a disbelieving teacher just hearing about their student’s dog eating their homework. She studies V in a way that she feels right down to her molecules. “River’s not any of that, y’know?”

That warm, annoying fuzz comes to life in V’s chest, and The Beast of Longing yawns. “I know. I think that’s why I enjoy his company, because he’s a stranger in my world. No extravagance, no fake smiles, no splurging to make up for lacking personality. He just is, and he’s so caring and kind, and not because he has to.” V smooths a thumb across the rice package, across the printed certificate promising no lethal amounts of arsenic, trying to soothe the beast busy nesting in her chest. “He’s genuine, and I’m sadly unfamiliar with that. Most of my company is all smoke and mirrors, so I thought he kept in contact just to use my skills. I’ve tried to push him away, trust me, because I don’t think I’m healthy company, but it’s difficult when he stubbornly sees what little is good in me.” The package easily crinkles when she digs her thumbs in it a little harder to help admit the following sentence. “I hate to admit it, but he sort of… inspires me to be even better. Just don’t tell him that.”

When V dares to meet Joss’ gaze again, her hard shell has softened, and the look V gets is one of recognition.

“He’s like that, isn’t he? Too pure.” Joss shakes her head, her dull hair dancing across her cheeks. “Infuriating. ‘s why we haven’t spoken for long, when he got into this space of aiding everyone except himself or his family, thinking he alone can save the world. I’m glad he’s back, though.” She grabs the overflowing jug and shoots V a pointed look. “And I’d hate to see him suffer again.”

V can’t find it to be insulting; if anything, she’s jealous of Joss’ fierce sense of protection over a brother she just recently got back into contact with after hating him for years. Is that what siblinghood is? Protecting each other no matter how much time has passed? “I don’t plan on hurting him. I couldn’t live with the guilt of crushing his boy scout heart.”

Joss snorts a laugh, and the tension lifts a notch. “That’s a helluva good way to put it. I’ll probably steal that.” She takes a step in the direction of the door, then stops. The tension rises again before she even opens her mouth, and a cold chill runs down V’s spine. “What’s the baggage, then?”

V blinks. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

Joss looks at her like she’s trying to hide a smoking cigarette behind her back. “The baggage. What’s the thing River’s tryna fix?”

V’s stomach knots. “Oh.”

‘I’d marry her,’ Johnny says with a deep, longing sigh. ‘Living in your brain’s made me fucking desperate for IQ.’

“W-well.”

The urge to lie is almost overwhelming; Joss is in no position to demand secrets out of her, protective or not. Despite that, Johnny’s former words about her sharp gaze seeing straight through all the fake layers cut down the idea of feigning ignorance, and V sees the X-ray vision in Joss’ familiar dark eyes. She’s already been discovered; she knows it because Joss does the universal eyebrow quirk, which means ‘I knew it.’

V taps her nails on the rice package while picking her words. How forward should she be? Backing out now will only make Joss’ laser grid burn brighter, and V can’t risk that. She might as well put it all out there, shouldn’t she? “A forced relationship with a violent substance distributor,” she replies, the words hanging like heavy weights in the cluttered kitchen as well as in her chest. Saying it out loud tastes vile, like a nasty lie, and her stomach twists again.

“Is that truly how it is?”

Johnny snorts in frustration. ‘Took you long enough, you dumbass.’

For a moment, the only noises are the gentle whoosh of the ceiling fan and faint laughter from the children outside. V can’t find the courage to look Joss in the eyes and keeps her gaze on the rice package, not able to focus on any words telling the company's history either. Does anyone pick a product based on the year the company was established or how they use ‘traditional’ means to harvest? What even counts as ‘traditional’ nowadays?

“So,” Joss says after what feels like an eternity of being scrutinized, “drugs?”

The words cut like razors into V’s ego while Johnny whistles in amazement. ‘Damn, trailer girl is fucking good. She’d be a better investigator than your pig.’

“Yes,” she confirms in more of a whisper than intended, her knees feeling weak all of a sudden. “I… haven’t said it out loud to him yet. Suppose I’m too… proud or cowardly. Perhaps both.” She exhales an empty laugh. Why is she even saying this? But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “I always thought I wasn’t as bad as those begging on the streets, but the itch is there nonetheless. Wa-River probably figured it out weeks ago, but I’m aware I need to... confess it.”

Joss frowns, and V can’t make out at what. Perhaps all of her. “When are you gonna tell him?”

What little kindness V could discern in Joss’ voice is gone, and she realizes that this denial might’ve been going on for too long anyway. Ward doesn’t know about her addiction, at least not from her mouth, about Johnny, about her being shot—nothing except what little is available in hidden folders and what she shares. A sheltered part of her yearns for unconditional affection, and if Ward isn’t her best shot at finding it, then who is?

‘Don’t go that way,’ Johnny warns, but V can’t sense the usual anger whenever Ward is the topic. There’s a quiver of hope in his disapproving tone, and V can’t help but wonder if he’s softening to the idea of her needing a filthy cop pig to relieve her of her useless life. His immediate disgust says otherwise, but V wouldn’t put it past him to react like that out of habit.

“I will tell him after today,” V decides. “I’d rather give him the option to step out of my catastrophic life before he actually grows to like me.”

“Girl, I think you’re too late for that,” Joss informs with a hint of amusement but doesn’t let V comprehend it before going on. “So, what’s your plan? Just gonna keep on abusing and, what, hope it’ll go away on its own?”

“Ouch.”

‘Fuck, I like this chick. Think she’s into legendary rockers?’

“No, she seems sensible.”

Johnny mutters an insult while V tries to focus on a response with Joss’ comment about it being ‘too late’ echoing in her head. “Um. Well, I do have a plan, actually. It requires getting out of a rather embarrassing situation first, but when I do, I… dare hope that I can find peace without supplements.” She musters enough courage to straighten her spine. “River is already being more supportive than I could’ve asked for, so it’s only fair I honor it.”

Seemingly not convinced, Joss still hums in acknowledgment and walks out of the kitchen. “I’ll keep you to that, Miss Fancy-Pants,” she calls over her shoulder, the tiniest smirk on her lips, and V can’t decide if she wants to collapse and weep or celebrate.

It still feels like an accomplishment. 

The sun-stained plastic chair creaks in warning when V takes an awkward seat, urged by Ward, who follows with the humorously large pot and places it in the middle of the table that’s been adorned with a red-dotted vinyl cloth, making the little setup resemble those idyllic picnics in the few movies V managed to make time for. Monique and Dorian are eagerly jumping in their seats, and V can’t blame them; the intense aroma from the jambalaya overwhelms the arid air and its faint tones of sunburnt trash from somewhere deeper into the neighborhood. It brings promises of something far more exotic than illegally fished scallops.

Domestic.

The promise to reveal her secrets to Ward hangs over her head while she’s served a bowl of unsymmetrical vegetables, but she eases the anxiety with the knowledge that tonight will be the night she makes or breaks whatever future she can have with a pure-hearted boy scout.

‘Ugh, don’t fucking call it future; you’re making it sound like you want more than a quick fuck in a fancy bathroom.’

Denying that will only make her look even more stupid. Johnny whines in emotional pain. V feels a little better about that.

V eats beneath Ward’s watchful gaze and struggles not to laugh at the nerves skittering across his face at her first mouthful. It’s rich with spices and a deep, smoky tang that blends nicely with the subtle sweetness of the many greens, enough so that his claim of it being a family tradition makes sense. He doesn’t focus on his own food until V assures him it’s perfectly tasty, and her heart does a silly little jump at his relief.

Would he look at her like that across the kitchen table in his apartment after serving her some foreign recipe, which is really just a common dish she’s been sheltered from?

Would he like to cook for her, despite her fussy palate?

What type of food does he even like? He served them Italian back then, when sweeping her off the street and into his enormous bed.

‘You’re making me sick.’

“That brings me such joy.”

It starts off as awkwardly as any family dinner; no one claims the lead with a subject for discussion, and everyone mostly comments on the food, until Monique pipes up from her plate. She’s pushed the okra aside after an experimental bite. “Is your name really just ‘V’?” She asks, and V pauses with her spoon halfway to her mouth. Of course.

“Kids.”

‘Oh, I’m here for this interrogation.’

V dips her spoon back into the bowl.

“No, V is just my nickname,” she replies as amicably as she’s able while her nerves twist around themselves, not putting it past a child to ask questions she has no intention of responding to in front of anyone. Especially Ward. “My full name is Vivica.”

“What do you do?” comes the follow-up question, and V side-eyes a giggling Ward, who at least has the decency to offer a sympathetic smile. Across from him, Joss is looking arguably amused too. V takes it as another win and clears her throat.

“I help people sort out their problems,” she carefully replies, and the rest of the dinner is spent with her skirting around the children’s curiosity with carefully picked answers about herself, her family, her favorite colors, and what lawyers do for work, all while her audience are having a blast watching her suffer.

She decides that's a win as well.

“I’m quite sure my ears are bleeding.” V touches the shell of her ear, finding no blood there, and gently slaps Ward’s arm when he dares chuckle at her. The fond smile she gets in return is nauseating, and she wants another one immediately. The little family has retreated inside with dishes, and V does her best to help gather pots and platters from the table without getting sticky sauces or butter on her fingers. “How do you manage?”

“Leaving for a few days to recharge,” Ward replies half-jokingly, but V imagines that’s the best option. “Didn’t know your mom’s a lawyer, though. Not much family gossip in your file.”

“Not unless they’re a threat of any kind or need to be under supervision from Arasaka. You know, should they be a rival,” V adds at Ward’s perplexed expression and finishes off with a shrug. “My parents aren’t involved with the corporation like I was, but my mom did help out with a legal case when the Indonesian toy manufacturing facilities got caught using child labor. How's that for irony?”

Ward looks at her with caution, frowning a little. “And which side did she assist?” he asks, and the flat smile V offers in return is enough of an answer. “… Right,” Ward says bitterly, and whatever he resists from saying probably isn’t complimentary, judging by his frown deepening. V has always looked up to her parents, until she got stabbed in the back and robbed of her livelihood, waking up to the harsh reality of living outside of a monetary safety net where not even her parents were a safe harbor, knowing she’d be discarded on sight should they know her predicament.

She should probably tell Ward about those details too, she thinks.

The list is growing longer by the minute.

Trying her best not to be disgusted by food scraps, V fumbles to assist Joss with the dishes while Ward hauls the grill to storage. She even enjoys herself a little around Joss and the never-ending questions from the kids, which probably plays into the lack of love in her upbringing, so watching Joss' patience and affection for her children stirs both warmth and sadness in V’s heart.

She shoves it back into the depths of her brain when Ward joins them, and there’s that fond look in his eye when V catches him watching them. “Come, I’ve something to show you.”

“Oh?” V dries her hands on the tattered towel hanging over the oven handle and slides into her shoes in the hallway, sighing at the comfort of elevated heels while joining Ward outside where the sun is inches from melting across the horizon. He walks next to her, guides her across the yard and up a little hill, and it strikes V what a unit of a man he is.

Perhaps it’s because they spend most of their time together sitting in his car, where their different sizes aren’t noticeable, but now that he walks next to her, it’s impossible to ignore his towering height. When they stop for him to battle a locked fence, V’s eyes are at the level of his shoulder, and she realizes two things:

One, that he could easily injure her if he wants to.

Two, that he probably can protect her in every way he’s already sworn to.

“After you, my lady,” Ward says solemnly with a bow, gesturing at a ladder leading up a water tower. He shies away with a smile when V blinks at him, then at the ladder, then back at him. “I won’t peek.”

V surprises herself with a laugh. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Offering nothing but a shrug, V takes to the task of climbing the ladder, each step increasing curiosity and anxiousness. She promised Joss to tell Ward everything, and it’s slowly dawning on her that whatever she’s about to face over the edge of the water tower might propose a perfect moment to do just so.

And, oh, how she wished she’d been wrong.

Atop the tower, between a low ledge and the edge of the platform, a couple of brightly colored novel blankets are spread out in a very picnic-type of way, topped off with a couple of backyard chair pillows. In the center sits a novel basket with a novel bottle in the shape of champagne and a number of little packages that look a lot like the treats Ward gives her.

V’s jaw drops, so does her stomach, all while the beast sings with delight.

For once, even Johnny is too stunned to speak, and all V gets is a buzz of frustrated emotions mixing with her own. She jumps when Ward clears his throat, not noticing him coming up next to her. His cheeks burn red.

“I, um. Well.” He gestures at the novel picnic. “Figured you’d like to enjoy some calm after the storm. And, uh, the view is nice.”

Someone who wants to enjoy a pretty view with you, V recalls from the ride here, and only then does she lift her gaze from the blankets.

As the sky grows darker blue, the blinding neon of Night City glows like a plate of radioactive gems; purples, blues, reds, and oranges—every color of the rainbow blends into a confusing, vivid mess. V has seen the view before, but not from anywhere outside the city; her former apartment atop one of the highest levels of Echelon Heights offered a panoramic scene over North Oak’s luscious, virtual parks and the ocean. She’d smoke her Belmont Gold by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sip the latest delivery of French reserve, and let her gaze trace the distant horizon like a queen over her realm.

Now, she shakily draws a budget-friendly Red Ridge cigarette from the package and puts it between her lips, hoping a lungful of nicotine will help her settle on an emotion for the scene.

Domestic echoes in her brain.

“That is a lovely view,” she admits after a deep breath, unsure of how to act. “This is… very sweet of you,” she adds meekly and tries to stomp the beast back into some dark cave. 

It doesn’t work.

“I’m glad you like it,” Ward says in a tone that feels like a secret, like he’s saved it for this arguably romantic moment, and takes a step ahead, holding his hand out to guide her across the pipes and wiring crisscrossing the platform. V accepts it without question and carefully steps across each obstacle while being furiously aware of how comforting Ward’s large hand is and how gently he holds her.

Will he want to hold her hand after she tells him everything?

V steps out of her dusty shoes and onto the blankets; they’re pristine, which means he probably bought them recently, and V catches him snatching a tag off the basket with an embarrassed smile. “Please,” he says, gesturing for her to sit down, and V does, folding her legs to one side and leaning back against the ledge, softened by a pillow.

“You are full of surprises, scout boy,” she comments, still unsure of which foot to lean on. The view captures her attention again, and Arasaka Tower spires into the sky. She stills then. “Is this…” She frowns and looks at Ward, who makes an ungainly descent onto the blanket next to her. “Is this a date?”

Ward’s face goes up in flames again, and he clears his throat with his gaze locked on the skyline. When he inhales, it sounds like a hunt for confidence. “It could be,” he says in that new voice; it’s soft and gentle, a bit like a purr. “It could also be a platonic champagne picnic with a nice view.” When he meets her gaze, there’s fear in his dark eye. V’s nerves knits. “What do you want it to be?”

Forgetting about her cigarette, a lump of ashes drops on V’s pants, and Ward brushes it off with the back of his fingers. The touch makes V’s skin prickle, and she searches for Johnny in her brain, but he’s busy sulking in the far back corner.

“What now?” she asks, but she already knows the answer. Johnny knows she knows, but he snorts viciously anyway.

‘I’ll never forgive you for this, you cheap whore,’ he spits, but V can’t sense any animosity in his words. Johnny makes another angry, guttural sound when V realizes he’s not as opposed any more. The police hatred will never wash out, but even the anarchist grows to realize that Ward might actually be a good candidate for a happy future.

“Want to talk about it later?”

‘Abso-fucking-lutely not, you cock-sucking cop slut.’

V will never win any championships or awards, but this must be how it feels when you do. Glorious.

“A smile is usually a good reaction,” Ward interrupts their intimate conversation, and V chuckles at the absurdity of everything.

‘This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.’

“I can’t argue with that.”

“After I’ve told you my deepest, darkest secrets, I’ll let you decide which one you prefer,” V says and relights her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of relaxing smoke into the cobalt-colored sky and meets the boy scout's tentative gaze with a smile. “River.”

Surprise morphs into delight, and River’s lips pull into a grin so bright that the sun might still be out.

“Alright, Vivica,” he agrees giddily, reaching for the champagne bottle, and the beast soars inside her chest. “Let’s hear it.”

Chapter Text

River sits in silence for a long time once V stops talking. His gaze is somewhere far away, beyond the glowing skyline, and V fights against a blooming panic.

There it was, all of it, hanging in the air like dirty, rancid laundry she’d rather bury in the garden than reveal to anyone. The drugs, Troy, Johnny, and Arasaka—everything she’s fought so hard to keep at the far back of the drawer of her personal life. River’s long silence makes it feel like a mistake, but there’s no backing out now.

She admitted everything, answered every question, and now she can do nothing but wait.

The sky above them has turned black and dotted with stars all the way towards Night City, where not even the moon is bright enough to challenge the neon light. The air is still warm enough to enjoy without extra layers, but the wind whispers of cooling down soon, and V doesn’t need any more chill than what’s already in her stomach.

River isn’t hard to read; he’s rather obviously filing all the information away she just shared, probably picking through it, turning it around in all angles beneath his microscope of a brain. V doesn’t believe for a second that, despite his fumbling nature, he’s not good enough at his job to make it this long in the NCPD.

As he does, V sips more cheap champagne and runs through every possible outcome in her mind when River finally clears his throat.

“Addiction, hm?” he asks the horizon, finally deciding on a topic to pick apart. V wants to ask how the engram isn’t the biggest issue, but her stomach lurches so badly she needs to stay quiet to manage it.

“Gosh, here we go.”

‘I brought popcorn!’ Johnny chirps from his spot on the ledge, dangling his legs like a happy child. V scowls at him.

“Thanks for the loving support.”

Johnny makes nauseating kissy noises.

Slowly, V breathes through the urge to vomit all over the blankets. She should’ve said something ages ago, before River got inside her shield, to make it easier for him to walk away. She can’t imagine he won’t after this, no matter his comforting words of support. “Correct. I… It’s sadly a common part of my career. Everyone fights tooth and nail to rise to the top, no matter whose blood spills along the way, and for that to happen, you need to be alert. Awake.” She looks down at the fizzy gold in her glass and recalls getting a plastic jar of pills from Arthur Jenkins and the promise of a promotion if she makes the deadline. She sighs. “Constantly. I was no different. I am no different.”

River reclines against the pillow next to V and pulls one leg closer to his chest, his gaze still far away. “I’ve heard. Read reports as well. Office workers snorting this and the other to push through that final hurdle towards the top and then…” He reaches for the sky, then plunges his hand down into his lap. “Chokes on their own puke or runs into traffic. Err. ” He side-eyes her with a half smile. “Sorry, I don’t know if you’ve known someone passing like that. Overdosing?”

“A few,” V admits to the neon horizon. “No friends, really, just people. You hear about it at the coffee machine.” She huffs a tired laugh. “Like any other gossip. Too common for anyone to get shocked nowadays, and there’s always someone glad to get a chance at a new opening.” She grimaces. “It sounds worse saying it out loud than living it.”

“Right.” River tilts his glass side to side, letting the champagne slowly flow towards the edge before tilting it back. “Kinda like cops going bad, hmm? Someone takes a bribe, and no one bats an eye. “Everyone has a price,” they say, and we’re all just waiting for the right sum to give up our honor.”

V stretches her legs out and fights the impulse of touching River’s arm. She wants to offer sympathy like he does so well with her, but she doesn’t know of a way to. She puts her hand on her lap instead. “Do you believe you have a price too?”

“Maybe? I dunno. I hope not.” River smiles sadly at the dancing spotlights far off in the distance, probably signaling the opening hour of North Oak Casino. They always rivaled everyone with their two hundred and fifty thousand lumen lights. “No one’s come up with one so far, and since my career is, well... under construction, perhaps I made it out before selling my soul for a fancy car or a shipment of diamonds.”

V sighs at the memory of a sparkling choker Troy bought her years ago to go with the bedazzled dress for Arasaka’s Winter Gala. Gosh, it was such a magical night, despite ending with a line of premium cocaine that could easily have ended her life if Trauma Team wasn’t included in her insurance. “I wouldn’t say no to a few diamonds, though. Not saying you should sell yourself for them.”

River’s tone shifts back to bitter darkness so suddenly it makes V jerk in surprise. “Yeah? Your wife-beater back home isn’t giving you any pretty stones?”

The acidity in River’s tone riles up an impulse to defend Troy, which gets smothered by Johnny glaring at her from his spot on the ledge. She really has no reason to sugarcoat anything, yet the habit of protecting her future husband in rain or sunshine sits as firmly as the bullet in her skull did.

“No, he, um. He treats me to drugs and new outfits for when we play perfect for his parents, and occasionally for mine, whenever they deem family to be important enough to enrich with their presence.” She sips more champagne and shivers when the wind decides to pick up. River shifts next to her, and now their shoulders are touching. She dares to touch River’s pulled-up knee with the back of her fingers, and River holds out his artificial hand for her. She accepts it with a flutter of her heart. “We are nothing but a facade. He knows it, I know it, and our entire circle knows it because that is how you do. You get your trophy spouse ticket, say ‘thank you,’ and live out your days rich and miserable.” She watches River’s thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand. The thin aluminum coating is scratched and bruised but still smooth on her semi-faux skin. It’s mostly hers, save for the sensors in charge of signaling the Biotechnica upgrade to produce more moisture. 

“That’s what substances are for,” River concludes. V nods. He hesitates before asking the next question. “Is he as bad as the files say?”

“You won’t like anything I have to say about him.”

River huffs in frustration. “I already want to blast his brains out. That won’t change no matter what you say.”

It’s a little sweet that he cares so much. Johnny is finally perking up at the sound of murder. “Nothing I say will make that urge less intense. I’m afraid if I tell you, you’ll assemble a squad.”

“I’d rather do it myself,” River mutters into his glass—the plastic champagne flute looks like a dollhouse item in his hand—and V holds back asking what the difference is between Troy and Peter Pan. This isn’t a time to bring that mess back, so she files it away for later. “Well?”

“He’s as bad as you’ve read,” she confirms. River’s hand tightens around hers until it hurts and immediately releases her when her fingers twitch. He apologizes, and the tension moves to his shoulders instead. His brows drop into a deep frown.

“You told me you haven’t had a choice in this… relationship,” he says, the last word rolling off his tongue like an insult. “But admit that you’d consider leaving if you had backup. So, no one has offered until I did?”

V fails not to give him a pointed look. “Who would?” she asks simply, and River doesn’t have an answer for that. “My circle is made of one type of people: rich brats who want nothing but to splurge and get high. They know nothing else—I knew nothing else until I was deprived of my entire livelihood. Only then did I realize that I had spent my whole life locked in a bubble, and everything became hell. Well, to start with.”

River makes a quizzical sound and goes back to rub her hand. V downs the rest of her champagne and is swiftly offered a refill that she’ll desperately need to get through all of this. “I made some friends in my miserable state. Jackie was the first one—he was a contact of mine while I was still with Arasaka and present when my funds got depleted in front of my eyes.” She sighs at memories and imagery. “Thanks to him, I found more friends that somehow felt obliged to help me out. Even got myself a proper father in the process.”

River chuckles. “One that won’t throw you on the street if they find out about… well, everything?”

“You’ve met him a few times—you tell me.”

V smirks at River’s confusion, and then his eye lights up. “That ripperdoc in the voodoo shop?” he asks incredulously, and V laughs. She’ll remember to tell Misty that. “Makes sense. To be honest, I’m not that easily frightened, but the time I dropped by to check in on you?” River shakes his head with a low whistle. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it past him with my jaw intact.”

“He did end up with second place in Watson Boxing Grand Prix, so chances are you would’ve lost both your jaw and your nose,” V informs, and meets River’s disbelief with a pointed look. His eyebrows slowly rise until they almost meet his buzzed hairline. “Oh,” he says, and V’s chest swells with pride at her non-biological father’s achievements. Her joy mellows when thinking back at their previous conversation when Viktor gave away his bedroom for her, promising him she’d come up with a plan.

“Viktor is adamant that I make it out of the situation with Troy. Misty is on his side—the voodoo girl—and always very caring of me.”

River nods as she speaks, then frowns again. “I haven’t met Jackie, though?”

“He died,” she says bluntly, because there’s no silk soft enough to dull that pain. Only drugs and tequila. “The same night I got shot in the head, he died.”

When V doesn’t elaborate, River lets go of her hand. For a moment she’s certain he’s already had enough of her baggage, but he puts his arm behind her shoulders, rests it on the ledge. V notices that she shivers and that the wind has cooled and only needs a second to scoot closer to River and let him hug her shoulders. It’s annoyingly nice.

Johnny’s grudging muttering says the same.

She wonders if he’d hold her like this on the couch in front of one of those movies he apparently longs to watch with her. When did she last watch a movie where she didn’t pass out halfway with more alcohol than blood in her body? Ages, probably.

“I’m sorry he died,” River offers quietly. He drinks a little more before putting his glass aside and reaches for a piece of chocolate from the basket. He already cracked the bars into little squares, claiming that V’s barbaric way of eating them still haunts him. At least she knows how to bother him. “He sounds like he was important.”

“He was,” V confirms, then opts to drop the subject while River chews on his acceptable piece of chocolate. The last thing she wants is to delve into the bottomless pit of loss where Jackie mingles alongside her previous life. She rests her head on River’s shoulder and is awarded with a satisfied little hum. “What about me having a rabid anarchist in my brain who hates you?”

‘Bitch,’ Johnny spits from across the platform. V smirks at his glitchy outline, still perching on the edge of the tower. He’s been mostly quiet during the exchange, save for the few obligatory insults, probably on the hunt for anything to convince V that River is nothing but a backstabbing, power-hungry authority who can’t wait to throw her under the bus once he’s done using her for… well, whatever that might be, which Johnny hasn’t figured out either.

River laughs, confused. “I haven’t wrapped my head around that yet. I’ve heard of engrams; it was all over the news once the science broke through, but I hadn’t considered that they’re… real people, I guess. The whole thing is absurd.”

“It is.” V looks over at Johnny. “Not only did I have to get used to him in my head, but he woke up to an equally rude realization of being inside my head. It’s been unpleasant for everyone involved.” 

‘Especially in your airy fucking brain. Cold draft’s all you’ve got in there.’

V snickers, and River gives her an odd look. She tries to smile, but she’s slowly realizing how utterly mad this whole conversation is. There’s no way River wants to date a spoiled yet poor brat with an anti-police tumor, no matter how understanding he claims to be. “Johnny has a habit of insulting me, but I’m growing to think it’s his way of showing affection.”

The corner of her brain sizzles in anger, which only affirms her conclusion. River shows a puzzled smile. 

“So, that’s what you meant by having someone chatting in your ear all day,” he recalls. V nods. “How does that… work?”

“Imagine having your own thoughts and also a completely different person’s thoughts, and they hear, see, and feel everything you go through and love to criticize you for it.”

River pops another piece of chocolate into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “That sounds… exhausting.”

“It is.”

“How do you get used to it?”

V tilts her head as she watches Johnny light another cigarette. It pulls on her own urge, but she pushes it aside for the moment, not too keen on insulting River’s lungs with her cancer. “I do have medication that helps block him out, if I need it, but it’s only temporary. It’s not always comfortable to have someone present, physically or mentally.” She raises an eyebrow at River until he goes red with realization. “He can also sort of hide when he gets too sick of me and block me out.”

At this, River looks utterly confused, which V can’t blame him for. She sits up from his embrace, immediately missing the body heat, but she needs to create space for this conversation so it won’t hurt as much when River inevitably pulls away. She folds her legs beside her and watches the dancing spotlights. “Johnny has an… what would you call it, a section of his own? Like a little department of my brain, around here.” She points to the back left of her head that usually throbs or tingles with his swinging moods, and River follows her finger with his gaze. “When he’s sick of me, he can close the door. He’s never not here, but he isn’t as involved. Especially when I spend time with you.”

“And he hates me because I’m a cop.”

“Correct.”

River doesn’t look too surprised, which is weird, because nothing about this conversation is normal. The next question is a surprise, however. “Is that the only reason he doesn’t like me?”

‘He’s a sappy pussy who doesn’t have the spine to pop a bullet in a fucking maniac.’

“Why aren’t you fleeing?” slips off of V’s tongue before she has the presence to stop herself. “I’m clearly insane, and you’re somehow not catching that.”

River looks at her like she is, in fact, insane, but not for the reason she brought up. “To be fair, I’m still processing this, and I’ll probably do for… a couple of days, but, y’know.” He gently touches her shoulder, brushing his cybernetic fingers back and forth with such delicacy he might as well have feeling in them. Maybe he does—maybe they’re connected to his nervous system like some, um, explicit attachments have developed to be, unless the marketing lies.

The marketing usually lies. 

“I’m not planning on fleeing,” River finishes his sentence, and it’s V’s turn to look at him like he’s insane, because he must be. “I promised to help you get rid of that piece of fucking trash, and I will, disapproving engrams or not.”

V fails to comprehend why that’s enough to stay. “And my addiction?” She pushes, hoping to push him in return to get out of dodge while he can.

River has the audacity to smile at her, and it’s melting her heart. “If this shithead is your main source of substance, then getting rid of him is a first step, right? I… don’t have any experience with addiction,” River says, sounding disappointed at the fact, “but I’m sure there are a thousand ways to get through it. I bet your fighter father would love to help.”

Unable to argue, V smiles flatly. Ward smiles smugly in return, and she realizes he’s figured her out. At least that part, though she wouldn’t put it past the detective and his many years of work to have figured out the rest as well. Speaking of.

“Did you know about it before I told you?”

River inhales slowly and rubs circles on her shoulder with the smooth pad of his metal finger. “I had my suspicions,” he admits, and V can’t decide if that’s comforting or horrifying. She’s excellent at hiding behind her carefully crafted mask, but River has had a way of getting behind it in a frustratingly short amount of time. Has she gone weak? “You do this thing where you start tapping your nails together, and I’ve only noticed it around the times you go to him.”

Nonplussed, V looks at her hands, at her pretty turquoise nails, and can’t for her life recall doing such a thing. “I do?”

River nods, and she looks over at Johnny, who is busy cleaning his shades. “Did you notice?” 

Johnny shakes his head. ‘Chances of me noticing some stupid tick when you don’t are in the minus. How can I be aware if you’re not?’

“You can step out and see things I can’t,” V points out, feeling River’s watchful gaze studying her face.

Johnny just shrugs. ‘Yeah, but that’s me, not you. I don’t know shit about you unless you do.’

“Except what happens in my mind.”

‘Except that,’ Johnny confirms with an exasperated sigh and holds his shades up to inspect his work. Her ticks don’t seem to be the reason he keeps polishing them, though, and V has a hunch, which he soon confirms. ‘You’re gonna trust him?’

“I’m failing to find a reason not to. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Even when keeping silent, V can tell Johnny feels similarly because it mingles with her own emotions. Like a violent Amazonian river entwining with a gentle stream, both waters uniting and becoming one, because water is always water, no matter the force behind it.

V turns back to River, who tilts his head in question.“So, nail-clicking was enough to tip you off?”

Disappointment flashes across River’s face, like he’d hoped to learn about her conversations with Johnny, but even to him those feel highly private. “Yeah. I’ve seen all sorts of behaviors, everything from violent thrashing to twitching eyelids.” River brings his glass to his lips, and V remembers having a drink of her own. She sips while he goes on. “It’s not so much the ticks as the timing of them. Yours only comes out when talking to him or about him, which means he’s either the source of or somehow related to something you need. I didn’t assume it was drugs until going through his files, where drugs showed up an alarming number of times.” His voice has changed now, back to when they discussed Mayor Rhyne’s murder and how to find the club. The detective's voice, V concludes. 

“You’ve also been uncomfortable whenever I’ve mentioned him, as well as defensive, and I know you know he treats you like shit, but you still go back.” River keeps his eyes trained on the shimmering city, his finger still painting soothing circles on V’s shoulder. Does a mechanical hand ever tire? She hasn't considered that before. Johnny groans at the nanosecond she spends pondering over an untirable hand can do before she’s pulled back when River goes on.

“That’s gotta mean he’s got something you want and that you need to go back to him despite the pain he causes you. Which, most of the time, means drugs.”

After concluding his synopsis, V feels horribly naked and vulnerable. Also impressed, but mostly vulnerable, and it’s not an emotion she’s used to.

“What is it the other times?” she asks, both out of curiosity and also because she doesn’t like this conversation to be focused on her.

“Money, sex, protection, blackmailing, kids, guilt,” River holds up a finger for each reason, “and many more.”

Kids. 

Is that what made Joss stay with her ex? River watched the whole thing go down and even interfered on multiple occasions. Joss said River got so passionate about helping others that he neglected his own family, but did he? Or did he step away from being family and become a cop instead?

“Either way, I knew something was going on, but I didn’t want to pry.” He gives her a deadpan look. “You’re impossible to get close to as it is, and airing your potential secrets would’ve made that even more impossible.”

V can’t help but laugh at the feigned despair in his voice, but the mirth dies down when considering what hell she’s dragging River into. He’s taken on the enormous task of getting to know her, suggesting to date her, and not only does he spoil her, he wants to drag her miserable butt out of the dark pit that is Troy’s talons.

“What does he do to you?” River asks cautiously, like he doesn’t want to scare her off or know her answer. “And what do you get in return for facing it again and again?”

V shakes her head at him. “I can’t grasp how me having an angry anarchist in my head isn’t your biggest concern.”

“Now you’re just avoiding the question.”

Of course she is.

When V can’t find it in her soul to speak of Troy’s treatment, River sighs. “Is the anarchist abusing you and threatening you in order to get things his way? If not, then that’s an improvement.”

A burst of anger explodes in the back of V’s head when she doesn’t answer quick enough, so sudden that she jerks, which in turn makes River jump, and she puts a hand on the pulsating spot. “That was highly necessary,” she grits out, jerking again when Johnny suddenly blocks her view with his contorted face.

‘Don’t you fucking dare compare me to that rapist piece of shit!’ he screams at her, his booming voice piercing her ears both outside and inside. ‘I’m nothing like him!’

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” V spits back. “You won’t quit nagging me to drink that disgusting cinnamon liquor, though.” She rubs the stinging spot, then glances at River when realizing she’s speaking out loud. He blinks in confusion, but only for a moment before figuring out why she’s defending herself against the air. She forces a smile that he must know is fake. “He doesn’t. He’s great at giving me migraines, though.”

Johnny snorts angrily, and his pixelated body flitters away, reappearing on the ledge. ‘I’m nothing like him.’

“I know that.”

‘Then why’d you fucking stutter, hmm?’

“Because you’re an awful influence, have terrible taste in fashion, and keep whining whenever I don’t get you fried noodles at Ginger Moon. You’re not abusive; you’re annoying .”

Wounded still, Johnny glares at her, but the sudden rage dies down as he lights another cigarette. This time, V does the same and tries her best not to blow any smoke in River’s direction, not that he appears to care. Still.

“Well?” River pushes when V can’t come up with anything to amend being a complete lunatic, though she grows more certain that between the two, River is the most crazy one to be so… calm. V chuckles, though it’s lifeless.

“You can’t agree to this,” V tells him, because there’s no way this will end well. River might have his own baggage, his own nightmares, but it can’t be anywhere near her level of insanity. “I’ll make your life terribly complicated.”

River sighs deeply and slowly and reaches for V’s free hand. V stares at it like an absurd offering, which it is, but she puts hers in his palm anyway because it’s warm and safe. “Vivica,” he says, and the gentleness almost makes her cry on the spot. “My life already is complicated and fucked up, and I barely know what I’m gonna do with it, but I know I like you, and I still do, and I want this to be a date despite your battles and angry brain-friend.” River stares at V’s lap, cheeks dark, and she has to remind herself to breathe. Johnny has stilled too, being barely noticeable in her inner turmoil.

“You’re mad,” she tells their joint hands, and River chuckles. “I’m mad.”

“Guess that’ll make us a nice duo, hmm?” River lifts his gaze, and V meets it, reading hope in his eye. “Well? Are you gonna let me take you out on dates, or do we just… leave it here?”

V doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know River’s afraid of her answer, that she’ll pull her hand away and cut the little ribbons wrapped around her heart that he’s managed to tie into pretty bows. The beast whines in her chest, yearns, and urges her to let him in and prove to her that he’ll be her pillar of strength.

It can’t be this simple.

“I’m terribly spoiled,” she argues, and River smirks knowingly.

“I don’t mind keeping you this way, however I can,” he replies smugly, not even hiding the fact that he knows what she’s doing. V won’t back down, though.

“I have a fussy palate.”

“Hasn’t been an issue so far. I don’t mind trying new things, s’long it’s not coriander. Stuff tastes like soap.”

“I’m high-maintenance and will absolutely throw a tantrum over broken nails.”

River laughs. “Guess I’ll have to learn how to fix those, then, or drive you somewhere that can. I’m rather handy, should you need.”

This man is absurd. V squeezes his hand.

“I’ve been so depressed I haven’t been able to clean my apartment.”

This time, River doesn’t reply immediately. He tilts his head and looks at her with sympathy and squeezes her hand back. “Then I’ll help you sort it out so you won’t have to do it alone.”

It’s too good to be true. River picks up the relay baton.

“I’ve been told I snore awfully loudly and get uncomfortably hot when I sleep.”

V raises an eyebrow. “That’s rather far out compared to me being addicted to drugs.” She waves her cigarette before enjoying a final, long drag and crushes it against the metal paneling. “I also indulge in this mess.”

“Used to smoke, y’know? I’m also useless at getting in bed in time and get really pissy in the following morning.”

V snorts and turns towards him, squaring her shoulders as if it’ll make her more convincing. “I refuse to believe that you’re anywhere worse than me with low blood sugar.”

River’s smirk is obnoxious and daring, and he leans in closer, close enough for V to smell a whisper of cinnamon; close enough to read a wish in his eye beyond the dark evening. “Bet,” he taunts, and his breath touches V’s lips. It smells of chocolate, and V can’t help but peek at his mouth for a second. River notices and squeezes her hand. V squeezes it back, and all bravado drops like an unpolished diamond to the ocean floor. All the ifs, whys, and maybes soar in her brain like seagulls over an abandoned packet of fries, screeching and fighting each other for the first pick.

V wets her lips and proceeds with less authority than she aims for. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to accept the challenge and seal the deal with a kiss?”

River’s cheeks grow crimson, but he refuses to avert his gaze. He too has a tremble in his voice when he speaks. “I’d, um,” he whispers and offers her a soft, hopeful smile, “I’d like that.”

“It feels terribly committal,” V whispers back, unable to stop throwing glances at River’s plush lips. “What if we turn out to be a mistake?”

River’s cybernetic hand smooths along V’s shoulder to her nape, cradling it as gently as mulberry silk. “We’ll just have to figure that out, won’t we?”

Fear surges through V’s bloodstream, fear that she’ll make this man miserable, that he’ll regret accepting her after seeing her true self, but River isn’t the one soothing the horror.

‘Fucking get on with it, you dumb blonde, or we’ll freeze to death!’

V chuckles, and perhaps River thinks it’s nerves, which is also correct. “And here I thought you were in stark opposition to this entire thing. Also, you know I'm not blonde.”

Johnny cringes like a wounded snake, his disapproval still there but nowhere as fervent. ‘The quicker you get this sappy shit over with, the quicker we can go back to exploding brains and gun violence.’

“Does that mean I have your blessing to kiss a cop?”

‘Like you’ve ever given a fuck about what I think?’ Johnny snarls back, but the level of dislike is lower, almost accepting, and V translates his lack of a ‘no’ as a ‘yes.’.

“Last chance to back out, former detective,” V offers with a laugh, surprised at the warm, skittering feeling in her stomach.

“Declined, Miss Lonesome Rider,” River replies resolutely, grinning with the same glee blooming in V’s chest, and V laughs, giddy from nerves and fears and what if this can actually work, and closes the distance between their bodies with Johnny’s reluctant approval itching in the back of her head.

Soft is the first sensation rushing through V’s body as their lips make contact, followed by gentle as River delicately leans into the touch, and V allows her eyes to shut, to indulge in warm affection, and it feels lovely. 

The hand resting against V’s nape supports her as she relaxes further and even finds enough control to feel for River’s shoulder, then his neck, coming to a halt once her palm cradles his cheek, and River hums this pleased little noise. It sounds like finally, and another follows when their lips part. It’s only far enough to meet River’s dimmed gaze, to assure herself that he’s not pulling away or regretting the decision. She finds nothing but bliss, and River is the one interlocking their lips anew, which has to mean that he feels no regret. Same when his hand slides down her back and settles on her waist in order to pull her body closer, when he squeezes her hand against his chest, when he bumps their foreheads together beneath the starry sky.

This, V concludes, has to be what it’s supposed to feel like, and it’s nothing like she’s ever felt before.

All that’s left now is to cut the cord to Troy, but she won’t allow herself to think of him tonight. Not when River’s lips slot perfectly against hers, or when Johnny makes retching noises in the back of her brain like a disgusted toddler, because somewhere in their mess of interlaced emotions, they can quietly agree that this is better than the alternative.

“Is it awfully forward of me to ask if you want to stay the night?” River asks with a little laugh that makes V’s heart swell.

“Oh, absolutely it is,” V confirms with exaggerated insult and steals another kiss before River can start making apologies. “I’d like to stay. Can’t miss out on that good coffee now, can I?”

River laughs, all nerves and relief at once, and awkwardly looks everywhere. “Would be sad if you did. It is the best coffee you’ve ever had, to be fair.”

At this rate, the coffee will be only one thing of many that’s turned out to be the best V’s ever had.

Chapter Text

V expects River to ravage her.

She expects that he’ll throw her in bed, rip her clothes off, and quietly not to wake the family up, fuck her into the bed until it breaks.

After gathering their picnic together and bringing the snacks along, River climbs the ladder before V to catch her as she descends, which she doesn’t need but accepts anyway, then offers his hand for her to hold as they saunter back to Joss’ home, V’s chest as fuzzy and brimming with as much glee as River’s smile mirrors back.

Once they’ve snuck inside, River shows the way to his old bedroom, which unsurprisingly resembles his apartment: sparse, impersonal, and with stacks of old movie cases and a laptop.

Bland is the word she’s looking for and is reminded by River’s earlier mention of never settling down anywhere.

Apparently, a family home isn’t permanent enough even for him to put some paint on the walls.

Once the door silently closes behind them, they kiss in the middle of the room, light and fluttery and a little uncertain, like none of them knows exactly how to touch the other’s lips—if it’s too much or too little—but V is satisfied enough just to have River’s arm wrapped around her waist and his cinnamon scent on her skin. Right about here, he’s supposed to rip her clothes off, but instead he digs out an old t-shirt for her. Bewildering as it is, it melts her heart like the plastic frame of an overcooked laptop.

It’s a washed-out, previously black, now pale academy t-shirt that River excuses himself as she changes into, which throws her off further. With Troy and previous partners from the radioactive Arasaka circle, she’d be choking on an artificially enlarged cock right about now, kneeling either on marble floor or a plush Moroccan carpet. 

With Johnny’s equally puzzled emotions tingling in the back of her head, she changes into the t-shirt. It’s soft like clouds and reaches the top of her knees, leaving her gilded legs out, and the sleeves almost touch her elbows. She inspects the look in the dusty mirror when River returns and finds him staring in the door.

“You know,” V says, turning back to the mirror and putting her hands on her hips, slimming the t-shirt to a closer fit around her waist, “if I added a belt, it wouldn’t be half a terrible look. What do you think?”

“I, uh…” River closes the door behind him, still gawking at V—her legs, specifically. “It looks great. You look great.” A hint of pink touches his cheeks. “Especially in my clothes.”

Johnny makes his presence known by retching in the back of V’s brain while she chuckles awkwardly. Maybe now is when he’ll ravage her, now that she’s mostly naked?

“Sorry I didn’t bring any of mine for you,” she says, and River suppresses a laugh behind his hand not to disturb the sleeping home.

“I’d probably rip anything of yours with an arm; otherwise, I’d agree. Who knows, perhaps pink suits me?”

Unsure of what to do with herself, V decided to take a seat on the bed; it’s a regular queen-sized piece of furniture with worn cotton sheets in a color that might’ve been green once, but now has a minty shade. Fresh and clean nonetheless, especially compared to her own mess of a bedroom, but the sheets become the least interesting part of the room when River unbuttons his wrinkly shirt.

It’s probably rude to stare—River even left for her sake to get changed—but when River meets her gaze, there’s no sign of discomfort.

“I mentioned getting sticky hot, right?”

“You did,” V confirms without lifting her gaze from his chest that's slowly being revealed as River keeps unbuttoning.

“Do you mind if I sleep without a shirt?”

“I won’t mind if you sleep without anything.”

‘Kill me.’

“I don’t mind,” V wrangles out of her mouth when she’d rather keep it open and drool when River finishes the last button; unsurprisingly, he’s fit. His skin sits tightly over rows of abdominal muscles, littered with scars from what looks like knife injuries and a possible gunshot, topped off with a dark trail of hair leading into the front of his pants. His chest and shoulders aren’t as broad as they appear in that horrendous coat, but nonetheless barreled and strong, and those veiny forearms look even better when accompanied by swollen biceps.

‘Holy shit, V, is this what ovulating feels like?’

“Something like that.”

‘Fucking hell.’

When V has enough decency to tear her eyes off of River’s body and meets his gaze, the man awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. It could be that he’s not used to the attention, or she’s staring as rudely as she feels.

“You are very handsome,” V amends her gawking behavior, and River chokes out a noise that V thinks is appreciative. She shifts focus in hopes of easing his adorably embarrassed state. “Is that a gun injury?”

“This?” River points to a somewhat circular scar on the right side of his abdomen. V pushes aside the urge to lick him from waist to neck. Johnny might actually be vomiting this time. “Yeah. Been a long time now, but it was one of the times I thought I’d die.”

“Oh?”

River tells her the story while undressing all the way down to a snug pair of black underwear, then steps into airy pajama pants while V is submerged in his retelling of the gang battle that almost became his last, so enthralled that the heat dies down. Tales of near death aren’t sexy either, but before she knows it, she’s tucked beneath the cloudy-soft cover on her side, facing River, toying with his cybernetic hand that rests between their bodies while he opens up about PTSD from being electrocuted by monowire and how he still struggles during lightning storms because of it.

No ravaging, no sweaty hand prying her legs apart or digging bruises into her breast; just sharing stories of painful injuries or dumb decisions that almost got them killed. V expects him to grope her at some point, or at least make a crude remark about the size of her mouth in comparison to his cock, but she’s left feeling dumbfounded when River keeps asking her about her childhood years rather than if she wants to get fucked into the next era—a promise Troy still hasn’t managed to fulfill and honestly never will—so she whispers about her strict upbringing while River kisses her knuckles. 

“I bet these last years have been tough as shit, but…” River brushes his lips against the back of her hand and offers sympathy in his gaze. “Hopefully it’ll get calmer from here on out now that you have friends and a new family.”

While V barely dares to believe it will, River’s words are enough to soothe the remainder of today’s stress, and she soon dozes off tucked away against his chest, cradled like a diamond in a velvet shroud that is River’s warm embrace.

‘This is making me sick.’

V stretches out on the bed with a pleased groan, which in turn stirs River’s resting body still wrapped around her—the unfamiliar sound of children barreling through the house and onto the yard woke her some time ago, but River’s warmth and the teasing press of his morning erection against the small of her back give her no reason to get up.

“I love that for you.”

The bedroom is no less bland in the sunlight filtering through the blinds, but River’s presence fills the space with a sense of comfort she hasn’t allowed for herself in ages. Luxurious, it feels, which is absurd compared to the beach-side spa retreats in Barcelona she used to waste away at. This, somehow, being enveloped in domestic comfort, outweighs the endless view of a fake ocean and morning cocktails.

V hums in content when River exhales a drawn-out sigh, his breath disturbing the hair atop her head, and sighs a breath of her own when his first action is to shuffle around to kiss her clothed shoulder. Johnny flees away into his little corner when V rolls over to her back and is met with the gorgeous view of a bleary eye and a lazy smile.

“Good morning,” she greets him in a whisper, and River responds by kissing her; his breath is rank, but the joy on his face after she reciprocates makes her forget about it.

“Mornin’,” he replies deeply, his throat thick with sleep, and V’s heart flutters annoyingly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmh.” V runs a hand up River’s scorching hot arm that’s resting across her stomach and the veins snaking beneath his skin. “I don’t believe I’ll ever risk feeling cold next to you.”

River smiles sheepishly and offers her another round of feathery kisses. “Glad to be of assistance. Also that it’s not, y’know… uncomfortable.”

V is about to answer that the only seemingly uncomfortable thing is his straining underwear when her phone rings, and she reluctantly rolls over to reach for her jacket. Assuming it’s late morning and before noon, it’s probably Regina trying to reach her to offer a new job or ensure she’s still alive, but the name flashing on the cracked screen drains the fluttering madness in her chest, and the cozy morning drowns in mad fear.

Troy reads like a threat rather than a contact, and V darts up to sitting while the jingle keeps on singing for her to answer, each microsecond passing chilling her stomach further.

“What do I do?”

‘Click the fucking rat,’ Johnny demands, but V can’t will her finger to reach for the decline button. Her mind zooms into imagery of mind-numbing powders, of sickly sweet smoke filling her lungs, of forcibly quenching Troy’s thirst for sex with her brain veiled in substance.

“Is it him?” River asks bitterly, and V notices clicking her nails together. She clenches her fist to make it stop. “Do you have to answer?”

“No,” she lies, though even she can hear the break in her voice. River sits up next to her and watches the name on the screen with utter disgust. “However, it’s… a better choice to answer.”

River runs a hand around her lower back and parks it on her hip, supporting her to sit up straight. “Will he punish you if you don’t?”

V’s lack of an answer is enough to raise the tension in River’s shoulders, which in turn raises the tension in the room all the way to the ceiling. “Right,” he grits out, then inhales slowly. “Can you put him on speaker? I wanna know what I’ll be dealing with.”

That has to be the worst idea ever, but V answers the call and proceeds to tap the speaker symbol. 

‘Deep breaths, princess, this’ll be our chance to get rid of this piece of parasitic garbage.’

“Yes?”

“Finally!” Troy whines through the speaker. V’s stomach twists around itself. “And here I thought you were going to let me wait. That would’ve been rude, wouldn’t it, honey?”

River practically vibrates next to her already, jaw clenched so hard she fears he’ll crack a tooth. 

“I’d never,” V chimes back, the words tasting of toxic waste across her tongue. “I had simply misplaced my phone, that is all.”

Troy tsks playfully, but V knows the tone behind the thin layer of humor. “That can get you in trouble, my sweet little treat, and we don’t want that, now, do we?”

“Of course not.” V can’t bear to meet River’s bewildered gaze; she knows how it sounds and doesn’t need further confirmation. Him stiffly brushing his thumb across her waist does help a little, though. “You know I wouldn’t dare.”

“That’s my girl,” Troy all but purrs. “Pretty and knowing her place. Now, where are you? I need you to come here.” His voice takes a twisted turn that doesn’t offer any choice. “Now.”

The phone screen blurs in V’s trembling hand, and River hugs her tighter, silently kissing her shoulder. Not alone, she reminds herself and tries to drag up an inch of courage through River’s presence.

“‘Now’ might be an issue, dear; I’m currently waiting to meet a client in Chicago. A rather prominent one as well,” she adds when Troy inhales to bark at her. “One on Cytech’s financial teams.”

Troy holds his breath momentarily. “Cytech, really?” he asks, followed by a snort. “And what could a useless whore help such a successful company with? Kneeling?”

V covers the microphone when a deep sound rumbles in River’s throat.

“You know I’d never kneel for anyone other than you, dear,” she assures with as much syrup as she manages, which succeeds in making Troy chuckle with less venom. River, on the other hand, she fears might grab her phone and crush it. “Besides, they wanted someone from outside the circle. You know how it is: corruption, backstabbing, poisonings…”

Troy hums, and V grips River’s knee with her free hand to get her stress out through something. River puts his on top of hers. “When are you flying back?”

‘Give it time, princess, we gotta come up with something,’ Johnny cautions. It’s only then she notices that half of her nausea is actually his.

“The day after tomorrow.”

There’s a displeased grunt that V knows will have him forcefully fucking her one time too many for being away for longer than he agrees with. “And when you come back?”

“Obviously I’ll come directly to you,” she assures without any idea of how to worm herself out of having to see him at all anymore. 

With River at her side, being discarded by Troy won’t be the end of her pitiful existence, but she still has to make sure he won’t come after her out of pride. After all, they were handpicked for each other with the expectation of heirs and riches for their parents to bask in, and Troy isn’t one to step away from glory, be it financial or domestic.

“I expect nothing less from my beautiful little trophy,” Troy replies, and V tastes bile in her throat, though she can’t decide if it’s due to Troy or the fact that she used to enjoy their relationship. “Day after tomorrow, and you better shave that juicy pussy for me before you arrive. You don’t want me to get rashes, now, do you?”

“How did I want for this?”

“Of course I will, dear,” V assures, hoping her nausea isn’t audible. “I’ll call you when I land; how’s that?”

Troy agrees and bids her farewell with wet kissing sounds that she reluctantly reciprocates before ending the call. As she does, she’s struck by two things: the desperate urge to shower and to hide.

Since waking up with nothing to her name but lies and dreams, the sad reality that is Troy's and her relationship got picked apart by the sudden cliff between their social standings. Her faking her wealth and leaning on Troy to bring her along to the yacht parties and rooftop bars means he hasn’t figured her out—so long as they’re not legally married and share accounts—but the months she lived with Jackie served as a harsh wake-up call that she is no longer sitting on the top shelf; she’s poor.

From one day to another, she moved from an overflowing bank account to scraping to get by, and the true poison of her circle seeped through their artificial pores. She knows about the abuse, the horror, and the disrespect.

Knows how pathetic she is to cling to it.

And River witnessed all of it.

“I’m sorry,” V tells the black screen and its faint reflection of her face. “I must seem like such a miserable weakling. I don’t even dare to leave my past.”

River gently squeezes her hip, offering her to lean against him. She doesn’t. “I don’t think you’re weak at all,” he assures, some of that anger still vibrating in his otherwise sympathetic voice. “I think that fucking asshole deserves to get his eyes plucked and ribs shattered.”

‘At least we agree on something.’

“What can he even do?” V asks her lap with a bitter laugh, slowly growing frustrated at herself and her cowardice. “Cut the ties? Tell my parents? It’s not like that’ll make a difference.” She looks over to Johnny, who leans against the desk, arms crossed and furiously inhaling smoke from a cigarette. “Why is it so difficult to let go?”

‘Pride’s a bitch,’ Johnny replies simply, though there’s nothing calm about him. ‘Pride, ego, justification, all the shit that makes you wanna do dumb stuff to not feel worthless.’

“It’s been your life until recently,” River offers and scoots further up the bed to rest against the frame. When offering a space for her again, V follows and finds that she fits rather comfortably slotted against his body. “It’s part of your identity, isn’t it? Even if he can’t physically harm you, he can still rip that away from you. But, y’know.” River runs a hand up and down V’s waist as she turns to her side, resting her ear against River’s solid chest. The beat of his heart lulls some of the anxiety. “You’ve got folks on your side, right? Boxer-dad, Misty, your, um… brain friend.”

Johnny inhales to bark an insult like he expected to be called something far worse, only to glare at River and light another cigarette instead.

“And I’ve got your back too,” River finishes and holds her a little tighter. “I get that it comes across as… I dunno, a bit too devoted or something, but I just… really want you to get out of those disgusting fucking claws of his.” He uses his free, cybernetic hand to gently run through her hair, and the brief touch unknots some of the fear in her stomach. “Even if we were just acquaintances, or strangers, even, I’d still want that. No one deserves to live under someone else’s thumb.”

If V didn’t know River at all, she’d be certain he said those things to gain her trust and use it for manipulation, the same as Johnny somehow still believes. At this point, however, it’s growing increasingly difficult to fault the Boy Scout for anything other than naivety and disregarding himself for others.

“I have no idea how to proceed from here,” V confesses to the sprinkling of dark hairs across River’s warm chest. “A part of me wants to slink away and disappear, while another wants to bring him down with flames and bury him in misery.”

‘Oh, we’re going with the misery part,’ Johnny decides with a newfound level of energy, pacing back and forth in the room. ‘We’re going to drag that wife-beating fucking asshole down to the deepest, darkest, most vile level of hell there ever was.’ He bangs his fist in his palm. ‘We will ruin him. Right, princess?’

V chuckles at his enthusiasm, causing River to make an inquisitive sound. “Johnny is, unsurprisingly, on the side of violent revenge.”

“… Right.” River sounds no less perplexed about the subject than yesterday; still, he hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t say I’m one for revenge. Especially given the whole… Peter Pan situation. Giving what he’s done to others won’t return with any peace. However…”

V snorts a laugh and plants both forearms on River’s chest to lift her head high enough to meet his gaze. “Are you siding with my terrorizing brain tumor on revenge? My gosh, scout boy, the two of you might be more alike than he’ll ever agree to.”

Johnny objects, obviously and loudly so, but V lets him go on while River looks side to side as if he isn’t brave enough to admit it. “I mean… I wouldn’t suggest you make him go through the same trauma he’s caused you, but I still think he’s earned at least some sort of consequence.” He smiles flatly. “Is it horrible of me?”

V can’t help but laugh; the same guy who held a gun to a coma patient weeks ago has taken the lives of criminals and wrestled even more into cuffs, and here he’s asking V, of all people, if wishing revenge on her rapist fiancé makes him a terrible person.

Is it because he wants to change? Perhaps the meeting with comatose Peter Pan woke something in him to want to change, or does he want to come across as someone with a less violent past for her?

“No, I don’t think that’s horrible of you,” V assures and is rewarded with a relieved little smile that she kisses. “I think it’s more horrible of me not to want him to suffer in any way. There's also the risk that I might be needing your help.”

Unsure if it’s hearing ‘needing’ or ‘help’ that makes River perk up like a puppy, V’s heart melts nonetheless, and the remaining anxiety eases when River pledges his loyalty to her cause of bringing her fiancé down.

Now, she just needs to figure out a way to sweep the rug beneath Troy’s feet and ensure he won’t get back up.