Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He collapsed again, drops of blood spattering the floor from the nosebleed.

"C’mon, lean on me." She hoisted him back to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulders.

"I can do this," he said more to himself than to her, his voice strained and laced with pain as he stumbled toward his death.

Reaching the tower, he slammed his hands against the cold metal, the little jack on its surface taunting him like an unblinking eye.

He felt her gaze on him. Turning, he saw her standing there, her face carefully blank—a mask, emotion buried beneath the surface.

"Panam…" He choked on her name.

"Do what you need to do, V."

Nausea ran through him. He lurched toward her, cupping her face in his cold, shaking hands. Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, maybe? His head pounded so hard it felt like his skull might crack.

"Panam… if I don’t make it back—"

That familiar fire flared in her eyes. She grabbed his hands and shoved them away.

"You will, V! Save it!"

They stood there, inches from each other, the unspoken weight of everything between them bearing down.

He sucked in a breath, his ribs screaming with the effort, and gave a sharp nod. Then, turning back to the tower, he slammed the jack into the port in his neck and lowered himself into the ice-cold water that might become his grave.

As he sank beneath the surface, he kept his eyes locked on hers—until everything went black.

—-

Mikoshi felt endless.

There was no sense of time here, only the pulse of fractured memories, tangled thoughts, and the ever-present weight of Johnny’s presence pressing against him. V drifted in the void, caught between himself and the other voice clawing for control.
"You know, wouldn’t be the worst thing to just let go," Johnny sounded concerned but V wasn't convinced. "You’re tired. I can feel it. Just let me take the wheel. You can rest."

Rest. It was tempting. Every inch of V felt frayed, worn. How long had he been fighting? How much longer could he last?

Then—light. Not in the sense of sight, but something warm. A tether pulling at him from the dark.

Panam.

She wasn’t here, not in Mikoshi, but V felt her. Like the echo of a voice calling him home. Like the weight of her arm slung over his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles against his skin in the quiet moments they stole from this relentless existence. The scent of her—leather, oil, and something uniquely her—seeped into the cracks Johnny had tried to widen.

"You gonna run out on her now?"

Johnny’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, but this time, it lacked its usual bite. V turned, locking eyes with the other presence in his mind. For the first time since this all started, Johnny didn’t look like a threat. He looked… resigned.

"She’ll get over it," Johnny said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.

V clenched his fists. No. She wouldn’t.

Panam hadn’t run when things got hard. She’d been the first to promise him a way out, the first to stand between him and the world when it wanted to take everything. She’d fought for him.

And he’d be damned if he didn’t fight to get back to her.

The void pulsed, walls of static closing in, trying to pull him deeper. Johnny sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well? What’s it gonna be, V?"

V didn’t answer. He just turned toward the light and started walking—-and then he saw…Johnny?

—-

Panam stood there, numb and useless, watching someone she loved die—again.

That cyborg motherfucker had crushed Saul’s head like it was an insect, and she had done nothing. Now, she stood frozen as V sank to his death.

She was pathetic.

What would she do if he didn’t come back?

He gave her something no one else ever had. The clan felt like home, but V… with him, she felt like she could do anything. He made her believe in something bigger than survival. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as tears threatened to spill over.

Please don’t die, V. Please, God, don’t die. Don’t leave me alone.

She started to pace like a caged animal. Her pulse was pumping in her ears.

A memory surfaced—hiding in her tent as a child, listening to the adults whisper about Sara’s disappearance. That same helplessness crawled up her spine now. No one was coming to the rescue this time.

She stopped and stood stalk-still, staring at the tower V was jacked into. She listened to her own ragged breathing, waiting. Any second now, a kill squad could burst through the door and end all of this.

These fucking corporations think they can just do whatever they want to whoever they want. They did nothing but ruin lives.

She felt her despair turn to anger and rise in her chest. She punched the tower, leaving a bloody smear on its face. She hissed in pain, gripping her knuckles.

She didn’t dare look into the water.

How long should she wait?

Was he already dead?

She had always known what to do. Always had a plan.

Assessment, assembly, action.

But now… now she was completely out of her element, and it was maddening. She would rather be dead than useless.

She sank to her knees, gripping the sides of her head as tears began to fall.

“Please don’t leave me, V.” She said through gritted teeth and tears.

—-

V pushed forward, through the static, through the weight pressing down on his mind. Every step was a battle. Every second, something clawed at him, whispering, pulling, trying to drag him under.

The static thickened, swirling around him, trying to swallow him whole.

And then—

“You are out of time.”
Alt.
“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,”

Her voice rang through the void, hollow and cold.

“The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.”

Static clouded his vision, his mind was going blank.

“Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.”

And just like that it was over, the static gone.

"No point, V. Just makin’ it harder on yourself." Johnny’s back was turned to him.

V grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face him. "No, Johnny, it worked. I’m gonna fuckin’ live.” He couldn’t keep the giddiness out of his voice.

“Gotta admit you cobbled together a good plan.” Johnny said flatly.

V shoved a finger right in his face. “You’ve been my curse and my nightmare Johnny, but I gotta admit one thing. Day to day with Silverhand by my side, I learned to kick down barriers. Now, nothin’ can hold me back. I can feel it.” V felt bulletproof despite his dire circumstances.

Johnny walked straight through him, like a ghost made of cigarette smoke and old regrets. “That so?” His tone condescending. “Meanin’ you’ve made a decision about us?”

The world shifts. A diner booth materializes like a half-formed memory, the smell of grease and cheap coffee lingering in the air. Johnny throws himself into the seat and kicks his feet up on the table, just like he did at Tom’s Diner. He gestures for V to sit.

V doesn’t.

His blood is boiling, though he can’t tell if it’s from the residual rage of everything he’s been through—or the creeping dread curling around his spine.

Something isn’t right.

He's not in complete control of himself here like he usually is. “I want a word with Alt first,” he growls. “Where is the wench?”

Johnny just leans back, arms spread across the seat, smug as ever. “Alt’s already split us. The second you jacked into Mikoshi, she lit you up with Soulkiller.” His grin is like a snarl.

V’s stomach drops. “The fuck did you just say?”

Johnny’s grin widens. “You heard me.”

V collapses into the opposite seat. “Your output don’t fuck around.”

Before V can say another word, a cold, mechanical voice cuts through the static.

“I am not his girlfriend.”

Alt’s construct flickers into view, her eyes empty, her presence like an afterimage of something that once was.

V clenches his jaw. “Hey, Alt...”

Johnny shifts in his seat, uncomfortable for the first time. “So V, how’s it feel to be a construct?”

V’s pulse spikes. "Wait, what?" His breath catches, fire burning in his chest. “You mean to say I’m an engram?”

The world tilts.

No—no, that can’t be right. His hands feel numb, his body—this body, his mind, whatever—goes cold.

Johnny watches, waiting for the realization to land. His smirk is cruel, but there’s something beneath it—sympathy?

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Same as me. Got any more jokes?”

There’s the sarcastic asshole V knows.

V sways in his seat, grabbing the edge of the booth like it’ll keep him from slipping further into the abyss. “No, no, no—Wait!” His voice cracks as he slams a fist onto the table. “I wanna know what the hell happened to me. Exactly.”

Alt tilts her head, unaffected by his panic. “I applied Soulkiller to separate your two psyches, thereby creating V’s distinct construct.” Her words are clinical, robotic, but they hit like a hammer to the chest. “An added analgesic protocol precluded any perception of pain.”

V barely hears her over the roaring in his ears.”I know there's two versions of Soulkiller and one doesn't kill you. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Alt continues, unbothered. “I was unable to eliminate all the changes made through the Johnny data incursion and overwrite, but your engram integrity remains high.”

Johnny lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Meaning, she can transfer you back into your body.”

V latches onto that sliver of hope. “Then do it.”

Alt doesn’t move. “Your neural tissue has undergone significant degradation.”

V stills. “Meaning?”

Alt’s next words are a death sentence. “Upon reintegration, your lifespan will still be limited. Approximately six months.”

The diner is silent.

Johnny lets out a sharp breath, rubbing his forehead. “Shit.”

V grips the table like it’ll keep him from breaking apart. His mind races. He doesn't know which form of Soulkiller she used. He's just hoping it was the commercial non-lethal type. And then the Relic with Johnny’s engram already on it?

Who the fuck knows?

This has to be a ruse. There’s something they’re not telling him. What if they’re trying to convince him to go with Alt willingly? Let Johnny have his body?

But if not–six months. That was it. All this fighting, all this suffering, for six fucking months?

His body goes rigid, every muscle screaming at him to do something, but what is there left to do? Let Johnny take over? Disappear? Would that be so bad? What's the difference? Maybe it’d be easier to just—

Then he thinks about what it would do to her if he followed Alt to digital hell. This has become about more than getting this thing outta his head. He wants to live for her now, not just himself.

The way she looked at him that night at the campfire, the warmth in her voice when she said his name. The way she touched him, held him like he was hers, like he mattered. He wants more of that.

She was out there, waiting for him.

And that was the difference.

Johnny had no one left.

But V? V had someone to come home to.

His breath steadies, his grip on the table loosens. He knows what he has to do.

“That’s enough,” he says, voice firm.

Johnny scoffs. “Enough? Six fuckin’ months, V.”

V looks at him, and for the first time, he understands Johnny. Understands why he fought so hard, why he refused to let go of his war, his pain. Johnny had nothing else. But V did.

“And what’s the other option, Johnny?” His voice is quiet but unshakable. “Let you take over? Just disappear?”

Johnny doesn’t answer.

V exhales, something loosening in his chest. “I got someone waitin’ for me. Someone to fight my way back for. And I ain’t leavin’ her behind.”

Something flickers across Johnny’s face. “That corpo bitch said the same thing once.”

V clenches his jaw. “Don’t.”

Johnny just shrugs. “Hey, just sayin’.” But his smirk falters. “Love makes people do some dumb shit.” He looks at V, really looks at him, and lets out a slow breath. “But maybe this is the kinda dumb shit worth doin’.”

V nods once. “Alt. Put me back.”

Alt doesn’t hesitate. “Confirmed. Prepare for transmission.”

The world begins to warp, dissolving into white-hot data streams.

Johnny leans back, arms crossed. “Guess this is it, then.”

V stares at him for a long moment. “Guess so.”

Johnny exhales through his nose, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You got guts, V. Always did.”

V smirks, just a little. “Yeah? Had to to put up with your ass.”

Johnny huffs out a dry laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”

The white light surges. Johnny starts to fade, his silhouette flickering like a dying flame. But he’s smug ‘til the end.

“Go get her, V.”

Then everything turns to static—

And V falls.

—-

Then, the surface of the water broke.

V’s arm crashed through, his fingers clamping onto the edge of the pool.

"V!"

She moved instantly, grabbing his arm and hauling him onto the platform. He was breathing—but barely. He weakly gestured toward the jack in his neck, and she ripped it free.

He coughed and sputtered, rolling onto his side. Without thinking, she placed a steady hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently.

Slowly, he turned onto his back, his eyes locking onto hers.

Then, he reached up, his trembling hand brushing against her face. He let out a shaky breath, his hand still resting on her cheek. His voice is hoarse and drained.

"I heard you… down there. Felt you pulling me back. Didn’t think I’d make it, but… you kept me here, Panam."

His fingers trail down her jaw, weak but deliberate.

"I don’t wanna leave you. Not now. Not ever."

Panam swallowed hard, his words hitting her right in the chest.

She doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve him.

V, half-dead and broken, still looks at her like she’s something worth holding onto. Like she’s the reason he fought to come back.

Her throat tightens. What the hell is she supposed to do with that?

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. "Get it together, V." Her voice wavers despite the bite in her words. "We need to get out of here."

She flinches against his touch, wanting to pull away, to put distance between them—but she can’t. Instead, she slows and lets herself lean into it, grounding herself in his warmth.

V lets out a weak laugh. “Still won’t believe it will you?”

“Believe what?” Why does he make her feel like a scared rabbit?

“I love you, Panam.”

Her breath catches, her whole body going rigid.

No. No, he can’t—he shouldn’t—say that. Not now. Not when he’s barely holding on, when she can still feel the tremor in his fingers, the weight of his near-death hovering over her like a phantom.

Her instinct is to push it away, shove it down like everything else. But V just lies there, looking at her like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

His words echo in her head, unraveling something deep inside her.

She grabbed his hand, forcing out a breath. "V, we don’t have time for this."

She tries to pull away, but his grip tightens—weak, but sure.

"We always have time for the truth." His voice is rough but there’s no hesitation. No doubt.

She wants to tell him he’s delirious. That he’s just running on adrenaline and desperation. That he doesn’t really mean it.

But the way he’s looking at her… it’s the same way he did back in that parking lot, or the times they counted stars together in the desert, in every quiet moment between the chaos.

He means it.

Panam swallows hard, her heart slamming against her ribs.

"You’re an idiot, V." Her voice is unsteady.

V just smiles—small, tired, real. "Yeah. But I’m your idiot."

Her venom never hurts him, even in this state he’s still unflappable.

He pushes himself up to sit, his movements slow and stiff. Panam instinctively reaches out to steady him, but he catches her wrist instead.

Then, before she can process what’s happening, his lips press against hers.

His kiss is slow—unrushed, deliberate. Completely out of sync with the situation. A deep, lingering pull that steals the breath from her lungs. His lips are warm despite everything, firm yet careful, like he’s memorizing the shape of her, like this moment is something sacred.

Her first instinct is to pull away, to tell him he’s wasting his strength on this—but she doesn’t. Instead, she sinks into him, her hands sliding up to cradle his face, her fingers threading through his damp hair. She feels his arms encircle her waist, pulling her closer.

He exhales against her lips, his whole body relaxing like this is the only thing keeping him grounded.

When they finally break apart, V lets out a weak laugh. "Think you’ll ever admit that you’re glad that Rouge sent me to help you?"

Panam scoffs, shaking her head as she presses her forehead to his. "Shut up, V."

____

The world was still spinning, his body screaming in protest, but none of it mattered. Not when Panam was right here. V clung to the moment, to her, afraid that if he let go, he’d slip right back into the void. Panam’s arm was around V’s waist, half carrying him as they moved through the facility. His legs felt like they were made of lead, but he kept going—kept moving, this was almost over.

“Almost there,” Panam said, voice tight with focus. She was scanning the hallways, checking corners, keeping them both alive.

V let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna be real pissed if I survive Mikoshi just to get shot in the back on the way out.”

Panam’s grip on him tightened. “Not funny.”

The exit loomed ahead, a heavy metal door barely hanging on its hinges from the assault earlier. The air smelled like dust and ozone, but beyond that door—freedom.

V’s knees nearly buckled, but Panam caught him. “I got you.” She didn't miss a step.

“We need to leave immediately, camp is already packed up and ready to go.”

V grinned, assessment, assembly, action like she always says.

“Angelia got your cat.”
“Nibbles? No way. He's comin’ with us?”
“Yep, I couldn’t leave that little guy behind.”

As they stepped outside, the crisp desert dawn wrapped around them, cool and invigorating against V’s sweat slick skin, they could still see the stars stretching endlessly above. It smelled like sand, like dry earth—and blood.

Panam exhaled sharply, like she’d been holding her breath this whole time. “Mitch,” she barked. “We’re out. Bring the ride now.”

Then she heard Mitch’s relieved voice. “On our way Panam, hold tight.” Mitch was alive, she let a smile spread across her face, maybe they’ll really pull this off. Her relief was bittersweet, mixed with the guilt of leaving Saul’s body behind.

They were getting out.

V was alive.

And Saul was not.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go down. He should have been here. He should have been calling the shots, barking orders over the radio, making some half-annoying, half-comforting remark about how they’d done the impossible.

But instead, she’d left him there—his body cooling on the floor of that Arasaka hellhole while she carried V out.

Her grip tightened. I should have saved him. I should have found a way to get them both out.

But she didn’t.

Because she wasn’t strong enough.

Her vision blurred for a millisecond before she blinked it away. She couldn’t afford this—not now.

There they were—her clan – No, their clan—roaring in to pull them out. Her Warhorse skidded to a stop, its door flung open before Panam even reached it. Someone jumped out, making way for her to take the wheel.

V started to pull away from her. “Let’s move.”

She grabbed his arm before he could stumble forward. “Wait! Can you walk?”

He shot her a tired smirk, barely masking the pain behind it. “I’m fine, Panam. Let’s go.”

She hesitated for half a second—long enough to see the way his body wavered, how he was running on nothing but sheer willpower. But there was no time to argue.

“Fine,” she muttered, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “But you’re not doing this alone.”

She helped him into the passenger seat beneath her, every bump in the road rattling through her bones, but the real pain was deeper—buried under the weight pressing against her chest.

A cough from the passenger seat snapped her back.

V was watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion but still sharp and inquisitive. His hand lifted from his lap, reaching for her.

Tears stung her eyes as she took it, gripping it harder than she meant to. V squeezed back—weak, but steady. Like he knew. Like he understood.

She blinked fast and turned her eyes back to the road. “We’re almost there,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

Almost there. Almost safe.

And maybe, just maybe, once they crossed that border, she’d finally let herself grieve.

V’s eyelids grew heavy as he leaned back resting his head on the headrest as sleep took him.

—-

When V woke, the soft glow of early morning stretched across the horizon. The truck was still, the hum of the engine silent. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no urgency, no race against time. But something was missing.

Where was she?

He pushed the door open, stepping onto solid ground, his muscles stiff and aching. That’s when he saw her—leaning against the wall of the dam, gaze locked on the distant skyline of Night City.

He walked over, his footsteps quiet against the cracked pavement, and leaned against the wall next to her. “This dam... I remember it well. Our beginnings.”

As they stood on the edge of the dam, the city stretched before them, a neon graveyard flickering in the early dawn.

She didn’t turn, just let out a sigh, her voice low, “Didn’t know what to make of you then.”

A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “What did you make of me?”

A pause, a sigh as her memories of him ran through her head.

“I wondered if you were anything like me. Carrying something damn important inside you… something to prove to yourself.”

“I was. We both were.” He smiled. “Bet you had no idea we’d end up like this, though.”

Panam huffed a quiet laugh. “Truer words I’ve never heard… Night City chewed us up good, didn’t it?”

He put his arm around her. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t think. We’ll forget it all, tanning our backsides in the Arizona sun.” He absently rubbed her arm as he thought about everything that happened.

“Time and perspective. Need a bit of both.”

V followed her gaze to the city. Its neon glow was faint from this far out, just a ghost of what it once was. He stared out at the skyline, letting his eyes trace the familiar sprawl one last time. He searched for something—some lingering attachment, some last regret—but found nothing. Just cold steel and broken promises.

"It’s just not there… what I’m lookin’ for." His voice was quiet, but sure.

Panam looked at him, studying his profile in the morning light. "Think we’ll ever find it?"

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If Night City taught me anything, it’s to beware of your dreams… ’cause somehow, they always find a way to bite you in the ass." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Everything I wanted back then… it was all just shit that didn’t matter."

“Somewhere in there,” she muttered, “those bastards are wondering how they lost everything. They’ll figure it out one day—but we’ll be long gone.”

V let out a dry chuckle. “Should’ve done this long ago. Gotten some perspective. On the city, my life there.”

“The city of dreams,” her sarcasm was unmistakable. “I’d gladly kick the balls off the idiot who came up with that one.”

Finally, he looked at her, and whatever weight he carried in his chest seemed to lift. His expression softened. "Just realized—think I have everything I could possibly want."

Panam let out a short laugh, a grin winning the battle against her. "Fuck, V! You’re a sweet talker, aren’t you?"

He hugged her closer. "It works though, right? Just say it works."

She rolled her eyes, her smile growing even wider. "It does. All too well."

V turned fully toward her, searching her face. “Panam…” he hesitated, eyes turning to the ground. “After Mikoshi… after everything… “ He looked her in the eye. “I’m glad we made it here. Together.”

His throat tightened. He reached for her hand, squeezing gently.

“And that we’re leavin’ – together.”

Her chest felt warm but the moment was fleeting—her smile faltered as her gaze dropped to his nose. "Shit, V—you’re bleeding again."

V wiped at his nose absentmindedly, looking down at the smear of red on his fingers. "Gonna figure this out, Panam. Vic’s meds help a bit now. And once we get to where we’re goin’… we’ll try all your contacts."

Panam’s jaw tightened. "They’ve pulled some of our folks out of deep, deep cesspits." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "They’ll help—you’ll see."

V let her conviction sink into him, let himself believe it, even if just for now. He nodded. "Glad to hear it. Let’s get outta here."

Panam moved toward the truck but hesitated. She knew what this moment meant. "Sure. But, V—if you need a last look, take it. I’ll be in the car."

He grabbed her hand as she turned to leave. “Panam…”

She saw the resolve etched on his face. “I remember what I said in there – and I meant it.”

A small smile returned to her lips. “I know you did, V.” She kissed him on the cheek then headed for the truck.

He lingered a second longer, eyes locked on the city that had nearly stolen everything from him—had stolen everything from so many others. A place that chewed people up and spat them out hollow. But that wasn’t him. Not anymore.

He exhaled slowly. "Well, Night City… good night, and good luck."

Then he turned away, toward the truck, toward Panam—toward hope.

Chapter Text

Darkness pressed in on V, thick and suffocating. His body floated, weightless—adrift in an endless void. Voices reached him, muffled and distant, like echoes in a tunnel. Someone was calling his name.

Hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him first gently, then harder when he didn’t respond.

“V, stay with me! Just hold on!”

Panam.

Her voice cut through the haze, raw with desperation. He clung to it, reaching for her like an anchor in a storm. He tried to move, to open his eyes, but his limbs were sluggish, too heavy to obey. The pain was there—a dull, distant throb beneath crushing exhaustion. Every breath was a struggle.

Suddenly, he was lifted—cradled in strong arms. The familiar scent of old leather and engine grease filled his senses as he was pulled into a vehicle.

A door slammed.

The world shifted around him, the sounds sharpening. Someone cursed under their breath.

Mitch?

“Dammit, Panam, he’s burning up.”

“I know! Just drive, Mitch!” Her voice cracked.

Engines roared. Tires skidded over dirt. A damp cloth pressed against his forehead. Someone murmured something he couldn’t make out. Fingers brushed against his cheek.

“Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

V wanted to answer, to tell her he wasn’t going anywhere, but his body betrayed him. The words wouldn’t come.

The ride was rough, jostling him with every bump in the road, but they didn’t stop. The urgency in the air was suffocating.

“Dakota said that last ride in the Basilisk probably did him in.” Mitch’s voice cut through the noise. “Got word from our contact. They’re willing to help, but we gotta move fast.”

Panam’s grip on his hand tightened. “You hear that? We’re getting you out of this.”

The vehicle slowed. V felt himself slipping again, consciousness flickering like a dying light. The last thing he registered was Panam’s breath against his ear as she whispered,

“Stay with me, please,”

…and the hot sting of her tears against his skin.

Then the darkness swallowed him whole.

—

V drifted in and out, pulled between consciousness and oblivion. The next time awareness took hold, the world felt… different.

The suffocating weight of death had eased, but his body ached, heavy and foreign. A sterile scent filled the air, mingling with something familiar.

His eyelids fluttered open. Dim lighting. Hushed voices. The quiet hum of machinery. He wasn’t in the Badlands anymore. Not in a tent, not in a van.

His pulse spiked. A frantic beeping filled the room.

Where the fuck am I?

Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. His gaze drifted to the figure slumped in a chair beside his bed. Panam.

She sat with her arms crossed over her chest, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. Even in sleep, she looked tense, like she’d been holding up the weight of the world.

V swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy. “…Hey.”

Panam stirred instantly, eyes snapping open. For a moment, she just stared at him, like she couldn’t believe he was real. Then, in an instant, she was leaning over him, fingers running through his hair, forehead resting against his.

“V,” she breathed. “You scared the shit out of me.”

A weak chuckle escaped him. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She pulled back, just enough to look him in the eye. “You’re okay.” Like saying it would make it true. “We made it.”

V exhaled, tension bleeding from his body. “…Where did we make it to, exactly?”

The room was cleaner, more advanced than any ripper doc’s clinic. Minimalist. Sterile. It smelled like antiseptic.

Panam hesitated. “StormTech’s genetics center in Tucson.” She looked away, her fingers tightening in the sheets. “When you collapsed—” Her voice wavered. She swallowed hard. “Mitch called our contact. He agreed to meet us here.”

V let his head sink into the pillow. His body still felt like lead, but the razor-sharp edge of pain had dulled to an ache. He could breathe. Think. He was alive. But… static flickered in his vision.

The relic.

Not again.

“Tucson, huh?” His voice was rough. His gaze wandered the room—too clean, too controlled. Too far from the dust and grit of the road.

Panam’s fingers tightened around his. “Had no choice. Hutch couldn’t do anything for you.” Her throat tightened as she forced herself to continue. “We almost lost you, V.”

The words hit harder than he expected. He knew it had been close, but hearing it in her voice made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“…How bad was it?”

Panam exhaled shakily. “One second you were walking and talking like nothing was wrong. The next, you were on the ground, bleeding out.”

She blinked fast, pushing back whatever emotion threatened to surface.

“Dakota said the Basilisk fried your systems. Even after whatever the hell Alt did.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “We drove nonstop, but you wouldn’t wake up. I thought—” She cut herself off, closing her eyes for a second before meeting his gaze. “Mitch called our contact. Pulled some strings. We got here just in time.”

V squeezed her hand, wondering when his luck would finally run out. “Losin’ count of all the times I almost died.”

A weak, breathless laugh left her lips. “Yeah. You’re one stubborn bastard.”

He smirked, but it faded as reality sank in. “…So the Basilisk fried my circuits?”

She nodded. “Dr. Levy ran tests. Said that you were stabilizing, but your body wasn’t adapting fast enough. Neural rejection, cell degradation.” Her voice turned bitter. “Corporate jargon. They always make it sound more convoluted than it is.”

V frowned. “So what did they do?”

Panam hesitated. “They’re still working on it. They have tech—experimental stuff. They might be able to stop the damage.”

Might.

He caught the word. It settled in his gut, heavy and sickening. Another chance, but no guarantees.

She saw the look on his face and squeezed his hand tighter. “We’re not giving up. We got you this far. We’ll figure out the rest.”

He studied her—really studied her. The exhaustion in her eyes. The way her hands trembled just slightly. She’d fought for him. Stayed by his side while he was barely holding on.

He squeezed back. “Yeah. We will.”

A memory surfaced—something he'd heard once. Get knocked down seven times, stand up eight.

Fuck Arasaka. They weren’t going to take him down.

The door hissed open, and a man in a crisp lab coat stepped inside. He was older, maybe early fifties, with silvering hair and sharp, intelligent eyes that took in everything at a glance.

"Good to see you awake," he said, his voice soft but assured. He studied V for a moment before glancing at the monitors. "You’re in better shape than I expected."

Despite the medical environment, there was something unassuming about him—the way he carried himself, the way his voice, when he spoke, was calm and measured. He had the same easy cadence as Vic. It sent a pang though V’s chest thinking about all the people he left behind.

V ran a hand down his face, still trying to shake off the haze. “I hope you got some good news, doc.”

Panam stepped closer to V’s side, folding her arms.

Dr. Levy’s gaze flicked to her, then back to V. “I have some. The damage from the Relic is severe, but removing it should stop it from getting worse. The real question is how much your body can recover on its own after the fact.” He paused. “I won’t lie to you—we know almost nothing about the relic or what to expect moving forward. But this is your best shot.”

V exhaled slowly, letting that settle in. Best shot. He’d take it.

Levy moved toward a terminal, tapping something in. “StormTech provided the resources for this procedure. In return, they want possession of the Relic once it’s removed.”

Panam sighed, shifting her weight. StormTech had helped them in the past, they’ve already proven they are trustworthy. Even so, it was hard to hand something like the Relic over.

V’s jaw tightened, but he wasn’t surprised. Of course they’d want the damn thing. It was still one of the most advanced pieces of tech ever made. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever gets it outta my head.”

Dr. Levy studied him for a moment, as if gauging whether he really meant it. Then he nodded. “Good. Then let’s get you prepped for surgery. The sooner we get that thing out of your head the better.” With that he strode out of the room.

V let his head fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. He should’ve felt relieved, but instead, his mind kept spinning. What happened after this? Arasaka wasn’t the type to let shit slide. They’d come looking for the Relic, and if they found out it was gone—if they found him—he wasn’t sure he’d live long enough to enjoy this second chance.

For now, though, one thing at a time.

He turned to look at Panam, grounding himself in her presence. “Guess we better get this over with.”

Dr. Levy returned and moved towards V’s IV drip holding a syringe. Focusing on what he was doing as he explained, “This is your anesthesia, you won’t feel a thing.”

Then everything went black.

----

Panam paced the length of the waiting room, her boots scuffing against the hard floor. It had been hours since V was wheeled away. The bright overhead lights buzzed faintly, too clean, too cold. The air smelled of disinfectant, but beneath that, she swore she could still catch the lingering scent of blood. V’s blood.

Mitch sat in one of the plastic chairs, he was on a call with Cassidy, filling him in on V’s condition. The weight of what was happening behind those double doors pressed down on them, suffocating, unrelenting.

Panam stopped pacing and crossed her arms, pressing her fingers into her biceps hard enough to hurt. It grounded her, if only for a second. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw V collapsing on the ground, his body limp in her arms. His breathing, ragged and shallow. The way his fingers twitched like he was already slipping away.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. No. He was not slipping away. Dr. Levy said he could help. Said there was a chance. She had to believe that.

The doors to the operating room slid open.

Panam’s heart nearly stopped.

Dr. Levy stepped out, pulling off a pair of surgical gloves as he approached. His sharp, hawk-like gaze flickered with something unreadable—something that made her stomach sink before he even opened his mouth.

Mitch was on his feet in an instant. “How is he?”

Dr. Levy hesitated.

That pause. That fucking pause.

Panam’s fists clenched. “Just say it,” she snapped.

Levy exhaled through his nose and nodded. “V is alive. But there were… complications.”

Panam felt the floor tilt beneath her. She gritted her teeth. “What kind of complications?”

Levy glanced between them, his expression unreadable. “The damage the relic caused was more extensive than we thought. If I had simply removed the biochip and brought him out of anesthesia, he wouldn’t have survived. His nervous system, his organs—everything was compromised.” He paused, lowering his voice. “I had to make a decision.”

Mitch’s face darkened. “What kind of decision?”

Levy met Panam’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “I had to put him into a medically induced coma—We’ll need to remove all of his cyberware.”

Silence.

Panam blinked. “What?”

Levy continued, his voice softer now. “Every implant, every enhancement—his body is rejecting them. The only way to save him is to take everything out. Replace the synthetic with organic. It’s the only way he’ll have a chance.”

Panam’s chest tightened, her mind racing with a thousand questions. “How are we going to afford full organic replacements?”

She barely heard Mitch swear under his breath.

Levy eyed them both and then continued. “StormTech is willing to provide the replacements for nothing since you are giving them the relic. This procedure is experimental, and they would also like to study V’s condition and his recovery process.”

Levy kept talking, but his voice felt distant, like she was hearing it through water.

“This is going to be a long process. The cyberware wasn’t just hardware—it was part of his identity, how he lived, how he fought, how he survived. Adjusting to a life without it…” He hesitated. “It won’t be easy. Physically or mentally. But he’ll live.”

Panam sucked in a shaky breath. V would live. That was the important thing. That was all that mattered.

Then why did it feel like someone had just gutted her?

She swallowed hard. “When will he wake up?”

Levy pressed his lips into a thin line. “Not for a while. Luckily, we have organic replacements that should match nicely with V’s body. We’ve been doing extensive research into them, so there’s no need to wait until they are created. Although his body will need time to accept the replacements and adjust. I won’t take him out of the coma until I know he’s stable. You should go back to your clan in the meantime.”

Panam stiffened. “Like hell I’m leaving him here alone.”

“I understand,” Levy said, his voice gentle but firm. “But there’s nothing you can do for him right now. You’ve done your part. You got him here.”

Panam shook her head. “No. No way. I—” Her breath hitched. She pressed her hands to her face. She hadn’t cried when they crossed the border. Hadn’t cried when she’d held V in the truck, convinced he was dying. But now, standing here, being told she had to leave him—the dam broke and racking sobs took over.

Mitch placed a hand on her shoulder. “Panam.”

She turned to him, eyes burning.

“We gotta go,” he said softly. His voice was steady, and his grip on her shoulder was firm. He knew she wouldn’t survive staying here, she needed something to focus on instead of sitting around waiting.

Her throat clenched shut as tears streamed down her face, she just nodded her agreement as she choked on them.

Levy gave her a nod, a sympathetic look. “I’ll contact you the moment there’s a change.”

Mitch placed an arm around her shoulders and led her down the hall.

As she turned to leave, she cast one last look at the doors leading to the recovery ward.

After everything they’d been through together, it felt like she was abandoning V to the flood.

To the onslaught of machines and doctors and procedures she couldn’t control.

To the quiet battle he’d have to fight alone.

She gritted her teeth and tore her gaze away.

She’d bring him home. No matter what it took.

—-

She didn’t remember the drive back to camp.

Didn’t remember walking to her tent, turning off the light or collapsing onto her cot.

All she noticed was the silence.

It wasn’t the kind of silence she liked—the quiet of the desert at night, the gentle hum of engines cooling after a long ride. No, this silence suffocated her. It pressed in from all sides, thick and heavy, filling the space where V used to be.

He had been everywhere. Riding beside her. Talking, laughing, being so fucking calm and collected that it was annoying. He was a part of the clan, her clan, slipping into their world like he had always been there.

And now?

Now he was gone.

She curled onto her side, gripping his leather jacket—his fucking jacket—that she hadn’t realized she’d been clutching since they left StormTech. It smelled like him, she remembered surprising him with it. Her heart was ripped out leaving a cavernous hole. She felt hollow.

She stared blankly at nothing as she pulled it close and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

If she let go, if she let herself feel even a fraction of what was building inside her, she would break.

She had seen people die before. Lost people before. She knew how this story went.

But this was V.

He was the only person that never tried to get something from her.
She was never too much for him like she was for everybody else.
She loved him so fucking much.

And now he was slipping through her fingers.

Her body ached from exhaustion, but she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him in that hospital bed. Saw the wires, the machines keeping him alive. Saw the way Dr. Levy’s face had darkened when he talked about the damage, the complications.

Panam wasn’t stupid.

Even if V woke up, he wouldn’t be the same. His body would be torn apart and put back together without the cyberware he had relied on for years. He would have to learn how to live in a body that no longer felt like his own.

And if he didn’t wake up at all—

She squeezed her eyes shut.

No.

She couldn’t think like that.

Couldn’t think about what it would mean to bury him.

Her stomach twisted violently, and before she knew it, she was shoving herself up and stumbling out of the tent, her breath coming fast and uneven.

The camp was quiet, most of the clan asleep. Good. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. Didn’t want to answer questions, didn’t want to hear anyone tell her to have faith or be strong. She didn’t want thoughts and prayers.

She wasn’t strong.

Not right now.

She made it to the edge of camp before her legs gave out. She sank to the ground, pressing her forehead to her knees, fingers tangling in her hair.

She didn’t know how long she sat there.

Long enough for the stars to shift.

Long enough that her body felt stiff and cold.

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of dust and gasoline. The smell of home.

A life she didn’t want to live without him.

“V,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

If there was any part of him left—if he could hear her, wherever he was—

“Come back to me.”

She had never felt this desperate.

She would rather die than lose him.

Panam sat there for a long time, listening to the wind whip through the desert. The night was cold, but she barely felt it. The ache in her chest burned hotter than anything else, a deep, gnawing pain she couldn’t outrun.

She had no control.

That was what terrified her the most.

Every battle, every raid, every fight she had ever been in—she had been able to do something. Make a plan, take a shot, find a way out. But this?

This was a waiting game.

There was nothing she could do and she fucking hated it.

Somewhere behind her, footsteps crunched against the dirt. Heavy. Familiar.

Mitch.

She didn’t move as he approached, stopping a few feet away. For a while, he said nothing, just stood there, arms crossed, staring out at the horizon.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” he finally said. His voice was calm, steady. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

Panam swallowed hard, her throat tight. “You?”

“Not a chance.” A pause. “I keep thinking about what they’re doing to him.”

Panam closed her eyes. She had been trying not to think about that.

They have to remove his eyes…his arms and legs…organs. She felt sick.

She had wanted to stay. Had fought to stay. But Levy had insisted there was nothing more she could do.

Panam had never felt more powerless in her entire life.

She finally looked up at Mitch. He was staring down at her, his face lined with exhaustion.

He hesitated, then crouched beside her. “Listen… I know this is hell. But he’s alive. That means something.”

Panam exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “What if he doesn't wake up?”

There was silence.

She clenched her jaw. “I keep thinking… maybe we should’ve done something different. Found a different doctor, a different way—”

“There was no other way, Panam.” Mitch’s voice was firm but gentle. “You know that. You heard Levy—V would’ve died if they’d tried to wake him up with all that cyberware still in him.”

Her voice caught in her throat. He was right. What else could she say?

They fell into silence again.

Mitch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t pray. Never really saw the point. But if there’s anything or anyone out there listening, I hope they know this world ain’t done with V yet.”

Panam swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Me too.”

She let the silence settle between them.

Then, after a long moment, she spoke again, voice quieter now.

“Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t wake up.”

Mitch didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, his expression softening.

“Don’t think like that, Panam. We don’t know anything yet.”

Panam turned her gaze back to the horizon, where the first hints of sunrise were starting to paint the sky in pale golds and deep purples.

Mitch was right.

Worrying about what–ifs was useless.

Chapter Text

The desert stretched endlessly before her, golden sand and dry brush painted in the hues of the setting sun. It should have felt like home but instead it felt like a dry carcass. Lifeless, lonely and desolate. She was alone on the edge of camp. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she worked under her truck, her tank top sticking to her skin. At least it was quiet out here, she needed a break.

As she worked, Nibbles trilled happily, perched on the hood of her truck. He’d been glued to her ever since V…

It had been weeks since they left StormTech. Weeks since she had last seen V. They said she couldn’t visit him yet because they wanted to monitor him 24/7 until the transplants took. Panam read through the lines, she knew they didn’t want her to get in the way of their research. They were using him as a lab rat. She knew it.

The clan was also having trouble finding a permanent settlement. Every time she thought it would work out there was another dead–end.

She poured herself into work, she was chief now anyway. She fixed every damn thing that broke—because if she stopped, even for a second, the silence would swallow her whole. There was always something to do. Organizing supply runs. Coordinating defenses. The endless search for land so they could have a home base. The clan was looking to her now, and she couldn’t let them down.

She. Couldn’t. Stop.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw V—pale, lifeless, dying in her arms. She heard the beeping of monitors, the sound of Dr. Levy’s voice telling her he wouldn't wake up for a long time.

And worst of all, she heard the silence that followed. The hollow space where he should be. For a brief moment, the memories of V flooded back: his infectious humor that lifted her from her worst moods, and the way he’d effortlessly make even the darkest days feel bearable. Those memories, once a comfort, now only sharpened the agony of his absence.

Her hands stopped. She was working on that piece of shit gilappe in that parking lot the first time they met. Ripping the engine apart just like she is now. Tears ran down her cheeks as the memory sank it’s teeth in. The back of her head hit the dry ground as a defeated sigh left her. Will she ever be able to do anything without thinking of him?

The Aldecaldos were running themselves ragged. It was taking far longer than expected to find someplace to settle. All the land they were told was available was already taken. They were roaming the desert. Luckily Arasaka had no presence in Arizona. If they tried to find the relic they’d have a lot of bureaucratic red tape to deal with first. The remoteness of the desert, combined with fierce local alliances and the unyielding spirit of independent communities, made it a place where corpos simply can’t operate as they do in Night City.

“Panam.”

She blinked, snapping back to reality. She saw Mitch’s boots appear beside her.

“What?” she asked, sharper than intended, she continued ripping apart her engine without looking up.

He leaned on the hood. “When was the last time you got any sleep?”

Panam huffed. “Not your problem, is it?”

Mitch sighed. “You’re running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m fine.”

She heard his exasperated sigh as he placed a canteen of water on the ground beside her and walked away.

He was right, she was exhausted, all she wanted to do was sleep. Her mind was hazy, she couldn’t think straight, and she was snapping at people more than usual, she saw the looks they gave her.

She had to keep moving.

Panam spent the next few hours buried under the hood of her truck, wrench in hand. Her hands worked on instinct, muscle memory guiding her while her mind reeled in circles.

She thought about V’s lopsided smirk, the way he would make suggestions he knew she wouldn’t take just to get a rise out of her.

The way his eyes softened when no one else was looking.

She thought about the stupid, thoughtful things he did—like making sure she ate when she was too caught up in work. Or the way he’d throw an arm around her shoulders and steal her drink just to make her laugh.

Her fingers tightened around the wrench.

She needed him to wake up. Because if he didn’t—

The thought cut off as the wrench slipped, her knuckles slamming into the engine block.

“Shit—!” She recoiled, shaking out her hand. She heard Nibbles chirp and run off. He didn’t like it when she yelled.

She let out a hiss as she clenched her fist to her chest. It was bleeding, she could feel the thick sticky liquid seeping into her tanktop. She took a breath and slid out from under the truck. It’s fine, she can deal with this. Everything is fine.

Something inside her snapped.

In a burst of anger and sorrow, she kicked the front of her Warhorse, her foot throbbing from hitting cold steel. She kicked the side of the truck with everything she had. The pain barely registered. She kicked it again and again as she screamed.

“Fuuuuck!” Her voice cracked as she slammed her fists against the hood. “Fucking piece of shit!”

The tears she’d been holding back for weeks finally broke free, blurring her vision. She dug her fingers into her hair, gasping, unable to stop shaking.

She hated this. Hated feeling powerless. Hated waiting. She should have stayed with V. She should have fought harder. She should have—

A warm hand settled on her shoulder.

Panam stiffened.

Cassidy.

She hadn’t even heard him approach.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, her whole body froze.

Then he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and stepped beside her. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask what was wrong—he already knew.

Panam sucked in a shaky breath, wiped at her face. “I—”

Her voice broke.

Cassidy just nodded. “C’mon,” he murmured, guiding her away from the truck. “Let’s sit.”

She let him lead her to an old crate near the fire. The weight of exhaustion crashed over her all at once, and suddenly, she couldn’t hold herself up anymore. She sank onto the crate, elbows on her knees, gripping her head.

Cassidy sat beside her, silent.

They sat like that for a long time, the fire crackling softly between them.

Then, finally, Cassidy spoke.

“You don’t have to carry this alone, kid.” He handed her some bandages and antiseptic.

Panam swallowed hard. “I don’t—” She stopped herself. The lie wouldn’t come.
Cassidy sighed, rubbing his jaw. “I get it. You feel like you gotta hold everything together. Like if you don’t, everything’ll fall apart.”
Panam stared at the fire, her chest tightening.
“But you don’t have to be strong all the time,” he said quietly. “Not with us.”

Panam squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to wait. How to—” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What if he doesn’t wake up?”

Cassidy exhaled, long and slow. “Then we deal with it if it happens.” He met her gaze, steady, sure. “But right now? He’s still here.”

Panam let out a shaky breath, rubbing her hands over her face.

Cassidy leaned back, gazing at the sky. “Y’know,” he said, “you remind me a lot of Saul sometimes.”

Panam let out a rough, wet laugh. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

Cassidy smirked. “Tough as hell, stubborn as all get out, always puttin’ others first even when you shouldn’t.” His expression softened. “And just like him, you don’t know when to ask for help.”

Panam swallowed, throat tight.

Cassidy nudged her knee with his. “We’re your family, Panam. Let us be.”

Panam sucked in a slow breath.

For the first time in weeks, the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “Alright.”

Cassidy nodded back. “Good.”

Then, after a beat, he patted his knee. “Now, let’s go fix that hunk of junk you call a truck before you kick a hole through it.”

Panam let out a small, choked laugh.

—-

As she followed Cassidy back to her truck the last remnants of her breakdown settled into a quiet exhaustion. Cassidy stayed beside her, his presence steady as a mountain. He didn’t push her to speak more, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask, offering it to her.

She hesitated, then took it with a muttered “Thanks” before taking a small sip. The warmth of the alcohol burned down her throat, grounding her in the present.

Cassidy leaned back against the truck, stretching out his long legs. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was younger too,” he said after a moment.

Panam let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh yeah? You had a habit of getting attached to stubborn mercs with a death wish?”

Cassidy chuckled, shaking his head. “No. But I did think the whole world rested on my shoulders. Thought if I didn’t keep pushing, keep fighting, everything would fall apart.” He looked up at the night sky, the endless sprawl of stars stretching across the horizon. “Learned the hard way that leading ain’t about carrying everything alone. It’s about knowing when to trust your people to carry the load with you.”

Panam stared at the ground, her fingers tracing the smooth metal of the flask. “Feels like if I stop moving, I’ll fall apart,” she admitted.

Cassidy nodded. “Yeah. And maybe that’s okay, once in a while.”

For a moment, she just breathed, letting herself exist in the stillness. She hadn’t done that in weeks. Every day had been a cycle of motion—planning, scouting, leading—anything to avoid the crushing helplessness of waiting.

Finally, she handed the flask back. “I should get some rest,” she murmured.

Cassidy took the flask but didn’t move right away. He watched her carefully. “You gonna let someone else take the reins for a bit?”

Panam smirked tiredly. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

Cassidy laughed, shaking his head. “Just tryin’ to keep you from runnin’ yourself into the ground.”

She let out a breath and rubbed at her eyes. “Yeah… I’ll try.”

Cassidy seemed satisfied with that answer. “Good. Now go get some sleep. I’ll make sure the world doesn’t fall apart while you do.”

Panam nodded and turned toward the cluster of tents. The embers of the campfire flickered, casting long shadows against the dusty ground. Most of the clan was already asleep, their soft murmurs and the occasional laugh drifting through the still night.

She paused near her tent, hesitating. The space felt too empty. Too quiet. Without thinking, she reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out something small—V’s earring. They removed all of his piercings for surgery and Panam kept one of them with her all the time.

Her fingers curled around the cool metal as she closed her eyes.

Wake up soon, V. I don’t know how much longer I can do this without you.

She pressed the earring to her chest, then slipped into her tent, exhaustion finally pulling her under.

For the first time in weeks, she slept deeply.

—-

The sound of hushed voices and boots crunching over dirt stirred Panam from sleep. Nibbles was curled up next to her. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the tent, warming her skin. She groaned, rubbing at her tired eyes before dragging herself upright.

Stepping outside, she saw Mitch, Cassidy, and Carol gathered near the main trucks, maps and datapads spread across the hood.

Carol noticed her first. “Morning, Chief.”

Panam grunted in response, stretching the stiffness from her shoulders. Mitch gave her a knowing look. “You look like you actually got some sleep for once.”

She snorted. “Don’t get used to it.”

Cassidy smirked but didn’t say anything.

Panam crossed her arms, nodding toward the maps. “What’s going on?”

Mitch sighed. “More scouting reports. We’ve got a couple of possible settlement locations, but none of them are perfect. Water’s scarce, and the locals are wary of a big group like ours setting up shop.”

Panam exhaled sharply, her exhaustion replaced by frustration. “Dammit. We can’t keep drifting forever.”

Carol tapped at the datapad, zooming in on a marked location. “There’s an old facility about twenty miles from here. StormTech used it years ago before moving operations elsewhere. Could be worth checking out.”

Panam frowned. “You think they’d wanna sell it?”

Cassidy shrugged. “They might. We already have a relationship, after all. Besides, we’re safer sticking close to their reach.”

Mitch nodded. “That’s another thing. Arasaka’s been quiet.”

That got Panam’s full attention. “What do you mean?”

Mitch exchanged a glance with Cassidy before answering. “We expected them to come after the relic as soon as we crossed the border. But nothing. No drones, no hired mercs, not even a damn satellite scan.”

Panam narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Carol leaned against the truck. “StormTech’s been feeding us some intel. Looks like Arasaka’s been in chaos ever since we left. Between corporate infighting and public fallout, they’re too busy putting out their own fires to come after us.”

Panam processed that for a moment. “So we’re safe… for now.”

Cassidy nodded. “For now.”

She let out a slow breath. It wasn’t the kind of peace she wanted—uncertain, temporary—but it was something.

Panam glanced down at the maps again, her jaw tightening with renewed determination. “Alright. Let’s check out this StormTech facility. If it looks good, we make our move. We need a place to call home.”

The others nodded in agreement, and just like that, the weight of leadership settled back onto her shoulders.

Panam turned toward her truck—then remembered it was still busted.

Cassidy smirked. “You want me to fix that, or you gonna punch it back to life?”

Panam rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

“Shut up and grab your tools.”

—-

Panam stood over the map spread across the truck hood, her finger tracing the route to the old StormTech facility. The Aldecaldos were gathered around, discussing supplies, transportation, and security. The plan was simple: check the site, confirm it was viable, then figure out how to make it theirs.

“StormTech might be open to negotiations,” Carol was saying, “but we should be prepared in case they aren’t.”

“Yeah, they’ve done a lot for us already. This might be too much,” Panam muttered, rubbing her temple. The weight of leadership pressed down on her again. If this deal fell through, where would they go next? They needed a home base.

As she opened her mouth to give orders, her holo buzzed. She almost ignored it, but something in her gut told her to look. She glanced down and saw the name:

Dr. Levy

Her breath caught.

“Hold on,” she said, stepping away from the others before answering. “Dr. Levy?”

The doctor’s voice came through, calm but urgent. “Panam, I thought you’d want to know—V is waking up.”

Panam’s stomach flipped.

“He’s—How is he?”

“We’re seeing activity. It’s slow, but his vitals are improving, and he’s coming out of it. He’ll likely be conscious soon.”

Panam’s mind went blank for a moment. Weeks of waiting, of not knowing if he’d ever wake up, and now—now it was happening.

But the moment the shock faded, a new kind of dread set in.

They were just about to leave to make a deal for the land.

She looked back at the Aldecaldos, at the maps, at the expectant faces waiting for her orders.

She swallowed hard. “I—thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Dr. Levy hesitated. “I understand you have responsibilities, but I’d recommend coming sooner rather than later. Waking up from a procedure like this… it’s disorienting. He’ll need a familiar face.”

The words cut deep.

She ended the call and turned back to the group. Her heart was pounding.

Cassidy, ever perceptive, caught her expression. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Panam opened her mouth, closed it, then exhaled sharply. “V’s waking up.”

A beat of silence.

Mitch straightened. “Shit. That’s—” He broke into a grin. “That’s great.”

Carol let out a low whistle. “About damn time.”

But Panam wasn’t smiling. She ran a hand through her hair, torn between relief and frustration. “Yeah. It’s great. But we’re about to leave for the land. If I go to the hospital now, I won’t be there to negotiate.”

Cassidy watched her carefully. “And?”

Panam shook her head. “And what if something goes wrong? What if StormTech changes their minds, or someone else claims it before we do? We’ve been wandering long enough—I can’t let this slip through our fingers.”

Mitch frowned. “Panam, come on. V’s waking up. You have to be there.”

“I want to be there,” she admitted, voice tight. “But I—I...”

Cassidy sighed, crossing his arms. “Panam. You’re trying to be in two places at once, and it ain’t possible. So, what’s more important right now? Some land we might get, or the love of your life waking up from a coma?”

Panam gritted her teeth.

Cassidy stepped closer, lowering his voice. “We’ve got this. You don’t have to do everything yourself. I’ll handle StormTech.”

She hesitated. “Cass—”

“I’ve done this before, kid.” He gave her a wry smile. “Ain’t my first rodeo. I can negotiate.”

She shifted her gaze to Mitch, who already looked ready to go. “And I’ll come with you,” he said firmly. “No way you’re doing this alone.”

Panam looked between them, searching for doubt. She found none.

Slowly, she exhaled.

She wasn’t used to letting go. To trusting others with things that felt this important.

But V was waking up. And if she wasn’t there…

“Alright,” she said, her voice cracking. Then, stronger, “Alright. Cassidy, the deal is yours. Don’t screw me over.”

Cassidy smirked. “I’ll make sure we get the place and a few bonuses.”

Panam turned to Mitch. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, she followed Mitch, heart hammering as she climbed into his Colby.

For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t running from the waiting.

She was running toward him. The sun was rising in more ways than one.

Chapter Text

Panam hated being in the passenger seat.

She always drove. Always. But her truck was still busted—another problem she hadn’t had time to fix—so here she was, sitting shotgun while Mitch took the wheel.

He barely said a word since they hit the road, and for once, she was grateful. She didn’t have the energy for conversation.

She sat with her arms crossed, fingers digging into her biceps, eyes locked on the horizon. The hospital was still an hour away, but it might as well have been a lifetime.

“He’s waking up,” she muttered, more to herself than to Mitch. “After weeks of nothing. Now, all of a sudden—just like that—he’s waking up.”

Mitch kept his eyes on the road. “That’s what we’ve been waiting for, right?”

She exhaled sharply. “Yeah. But it doesn’t feel real.”

Mitch nodded. “I get that.”

Panam clenched her jaw, tapping her fingers against her arm. “What if… what if he’s different? What if he wakes up and doesn’t recognize me? What if—”

“Stop.”

His voice was firm, but not unkind.

Panam bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to take a breath.

Mitch adjusted his grip on the wheel. “He’s still V, Panam. Yeah, he’s gonna have a hell of an adjustment. No chrome, no enhancements—he’s basically got a brand-new body. But he’s still in there.”

She nodded, though doubt still twisted in her gut.

The past few weeks had been hell. V’s condition, the stress of settling in Arizona, the weight of leading the Aldecaldos—she had shoved it all down, powered through like she always did. But now? Sitting here, waiting to see him again?

She felt like a live wire.

Mitch glanced at her. “You okay?”

Panam scoffed. “Do I look okay?”

“Nope. That’s why I asked.”

She sighed, rubbing her face. “I just… I should be relieved. But I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Mitch nodded like he understood. “Because it ain’t just about him waking up. It’s about everything after.”

Panam didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

—

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and recycled air and she hated it.

Dr. Levy was waiting outside V’s room, his sharp gaze flickering between them. “You got here just in time,” he said, glancing at the monitor in his hand. “He’s stabilizing. Should be waking up any minute.”

“And I’m going to be there when he does.” Panam barely heard him as she pushed past and stepped into the room.

—

V stirred, the world seeping in slowly, like the first rays of light after a long, endless night. The sterile scent of disinfectant hit first, then the steady beeping of monitors, the weight of sheets over him. He was awake. Alive. But something was… different.

He flexed his fingers, expecting the familiar whir of actuators, the faint hum of cybernetic servos responding to his thoughts. But there was nothing. No artificial feedback, no mechanical precision. Just movement—pure, unfiltered, human.

He remembered feeling like this but when? He thought of running through cornfields as a kid. The feeling of his lungs burning with the effort. Or trying to open a jar and not being able to — he hadn’t felt like this since he was a kid…since before he had cyberware. He laid there for a moment gazing around the room.

He was alone. He instinctively tried to scan whatever he saw but nothing happened. He felt a faint sense of anxiety but also…relief? He felt an odd sense of freedom at the lack of buzzing in his head.

He lifted his hands—his real hands, no black Gorilla Arms fingers—they trembled in front of his face, and for a moment, he just stared. Flesh. Bone. His. He turned them over, tracing his fingertips over his palm, feeling the imperfections, the raw realness of it all. He even had the same tattoos and scars. How did they do that?

“Fuck,” he whispered, half a laugh, half something he couldn’t name.

He heard talking outside his door. He recognized a voice — Panam. Suddenly the door slid open and she strode through, eyes wide, breath hitching in her throat. “V?”

At the sound of her voice, something inside him settled. He looked over at her, blinking slow, his brain still catching up. She looked exhausted—like she hadn’t slept in days. Knowing her she hadn’t.

“Hey,” he rasped. His throat was raw, he didn’t recognize his own voice.

Panam exhaled, a half-choked laugh of relief, she rubbed at her face. He was awake…her words caught in her throat.

V’s gaze flickered to Mitch, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, relief written all over his face in that quiet way of his.

“You’re awake,” Mitch said simply.

V smirked, still staring at his hands. “Seems that way.” He flexed his fingers again, slower this time, like he was making sure they were really his.

Panam let out a shaky breath, regaining her composure. “We weren’t sure if—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. You’re here. That’s what counts.”

V was only half-listening. His thoughts felt strangely clear, like his mind had been wiped clean of static for the first time in years. There was no HUD flickering in the corner of his vision, no optic overlay feeding him data, no silent hum of cyberware running in the background like a second heartbeat.

It was quiet.

He swallowed, glancing between Panam and Mitch. “All of it’s gone, isn’t it?”

Panam hesitated. “Yeah.”

Mitch shifted on his feet. “StormTech had to strip every piece of cyberware from your system. Your body was rejecting all of it.”

V let out another breathy laugh, shaking his head.

Panam held her breath, waiting for the realization to land.

He turned to her, grinning like he was in on some kind of cosmic joke. “I don’t know, just… feels like I’ve been unplugged from the Matrix or something.” He looked down at his hands again, flexing them, rolling his wrists. “It’s weird, but… I think I feel free.”

Mitch and Panam exchanged a glance. “Free?” Panam repeated, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” V said, leaning back against the pillows. “Like, for the first time in… fuck, I don’t know. Since I was a kid, maybe?” His voice was oddly lucid, thoughtful in a way that felt almost out of place.

Panam folded her arms. “V, you just lost every piece of chrome in your body. You’re back to flesh and bone. Most people would be freaking the hell out right now.”

“That’s just it,” he hesitated, letting his thoughts fully form. “Most people might freak out — but me? I don’t know, Panam. Feels like a curse just got lifted.”

A half-smile touched Mitch’s lips.

V exhaled, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head. “You ever think about how much we rely on this shit? Cyberware, enhancements, implants—hell, even just optics. You can’t live in Night City without chrome, not if you wanna keep up. You start with a little—just enough to get by. Then you need more. Better optics, a neural link, a better grip for your pistol. Next thing you know, half your body isn’t even yours anymore.”

He glanced at Panam. “I used to tell myself it was just hardware. That it didn’t change who I was. But… I don’t know. Now that it’s gone? I feel lighter.”

Panam’s expression softened. “You don’t miss it?”

V looked at his hands one more time, then shook his head. “No. I really don’t.”

Mitch let out a low hum, like he was chewing on V’s words. “Huh.”

Panam studied him for a long moment. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

V grinned. “That’s what you like about me.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

Mitch exhaled, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. Figured you’d be pissed, but you look like someone just handed you a winning lottery ticket.”

“Maybe they did,” V mused. “Think about it. How many people get out of Night City alive? Let alone with a fresh start? No bounty on my head, no corpo bullshit hanging over me, no chrome weighing me down.” He tapped his temple. “For the first time in years, my mind is my own. That’s gotta count for something.”

Panam didn’t say anything right away, just watched him, like she was trying to figure out if this was really real.

V grinned at her. “Admit it. You thought I’d be a wreck.”

She huffed. “I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t expect this.”

V just leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Well, get used to it. I think I’m gonna like this whole ‘being human’ thing.”

Mitch chuckled, shaking his head. “Shit, V. You really are something else.”

V just smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt alive. Not just surviving. Not just fighting to see another day.

Just… alive.

The door hissed open, and Dr. Levy came in, a tablet in hand, his expression carefully neutral. His sharp, assessing gaze of someone who had seen far too many bodies cut open and put back together. But as he looked at V—sitting up, grinning like he’d just hit the jackpot—something flickered across his face.

“Good to see you conscious, V.” His voice was calm, professional, but with a hint of bewilderment. The way he studied V’s face made it clear he was gauging more than just his vitals.

V smirked. “Thanks, doc. Though I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting to wake up feeling this good.” He flexed his fingers again for emphasis.

Levy arched a brow. “That’s good to hear.” He tapped his tablet a few times before tucking it under his arm. “I was prepared for just about every reaction when you woke up—panic, anger, grief, maybe even outright hostility.” His lips quirked slightly. “But you seem… pleased.”

V shrugged. “What can I say? Feels like I’ve been carrying extra weight my whole life, and now it’s gone.” He tilted his head. “Kinda like ripping out an old OS and realizing your whole system runs smoother without it.”

Levy let out a quiet hum, clearly intrigued. “That’s not the response I expected.”

Mitch chuckled. “Yeah, join the club.”

Levy crossed his arms. “Most people who go through a procedure like yours suffer severe psychological distress. Cyberware integration isn’t just physical—it’s neurological, emotional. Some patients struggle to function without it. Phantom limb syndrome, identity crises, depression. But you… seem at peace.” He said the last words slowly, like he was figuring out what to say as he said it.

V leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. “You ever hear about those people who go off the grid? Just say ‘screw it’ and disappear into the wild?”

Levy nodded slowly. “Isolationists, technophobes. Though in Night City, that’s a rare breed.”

“Well, maybe I’m one of ‘em now,” V mused. “Spent years upgrading, optimizing, chasing the next best chrome. Never thought about what I was losing in the process. Now that it’s gone?” He let out a small, satisfied exhale. “Feels like I finally own myself again.”

Levy studied him, something shifting in his expression—something deeper than just clinical observation. A quiet satisfaction settled in his features, like seeing proof of something he had always believed but never truly witnessed.

“This is a rare opportunity,” Levy murmured, almost to himself. He shook his head slightly before focusing on V again. “Very few people in your position ever get to make this choice. Most don’t survive long enough, and the ones who do… they don’t let go of their cyberware so easily.”

V smirked. “Guess I always did like beating the odds.”

Levy chuckled softly, nodding. “That, you do.” He glanced at Panam and Mitch, then back to V. “Physically, you’re stable, but you’ve been through hell. Your body’s adjusting to being fully organic again, and there will be challenges. Muscle atrophy, nerve readjustment, even psychological shifts. It won’t all be easy.”

V just shrugged. “Nothing ever is.”

Levy’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, then he sighed, something almost like admiration in his expression. “I have to say, V… I’ve worked with soldiers, mercs, corpo defectors—people who’ve had cyberware ripped from them against their will. Almost all of them struggled to cope. But you…” He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You might be the first person I’ve met who sees this as a gift.”

V grinned. “I’ve always been a weirdo, doc.”

Dr. Levy paused, his gaze drifting to the window before returning to V and Panam. “You know,” he began softly, “I wasn’t always like this. Years ago, I had my fair share of cyberware. I believed, like many did, that it was the future—a way to be stronger, faster, more resilient. But the deeper I delved into its effects—how it rewired the brain, how it made people dependent on corporate maintenance, how it stripped away the essence of who they really were—I realized something. Cyberware isn’t just an upgrade; it’s a leash. A way for corporations to own parts of you, to track you, to control you.”

He shifted his gaze back to V, who was watching intently, then continued, “When I had my cyberware removed, I found a kind of liberation. I turned to organic implants—grown from living tissue. Once those are integrated into your body, they become indistinguishable from your natural organs. They aren’t part of some corporate system that can be hacked or monitored. They’re yours—fully, irrevocably yours.”

Panam’s eyes softened as she listened, a spark of understanding lighting within her. “So, what you’re saying is... once the organic implants are installed, you’re not a product. You’re not owned by anyone.”

Dr. Levy nodded, his expression earnest. “Exactly. Your body, V, is your own now. There’s no backdoor to track you, no corporate algorithm dictating your every move. You have reclaimed your humanity. And that—if you ask me—is the most important upgrade of all.”

V smiled, a genuine, unburdened grin that lit up his face as he flexed his fingers again, marveling at the flesh and bone that was now wholly his. Panam reached out, her own gaze reflective as she contemplated the true freedom of being entirely human.

In that moment, Dr. Levy’s words hung in the air—a promise of liberation from the chains of corporate control and a new beginning where V was truly free.

Levy exhaled, shaking his head with something like amusement. “Well, in any case… welcome back to the land of the living.”

Panam, who had been quiet through all of this, finally spoke. “So what happens next?”

Levy glanced at her. “He’s still got some recovery ahead of him, but if his condition stays stable, he’ll be able to leave within a few days.”

V smirked. “Damn, doc. You tryin’ to kick me out already?”

Levy chuckled. “Not at all. But something tells me you won’t be the type to stay put for long.” He took a step back, nodding once. “I’ll check in later. For now, rest. And try not to do anything reckless.”

V gave a lazy salute as Levy exited the room. The second the door shut, Panam turned to V, arms crossed. “So, what, you’re just fine with this? Just like that?”

V met her gaze, still grinning. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Mitch shook his head with a laugh. “Well, shit, V. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted a quiet life.”

V tilted his head, considering that. “Maybe I do.” He thought about Dex, rotting in a dump somewhere—then Jackie, a pang of emotion hitting him square in the chest. Everyone that died chasing a dream of being “somebody”...it wasn’t worth it.

He was alive, and he got a second chance to start a new life. Who cared if anyone knew his name?

—-

That night, he woke up to silence.

No static. No HUD. No snarky remarks. No Johnny.

Just himself, alone in his own head.

It should’ve felt good. It should’ve been a relief. Instead, it was… unsettling. Like standing in a room that had always been full of noise and suddenly, it was empty.

A rustle beside him made him turn his head. Panam was sitting there, her hand still resting on his. Awake. Watching over him.

“You okay?” Her voice was soft, careful.

V swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. Just… weird, y’know? First time in a long time it’s just me up here…no Johnny.” He tapped his temple lightly. “It’s so quiet. It’s kinda unnerving.”

Panam gave him a small smirk, but her eyes were warm. “Get used to it. I like you just fine without Silverhand’s commentary.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then let his gaze settle on her. Memories of Mikoshi floated through his mind. The emptiness he felt there almost crushed his soul. Then he remembered her light, her voice guiding him back. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I fought like hell to get back to you.”

Panam’s smirk faded, replaced with something deeper, something raw. “I know.” She squeezed his hand. “And I wasn’t gonna let you go.”

V swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe through the whirlwind of emotions that churned inside him. He blocked out the soft beeping of monitors that filled the quiet room as he looked at her, her tired eyes held a mix of relief and unspoken worry.

Without thinking, V pulled her onto the bed, the movement effortless, instinctive. A sharp gasp escaped Panam, her eyes flashing with surprise before softening. He could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the whisper of her breath against his lips. The faint, familiar scent of her hair—something herbal, something hers—wrapped around him, grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he needed.

His fingers found the small of her back, anchoring her against him. He breathed her in like a man coming up for air.

“Panam…” His forehead pressed against hers, his voice barely more than a whisper. He relished the feel of her, solid and warm in his arms, a reminder that he was here. Alive. “I… I don’t think I could’ve done this without you. If it weren’t for you… I think I’d be dead in Mikoshi right now.”

His words settled between them, heavy with truth. She studied him, her gaze tracing the new lines of his face—the exhaustion, the quiet strength, the vulnerability he never let anyone else see. She swallowed hard, and ran her fingers through his locs.

V flexed his fingers again—his real fingers—marveling at the imperfections, the scars, the proof that they were his and his alone. “When I was a kid, I remember that thrill—being free, running wild, before chrome and circuitry weighed me down. Now… it’s like I’ve got that feeling back.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them. It was full of things unsaid, her fingers curled against his chest, tentative, hesitant, her thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against the fabric of his shirt.

V smiled—small, genuine, a little raw. “I don’t miss it. I don’t miss feeling like I’m more machine than man. I’d trade all of that for this.” His fingers brushed against hers, deliberately, reverently. “This—being able to feel my own heartbeat. Knowing these hands are mine. Knowing I can touch you, hold you, without anything else in the way.”

Panam exhaled shakily, her body softening into him. Mitch’s quiet breathing was a distant thing, the hum of the machines nothing but background noise. The world outside this moment ceased to exist. It was just them.

She moved closer, her forehead brushing his, her voice a bare whisper against his skin. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, and this time, the tremor in her voice wasn’t from exhaustion—it was from fear. “I’ve been so scared of losing you. Of losing the part of me that you saved.”

V reached up, cradling her face in his palm, his thumb tracing a slow path along her cheekbone. “I fought my way back to you,” he murmured. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Panam’s breath hitched. Her eyes, dark and searching, locked onto his, and in them, he saw everything—the battles she fought alone, the weight she carried, the fear she never let show. And something else. Something fragile.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in his shirt. Then, finally, she let the words fall, unguarded and raw.

“V… I love you.” A shuddering breath. A pause. “I’m tired of denying it.”

V went still.

For a moment, neither of them moved, neither of them breathed. The weight of everything they’d been through, everything they were, hung between them, stretched thin like a live wire. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a smile.

“Panam…” His voice was thick, rough with something she couldn’t quite name. “I love you too.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her forehead dropping to his chest as if the words had knocked the breath out of her. He felt it too—that relief, that rightness, like something that had been missing had finally fallen into place.

And so they lay there, entwined, hands interlaced, bodies drawn close as if dissolving the space between them. In the quiet hush of the hospital room, with the soft hum of machines bearing silent witness, every whispered word and every slow, lingering touch became a promise—of something new, something real.

A future. Together.

Chapter Text

V sat on the edge of the bed. The moment still felt surreal and, as much as he hated to admit it, part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Physical therapy was easy and the doctors were all impressed with how quickly he recovered. They studied everything he did for the past two weeks, he was constantly hooked up to some kind of monitor. Inhale, exhale, make a fist, walk, read line 8. They tested every. Inch. of him. He was eternally grateful for what they did for him but damn was he ready to leave. He was fully dressed in his normal, worn out t-shirt and second hand Militech pants…finally. He slid off the bed and his broken-in high-tops hit the floor. Last he put his techie hat on, backwards as usual. He was going home.

Dr. Levy stood by the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with a small smile on his face. "Remember what we talked about," he said. "Take it easy. No overexertion. If something feels wrong, call me."

“Sure thing, doc.” he held out his hand for the doctor to shake. “Can’t thank you enough for what you did for me.” shaking V’s hand, Dr. Levy smiled “V, you are truly an inspiration. Take care.”

Panam and Mitch were waiting in the hall. She watched him as he approached, scanning over his body like she was making sure everything was in place. With a grin V caught her around the waist and pulled her into a kiss. “Let’s go home,” he said. 

The desert was painted in swaths of red, orange and pink under the setting sun, shadows of cacti and rock formations cutting through the dust. The wind smelled clean out here. V felt the relaxation seep into his bones, he loved the desert. It symbolized the innate freedom he never felt in Night City. 

The drive back was long, but V barely noticed. He sat in the back, staring out the window, watching the sun on the horizon. The road stretched on forever, endless lines of asphalt and sand, but his mind was somewhere else.

Panam and Mitch talked up front, voices low but familiar. Something about a busted fuel line. Maybe camp logistics. He wasn’t really listening. Their voices blurred into the hum of the engine, the occasional crackle of the radio.

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Relief? Exhaustion? Peace? It all mixed together, settling like a sleeping cat in his chest. He didn’t have anything to say, so he said nothing.

At some point, Panam glanced over her shoulder, watching him. He felt it more than he saw it—that quiet, steady concern of hers.

“You okay?” she asked, voice softer now, just for him.

V blinked, forcing himself back into the moment. He met her eyes, studying her.

"Yeah," he said simply, “I’m fine.”

She watched him a moment longer before nodding and turning back to the road.

The desert rolled by, endless and open and V felt his eyelids grow heavy, letting the hum of the engine lull him to sleep.

As dusk deepened into night, the truck finally slowed and pulled into the makeshift camp. The clan settlement was still rough around the edges—makeshift tents and half-finished structures scattered among repurposed vehicles—but there was a quiet pride in the air. It was home.

Panam helped him step out of the truck. V paused for a moment, taking in the cool night air, the soft murmur of voices from the camp, and the distant glow of a small fire. He could feel the peace and warmth of the desert camp seeping back into him—a welcome antidote to the sterility and clinical stiffness of the last two weeks.

“Let’s go,” Panam said, her voice gentle but determined. She entwined her fingers with his as she led him toward their tent. V nodded silently, as they passed clan members who threw a “Glad your back” or “Welcome home, brother” his way. Inside the tent, the space was modest but homey—a place where he and Panam could always escape to be alone. The tent was dimly lit by a single lantern, its warm glow comforting. He stood there and watched as Panam flitted around the tent, putting things away and getting other things out. She seemed oddly nervous, he wasn’t used to seeing her this way.

Her back was turned to him, and V could see the tension in her shoulders—the rigid set of her spine, the stiffness in every movement. He knew she was worried about him, a pang of guilt ran through him as he thought about the hell he probably put her through these last few weeks. 

He slowly approached her, his hands slipping around her waist and drawing her close. At first, she froze, her body going stiff. Then, as if surrendering, she leaned back into him, melting into the warmth of his embrace. He relished every curve of her body pressing against him. His hands ran over the taught firmness of her abdomen. God, he wanted her. 

V buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar, earthy scent of her hair. Her hands found his forearms, fingers trailing lightly over his skin, and the simple touch sent a jolt through him. He held her tighter.

“I really missed you,” he whispered, his lips grazing her neck, voice low and rough with emotion.

Panam’s jaw tightened as tears pricked at her eyes. He was here. Alive. For weeks, she had lived in a haze of uncertainty, not knowing if he would make it, and now, with his warmth wrapped around her, the weight of it all crashed into her like a freight train. The heat of his breath on her skin, the press of his lips, the way his arms fit around her—it unraveled her completely. A shiver ran down her spine, her knees were weak. 

“I missed you too, V,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, breathy and unsteady.

For a long, suspended moment, they simply held each other—the only sound was the crackling fire outside and the quiet rhythm of their breathing. Then, with deliberate care, V turned her in his arms until she faced him.

She pressed against him, feeling the solid warmth of his body, the lean muscle beneath his worn t-shirt, the steady beat of his heart thrumming against her own. The air between them shifted, thick with tension.

Their eyes met, and a thousand unspoken words passed between them.

Then V kissed her—slow, patient at first, savoring her. His lips were warm, teasing, coaxing her into the moment. But as she melted into him, hands fisting in the blue dreadlocks at the crown of his head, his kiss deepened, turning ravenous.

Panam exhaled sharply against his lips, heat pooling in her stomach, a throbbing ache blooming between her thighs.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in V’s chest as he pressed her back, hands roving down her spine, mapping her body like he was relearning her. His fingers curled into the hem of her shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, fingertips grazing bare skin.

They stumbled toward the cot, the movement dizzying, desperate. His mouth never left hers, devouring, searching.

V’s hands slid to the waistband of her jeans, slowly undoing the button, his knuckles brushing against her stomach. Panam’s breath hitched, her hands tightening in his shirt.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked softly, voice trembling between desire and hesitation.

V stilled, then fixed his gaze on hers—steady, dark, hungry. A crooked grin flickered across his lips before, with effortless strength, he swept her off her feet, pressing her down onto the cot. Their bodies tangled together in a haze of urgency and tenderness.

His mouth was on hers again—hot, desperate. He bit her bottom lip, drawing a gasp from her before soothing it with his tongue. His hands roved over her, memorizing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the soft dip of her stomach.

Panam moaned into his mouth, grinding her hips into him, and it was enough to set him off.

The sound of ragged breathing filled the space, fabric rustling as clothes were shed in a fevered rush. His hands explored her, fingertips dragging fire across her skin, lips trailing lower, lower.

Panam arched beneath him, her head lolling back as his mouth found her breast, sucking, teasing, until she was nothing but sensation. She dug her nails into his back, wordlessly urging him on.

V settled between her thighs, his weight pressing her into the cot, grounding her. She loved the feeling of him on top of her, the solid warmth, the way he caged her in, his forearms bracketing her head.

He kissed her deeply, reverently, as he pressed inside her.

A moan tore from Panam’s lips as he filled her, stretching, pushing, fitting perfectly. V buried his face in her neck, his breath ragged against her skin. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he moved, slow at first, savoring every slick, dragging sensation.

He watched her, mesmerized by the way she unraveled beneath him, how her hips rolled to meet his, how pleasure flickered across her face like a fire catching wind.

She hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, tighter. V groaned, dropping his forehead to hers, his pace quickening.

“V… V…” Her voice was breathless, desperate—a siren’s call pulling him deeper, drowning him in her.

V threaded his fingers into her hair, gripping tight as he pinned her head back and kissed her fiercely. Panam gasped into his mouth, her body tightening around him, her nails raking down his back.

Her thighs trembled, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as she clung to him. He could feel it—her release building, cresting, threatening to pull him under with her.

“Come on, Panam,” he rasped against her lips, thrusting deeper, chasing the edge. She loved when he talked her through it. 

And then the wave crashed over her.

Her back arched, her body quaking, her mouth parting in a cry as pleasure wracked through her. V caught her hands, threading his fingers through hers, pinning them down as he drove into her harder, faster.

Her release pulled him under. He gasped against her neck, hips jerking, breath stuttering as he let go, filling her, burying himself in her completely.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their slowing breaths, the thundering silence of spent desire.

Panam traced lazy patterns down the length of V’s spine, breathing him in, her touch grounding him, steadying him.

God, he missed her.

His gaze lingered on her in the quiet that followed. Slowly, reverently, he kissed her, his lips barely brushing hers as he ran his thumb over her cheek.

They lay together, bodies entwined, and for the first time in weeks, there was no pain, no fear—just them.

All the struggle, all the uncertainty melted away, leaving only the quiet assurance of their connection.

And the unspoken promise of a future they would face together.

                                           —-

V woke with a start.

His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath coming fast and shallow. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. His body was tangled in unfamiliar sheets, the fabric rougher than the sterile linens he’d gotten used to. The air was different—warm, dry, tinged with the scent of dust and embers, not antiseptic and disinfectant .

His mind scrambled, the old instincts kicking in. Was this another clinic? Another sterile hellhole where they’d prod at him, check his vitals, ask him how many fingers they were holding up? He swallowed hard, staring at the canvas ceiling above him, trying to ground himself.

Then he felt it.

A warm weight across his chest, soft and familiar. The scent of gun oil and sun-warmed leather. The slow, steady rise and fall of someone breathing beside him.

Panam.

His pulse steadied. His body relaxed into the cot as he turned his head, and there she was—curled into him, her arm draped over his chest, fingers twitching faintly in sleep. Locs of dark hair spilled over her face, her lips slightly parted, her breath warm against his skin. The sight of her, so peaceful, so real, made his chest tighten.

For a long moment, he just watched her, taking her in.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be alive.

By all accounts, he should have been dead in that city, his body burning out under the weight of the Relic. He should have disappeared into Mikoshi, lost to the digital abyss. He should have been another name whispered in the streets of Night City, just another legend swallowed by the never-ending cycle of violence and ambition.

But somehow, against all odds, he made it out alive. He survived.

And he wasn’t just surviving—he was living.

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, letting his fingers brush over her arm. The scars were still there, old and new. The aches, the phantom weight of what he’d lost. He’d never be the same, never be that reckless, cocky merc who walked into Night City thinking he could carve out a legacy. That V was gone.

And maybe that was okay.

Panam stirred beside him, murmuring something incoherent, pressing closer in her sleep. His throat tightened as he swallowed back the overwhelming wave of emotion that threatened to take him under.

How the hell did he get so lucky?

To still be here. To have her. To have this.

Maybe—just maybe—things really would be okay.

V carefully lifted Panam’s arm, moving slowly so he wouldn’t wake her. She murmured something in her sleep, her fingers flexing against his chest before settling again. He smiled softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before quietly slipping out of bed.

He moved with practiced ease, pulling on his clothes and lacing up his high-tops without making a sound. The last thing he wanted was to disturb her—she deserved the rest. With one last glance at her sleeping form, he ducked out of the tent and into the cool desert air.

The world outside was still and quiet. Barely dawn, the horizon painted in soft shades of purple and gold as the sun began its slow ascent. Most of the clan was still asleep, the only sounds the distant crackling of embers from last night’s fire and the occasional creak of a shifting trailer.

V took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp, dry air. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed this—the openness, the silence, the way the land stretched endlessly before him with no walls, no neon signs, no suffocating smog. Out here, he could see the sky. He could breathe.

He walked a little ways from camp, climbing onto a rocky outcrop overlooking the desert. The wind tugged at his hair, the air sharp with the scent of sand and sage. He sat down, resting his arms on his knees as he watched the sun climb higher.

This had always been his ritual—waking early, finding a quiet place to watch the sunrise and let his thoughts settle. He never got the chance in Night City. There, the skyline was a cage, the thick haze of pollution blotting out the sun. Some days, he couldn’t even tell if it was morning or night. The city never slept, never stopped, never gave him a moment to breathe.

But here… here, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

Free.

The desert had a way of stripping everything down to its core—no distractions, no illusions, just the raw, honest truth of things. Maybe that was why he’d always felt drawn to it, even before he met Panam. And now, sitting here as the first light of day warmed his skin, he felt a deep, quiet sense of belonging.

Finally, he wasn’t running. He wasn’t fighting to survive another day in that endless insatiable system that society had turned into.

V barely had a moment to process the sound of hurried footsteps before he turned to see Panam rushing towards him. Her hair was a wild mess from sleep, her tank top askew, jeans unbuttoned, and her bare feet kicking up small clouds of dust as she sprinted toward him.

“V!” she called, her voice tight with worry. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Her chest heaved as she skidded to a stop behind him, her eyes scanning his face, searching for any sign of distress.

V just blinked at her, momentarily caught between amusement and disbelief. She looked like she had literally rolled out of bed and bolted after him, panic overriding everything else.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his lips twitching into a lopsided grin. “Just watchin’ the sun rise.” He patted the empty space beside him on the rock. “Wanna sit with me?”

Panam let out a sharp exhale, rolling her eyes as she planted her hands on her hips. “Damnit, V,” she muttered, still trying to catch her breath. “You scared the shit outta me.”

V chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to. Just wanted some air.”

Panam huffed, shaking her head, but the tension in her shoulders eased. After a beat, she sighed and plopped down next to him.

“You could’ve told me before sneaking off,” she grumbled, though her voice was softer now, the remnants of her panic fading.

V glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “And miss the sight of you chargin’ out here half-dressed and lookin’ like a madwoman? C’mon, wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

Panam smacked his arm, but there was no real heat behind it. “Asshole,” she muttered, though she was already curling up against his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

V just smiled, draping an arm around her and kissing her forehead as they both turned their attention to the horizon.

The sun was rising, golden light spilling across the desert like molten fire. It was quiet, peaceful. And with Panam nestled against him, her breath evening out, he felt something settle deep inside him. 

As they sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun slowly ascend over the horizon, V caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Mitch was strolling toward them, two steaming cups of coffee in hand, his expression somewhere between bemusement and exasperation.

“Well, good morning lovebirds,” he said, stopping a few feet away. “Hell of a way to start the day, huh? I think half the camp’s awake now, thanks to Panam tearing across the desert screaming your name like a banshee.”

V snorted, biting back a grin as Panam groaned and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Oh shit,” she muttered. “How many people saw?”

Mitch handed V a cup of coffee before passing the other to Panam. “Enough,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You were running like your damn truck was on fire. I thought you were about to mount a rescue op or something.”

V took a slow sip of coffee, savoring the warmth. “Told ya,” he murmured to Panam, nudging her playfully. “Almost gave Mitch a heart attack.”

She shot him a glare, though her face was still half-hidden against his shoulder. “Oh, shut up.”

Mitch chuckled, shaking his head as he sat down on a nearby rock. “Glad to see you two are settling back in… even if it means I gotta watch Panam have a full-blown domestic incident before my first sip of caffeine.”

V laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Ain’t my fault she’s got the subtlety of a freight train.”

Panam groaned louder, but even she couldn’t keep from cracking a smile. “I hate you both.”

Mitch just grinned. “Love you too.”

The warm glow of the rising sun bathed the desert in gold, stretching long shadows across the camp. Panam took a long sip of her coffee, still looking a little frazzled from her earlier panic, but the moment she started talking about the camp, her posture shifted—grounded, confident.

“We got the deal with StormTech locked in,” she said, glancing at V as he nursed his own cup. “Permanent land, no more moving around. The paperwork’s in the final stages, but we’re already moving in.”

V raised a brow. He knew the Aldecaldos had ties with StormTech going way back to when the clan was founded, but this? “They’re really settin’ us up like that?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. “First my surgery, now this? Not that I’m complainin’, but that’s a helluva lot of goodwill.”

Mitch chuckled. “You know how it is. StormTech’s got their fingers in a lot of pies, but they remember their roots. Aldecaldos helped build that company in the early days. They never forgot.” He nodded toward V. “You ain't the first they’ve helped, won’t be the last. ‘Sides, it ain’t all charity. They know we’ll keep the land running smooth, keep it outta corpo hands.”

V took that in, rolling the information around in his head. A powerful ally like StormTech could be a damn good thing—if the Aldecaldos played it right. If nothing else, he owed them his life. Without them, he wouldn’t be standing here, breathing the crisp desert air, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on his skin.

“Cassidy wants to go over something with you,” Mitch said, giving Panam a pointed look.

She stretched her arms over her head, letting out a small groan.“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see to it.” Then she ran a hand through her wild, untamed dreads and muttered, “Right after I get some food.”

Mitch smirked. “You never change.”

V glanced at her. “You feelin’ alright?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, but there was a hesitation to it. She rolled her shoulders. “Just been waking up a little off. Probably stress.”

She kissed V on the cheek before heading off, lazily walking off to collect her boots before heading towards the mess tent.

Mitch and V lingered a moment before turning back toward camp, strolling side by side as the sun climbed higher.

“So,” Mitch started, giving V a sidelong glance. “You feelin’ alright? I mean, how ya doin’?”

V exhaled slowly. He flexed his fingers, stretching his arms like he was testing the feel of his own body. It was different—no cyberware humming under his skin, no chrome-enhanced reflexes, just flesh, blood, and muscle. “Takin’ some gettin’ used to,” he admitted. “But... yeah. Feels good. Think I prefer this.”

Mitch nodded, sipping his coffee. “You’re one tough bastard, V. Remind me to not get on your bad side”

V chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ain’t about bein’ tough. Just didn’t have much of a choice.”

Chapter Text

Panam trudged into the mess tent like she’d been hit by a truck. Her hair was a mess, dark strands falling loose from her crooked bun, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She blinked blearily at the food line, rubbing her face as she fought off the sluggishness weighing her down.

Near the serving station, Dakota and Carol were quietly chatting while filling their trays. Dakota was the first to notice Panam’s sorry state, her sharp gaze tracking her for a moment before she exchanged a glance with Carol.

“She’s looked like hell lately,” Carol murmured, keeping her voice low.

Dakota hummed, eyes thoughtful. “Can’t blame her. Holding down the fort while worrying about V? That’d wear anyone down.”

Carol nodded, but her gaze lingered. “Well, hopefully now that he’s back, she’ll start feeling better.”

Panam finally wandered over, grabbing a tray with a tired sigh. “Mornin’,” she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Mornin’,” Carol greeted. “Rough night?”

Panam shot her a sideways glance but didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at the breakfast options, her stomach already turning at the mere sight of food. Normally, she would’ve gone straight for the eggs and sausage, maybe some tortillas to go with it—but the sight of them made something lurch violently in her gut.

Her breath hitched, and before she knew it, she was doubling over, squeezing her eyes shut as she fought off the wave of nausea. Her hands gripped the edge of the serving counter, knuckles white as she focused on steadying her breathing.

Dakota and Carol exchanged another look—one far more knowing this time.

Dakota stepped in, gently resting a hand on Panam’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s sit down.”

Panam exhaled sharply, swallowing hard, and let Dakota guide her to a quiet table. She dropped onto the bench with a huff, rubbing her temples. “Ugh… no idea what the hell’s wrong with me,” she muttered, frustration lacing her tone.

Dakota sat across from her, arms resting on the table. “How long’s this been going on?”

Panam blew out a breath, tilting her head back. “I dunno. Few weeks on and off, maybe a month? Just been tired as hell, waking up feeling like I got tossed out of a moving truck.” She groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face. “And now this—can’t even look at food without wanting to puke.”

Dakota nodded, expression unreadable. “Anything else?”

Panam hesitated. “…Headaches. I get dizzy sometimes, too. Thought it was just stress.”

Dakota arched a brow. “Maybe.”

Before Panam could respond, Carol appeared beside her, setting down a bowl of plain oatmeal and a glass of citrus-infused water.

Panam blinked at the food, raising an eyebrow. “…What, no coffee? No eggs? What is this?”

Carol smirked. “Something you can actually keep down.”

Panam narrowed her eyes at both of them, suspicion creeping in. “Okay… what the hell is going on?”

“Just trust me,” Carol said, sliding the bowl closer. “Eat before you get sicker.”

Panam stared them both down for a moment, but the queasiness in her gut won out. Begrudgingly, she picked up the spoon and took a small bite of the oatmeal. It was bland, but it didn’t send her stomach into revolt like everything else.

Carol and Dakota watched her closely as she ate, their knowing looks not lost on her. She scowled. “Alright, what’s with the looks? You two know something I don’t?”

Carol just took a sip of her coffee, smirking over the rim of the cup. “Just eat, Panam.”

Panam huffed but kept eating, ignoring the nagging feeling that she was missing something big.

Dakota watched her carefully, letting a brief silence settle between them as she stirred her coffee. Then, in a tone so casual it almost seemed like an afterthought, she asked, “When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

Panam exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders. “I dunno. A while. But that’s normal, right? I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

Dakota nodded as if that was a fair point. “And the nausea? That started when again?”

“Few weeks ago I think,” Panam muttered. “But that’s probably just stress, too.”

“Hm,” Dakota hummed, taking a slow sip of coffee. “And the headaches?”

Panam frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Same thing. Probably from not sleeping enough.”

“Could be,” Dakota agreed, voice even. “Or it could be something else.”

Panam’s brows furrowed. “Like what?”

Dakota set her cup down. “There’s a lot of reasons someone might feel like this. Exhaustion, dehydration, even a virus. But… you don’t get sick often, do you?”

Panam shook her head. “No. Hardly ever.”

“Mm.” Dakota glanced toward the entrance of the tent, watching as a few more clan members shuffled in for breakfast. Then she turned back to Panam, her gaze steady. “Have you noticed any changes in your appetite?”

Panam scowled. “I just said food is making me sick.”

“Anything else?” Dakota asked smoothly. “Any cravings? Anything you don’t normally eat?”

Panam’s frown deepened, but she didn’t answer right away. She thought back—she had been reaching for different foods lately. She wasn’t drinking as much coffee, and for some reason, citrus flavors made the nausea go away.

Her stomach twisted.

Dakota watched the flicker of realization cross her face before saying, softly, “And your cycle?”

Panam froze.

The mess tent suddenly felt too quiet. Too small. Her heart thumped once—then again, harder.

She searched her memory, counting back the weeks. The days blurred together, lost in the chaos of running the clan, worrying about V, keeping everything afloat. It had been a while since she last—

Her breath hitched.

Dakota watched patiently as Panam’s expression shifted from confusion to realization and cracked into panic.

No way.

Panam swallowed hard, staring at her half-eaten oatmeal. “…That’s not—I mean, it’s probably just stress,” she said, but her voice wavered.

Dakota nodded, not arguing. “Maybe.”

Panam clenched her jaw. “I—it’s not—I have an implant that—” She broke off, exhaling sharply.

Dakota just watched, her brow knit in sympathy.

Silence stretched between them.

Panam rubbed a hand over her face, pressing her palm to her temple as if she could push away the overwhelming thoughts rushing in all at once.

She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t expecting this. And yet, deep down, she knew.

Dakota reached across the table, resting a hand lightly over Panam’s wrist. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she murmured. “But if you want to know for sure, I can help.”

Panam let out a shaky breath, nodding once. “…Yeah. I think I need to know.”

Dakota rested her forearms on the table, watching Panam carefully. “I can do a scan to make sure,” she said, voice steady. “But if you’d rather finish eating first—”

“No.” Panam cut her off immediately, gripping her spoon tighter. “I want to know now.”

Dakota nodded without argument. “Alright, let’s go.”

Over the years, she had taken it upon herself to be the Aldecaldos’ go-to for things they might not feel comfortable bringing to the clan’s main medic. It wasn’t that Hutch wasn’t capable—he was, but he was blunt, clinical, and didn’t have the same quiet understanding Dakota offered. The women in the clan especially came to her when they needed advice, checkups, or just a reassuring presence. She kept a small stock of contraceptives, prenatal vitamins, and other essentials, never asking questions unless they wanted to talk.

Carol, who had been quiet until now, reached over and gave Panam’s arm a reassuring squeeze. The touch was warm, grounding. “We’ve got you,” she murmured.

Panam exhaled sharply, pushing her half-eaten food away. She wasn’t going to be able to get another bite down anyway.

The three of them made their way to Dakota’s workspace. Inside, the air was cooler, quieter—removed from the usual bustle of camp. Panam had been in here plenty of times before, but never like this. Never with this kind of uncertainty clawing at her insides.

Now, as she stood in the center of the room, arms crossed tightly over her chest, she felt like she might shake apart.

Dakota powered up her scanner, the low hum filling the space as Panam climbed onto the cot. She gripped the edge with white-knuckled fingers, her pulse hammering so hard she could hear it.

Dakota moved the scanner over her abdomen, slow and precise. The screen flickered—then the unmistakable result appeared.

Positive.

Panam’s entire being skidded to a halt.

Her vision narrowed to that single word, like the whole damn world had just been yanked out from under her.

No. No, that— that wasn’t possible.

She had a contraceptive implant, both of them did. They don’t fail. That was the whole point.

She barely managed to find her voice. “How?” It came out strained, barely above a whisper.

Dakota met her eyes evenly. “Implants can fail under certain conditions. Usually, it takes something significant—major surgery, certain medications, or interference from external tech.”

External tech.

Panam felt something cold crawl down her spine. “Like… something that connects directly with my neural and physical systems?”

Dakota nodded. “Exactly.”

Panam’s stomach dropped. Her mind immediately reeled back to that night.

The Basilisk.

Oh. Oh fuck.

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “The Basilisk.”

Dakota frowned slightly. “What about it?”

Panam swallowed hard. “Me and V… we linked into the Basilisk together. The whole system—it connected with us completely, every implant, every neural link.”

Dakota sat back slightly, considering. “That would do it.”

Panam let out a shaky breath. Her head was spinning. She hadn’t even thought about that being a possibility. The Basilisk had overridden everything.

Everything.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

Dakota’s voice was calm, steady, but it cut through the haze in Panam’s mind like a knife.

“You don't have to figure it out right now.”

Panam blinked up at her, throat tight. 

Dakota gently studied her, hesitating before she spoke, “So you know, I have tech that can end it,” her voice was quiet and caring. “If that’s your choice.”

The words sent Panam’s mind spiraling into freefall.

What if that’s the right choice?

It’s not a good time for a baby right now.

V just got back. He’s still recovering.

She’s leading the clan now. They’re just getting settled. She barely has time to sleep, let alone—

Her stomach twisted violently.

What if V doesn’t want it?

Her breath came short and shallow.

What if he leaves?

She clenched her jaw, gripping the cot harder.

But then another thought struck her—one that cut deeper than all the rest.

Could she live with herself if she ended it without even telling him?

The thought sat heavy in her chest, pressing down like a weight she couldn’t shake.

She didn’t even realize she was shaking until Carol slid a hand over hers, squeezing gently.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” she said softly.

Panam’s throat felt tight. No, she didn’t. But the clock was ticking.

And no matter what choice she made… nothing would ever be the same again.

——

The camp was alive with the low hum of morning activity, a steady rhythm of people settling into the day’s work. V made his rounds, greeting familiar faces, swapping stories, letting the warmth of belonging sink in. He was back. Alive. And despite everything, he felt good.

But beneath the easy smiles and firm handshakes, a question gnawed at him. Where do I fit in now?

He wasn’t a merc anymore. Not really. He wasn’t jacked into the net, wasn’t enhanced beyond human limits. His body—his real body—was all he had now. No Kerenzikov to make him faster, no optical suite feeding him data in real time, no dermal armor between his skin and a bullet. Just him. Flesh, bone, and whatever was left of the man who had clawed his way out of Night City.

The Aldecaldos were family, but he didn’t want to be a burden. And V had never been the kind to sit on the sidelines.

That was why he found himself heading toward Dakota’s space, an idea brewing in his head. If there was any way to make himself useful, to feel connected again, she’d be the one to talk to.

The door to Dakota’s workspace was open just a crack. He stepped in, about to call her name, when—

Carol saw him first. She moved smoothly, like she’d been expecting this, casually reaching for the curtain behind her and pulling it closed. The fabric whispered as it slid across the rail, sealing off whatever—or whoever—was on the other side.

“Hey, V,” she greeted, a little too loudly. “Look at you, walking around like you own the place again.”

He grinned at that, though his eyes flicked toward the curtained-off section. Someone was sitting behind there. He could hear the barely-there shift of fabric, the kind of stillness that only came from someone trying to be quiet.

Before he could ask, Dakota stepped out from behind the curtain. She was calm, composed—but something about her felt distracted. Her sharp eyes scanned him, assessing, and then she nodded toward the chair across from her workstation.

“You looking for me?” she asked.

V hesitated. He glanced at Carol again, but she was already slipping past him, tossing Dakota a look that V couldn’t quite read before stepping out the door.

Something was off.

But Dakota didn’t give him time to think about it.

“Well?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

V rubbed the back of his neck, deciding to push the feeling aside. “Yeah. Had an idea I wanted to run by you. Figure if anyone can make it happen, it’s you.”

He dropped into the chair, and Dakota leaned against the counter, waiting.

He took a breath. “I know I’m done with cyberware, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still use tech, right? Was thinking—what if we found a way for me to still access the net? Not like before, obviously, but something. I dunno. Maybe a custom deck, a relay system, something that doesn’t need implants.”

Dakota considered him for a moment.

“Still trying to be a netrunner, huh?”

V looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d settle for ‘useful.’”

She nodded slowly, rubbing her chin. “It’s possible. Not exactly practical, but doable. You’d need an external rig, something old-school. I’d have to dig into what’s available.”

V exhaled, feeling lighter. “Sounds like a start.”

Dakota hummed in acknowledgment, but her focus flickered—just for a second—toward the curtain behind her.

V caught it this time.

His gut told him to ask. But something about the air in the room made him hold back.

Instead, he leaned back, stretching. “Alright. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Dakota gave him a small nod. “Sounds good.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

V stood, feeling like he’d missed something. He gave the curtain one last glance before stepping outside, the desert air filling his lungs.

Whatever was going on in there, it wasn’t meant for him.

—-

Panam still felt the adrenaline surging through her as she slipped out the back of Dakota’s trailer. She needed time to think before she saw V.

She heard someone running through the gravel behind her.

 Please don’t be him. 

She picked up the pace. 

“Panam! Hey! Just take a second, alright?”

Carol.

Panam stopped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She felt like a caged animal, heart pumping, muscles tensing, ready to burst out of her cage. 

Carol caught up to her huffing, doubling over from the effort, resting her hands on her knees. After a moment, she stood and gently squeezed Panam’s arm, “He didn’t know you were there.” Carol studied her, gadging what to say next. “What do you need right now? Can I help?”

Panam stared at her as she felt the tears well up. 

Why does Carol always have to be so nice?

 The dam broke. 

Her breath shudders as tears cascade, she instinctively presses her hands to her face shielding it from view. 

She felt Carol wrap her in a firm embrace. “You’re not alone in this,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

Panam isn’t sure what she knows right now—only that she’s on the verge of a panic attack but Carol’s bear hug is helping. She clings to Carol for just a moment, choking back the sobs.

Then, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.

“Uh… bad time?”

Panam stiffens, hastily wiping her face as she whips around to see Cassidy standing a few paces away. His brow knit in concern, thumbs slung through his belt loops. He adjusts his hat, eyes flicking between Panam and Carol. “We can do this later if you need.”

Panam shakes her head, forcing herself to straighten up. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry Cass, something came up and—it’s fine.”

Everything is fine. Everything. 

Cassidy hesitates but nods toward a quiet spot where they can talk. Carol gives Panam’s arm a reassuring squeeze and kisses her cheek before heading off. 

Panam huffs out a breath, steadying herself.

 She’s got work to do.

Cassidy leads her to a quiet space on the edge of camp a few yards away, his pace is easy like he’s giving her time to collect herself. His eyes flick toward her every so often.

“You alright?” he finally asks. “Anything I can do?”

Panam exhales slowly, tension still coiled tight in her chest. Was she being that obvious?

“Remember what we talked about, kid.”

Just like that, she feels lighter, his calm steady presence bringing her back to Earth. Panam rolls her shoulders, and they crack in protest . “I’m fine, just feeling a little under the weather. I’ll be fine.”

He nods as he wanders over to their spot.

“StormTech deal is in the bag,” he says, pulling a crumpled mass of papers from his jacket. “Just need to finalize some things. Got a few questions on how you wanna handle ‘em.”

She nods, but as he starts reading through to paperwork, his voice fades into the background and is replaced by existential dread. 

What is she going to do?

Should she tell V?

Her gut twists. Right now? Later? Ever?

What if he doesn’t want it? What if he leaves? No—V wouldn’t do that. Would he? He said he wants to stay with her and V never lies. He’s not like those other jerks.

What if keeping it is the wrong choice? What if it’s the right choice? Would it even be hers to make without him?

She feels like she’s been shoved into a life she wasn’t prepared for, like the ground has tilted beneath her and she’s sliding toward something she doesn’t know how to stop.

“Panam?”

Cassidy. She’s talking to Cassidy right now.

Her head snaps up, “Sorry, what?” She rubs her temple. Was it that obvious she was a million miles away?

He’s eyes flick up and down. “You listenin’?” He squints at her. 

She blinks, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah! I uh…Could you go over the last things you said again?”

He stares at her a moment and then frowns at the paperwork. She glues her attention to him, nodding her head along as she answers his questions.

Yes.

No.

Absolutely not.

I thought we already talked about that.

All she wants to do is go back to her tent and pretend the world doesn’t exist.

She rubs at her temple, trying to keep her last sheds of attention in the moment. 

“Well, okay kid, I think that’s it.” Cassidy says as he shoves the mass of paperwork back into his coat pocket. “I’ll get to it.” He says as he turns and plods away. 

It’s too much. All of it. If she didn’t know her limits before she sure as hell did now. She thinks of Saul and wonders if he ever had thoughts like this. Is this just part of being Chief or is she just pathetic? 

The thought makes her stomach lurch.

 She’s not a quitter. 

It hasn’t even been that long since Saul died and she was thrust into this. It’s probably just hormones or whatever. 

She plopped down in the dirt behind a tent, hugging her knees to her chest, and just stared out at the horizon. The camp was abuzz with things being packed and taken to their permanent home. 

Her brain lagged. Every logistical detail about the StormTech deal, every conversation about what to do next only bogged it down more. It felt like the walls she’d built around herself were crumbling under the pressure, the cracks were starting to show.

Her stomach churned with a mix of nausea and dread. She tried to bury it like she always did but it wasn’t working this time. All she wanted to do was run to V—she wanted to run from V at the same time. 

With a sigh she forced herself to her feet, determined to find something to throw herself into to take her mind off of everything. As she stomped away a few clan members passed by, offering polite greetings, but their voices blurred into the background of her churning thoughts. 

What if I tell him? 

The thought flickered in her mind, only to be smothered by a wave of panic. V had enough to deal with. 

The day wore on with endless chaos—a broken tool to fix, the constant influx of questions, hearing her name called from five different directions. It was as if life itself conspired to remind her of everything she wasn’t prepared for. And on top of all of that she was noticing the suspicious looks, especially from the women, being thrown her way. She wasn’t even showing yet…was she? She subconsciously pulled her jacket closer around herself.

She wanted to vanish, to unexist, to retreat into a quiet corner and let the world fade away, but…she couldn’t. As she trudged through the camp, every step felt heavy, each interaction a reminder of the onslaught of responsibility. 

A soft breeze rustled the fabric of her bolero jacket as she paused near one of the communal fire pits. The cozy flicker of the flames doing little to comfort her. She sank onto a rough wooden bench, closing her eyes for a moment. The pounding in her head was unbearable—so much so that even the simple act of breathing made it throb.

She thought of V— his steady, unwavering presence, of the way his calm and resilience had given her hope. And she wondered bitterly if she could ever let him in enough to share this pain, to trust him with this life altering secret that she was terrified he would leave her over. Honestly? She wouldn’t blame him if he did.

A single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek as she fought against the urge to combust. In that moment, as the camp buzzed softly around her, she looked around and noticed people laughing and chatting, satisfied with everything they accomplished that day. She looked out at the endless expanse of the desert and felt truly alone—trapped behind the walls she had built to protect herself.They now felt like a prison.

Chapter Text

The climb was harder than it should have been.

V sat at the edge of the cliffs behind the supply storage, his knees ached. HIs muscles burned, his chest was heaving, he shouldn’t be this worn out from such little effort—but here he was feeling like he just tried to outrun a train. 

He exhaled slowly and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. Below, the camp looked frantic—mechanics shouting over busted parts, people packing things up and hauling them onto flatbeds, trucks returning from supply runs.

Earlier that morning, Mitch had handed him a list of low-intensity tasks—“Nothing heavy,” he’d said. “Just stuff to help you get back in the rhythm.” V had nodded, wanting the distraction.

 Wanting to be useful.

So he’d checked tires, tightened bolts on the new turret mounts, hauled crates from the supply tent. He’d pushed through it, not wanting to seem weak. But now, several hours later, the fatigue had settled into his bones. He wasn’t used to the way his body felt, the way it moved without cyberware.

Still… he got the job done.

He’d finished the list. That counted for something, didn’t it?

He flexed his fingers and stared at them. He had a new habit of stopping to stare at his own arms like an idiot. He ran a hand over his arm. Skin, nail, bone. No more cold chrome gleaming under synth-skin. No more data ports or hidden compartments. He noticed the veins mapping under his skin, the small cuts he received this morning from work.

He swallowed. The sun glinted off the ridges of distant hills. The light was harsh—too harsh without ocular dampeners. The wind sharper than he remembered, chilling his arms even through his shirt.

For a brief moment he wondered if he could survive like this.

He felt weak— vulnerable. 

Then he remembered what Dr. Levy said. How he had all of his cyberware removed. How it ended up being just a leash for corporate control. How your body wasn’t your own anymore and everyone grew dependent on the next upgrade. 

That was all in the past now. He was truly free and that was worth whatever he had to give up to get here. His body would get stronger again.

Everything hurt, but for some weird reason it made him smile. It meant his body was his again. No one could hack meat.

Fuck those corpo bastards.

He didn’t know how long it would take—but he would get back up from this.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the camp, where Mitch was probably elbow-deep in a maintenance job and Panam was buried in logistics. Mitch told him to take a break or Panam would kill him. 

She’d been watching him like a hawk ever since they got back.

It was nice to get away, no one around up here.

Just stillness. And time. And the long road of recovery stretching ahead of him.

V looked out at the horizon, let the sun sting his eyes a little longer before blinking against it.

“I’ll get there,” he said quietly. “One way or another.”

V sat a little longer, letting the wind dry the sweat dampening his shirt.

His eyes drifted along the cliffs, past the tents and tools and clamor of the camp, until they caught on a patch of shade tucked between two sandstone outcrops. Quiet. Secluded. The kind of place where no one would see him.

He stood—slowly, his muscles screaming with the effort.

The walk over was short but careful. Loose gravel shifted under his boots, and he had to brace himself once on the rock wall, fingers curling against warm stone. When he reached the shade, he exhaled again, deeper this time. The spot felt right. The wind was softer here, the noise from camp just a low hum in the background.

He glanced at the open space around him, eyes narrowing in thought.

This could work.

Without really thinking, he pulled his dreads back into a loose tie and removed his boots and socks. The movements were practiced, familiar.

It had been years since he’d done this—tai chi wasn’t exactly something he had time for between gigs in Night City. 

Another thing that place had taken from him. 

But someone had taught him, once, long ago. They’d told him it was good for recovery, for replenishing your body’s energy…or ripping your enemy’s throat out.

At the time, he just thought it was cool. Thought it was badass or something. But now…

Now it felt like something he needed.

He stepped into the center of the clearing, feet shoulder-width apart, hands loose at his sides. He closed his eyes for a moment. Felt the breeze against his skin. The coolness of the rock beneath him. His breathing evening out.

Then he began to move.

Slow. Intentional.

Breath in—step forward. Shift weight.

Water moving through water.

Then, a sharp pain, he stumbled.

Fuck it, just try again. 

Arms swept out like waves. One hand rising, the other falling. His spine followed the motion in a soft spiral, joints flowing in rhythm. Each movement transitioned into the next, circular and calm.

He was a little rusty, his movements a little stilted, but it was coming back to him the longer he practiced. 

He felt the stiffness start to melt from his joints and his muscles start to work together.

The clumsiness he felt since leaving the lab faded away.

His breath was lining up with his movements. 

He still felt weak, but the shame attached to it was gone.

He felt calm, steady.

Centered. 

—-

The tent was dim and quiet, the last light of day barely filtering through the worn green canvas. Panam was splayed on their cot, softly snoring as drool slowly seeped onto her pillow. Her dusty boots kicked off by the door, and her clothes were flung carelessly on the floor. 

A rustle of fabric slightly woke her, she opened one eye and noticed V quietly slip into the tent. His eyes were bright and his movements purposeful—but as he approached, he slowed. He stepped closer, crouching beside the bed and peering right into her face. 

“I’m awake…” she garbled. He grinned slightly as he sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm and careful, an attempt to soothe the tension in her body.

Panam stirred slightly. “It’s been a long day,” her voice was borderline incoherent.

V slowly traced his fingers over her bare shoulders, then slowly started to knead the tension away. “Feelsssgood,” she slurred. He worked silently for a moment longer before speaking. “Went to our new space with Cassidy today—looks like it’ll work out great. We’re movin’ tomorrow, right?”

“Mhm,” she managed a small hum in response.

He studied her face, noticing a hint of something amiss. “...Is everything okay?” he hesitated, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

For a long, quiet minute, she didn’t respond. V’s hand continued its soft, steady rhythm along her shoulder working out each knot he found. She felt her body slowly turning to mush, her eyes fluttering closed. 

“I'll be okay if you keep doing that.”

V chuckled softly. “Yes, ma’am, will do. Anything else to make your stay more comfortable this evening?”

Despite her exhaustion, Panam grunted a laugh, the memory of that night in the abandoned house after rescuing Saul warming her. “If you did that every night, I wouldn’t complain.”

V grinned, his tone mock-professional. “I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”

—-

The camp was alive with movement, a restless machine of people and vehicles grinding into motion with the first light of dawn. Engines rumbled, trailers groaned under the weight of packed supplies, and people shouted over all of it. The Aldecaldos were on the move.

Panam stood in the middle of it all, calling out orders, directing people where they needed to be. “Manny, double-check the fuel reserves—we’re not stopping if someone runs dry. Jake, secure those straps better unless you want our shit scattered across the desert.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the noise, her posture rigid with command.

The total opposite of how she felt inside. 

Her legs ached as she walked, the weight of exhaustion pressing her down into the dust. She felt swarmed with responsibility and expectations. It was all too much. All of it. 

Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Dakota.

Panam tensed but didn’t pull away. Dakota didn’t say anything, didn’t ask any questions—just gave a firm grounding squeeze. A reminder that someone saw her. That someone knew.

A moment later, Carol passed by, giving her one of her warm bear hugs before disappearing into the chaos.

Panam took a breath and let it out with a sigh. She could use more of those.

“Hey, yeah. That should fit.”

V.

He was on a flatbed moving between Mitch and Cassidy, strapping down cargo. He had an easy grin on his face as he worked. She watched the muscles in his arms flex, noticed his shoulders ripple under the worn fabric of his shirt. This was exactly what he had needed—to be part of something again.

Panam felt a pang of longing—how long had it been since they were alone together? Sure they met during pure grinding chaos but they used to have times where it was just the two of them drifting across the desert in her Warhorse. God, she missed that.

She walked toward him, dodging a passing clan member lugging a heavy crate. He looked up just as she reached him, his grin growing wider.

“Chief,” he teased. “Come to inspect my work?”

She felt a jolt of warmth between her legs, she loved his snarky jokes but would never admit it. 

“Nah, got a job for you soldier.” She shifted, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head. “Wanna ride with me to the settlement?”

V caught the tone in her voice.

He met her gaze. “Yeah,” he said easily. “Think I’m up for that.” He jumped down from the flatbed and they headed for her truck.

Panam’s Warhorse roared as they headed toward the settlement, kicking up dust in their wake.

For the first few minutes, they rode in comfortable silence, V gazing out the window.

Then, he stretched his neck and yawned, looking over at her. “Man… I think this is the first time we’ve been alone in weeks.”

Panam glanced at him, “Yeah…kinda the whole point.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Your driving still scares the hell out of me.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, please.”

“Don’t ‘oh, please’ me. I still have flashbacks to you barreling through that Militech checkpoint like it was nothin’.”

Panam smirked, relaxing into her seat a little. “And yet, you keep getting in my truck.”

V shrugged. “Guess I like living dangerously.”

She let out a small laugh—this felt good. Just them, the desert, and the road.

V leaned his arm against the open window, watching the horizon roll past. “Y’know… I used to love doin’ this. Just riding through the Badlands with you, no bullshit, no city breathing down my neck…at least temporarily.” 

Panam glanced at him, something in his voice making her pause. “And now?”

He was quiet for a beat, then smirked. “Now I got a whole nomad clan to help you take care of.”

Panam rolled her eyes but smiled. “Oh, so that’s why you agreed to come with me? Thought I needed an extra set of hands?”

V grinned. “Nah, I just missed riding shotgun.”

She shook her head, but that warmth in her chest settled in a little deeper.

They pulled into the settlement, a plume of dust forming as she eased her Warhorse to a stop. V leaned over and, gripping a shock of her locs, pulled her into a kiss. He lingered, going deeper, his mouth moving slowly against hers. She felt heat bloom in her stomach. He broke away, looking her in the eye, “I missed you.” And with that he jumped out of the truck and was off.

"Alright, so—come here, I gotta show you this," he said, motioning for her to follow.

Panam sighed, but there was no real reluctance in it. She followed, stretching the stiffness from her shoulders before trailing after him.

“Cassidy and I talked about that spot over there,” he said, motioning toward a stretch of land near the center. “Could be good for supply storage. Close enough to everything but not in the way.” He turned, scanning another section. “Security headquarters should go here. Gives us a clear view of the perimeter. Plenty of space to set up monitoring systems, run recon if needed.”

He kept going, methodically laying things out, leading her through the space like he’d already lived there a hundred times in his head. 

Panam followed, listening, letting him guide her. His voice, his steady certainty, the way he took control—it was strangely comforting. Even after everything he’d been through, after the fresh hell he’d lived, he was just rolling with it.

She let out a sigh, taking it in. Nothing gets this man down.

She’d always admired that about him. Hell, she loved that about him.

Panam let a thought roll around in her head as V kept talking. He was already taking charge, figuring out logistics, planning security, assessing risks. It wasn’t just talk—he knew what he was doing and he was damn good at it.

She folded her arms and gazed over the settlement, the people working around them. Every few minutes, someone would glance toward her, waiting for direction.

She’s doing it.

“V?” she interrupted.

His voice trailed off mid-sentence. He turned, brow raised.

She hesitated for only a second before saying it. “I need you to take over operations for a while.”

V just blinked. “What?”

“For the move,” she clarified. “Just… organizing everything, making sure people know where they need to be. I want them reporting to you instead of me.”

For a long moment, he just stared at her.

“You sure about that?” he finally asked, completely thrown.

Panam nodded. “Yeah. You’re already doing a better job than I would. I want you to handle this.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and she could see the gears turning in his head. Panam never gave away control—ever.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll do it.”

Panam exhaled, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening. “Thanks” she said grinning as she kissed him on the cheek. 

She turned, scanning the group of people working around them. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out—

“Hey!”

The movement around them slowed. Heads turned. Conversations quieted.

Panam squared her shoulders. “Listen up! I need someone to take over logistics for the rest of the move, and that someone is V.” She glanced at him, then back at the others. “If you need something, if you’ve got a problem—he’s the one you go to.”

A few surprised murmurs rippled through the group. Mitch and Cassidy exchanged glances. V, for his part, was at ease—calm and composed. But Panam knew him well enough to catch the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides, the way his jaw twitched ever so slightly.

And then, slowly, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said, voice carrying over the group. “Let’s get to work.”

And just like that, people started moving again—this time, looking to him for direction.

V didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the role like it was second nature.

He moved through the crowd with quiet authority, his voice steady and sure as he delegated responsibilities. “Mitch, take the rigs and park them on the south side. We’ll unload from there.”

“Manny, you and Jamison handle the supply inventory—double-check what we brought against what’s still coming in.”

“Abel, find me when the last of the trailers roll in. I want a count on fuel and ammo before nightfall.”

One by one, people nodded and moved, falling into rhythm without hesitation. There was no push back, no second guessing. V knew exactly what needed to be done, and people recognized that.

Panam watched for a moment. She knew he’d take it seriously, but seeing it in action was… hot. He had nothing to prove, he just did what needed done. 

With that taken care of—at least for now—she exhaled and turned away, slipping out of the fray. She had no idea what to do with herself now and kind of relished the feeling.

Maybe I’ll help Dakota unpack.

Something simple. Something quiet. Something that wouldn’t make her feel like she was suffocating.

She paused before slipping away, turning back to watch V in action. Damn, it was sexy—the way he just took control.

He wasn’t barking orders, wasn’t trying to dominate the scene. His voice was steady, he was sure of himself in that effortless way of his. People listened because they trusted him, and so did she.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. For a moment, she wanted to walk right up to him, grab him by the collar, and kiss the hell out of him. But she just sighed instead, shaking her head with a tired smirk before turning away.

He was all hers later.

—-

Panam wandered over to Dakota who was overseeing the unpacking of supplies. Her usual calm presence a stark contrast to the chaos around them. Panam settled in next to her, feeling like one of her cubs instead of the leader.

Dakota glanced at her, seeing right through her, and put an arm around her shoulders giving her a squeeze. She gestures toward a stack of crates. “You can help me sort these if you need something mindless to do.”

Panam nods grateful for the mundane task. As they work, Dakota’s calm presence seeps into Panam’s soul, calming her. After a few minutes, she speaks, her voice low and knowing.

“You finally let someone else take the reins for a bit,” she says. “Took you long enough.”

Panam snorts. “Not like I had much of a choice. Needed someone to keep things from falling apart like I am.”

Dakota hums. “I think V can handle it and you.”

Panam hesitates, fingers tightening around a supply manifest.

Dakota lets the silence settle before she continues.“How’s it feel having room to breathe? No shame in it. Everyone needs a break.”

Panam exhales slowly, “Maybe you’re right.”

Dakota just continues to sort through the crates. “Maybe you’re going through all this for a reason. It’s a learning opportunity.”

Dakota’s hands didn’t stop moving as she spoke, calm and measured, like she had all the time in the world. 

Panam considered her words and plopped down as she slowly sorted papers, thankful for the menial task. 

Dakota glanced at her, the corner of her mouth lifting.

For a long while, they worked in silence, the sounds of busyness in the background—voices shouting, engines revving, things being lifted, moved, and settled.

Then Dakota spoke again, her voice softer, almost like she was talking to the air between them. “You know… in all my years, I’ve seen a lot of women burn themselves down to ash trying to carry everything and everyone. Trying to prove they can do it all, be everything, hold the whole damn sky up on their shoulders.”

She set another crate aside, moving deliberately, unhurried. “They think if they just keep moving, keep doing, they won’t feel how tired they are. Won’t notice how empty they’re getting.”

Panam’s hands slowed, the edge of her thumbnail picking at the paper in her grasp.

Dakota went on, voice steady and knowing. “But there comes a time when even the strongest woman’s body starts whispering to her. Starts asking her to lay it down. To rest. Sometimes it starts as a whisper. And if she doesn’t listen… it starts to scream.”

Panam’s chest tightened. She was afraid to look at Dakota.

Dakota reached for another crate, her tone light, almost offhanded, but each word was a stone tossed into still water. “You know, it’s a funny thing—life growing inside you. It’s a quiet, sacred thing. But it takes from you. And if you don’t slow down… if you don’t make space… you’ll spend yourself before you even realize it.”

Panam’s breath caught sharp in her throat.

Her hands stopped.

Dakota kept working, “You don’t have to tell anyone. Don’t have to explain. But I know you, Panam.” Her voice softened further, gentle as rain. “You’re running yourself ragged.”

For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of supplies, the distant hum of people’s voices. Then Panam’s fingers curled tightly around the files, and her shoulders shook with the force of the tears she couldn’t hold back anymore.

Dakota just kept sorting crates, giving Panam the space to break without anyone watching.

“You’re allowed to lay it down, you know,” Dakota murmured after a moment. “A woman’s strength isn’t in how long she can carry the weight. It’s in knowing when to set it down.”

—-

V moved through the camp with quiet purpose, unshaken by the noise and chaos that churned around him. But inside he was drained, all he wanted was Panam. People moved past him with crates, supplies, questions. Every few steps, someone flagged him down—asking where the water tanks should go, whether the perimeter sensors had been unpacked, if he could check something. He handled it with calm, measured, efficiency, not letting the cracks show.

He’d kept his voice steady, his face neutral, like he wasn’t running on fumes after hours of coordinating, lifting, and answering the same damn questions over and over.

But his eyes kept drifting to the edges of the crowd.

Where was she?

She wasn’t hovering like usual, double-checking him, barking at someone over her shoulder, giving him that little sidelong glance she always did.

V rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the camp again. He’d assumed she'd gone to check on Dakota. She was spending a lot of time with her lately.

Something was off but he wasn’t sure what.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, then turned to Cassidy, who was tinkering with a broken drone near the fuel trucks. “You seen Panam?”

Cassidy glanced up, wiping grease off his hands. “Think she wandered off toward the supply tents a while back. Looked like she needed a breather.”

V gave a short nod. “Thanks.”

The sun had begun to dip low behind the horizon, casting the settlement in long, amber shadows. The worst of the day’s chaos had eased.

He picked up the pace through the lot, scanning faces, searching for one in particular. He spotted Dakota, checking off items and quietly directing a couple of Nomads who lingered nearby. She worked like a steady flame amid the noise and clutter, unfazed.

V approached her, clearing his throat lightly. “Hey.”

Dakota looked up from her clipboard and met his eyes with a soft, knowing expression. “She’s gone to rest,” she said simply, her voice smooth and certain, as though she had been waiting for him to come looking.

V’s gaze flicked past her, in the direction of their tent. He shoved his hands in his pockets, a slow breath slipping past his lips. He hesitated, staring at the ground, “Is there something I don’t know?”

Dakota studied him quietly, then set the clipboard down on the crate beside her. “She’s tired V. She almost lost it when you were in the hospital and with all the new responsibility...it just all hit her at once.”

V lingered, his stance still, but his eyes betrayed him—worry, guilt. “Ok…thanks, Dakota.”

Dakota’s eyes softened. She remembered that little bird she compared him to. She took a moment before she answered, like she was choosing her words carefully. “She really loves you, V. She’ll be ok, she just needs to grow into things.”

V’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.

“You’re doing everything you can for her,” Dakota continued gently. “You see her, even when she thinks no one does. I think she’s finally learning to lean on others because of you.”

V’s eyes dropped to the ground for a moment, considering her words. “It’s about time, I guess I’ll go see if there’s anything else I can do.”

Dakota gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile. 

V sighed quietly, giving her a small nod before turning away.

“She needs to feel safe,” Dakota added, her voice softening. “You make her feel safe.”

V nodded once more, then turned to head toward their tent without another word.

—-

He ducked into their tent, moving quietly so as not to disturb her. The day’s chaos was finally behind them, the hum of engines and shouted orders now replaced by the muffled sounds of the clan settling in for the night. His eyes landed on her immediately. Panam, curled up on their cot. She looked so much smaller like this. Fragile, almost. It twisted something deep in his chest.

For a moment, he just stood there looking at her. The strong, fierce woman who carried everything on her back, now looking like she might shatter if the wind blew too hard.

He crossed the space in two strides, crouching beside her. Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair, brushing a few strands from her face, and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Hey,” he whispered against her skin.

Panam blinked awake, her eyes unfocused at first, then widening. “Shit—I didn’t mean to—” she sat up quickly, wiping at her face. “I just… I just needed to lay down for a minute. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Hey,” V said again, his voice calm and reassuring. He reached out, his hand finding hers. “It’s alright. Everything went fine. We’re all moved in. Don’t worry about it.”

Something in her crumbled at that, and her face twisted before she could stop it. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over too fast for her to catch.

V’s stomach sank. He squeezed her hand, brow furrowing as he watched her fall apart in front of him. “Panam…” his voice dropped, soft but insistent. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, trying to swallow it down—it was too late. Her breath hitched, and before she could think twice, the words tumbled out of her mouth in a broken whisper.

“You had to do it all yourself--” she said through tears. “ I–I can’t—I’m—I’m” her frantic eyes met his. 

I’m pregnant, V!

It stuck in her throat, she couldn’t tell him.

Not now. Not with everything he’s just been through and not with her shirking all of this other responsibility off on him. She can handle this herself.

The silence between them was stretched taught. V just blinked at her, waiting for her to say—something.

Panam wiped at her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, V.” she hesitated, her voice thick and unsteady. “I’m just—so tired. I’ll get over it…”

She glanced at him, then quickly away, her throat tightening as she swallowed hard. 

He looked up at her, rubbing her bare thighs with his hands. “ Panam, it’s okay. You asked me for help, so I helped. It’s fine.”

She covered her face with her hands, “I shouldn’t have bothered you. With everything you’ve just been through—” 

 “Hey.” His voice was gentle, even “I’m fine. Actually I kinda like it,” He grinned, “I like being useful.” 

He reached for her, cupping the side of her face, brushing his thumb over her damp cheek.

She leaned into his touch, a smile spreading across her face. “Nothing gets you down does it?” 

He smirked, thumb grazing her cheek. “Takes more than this to put me in the dirt.”

She grabbed his hand, giving it a quick kiss. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.” She playfully pulled him onto their cot and tugged his shirt over his head.

He chuckled as she pulled his pants off next

. “Damn, at least buy me dinner first.”

He let her continue to disrobe him.

Chapter Text

Morning light streamed through the thin tears in the tent fabric, catching V’s eyes as he lazily blinked awake. Panam’s entire body was draped over him—face buried in his chest, arm slung over his ribs, legs tangled with his.

Her breathing was uneven—tight, shaky, like she was trying to soothe herself even in sleep. He ran a hand up and down her back without thinking, mind still chewing on what she wasn't telling him. He stared at the ceiling of the tent, thoughts spiraling.

Next to him, she groaned quietly against his chest.

 “V?”

 She tilted her head up, her eyes glassy, dark circles under them.

“Yeah?” He traced slow circles on her arm.

“I need something to drink. Do we have anything?” Her voice sounded tight, like even speaking cost her.

“Yeah, think so.” He gently slid out from under her, careful not to jostle her more than necessary. At the foot of the bed, he grabbed one of the Real Water bottles they kept stashed in the cooler. Behind him, he heard the soft rustle of fabric as she sat up.

When he turned, she was hunched forward, elbows on her knees, fingertips pressed hard into her temples.

He crossed the tent and sat in front of her, cracking open the bottle.

 “You sick?” he asked, voice low.

She cleared her throat. “I dunno” She mumbled, “I’ve barely eaten in days…think I’m paying for it now.”

He handed her the bottle and she took it, sipping slow and careful like every swallow might turn her stomach. He watched her, brow pinched. 

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, glancing at him.

 “Feels like a truck hit me,” she murmured.

“Anything I can do?” He eyed her, he wasn’t used to seeing her like this. 

Panam hesitated. “Could you… get me some oatmeal? It’s the only thing I can keep down right now.”

“Yeah. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

She nodded weakly, taking another sip.

“I’ll be right back.” He gave her leg a gentle squeeze before standing, pulling on his jeans and shirt. He glanced back at her once more before slipping out of the tent, letting the flap fall shut behind him.

Outside, the camp was already in motion. Engines rumbled in the distance, voices called to each other across the crisp morning air. For a second, the coolness against his skin grounded him.

People waved him down, asking questions, throwing curious glances his way. Too many eyes lingered a little too long. They looked at him like something was off. He didn’t know what—but he caught the looks.

He spotted Mitch by the rigs and jogged over.

“Hey, Mitch.”

Mitch looked up from the clipboard in his hands. “V! Hey, man. Where you been? Everything alright?”

V’s shrugged.

 “Yeah… Panam’s not feeling great this morning. Would you mind handling a few things for me?”

Mitch’s face shifted to concern. “Sure. What do you need?”

V rattled off what needed done, who needed wrangled. Mitch nodded, all business, and they exchanged a quick handshake before V peeled off toward the mess tent.

He made his way to the food line, exchanged a few words with whoever said hi. He grabbed a couple burritos for himself then made his way to the oatmeal, scooping it into a bowel. 

He eyed Dakota making her way over to him, something about her made his pulse spike. Panam was spending so much time with her…he wondered why. 

“Panam not feeling good again?” She was right next to him. 

He looked up.”Yeah, she’s not feelin’ too good this morning. Asked for some oatmeal…”

Dakota just hummed in response. V felt his face reddening and took a breath. He felt her eyes on him, like he was being watched under a microscope. 

“Make sure she eats enough, you know how she is.” Dakota said softly as she loaded her plate with eggs and synth-sausage.

“Is she okay?” V blinked at her, his brow knit with concern.

She sniffed, turning to him, placing a hand on her hip. “She’s just overwhelmed right now. She hasn’t been taking care of herself and it’s catching up to her.”

V thought for a moment. “She doesn’t want to ask too much of me does she? She thinks she needs to do all of this herself,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I was blown away when she asked me to oversee the move.”

A small almost imperceptible smile ghosted across Dakota’s lips, “She trusts you, V. And you’re probably right.”

His eyes flicked to hers, “Thanks, Dakota.” 

Dakota nodded, “Just make sure she eats enough—drinks enough. She always forgets.”

He gave her a salute as he walked away, bowl balanced in one hand, burritos clenched under his arm. 

When he got back Panam was curled up on their cot, Nibbles sleeping next to her. She looked up when he walked in, her eyes red and heavy-lidded, and gave him the smallest, tired smile.

V lifted the bowl in response.

“Got your plain oatmeal,” he said, voice low as he set the bowl down beside her. “Ran into Dakota. Said that's what's best for you.”

Panam sat up slowly, her movements sluggish. She flinched as she reached for the bowl but hesitated, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

V just nodded, sitting beside her without touching her. He wasn’t sure how to handle her right now. 

 The silence lingered between them like fog. 

V shifted his weight, stretching his hands over his knees, staring at the ground. He should say something. Anything.

“Did Dakota say anything else?” her eyes were on him as she tentatively took a bite.

He shook his head, “No…Was there anything else to tell me?”

She hesitated, eyes fixed once again on her oatmeal. “No.”

Silence. 

He watched her throat work as she swallowed. For a second, it seemed like she might be okay. Then she made a face, pressing a fist to her mouth and setting the bowl down. Nibbles chirped in surprise and bolted. 

He reached for her. “You need me to—?”

She shook her head sharply. “No. Just… gimme a minute.”

She breathed through her nose, eyes squeezed shut, and after a moment, it was over. She reached for the water bottle instead.

V blinked at her, “You sick?”

Sure, yeah, I’m sick.

She thought to herself. Maybe she should just go with that for now.

Panam set the water down with a sigh, then glanced at him. The way he was looking at her made her feel like he could see straight through her. He knew. Maybe not what, but he knew she was hiding something. Why did he have to be so damn smart?

V studied her for a long while. He shrugged. “You can talk to me, you know,” he said, voice low and carefully even. “If you’re…” he trailed off, breaking eye contact.

She cautiously took another bite of oatmeal like it might bite her. “If I'm what, V?”

He just looked at her for a long moment. Searching her eyes for something to hold onto.”Is there something you’re not tellin’ me?” 

He sounded exasperated. He stared at her, his brow drawn together in frustration. 

The air between them grew thick.

She took another swig of water, “V, I’m exhausted.” She felt the fire burning in her chest “I have all this new bullshit to deal with now and I never wanted any of it.” She slammed the water bottle down. “All the people that come to me on a daily bases wanting me to figure shit out for them is making my fucking head spin!”

She was talking faster and faster, “And then on top of that you almost fucking died for the 30th fucking time and I spent weeks wondering if you’ll ever wake up!” Her voice finally cracked, tears streaming down her face. She picked up the water bottle and threw it.

V reached for her hand, hooking his fingers into hers. He thought of a few things to say but they caught in his throat—so instead, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her—placing his chin atop her head. They remained like that for a while, holding each other. Words seemed unnecessary. 

Then she stirred. She looked up at him and something had shifted.

V felt it before he fully registered it—the way her gaze darkened, want pooling in her eyes. There was no stress, no desperation.

 It was something that made his pulse stutter.

His breath caught as she moved, shifting onto her knees before swinging a leg over his lap, settling herself atop him in one slow, deliberate motion.

V froze, his hands instinctively hovering just shy of touching her. 

The fuck just happened?

Her pupils were dilated, her body warm where it pressed against his, her fingers ghosting up his arms before sliding over his shoulders and threading into his locs.

“Panam,” his voice was low, uncertain.

She didn’t answer, just watched him, her thumb tracing slow circles at the base of his neck, her lips brushing against his. 

His hands finally found her waist, hesitant, as if any sudden movement might break the spell. He swallowed dryly, searching her eyes for something—an explanation, a reason—but all he found was desire.

He felt heat pool low in his stomach, His hands pressed into the small of her back, sliding up the curve of her spine. She shivered under his touch, her breath hitching, and the sound sent a sharp pulse of want through him.

His head lolled back as the tension bled out of him, his brain going offline, surrendering to the moment.

And then—finally—she kissed him, soft, slow, deep, cradling his head in her hands.

V exhaled sharply against her lips and curled his fingers into her shoulders, her body molding against his, breasts pressing into his chest. He could feel her heartbeat matching his own. 

His hands move to her bra, working it up over her head. Then his mouth found her breast. She arched toward him, letting her head dip back in euphoria. 

He feels her yank at his shirt and pulls it off for her. Her hands rove over his shoulders, squeezing the muscles in his arms before making their way to the taught plains of his chest. 

V sighed softly against her skin, his lips dragging over the curve of her neck, tasting the warmth of her. Panam shuddered, fingers tightening against his shoulders before tangling into his locs, making him hiss.

Her hips shifted against him, a slow, instinctive roll, sending a fresh rush of heat through his groin. He was burning from the inside out, every nerve on fire. From the way she fit against him, to the way her breath hitched when his hands roamed lower. 

She cradled his skull, their lips meeting again— her tongue roamed his mouth. Her hands roved over his chest, mapping the hard planes of his body, tracing old scars, memorizing him with every touch.

V’s grip tightened at her waist, steadying her as she moved against him. His forehead pressed against hers, breath ragged. 

Fuck, she felt good.

Panam’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them open, her touch deliberate, sure. Her hand snaked to his crotch , and he cursed under his breath, leaning his head against her shoulder as his fingers dug into her thighs.

He pulled her on top of him as he sank back, kicking off his jeans. She hooked a thumb through the flimsy fabric of her panties sliding them off. 

For a moment he just took her in—perched atop him, hair tousled, lips parted, pupils blown wide with want. His chest tightened at the sight, something raw and overwhelming clawing at his insides.

His hands roved over the taught muscles of her abdomen, lower, lower, until…they stopped at her belly. He froze, eyes locked on her womb. 

He felt her watching him and his eyes flicked to meet hers. She blinked at him, brow furrowing as she searched his face. 

The silence was stretched taut between them. 

“V?” her voice was soft, uncertain. She followed his gaze to her stomach. 

His mouth went dry. His heart pounded, fear and dread creeping in cold and unwelcome.

Was she pregnant?

That would explain how she's been acting. 

It hit him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs. Everything inside him recoiled. This wasn’t real. They both had implants that made that impossible. 

She was here, on top of him, naked and wanting and beautiful—he needed to just focus on that.

He blinked hard, he heard ringing in his ears. He needed to say something. Needed to keep this from unraveling, from making her feel unwanted.

His eyes fixed on hers again, he hated himself for ruining the moment.

“I’m sorry…I don’t know what happened.” his hands moved to her hips and then slid up her flanks. 

Her expression turned sad, she dipped her head looking defeated, “Do you wanna stop?”

No. No he did not.

His hands slide to her back and he pulls her down on top of him, slowly pressing his lips to hers. She starts to move and she's hot and wet against him, grinding into his length. 

He bites her bottom lip, sighing sharply through his nose, hands clenching her perfect ass as he grinds up into her. It’s not enough. He needs more—needs to feel her around him, needs to drown in her and forget that thought, even if just for a little while.

No thoughts. Just her. Solid and real on top of him. 

He lifts her hips as she instinctively rises, taking him in her hand and guiding him inside her. His jaw clenches as she sinks down onto him, inch by inch, taking him into her core. V let's out a long sigh, fingers gripping her hips like she might disappear if he lets go

He is enveloped in her silky warmth as stars spin. Trapped between her thighs, he begins to move. 

She rises, eyes closing, head lolling back as her dreads trail behind her. She rocks her hips, slow and deep, starting a wildfire in his veins. He trails his hands over her, fingertips skimming her hipbones, her stomach, the soft swell of her breasts. She shudders when he touches her, arching into his palms.

She spreads her legs farther, taking in as much of him as she can. His hands roam as he watches her, greedy and wanting more. 

He forgets everything, just for now. His tunnel vision is on her. 

He wants to be closer, he sits up, smashing their bodies together. Arms clenching around her waist. She whimpers as he thrusts harder and harder, her fingers tangling in his hair, nails biting into his skin.

His world narrows to this. The slow, aching need of her. The way she clenches and flutters around him, pulling him deeper, taking everything he gives. He’s unraveling, coming undone in her arms.

What if she's carrying your child?

The intrusive thought cuts him like a knife. He strangles it into silence. 

He buries his face in the crook of her neck as she moans. The drag of him inside her more intense and taking her to the edge. 

He's so close, he feels it build as he digs his nails into the small of her back. 

Her cry rends the small space of their tent as she comes apart on top of him. 

He shudders in her arms as he follows her over the edge. There's a throbbing as he spills inside her, an unfurling warmth as he fills her core. 

His vision whites out. Nothing is here but her. 

They cling desperately to each other as they come down. Rivulets of sweat trailing down them both. Nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing fills the space. 

Her fingers stroke the back of his neck, slow, soothing. He presses lazy kisses to her throat, to her collarbone, nuzzles into her hair. For the first time in weeks, the tension in his chest had loosened, replaced with something warm and grounding.

But then his fingers stilled.

Something about the way she held herself—the slight hesitance, the way she'd winced earlier—nagged at him. 

“Are you okay? Did it hurt?”

“No, it's nothing.” She reassures him.

An uninvited thought surfaced, bleeding into his mind until he could no longer ignore it.

He wonders how she would react if she knew how much he didn’t want to be a father. They’ve never talked about this, he never thought they’d have to. His creeping suspicion claws at him, tearing at the fragile peace between them. He can’t bring this up, he wants to shove it down under everything else he has to deal with. 

The love he feels for her is visceral, aching, but the thought of becoming a father? He shudders at it, disgust gnawing at him. He can’t do it, not even for her. 

He flogs himself with guilt.

“I love you…” he whispers, voice raw, pushing the thought away.

Panam softens, cupping his face as she rests her forehead against his.

“I love you too, V.”

V’s radio crackled to life. 

“V? You there? We have a situation out here.” It was Mitch's voice that broke the silence. 

V groaned into her neck, squeezing her close,”Shoulda known this wouldn't last.”

“I'm surprised they didn't interrupt us sooner,” she said, planting a kiss before pulling away to get dressed. 

V exhaled sharply, reaching for the radio. 

Back to the grind. 

“Yeah, Mitch.” He muttered, voice rough “What's goin’ on?”

There was static, then Mitch's voice came through. "Need you at the garage. Got an issue with one of the rigs—Carol thinks it’s the fuel line, but we need another set of hands."

V’s hand came to the back of his neck, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay here, with her, pretending the rest of the world didn't exist.

“Be there in a minute,” he said, clicking the radio off before tossing it on the floor.

They both reluctantly pulled their clothes back on. He glanced at Panam—her face was unreadable. That usually wasn’t good.

“You alright?” he asked as he pulled on his shirt.

She didn’t answer at first, just busied herself with her fly.

“Panam?” His voice was coaxing.

She sighed as she swept her dreads into a bun on top of her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just…”

“Used to them callin’ you insteada me.” He finished for her.

Sure, that was it.

She hesitated. “...Yeah, something like that.” She tucked a few stray hairs into her bun.

“It’s just temporary. You’re still chief, don’t worry.” He grinned, grabbing her by the waist and turning her to face him.

 “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you can order me around later.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she avoided him, eyes dropping to the ground.

His smile faded. He pulled her close again, brow knit in concern. “Hey… Panam?”

She placed her hands on his forearms, gently pressing him away. “I’m sorry, V—there’s just a lot on my mind right now.” She squeezed her eyes shut like it almost hurt to say.

He let his arms drop to his sides, studying her, searching for the reason she was pulling away. “Did I do something?” He cocked his head slightly.

She sighed, exasperated. “No, I just— I’ll see you later, alright?”

 She glanced at him. The look on his face stabbed her right in the heart.

 “V…” She squeezed his hand but avoided his eyes. “There’s just a lot going on right now, okay?”

“Okay… I’ll see you later then.” His voice was even, his face shuttered—unreadable.

The sun was bright and harsh in her eyes, a stark contrast to the quiet warmth of their tent as she left him behind.

V stood there for a moment, alone and confused. Feeling g

uilty, but not knowing why.

 He sighed, pushing the thoughts aside to face the onslaught of the day.

 As he stepped out into the camp, he looked for her.

She was nowhere in sight.

Chapter Text

  All he wanted was to be back in bed with Panam wrapped around him in their cozy tent.

Instead, he got a wasp’s nest—pure chaos unfurling around him, and he was the one keeping it in check. He pushed through the dust kicked up by rigs, the distant hum of engines filling the air as voices shouted over each other.

He didn’t stop.

He strode across camp with purpose, sweat staining his t-shirt, clipboard in hand, radio crackling in his ear. His body ached, but he ignored it. He’d barely slept—not that it mattered. There was too much to do.

“V! Hey, you got a sec?”

He turned to see Carol jogging toward him, squinting against the morning sun, strands of hair stuck to her face.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Need a call on the solar array. Panels are in place, but we’re short on connectors. I can try to repurpose some from the old turbines, but it’s gonna be a mess.”

“Do it,” V said without hesitation. “We need power up and running ASAP.”

Carol nodded and took off. No time to linger.

Another voice—this time Cassidy. “V, I need ya over here for a sec!”

V exhaled sharply but moved without complaint.

Cassidy stood by a cluster of storage crates, arms crossed, nodding toward one of the younger clan members—Milo—who looked like he’d just had the worst night of his life.

“We got a mix-up with inventory,” Cassidy said. “Half the rations Dakota ordered got left behind at the last pick up. Milo here—" he gestured at the kid, “—was supposed to double-check the manifest.”

Milo shifted uncomfortably. “I—I thought I did.”

V pinched the bridge of his nose. The beginnings of a headache crept in. “How quickly can they be replaced? ”

“Depends on how you wanna handle it.”

For a second, V wanted to snap. Tell the kid to get his shit together. Remind him that out here, mistakes like this cost lives.

But the words stuck in his throat.

He just sighed. “Alright. We’ll work around it.” He turned, pointing a finger at Milo, “Get with Dakota, see if we can salvage some from local suppliers, maybe arrange another drop. I’ll talk to Panam, figure out rationing if it comes to that.”

Milo nodded quickly and hurried off, relieved.

V turned to leave, already checking the next thing off his mental list. But his gaze drifted toward Dakota’s trailer. He hadn’t seen Panam since that morning.

He thought about her voice, the warmth of her beside him— the way she totally shut down before leaving him in the dust.

Should he check on her?

He took a step in that direction—then—

“V!”

Not again.

He was swept back into the chaos.

The day wore on relentlessly—one problem handled, another cropping up in its place. V kept moving, kept working, but he was wearing thin.

The move needed to go fast and smooth. The Aldecaldos were vulnerable right now—disordered, low on supplies. And the Raffen Shiv were out here too—watching, waiting. If they wanted to hit them, now would be the time.

The sun beat down relentlessly. Heat rippled off the rigs, turning the air thick and heavy. It was late afternoon and V was tired and dirty, he felt the grit and dust caked to his skin. 

Yeah, “take it easy”, he thought as he remembered what Dr. Levy said.

“V, got somethin’ weird,” a voice crackled over his radio. It was one of the younger scouts.

V pressed the receiver. “Go ahead.”

“Spotted tire tracks leading up toward the ridge, fresh ones. Like someone was watchin’ us.”

V stopped in his tracks, suddenly alert. He glanced toward the perimeter, where the land stretched flat before breaking into jagged rock formations. A perfect vantage point.

“You see anyone?”

“Nah. Want me to check it out?” A pause. “Could be nothin’… but I don’t like it.”

Neither did V.

His jaw clenched. “Alright. Get a couple more scouts, check it out. Keep your distance—don’t engage. Just confirm whether we got company.”

“Copy that.”

The radio cut out.

V exhaled slowly, rolling the tension out of his neck.

He was already stretched thin. But he knew they were vulnerable—and so did the Raffen. One good hit and they could lose everything.

He wasn't gonna let that happen.

He turned back toward the rigs, scanning the camp. People were working, sweating, swearing, keeping their heads down. Moving forward. Good. Keep them focused. Keep them moving.

“V!” A new voice—Bobby this time, waving him down from the mechanics’ bay.

V sighed and headed that way, shoving his paranoia to the back of his mind.

One problem at a time.

—-

The desert sky stretched out above him, a dark canvas scattered with shining stars. The blistering heat of the day fading into the forgiving coolness of night. It was quiet—almost peaceful. 

V was standing on the outskirts of camp, watching, letting the cool night air dry the sweat. He exhaled slowly, rolling the tension from his shoulders. It had been a hell of a day, but they pulled it off.

The rigs were in place, the solar panels were wired in—at least enough to keep the essential systems running—and they’d salvaged enough rations to hold them over until a fresh supply run. He had barely stopped moving since sunrise, but the exhaustion didn’t hit him as hard now. Instead, a rare sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Two more days. Maybe three. That’s all that was left before they’d be fully settled. A small, lopsided  smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. They did it. They were in.

But still, it gnawed at him.

The scouts had returned hours ago. No sightings, no disturbances. No signs of the Raffen.

Should’ve been good news. But V knew how these gangs worked. They knew how to stay out of sight, how to wait for the right moment. How to strike when you started thinking you were in the clear.

He wasn’t about to let that happen.

Flipping on his radio, he keyed in the night watch. “Mitch, how we lookin’?”

“Quiet,” Mitch’s voice crackled back. “Too quiet, if you ask me. You thinkin’ the same thing I am?”

“Yeah,” V muttered. “Send out another patrol. Keep eyes on the perimeter. Just in case.”

“Already on it,” Mitch said. “We’ll keep ‘em moving through the night.”

V nodded to himself. It was the best they could do. If something was coming, at least they’d be ready.

A flicker of orange light caught his eye.

He turned toward the campfire, its glow stretching long shadows across the packed dirt. Laughter rang through the air, voices blending together in an easy, familiar rhythm. Someone strummed a guitar, a slow, lazy tune drifting through the night. A crowd had gathered. People were passing around bottles, sharing food, swapping stories.

For the first time since the move started, they could finally breathe.

V let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. He should join them, but all he wanted was silence. 

He saw her walking over with Dakota, someone offered her a beer but she declined. 

He watched her meander through the crowd, people ran over to her, some hugged her. She eventually sat on the edge of a log by herself and scanned the crowd, she was looking for him. 

He should go over, but his legs wouldn’t move. She looked lonely, he should be with her—but he stayed frozen in place. 

V watched her for a moment longer, caught between wanting to be with her and needing some quiet. He hesitated, watching her look for him— the way she pushed him away earlier gnawed at him. They way she kept avoiding his questions, his touch. What if she didn’t want him anymore?

He felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he turned away, heading for the cliffs behind supply storage. The climb was easier this time. He felt the cool breeze against his skin as he sat down, letting his legs dangle over the side.

He looked down at the camp, it looked small from up here, glowing warm and cozy against the dark desert. The voices, the music, the laughter—everyone sounded so happy…he couldn’t place why he felt so lonely, why he wanted nothing to do with it.

V exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

He should’ve stayed. Should’ve gone to her.

He could still see her down there, off to the side, sitting alone,  arms resting over her knees. She was still looking for him.

Guilt twisted in his gut.

He hadn't seen her all day, not having a moment to check in with her. 

She acted so weird this morning. His insecurities gnawed at him— Was she sick of him? Was there someone else? 

Quit being a pussy.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, and let out a defeated sigh.

The stars burned bright against the inky black sky, a thousand pinpricks of light stretching into eternity. The desert was vast, endless, he missed being able to just be alone with his thoughts like this.

He couldn’t face her— not yet. 

Did she even love him anymore?

V took a swig from his canteen, the water was cool against his parched throat.

He looked down at her again. Her cheek was resting propped up on her hand, she looked bored and lonely despite the merriment around her.

V dragged a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck.

The stars stretched out above him, endless and unconcerned. 

—-

 V blinked awake. His body was stiff and cold, the sky was painted with the slightest swaths of light blue. He looked around…he was…still on the cliff…oh, no. 

He groaned as he sat up and shook the sleep from his head. He blinked towards the desert then turned toward camp. The campfire from last night was just smoldering ash, it was quiet, no one was awake yet. 

He shouldn't have laid down. He should've sat beside her at the fire but instead he left her alone all night. Guilt clenched at his chest. 

His joints cracked as he stood. He swung his arms to work out the stiffness, then made his way down the slope. He wasn't sure what he'd be walking into back at their tent. 

His radio crackled, “Bad night?” It was Mitch. “Hey, Mitch. Went to look at the stars for a bit–ended up passin’ out instead. Anything happen on patrol last night?” 

Another thing he let slip. 

“Nah, it was all quiet but we're gonna run patrol every night until we're all set up.” 

“Good call, I'll see you in a bit about today.”

“See ya later, brother.”

V scrubbed his face with his hands, then hung his head as he walked. He needed to get it together, and fast. 

He ducked into the tent, careful not to let the flap rustle too much. It was dark, he stood there for a moment letting his eyes adjust. Panam lay curled on their cot, her back to him, her shoulders barely rising with each slow breath.

He exhaled through his nose, relieved she was still asleep—the insecurity returning to twist in his chest at seeing her. 

He was such a wuss. 

He made his way in and stripped down to his boxers. The cool morning air prickled his skin as he lifted the blanket and slid in beside her. The cot creaked under his weight. He lay stiffly on his back, unsure if he should reach for her or let her be.

A slow shift. The rustle of fabric.

Panam stirred as he settled into bed, her body shifting under the covers. Then, suddenly, she stiffened.

V barely had a second to brace before she rolled over, eyes sharp even in the dim light.

"Where the fuck were you?"

Her voice was rough, laced with sleep—but beneath it, pure fire.

V exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fell asleep."

Panam sat up so fast the blanket slid off her shoulder. "With who?"

V blinked, incredulous. "What?"

"You heard me." She was wide awake now, eyes burning into him. "You disappeared. All night. So tell me—who the hell were you with?"

A slow heat crept up his spine, but he kept his expression neutral. He met her glare head-on, voice steady. "No one."

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Yeah? Then why the fuck would you just leave like that?"

"Needed a minute to myself." His voice was even, controlled. "Went up to the cliffs. Ended up fallin’ asleep."

Their eyes locked, tension thick in the air.

She scoffed, running a hand through her hair before shaking her head. "You needed a minute away from me didn't you? You told me you'll be here but you won't you fucking liar."

V swallowed. His eyes bored into hers. No one called him a liar, not even her. 

He laid there for a long moment, watching her—watching the way her chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths, the way her fingers curled into the blanket like she was holding herself back.

He spoke, keeping his voice measured, “Have I ever lied to you, Panam? Have I ever told you I would do something and then didn't?”

He watched her, letting it sink in, her brow knit in thought as she looked away. 

The fire was out. 

He exhaled slowly, considering his words before he spoke. “Panam. I wasn’t trying to leave you.”

Her nostrils flared. “Then what were you doing?”

He ran a hand through his hair, “I just needed some space away from everything. That’s all. I went up to the cliffs and sat there for a while.”

She let out another sharp laugh, but there was something raw underneath it. “You just needed some space—so you just left? And what, it didn’t cross your mind to tell me? Or were you just gonna show up whenever and expect me not to give a shit?”

V held his ground, his brow furrowing. “I already told you it was an accident. What I was expecting was to come back down and hang out but then my dumbass fell asleep on the cliff.”

Panam threw off the blanket, swinging her legs over the side of the cot—guess the joke didn't work. “Bullshit. You didn’t even think about me, did you?”

That hit something deep. A flicker of heat sparked in his gut, but he swallowed it down.

“I always think about you.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “That’s the whole reason I left. I needed time to clear my head, so I wouldn’t bring all this shit to you.”

Panam's jaw tightened. “So instead of just talking to me, you ran off?”

V’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t like that.”

She shook her head, scoffing. “Right. Of course it wasn’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

Panam stared at him, eyes searching, lips pressed into a thin line. For a second, he thought she might push him again, might tear into him until there was nothing left—but then her shoulders sank, and she let out a breath.

Something shifted, she looked away. “I kept waking up, and you weren’t there.” There was the slightest crack in her voice.

The fire was gone, replaced with something softer.

V felt it in his chest. A slow, dull ache.

He reached for her before he could think twice, his fingers brushing over her wrist. She didn’t pull away.

“I’m here now.”

Panam was still for a long moment, her breathing deep, measured. Then she turned her hand over, threading her fingers through his.

“Don’t do that again.” Her voice was quiet. “Not without telling me.”

V gave her hand a squeeze. “I won’t, I promise.”

Another silence, but this time, it was softer.

V pulled her closer until she toppled into his lap. He hugged her close then rolled them over, pulling the blanket up over both of them. She curled against his side, and he held her close, pressing a kiss to her hair.

—-

Panam opened her eyes, the slightest hint of early morning light was peeking through the gaps in their tent’s fabric. She didn’t feel the rise and fall of V’s chest on her shoulders, his arm wasn’t slung over her waist. She turned, looking at the empty space behind her.

He was gone.

She felt the loneliness settle in her chest. She slowly pushed herself up to sit, the morning air giving her goosebumps along her bare skin. 

Then she felt it.

Her breath caught in her throat as she shot out of bed, the sensation of something trickling down her leg. She brushed her inner thigh with her fingers and…blood. She stared at her hand, heart stuttering in her chest. For a moment, her mind refused to understand what she was seeing. 

She winced as a sharp pain cut through her abdomen. She stumbled toward the back of the tent to clean herself up. Her hands shook as she reached for her kit, grabbing the first thing she could find to manage the bleeding. Muscle memory guided her movements while her mind spiraled dangerously toward an emotional cliff. She had to keep calm, people were counting on her.

Keep it together, Panam. The world doesn’t stop for you. 

She forced herself to breathe slowly, to remain calm. 

She had a job to do.

 She pushed herself to her feet, got dressed, and strode out of the tent to meet the day.

—-

“V, got a situation out here.” Mitch’s voice crackled through the radio.

“Go ahead, Mitch. What’s up?” There was something about the tone in Mitch’s voice that made V’s hackles raise. Something wasn’t right.

V heard static for a while before Mitch finally responded, “Think you better come out here and see for yourself…cargo drop got raided…We got a man down out here— it's bad.”

V swore internally, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. “Alright, I’ll be there soon.”

He clicked off the comms as he grabbed his jacket and weapons, slinging them over his shoulder, he stepped out into the pale morning light. The chill hit him like a slap—sharp, bracing. He welcomed it.

 He radioed Cassidy as he ran, boots kicking up dust as he headed for his bike. “Cassidy, go on lockdown. Got a situation at the last drop, man down. Headed there now.”

By the time he reached the scene, a perimeter was being set, eyes scanning the horizon, weapons slung but ready. Mitch stood a few paces from the wreckage, jaw clenched, posture tight.

V’s heart sank the second he heard the news—Milo was gone. He was being held hostage. There was blood everywhere, kid put up a good fight. 

“Shit,” V muttered, barely above a whisper. Kid was green, but dependable. Smart. He shouldn't have been out there without backup.

Mitch turned to him, grim. “He came back for the rest of the cargo. Told him not to go alone—he didn’t listen.”

V crouched, examining some footprints, jaw tight. “You know who did this?”

“Raffen from what I can gather…but there's something else.” Mitch nodded toward a crate, where someone had scrawled something in thick, wet lines across the metal siding. V’s eyes followed the jagged letters:

No roads too long.

His stomach lurched, he swallowed thickly. For a second, it didn’t register. Then the weight of the words crashed into him.

He used to say that. Long time ago. Before he left the Bakkers. Back when there was someone else by his side.

Juno.

His mind reeled. She couldn’t have joined the Raffen. Was this meant for him?

His chest felt tight, vision swimming. “I think this is for me.”

Mitch looked over, sharp. “How so?”

V stood, fists clenched at his sides. “Someone from my past. Old flame I was with in the Bakkers. It didn't end well. Now—it's payback.”

Mitch nodded, but his expression hardened. “Then she’s gonna regret it. Clan needs to know we’ve got Raffen poking the hive. This doesn’t stop here.”

He stepped away, speaking into his radio with calm precision.

“All units, listen up. Supply run was hit—repeat, the cargo was hit. Milo was taken. We’ve got a hostile out here, possibly Raffen Shiv. Secure the perimeter. No one goes out alone. Mitch out.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

V stood there for a long moment, staring at the message. His jaw clenched. He felt the guilt eating away at his insides—this was his fault.

He scanned the area around the wreckage, fists clenched at his sides. Searching for any sign of them.  The smell of burnt rubber and blood filled his nose making it hard to breathe. Mitch was crouched near what was left of the truck, jaw tight, eyes scanning for anything worth salvaging.

“They must’ve waited for him to clear the ridge,” Mitch muttered, voice low. “Knew exactly when to hit.”

“We got tracks over here!” someone shouted.

His jaw twitched.

Mitch stood and looked over at him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” V lied. “Just pissed.”

Mitch studied him for a second before nodding. “Don’t blame yourself, V. This coulda happened to any one of us. We all have demons from our past.”

V didn’t move. He stared at the message again, stomach twisting. “Gonna see what these tracks are about.”

“V.” Mitch fixed his gaze “You’re not going alone. We don’t need anyone dying today.”

—-

The wind kicked up grit as V crouched low, adjusting the strap on his rifle. The others lay hidden behind a crag of rock, each of them silent, watching him.

"Eyes on that ridge, three o’clock," he muttered. "Cover me."

Mitch gave a short nod, already lining up his scope. Carol signaled to the others to hold fire unless necessary.

V took off in a low sprint, hugging the jagged terrain, boots quiet against the dust. His mind was still, movements deliberate. Every step calculated. Every breath measured. That glint—someone didn’t know how to stay hidden. V let out a short laugh, “Fuckin’ amateur.” 

He reached a shelf of stone and flattened his back against it, listening. Was there anyone else? Was this a trap? He moved again, slower now, up the slope, tracing the sniper’s vantage point.

As he neared the outcrop, he could hear breathing—ragged, barely contained. Someone was amped up. Nervous.

V crept up behind the sniper’s nest and slid his pistol from its holster.

Click.

Safety off.

He rounded the rocks fast and low, gun aimed at the crouched figure behind the scope.

"Hands up," he ordered, voice cold, clipped.

The figure flinched and spun, rifle clattering from their grip as they raised their hands.

Young. Twitchy. Not Juno.

A kid, barely in his teens, covered in dust and eyes wide with panic.

"Don't shoot! Pppplease—I wasn’t gonna fire, I swear!" the boy stammered.

V kept his gun steady, jaw tightening. "Who sent you?"

"I—I don’t know her name! She had a scar over her lip. Black hair, cybernetic arm. She didn’t tell me shit, just handed me the rifle and said to watch the road."

V narrowed his eyes. That description? Things must've changed.  

He stepped forward, yanked the comm unit from the kid’s belt, and flipped it over in his hand.

"How many with her?"

"I don’t know! I was just supposed to keep lookout—call in if I saw movement. That’s all!"

This was probably just some poor kid that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. V met the kid’s terrified gaze, “They made some big promises, huh?”

The kid hesitated, dropping his eyes to the ground. 

V stepped in close, gun lowered slightly but still ready.

"You're not Raffen yet, kid. And trust me, you don’t wanna be. Because the second you’re not useful anymore you’ll end up like the kid down there.” V gestured to the wreckage. “ But right now? You got a choice."

The kid blinked hard, clearly shaken. "She said they'd only be here a few more days. Didn’t say where they’d go after. Bbbut I saw a cave. About two klicks northeast. Lotta movement there last night. I think that’s where they’re holed up."

V nodded, grabbed a strip of flex cuffs from a pocket in his cargo pants, and bound the kid’s hands behind his back.

"You're comin’ with me."

He tapped his comm. "Mitch. Got a spotter. Young. Says he’s seen where they’re camped."

“Copy that,” Mitch replied. “Want us to move in?”

"Negative. Not yet. Bring the truck around and get ready to evac. I’m bringing him in. We’ll question him properly back at camp."

“Understood.”

V looked at the kid one more time before blindfolding him. "Don’t make me regret this."

The boy swallowed hard and nodded.

Chapter Text

The kid couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Clothes were dusty, face sunburned, eyes terrified. He sat tied to a folding chair inside one of the trailers, sweat dripping down his neck in the heat. Mitch loomed nearby, arms crossed, glaring at the kid.

V sat in a chair in front of him, quiet.

“You know what I hate most about your kind?” Mitch asked, stepping forward, boots clanking heavy on the metal floor. “Ain’t the raids. Ain’t the traps. It’s the coward shit. Letting others do the dying while you run off.”

“I-I didn’t know it was gonna go down like that,” the kid stammered. “I didn’t sign up for—”

Mitch kicked the chair leg. Just enough to jolt it. The kid flinched hard.

“You signed up the second you picked up a weapon,” Mitch growled, sticking his finger right in the kid's face. 

V finally spoke. “What’s your name?”

The calmness in his voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. The kid’s eyes darted toward him, caught off guard by the shift in tone.

“R-Ricky,” he said, eyes flicking between the two men.

V leaned forward, casually resting his forearms on his knees and steepling his fingers. Appearing intentionally calm and in control—V’s composed stillness was somehow more threatening than Mitch’s fire.

“Did she tell you what she wants? Why she chose to hit us?,” V asked. 

Ricky’s lip trembled. “Nnnno, I swear. But yeah. Everyone was scared of her. Just said she was lookin’ for someone. Real pissed. Aaasked if we saw a guy…” His trembling voice trailed off as his eyes darted between V’s face and the floor. “Ttthat looks like…you.” 

V nodded, expression unreadable.

Ricky hesitated.

Mitch slammed his hand against the wall. The kid jumped again.

“V,” Mitch barked. “We ain’t got time for this.”

But V didn’t flinch. Just held Ricky’s gaze with those flat, unreadable eyes.

“Did she say what she wanted?”

There was a long pause. Then, barely audible: “She said she wanted to gut you like you gutted her.”

V’s jaw tightened. Juno was ruthless and volatile, and what's worse— tenacious.

Mitch let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Fuckin’ poetic.”

V stood up slowly. “Joe.”

“Yeah, V?” Joe was standing in the doorway of the trailer, one arm propped against the doorway.

“Keep an eye on Ricky while we’re gone.” V’s eyes never left Ricky’s.

Joe stepped into the trailer, “Sure thing.”

Silence fell over them. Mitch looked to V, but V’s expression didn’t change.

“All right,” V said, nodding once. “We’re done here.”

Ricky’s words echoed in his mind. Juno wouldn't let this go, once she got something in her head that was it. They were in for a fight and the blame for it sat squarely on V’s shoulders.

Outside, the sky had turned the color of cold steel. Wind stirred dust into angry waves, the air thick with tension as the clan gathered—waiting for answers. Waiting for direction.

Panam stood leaning against a rig, arms folded across her chest. Her expression was carved from stone, one leg crossed over the other, she wore her role as chief like a worn-in leather jacket she’d had for years—it fit her perfectly.

Carol approached, murmuring, “We should start.”

Panam nodded, but her voice caught in her throat before she could speak.

Mitch and V exchanged a glance. V could tell something was off with her, there was pain in her eyes.

She stepped forward without hesitation. Her voice rang out, clear and commanding, cutting through the murmurs like a knife.

“We were hit by the Raffen Shiv. This wasn’t random. This was planned. Coordinated. Someone wanted to send a message.”

She let that hang for a beat. People leaned in, listening.

“We lost fuel, supplies, time. And they have our brother, Milo.” She paced as she spoke, meeting eyes as she went. “But we don’t break. We don’t scatter. We adapt. We rebuild. And now—we respond.”

Heads nodded. A few voices murmured in agreement.

V stood in the back, on the outskirts of the crowd, arms folded, silent but solid. Mitch was beside him, grim as ever.

Panam’s eyes swept over the clan. “We’ll reinforce the perimeter, double up the patrols. Dakota’s already running new comms protocols. No one moves alone. From now on, we ride in pairs.”

She paused for a second—just a second. Her hand hovered near the table, steadying herself as her other arm pressed discreetly against her lower abdomen. A flicker of discomfort passed across her face like a cloud over the sun.

Then it was gone.

She straightened, jaw tight. “We don't wait for them to hit us again. We track them. We find out who gave the order, and we make damn sure they regret it.”

A low rumble of agreement moved through the crowd. Someone whistled. Someone else muttered, “About time.”

Panam looked like a war general in that moment. Strong. Unyielding. But V could see the faint sheen of sweat on her brow. The way her breath caught on the inhale. The way her hand didn’t move from where it pressed against her stomach.

Something was wrong.

“You have your jobs, you have your positions.” She paused for effect, “Get to it Aldecaldos.”

She turned back toward the command trailer as the crowd dispersed. Dakota and Cassidy had set up a makeshift war room. Maps, comms, scattered notes—all of it a blur of logistics and contingency plans.

“We’ll need recon on the surrounding routes. Make sure they didn’t leave traps behind.” She nodded toward Mitch. “You and Silas take a crew out after sundown. I want eyes on every canyon and ridge within fifty klicks.”

Mitch gave a sharp nod. “On it.”

Panam braced her hands against the table and leaned in, scanning the map. “They came in from the west, most likely—followed us across the border. They would’ve known our old routes.” She paused. “We’ll need to—”

Her voice caught.

Just a hitch. Just enough for a few heads to turn.

V moved toward her without thinking. Subtle. Not too fast. Just close enough to catch her if—

Panam straightened again, jaw clenched so hard her teeth clicked. “We’ll need to reroute. Establish new check-ins. I want everyone accounted for at every shift change—”

She winced.

Her fingers dug into the edge of the table. White-knuckled. A cold sweat was visible on her brow now, her breathing shallow.

“Panam, are you okay?” Carol’s voice was gentle but laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

Too fast. Too defensive.

Then her knees buckled.

V caught her just in time, arms wrapping around her as her body went limp against his. She gasped sharply, pain etched deep into every line of her face. Her hands clutched at him instinctively, gripping at his shirt.

Then.

Blood. 

So much blood. 

V froze.

“Panam.” His voice was low, steady. “Hey. Stay with me.”

Someone ran to get Hutch.

But her eyes were glassy now. Her face had gone pale. 

“I’m sorry—” she gasped “--- I didn’t tell you.”

V frowned as realization hit him.

A cry tore from her as she curled into him, hands clutching her abdomen. Carol dropped to her knees beside them. “Hutch is comin’, honey.”

 Dakota appeared with a medkit, placing a PainBloc inhaler in her mouth.

V stayed kneeling with Panam in his arms, gripping her tightly as if she might slip away if he didn’t. 

Something inside him turned to ice.

—-

“Sandstorm’s commin’! Get everything locked down!” 

It howled low across the flatland, picking up speed, carrying sand like razor sharp teeth through the desert. Over the command trailer, the sky turned from steel to burnt copper. The sandstorm was coming fast—ugly and mean.

V barely registered the words. He was still kneeling with Panam curled against him, shaking. His arm was tight around her back, his gaze locked on hers telling her to stay with him. 

Hutch ran toward them, wind whipping his coat. “Get her to the med rig!” he barked, as he wrapped a blanket around her, “She's going into shock!”

“I’ve got her!” V said, lifting her in his arms and running for Hutch's rig. 

She cried into his chest, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” His voice was low, sure. “I’m right here.”

Around them, the clan was scrambling—people shouting orders, securing tarps, locking down rigs. This was second nature to them. Ricky was still tied up, forgotten for now. Dust stung eyes and throats. The air was electric with panic.

Mitch pushed through the chaos to reach them. “We’ve gotta move, V! Storm’s gonna hit hard in minutes!”

“Then clear the way,” V snapped, cradling Panam tighter. She whimpered softly, and he pressed his lips to her temple. “Almost there, babe. Just hang on.”

They rushed toward the med trailer—Carol holding the door open while Hutch and Dakota cleared a space inside. The air was already thick with dust, lighting dim and flickering.

Hutch grabbed a pair of gloves. “Put her here.”

V set her down on the operation chair, hands lingering on her shoulders, not letting go even as Hutch and Dakota moved in. Blood soaked through the blanket she was wrapped in. Hutch's jaw tightened.

“She’s hemorrhaging,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

“I need adrenaline, transfusion ready, now!” Hutch called, ripping open medkits. “She’s crashing.”

Panam whimpered again, reaching blindly—and V caught her hand instantly.

“I’m here,” he said again, more quietly this time. “I’m here.”

He was still beside her, the storm battering the trailer, his ears ringing with the wind and the rising panic—but all he could see was her face. Pale. Drawn. Her jaw clenched against the pain. The woman who went to hell with him. Who stood by his side no matter what. 

He saw it now—the way she’d been hiding the pain, pushing through. All that strength, cracking just enough for him to notice, too late.

“V, you need to move.” Hutch clipped as he layed Panam back, Dakota stripped her bare from the waist down. 

V backed up, watching the scene unfold in front of him. Feeling frozen, powerless. 

Hutch gave her anesthesia—quick and practiced. Her eyes fluttered, then rolled back as her body went slack. V’s heart hammered in his chest.

“She’s under,” Hutch said, voice clipped. “I need light.”

Dakota adjusted the overheads as Hutch pulled on gloves, already moving between Panam’s legs. Blood still poured steadily, too much, soaking the blankets beneath her. The sight turned V’s stomach.

“We’re gonna have to evacuate her uterus—and fast,” Hutch muttered, grabbing the suction kit. “Manual aspiration first. Get me the dilation rods.”

V couldn’t move. He stood frozen at the edge of the room, watching as Hutch inserted the instruments with clinical precision. He had tunnel vision, felt lightheaded as he reached out to grab a wall to steady himself. 

All he could do was watch.

The suction unit buzzed low, a sick mechanical hum. Hutch worked quickly, focused. Dakota monitored vitals, reading out her blood pressure in a tight voice.

“She’s crashing—damn it, she's lost too much blood! Is anyone O neg?”

“I am.” V rasped, back pressed against the wall. 

Dakota scanned him, “Get over here!”

V moved to the chair Dakota placed next to the table. She didn’t hesitate—needle in, sharp sting, a rush of cold flooding his vein.

He barely felt it. His hand found Panam’s without thinking.

She was so cold.

The world narrowed. 

V watched Panam helplessly, his pulse thudding in his ears. A hush hung over the moment—storm raging outside, lights flickering, the sharp smell of antiseptic mixing with blood.

V stared at her face—pale, still, her brow furrowed in pain even now—and something in his chest cracked wide open.

“She’s strong,” Dakota murmured, voice barely audible over the storm. “Vitals are looking better.”

“Bleeding stopped. Uterus is clear,” Hutch said, voice tight, focused. “Let’s finish this up.”

Dakota glanced at V as she removed the needle. “We’ll clean up. Just sit with her.”

V gave a short nod, never looking away.

Hutch packed up his tools, then washed his hands in a nearby sink. “She’s stable, but she’ll need rest. Fluids. Antibiotics, just in case.”

V’s gaze was locked on Panam. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Hutch turned “Should be, but if anything happens we'll be right here. Gonna monitor her until she wakes up.”

V leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against the back of her hand.

The storm roared on outside, loud enough to shake the walls, but in here, it felt distant. Like the world had shrunk down to just her shallow breathing and the echo of all the things they never said.

He didn’t know how long he sat there—minutes, hours. Time moved strange in grief’s shadow. But he didn’t let go.

“V.”

The voice barely reached him through the fog in his head. It was Dakota.

She stood beside him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He was slumped forward in the chair, forehead resting in one palm, the other still wrapped tightly around Panam’s hand.

“Sleep.” She said “Hutch and I are taking turns watching her.”

His eyes locked on Panam. How could he rest until he knew she was okay? “Don't know if I can.”

“Just letting you know you can, we got ‘er.” Dakota gave his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before walking away.

Eventually V’s head came to rest on the bed, his hand never leaving hers. 

—-

He felt fingers squeeze his, heard the rustle of fabric. A shift of weight. A breath.

V jerked awake, lifting his head. Panam was watching him. 

Her eyes were open—glassy, bleary and unfocused. 

“Hey,” he breathed, leaning closer.

She blinked slowly, eyes focused on his face, brow furrowed in confusion. “V…?”

“Yeah. I’m here.” He gave a shaky smile. He was afraid to touch her, she looked fragile and confused. 

She tried to speak again, but her voice caught, her free hand drifting toward her stomach instinctively before stopping midair.

He saw it—the moment it hit her. The way her expression faltered, confusion folding into dread.

He watched her, feeling like an outsider to whatever was going through her head. 

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound. Just stared at the ceiling, jaw trembling. 

V leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I Should’ve—”

She squeezed his hand. Weak, but sure. 

“No,V” she rasped.

He looked up at her. Her eyes were resolute, the fog clearing. It was enough to silence his guilt for a moment. 

“You didn’t cause this. You didn’t miss some sign that would’ve changed it. Shit just happens sometimes. It’s cruel, and random, and it breaks your goddamn heart—but it’s not your fault.”

She shifted, wincing, but didn’t take her eyes off him. “You were there when it mattered. You stayed. You held my hand through the worst of it. That’s what counts.”

V swallowed hard. “Still feels like I failed you.”

“Well you didn't, so get over it.” 

A soft knock came at the trailer door—It creaked open a moment later, and Dakota stepped in first, Hutch just behind her.

Panam didn’t move much, just shifted her eyes toward the sound. V straightened a little, his hand still laced with hers.

“Hey,” Dakota said gently, eyes scanning Panam with a practiced calm. “Look who’s awake.”

Panam raised an eyebrow. “Barely.”

Hutch stepped forward with a datapad, checking vitals from the monitor beside the bed. “Vitals are holding steady. Color’s better, too.”

Dakota watched her like a mother bear, gently squeezing Panam's free hand. 

Panam swallowed hard, more tears welling. 

Hutch, still watching the monitor, glanced at V. “She’ll need to stay horizontal for a couple days. No stress, no overexertion. And no—” he pointed a finger at Panam, “—getting out of bed unless it’s absolutely necessary. You hear me?”

Panam gave a short nod, but her eyes drifted to V, as if checking whether he heard it, too.

“Got it,” V said, his voice low. “I’ll make sure she doesn't go anywhere.”

“Good,” Dakota murmured. She looked at the two of them, something unspoken passing in her expression—relief, maybe, or quiet admiration. 

Hutch clicked off the datapad, clipping it to his belt. “We’ll check in every few hours. Just holler if anything changes.”

As they moved to leave, Dakota paused at the door and looked back. “You two… just rest.”

The door shut quietly behind them, and the trailer was silent again. Only the soft hum of the generator and the fading wind outside.

Panam let out a slow breath. “I hate being stuck in bed.”

V gave a tired smile. “You’re allowed to hate it.”

She gave him a playful glare,“Gee, thanks.”

He leaned forward and kissed the back of her hand. “You're not goin’ anywhere, chief.”

There was a beat of silence. The storm had passed, but the hush that lingered felt heavier than before.

Panam’s brow furrowed, and she looked down at where his hand still held hers. “So… guess you figured it out.”

V didn’t say anything at first, just nodded.

“Not exactly how I planned to tell you,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes.

He looked down, absently rubbing her hand, trying to will his mind to work. He'd never thought about this, never thought it would be something he'd have to face. Cybernetic contraception rarely fails, and it only fails under certain conditions— icy realization hit him— the Basilisk. 

If he would've thought of that he could've saved her this pain. 

It felt like his mind was hit by an atom bomb. He couldn't think–but he needed to say something. 

This was surreal.

“How long did you know?” he asked without meeting her eyes.

She swallowed hard. “About a week,” her voice was small, like she’d done something wrong.

He glanced at her, feeling so damn inadequate. The look on her face, the grief in her eyes—he couldn't fix it. Couldn't take it from her.

He squeezed her hand, hesitation creeping in. “It was the Basilisk wasn't it?” His eyes flicked to hers. 

She hesitated, lips pursed. “That's what Dakota said. It interfered with our implants.” She blinked back tears, pressing a hand to her eyes. “I should’ve known better. It was irresponsible—”

“Panam,” he leaned forward, tightening his grip on her hand. “There’s no way you could’ve known. I know tech, I should've thought of that. I didn't realize it would override everything…” He exhaled, the weight of the guilt hitting him right in the chest like a knife. " I'm sorry…you wouldn't be here right now if I would've been thinking more clearly." 

She rubbed his arm as tears threatened to spill “I'm just glad you're still here.” She whispered. 

V’s eyes locked on hers then. “You thought I'd leave over this?”

Panam gave a bitter laugh, more breath than sound. “Remember how I'm used to being left alone in the desert? I had no idea how you'd react.” Her voice trembled.

Anger flared in his chest at her distrust, but he shoved it down. Now was not the time. “Just because those other tools you dated woulda ran doesn't mean I will.” His voice was firm, it came out harsher than he meant. “Panam, I love you. The end. Just because something I don't want happens doesn't mean I'm gonna leave.” He hesitated, looking away. “And then you dealt with this alone. You didn’t have to.” 

She looked defeated, folded in on herself. He wasn't used to seeing her so vulnerable. “So…you just said ‘something you don't want,” she wouldn't look at him. “You wouldn't have wanted it?” She met his eyes, fear and doubt etched all over her face. 

Fuck. He just blurted that out. 

He was reeling. “You should’ve told me.” His voice dropped, quiet but solid. “I–” he looked away, floundering. 

V leaned back in the chair, scrubbing a hand down his face, an exasperated sigh came next. “No.” He felt a weight lift. He met her eyes, clear and calm. 

“No," he said again. “But I wouldn't’ve left. We would've figured it out." He paused for emphasis. “We, Panam. Remember how we're doin' this together?" 

They both waited in the void. Eyes locked, hands still clasped. 

Panam threaded her fingers through his. She thought about all the times he had been there for her. All the times he showed up, without question, when she needed help. All the times he did what he said he'd do. 

What was she thinking? Was she making him pay for the times other men just cut and ran? Her cheeks grew hot. She wasn't being fair. 

Her voice caught. She blinked fast, eyes filling. “I'm sorry, V…” she took a breath, looking away as tears fell. 

He watched her. Watching her break and having no way to stop it made something in him fracture. “It's okay. Just quit thinking I'm gonna run because I'm not goin’ anywhere." 

Relief washed over her like a wave. Her throat worked around a lump. “I didn’t even know if I wanted to keep it at first. When Dakota told me, I freaked. Thought the timing was shit. We were running. You were sick. I couldn’t even picture it. I was scared. Then it was gone, and…”

She went quiet again. Staring at the ceiling. Then her fingers twitched against his. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just kept rubbing her thumb across his knuckles.

He watched her, he could tell a million things were running through her head. 

She swallowed hard, forcing the next words out. “But then I started to feel like…” Her voice cracked.  “It was something good. Something that made all the chaos worth it. And I started wanting it.” Her lips trembled. “It was ours. It was—”

She choked off the last word, tears sliding down her cheeks. “It was you.”

V stared at her, death gripping her hand. A single tear slipped down his face.

Chapter Text

 The road stretched endlessly in front of them, dust kicking up in their wake. His Rattler creaked at every bump in the road, but she didn’t care. When she was with him, no road was too long.

They’d barely made it out alive—Wraiths had tried to raid the cargo again.

He made short work of them, though. He always did.

They were dirty and sweaty from the fight, but the cargo was delivered undamaged. They had a bunch of eddies and a trail of dead Wraiths to brag about later.

She was going to brag about him.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. That sharp jawline, those chiseled arms, the mohawk of blue dreads. Her heart raced just looking at him—and yeah, there was heat too, low and insistent.

He glanced at her. He always caught her staring.

“Not hurt, are ya?” he asked, that steady voice like a hand on her back. No one else ever cared if she was okay. Only him.

She breathed a short laugh. “Just sweaty and tired.” She brushed some hair behind her ear. She wanted a shower, a real meal, maybe even a bed that didn’t smell like fuel and dust—but she wasn’t gonna admit that. She had to act like it was no big deal. Like him.

He nodded. “We’ll be back at camp soon. Then you can get cleaned up.”

That crooked smile tugged at his mouth. God, she loved that smile.

“You did good back there. You kept it together. Even took out some Wraiths yourself.” His eyes met hers, warm and serious. “Good job, Juno.”

Her grin exploded—huge and dumb and so obvious—but she didn’t care. “Thanks, V.”

He smirked. “Ya know…you might even give me a run for my eddies someday.”

She ducked her head, cheeks hot. “Doubt that,” she mumbled, and rested her hand on his thigh as she slouched in the seat, knees up on the dash, feet dangling.

She gazed out the window. “V?”

“Mhm?”

She hesitated. She always hesitated before asking this. “You ever get sick of all this? The jobs, the road…nomad life? Ever think about movin’ to the city? Staying in one place?”

He didn’t answer right away. He never did.

She knew he liked the life. The road, the rules, the work. But she didn’t. She hated the dirt, hated sharing, hated Chari. Honestly, she was shocked she hadn’t left already. She wouldn't leave without him. 

He was nice to her when she was with that jerk, even stepped in once when he gave her a black eye. V had turned her down at first—said she was too young, and that was the end of it. But she hadn’t taken no for an answer. She followed him, asked him to teach her how to shoot, how to ride, begged to go on raids.

And maybe he’d noticed the hair. She found out he liked dark hair so she dyed hers. If she was anything she was persistent. She'd do whatever he wanted. Maybe that’s why he stopped saying no.

“Dunno…kinda like this life,” he said at last. “Don’t think I’d be happy in the city. Too crowded. Too loud.”

Her heart sank. “But… no clan bossing us around. We could do whatever we want.”

He didn’t answer that. Just kept driving.

She hated the camps. Hated being broke. Hated dirt under her nails and cold nights and people in her business. She wanted more. She wanted it bad, and she wanted him to come with her.

“I could be a doll at Clouds,” she said quickly. “They make so much money.” Her pulse picked up, imagining the lights, the clothes, the luxury. The famous people she would meet. She’d be somebody.

He frowned. “No, Juno. I’ve told you before—I’m not okay with that.” His hand slid over hers, firm. “I don’t want you doin’ that.”

That warm feeling bloomed in her chest again. He cared. But also—

“I hate when you tell me what to do,” she muttered.

He glanced over, squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure something out. Remember? No road’s too long.”

Her eyes stayed locked on him as she smiled. He didn’t get it yet, but someday he would. Someday, she’d get him out of this life. Someday she wouldn't have to deal with Chari screaming at her anymore or having to give the clan their cut. 

Someday, he’d be hers. Only hers. He didn't get a choice. 

—-

 V held the comm in his fist. He didn't wanna do this. He knew she'd play games, that was the whole point with her. 

They were in the main trailer huddled around a table. Mitch, Cassidy, Carol, Dakota. They needed to keep this neat and clean. Not too many hands involved. 

No one spoke for a moment. The air was too thick.

“Panam's gonna be pissed we're doin' this without her.” Cassidy said as he adjusted his hat. 

“She needs to rest.” Dakota responded, arms crossed over her chest. 

Mitch cleared his throat. “We ready?”

“Fuck,” V muttered, jaw tight. “You guys need to realize– She’ll do anything to get what she wants.”

Dakota leaned forward, her voice calm and even. “Just ger her talking, V. The more she says, the more we know.”

“Right,” V said, eyes fixed on the comm. “She thinks this is a game. She wants to hurt people to get to me. She doesn't care what it takes.”

Carol crossed her arms. “We’ve dealt with people like her before. They're all the same under the drama. Just get her talking like Dakota said.”

V nodded once, like it was armor sliding into place. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

He tapped the comm. It chirped once. Then again.

Static hissed.

Then silence.

Then:

“Well, well. Look who’s finally crawling back.”

Juno’s voice—too sweet, too bright. Like sugar over broken glass.

V didn’t flinch. “We both know why I’m here.”

“Oh, do we?” she purred. “Because I’m not sure you do. I think you’re still playing hero. Playing noble. Just like you always did.” Her purr turned to a growl. 

Behind him, Mitch tensed. Cassidy murmured something under his breath, but V held a hand out to silence them. His gaze locked forward, voice flat.

“Milo. Is he alive?”

A soft laugh crackled through the comm. “He’s fine. For now. Sweet kid. Got those big eyes, ya know? Like a little deer. Not like you at all.”

She paused.

“Miss me?”

V didn’t answer her question.

“Juno,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

Juno sighed dramatically. “Always so serious. No foreplay, huh?”

V leaned on the table and sighed. “I’d like to talk to Milo.”

A beat passed. Then a faint, muffled sound came through the comm—shuffling, maybe breathing.

“Say hi, Milo,” Juno said, sing-song.

A boy’s voice, quiet. Scared. “V…?”

V exhaled slow. “I’m here, kid. Hang tight.”

More static. Then Juno again. “See? He’s safe. Ish. But that depends on you.”

Eyes shifted around the table, the air was heavy with tension. 

V ground his teeth. “What’s the deal, Juno? You want eddies? Weapons? You name it.”

Juno scoffed. “Please. Like this is about money. You think I want money? You think I still need that?” She was talking faster and faster as she went, her voice turning rabid. 

“ I have so much fucking money now I could burn a stack and not even care!” 

Her tone turned cold. “I want you, V. Trade for trade.”

Mitch swore under his breath.

V’s jaw flexed, his mind raced. “Fine.” His pulse spiked at his own words. 

Let her think she won. 

Heads turned in his direction, eyes wide in disbelief. He met every stare like he was saying just trust me. 

She laughed. “That easy, huh? Not even gonna put up a fight? When did you get so boring? It must be that whore you're with now.”

His stomach clenched. She knew about Panam. How long has she been watching him? He needed to keep her safe. 

There was a pause. “Don't worry, V. I still know how to have fun. I'll make you squirm just like I used to.” She whispered through the calm, low and mocking. 

V leaned toward the comm, voice neutral. “You wanna meet? Fine. You say where. Neutral ground.”

“No trickssss,” she hissed. “Or the kid dies.” 

V responded. “No tricks.”

A long pause. Then Juno’s voice again, sugary-sweet.

“Alright. Sunset tomorrow. Old drydock by the PetroChem ruins. No drones. No backup. Just V.”

The line cut out.

Silence filled the trailer.

Mitch looked at V. “You can't just walk into a trap, V. We need a plan.”

V didn’t look away from the comm. “I know. Now we come up with one.”

    —-

Panam stirred, the edges of her consciousness slowly coming into focus. She was covered in a blanket but still felt cold. She took in a slow breath, tilting her head to the side but not yet opening her eyes. 

She clenched and released her first and felt nothing. 

His hand wasn't there. 

She blinked her eyes open, the room slowly coming into focus. She saw pools of dim light, heard the faint beeping of health monitors. Other than that the room was quiet. She pushed herself up slowly, her body aching. Her hand instinctively came to her abdomen. For a moment, she looked around the room for him while her fingers absently stroked her now empty belly. She froze once the realization hit, the baby was gone now…and so was V. 

The silence pressed in on her. Where was he? She turned, slowly scanning the room for any sign of life. Her gaze landed on Hutch slumped in a chair, lightly snoring. 

She had to be careful not to wake him. 

She looked down at herself, she was dressed in an old hospital gown, she didn’t know where her clothes were.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, flinching and clutching at the sharp pain in her gut. Slowly, she stood upright, squeezing her eyes shut at the stabbing pain it brought. She didn’t bother looking for her boots. 

She grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling it tight. This will have to do. She quietly padded across the cold metal floor, her bare feet not making a sound.

If V wasn’t here that meant either something was terribly wrong or they were planning something without her. Both scenarios pissed her off.

She wasn’t gonna sit here like an invalid while others made decisions without her. 

She glanced back at Hutch, still sleeping in the chair, good. She eased the door open and stepped into the cold night air. The sandstorm had cleared and now it was raining. The cold wet air hitting her in the face, brisk and sobering. The ground was frigid and slimy on her bare feet. 

She spotted light spilling from the command trailer. Bingo.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and took a step forward, wincing as her abdomen clenched in protest. Her teeth ground together against the pain, but she forced her legs to move—each step stoking her anger.

Warm blood slid down her thigh, stark against the cold rain.

She ignored it.

Nothing was going to stop her.

She heard V’s voice as she reached the door, low and tense. Panam’s chest tightened as she turned the latch and pushed the door open.

She hunched over in pain as she stepped inside. The conversation stopping abruptly as all eyes turned to her.

V shot out of his seat, his face etched with concern as he rounded the table coming towards her. “Panam, what are you doing here? You need to rest.”

She glared at him, breathing hard, “What I need is to know what the fuck is going on here.” She growled, her voice snagging on the pain that was now burning inside her. 

V didn't hesitate, he put a hand on her shoulder, she swatted it away. 

Dakota spoke up, her voice calm and even. “We’re discussing the Raffen attack. Deciding how to get Milo back without anyone getting hurt. V’s right Panam, you need to rest. We were planning on filling you in and getting your “OK” before we made any moves.”

She felt some of her venom bleed out of her. Dakota always had a way with that. Her eyes locked with V’s. 

He slowly reached for her again, as if she were a wild animal he was trying to release from a trap, and tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder again. Guiding her towards the table. 

She plopped down in a chair, her wet hair dripping around her, the bleeding had slowed. V returned to his chair, clearing his throat. 

“Alright, Pancake, here’s how it is.” Cassidy began, shooting both hands toward Panam like he was directing traffic. “Milo’s alive and well.” He jabbed a finger into the table. “They want to meet at the old drydock near the Petrochem ruins. Exchange deal.” He slid his finger toward her like a chess piece. “We’re working on a way to get him back without going through with the trade.” He leaned back and slapped his thighs. “That’s where we’re at.”

Panam blinked at him, her jaw tight, expression unreadable. After an uncomfortable moment, she spoke. “And what do they want in exchange for Milo?”

There was a long pause, her question hanging over the table like a haze.

V drummed his fingers softly on the table, letting out a breath. “Me,” he said. 

Her eyes locked on his, neither of them blinked. 

She frowned. “And why do they want you, V?”

He was getting into dangerous waters. He paused, eyes flicking to the floor, then to her. “Their leader is my ex.”

He let it land before continuing. 

Panam stayed silent, her gaze never leaving his as she waited for him to continue.

V swallowed hard. He tilted his palms up as he explained. “We were together…when I was in The Bakkers. When they joined Snake Nation, I was out bad. Then she tried to turn me in to the Raffen for money.”

She gave a small nod.

He looked away, tilting his head as he thought of what to say next. 

She stared at him a moment longer, the silence stretching uncomfortably. 

She flexed her jaw. “Tell me the plan. Every detail.” She crossed her arms, sitting up a little straighter, holding her head a little higher. Her voice was steady, with a blade’s edge. “No more secrets.”

V glanced toward Mitch, who shifted uncomfortably. Cassidy looked like he wanted to speak but thought better of it.

Panam’s eyes didn’t leave V. “You were planning this while I was unconscious.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mitch said carefully. “We were trying to give you space. Let you rest.”

“You mean protect me.” She bit the words off. “Like I’m fragile. Like I can’t handle this.”

Dakota stepped in. “We didn’t think that, Panam. But you’ve been through hell, and you needed—”

“I need to know who the fuck thinks they can steal from me and walk away breathing,” Panam cut in, her tone ice cold. “I don’t care if she was your ex, V. She’s Raffen Shiv. She’s got one of ours. That makes her my enemy. Period.”

She stood then—slowly, carefully—but when she rose to her full height, blanket around her like a cloak, she swayed. Gripping the table. Like her body was reminding her that she wasn't ready yet.

“We do this my way now,” she said. “No more hiding things. No more keeping me safe.”

She looked each of them in the eye—Cassidy, Mitch, Dakota, Carol—and finally landed on V.

“You want to end this clean?” she said, voice dropping low but laced with pain. “Then we end it together.” She paused, eyes boring into him. “But if this bitch thinks she can come for my people and take what's mine…” She leaned forward just slightly, eyes hard.

 “She picked the wrong goddamn clan.”

—-

The meeting had dispersed in tense silence. They had a plan at least.

Panam still sat in her chair, her shoulders rigid, jaw clenched, a faint tremble in her fingers. She held the blanket tight around her. The others had left the trailer one by one, each offering her a look she didn’t acknowledge.

V lingered, forearms resting on the table, head bowed. They'd spent the last two hours coming up with a strategy. Now— it was just them and the wreckage they had to clean up. He didn't even know where to start. She almost bled to death a few hours ago and now his crazy ex was threatening the clan. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, somehow an apology didn't feel like enough. 

He didn’t know what to say.

After a long silence he finally spoke. “You shouldn’t be up,” he offered quietly, he continued looking at his hands. “You saw how pissed Hutch was when he barreled in here after you.”

Panam didn’t look at him. “Thanks for the concern, Doc.”

He sighed. “Panam…”

She slowly pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she stood. V shot out of his seat, reaching for her elbow without thinking. She didn’t pull away—but she didn’t lean into him either.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. She wouldn't look at him and turned her eyes to the floor.

“You’re not,” he said, squeezing her shoulders.

She tensed.

“I have to be,” she hissed, still facing away from him. “I know I’m not fine, V. I know I should be in bed. I know I lost too much blood. I know I’m not thinking straight.” She turned halfway, eyes glassy and tired. “But if I sit still, I’ll fall apart. And I can’t—”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking hard. “I can’t fall apart. Not now.”

V stood motionless, his hands still resting lightly on her shoulders—he felt so useless. He needed to be there for her, he could figure out his own feelings later. 

“C’mere…” he whispered, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. 

Wracking sobs overtook her as she buried her head in the crook of his neck. He felt her arms wrap around his waist, her tears soaking his shirt. 

He rubbed his hands up and down her back. “C'mon, let's get you back to Hutch's before he has another coronary.”

She pressed back, looking him in the eye, her face wet with tears. “You really think I can ‘rest’ right now with everything going on?”

He felt the twist in his chest. He couldn't help but feel like this situation with Juno was all his fault no matter how much they told him it wasn't. 

“We'll deal with it, Panam, but right now you need to be in bed. Mitch has the security crew running night watches, we're on lockdown— and trust me…Juno just got lucky with that supply run she hit. She's not made for this.”

She nodded, frowning while she held his gaze. He could see the exhaustion etched in her features. The pain laced through her expression. 

“Let's go have a sleepover at Hutches.” Before she could respond she felt her feet leave the ground and she was suddenly cradled in V's arms. 

—-

 The trailer door creaked softly as V pushed it open with his shoulder, cradling Panam close. Hutch stirred from his chair at his computer, his sharp eyes focusing on them—then going wide when he saw her in V’s arms.

“What happened?” he asked, already rising.

“I'm fine,” she murmured. “He insisted.”

Hutch nodded and backed off, “put her in the bed over there. It's more comfortable.”

 The door clicked shut behind them.

V carried her to the bed and knelt down, easing Panam onto the mattress like she might break. She was groggy already, head lolling slightly before she caught herself and opened her eyes.

“I can undress myself,” she mumbled, but her arms barely moved.

“Yeah?” V gave her a small, tired smirk. “Though that was my job.”

She huffed, almost a laugh, and let her head fall back onto the pillow. “If you must.”

He sat beside her and brushed damp hair away from her face. 

Her lips quirked into the faintest smile before the expression faded. Her eyes flicked away. “V…”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated. “Thank you…”

The words hit hard, he swallowed. His fingers stilled where they’d been smoothing her hair.

“You don't have to thank me,” he said quietly.

He noticed a basin with water in it and a clean washcloth, there was a clean gown too. He tilted his head towards it. “Guess Hutch thought you might wanna get cleaned up.”

Panam eyed the basin. “He was right.”

“Want help?”

She considered him for a moment. “Couldn't hurt.” The smallest, sheepish smile flickered across her face. 

He held his hand out to help her stand…she took it. 

“Arms up,” he said gently.

She raised her arms as he peeled the damp hospital gown away, careful and slow. He tried not to react to the dried blood along her thighs. She didn’t make a sound.

“I can wash myself.” She said, slowly making her way to the basin. 

He watched her. “Okay but I'm not leavin'. I don't want you to fall.”

She soaked a cloth in the water. It was deliciously warm. She started at her face, holding the cloth there, letting the warmth sink in like a balm. It felt good. Comforting. Somehow it gave her a sense of control.

When she was done V slid the fresh gown over her head and helped her back to bed, tucking the blanket around her like armor. Her breathing was shallow, eyes unfocused.

“You staying?” she asked, voice small.

“Of course I'm stayin’. Move over,” he said as he closed the curtain around the little room where the bed was. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

She scooched over as he undressed to his boxers, eyes drifting closed again. “Good.”

A pause.

“I don’t want you to go meet her,” she whispered. “Even with a plan.”

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t promise her that.

Instead, he got in bed and covered them both in the blanket, then wrapped his arms around her. 

They stayed intertwined in the dim quiet of the trailer, while outside, the cold rain kept falling.

Chapter Text

He watched the rig pull in. Watched her jump down from the passenger side, clutching her cheek.

 The guy she’d been with was already dead—got himself killed after one too many drunken benders. Chari had warned him more than once: straighten up or get lost. He didn’t listen.

 The girl didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Chari was a hardass most days, but when it came to women like her—battered, cornered, left to die—she had a soft spot. She’d been one herself once, long ago.

V leaned back against a stack of crates, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He always watched the newcomers, but this was different. He’d seen how that asshole treated her—had even stepped in once, made it clear he’d take the bastard’s jaw off if it didn’t stop.

 She held her head high, but he could see her shaking. Her mascara ran in streaks down her face, smeared like ash. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, bruises blooming across her cheekbone. One of the older nomads was leading her toward the sleeping tents.

V watched her disappear around the bend. His jaw shifted. His eyes flicked around the camp like they were searching for an excuse.

 Then he let out a breath, pushed away from the crates, and followed.

It was dusk. Most people were still up, milling around. He saw her disappear into a tent.

“V!” someone shouted behind him.

He turned. Chari was jogging over, shoving an ice pack into his hand.

“Take this to Juno, will you? She’s in that tent. I’ve got too much shit to do.” She was already moving again. “Just see if she needs anything, okay?”

He stood there a moment, ice pack in hand, pressing his lips into a thin line. Then his eyes flicked to the tent.

Here goes nothin’.

She was sitting on the edge of a cot near the back, duffel at her feet, hunched over with her hands covering her face. He could hear the sobs from the doorway.

He cleared his throat.

Her eyes jumped to meet his. Big, glassy, ringed in smeared makeup. She looked like she was waiting to be hit. Like she might bolt.

V raised both hands like he’d been caught by NCPD. “Hey,” he said softly.

Her eyes flicked to the ice pack in his hand. He noticed.

“Chari told me to bring this by…” His tone was careful. “Can I come in?”

She stared at him, then gave a small nod.

V dropped his arms and stepped inside slowly, holding the ice pack out to her.

She didn’t move. Just stared, frozen.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I ain’t gonna bite. It’ll help.”

Finally, she took it. Pressed it to her face without a word.

V lingered awkwardly, then leaned against a tent pole, hands in his pockets.

She glanced at him, then away.

“He do that to you?” he asked.

She didn't answer at first, didn't look at him. “Yeah.” She said in a small voice. “But at least he got himself blown up after.”

V snorted. “Fair enough.”

He stayed where he was, arms crossed now, watching her carefully.

“I’m V,” he said.

She was quiet.

“Juno.”

He gave a short nod. “Welcome to the shitshow, Juno.”

That almost got a smile out of her.

“Well…” he stood, brushing his hands on his jeans, “I’ll let you get settled in,” he said, turning to go.

“Wait.” Her voice was small, but it stopped him.

He turned back.

“What’s V short for?”

He considered her, then said, “Vincent.”

Her eyes lingered on him. “Vincent,” she repeated.

He looked down, thumbed a scar on his knuckle. Then offered a faint smile.

“Guess I’ll see you around camp, Juno.”

She nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

“Sleep tight.” He let the flap fall shut behind him.

—-

The camp crackled with energy. Generators buzzed, modded bikes idled like growling beasts, and someone blasted an old Maelstrom bootleg from a speaker rigged to a busted turret. Juno stood in the center of it all, a black smear of motion and rage.

She was pacing—boots kicking up dust, cigarette clenched between her teeth, a half-drained bottle of shitty synth bourbon swinging from one hand. The firelight danced across her face and glinted off of the shiny black latex that hugged her body.

“You said it’d be easy,” Roach growled, arms crossed. He was big, built like a meat truck, but even he kept his distance. “A quick grab. In, out. Instead, we’re sittin’ on fuck-all with the whole Aldecaldo posse itchin’ to smoke us.”

Juno stopped. Turned. Her eyes locked on him—glassy, furious, but lit from within by something sharp and burning. She laughed once. Sharp. Dry. “Oh, you poor dumb son of a bitch. Did I promise you something?”

Roach narrowed his eyes. “You promised money. The Basilisk.”

She took a long drag from the cigarette, then flicked it into the dirt. “No. I promised you a score.” She stepped closer, bottle now clenched in her fist like a blunt weapon. “I told you I wanted him—and guess what? I got him. Or I will.” Her eyes went wide with drama as she spread her hands out in front of her. “Once I have him, you'll get your Basilisk and money.”

“Bullshit,” spat another voice—one of the younger gangers, Rina, half-cybered and pissed. “This was personal. You played us.”

Juno smiled. A slow, crooked thing that didn’t reach her eyes. It was more like she was baring her teeth.  “Welcome to the goddamn real world, sweetheart. Everyone’s playing someone.”

“You lied—”

She cut her off, voice low and electric. “I promised vengeance. I delivered a war. Maybe you were too busy dreaming about your cut to notice the difference.”

Silence.

She looked around at them all, shoulders heaving, lip curled. “You think this is about money? This is about him leaving me in the dust like I never existed. About pretending I didn’t matter. Like I was some fucking stray mutt he could toss a bone to and forget.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You wanna bail? Fine. Go. But know this:” 

She pointed a finger from her pink cybernetic arm, sweeping it across the crowd. “I’m getting him back, one way or another. And when I do?” Her eyes glittered. “You’ll wish you’d stayed.”

Roach rounded on her. “You’re outta your mind!” he screamed. 

Juno’s grin faded. Her eyes were dead calm now—still, cold, like all the heat had been sucked from the earth. She set the bottle down on a crate beside her, slow and deliberate, and straightened up.

“You know,” she said, voice soft, “I used to think I was pathetic. All that time in the Bakkers. All the blood, the noise. Thought maybe he was the only thing keeping me from spinning out.”

She glanced around at them. “Turns out? I like it when I’m unhinged.”

Then came the click of a safety being disengaged.

“You’re gonna get us all killed you crazy bitch!” Roach growled, raising his pistol but not quite aiming it. “We followed you because we thought you had a plan. This? This is suicide!”

Juno didn’t hesitate. In a blur, she drew the pistol from the holster on her thigh and fired.

One shot. Right between the eyes.

Roach stared blankly, a single trail of blood running down his forehead. He dropped like a stone.

The silence that followed was deafening—except for the soft hiss of his cyberware shorting out in the dirt.

Juno lowered the pistol, calm as the dead. “Let that be a fucking lesson,” she said, voice dripping with sugar, eyes sweeping the rest of the crew. “You question me again,” she paused for emphasis, her smile too wide, “you end up like Roach.” She waved the pistol at his lifeless body then at every person with each word she said, one at a time. “If. you. aren't. loyal. you. die.”  

She holstered the gun, picked the bottle back up, and took a long swig.

“I built this war,” she said, voice low and dark. “And I’ll burn his world down myself if I have to.”

—-

The drone cut across the ridge, mapping every possible ambush site, trap location, or sniper nest. Carol directed it over every inch, sweeping the bluffs above the meeting site. “Two good nests,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “North ridge. West slope. Nice angles, plenty of cover.”

Mitch and Dakota stood over a crude topographic map spread across a rusted-out hood, marking positions with old shell casings. Dakota frowned in thought while Mitch explained his strategy with dramatic hand gestures.

Panam was fitting V with a wire, making it as invisible as possible. Her hands moved fast, precise—but her eyes kept flicking to his. 

“Panam.” He said it gently, that too-calm tone he always used when things were about to go sideways.

She yanked a strap a little too tight. “Don’t.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She kept silent for a moment, fingers adjusting the wire at his collar.

“I don’t like this, V,” she said, voice low and tight. “It’s all coming together too clean. It’s too easy.”

He reached out, catching her wrists, forcing her to look up. “Juno thinks she has the upper hand,” he said quietly. “That’s what we want her to think.”

Panam pulled her hands back, eyes narrowing. “Yeah? What else does she think, V?” She pressed the last of the wire into place, her voice gaining volume. “Matter of fact, what do you think?”

He blinked, thrown. “What are you talking about?”

She took a step back, arms crossed, the fire in her eyes unmistakable. “I wanna know what’s going on in your head. We haven’t had a real conversation in weeks.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

“Your ex is back, trying to drop a fucking bomb on everything we’ve built, and all I get from you is silence.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you still into her, V? Is that what's on your mind? Is that what you're thinking about?” Her voice cracked—just for a second. “And our baby—our baby—died, V. And you’ve barely looked at me since.” 

Tears welled in her eyes, she angrily brushed them away. 

V froze. The words hit like a sucker punch.  He didn’t even realize he’d taken a step back.

She stood there, breathing hard, eyes glassy but still burning. “So you tell me,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What the fuck do you feel, Vincent?” she choked on his name, her voice cracking with emotion. 

V blinked, mouth parting—no words came out.

The baby.

He hadn’t… he hadn’t thought about that. He hadn't thought about it like that. Not a baby. He just thought of it as a medical condition that was over now. He was just happy she was okay. 

But the way she said it—our baby—cut through every wall he’d thrown up. Was he sad? Was there something to grieve?--- he didn't know. He pushed the thoughts away.

He shifted his weight, jaw tight, eyes dragging away from hers. “Panam…” he started, but it died on his lips. 

What the fuck was he supposed to say?

He glanced over at Dakota and Mitch, still deep in the map, pretending not to hear any of this. The drone buzzed faintly in the distance, but it might as well have been a jet engine for how loud the silence felt now.

Something hit him then. She wanted an answer. Now. She was basically forcing it out of him right before he had to pull this bait and switch off. He felt fire in his chest. 

Anger. 

“You think I wanted any of this?” he snapped before he could stop himself. “You think I’m not doing everything I fucking can to try and make this easier for you?”

She flinched, and guilt stabbed through him, sharp and immediate. But he was raw. Stripped down. Tired. And now she was saying he still cared about Juno?

He stepped closer, getting right in her face. She didn't move. 

“I don’t want her, Panam.” He said, voice low and fierce. “I want you. All this—everything I’ve done—I did it for you.”

She just stood there, chest heaving, arms crossed, eyes locked on his with that fire he both loved and dreaded.

“You say that,” she quipped. “But you don’t let me in. You shut down.” She threw her hands in the air in frustration. “You run silent. And you had nothing to say after it happened. Nothing!” She was shouting now, Mitch and Dakota walked away. 

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

Her voice cracked, just barely. “I woke up this morning, you were gone! You had that meeting without me! I asked you if you wanted our baby, you said no! What am I supposed to think, V?” She was shouting louder and louder. 

He flinched like she’d slapped him.

“I thought maybe it broke you too. That maybe you were grieving in your own way. But now I’m not so sure.” She shook her head, bitter. “Because when I look at you, all I see is guilt. Not for us, not for the baby—for her.”

His heart pounded in his ears, his head snapped to look at her. “That’s not—Panam, that’s not what this is.”

“No? Then what is it?” Her voice rose with every word. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still into her” 

She paused. “Do you love her, V?”

“No, I don't love her.” he snapped. They were inches from each other. 

“Then prove it! Be here. With me. Not just in the camp, or on the comms, or at the fucking table drawing up plans without me—here. Like you used to be.”

He looked away, pulse thrumming, every nerve screaming at him to walk, to shut down, to focus on the mission. But her words anchored him in place.

Because she was right.

He hadn’t let himself feel anything. He didn't know what he felt about the baby. He didn't like the old wounds Juno was ripping open. So he just shut it out. 

She turned to leave, then stopped dead, turning to face him again. “You know what.” She said through tears, voice strained. “If you can't do that, if you don't want to be here anymore. Then go. Go with her.” She turned and stalked off, leaving V alone. 

“Panam.” He called, his throat tightened, voice weak. She didn't stop. 

He stood there and watched her go. A sinking feeling creeping into his chest. 

This can't be happening. 

—-

Her back hit the wall with a thud, bits of old drywall falling around them with the impact. Bottles crashed down from the metal shelf beside them, an ashtray shattering across the floor. She grabbed fistfuls of V’s shirt and yanked him closer, mouth crashing into his.

His hands tangled in her hair, twisting hard enough to draw a gasp from her throat. She giggled, biting his lip when he pulled away. His belt came undone with a sharp snap, pants shoved down just enough—just out of the way.

Her legs locked around his waist. Her head thudded against the wall again as he lifted her.

“Take me hard,” she growled into his ear, breath hot.

He yanked her closer. She ripped his shirt over his head. 

Their pace was ruthless—the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Juno screaming in ecstasy. He pinned her to the wall, slamming her into it with each thrust. Sweat slicked their skin. She dug her nails into his shoulders, leaving angry red marks. He groaned, mouth at her throat, biting down just enough to make her shudder.

“This what you wanted?” his voice rough and low as he leaned over her, bracing himself with one hand on the wall and sliding his other behind her, pulling her against him. 

“Oh yeah, baby.” She whispered as a wicked grin slid across her face. She licked her teeth as she gazed at him. 

He picked her up, moving to a desk and sweeping whatever was on it onto the floor. The sounds of breaking glass and things scattering clashing with Juno's moans. 

She stretched out on the desk, breasts bouncing with each thrust. She loved the feel of him inside her. Loved the wild look in his eyes while he fucked her. It was the only time she got to see him unravel. 

It made her feel powerful. 

He dug his fingers into her hips as he came inside her, doubling over on top of her. 

She moaned his name as she clawed her nails down his back, wrapping her arms and legs around him like hungry tentacles. 

When it was over, they collapsed on a nearby mattress, ragged breathing the only sound. The room still echoed with the aftermath—broken glass, a lamp knocked sideways, whatever was on the desk they fucked on strewn across the floor.

Juno laid her head on his chest, skin still flushed. 

V’s hand slid into her hair, he ran his fingers through it, slowly and softly. 

Sorrow snagged in her chest. 

She rolled away, blinked up at the ceiling, eyes burning before she even knew why. When the first tear slid down her cheek, she didn’t wipe it away.

V noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, shifting. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer.

“Juno?” He leaned up a little. “Did I—was that too much?”

“No,” she said, voice tight. “You didn’t… I’m fine.”

But her lip trembled, and when she turned to bury her face into his chest, it wasn’t to hold on to him—it was to hide from him.

“Then what is it?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, blinking fast.

“You always stay.” Her voice broke. “You don’t just…leave or tell me to get out.”

V frowned, confused. “Why would I do that?”

She gave a humorless laugh. “ 'Cause that’s what guys do.”

He was quiet for a second, then said, “Well… not me.”

He watched her for a moment, saw how fragile she was, how broken. He slowly wrapped an arm around her. “C'mere.” He pulled her in and hugged her close. 

“I don't run, remember?” He gently stroked her arm. 

She lightly drew circles on his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Guess I'm not used to that.”

—-

“You're not with us, then get the fuck out, V. Chari isn't here to wipe your ass anymore anyway.”

V stared down the barrel of the gun pointed at his face. He knew it would come to this. Snake Nation was devouring clans left and right for years now and the Bakkers were weak.

They hadn’t been able to keep a leader for more than two years, not since Selita. One day Chari just disappeared without a word, it wasn’t like her, no one expected it. Now, the clan leaderless, there was a schism. Some wanted to join Snake Nation. Those who didn’t were told to leave.

V’s eyes flicked from the gun to the asshole who held it. Just a week ago V took a bullet for this guy, dug the bullet out himself because everyone was too squeamish to help. Stitched it himself too. 

He could have this idiot in a headlock in no time flat. His jaw flexed as he considered it. 

“Yeah, fuck you too, Gomez.” V turned and walked. The door to his Rattler creaked as he got in and slammed it shut. He turned to Juno who was sitting in the passenger seat, grinning like a maniac.

He started the engine and slammed on the gas, ripping down the road. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he ground his teeth, anger bubbling in his throat. Juno started giggling. She was getting more and more unpredictable lately. His eyes flicked to her, a sideways glance. 

“We’re finally free!” She said between giggles. She rolled down the window and shouted it again into the desert, hanging out the window as the wind blew through her hair.

She plopped back in her seat and grabbed V’s arm. “V! Do you know what this means? We can do whatever we want now!” 

He felt her eyes on him, saw her crazy grin out of the corner of his eye. He tried to be an anchor for her. Tried to give her some stability, but he didn’t think she wanted that. She wanted everything. Power, money, fame, attention. 

That wasn’t V.

Her giggles turned quieter now, barely above a whisper. “V…I have a secret— a surprise— for you.” She dug her nails into his arm.

He winced, “Juno, will ya cut it out? I’m tryin’ to drive.” His voice was tight with irritation. 

She sighed in disappointment, letting go of his arm. “You’re no fun anymore, V. You’re so serious all the time.” She pouted as she looked out the window.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your surprise?”

Her head snapped to look at him, the too wide grin back. “ I killed Chari and took all the money she was hiding. We have so much money now, V!”

It hit V like an electric shock. 

Good fucking God.

His breath caught in his lungs, he gripped the steering wheel.

Focus on the road. Just focus on the road.

His mind was swimming, everything was spinning out of control. He didn’t know who the hell was sitting next to him anymore. He knew she was crazy but this…he did not see this comin’. He needed to keep her calm until he figured something out. 

“V?” her voice turned innocent, like she didn’t know what she did wrong. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. “Just focusin’ on drivin’.” He lied. “Gotta find somewhere to spend the night before it gets too dark.”

She slumped back in the seat and pressed her knees to the dash, feet dangling. 

He pulled into a cheap motel, it was late, he was so tired.

There was a single flickering light in the parking lot. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions.

V parked beneath the buzzing light, engine idling for a moment longer than necessary. The quiet felt heavy—like the desert itself was holding its breath. He killed the ignition and stepped out, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. Juno was already at the door of the motel room, keys in hand, bouncing on her toes like they were on vacation.

Inside, the room smelled like bleach and stale air. One bed. Cracked TV. Thin curtains. V kicked off his boots and sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with both hands. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was.

Juno was humming as she unpacked. She tossed her jacket on the lone chair, then flopped on the bed beside him, curling up like a cat. For a moment, there was peace.

He felt her hand slide to his thigh, inching it’s way up and up.

He placed his hand on hers, stopping her.

He looked at her, long and hard. “Let’s just sleep tonight, I’m really tired from drivin’.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away. “Fine.”

Within minutes, her breathing evened. V lay back, eyes open, staring at the stained ceiling. Sleep crept in like a thief.

---

He woke to whispering.

Juno’s voice—quiet, urgent.

He blinked into the dark. Her back was to him, silhouetted by the bathroom light.

“...yes, just past El Diablo. Room eleven. Yeah, he’s out cold.”

A pause.

“No, not yet. I’ll get him in the lot. Just be ready. We do this quick, we’re rich.” The giddiness in her voice made him sick.

Another pause. She laughed, too quiet and too sharp.

“No, he won’t fight. He loves me.”

V sat up slowly, heartbeat thudding in his ears. She didn’t notice. She was too far gone.

Then: headlights.

They swept across the threadbare curtain—several sets, too many for a quiet place like this. Gravel crunched under tires. Engines cut one by one.

V stood, silent. He looked at her.

She turned and saw him.

Her eyes widened, but then a defiant grin spread across her face.

“I was gonna tell you,” she quipped. “But you were being weird.” She placed a hand on her hip.

“You sold me out,” he said, voice low.

“I didn’t sell you out,” she snapped. “I’m giving us both a chance. You just don’t see it.”

V took a step forward. “You think the Raffen Shiv are gonna give you that? Think they’ll treat you like some queen? You’re just another tool to them.”

She bared her teeth. “At least they want me. You—you just want to fix me. Cage me. Be the good guy, the hero.”

He said nothing. Her face twisted.

“You’re not with me, then you’re in the way,” she hissed, hand darting for her gun.

He stared at her, like maybe if he looked long enough, he’d see the version of her he used to believe in. The one that trusted him, that innocence she had.

But she wasn’t that person anymore. Maybe she never was.

“Juno,” he said, low and steady, “you pull that gun, and this ends right here.”

She was shaking—not with fear, but with fury. “You said you’d always protect me.”

“I did,” he said. “And I want to, but that doesn’t mean I’ll do whatever you want.”

She hesitated, jaw clenched, eyes glassy and unfocused. 

Outside, car doors slammed. Voices—loud, muffled. Getting closer.

“You can still walk away,” he said. “We both can. Just drop the iron. We get outta here, disappear for a while. Figure this out.”

Her lip quivered. For half a second, her arm wavered.

Then something broke behind her eyes.

“No,” she whispered. “No more running. They’re here for you, V. You’re the one they want. They said I could join if I turned you in and I’ll never have to work again with what they’re paying me for you. I need this”

She raised the gun.

He moved fast—faster than she expected. Grabbed her wrist and twisted, hard, slamming her hand against the wall. The pistol clattered to the floor.

“Goddammit, Juno!” he barked.

She kicked at him, scratching, punching, screaming. Years of chaos erupting all at once. He pinned her to the wall with a forearm across her chest, just enough to keep her still.

“Why!?” she shrieked. “Why couldn’t you just go along with it?! They said they wouldn’t hurt you!”

A cold feeling settled in his chest, it felt like his heart was tied to a weight and sinking to the bottom of the river to die. “I loved you, Juno,” he whispered.

Her sobs hitched. She stilled.

Outside, footsteps pounded toward the room.

“V,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He gritted his teeth.

He snatched the pistol off the ground and backed away, grabbing his jacket and the duffel by the door.

“I’ll hold 'em off,” he said. “If you know what’s good for you—run.”

She stared at him, frozen.

Then V threw open the door.

The dry desert air hit, time seemed to slow. Flashlights flicked his way. Shadows moved. Someone shouted.

V was ready.

He fired first.

Two clean shots—center mass, drop one. Another tried to flank—V dropped to a knee, fired low, clipped their leg, then finished them when they hit the gravel.

Chaos erupted. Yelling, gunfire cracking in the dead night.

He ducked behind a rusted-out sedan in the lot, heart hammering. Three left—no, four. One was circling wide. He heard the gravel crunch under boots.

He lobbed the pistol across the hood—metal clanged. The second the shooter flinched toward it, V sprinted right, used the dark, moved like a ghost.

One came around the corner—too slow. V grabbed the barrel, slammed their head into the car door. Bones cracked. They slumped.

The others panicked. Poor coordination, typical Raffen. They had firepower but no discipline.

Big mistake.

He slid low behind another car, popped up at their flank and opened fire. One went down screaming, the last turned to run—V didn’t let him.

It was over in a few minutes.

The parking lot stank of blood and hot engines. A single motel light buzzed above him, casting long shadows over bodies on the ground.

The door to the lobby opened and the old man who owned the place poked his head out, slowly shook it, then closed the door again.

V stood there, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing on his face. A bullet had grazed his side—he pressed a hand there, hissing.

Behind him, the motel room door creaked open.

Juno stepped out, barefoot, shaking. Her hands were red. He didn’t know if it was her blood or someone else’s. She looked smaller now. Diminished.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said quietly.

He glared at her silently. 

V turned, walked to his Rattler, and threw his bag inside. He didn’t look back.

“Where are you going?” she asked. She opened her mouth to speak again, but no words came. Just a sound. 

A sob? A gasp? 

He didn’t care anymore.

He didn’t answer.

“V? You can’t just leave me here! V!” She shrieked.

He started the engine and drove. He felt dead inside as she disappeared in his rearview mirror. He would’ve died for her and all it took for her to turn on him was an empty promise from some gang bangers. 

Well, that was the line. She could figure her own way out of this. 

Chapter Text

Juno grinned like a wolf when V stepped forward, hands over his head, eyes leveled right at her.

“Look at you,” she sneered. “You’re still so predictable, V. Always doing what makes you look heroic.”

He felt fire burn in his chest, but he swallowed it down, kept his expression flat, unreadable.

“Where’s Milo?” he asked calmly, keeping all emotion out of his voice.

She smirked, “Bring out the kid!” She barked over her shoulder. There was the slide of a van door being opened, Milo was pulled out, losing his balance as he hit the ground. He was blindfolded and cuffed.

Two Raffens led him forward, shoving him as they walked, semi-automatics in hand. They stopped short behind Juno, she grinned. “You know,” she said as she moved toward V, circling him like a hyena, “I thought you might’ve grown a pair since you left me at that cheap motel. But here you are—arms up, eyes all sad, with nothing to say.”

His gaze flicked to Milo, tracking every twitch, every breath. He could see the kid trembling, he was dirty and there was dried blood on his clothes. V needed to get this over with fast.

Juno stepped closer, he could smell the whiskey on her breath. “Funny thing about memories. Mine say you left me there, bleeding, crying your name.” She leaned in. “Coward.” Her breath was hot on his face.

V met her eyes, still and calm. “You sold me out, Juno. Wasn’t just gonna go along with that.”

She laughed—a sharp, barking sound. “Oh please. I told you I had a plan! I told you what I wanted and then I made it happen!” She growled every word, gesturing around to her patched together gang of thugs.

Still, he didn’t react.

“I know you’re hiding how you really feel, V,” she hissed. “ I know you remember those wild nights we used to have. Where’s the fire? Where’s the man who used to light up when I touched him?” Her voice dropped, venomous and low. “Or was that all fake too?”

“Let’s just get this over with, Juno. Give the kid back.” he said, tone clipped but steady.

She barked a laugh. Took a step forward, toe to toe now. V didn’t flinch.

“You were always scared of me. Scared of what I was becoming. You left me because I made you feel small.”

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself.”

Her nostrils flared. “You think you’re so righteous now, huh? Surrounded by nomads and strays, playing house in the goddamn desert like that makes you better.” A smile snaked across her face.“Remember the fun we used to have, V?” She pressed her body to his, sliding her hand down to his crotch.

V looked away, anger flaring in his chest, he felt the sweat trailing down his brow.

She undid his belt. He hoped Panam wasn’t close enough to see this—he heard her breath quicken through the wire.

He snapped his head to Juno, “Stop it, Juno.” He shouted, he couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice.

She let out a throaty laugh. “There’s the V I remember!” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “Did you miss me?”

Her voice pitched higher. “You think they’re gonna save you? Your new family? You think they give a shit? You’re just another liability to them. A broken toy waiting to die.”

“You finished?” V asked again, voice quiet as a blade unsheathing but his eyes were narrowed in disgust.

She sneered. “Milo for you—that was the deal.”

V nodded once. “Let's get this over with.”

He told the clan to wait for the right moment.

He told them she would screw up, she would leave an opening.

He hoped he was right.

She lilted. “Fine by me. We’re gonna have fun, V.”

She raised her hand, flicked her fingers like a reflex—trying to quickhack him.

Nothing.

Her smile faltered.

The slightest grin ghosted across his face.

This was it.

She moved to draw.

V was faster.

In one fluid, practiced motion, he closed the distance, slammed her wrist aside, and ripped the pistol from her grip. He flipped it in his hand and leveled it at her, raising his other hand, index and middle finger held up in a V.

At that exact moment, the hillside lit up. The Aldecaldos snipers took their cue.

Clean shots.

Loud cracks.

Raffen Shiv bodies dropped like rag dolls in the dust.

When it was quiet again, V had Juno in a vice grip. Standing behind her, using her body as a shield, gun to her temple.

“I’m done with this shit, Juno.” he said. “I’m givin' you one chance to ghost and never come back.”

Juno stood frozen, V’s arms wrapped around her like steel bars. She was breathing hard through gritted teeth as tears began to well, smudging her makeup as they fell.

Every Raffen Shiv was dead, she had nothing left.

Milo had ripped his blindfold off, V nodded to the side telling him to go. As he ran off V turned his attention back to Juno.

“So what’s it gonna be?” V pressed the gun into Juno’s temple.

“You don’t get to walk away again,” Juno rasped, grimy sweat streaking her temple, hand trembling as she reached into her pocket.

V’s breath caught.

The silver glint of the detonator was unmistakable.

“Juno,” he warned, slow, measured, like talking down a wild animal. “Don’t do this.”

But her eyes were glassy now—no longer focused.
“I still hate it when you tell me what to do, V.”
Her voice was a shaky whisper. “If I can’t win, nobody does.”

Click.

A red LED blinked to life.

SHIT.

V’s instincts screamed. There wasn’t time to think, only move.

He threw her behind a crumbled wall and spun, diving behind the rusted-out shell of a Raffen truck, hitting the ground hard as—

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the air with deafening force. Fire bloomed, swallowing the abandoned buildings in a cloud of smoke, dust, and pulverized steel. The shockwave slammed into V’s cover, flinging debris like shrapnel.

His ears rang.

Something sharp bit into his side as he was buried beneath falling rubble.

“V!” Panam screamed through the comm.

The explosion echoed in her ears, she felt it rumble through her chest. Around her, the world dissolved into motion—shouting, scrambling—but she didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.

Everything slowed.

The smoke curled upward in lazy tendrils. Bits of scorched metal clattered to the ground with distant pings.

Someone was yelling—but it was muffled and far away like she was underwater.

All she could do was stare at the rising column of smoke.

He’s gone.

The thought sliced through her like a blade.

Cold. merciless.

Her heart stopped. Her limbs turned to stone. The edges of her vision blurred. Her mouth moved, but no sound came.

A weight landed on her shoulders. Hands, shaking her. “Panam? Panam!”

Carol.

She barely turned her head. Couldn’t answer.

The voices were distant thunder, fading.

Not like this, her mind whispered. Not now.

After everything. After Night City. After Arasaka. After promises made in quiet moments and stolen glances in the dark. After everything they’d been through.

This wasn’t how it ended. It couldn’t be. Not with some crazy bitch coming along from his past.

She blinked once. Twice. The smoke was still rising.

And then—

Crackle.

The comm came alive with static.

“Panam?... you there?”

Her breath caught in her throat.

That voice. Raw. Strained.

“V?” she whispered, as if saying it too loud would make him vanish.

“I’m here…” He choked out.

Tears welled in her eyes. Everything snapped back into motion.

“Just stay where you are,” her voice was trembling, heart thudding wildly now. “Mitch and Cassidy are on their way.”

V laughed weakly. “Don’t worry—I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Panam wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and stood, her legs shaking as she went after Mitch and Cassidy.

Carol shouted after her—something about waiting, being careful—but it didn’t register. Her boots pounded the dirt, lungs burning, every step fueled by raw desperation. Mitch and Cassidy were already halfway down the slope, rifles slung and medkits in hand. She chased after them like a woman possessed.

Behind her, Carol cursed and followed.
“Good luck.” Dakota shouted after her as she kept watch through the drone.

“2 O’clock guys, he just crawled out of that pile of rubble over there.” Dakota continued, directing Mitch and Cassidy.

The smoke parted just enough for her to see movement—shifting rubble, a broken silhouette dragging itself free and collapsing.

V flopped to his back, coughing, trying to clear the dust from his throat. It was in his mouth, burning his eyes, he couldn’t open them, it was difficult to breathe. He was disoriented and his ears were ringing, he felt around for wounds, his t-shirt was slick.

He didn’t know if it was sweat or blood.

“There he is!”

He heard Mitch yell. Footsteps pounded towards him. V was splayed on his back as they approached, they knelt down beside him.

“V…hey…”

He coughed in response.

“Give me the water.” Mitch slid an arm behind his shoulders, lifting him up so he wouldn’t choke, and poured water over his face and in his mouth to clear the dust.

V coughed and sputtered, slowly blinking his eyes open.

“V!” Panam screamed in the distance.

“Jesus, V—stay still.” Mitch’s hands were already checking for wounds, patting down limbs, fingers slick with blood. “You got shrapnel in your side. Don’t move too much.”

“I’m fine,” V lied through clenched teeth, trying to wave him off, but the grimace said otherwise.

Cassidy crouched beside them, pulling out a bio-monitor. “His vitals are a mess. We need to get him out of here—now.”

Panam skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees beside him, cupping his face with shaking hands.

“You stupid, stubborn son of a bitch,” she whispered, voice breaking.

V managed a crooked smile. “C’mon, I thought you liked saving my life.”

She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes just for a second. Breathing him in.

Alive. He was alive.

Carol caught up, panting, and immediately pulled out more supplies. “We need to stabilize him before we move him—pressure on that side, now.”

Mitch nodded, already working. “We’ve got you, brother. Just hang on.”

—-

The world returned in fragments—light filtering through windows, metal walls, the antiseptic sting of medgel, the murmur of voices outside.

V blinked up at the ceiling, then turned his head slowly.
Panam was there.
Her eyes snapped to his at the movement.

“V,” she whispered, voice cracking.

He tried for a smirk. “Told ya I'd be fine.”

Panam surged forward and pressed her forehead to his, one hand cupping the back of his neck. Her breath shook against his skin.

That earthy scent of hers.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her on top of him, hugging her so tight she almost couldn't breathe.

He didn't care that it hurt.

“Please stop almost dying.” She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her expression fierce, hurt, and so very raw. “Why didn’t you tell me everything? About the plan. About Juno.”

“I didn't want you there, Panam,” V said quietly. “I wanted you to stay safe.”

Panam’s jaw clenched. She wanted to argue. Tell him that's not his call to make. His problems are her problems just like with anyone else in the clan. But looking at the fierceness in his eyes, the way he held her, it made her drop it.

The silence that followed was thick—grief, devotion, relief all colliding in the space between them. She gave into it, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips.
He broke it, pressing his forehead to hers. “I'm sorry.” His voice barely above a whisper. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you… I'm sorry I left you out…I guess it was my way of protecting you.” He looked her in the eyes. “I—I've put you through a lot…you took on Arasaka for me…Saul's dead because of me.” He took in a breath. “Then the baby.” He looked away “I didn't want you to have to deal with my crazy ex too.”

She stroked his hair, a small smile playing on her lips. “V…we're in this together, remember? Your problems are my problems.” She brought a hand to his cheek. “Saul made his own choices and so did I. None of that is your fault.” Her brow knit together, she was determined to get the words out without crying. “And the baby—that's no one's fault. I'd go through hell and back for you and I know you'd do the same for me.” Her throat was tight as she spoke.
Their eyes were locked together, he brought a hand to the back of her head pulling her in, she rested her forehead on his.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too, V.”

—-

The dawn itself bowed its head in hushed reverence. The wind quietly whispered through the dry brush as the sun just began to show itself on the horizon.

This was Saul's favorite time of day.

The Aldecaldos stood in a wide half-circle on the cliff behind the settlement. Time seemed suspended here as they prepared to say goodbye.

At the center of the crowd, Cassidy was saying a few words. His Stetson in his hands, as he read from a crumpled piece of paper.
Beside him, on a wide flat stone, lay Saul’s clan jacket—reverently folded with the faded clan patch facing the sun, his sidearm resting across it, polished and gleaming.

Symbols of duty.

Of sacrifice.

V stood with one arm around Panam, slowly rubbing her back. She stood stiffly, he could feel her trembling despite his efforts to comfort her. Her jaw was set, her brow furrowed, fists clenched at her sides.

She hadn't spoken a word since they gathered.

Cassidy’s hands tremble slightly as he puts his hat back on, clears his throat and steps back into the crowd.

Panam moves then—slow, deliberate. Every step to the center is a battle. V watches her go with his hands in his pockets.

As their leader she needs to do this alone.

She stops before the stone, her shoulders squared like she’s facing an enemy. She stares at the jacket for a long moment, then turns to face the clan.

“Saul and I didn’t always get along,” she began, voice steady, low. “He was stubborn…like me. Controlling. But he is also the reason any of us are still here.” She swallowed hard before continuing.
“He loved this family. Fought for it with everything he had.” Her voice wavered. She gritted her teeth.

“He’s the reason I'm where I am now. He believed in me, taught me when I didn't want to learn. But I'm not him.” She paused. “I can't be him, but I'll be damned if I let his sacrifice be in vain.”

Her throat tightens. “His last words before he died… before Adam Smasher…before Arasaka took him from us— Aldecaldos. He went out thinking only of us.”

She pulled a book from her jacket. Her hands shook as she turned to a bookmarked page.

“Saul liked poetry. This was his favorite poem.” She took a breath, then began to read:

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light…”

Her voice cracked. She pressed her lips together, breath hitching through her nose, but she didn’t stop.

“Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning
They do not go gentle into that good night…

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

The last line is nearly a whisper, choked and raw, met with a heavy silence.

A gust of wind picked up, carrying dust and sunlight across the cliff.

Panam closed the book and laid it gently on his jacket.

“And so, Aldecaldos. We will not go gently into that good night. We will honor Saul’s sacrifice by carrying on and doing what's right in a dying world. We will not let the light go out.”

Her final words hung in the air.

And finally, the sun crests the horizon—golden light spilling over the clan, gilding Saul’s jacket.

Tears fell, and no one was ashamed.

—-

The lantern inside their tent flickered gently, bathing everything in a warm, inviting glow. The day was spent sharing food and remembering Saul. Outside, the bonfire was small and intimate now, the voices outside a peaceful hush—stories told, songs sung, and laughter.

But in their tent, V and Panam were finally alone.

V sat on the edge of their cot untying his high tops. When he looked up, he found Panam standing frozen in the middle of the room. Her arms were tightly braced around herself, she was digging her nails into her forearms as tears stung her eyes.

She looked like she’d been holding herself together all day with sheer will—and now, at last, her armor was falling off.

“Hey…” V said gently. She looked at him and everything between them crashed together—weeks of tension, grief, and devotion tightening into a single, breathless moment.

The words caught in her throat. All of the fear she'd been suppressing crashed to the surface at Saul's funeral.

It was almost V’s too.

“I almost lost you,” she said, her voice breaking around the edges and strained. The realization crashing into her so hard she couldn't speak.

V crossed the space between them, slowly.

Gently.

He reached up, brushing strands of dark hair from her face, and rested his hand along her jaw, thumb stroking the tears from her cheek. She leaned into him like she’d been waiting all day for that one touch.

He slowly wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head in the crook of his neck. Her throat closed as she was strangled by tears, her fingers clutching to his shoulder blades.

“I’m right here, Panam.” He whispered into her ear. They held each other as the world around them faded away. V swallowed hard as he held her tighter, gently rubbing a hand up and down her back.

She exhaled against his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as the tension melted from her body.

Panam was everything to him. She kept her word when no one else would, believed in him when no one else did. She was probably the reason he was still alive.

He hugged her tighter, resting his forehead against her temple and breathing her in as time stood still.

After a while, V slid his hands from her back and up to cradle her face. He gazed at her as tears continued to trail down her cheeks.

He kissed her then—slowly, losing himself in the moment. Her lips were warm and yielding, she let him lead like she did with no one else.

She gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, pressing her body against his. The warmth radiating from him calming her. She ran her hands along the solid planes of his chest, then gripped the hard muscles of his shoulders before tangling her fingers in his dreadlocks. Her pulse quickened as she felt his hands move down her body to grip her rear. A small moan escaped her as she pressed into him.

She shrugged her jacket off as V explored her mouth with his tongue. Pressed the clip on her body harness letting it fall to the ground. Her hands frantically undid the button and zipper of her jeans as his slid inside them at her backside, squeezing and pulling her closer.

She bit his bottom bottom lip in response, then let her tongue roam his mouth.

They moved in quiet unison, shedding layers with reverent hands, like unwrapping something sacred.

Need coiled low in her belly; reverence spread in the hush that wrapped them.

There was a metallic click as she undid V’s belt. He exhaled through his nose and hoisted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
They were in nothing but their underclothes now, the skin to skin contact grounding both of them.

He laid her down on the cot, his hands mapped the terrain of her body like he was relearning it—sliding slowly down her sides, over the curve of her hips, fingers splaying across the taut muscles of her abdomen. He leaned over her and kissed her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast, each kiss a prayer whispered into skin. Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of something breaking and being rebuilt all at once. Her nerves sung as a heady euphoria took over at his touch.

V slid the flimsy fabric of her panties down her legs and then removed his boxers, tossing them somewhere.
She pulled him down on top of her, their bodies flush against each other, trembling hands gliding over the muscles of his back. She ground her hips into his as heat bloomed between her thighs. Every brush of skin against skin sparked something raw—tender and electric. The sound of their breathing filled the space.

V hovered above her, forehead resting against hers, his hand caressing her cheek. His eyes searched hers, asking for something wordless, and Panam gave it freely—lifting her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between them. She could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into her, felt his muscles flex as he settled between her thighs.

He found the silky warmth between her legs, and pressed inside, she enveloped him completely. He closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly as he began to move inside her.

Their bodies moved in a slow rhythm, like a tide rising and falling—measured, aching, full of gravity. The friction between them was slick, electric, and warm, every inch of contact a balm to the wounds neither had the words to name. V kissed the corner of her mouth, her temple, her shoulder. She threaded her fingers through his hair, desperately holding him to her.

Her breaths turned to quiet moans at the dragging sensation deep inside her, he fit perfectly—she whispered his name against his ear, her nails trailing gently down his back.

“I love you,” V’s voice was rough and breathless as he moved inside her. “God, Panam… I love you.”

Her tears welled fast, every muscle in her body melting underneath him. Her lips found his. “I know,” her voice ragged as she whispered between kisses. “I know. I love you too.” She dug her nails into his shoulders as she held on for dear life.

He picked up the pace as she came undone around him, burying his face in her shoulder and clenching his fingers in her hair as he felt her tighten and flutter.

The wave crashing over her pulled him under too. V’s breath caught as he let go, Panam felt a warm sensation fill her core, euphoria thrumming through her body.

They lay there in the afterglow—an ache undone, a trembling surrender to each other in the dark stillness. Their bodies shook with it. Their hearts, already bound, found rhythm in the aftermath.

He gently kissed her, then trailed kisses down the column of her neck as their breathing slowed.

Afterwards, Panam lay against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, fingers tracing invisible lines along his ribs. V’s hand rested on her hip, stroking gently, grounding her.

Outside, the stars hung heavy overhead, ancient and endless.

And inside the tent, wrapped in one another beneath a blanket and a sky full of twinkling light, they let the world go quiet for a while.

They had suffered but survived.
They had each other.
And for tonight, that was enough.

Chapter Text

6 months later

Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, she blinked her eyes open. She relished the feeling of waking up in her own bed…no…their bed. In their house.

Six months ago they bought this land and they were finally making it their home. She rolled over, wanting to lay her head on his chest…but he was gone.

There was a note on his pillow:

Blowing shit up with Dakota. I'll be back for breakfast.

V

She smiled, then sank back into the soft mattress lying on her back, stretching her arms out. She took a deep breath and blinked up at the ceiling, thinking about everything that happened.

It felt like something out of a comic book than her actual life. They took on Arasaka and stole probably millions of eddies worth of tech. They killed Adam Smasher. V had some crazy tech stuck in his head that sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie and was supposed to kill him.

But he was still here. They were in love. Their clan was thriving.

They won?

They won.

Panam stretched her entire body as she closed her eyes and decided to get a little more sleep.

—-

The desert was still and quiet this early in the morning. Dakota was hunched over a battered folding table with random tech equipment strewn across it. Miles of cracked earth stretched out in every direction, broken only by the rusty skeletons of abandoned machines.

V stood next to her, a few sensors stuck to his head reading his neural output.

He adjusted the hardware strapped to his forearm. A sleek matte-black device that fit like a second skin. Quickhack notifications zoomed across the screen in blue and red lights as sensors responded to his thoughts.

“Gonna go for that van over there.” He nodded in the direction of his intended target.

Dakota's fingers danced across the keyboard of her laptop. “Target locked. You ready?”

“Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the target. “Let’s see if this thing keeps pace.”

He lifted his hand, let his mind brush the neural interface through the external deck. There was a hum, soft and responsive—like muscle memory finding its rhythm again. Then—

BOOM.

The van erupted in a plume of fire and debris, pieces scattering like confetti across the basin.

The impact echoed for several seconds. Then silence again, except for the wind.

Dakota stood, shielding her eyes as she studied the aftermath. “No delay. Full reaction time. Signal stable through the whole sequence.”

V exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the screen. “That’s the first time it’s run clean without a drop.”

“You think it’s ready for real-world integration?”

“Close,” he said. “Still needs stress testing in unstable environments. But if we can scale it…”

They stood near an old nomad comms tower repurposed as their desert test lab. Scattered around them were makeshift targets—scrap cars, appliances, even a decommissioned drone. Each marked and tagged, each wired to detonate or respond via signal.

He stood for a moment in the quiet, fiddling with the tech as a breeze whispered through the sand.

Then Dakota smiled faintly. “You gonna log that data or just stand there looking heroic in your nerd shirt?”

V cracked a lopsided grin. “I'm gettin’ to it.”
He was dressed in his usual worn out Militech neotac pants, high-tops and a black t-shirt with “Analog” scrawled across the chest in bright neon green letters. Milo and Ricky made it for him. His techie hat was on, backwards of course.

Numbers zoomed across the sleek smooth screen strapped to V’s arm.

They'd been calling it Ghostlink.

Ghostlink was designed for people who couldn't slot traditional cyberware—either because it had been forcibly removed, rejected by their body, or too dangerous to install again. It was external. Subdermal in places, wearable in others. And unlike anything else.

“StormTech’s watching this test,” Dakota said, glancing at her feed. “Levy’s been keeping it quiet, but they’re interested. Said something about veterans—ex-spec ops. Folks Arasaka or Biotechnica turned into patchwork borgs. If this works…”

“If it works,” V finished for her, “they could plug back in without risking total system collapse. No more burnouts. No more brainfry. No more waking up screaming from memory feedback loops.”

Dakota nodded slowly. “You think they’ll try to bury it?”

“Not if we get it out through StormTech first,” V said. “We stay quiet. I stay invisible. They get the patents and the rollout. I don’t need my name on it.”

Dakota gave him a long look. “That’s not nothing you’re giving them, V.”

He glanced at her, then back to the screen. “It’s not for them.”

Another silence fell, heavier this time. The wind kicked up dust and memory.

“You think Arasaka’ll come looking?” Dakota asked quietly.

“They probably think I’m dead,” V said, voice flat. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Another pause. Then Dakota handed him the controller.

“Want to do the honors?”

V smirked. “You kiddin’? I live for this part.”

He slid his hand into the Ghostlink band, fingers brushing the control panel embedded in its underside. The neural read kicked in immediately—no ports, no cable, no invasive jack. Just thought and a slight tingling.

He focused.

Far out in the desert, a stack of rusted CRT monitors erupted in a roar of fire and smoke. The sound echoed off the rocks.

V chuckled, low and satisfied.

“Think we’re on to something,” he said.

Dakota grinned. “No, brother. We already found it.”

—-

1 year later

The question hit her right in the chest…but it landed softly. She never thought they would be here, talking about this.

“V?” Panam said, tentative. He was the one person who could cut through all her walls. She felt exposed…but safe.

She still wasn’t used to that.

She watched him. He wouldn’t look at her—kept his eyes on the ground, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.

“V…” she said again, softer this time. She moved closer, placing a hand on his bicep.

He looked up; his face was shuttered, a protective mask. But she saw the fear in his eyes.

“What brought this up?” Her hand stayed on his arm; his stayed firmly in his pockets.

It was like her words had to walk across a bridge before they reached him. He blinked, revealing nothing.

“I know it’s what you want, Panam. I—” He fumbled for the words.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his. Tentatively, he slid his hands to the small of her back.

She brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “I want you more than anything, V. Anything else is just a bonus, not a necessity.”

He melted at her words.

At first he didn’t let himself believe it. He just held her, letting it sink in. The tension in his muscles bled out slow and reluctant, like he’d been holding himself together with threadbare hope. His cheek brushed against hers, and she felt the heat radiating off his skin.

“I thought…” His voice was quiet, hoarse. “I thought you’d change your mind someday. Wake up and realize you wanted something I couldn’t give you. That I was just…not enough.”

She felt him rubbing the scar on his knuckle.

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “V, you are what I want,” she said fiercely. “You’re mine. My best friend, the man I trust with my life. I want you. The end.”

Her voice cracked at the edges, but her gaze never wavered. “I’d love to have kids with you...” She took a breath, not sure how far to go. “And I think you’d be a great dad.”

He tensed, looking away, retreating into himself.

But then…

A shaky breath escaped him. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead harder to hers. “Might be nice havin’ someone to clean up after my experiments.” The ghost of a smile in his voice.

He hesitated, tugging her closer. “I don’t know why this scares me so much,” he said, almost to himself.

“That’s okay,” she whispered. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now.” Her fingers ran slowly up and down the back of his neck.

He kissed her then—slow and searching, like she was life itself. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, anchoring him to the moment.

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in silence and soft breathing. The golden haze of late afternoon sun spilling through the curtains. Outside, the desert wind rustled the grasses, carrying the hum of clan life.

Inside, it was just the two of them. No expectations. No pressure.

V pulled her to the bed, and they lay together in the stillness, not needing to say anything more—her head on his chest, his fingers tracing slow circles on her back.

And in the quiet stillness, with dust glowing like embers in a sunbeam across the floor, V finally believed her.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

—-

The room was all polished chrome and dim blue lighting, a far cry from the dust and grit V was used to. A large holoscreen hummed softly behind them, Ghostlink’s interface flickering with data from the latest trial batch.

V leaned back in the chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his field jacket slung over the chair behind him. His face was calm, sharp eyes locked on the screen, but his fingers tapped a slow rhythm on his bicep—he was thinking.

Dr. Levy closed the projection with a flick of his hand. “The uplink latency’s nearly zero now. Clean transmission, stable link under duress. I’d call that a success.”

V nodded, just once. “Still needs a few tweaks on the consumer interface, but yeah. She’s stable.” He looked toward the projection one last time. “Didn’t think this thing’d ever see daylight.”

Levy gave a small, knowing smile. He folded his arms, regarding V for a beat longer than usual. “You know, we have a waiting list already—mostly vets, amputees, people the system left behind.”

V’s jaw shifted slightly. “That’s who it’s for.”

“Exactly.” Levy’s gaze softened, sincere. “You didn’t just save your own life, V. You’ve given something back.”

That made V pause.

He shrugged after a moment. “Just had the right idea at the right time.”

Levy chuckled. “You’re always underselling yourself.”

He turned to a drawer in the cabinet behind him, opened it, and pulled out a small box.

He set it on the table in front of V and slid it across.

“What’s this?” V asked, brows drawing together.

“Leftover scrap,” Levy said, voice quieter now. “From the Relic housing. It’s diamond—artificial, but high-grade. Useless to us now that the research is done. But I figured…”

He watched V’s expression carefully.

“…maybe you’d think of a use for it.”

V didn’t answer at first. He opened the box, lifted the shard between two fingers. It was small, cut like glass, but caught the low light with a soft glint. Cold. Silent. A piece of the thing that nearly killed him—and, somehow, a piece of what helped him live.

His thumb brushed over it. Then he looked up slowly.

Levy was smiling.

“Just don’t wait too long,” Levy said quietly. “She seems like the kind who doesn’t wait around.”

V didn’t smile. But something flickered in his eyes. Something sure.

“…Yeah,” he said after a long pause. “Can't believe she still puts up with me.”

Levy patted him on the shoulder once, brief and solid. “Send me a picture of the ring when it’s done.”

—-

The sun dipped low on the horizon, the sky was painted in wefts of reds, oranges and pinks. The weight of her head on his shoulder put him at ease.

He took a swig of O’ Dickin. It reminded him of the first time they hung out, just them, a bottle of whiskey and the desert.

He never thought they would end up like this.

Panam let out a satisfied sigh and held out her hand for the bottle. V passed it to her without looking.

In his other hand was the ring. He flexed his fist around it nervously, feeling the metal bite into his palm. He watched her lazily lift her head from his shoulder and take a drink and then settle her eyes on the horizon.

His breath caught, he swallowed hard as he thought about what to say. He cleared his throat.

“Panam…”

She turned to look at him, arms resting on her knees, bottle dangling from her fingers.

“ ‘Member when I said I'm glad we're doin’ this together?”

She stared at him for a moment as her mind worked. She looked down, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle.

“Yeah, it was right before we left Night City. On the dam…I'll never forget that.”

He held out the ring, clasping it between his fingers. It gleamed in the fading light. The diamond was black, its surface glassy and smooth.

Its darkness once meant death—but V had turned it into a symbol of life, devotion, and strength.

It was housed in a simple metal frame, she couldn't quite tell what kind of metal it was. It was simple but beautiful.

“I wanna do everything together, Panam. Forever.” He felt the adrenaline surge through him as her eyes met his. “Will you marry me?”

She couldn't speak. The question hit her, taking every thought offline. Everything slowed, her senses dulled. She heard her heart throbbing in her ears.

He really meant it, he was going to stay.

Her eyes focused on the ring.

“V…” she watched her hand reach for it. Reverently, she took it, watching it sparkle in the last rays of the sun. She was still too shocked to answer. “Where did you get this?” She asked without looking at him.

He watched her, his brow furrowed. Why wasn't she answering? He rubbed the back of his neck. “I uhh, well the diamond is from the relic and the ring is from the hilt of Scorpion’s knife— didn't need to use much of it though so the knife is still in tact…”

He thumbed the scar on his knuckle. She still didn't answer.

She turned the ring in her hand, watching it glisten. “It's beautiful,” she said slowly.

Her eyes shot to his. “Yes.” She blurted out. She took a breath, a grin spreading across her face. “Yes, I'll marry you.”

V sighed, running a hand though his locs. “You really left me hangin’ there.” He laughed.
She put the ring on, examining it briefly, then crawled into his lap. Her mouth was immediately on his as she cupped the base of his skull in her hands. She felt his arms wrap around her waist as the rest of the world faded away.

—-

Warm golden light spilled across the desert, casting everything in a cozy glow. The air was quiet, but woven with a crackle of excitement, marked by the low murmur of the clan gathering just beyond the ridge.

V had chosen the rocky overlook for the ceremony—the place where he often went to be alone. Today, it was where he would join his life with hers.

A narrow stretch of wild desert grass swayed in the wind. A ribbon of solar lanterns marked a path up the slope, faintly glowing as twilight deepened. A flat stone served as the altar. Behind it stood Dakota, steady and calm, a glint of joy in her eyes.

They stood facing each other. V in a clean black shirt, his clan bolero jacket and dark slacks, his locs pulled back with a simple cord, his boots still dusty. At his side stood Mitch and Carol, both in their best Aldecaldo gear, patched and faded with honor.

Panam wore a simple green dress that brushed the tops of her boots, sewn from a blanket her mother had once given her. Her hair was down, wind catching the loose strands. She kept her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her face unreadable. She took deep breaths to keep her nerves in check. It barely worked.

Dakota gestured for them to clasp hands.

As she reached for his, he smiled, nerves slipping away in the quiet certainty of his gaze. He took her hand.

“We don’t make vows lightly out here,” Dakota began. “We live hard, life is cut short. So when two people stand before their family and say they’re choosing each other for life, we stop everything to bear witness.”

She looked between them.

“V. Panam. You’ve faced death and come back stronger. You’ve endured sorrow and still found your way back to each other. You’ve made a home from loyalty, trust, and devotion. Now you stand here to promise not perfection—but commitment.”

She paused.

“Is that your intention?”

They nodded.

From a leather pouch, Dakota drew a long strip of cloth: faded red with a single golden cord running through it.

“This represents The Golden Thread,” she said, “which is a unifying, continuous connection to something greater that binds all things. Now it will bind you to each other.”

Dakota wrapped the cloth gently around their joined hands and tied a knot.

“Panam Palmer. Do you choose this man—no matter where the road bends or breaks—to be your home?”

“I do,” Panam said, eyes on V. “Every time.”

“Vincent. Do you choose this woman—to fight for, to build with, to carry forward even when the world burns?”

“I do,” he answered, steady and full of quiet awe. “Always.”

“Then, by the devotion you share—under the eyes of God—I pronounce you husband and wife.”

As Dakota untied their hands, the wind stirred around them. V took her hand once more, slipping the ring onto her finger with deliberate care. She did the same, her hands steady now, her eyes never leaving his.

The black diamond on her ring caught the dying light. A symbol once forged in death, now remade into something enduring—strength, devotion, love.

V leaned forward and kissed her. Panam’s free hand cupped the back of his neck, anchoring him as their clan cheered in the distance.

Mitch clapped a hand on V’s shoulder. Carol wiped away tears.

As they turned toward the trail back to camp, the solar lanterns flickered behind them.

The party was waiting below.

—-

The stars were just beginning to bloom over the desert when the music started, casting the settlement in a soft, dreamy light.

It glowed like a beacon in a vast and lonely sea—adobe homes crafted from clay earth stood sturdy and proud, their curves catching the glow from the string lights hung throughout. Shipping containers, painted in bold colors, had been transformed into workshops and living spaces, their rooftops strung with solar panels and covered in vines. Recycled metal and wood framed shaded porches where clan symbols were carved into the beams. Solar lanterns and strands of warm lights crisscrossed between the buildings, casting a golden web over everything.

Laughter echoed off the sandstone ridges. The “town center” between the homes had become the heart of the celebration—blankets and rugs spread across the ground, tables piled high with food, bottles passed freely. Children darted between legs, adults swayed to the music pouring from Mitch’s old speaker rig, and couples danced barefoot in the dust.

A bonfire crackled in the center of it all, embers trailing lazily into the night sky. Someone handed Panam a plate, someone else gave V a drink. They were surrounded on all sides—hugged, teased, congratulated. Toasts were shouted. Carol spun in a circle with a little girl on her hip. Anyone who arrived late was pulled into the fray, no questions asked. It was merry, and cozy, and overflowing.

A clan reborn.

Panam leaned into V’s side as they watched it all—their people, their land, their life.

They were tucked away in a dark corner, watching the merriment unfold around them. Sitting side by side on an old crate, V suddenly felt her head rest on his shoulder and instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist. He heard her sigh, her form pressing into him as she relaxed.

He had a hard time believing it. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was married to the girl of his dreams. He was back in a clan when he thought he’d never be accepted again. And once GhostLink launched, they'd never have to worry about money.

Things this good didn’t happen to him.
But here he was.
This was what he’d dreamed of.
This was what he and Panam had fought for.

His hand found hers, and she lifted her head to look at him.
“Let’s go for a walk,” V said, hopping off the crate and offering her his hand.

Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face as she raised an eyebrow. She could easily get down herself—but… this was nice. She grabbed his hand and slid off the crate.

They wandered lazily away from the party, unnoticed, fingers threaded, heading toward the overlook where they’d made their vows. The stars were clearer here, the wind cooler, the hush between them comfortable.

Panam leaned into his shoulder as they walked. “They really went all out,” she said.

“They love you,” V said simply.

She smiled, watching her boots stir soft puffs of dust. “It wasn’t just for me, V,” she said, shooting him a pointed look. Her eyes turned skyward. “Feels like a dream.”

He led her toward the secluded hollow where he liked to practice tai chi. It was nestled between boulders and rocky outcroppings, framed by hardy, twisted desert trees. Just enough moonlight reached the clearing.

He noticed the smile on her face.

“I’ve never been back here,” she said, looking around, still holding his hand, letting him guide her.

“I like to come up here sometimes,” he said. “Get away from everything. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

They stopped in the middle of the hollow, the rocks above perfectly framing the moon.

Panam stepped closer, sliding her arms around his waist. “Then let’s stay here a while. Just us.”

Her lids lowered as she pressed into him, nails already digging into his back.

He answered her, kissing her slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world. He pulled her closer, hands grabbing her waist and hoisting her into the air. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively.

They found a nearby outcropping, and he set her down, hands roving up, up, up her thighs. His eyes met hers and she grinned.

“Not gonna need those for our wedding night,” she whispered, pupils blown wide as she leaned back on her hands.

A wolfish grin spread across V’s face as he knelt, hiking her skirt higher. Panam leaned back, the rough rock against her spine as she relished the heat of his breath between her thighs.

He kissed up and down her inner thighs, biting now and then, making her gasp.

He teased her at first, just barely brushing her with his tongue, watching her claw at the rock.

And then… he pressed his tongue to her fully, moving slowly, up and down. She arched against the stone, fingers raking through his locs as she sighed.

A broken sound escaped her lips. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her still as his tongue worked.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She felt his fingers slide into her, unerringly finding that spot he knew by heart. She clenched tighter as he massaged her from the inside, while his mouth never stopped moving.

Stars spun above her.

She tangled her fingers in his hair. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes as she shattered, his grip steady on her hips as she came down.

She lay there panting, watching him wipe his mouth with a grin.

“C’mere,” she whispered. Her hand found his sleeve and he let her pull him on top of her.

He leaned over her between her parted thighs. Her hands cupped the back of his head and she kissed him, hot and wanton, her tongue exploring his mouth.

She stripped off his jacket, then pulled his shirt over his head. He slipped from the rock to remove his pants as Panam tossed her dress aside.

He was on top of her again in an instant, his mouth finding hers as her fingers threaded through his hair. She felt her back hit the rough stone, felt the warmth of him on top of her pressing her down. She possessively wrapped her legs around his waist as she felt him grind into her.

Her head lolled back as she felt herself stretch around him. A tingling sensation working it's way up her spine as he moved inside her. She buried her head in the crook of his neck as she whimpered, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

Her entire body tingled, he's finally hers. No Arasaka tech slowly killing him, no stupid NUSA politicians taking him away, no fucking Night City.

He's finally hers.

She's still sensitive from her first orgasm, fluttering and clenching around him as she feels the drag of him inside her. Her mouth opens in a silent cry as she feels it coming.
He lifts himself up, catching each of her hands in his and pinning them to the rock.

“I’m gonna go soon,” he breathed into her neck.

“Do it,” she panted, her hands tightening around his as he picked up the pace.

She collapsed from the inside out, a moan spilling from her lips as she came again. She felt something hot and wet fill her as he gasped against her throat. Her ankles locked around him as he pressed deeper.

They lay still, boneless, breath slowing.

She idly caressed his shoulder as he kissed her neck.

They won.

Fuck Night City.

—-

Epilogue

2 years later

V leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed in thought. The sun had long since set over the horizon, the desert quiet except for the occasional chirp of a cricket or the low hum of tech equipment cooling down around him.

He was in his workshop, tucked away on the outskirts of the settlement. Spare parts and half-torn-apart mechs lay strewn in haphazard piles around him. Boxes and drawers overflowed with random cords and bits and bobs he’d probably never find a use for. Nibbles was curled up in a box purring in his sleep.

Since being made head of security and leading the clan alongside Panam, he’d learned to carve out time for solitude. Now, it was just him, the soft glow of the computer screen, and the rhythmic clicking of keys.

Most nights, his thoughts drifted while he worked—plans, upgrades, half-finished schematics. But lately, he’d caught himself thinking about how far they’d come. GhostLink had done more than anyone expected. Enough eddies flowing in now that no one in the clan had to scrape by anymore. No more risky runs for creds, no more patched-up gear held together with spit and luck.

Tonight, he wasn’t working on anything urgent. Just tinkering. Rewriting some old code from the pre-GhostLink days—cleaning it up, making it pretty, like smoothing out a scar that no longer hurt. There was something comforting about it.

V didn’t see her at first—just heard the soft sound of feet shuffling through sand behind him. Then came the sleepy sigh and the warm, familiar sound of her voice.

“Didn’t come to bed yet?” she murmured through a yawn, stretching her arms overhead.

He glanced up, lips twitching into a soft smile. Her dreads were pulled into a crooked bun, strands falling loose around her face. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts, the faded fabric hanging off one shoulder, practically swallowing her frame.

“Lost track of time again,” he said, eyes drifting back to the screen as his fingers tapped out a few more lines of code.

Panam padded over and slipped her hands onto his shoulders, her thumbs digging in with practiced ease. He exhaled slowly, letting himself melt beneath her touch. After a moment, he leaned his head back until it came to rest against her abdomen, the back of his head nestled against soft cotton and steady warmth.

Neither of them said anything for a while. The low hum of the machines, the soft chirp of night insects outside, and the rhythm of their shared breathing filling the space.

She groaned as she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Don’t take much longer… I’m lonely.”

He felt her hands slip away, and turned his head to watch her shuffle back toward the door.

“Almost done,” he promised, eyes following her until she disappeared.

He finished the last few lines of code and put the computer into rest mode. The chair creaked as he stretched, rubbing both hands over his face. Time to sleep.

Then—
Ping.
The soft chime of his phone.

He frowned. Who’d be calling him now?

He looked down—and blinked in disbelief.

A voicemail. From Goro?

Apprehension and curiosity wrestled in his chest as he tapped the screen and listened.

> “V,” came Takemura’s voice—gravelly, worn, oddly comforting. “I do not know where you are, but I hope you are in good health.”

V’s eyes drifted across the workshop, his expression unreadable.

> “Much time has passed. I did not know what to tell you. I needed the words of old samurai. He expressed my thoughts: ‘Good strong medicine is bitter to the mouth.’”

V winced faintly. Yeah. That sounded like Goro.

> “When you disappeared, I and Hanako-sama confronted Yorinobu. We tried to capture Arasaka Tower. We could not. They were strong.
Hanako-sama is dead. I am called her murderer.
I have been hiding for two years.”

V’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t heard a damn thing about it. No headlines, no rumors. He’d been so far removed from that life.

> “My life is now the trash heap where I find you. I wish for you to know this.”
A pause.
Just Goro breathing.

> “You are very strong medicine, V.”

Click.

He sat there a moment, staring at the wall. Processing. That was… a lot.

The timestamp on the message read twenty minutes ago.

Without overthinking it, he called back.

The line connected.

> “Goro Takemura.” That familiar clipped tone, professional as ever.

“Hey, Goro… strong medicine, huh? Don’t know if I should say thanks or feel insulted.”

A beat. Then—

> “V… It is very good to hear your voice. And I must apologize for my harsh words before—‘Rot in hell’—I believe is what I said.”

V chuckled. “S’okay, Goro. You were doin’ what you thought was right back then—followin’ orders, stayin’ loyal. I don’t hold that against you.”

Goro exhaled, long and sharp, like someone letting go of a breath they didn’t realize they were holding.

> “Thank you, V. You are a good friend. A good person. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

A grin tugged at V’s mouth.

“Sure, Goro. I forgive you.”

He sat back down on the desk, already settling into the conversation. Goro had once said he wished to be a nomad. Maybe… maybe there was still time to make that happen.

“So,” V said, “what’s happenin’?”