Work Text:
There was something about V that was... different. Panam couldn't put her finger on it, but being around the man gave her a very distinct, strong feeling of... something. Something predatory, caged- she'd seen a video once of a cloned wolf behind bars, pacing and snarling with white fur and whiter fangs, and that brief glimpse of an ancient beast gave her much the same feeling. He wasn't outwardly hostile, nor particularly aggressive towards her; in fact he seemed rather passive, tending to just sort of agree with her without a lot of questioning, and followed her about during missions like a loyal dog. It was hard to tell with his carbon fibre mask and artificial eyes what he was thinking, but generally he seemed quite happy to quietly observe.
But when she saw him in action against those scavs, that was when she saw what he was caging.
//
V wore a thick leather jacket, well worn and armoured. It'd clearly been repaired several times with resins and plastics and other pieces of leather, dyed to match but slightly different in colour and textures. On the back was a stylized silver wolf, LED eyes glowing red and metal maw open in a permanent snarl. Panam felt like she'd seen it before- maybe in some movie? -but had no chance to ask.
After V left the second time, Mitch approached her. Talked a bit, then the subject turned to V.
"You know where he got that jacket from?"
Panam blinked. "No, why?"
Mitch's face curled a little, and he took a long sip from his beer. "It's the symbol on the back. You know it?"
Panam shook her head. "I thought I recognised it, but... no."
"It's the symbol of an ancient clan. It was long dead even back in my day- shit, my grandma told tales of it and it was ancient history to her. They called themselves the Witchers, a clan that was renowed for their heartlessness. It was said they had no emotions, no weakness- they were supposedly beyond human. Saw us mere mortals as little more than dirt. Supposed to be something like cyberpsychos before cyberpsychos even existed. Didn't help much in the end though, seeing as they went extinct."
"Shit..." Panam took a drink from her beer, swilling the sour liquid about her mouth for a moment before swallowing.
"But V isn't a nomad- hell, he's the very epitome of a static! Look at his accent, his chrome, his attitude. There isn't a drop of nomad blood in him!"
Mitch shrugged, finished his beer and threw the bottle aside. "Well either way, he's wearing a jacket with an ancient clan's ensigna and an attitude to match. If you see him again, maybe think about askin' him where he klepped it from."
"V hasn't klepped anythi- and he's gone."
Panam looked back into the fire, beer bottle hanging loose and near-forgotten between her fingertips. A clan of cyberpsychos, huh? She thought of V and the way he'd ripped through those scavs, those mercs, those corpos like nothing. Like a wolf, she thought, or a Witcher.
The next time she saw V was when she'd called him, panicked and afraid as Saul was kidnapped and hurt. He'd come to her aid then, showed up in less than two hours and moved in on the shiv camp in less than three. She'd told him to go in sneaky and sly as a fox, and only when she saw him completely disregard her plan and simply charge in to kill did she realize that was like asking a rabid wolf to heel. She'd not even had the chance to claim a kill with Overwatch, instead simply staring through the scope at the sheer carnage V was wreaking upon the Shivs. He had a habit towards decapitation, she noted with a sickening feeling, leaving dozens of scattered corpses bleeding from their gaping throats. If she didn't know better she'd almost say it was like a game to him- each savage strike seemed to swell from some hidden place of pleasure.
He'd gone into the building and a few heart-clenching minutes later emerged with Saul limping behind, the other man clutching a gun he never fired. The pair of them climbed into Panam's van, V's arms and jacket stained crimson and Saul looking slightly put out.
Saul was quickly reinvigorated when the last of the Shivs pulled up behind them in their own dust-stained rides, shooting at the van in a fit of revenge fueled rage. He'd thrown open the back and started firing back, and to Panam's surprise V himself actually pulled a pistol and started firing as well. She couldn't see what was happening exactly, focussed as she was on the road (or lack of it) but from Saul's frustrated shouting it sounded like V wasn't hitting much. So the legendary merc can't handle a gun, she thought, and then swerved sharply to avoid a tree.
Finally the last of the Shivs were shot and Panam found a run-down farm to pull up at. The three of them rushed out into the stinging sandstorm and then into the sanctuary of the old farm- only to find it had no electricity or heating. With a sigh Panam asked V to look about, and true to his nature he began searching the place for a fusebox. She briefly thought how strange that was- how in combat he'd completely disregarded any order or plan she'd given him, but now obeyed without question. It was unnerving.
She knelt to poke at the electric fire, but before she could even begin to look it over the lights flickered on. V reentered the room as she turned to call her thanks.
"Damn, it's gettin' cold." Saul said, stretching back in the chair. The effects of the Superjet were starting to fade and Panam could see the colour leaving his face a little. To distract herself from him she spoke to V instead.
"I tried to get us some heat in here, but no luck. Can you check it? Might have the magic touch." or cybernetics she added mentally, then-
"Actually, you know what? Check the fuse outside, it might have come loose." V could deal with it better than she or Saul- unlike them his cybernetic eyes couldn't get damaged by the whipping sand, and his mask seemed perfectly functional. "If so, just whack it back into place and I'll get this junk burning."
She's barely finished her sentence and he was already out the door into the storm. Classic merc, she thought.
A few moments later and the fire sparked then started up, flooding the room with a sudden warmth. V reentered, closing the door tight shut behind him, and now the room was warm it almost felt cosy. Almost- if not for the presence of Saul.
"See what I see?" Again she directed her words to V, consciously choosing to ignore Saul for now. She indicated the bottle on the table, and V glanced over at it with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
"Expiration's date's from before the last war, so hopefully it hasn't turned to poison. Today's our lucky day."
She smiled at him- and then Saul had to ruin it.
"'Lucky'?... Interesting choice of words." His tone was bitter and Panam sighed, prepared herself for another dragging argument that would remain unresolved.
"Do I hear a lecture coming on?" She spat back. Her gaze went back to V, who was just standing there... menacingly. For a brief second she felt afraid- then covered it up with words.
"Go on, get off your feet. It could be hours." She indicated the seat beside her.
As V sat, Saul replied.
"No, no lecture. But we do need to talk."
He leant forward on his chair, making direct eye contact with her now.
"That Wraiths crap- it shouldn't have happened. They wanted everything- our camp locations, routes, offloading points... If they knew what state we're in... one or two raids and that'd be the end of us."
Panam felt her anger bristle, puffed up like an enraged cat ready to spit back-
"It's not the time for this. You're both exhausted."
V cut between them, his voice kinda tired itself.
She looked over at him.
"Maybe you're right."
But Saul kept talking.
"We can't hope to handle the Raffens alone."
Panam felt the rage reignite within her, sat up sharply to glare at him.
"So you'd sell us out to Biotechnica?!"
She looked across to V- the static she had come to respect, to fear, even to consider a friend... or something more- and dragged him into it.
"V, tell him it's a damn rotten idea!"
V blinked, blindsided.
"Don't be mad, but... I think Saul could be right."
And isn't that exactly what she'd expect a static to answer? So why did it make something in her chest twist and ache?
"What?! Why?" She snapped back to him now, her rage redirected for a moment.
V looked back, coolly unshaken. "Y'know how things work in Night City? You got everybody fightin' for a slice o' the street. If you keep gettin' jumped, you find some stronger choombas."
Well. He was definitely a Night City man, born and raised.
"You're talking about gangs." She gave him a cold look, one that didn't seem to bother him all that much as he returned her gaze.
"The principles're the same out here. You oughta remember that."
And god who was this man, who dared to talk back like that to her? It was the same man she'd seen disregard her plan and go blazing in like a unchained hound twice now. Sure, he'd been passive to her before in conversation, but now he seemed to draw a strong line and stuck to it like a dog with a bone. She'd noticed it before of course, but here now in the dark of the room his eyes seemed to glow faintly on their own, golden black and sharp as a knife.
His dark, animal gaze started to unnerve her and she looked away.
"Hear that, Panam? That is the voice of reason."
"All I hear is the fuckin' wind." She muttered, looking away from them both.
"We've had our spats," and oh what was that? A slight tinge of apology? In Saul's voice? Panam was shocked I tell you, shocked!
"A few. Like any family." She answered.
"They're not worth digging up." He seemed to be coming to a stalemate, a temporary truce, and honestly at this point Panam welcomed it.
"I think so too."
And then he blindsided her.
"If you'd like to come back... everyone'll be waiting, arms open wide."
Panam sucked in a sharp breath, looked at him-
"But there will have to be changes. No more jumpin' to the front of the line." And there was the catch.
"And so it begins..." Panam said, looking at Saul again with contempt.
But he conceded first this time. "You know what, sweetheart? We'll have plenty of time to tear at each other's throats later."
Petty till the end Panam answered, "That is my hope."
Saul heaved himself to his feet.
"But right now, I wouldn't mind catching a few winks." He stood, and staggered, and any anger she felt fled at the sight of him struggling and she was asking before she even knew why.
"You need help?"
"Fuck off." He spat back, and the seething anger returned.
He got halfway across the room and turned back, listening to the sound of the wind whip against the walls.
"Huh... Do you know what they call these storms in North Africa?"
He didn't give either of them the chance to reply.
"Haboobs. Damn, I love that word."
He turned again and left the room completely. Panam watched him go and then turned to face V with an eye roll.
"Whoa, what was that about?"
V looked back at her with those silver eyes.
"Prolly just the meds."
Panam huffed, looked away.
"Yeah, probably."
She grabbed the bottle off the table, took a long drink from it and felt the bitter tang burn her throat on the way down. She offered it to V and he shook his head.
"Ain't my style."
She looked askance at him.
"You sure?"
In truth she was curious to see what his face looked like behind his mask. Hell, it might actually be his face, knowing ripperdocs and chrome styles today. But he shook his head again.
"I don't drink."
Slightly deflated she put the bottle back down on the table and lifted her legs onto the sofa- and V immediately tensed up slightly.
He deflected fast though.
"Y'think this is any better?"
She blinked, then realized he was talking about the little house they were in.
"No, just... different."
She looked around.
"Yeah, this would make for a decent little motel, wouldnt it? Little fireplace, booze..."
Her eyes fell back to V, as they seemed to be doing so often these days.
"Grumpy guy at reception is the one thing missing."
Was she kidding herself or did he smile? It was impossible to tell with the mask but she could've sworn his eyes crinkled round the edges.
"Have everything you need, ma'am?" He affected a deadpan tone quite well, giving her the perfect bored receptionist look.
She smiled back and something in her heart warmed up and flipped. In a sudden stroke of boldness she stretched out her legs, lay them on V's lap. He moved his hands out the way, looked down in slight surprise before tentatively laying his hand back down on her leg. It surprised her how heavy his arm was- then again she supposed all the tech he was packed with wasn't light. In fact she rather thought he was holding himself up slightly, taking some of his weight off her- and that was surprisingly sweet and warmed her heart.
"How's your whiskey, ma'am?" He asked, and she grinned.
"Hmmm... pff, warm... subtle metallic aftertaste. Bold, yet smooth. Four out of five stars."
Okay, he was definitely grinning. Or at least enjoying this.
"Good to know, ma'am. That's the finest whiskey, just imported straight from Ireland itself."
She laughed despite herself. He huffed a small laugh himself, the sound like a tiger's chuff or an engine turning over.
But exhaustion was creeping up on them both and the warmth in the room didn't help. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy and her head lolled back against the armrest.
"Hey, V. Can I ask you something?"
The merc looked across at her.
"Sure. Whaddya wanna know?"
"That jacket of yours, where'd you get it?"
He blinked at her, head tilting slightly in a very dog-like manner.
"This old thing? Was a gift from a choom."
"A gift?" She whistled lowly. "Pretty good friend to gift something as nice as that. What's up with the wolf on the back?"
V shrugged. She scrutinised him for any trace of deception, but his tone sounded honest enough when he replied.
"Not a clue to be honest. Ain't even entirely sure who sent it to me- thing just showed up at my place one night. Kept it 'cause I thought it matched my tats."
Panam could feel her eyelids closing. But V's tattoo mention had intrigued her, and it was with great effort she pulled herself up to stare at him.
"You got tattoos?"
She'd never even seen his face, let alone his bare skin below the neck.
"Yeah, hang on... lemme just-"
V shrugged off the heavy synthleather jacket like it was nothing but a cardigan and pulled the shirt he was wearing over his head before Panam could even get a glimpse of the design on the front. She barely had time to process before she was staring at V's bare torso.
And what a torso it was. Her tiredness had evaporated when faced with V's brazen stripfest, and now keen eyes drank in powerful muscles absolutely ragged with scars. Seriously, V's body was like the surface of the goddamn moon- pitted and scarred in every sculpted inch, the imperfections of the rough skin only adding to the beauty of his body. He was well-built, powerfully muscled even with all his cyberware. A sense of something familiar hung around him- again her mind recalled unbidden the vid of the caged wolf, pacing behind bars. It had the same heavyset wildness in its body, an animal strength about it.
Talking of wolves, there it was. V's tattoo. A big white wolf ran up his side, leaping from his ribs and twisting around his pectorals to sink its gaping fangs into his heart. It was a stark tattoo, pitch black outline against pale skin, done with thick heavy lines with no kind of shading at all as if painted on.
"Whoa, where'd you get that?"
She couldn't quite look away from those inky eyes. The wolf's glare was sharp and something about it transfixed her.
"These girls I met in Atlanta. One of 'em had something similar. Offered to do mine in the same way."
V spoke casually enough, but there was a tinge of embarrassment about his tone. Panam looked away from the transfixing tattoo and saw that V was slightly curled in on himself, hands awkwardly gripping his shirt as if desperate to put it back on.
Panam decided to ease off him.
"Well, it's cool. I see why you kept the jacket now, definitely matches."
And like she gave some implicit permission he moved, pulled the shirt back over his head and quickly down over his scars. Yet somehow Panam still felt like the wolf's eyes were glaring at her, even through the fabric.
"Her girlfriend was something else. Choom had silver hair. White as snow, but she was only 21. Natural, too, weren't nothing artificial in it. Something about her just stuck with me. Had these... fuckin' hypnotic eyes. Like they were fake, 'cept they weren't. Didn't have a drop of chrome. Never knew what to make of her, really. She was the one who saw me first. Said I reminded her of someone."
V spoke all in a rush, like the words had been sitting there just waiting to be said. He'd become oddly animated, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. Whoever that girl was, she'd made an impression on him.
"Anyway, yeah. That's what the jacket's about. Tribute to a friend, I guess."
Panam nodded. Felt the tiredness creeping back as she stretched.
"Well, thanks for telling me V. And... I hope you meet her again."
V smiled at her. She couldn't see it, not behind that respirator of his, but she felt it. He definitely smiled.
"Thanks, Panam. I hope so too."
As the pair settled down in the cabin to sleep, Panam pulled out her phone. Mitch's words and the conversation with V were at the forefront of her mind. She went onto search, typed in "Witchers", then thought better of it and typed in "Witcher nomad clan". Scrolled past the ads, the irrelevant fantasy show nonsense, the related questions... there! A link to an article about an old travelling gang organisation. She clicked it. The article was frustratingly short- a few paragraphs about a scattered group of criminal vigilantes and a couple of blurry photographs, clearly copied so many times they'd artifacted into 144p. She clicked on the photos.
A young woman with white hair and startlingly green eyes stared back at her. A scar cut over one eye. Around her neck sat a medallion. A silver cat, cut in the same style as V's jacket wolf. It couldn't have been the girl from Atlanta. This article was years old, the image even older, and the Witcher organisation had disappeared decades ago.
Panam turned off her phone and rolled over. Enough theorising bullshit. It was time to sleep.
In her dreams she saw a white wolf, and beside it a metal beast walked. When she awoke, all she remembered was golden eyes.