Chapter Text
“Christ, V,” Johnny groans, gripping the center console with his metal hand. He doesn’t need to, of course, but that doesn’t stop him from bracing for the next turn.
V scowls, throwing a glance over her shoulder before swiftly veering the wheel to the left, the sound of screeching rubber drowning out the low mutters from beside her.
“I’d like to see you do any better,” she mutters through clenched teeth, pressing the accelerator as hard as she possibly can, the pedometer steadily climbing as she navigates through the bustling traffic. Maelstrom goons race behind her, the distance between them growing as she easily outruns their Thornton. She finds herself thankful for the zippy little thing she snagged from the Autofixer’s, grateful for the way she can weave through traffic. It’s not quite as good as Jackie’s Arch, but she hasn’t been driving it much lately. Something about it just feels wrong.
“I’m a fucking spectacular driver,” her parasite quips, lighting up one of his ridiculous ‘cigarettes’. Watching the smoke curl around his face makes her want one, and she has to shake her head to stop herself from reaching for Evelyn’s old case.
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
A few more turns and curses from her passenger, and V manages to lose their pursuers. She pulls into a shitty diner and fires off a quick message to Regina, the gig successful. A transfer flashes through her system, and she’s pinged with a brief thanks.
“We gonna sit here all night?” Johnny flickers in her peripheral, moving with a glitch to lean against the hood of the car. She ignores him, as she so often does, and kicks open the door.
The diner is quiet enough, and no one passes her so much as a second glance. She’s just another merc, bloody, hungry, and ready to sling some eddies for a good meal. The usual.
Sliding into a booth, Johnny flickers in across from her, propping his boots up on the edge of the table. He’s got another cigarette hanging out of his mouth, aviators perched low on the bridge of his nose, a shit eating grin tickling the corners of his lips.
“Change the song for me, will ya?”
“Go fuck yourself,” V orders a burger and fries, willing to put up with the weird SynthMeat ripoff they serve if it curbs her hunger. After a gig, she’s always three things. Hungry, sore, and…
Johnny’s tongue darts out to wet his lips as he adjusts himself. Even the cigarette he’s puffing can’t help curb the desire spreading through him, courtesy of the fucking relic. She’s horny, and he knows it. Always does. Normally, he has the courtesy to leave her alone while the adrenaline wears off, but lately he’s been sticking around a lot more than usual. Maybe ‘cause she’s running out of time. Who fucking knows.
Right on time, her holo pings with a message. River, again. She’s been ignoring his calls ever since that night.
“Stop torturing the poor guy, V. You could use some good dick right about now.” Reading her mind, as always, Johnny flicks his cigarette into the ether, where it fizzles out in a blue glitch.
“I’m not torturing him,” she argues, flicking her holo off. The waitress drops off her food (if you can really call it that, she knows Goro certainly wouldn't), and she digs in, keen to curb at least one of her urges. “And I thought you hated him anyway. Don’t tell me the Johnny Silverhand is a cop-fucker now.”
“You’re the one who got your cunt stuffed by a pig, I just happened to be there,” he retaliates, the usual bite missing from his tone. He’s not really that mad about it, she knows, it’s more of the principle of the thing. And she kinda agrees. She’s spent her childhood running from the NCPD, feels a bit gonked to go around and fuck one now. Maybe that’s why she’s ghosting him, some kinda revenge. “We both know that’s not true, ‘f it was revenge you wouldn’t’ve faked it.”
“Oh yeah? Gonna tell me why, then?”
He shuts up, finally, and she’s able to eat in peace. For all his talk, he’d never cross that line. Neither would she. It’s something they’ve tiptoed around for so long, it’s like second nature to ignore. It’s always there, like he is, just a tickle in the back of their collective subconscious.
V likes sex. Hard to grow up in Night City and not. She gets plenty, too. Never had to worry about Joytoys or BDs, it always just came to her. Friends, strangers, girls, guys, she’s never been picky. There was always someone there to fill that need after a gig, to work off some steam with in a dark alley, or in a dingy motel room. She never went to a bar without getting her rocks off, never went longer than a week without finding someone to tumble in the sheets (or more often than not, streets) with. That was, until the relic.
It’s been six months, six months of his unrelenting inner monologue, his constant quips, snide remarks, dirty jokes and even dirtier language. In that time, she’s only managed two shags. Two.
Meredith was a good time, all commanding eyes and firm words. Johnny was still getting situated in her skull at that point, and she was able to enjoy herself, feel a little like the old V again. ‘Course, it was a one night thing, and waking up with nothing but an engram to keep her company felt pretty shit, but at least it felt familiar.
And then there was River. Sweet, stupid River. It would have been fine, pretty good by her standards, considering how built he was, but she couldn’t shake this feeling of wrongness. He kept trying to look at her during, and it felt too raw. Too intimate. Then there was the fact that Johnny was flittering in and out of her vision in the corner of the room, looking equal parts disgusted, enraged, and frustrated. She didn’t get off, which meant he didn’t, so as far as he’s concerned, it was a complete fucking waste. She has to agree with him there. She’s normally a pretty selfish lover, so it wasn’t like her to let River go without making sure she crossed the finish line too, but something about it just didn’t feel right. She knew no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many of her favourite things he did, River just wasn’t going to make it happen. So she did what she swore she would never do. She faked it.
She’s been ignoring him since. And trying pretty damn hard to ignore Johnny, too, but that’s a lot more difficult when he lives in her fucking brain. And when he does that thing with his fingers. And when he spreads his legs like a goddamn pig. And when he looks at her like he’s doing right now, like he can see through her clothes and likes what he sees.
Realistically, V knows that’s just what he’s like. She’s been in his head, seen his memories, heard the way he talks about everyone around him like they’re ads in a BD mag. He’s a horny bastard. Problem is, so is she.
Frustration wins over, and she slides Ev’s case from her jacket. She still has a couple of that weird brand she smoked, and right now that’s what she needs. Some strange, fancy taste of tobacco to fill her lungs and keep her hands busy.
Johnny lets out a gruff sound of contentment, and lights up his own phantom cig to smoke alongside her. She knows the engram version he ‘smokes’ doesn’t really do anything, but he likes the habit. Only when she decides to take pity on them both and light up does he actually get to enjoy the benefits. Same with everything. Probably why they’re both so frustrated. Technically, he could jerk off whenever he wanted, but he can’t really feel it unless she does. Which, obviously, she hasn’t been doing. Hard to, when there's a dead terrorist that you definitely don’t want to think about that way taking up residence in your brain.
V inhales deeply, letting the nicotine go to her head. She likes smokes a whole lot more now, probably some product of her and Johnny merging. She tries not to think too hard about it.
Someone changes the jukebox’s song, and the opening chords of Samurai’s music hits her like a jolt. Johnny looks a little too pleased about it.
“You know, this is my favourite,” he exhales, his metal fingers glinting in the neon light filtering in from the window. His human hand taps absentmindedly on his leg, like he can’t help but keep time.
“You really are full of yourself, you know that?”
“Fuck off, cunt.”
They drift into silence for a while, V puffing at her cigarette, watching as it slowly burns down to the filter. She can’t help herself though, can’t keep quiet for long.
“Not mine.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I reckon Buck Ravers is better.” She snubs the end of the cig in the ashtray conveniently positioned on the table, and pushes herself to stand. She stretches for a moment, feeling her back pop in a few spots. Jackie used to yell at her for that, say it wasn’t normal, but she kinda loves how it feels.
“You would,” he snorts, glitching into stride beside her. “Heywood kids always do.”
“Makes sense.”
She slides back into the car as he phases in beside her. It’s so natural, she can’t help the twitch in her lips. Almost feels like they’re real chooms hanging out after a gig, almost feels like he’s real if she ignores the glitching around the edges of his face.
The drive back to her apartment is silent, aside from the hum of the radio and the tapping of her fingers against the wheel. She had to stop picking at the leather when Johnny yelled at her and told her it was a "disrespect to his memory”. Just cause the damn Porsche managed to stay in preem condition when his body’s rotting away in some oil field. Alright, maybe part of her agrees.
Nibbles is waiting for her at the door, his weird, ratlike tail whipping from side to side as she gets his food. Sometimes she thinks he can sense Johnny, because when her spectre materialises on the couch, he glances over with big eyes and it just feels like he knows. Maybe Takemura was right about cats.
V falls into her usual nightly routine, stripping out of her bloodied clothes in the bathroom while Johnny chain smokes in her sunken lounge. She doesn’t even bother closing the door. He’s seen it all before anyway, in her head. Could materialise in the shower with her if he really wanted to. The thought makes her shiver, even as the water scalds her skin.
They almost have this sense of domesticity now. He’s always there, and seems to prefer to be present while she putters around. Like he’s playing at being one of her friends, like Panam or Judy.
As she’s cleaning her- technically, his- gun, her door rattles with a knock. Immediately, she tenses, the hairs on the back of her neck raising as she slides her favourite punknife into her hand. Johnny stands from the couch, hovering nervously.
“Who d’you reckon that is?”
“Well, gonkbrain, if I knew that, you would too, wouldn't you? In my head, and all.”
“It was a rhetorical question, bitch. Answer the door.”
The fire from their back and forth gives her enough confidence to stride towards the door and slide it open an inch. Equal parts relief and embarrassment flow over her as River’s concerned face peeks through the gap.
“V, thank god.” He gets a hand into the crack and slides the door the rest of the way, forcing her to take a step back as he invades her space. She visibly bristles, ignoring how Johnny glitches into her desk chair, a deep frown creasing his brow. “I thought something had happened.”
“Nope,” V replies, popping the P with a little too much force. She doesn’t like that River has just invited herself in, even if she knows he doesn’t mean anything by it. It doesn’t help that Johnny is pissed off too, his anger messing with her own and creating this weird sort of feedback loop. “‘M fine. Thanks for checking in.”
Johnny barks a mean laugh, throwing his legs up on the desk.
“I was really worried, V. I’ve been calling.”
“Oh, yeah, my holo’s been acting up,” she lies, cringing when almost on cue, her holo lights up with a call from Panam. Johnny looks like the cat that got the cream, and it only serves to burn her cheeks hotter.
“Yeah, sure. You okay?” River reaches out a hand to cup her cheek, and she has to stiffen her spine to stop from whipping her head away from his touch. He doesn’t notice, thankfully.
“Fine. Just, uh, got a lot goin’ on, you know?”
His broad shoulders tense, and he drops his hand. She has the sense she’s said something horribly wrong, and despite it all, she wants to make it better. She pulls him by the arm over to the couch, ignoring the groans from Johnny’s corner.
“Not again V! Don’t make me fuck a cop twice, that’s just fuckin’ sad.”
Sometimes, she thinks, it’s better to just pretend Johnny doesn’t exist.
“I mean it though. Thanks. For checkin’ on me. It’s sweet.”
River’s smile is warm and soft, and he relaxes into the leather. V lights up a cigarette without even thinking about it, it just feels right. His nose crinkles.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Oh, yeah. Sometimes. Never used to, but you know,” she shrugs, drawing a deep inhale into her lungs. She can tell he doesn’t like her answer, but she doesn’t really have the fight left in her to bring it up.
“So what is it that’s kept you so busy?”
V panics a little. She never told River about the relic, Johnny, and she doesn’t really feel like explaining it now, after. Feels like something she probably should have told him earlier, but it never really came up. And he’s not the kind of guy she thinks can handle it.
“Jobs, gigs, just merc work. Had to help Panam with some shit too, I was outta the city a few days.” Not entirely a lie, but just foggy enough that she didn’t have to go into detail. She almost feels like congratulating herself for a job well done, but the snort of derision from her desk ruins the effect.
“Right, yeah. Listen, V, did I do something?”
She cringes a little, cigarette hanging from her lips as she wipes her sweaty palms down her pants. Even now, she can’t help but dart her eyes towards Johnny, who’s watching the scene unfold with that practiced smug smirk. ‘Course, being in each other’s head and all, she can tell he’s just as tense as she is.
“Don’t look at me, you fucked this up all on your own. I’m not getting involved.”
She wants to yell that he’s already pretty damn involved already, considering he was in the same fucking room while they fucked, but instead she satisfies herself with a deep draw of nicotine and a mental curse to all things dead rockerboy. Which, of course, he hears.
“Riv, no,” she starts, exhaling smoke into the space above her. “I really have just been busy. I guess romance is kinda the last thing on my mind right now.”
This, she realises, was not the right thing to say. River’s face crumples, and he leans away from her ever so slightly. “Oh, okay. I guess I had a different impression. I don’t usually spend the night with just anyone, so.”
Johnny’s eyeroll is so pronounced, she’s surprised he doesn’t fall out of his chair. “Jesus christ, who invited virgin Mary? Gets his dick wet one time, and the prick is in love.”
V bristles, and snubs the cigarette out early. Her own kind of punishment to Johnny.
“Look, River, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.” Okay, that came out wrong. Even Johnny whistles at her tone, and River finally stands up, his mouth turning down in the corners as his shoulders rise defensively. “I mean, you know. You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. V, I don’t know what you mean half the time. I’d kill to get in your head, just so I could understand you.”
“Not all it’s cracked up to be,” Johnny quips, glitching over to the bed, where he stretches out like a cat. River’s imminent departure seems to have relaxed him, released the tension from his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Riv,” she stands and puts herself between him and the door, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I’m not good with words, you know that. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Unsure of what to say, and hating that broken look on his face, she does the only thing she knows how to. She reaches up and kisses him, letting her body do the talking for her.
For all his upset, River kisses her right back with an earnest passion that makes her stomach heat. His hands cup her waist, drawing her closer as his tongue teases the seam of her lips. This, she can do. The talking? Not so much.
“You’re an idiot, V,” Johnny says, so close she’s sure he’s right behind her. She keeps her eyes shut, just in case he is.
River’s hands have started to wander, inching beneath her - his, fuck, it’s all his shit - tank, caressing the skin on her lower back with a tenderness that makes her itch. She pushes hard against him, hoping he will return the favour. She claws at his jacket, nips at his lip, and thrusts her hips up into his. This seems to bring him back to the moment.
“V, wait.”
She groans in frustration, setting her heels back on the floor. She offers a coy smile, one that usually works to get her all the best gigs, the free drinks, a motel room paid for by someone else’s eddies. “Sorry, I just got carried away.” She throws in a lip bite for good luck, and Johnny cackles from somewhere behind her.
“Christ, you look like some back alley joy toy. Who knew a badge could turn you so tame?”
“I don’t think I can do this,” River says softly, brushing her hands off his jacket. He gives them a squeeze before dropping them, but the rejection stings nonetheless. “I don’t think you’re ready, not for what I want.”
V’s temper has always been short, and what with her least favourite parasite being particularly aggravating today, the Maelstrom gig going to shit, and her relentless need to be fucked, she’s feeling particularly short-fused now. She steps back, throwing her arms up. “What is it that you want? I thought we were chooms, man!”
“Is that all?” River has perfected the ‘not mad, just disappointed’ tone, and it only pisses her off more.
“Yeah? I mean, fuck, what did you think? We’d get married and go get a fuckin’ picket fence somewhere? I’m not that kind of girl, you know that!”
Based on the look on his face, he didn’t. And that stings even more.
“You really thought I’d be the one to play good housewife? Shit, Riv, you see what I do every day. You know I love it. Did you think I’d give that up?”
“I don’t know, V. I thought maybe. Maybe you’d settle with the right person.”
Johnny swears and appears by V’s side, pointing at River with his metal hand. “The fuck? You hearin’ this shit, V? Who does he think he is?”
For once, she’s glad Johnny is there to back her up. At least he knows who she is. Has no illusions. Knows the darkest parts of her, and he’s still willing to bat for her.
“Well, you thought wrong. Sorry. ‘M not that girl.” V’s arms cross over her chest, and she nods towards the door. “Thanks for checkin’ in.”
He takes the hint, striding from the room with that stupid coat billowing behind him. At the last minute, he turns around, fixing her with his eyes, real and mechanical.
“You can still call. If you need anything. Guess we’re still chooms.”
She nods stiffly, already pulling out a cigarette. Shit, if she doesn’t stop soon, she’ll be like Johnny. “Yeah. Chooms.”
The door slides shut after him, leaving her alone with the faint whirring of traffic, the strange flickering noise as Johnny glitches onto her couch again. Her and her ghost.
“What a dick,” Johnny announces, flicking his lighter. The glowing tip of his cigarette shines in his eyes, glinting off his metal fingers.
“Yeah,” V sighs, collapsing beside him. She resolves that this will be her last smoke of the night, letting the lighter flicker a moment before the telltale crackle of tobacco burning.
“You deserve better,” he says, flinging an arm up onto the couch. The metal brushes her hair ever so slightly, and the closeness of the action makes her warm. “Couldn’t even make you cum.”
She snorts, letting herself relax deeper into the cushions. As much of a pain as he is, Johnny’s good company in times like these.
“Not sure that was all his fault. Hard to enjoy yourself when there’s a dead man watching from the corner.”
“Not an exhibitionist then?”
She smacks his ribs, surprised as she always is when she makes contact. Part of her always expects she can’t touch him, but she can. He feels just as real as River, Panam, any of the gonks she brushes past in the city.
“Just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.” They’re quiet for a while, smoking in silence, the comfortable feeling of companionship settling over them. She finishes the smoke and reaches for a drink to wash it down. “Feel bad though. He doesn’t know the full story.”
“Who does?”
“Touché.”
A few swigs of whiskey later, and she’s moved to the bed, Johnny perched on the windowsill beside her. Nibbles has taken up his usual spot on her pillow, leaving her head dangling off the mattress, the blood rushing to her brain as she hums to herself.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you miss the most about being alive?”
“Pussy.” She snorts, and even he cracks a smile. “Nah, joking. Alright, not really, but think there’s something I miss more.”
“Spill.”
“Miss drivin’. Not the kind of gonkbrain shit you do,” she resists the urge to throw a pillow at him, knowing he would just glitch out of the way. “Miss the kind of driving where you got all the windows down, and you’re just going. Not driving to get somewhere, just doin’ it for the thrill. Went on this trip once, drove halfway ‘cross the country. Just cause I felt like it.”
She screws up her nose, flipping around to sit right-side up. The act makes her head swim, but maybe that’s the whiskey. “Isn’t that boring?”
“Nah. Got music, the open road, the sun and wind. ‘S fuckin’ fantastic.”
“Maybe we can go on a trip,” V muses, running her fingers across Nibbles’ velvety ears. “Go out past the Aldecados.”
“Treatig me like some old dog, V. One nice day before you take me out the back and put a bullet between my eyes or some shit.”
Now, V does throw a pillow. Predictably, he glitches out of the way, and it slaps against the wall with a depressing sort of noise. She flips him off for good measure, and he returns the gesture with a smirk plastered to his features.
Ironically, V’s always struggled to sleep alone. Maybe that’s why she’s always been so eager to find someone to share the bed with. She used to have these awful nightmares, they’d leave her sweating and gasping and she’d wake up thinking she was close to death. Ever since Johnny, she’s slept better. Sometimes she dreams about dying again, especially now she knows what it feels like, but it’s not as bad. Something about having him there makes her sleep easy.
They usually talk until she drifts off. She’d never tell him, but it’s probably the best thing about the whole relic business. Falling asleep while Johnny smokes, flickering over her, like a fucked up guardian angel- feels pretty good. Better than good, even.
“Really fucked up this thing with River, didn’t I?”
She gets weird when she’s tired. Too sappy and self depreciating, and she knows it’s not a good look. Johnny shrugs, leaning against the alcove wall.
“Nah, ‘s like you said. Wouldn’t have worked out. You’re too different.”
“I guess,” she mutters, burying her face in her pillow. She’s glad he doesn’t rely on her speaking out loud, because her next words would probably be too muffled otherwise. “Dunno why I even tried. I knew it wasn’t gonna work out. I knew what he wanted, and I still did it.”
“Yeah, alright,” Johnny’s weight appears on the bed beside her, his back pressed to the wall. His leg brushes her side, and it feels so comforting she almost wants to cry. “Probably shouldn’t have fucked him, but whatever. He’ll get over it.”
“You think?”
“He’d have to be a complete gonk to let you go, V. Chooms like you don’t come around every day.”
She lifts her head to peer up at him, grinning wide. “Damn Silverhand, you feelin’ okay? That’s probably the nicest shit you’ve ever said to me.”
“Shut up, dickweed.”
“Wow, we really must be dyin’. Can’t even come up with a proper comeback.”
He snorts, playfully shoving her head so she rolls onto her back. Her grin fades into a soft smile, her eyes drifting shut under the pull of sleep.
“I’ll take you for that drive tomorrow,” she mumbles, waving a hand. “Shoot you later.”
It only takes a few minutes before her breathing evens out, her lips parting on a soft snore. Johnny flickers in and out of form beside her, content to watch over her while she sleeps.
“Night, V.”