Chapter Text
She sinks into the couch, her mind and her heart emptier than she could ever have imagined possible. The last of the boxes containing her meager existence have been carelessly tossed into Jackie's garage. Too tired to stand, too tired to think, too tired to cry, she sits, lost.
The Relic’s gone. So’s Johnny.
So’s Panam.
She replays the message Mitch left in her head. Can't help herself. Johnny left her mind a cavernous void, giving Mitch’s words the space to echo infinitely against her will. Turns out she isn’t too tired to cry after all.
She wonders if the tears will ever run dry when she thinks of Panam.
The secret language they shared, just the two of them. A language of hushed laughter, rolled eyes, and secret smiles. Countless nights spent brushing shoulders by a dying flame. Every second spent together turned precious and made meaningful simply because they were spent together. No doubt everyone around them noticed, gossiping about the pair of gonks, wondering what they were dancing around.
But it was obvious, wasn’t it?
V was dying. A ship doomed to sink. A sun on the verge of supernova. An ember of a dying flame, slowly trickling up to its place in tomorrow's night sky. Every second spent together was a sobering reminder that there won't ever be enough. The engram masqueraded as a Rube Goldberg machine, endlessly complex and convoluted, but for all its grandeur, it was insultingly simple in the end. The Relic was activated, so V will die. Cause and effect. The hows and whys, the ifs and buts, all meaningless. Just noise.
V could never dump that baggage on her. She deserved a lifetime of dedication, so much more than what pittance V could offer in her dying days. So she would hold herself back, keep Panam just out of reach, and be content to simply bask in her radiance, to drink from the endless well of brilliant smiles she seemed to reserve exclusively for V. It would be enough for now. It would have to be. Only until she gets her head straight. Then she'll tell Panam everything.
She even plans it out once she’s approved for surgery. She’ll ride out to camp on Scorpion’s bike, a lovingly polished Overwatch and “Farewell Night City” pierogies in tow. She'll get down on one knee, and ask Panam to whisk her away into the sunset. It was going to be perfect. She went under the knife nostalgic, dreaming of familiar vast skies, of warm, sticky nights in cramped cars, and of a sunshine smile in her arms.
Until V left her alone in the desert. Exactly as Panam had feared.
Two years had been ripped out of her and in turn, she’d lost everything that made her time in Night City worthwhile.
She remembers crossing the city limits with a new friend, Bakkers patch freshly torn from her vest. She remembers feeling small in a neon garden of snakes. She remembers T-Bug, and Evelyn, and losing it all. She remembers the pills, the hatred turned grudging respect turned prickly love.
She remembers her breath hitch at the sight of crossed arms, long legs, and tanned skin.
She remembers the ferocity of her gunfire, the intensity of her grief, the weight of the trust she tenderly extended V’s way, the same trust V abandoned.
She remembers embers dancing in the depths of those brown eyes, the hellhorse’s skull they always reflected, the passion and devotion, the self-doubt and dissatisfaction.
God, does she remember.
She remembers who she used to be. She remembers everything she isn’t any more. She remembers everything she still is.
She remembers.
Before she even realizes, she has her guitar in hand, pulling the words from her tears, and she plays.
She plays.