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It’s a wonder how someone can look so beautiful in a time of such sorrow. How V’s hair flows down her back, moves slightly with the light breeze whispering through the broken windows of the warehouse. The sunlight highlights V’s skin in a light gold, and Panam can only watch, make sure she doesn’t slam her cybernetic hands into the broken glass. She’s only here because V asked her— texted her, same difference— but she didn’t say anything about talking. Just that Panam’s company right now would get her through the day without losing her mind.
So of course she says yes. Of course she wants to help V with whatever she’s going through, whatever demons are pulling her down this time, because it’s the least she can do. She watches, V’s silent guardian in this trying time, because V isn’t normally one to lean on someone’s shoulder like this.
She might talk to Panam, tell her about whatever’s on her mind every once in a while. But that was before she lost Johnny. That’s still something that Panam doesn’t understand— not entirely, not yet— but she does know that V cared about Johnny a lot. Cares, still cares. Even if he’s gone.
But V’s still on borrowed time, so they set out from the Badlands to search for a cure. V’s not worried. Not worried about how her condition is worsening every day, and how Panam has to catch her when the relic malfunctions. Because even though they got rid of the “parasite,” V is still struggling with the fallout. The damage on her brain.
Johnny might be gone, but he left his mark. In more ways than one, Panam supposes.
Rage flickers in her gut for a moment before she smothers it, because she has to remember that he was someone important to V. Someone that she came to love during their short time together, not that Panam didn’t understand that. She’s only known V for a couple of months and… well, she feels like she’s known V for much longer.
Panam remembers how she shut down V’s advances on her, rejected her so quickly. Now, she wishes she could go back and tell her past self that V is the best thing to ever happen to her. To kiss V right on the fucking lips, because in the present, Panam wishes she could do that. Wishes she could muster up the courage to tell V everything, but she can never find the right moment. Never the right time, or she’s always interrupted whenever she thinks, I could tell her now.
And then Mitch calls her, or V is pulled away by someone else who needs her for something. The opportunity shatters and Panam regrets not saying something sooner, not realizing the way that feels about V isn’t just good ole’ platonic friendship feelings. But she moves on, pretends that everything is fine, and for every second that she keeps her mind away from thinking about V, things are fine.
Recently, Panam’s barely been able to keep her mind off of V. So it hasn’t been fine. And now, when they’re closer than ever to finding a cure, Panam wishes things were fine. But they’re not.
They haven’t been, because even though V thinks she’s good at hiding her feelings, Panam knows her well enough to know that she’s hurting. Fortunately— after sitting V down and asking her about it which was not a comfortable conversation— V’s relied on her a lot more. Maybe not as much as Panam would like, but progress is progress.
Which is where they are right now, camping out in one of the many ghost towns across the country. While the tribe was still setting up, V was nowhere to be found. The only reason that Panam had actually found her was the text that she’d sent.
So now she’s in what could’ve been a great opportunity to tell V about her feelings, but Panam can obviously tell that she has a lot more on her mind. There are always other opportunities, Panam. She’s a part of the tribe, she’s not going anywhere. No need to worry.
Not that she would worry— she’s confident that V’s going to be fine. Viktor said that she has six months and they’ve burned through two driving across the country and visiting different acquaintances that might be able to help them. They’ve given them bits an pieces, the hope that V will finally be able to get the biochip out of her head, and she’ll be able to live the rest of her life without the relic malfunctions. Without thinking about how she’s still on borrowed time.
Panam’s hoping, praying that their next stop is the one. Because she doesn’t know what’s going through V’s head, but it’s nothing good. Not when she’s happy and joking around with the tribe one second, and disappearing, isolating herself the next. Staring at the horizon, glaring at the sun and never looking away, not even when the glass crunches underneath Panam’s boots.
Neither of them mind the silence. V’s mentioned how unfamiliar it is now, after having someone else in her head for so long. “It’s like my mind can’t function without him, anymore. Although, I suppose that’s what was supposed to happen in the first place. Since the relic was rewriting everything, destroying my control over my own body. Maybe I shoulda never gotten rid of that gonk.”
And something would stab Panam’s heart with every pump of blood, with every breath, because she knows that V’s relationship with Johnny was something special, something more than V has said, and Panam won’t ever understand. Having another person in her head, maybe it’s a little bit like their connection in the Basilisk, but Johnny was there all the time. Every day, every minute, every second.
At the beginning, V hated him. Panam knows that much. He was an insufferable asshole that wanted V dead, but that slowly changed with each passing day. He changed because of V’s influence, because she treated him like a person instead of an engram, and she wasn’t against him being around. Not after she lost Jackie, lost T-Bug, couldn’t save Evelyn. Not after she rejected Judy’s advances at Laguna Bend, and then the next morning Judy was gone.
Not after Panam rejected her advances. V never mentions that moment they had in that abandoned house, Saul asleep in the next room and the two of them drunk on ancient whiskey. She still remembers how V’s hand moved up, up, up so quickly that Panam swears she short-circuited, because a part of her wanted more but before she knew it, she was stopping V and she looked so worried, so concerned that she’d ruined things.
She didn’t. Panam wishes that she’d turned around and been the one to fuck V on that ratty couch. But she hadn’t. And the morning after was awkward and V kept looking to the side, breaking eye contact with Panam to glare at something, and Panam came to learn that that something had been Johnny.
Always there. Always making comments and snide remarks while V wished she could throw herself at him, punch him right in that gonk face of his. But she never did, only imagined it and knew that Johnny could see every damn thing she thought.
What a strange relationship. Panam can’t truly fathom it, not even when she thinks about it for hours on end, tries to understand so she can help V a little more. But she still can’t imagine what it’s like to have someone in your head, then so quickly have them torn away from you, to a place that you’ll never be able to go.
It’s terrible. Johnny died along with so many others that day, along with— with Saul.
Panam’s breath hitches, which she quickly corrects, but V notices and tilts her head to look away from the broken window. “This wasn’t just for me, y’know.”
“Huh?” Because Panam really has no idea what V’s talking about.
“The break. Gettin’ away to take a breather. A dusty one,” she murmurs, watching the flecks of dust highlighted by the sun’s rays, “but a breather nonetheless. Doin’ this for the both of us. I can see how much you’ve been pushin’ yourself, Pan. Barely sleeping, workin’ yourself to the bone. About to reach your breaking point, I can tell.”
Panam gets defensive, bristles at V’s dry tone. “Can you, now.” Wishes she doesn’t sound as angry as she does, but she’s spent so long with a sharp tongue that it’s just purely instinct by now. Protect herself behind dozens of walls. Even with how close she is to V, her natural response to criticism from someone she admires is to snap back.
“Yeah. I can. It’s up to you to keep yourself from fallin’ to pieces, Pan. Jus’ tryin’ to help you out.” And maybe that takes the wind out of Panam’s sails for a moment, but she shakes her head.
“It’s not that easy, V. I have the tribe relying on me. I can’t exactly kick my feet up and—”
“But you can,” V interrupts, and she knows how much Panam hates getting interrupted. “You can, and the only person that’s stoppin’ you is you.” She turns her attention to the shards of broken glass still standing in the window pane, lifting a chrome hand to pick at the sharp glass and Panam has to keep herself from grabbing V’s wrist and yanking her away from it, keep herself from reprimanding her. Because neither of them need that tension right now. For more than one reason.
“Right, me and the fact that I’m chief of the tribe,” Panam scoffs, digs the sole of her shoe into the grimy warehouse floor, digs her nails into the flesh of her palm and lies when she replies, “V, I’m fine. I’m more worried about you. Haven’t really been yourself.”
Now it’s V’s turn to be annoyed. She huffs and breaks off a piece of the glass that she’s playing with, then throws it onto the ground. “‘Course I haven’t been myself. Losin’ every goddamn person in the world that’s important to me ‘n I can’t do a fuckin’ thing about it. Ain’t that something to be pissed about?”
You still have me, Panam wants to scream, but she doesn’t. Ignores how her heart aches when V doesn’t elaborate that Panam’s one of those important people that she hasn’t lost, how a lump forms in her throat because her confidence about V not leaving suddenly drops a significant amount. “Of course it’s something to be pissed about, V! But I— the tribe, we’re here for you. You’re suffering and you have a whole family of people that want to help you.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” V mutters, breaks another piece of glass. “None of you would. Won’t know what it’s like to have a parasite in your head and love him—” Panam winces, “—like a brother.” She relaxes a bit. “Hate him one moment, laugh with him the next. Wish I told him that he was like a brother t’ me before I left him. Now he’s with Alt and I’ll never see him again. Hopefully he treats her right, now. Even though she’s not the same. If he even exists, anymore.”
“If your minds were connected, then wouldn’t he have known?” Panam tries, hopes that it sounds genuine because she’s not good at this. Not good at feelings, but with V she’s willing to try harder.
V doesn’t like what she says, apparently. Her gaze darkens and she looks like she just wants to punch the glass that remains. “Of course he fuckin’ knew. Don’t mean I didn’t want to say it out loud. More important that way. More weight to it. Like how I told him how I—” she clamps her mouth shut so quickly that Panam can hear her teeth click together. “Fuck, nevermind. Long story short, Johnny knew everythin’ about me. Even the things I didn’t wanna admit. Helped me organize a lot of the shit in my head, and I did the same for him. Two-way street, but we paved the cracks. Did as much as we could for each other ‘fore he had to go.”
She goes back to moving the glass back and forth in its pane, lips curled into a scowl. The silence grows between them but it’s not nearly as comfortable as it was before. Then V sobers, and she mutters something that pushes Panam to that breaking point V’d mentioned earlier.
“I wish it’d been me.”
Panam launches herself at V, grabs her by her jacket— her Aldecaldo jacket, for fuck’s sake— and pulls her away from the window, doesn’t care how her feet almost slip on the glass on the floor. Doesn’t care that the lump in her throat is now burning, itching and her eyes are watering. “Never,” Panam hisses through clenched teeth. “Never, never, never say that again, you selfish bastard. Saul did not get his skull crushed on the cold floor by Adam Smasher for you to wish that you were the one who fucking died. I did not sacrifice my family, the people I’ve known for years for you to— to think like that! And maybe it’s selfish of me,” she croaks, fisting V’s jacket even tighter in her hands, “Selfish of me to snap at you, to be angry at you like this because we’re both fucked up, we’re both still trying not to think about what happened. About who we lost.”
A tear falls and that’s it, everything’s falling apart at the seams because Panam, so broken as she’s holding onto V for dear life, whispers, “Because I love you too much to hear you talking like this, V. Fuck’s sake,” and it tapers off into a sob. She feels so pathetic when her cries echo around the abandoned warehouse, prays that the rest of the tribe can’t hear her like this. They’ve seen her shed tears before, but not like this. Never like this.
She cries harder when V wraps her arms around Panam, pulls her so close and apologizes, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Pan,” and she sounds on the verge of tears, too. Maybe she does cry, maybe Panam hears a quiet “I love you too, I’m so sorry,” and she sobs harder, because Night City has destroyed both of them and taken so much. It takes and it takes, and it gives nothing in return, so many friends lost for a cost that Panam knows is worth it, by the way V has her arms so tightly wrapped around Panam, so protective and warm even though she was so cold earlier.
Saul was a father figure to Panam. Aloof, tough, but so strong. Powerful, unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. He’s what Panam wishes she could be, someone with unbreakable walls. A voice that booms for miles, a laugh so loud that Panam remembers what it sounds like now. He barely smiled while they were in the Badlands, and laughed even less. Panam wonders if it was her fault, if she was the reason he fell apart so quickly, or perhaps it’s just the effect that Night City has on people.
A poison. A disease, a quicksand sapping people of the life they once had. A city of nightmares and nothing else, and it is nowhere near the pictures taken, rose-tinted with a false sense of a utopia, a false sense of paradise. But at least it gave Panam something, someone. Someone that made the heartbreak worth it.
“You love her,” Saul had said on the day V joined the Aldecaldos. Panam choked on her beer, sputtered and he’d thrown his head back and laughed so hard. “Is it so hard to admit, Panam? The way you look at her, I think all of us see it.” And he still had that stupid little smile on his face when he added, “And, personally, I think she’s worth all the trouble.”
And then he’d fucking died the next day. Worth all the trouble, worth all the trouble. Panam knows that V feels just as guilty for the lives lost, with the way she’d helped dig their graves, sat in front of them for hours and just stared emptily into the sky. She didn’t eat, didn’t drink any water.
Panam didn’t ask about the extra grave V made because she knew who it was for. Knew by the way V kept running her fingers over the dog tags around her neck. Knew because she hummed a Samurai song, so somber and mellow compared to the original song’s rage. She pretended not to notice the single tear streak, only sat down next to V. Waited patiently, because sometimes she has that power.
Sometimes she doesn’t, and that’s when she ends up like this. Weeping in V’s arms, who smells like gasoline and smoke. Who was so mad but now they’re together, grieving together, and Panam realizes that V was right— they needed this. They needed each other, because while she sometimes frustrates Panam to no end, V is the only one she can lean on like this, the only one she can truly be honest with, because she’s chief of the clan and they look up to her.
And maybe V does too, but she knows. She knows that she means more to Panam in ways that she doesn’t feel for the tribe. And those feelings solidify when V wipes her tears, so soft and gentle and she needs this, needs her.
“I love you,” Panam says it again, sets it in stone. “I love you, so please let me help you, V. Please,” and she’s begging, no tears left to cry right now but she could find them if V rejects her. Her heart’s on the verge of shattering but V looks at her with so much warmth and she presses her lips to the corner of Panam’s.
And when she pulls away, Panam pulls her right back in for a real kiss, and she’s cupping V’s cheeks with her hands and her heart heals so quickly, feels like she’s floating. “Neither of us are good at… feelings,” V murmurs against Panam’s skin, “but I can try. We can try. I promise, Panam.”
Panam kisses her again, because a promise is all she could ever ask for in this moment.