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“Look,” V starts as she settles into the driver’s seat of the Porsche. She resists the urge to drum her fingers against the steering wheel while she waits for Johnny to show up, which he does. Eventually. V pretends he didn’t take almost half a minute to decide if he’d deign to grace her with his digital presence. “Can the sign wait until tomorrow?”
And there’s the shift in Johnny’s pose that promises a fight. “V—”
“I mean, you’re already in a shit mood and it’s late, so how about we sleep on it and get back to it in the morning?” V brushes her hair off her face. It falls back almost immediately, so she grabs the aviators Johnny had gotten from who knows where on his night out, and uses them as a makeshift headband. Johnny will be offended, but V doesn’t care.
Johnny, by some miracle, doesn’t argue or comment on V using his shades to keep her hair off her face. Maybe it’s a testament to how massive of a disaster his date with Rogue had been.
“I’m sure it’s nothing you did,” V says, almost blurts out, as they reach the bottom of the winding road that leads to North Oaks.
Johnny scoffs. “It’s always something I did.”
“But you said Rogue’s hiding something. Maybe it’s just that? Nothing to do with you.”
“If she’s hiding something from me, it’s got something to do with me.” There’s venom in Johnny’s voice, but V doubts it’s directed at her as much as the situation in general. “Besides, you’ve met me. I fucked it up. Somehow.”
V bites her lip as she navigates through the late night traffic, considering. “Nah. I think for once you actually tried. That’s enough. Something’s just crawled up Rogue’s ass. Not your fault she can’t help but take it out on you.”
She can feel Johnny watch her, which is something considering the fact that he’s not really there. He’s either going to rip her a new one or… well, V’s used to Johnny’s temper by now. She knows not to take it personally when Johnny takes his problems with the world out on her. It’s not like he has any other outlet, anyways.
But Johnny stays quiet, which is weird enough to make V worry she’s done something wrong. “Wanna get a drink before we go home?” she asks just to get Johnny talking again.
“Sure.”
V nods and tries to remember where the closest bar that serves drinkable booze is located. When she finds an acceptable joint, she parks the Porsche and grabs her things before getting out.
Johnny appears by her side as she makes sure the car is locked. “If you get us drunk and crash my car I’m gonna zero you.”
“I know. Don’t worry, your baby’s safe.” V can always call her bike if she ends up getting more than a few drinks — and going by Johnny’s mood, she might just do that. It would have the added bonus of keeping Johnny from popping by her side and complaining, too. She’ll just have to make sure the car gets safely into the garage, first. “Let’s go.”
Johnny’s already by the door, arms crossed, the aviators hiding the hurt in his eyes so that he looks just plain pissed and not like someone whose date had just imploded.
V steps into the bar and it’s just as dimly lit and seedy (but not too seedy) as she’d recalled it being. It’s perfect for drowning your sorrows after a girl dumps you mid-date. The people there glance at the newcomer, but no one pays her attention beyond that. They’re all there for their own reasons, and V’s just another hurt soul among them.
V takes a stool at the far end of the bar counter, and Johnny’s by her side in an instant. “At least get a decent drink. If this place serves those. Fuck, you couldn’t take us somewhere nicer?”
“You don’t go to nice places when a girl dumps you. You go to the nearest bar or your usual joint, and I don’t particularly want to explain to Pepe that I’m not the one whose date went ass up, I’m just getting drunk so that this guy that’s living in my brain as a digitized ghost can drown his sorrows.” V almost smiles at the way Johnny huffs, but the bartender has reached her and she’d like to appear at least somewhat normal for a minute or two.
“What can I get you?”
“Tequila,” Johnny says immediately, and V complies; it’s not her who needs the drink, after all, even if Johnny’s likely calling for the drink just to see if V gets it.
“Rough night?” the bartender asks as he pulls out a glass and grabs the bottle from the shelf.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” V replies, but doesn’t elaborate.
The bartender doesn’t linger, and once he’s returned to serving the old man a little ways away — a friend, going by the easy way they converse — V turns back to Johnny. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Just down the fucking drink and let’s go.”
“Oookay.” V takes a gulp of the tequila, but doesn’t down the whole thing. She gives Johnny a moment, moving the glass absently against the counter as the alcohol burns its way down her insides, warming her.
It doesn’t take long for Johnny to shift minutely, a sign he’s feeling it too. It used to take a lot longer for that to happen. V tries not to think about it much.
“Want me to call her and yell at her? Maybe go to Afterlife and do it publicly? Or go smash her car up? I’ve got the bat in the trunk just for that, you know.”
Johnny looks surprised. Almost confused. “Why would I — no.”
“Just a thought.” V takes another drink. “I’m really good at that; gettin’ into fights for my chooms. Avenging their bad dates, becoming their exs’ new nemesis — having their backs. You know. I once broke into this chick’s place to get all of her ex’s stuff, and he wanted me to spray paint a giant dick on her living room ceiling. Her parents were coming over later that day. She didn’t have time to clean it up. Not the most radical thing I’ve ever done, sure, but it was pretty fun. She was kind of a wannabe corpo.”
It gets a hint of a smile out of Johnny, so V considers it mission accomplished and downs the last of the drink. “So we gettin’ totally shitfaced, or are we done?”
“You forgetting who you’re talking to?”
V nods solemnly. “Shitfaced it is.”
The second drink drains some of the tension from Johnny, and the fourth starts affecting V’s ability to remember that to everyone else she appears to be alone, which leads to her forgetting to keep her face somewhat neutral. It’s got more to do with the fact that she’s drinking faster than she’d normally drink than anything. Even Johnny had said she holds her liquor well after his night out, and though V’s not entirely sure that’s the kind of praise she’d want to get from him, she can’t argue with it either. Still, just to cover her bases, she takes her phone out and pretends to look at something on it.
Fifth drink in, and V gets an idea she knows is likely as gonk as they come, but Johnny’s mood has barely lightened and V’s not having it. “Let’s go.”
Johnny doesn’t get up. “You’re barely drunk.”
V pays for the drinks and heads to the door, not caring if Johnny follows her or not. “I know. We’re hitting the store ‘round the corner and continuing this party somewhere else. Don’t wanna get flagged as the weirdo who talks to herself.”
“’Cause drinking alone at home is so much better.”
“Not alone. And I didn’t say we’d be goin’ home.”
“Then where?”
Now she has his attention. V smiles as she opens the door, and though it’s not fresh air that hits her face it doesn’t smell like stale booze and years worth of sorrows etched into the bar counter. “Dunno yet. Got any ideas?”
Johnny remains silent as V gets back into the Porsche and starts the engine, but he stays with V. He comes into the liquor store for long enough to tell V to get whiskey instead of beer before leaving, but when V returns to the car, he’s there.
“Still not sure why we’re doin’ this,” Johnny says as V starts the car again.
“’Cause you had a bad date, and this is what you do after bad dates.”
“Thought you’re supposed to drink alone after those.”
“If you wanna wallow. Sucks to be you, though, you’re stuck with me so you get the second opinion.”
“Which is?”
“Being forcibly cheered up.” V flashes Johnny a bright grin. “So where do you wanna go?”
Johnny glowers at her and doesn’t answer, so V drives around aimlessly as the pleasant warmth of the tequila dissipates slowly.
“Used to go to the beach,” Johnny says after a long while, his tone absent, gaze turned to the passing buildings rather than V. “It’s pretty chill there.”
“In Pacifica?”
“It was near — there another beach you know of?”
It had been near Pistis Sophia. An image of waves hitting the beach, silence around her, suffocating, the pressure in her body making her want to scream and hit something — someone. Or maybe she’d be better off wading into the water and risk (god please let it happen) becoming another number in the list of drunkards drowned in the ocean.
V doesn’t mention it, and neither does Johnny. They can’t really help the bleed anymore, and more often than not, it’s worth it to dredge up old hurts. And it definitely isn’t worth it now that V’s trying to alleviate a new hurt.
“Pacifica beach it is, then,” she says and sits straighter now that she has a destination in mind.
The drive there goes by in silence save for the radio playing in the background, the volume low enough to not discourage conversation, but not demanding it either.
Pacifica’s nights are not too different from its days. The crowd is thinner, of course, as the normal folk have gone home by now. There’s the usual junkies and gangoons and more interesting characters, though, but they don’t bother V as she pulls the Porsche into the parking lot by the beach. She can’t help but throw a nasty look at Batty’s Hotel, but that’s where she leaves it. This isn’t about her grudges towards the VDBs, this is about cheering Johnny up. Or letting him mope until he feels better. Whichever comes first.
Still, with the hotel to her right and the GIM to her left, V has to make a conscious effort to shake the bitterness at what Placide and Brigitte had put her through souring her thoughts. She grabs the whiskey and the cans of NiCola she’s got stashed in the trunk, and goes to where Johnny’s standing near a mostly abandoned shack on the beach, arms crossed and exuding as much annoyance as possible for an engram.
V passes him and climbs on the terrace of the shack, delighted to find a radio there. It works, too, and though V’s tempted to switch it onto something that plays lazrpop or electro punk just to annoy Johnny, she finds a channel that plays mostly rock to appease him at least a little. She settles on the deck and opens the bottle, and takes a long gulp of the whiskey. It’s mid-tier in quality if she’s being generous, but that’s what makes it perfect for this sort of outing.
Johnny remains where he is, watching the ocean, for several minutes before glitching out of existence. V waits, leisurely drinking the whiskey and letting herself relax for a change. Fuck, how long had it been since she had a moment to herself?
Must’ve been before the shitstorm of a heist. Before Jackie had died.
Before she died.
The telltale sound heralds Johnny’s appearance by the terrace; he leans on the rickety wooden rail, slightly less tense now than he was before. “You know, it was pretty well done. You getting out of Konpeki with Saburo’s corpse cooling upstairs. Took some skill. And luck. Prolly mostly luck. I mean you did skip a few floors by crashing through that window, so…”
“Thanks.” V means it, too. She knows better than to expect Johnny to give her a straight up compliment, and she’s getting a hang of deciphering his speech and she takes the compliment he’s offering her in his own particular way. “Feel any better yet?”
Johnny shifts, leans more heavily on the railing — V thinks it might give out if Johnny was flesh and blood and not a digital ghost. “Why’s it matter so much to you?”
“We’re chooms, right?”
Johnny looks at V over his shoulder, the aviators making it impossible for V to read his expression. “And?”
“This is what chooms do. At least it is where I come from.”
Johnny returns his attention to the beach. “Don’t really go for the pity parties.”
“It’s not a pity party. I’m trying to cheer you up. And you’re not letting me.”
“What do you want me to do, then?” Johnny turns and leans on the railing, venom creeping into his voice. “Cry on your shoulder about how mean Rogue was so you can fix it?”
“Nah, I’m not one of your outputs, don’t have any interest in fixing you, sorry. And I don’t think that’s your style. I was thinking vandalism and maybe shit talking Rogue or something.”
“I wouldn’t do that to her,” Johnny snaps, but after a second he draws in a breath and raises his hands briefly. V could say she wasn’t going to start a fight, that she knows Johnny well enough to know he’s not going to trash talk Rogue; she just needs him to engage a little so that they can deal with the problem.
Johnny turns his back on V again, the silence surrounding them broken by the waves crashing against the beach and the radio’s slightly tinny music.
“Just… not sure what I did wrong,” Johnny says eventually, quietly, almost like he doesn’t want V to hear.
“I seriously doubt it was you,” V replies and takes another drink of the whiskey. She should start mixing it with the NiCola. “Rogue came into the whole thing expecting you to have an ulterior motive and way too snappy from the get go, if you ask me. I mean she couldn’t believe you’re capable of a selfless act. That’s not a good start to anything.”
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Johnny glitches away, but before V can call him out on it, he appears by her side, lighting a cigarette.
V gives into the compulsion and pulls Evelyn’s cigarette case from her pocket — she doesn’t examine the fact that she carries it with her everywhere now, or the fact that she’s smoked through Evelyn’s cigarettes some time ago — and lights her own. “I mean, you are a dick, so I can see where she’s coming from, but that doesn’t change the fact that she agreed to the date and still came to it in… not in bad faith, exactly, but probably expecting it to end badly.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is, actually. You can’t really have a good time if one party is expecting the whole thing to go to shit.”
“So you think I should blame her for the whole thing?”
“I think you should realize that it takes two people to go on a date, and you’re both responsible for how things turn out. It wasn’t just you, it wasn’t just Rogue, it was… I dunno. Maybe you shoulda aired things out before going out and things woulda gone more smoothly.”
Johnny is silent for a few long seconds. “Maybe.”
“Trust me, I know what I’m talkin’ about. Have enough experience both with dating and pickin’ up pieces from my chooms’ busted relationships. Yeah, you fucked up in the past but you wanted to make it right, and that’s what matters. She’s the one that’s keepin’ secrets and gettin’ mad for no reason. That’s on her, not you.” V waves her hand to punctuate her point. “So blame yourself like… fifty-six percent less?”
Johnny scoffs. “That’s a specific number.”
“It’s scientific, too. Kinda like how your aviators make you forty-two point… three percent more of an asshole.” V takes a drag of the cigarette and furrows her brow. “Sometimes it’s thirty nine and change, though. Depends on the day.”
Johnny leans forward to better face V, said aviators gone. “The fuck does that mean?”
“That you’re naturally an asshole. Sorry, it’s clinical. You wanna change it, you gotta find your Zen Master and go on a journey of character growth and finding inner peace or some shit.”
“Don’t think anyone’s ever blamed my shades for my personality before.”
V hums and, after putting out the cigarette and taking a gulp of the whiskey, she pulls the aviators down, releasing her hair in the process. She pretends to be considering something before nodding. “Yup. Definitely feel like more of an asshole.” She turns to smirk at Johnny. “Dunno how, but somehow whichever pair of shades you pick as yours gains the ability to make you a complete bastard.”
She grins at the way Johnny’s struggling not to smile. Step one of operation cheer Johnny up has been accomplished.
“Hey,” she starts, waiting until she has Johnny’s attention before pushing the aviators and her hair off her face again. “Wanna try out something probably really gross?”
“No,” Johnny replies. “What’d you have in mind?”
V’s grin grows mischievous as she pours whiskey into the plastic cup. Johnny observes her with mild curiosity until she cracks open a can of NiCola and tops the whiskey with it.
“Oh fuck no. V. No. You’re gonna regret that. You’re gonna make me regret that.”
“Scared to live a little?”
“You’ll end up puking your guts out. That’s toxic. And what are you? Fifteen, drinking for the first time, but you don’t have the stomach for actually drinking alcohol so you add it to soda or juice and think you’re hot shit for it?”
“First off, I never did that and secondly, we’re on a beach, getting drunk after your bad date. We’re meant to do stupid shit like mix NiCola and whiskey. It can’t be that bad.”
“It can.”
V raises the cup and salutes Johnny with it. “Only one way to be sure, right?”
It’s bad. Not as bad as Johnny made it out to be, of course, but fuck if V doesn't feel like a teen trying to get used to alcohol. It’s the frizz that really doesn’t agree with the booze. Or the taste of the NiCola just isn’t meant to be mixed with alcohol.
“Okay.” V coughs and puts the cup down. “That was… not good.”
“Yeah. I’m usually right.”
“No you’re not.”
“I am when it comes to mixing drinks.”
V rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue. “Wanna test the other flavors?”
“And poison ourselves along the way?” Johnny sighs and spreads his arms. “Why the fuck not? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
V ending up with sand in her hair and under her clothes, that’s what. At least that’s her opinion an hour later as she lies in the sand, laughing at… she’s not sure what. Something Johnny had said. Or she’d said. Maybe neither one of them said anything, and she’s just laughing because.
No, she’s on the ground because of her shit attempt at a cartwheel. That’s what happened.
Johnny’s sitting by her side, smiling, happy for a change and fuck if V wouldn’t do anything to see him like that more often. It looks good in him, happiness. But there’s something about the way his face has to twist into it that gives away how foreign the sensation is to him.
“You’re a gonk, you know that?” Johnny kicks sand at V, and there’s nothing but amusement behind his voice for once.
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Thought I’m not your type?”
Johnny snorts, looks away. Surprised? No. But V isn’t sober enough to decipher his face right now. “Let’s be real, you walked right into that one.”
“Yeah, fine. I’ll give you that one.” Johnny turns back to V, but his smile is gone. V swallows back the urge to ask what he’s thinking; he’ll tell her if he feels like it. “I mean it’s not like we were some endgame thing. Just… we were real good when we weren’t at each other’s throats. Fuck, why the hell am I even talking about this with you?”
“Because I’m literally the only person you can talk to, we’re chooms so you’re good to talk about whatever you want, and you’re wasted on NiCola and cheap whiskey. Take your pick.”
“Pretty sure you’ve actually poisoned us,” Johnny replies, leaning forward to look past V. “I kept sabotaging every relationship I had — on purpose, sometimes. I mean, it was all gonna go sideways sooner or later, so better make it sooner. Did that to us, too.”
“But we’re good now,” V reminds him. “Forgiven and moved on and all that.”
“Yeah but I promised you I would treat you right, keep you safe, and —”
“You angling for me to start yelling at you because you think I’m still secretly mad at you?”
“No?”
V raises a doubtful brow and, with some effort, sits up. The world sways and her mouth tastes like cherries and whiskey. “Look, I grew up in Heywood. In the streets. Like really in the streets. I knew letting you loose in a bar was a shit idea because I know how addicts work. Fuck, I’ve dated them, I’ve lived with them, been friends with them… almost was one of them myself, once. Got out before it got too bad but… I knew it was gonna end up badly one way or another. It’s on me for not trusting my own judgment.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Thought… well I kinda hoped you’d prove me wrong.”
Johnny is quiet for a moment, frowning at V. “Why?”
“After your constant insistence that we need to trust each other and your promises? Figured you’d at least try to not fuck me over the first chance you got. That you weren’t just saying the shit you thought you needed to say to get me to trust you enough to not to get me killed in a car crash with some random stripper.”
Johnny flinches, a minute, barely there movement V might have missed if she wasn’t so familiar with him and she didn’t have her gaze fixed on him (as much as the sway of her surroundings allows, at least). V swallows down the urge to placate him, to assure him she didn’t mean it like that, because she did, and he needs her to mean it, even if he might not know it.
The silence stretches, not entirely uncomfortable, but not the happy and easy kind it had been before.
“Sorry,” Johnny says eventually, after long enough for V to believe he’s thought about it and means it even without the seriousness of his voice. “If it’s any consolation I didn’t go into it with some grand plan to do what I did. It just… spiraled. Fast.”
V nods. “Okay.”
Johnny nudges her side with his elbow. “We good?”
“Yeah. Told you already.”
“You’re just… I dunno.”
“I’m not gonna feed into your issues. I’m giving you a chance to do better — which you’ve done. But I’m not gonna pretend you didn’t try to nuke this whole thing. Like I said, I’m not one of your outputs; I’m not gonna let you get away with your shit because if I do… we share a life. Fuck, we share a body. We kinda have to figure out how to coexist because I can’t just leave your ass on the sidewalk where I’d usually dump it.” V searches for the cup by her side, but it’s empty. The whiskey bottle is not, though. “So if you’re expecting me to roll over and be all ‘it’s okay Johnny, forgiven and forgotten, don’t worry ‘bout it’ you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’ll move on, but I’m not gonna pretend nothing happened.”
Johnny clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. V half expects him to blink away and leave her alone until the next day. “Kinda was hoping you’d let it go.”
“Well, suck it up, princess, not gonna happen.” V offers Johnny a small smile to take the worst sting out of her words. “But like I said, moving on. Turning a new leaf. Starting again. Whichever platitude you wanna pick. And I do mean it. We’re cool. Don’t worry about it. Just know I’m gonna kick your digital ass if you pull something like your little boys’ night out again.”
Johnny nods, marginally easier now, though still mostly uncomfortable — unaccustomed to something like V’s attitude, maybe. Or maybe it’s just that for once he can’t escape the situation. “Noted.”
V nods as well, and takes another swig from the bottle. The whiskey warms her, dulls her senses, makes her more mellow. For the moment, she’s not concerned about anything. “Why’d we end up talking about us? I’m s’posed to cheer you up ‘cause of Rogue.”
“This is important,” Johnny replies. “Matters more, really. Whatever I might’ve had with Rogue… I fucked that up a long time ago. I don’t wanna fuck this up too. I can fix this.”
V’s not sure how to respond to that. Maybe she would if she wasn’t so drunk. Or if she was more drunk. Fuck. “We’re good.”
“Promise?”
Well there was a loaded question if V’d ever heard one. She levels Johnny with as serious of a look as she’s capable of, studies his unusually open, almost vulnerable expression. “Yeah. I promise.”
Johnny smiles, then. He knows what a promise from V means by now. Knows it’s never something she gives out lightly. Hell, she’s dated people she never made promises to.
Johnny relaxes and turns his gaze to the sky. V would, too, but her phone beeps with an incoming message. Regina has a new cyberpsycho sighting. Nothing that V can do about it now, in her state.
“Ya know what I think?” Johnny starts, drawing V’s attention to himself again. “Well, wonder.”
“What?”
“How I’d turned up if I’d met you before I spiraled.”
V tucks her phone away and leans back on her elbows. If Johnny was real, she’d probably feel the heat of his body from their closeness — and almost feel it now, too; something she knows should be there and yet isn’t, not really, just a ghost of what should be. “You think we woulda been friends?”
“You don’t?”
“Given how much of an asshole you are? I woulda dropped your ass and keyed your car.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t have.”
“True, the car is way too nice to suffer because of her gonk owner. Your guitar on the other hand…”
Johnny laughs. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wanna test that?”
“Don’t have a guitar anymore.”
V pretends to be disappointed. “Damn. There goes my chance to try out if smashing one is actually as satisfying as the rate in which rockers break them makes it out to be.”
“It is. If you can afford it. And it’s not your favorite you’re smashing.”
“What was yours? The DeLuze Orphean?”
Johnny’s eyes snap to V so fast V’s both impressed he doesn’t end up falling in the sand and getting whiplash just from looking at him. “How the hell do you know about my Orphean?”
V giggles, unable and unwilling to stop herself. “There was this mural graffiti in Heywood of you with it—”
“And you haven’t shared this before because?”
“Didn’t think your ego needed to get any bigger.” The look Johnny gives V makes her break down in another fit of giggles.
“Fuck off.” Johnny shoves V’s shoulder, but it barely makes V budge. “Can we go check it out?”
“It got painted over shortly before I left for Atlanta. Sorry.”
Johnny looks mildly disappointed, but it passes quickly. “Who cares.”
“I think I can dig up a pic of it, though.”
“Thanks.”
V settles back down, enjoying the haze the alcohol creates in her mind. “No but seriously, would we even have been friends back then?”
Johnny glances at V, slow on his response. “We coulda been. Depends on how we’d have met.”
“Afterlife, prolly — no wait, Atlantis?”
“Yeah. You’re kinda hard not to notice.”
V hums. “It’s the hair, right?”
“Sure.”
V tilts her head, giving Johnny a long, curious look. “It’s not the hair?”
For a brief second, Johnny appears almost uncomfortable. V’s a bit surprised he doesn’t will his aviators onto his face. “You’re just hard to miss. Some people are like that.”
“That a good or a bad thing?”
“Depends on the person.”
“With me?”
Johnny doesn’t respond, but the look he gives V makes her doubt it’s negative. Likely just Johnny having decided he’s given V enough compliments for one day.
“So we meet at a bar. How’s that gonna go?” V gives Johnny a questioning look. “You’re not buying me a drink or try to hit on me, and I wouldn’t walk up to you ‘cause you’re, well, you. I woulda heard about your rep and I’d prolly think you’re a dick already.”
“I could buy you a drink to hit on you.”
“Thought I’m not your type?”
For once, Johnny looks caught off guard. V would revel in it more if her curiosity hadn’t just been piqued. “Wait, why aren’t I your type? Not that I care either way, but like… I’m curious.”
Johnny flashes V a bit too satisfied smirk. “You’re curious but you don’t care.”
V returns the smirk before donning her best dramatic persona. “Oh no, how am I ever gonna survive Johnny Silverhand not bein’ into me? What am I to do to fix this horrible situation? Do I dress differently? Fawn over him more? Do I need a new face plate?”
“Fuck you, V.” Johnny shakes his head, scowling, but there’s something like amusement in his eyes still. “It’s not… you look fine. If you’re into the whole…” Johnny motions at V, sighing. Trying not to offend her, probably.
“So it is my looks?”
“No.”
“So it’s not my looks?”
“No, it’s — look.” Johnny straightens up so he can better use his hands to punctuate his point, so V settles in for whatever she’s about to hear. “I go for the kind of hot chicks that make every guy around them take notice and try to get on with them, but they can’t ‘cause this chick is out of their league, but I can get them cause I’m Johnny fuckin’ Silverhand, I can get anyone, ya know?”
V nods, swallowing down the urge to comment in any way, which is easier said than done.
“And a chick like this usually has a bit of spunk to their personality, right?” V nods again. “But I don’t — look, take Rouge. She’s gorgeous. She’s smart, knows how good she is and she doesn’t let people walk all over her.”
“ You walk all over her,” V points out before she can stop herself.
“Exactly.”
V raises a brow. “And that’s… a good thing?”
“It is to me. I don’t go for people who’re not gonna let me —” Johnny shuts his mouth, and V suspects she’s witnessing a rare moment of him realizing just how much of a bastard he is.
“You gotta be the one in control. Can’t have someone who might not let you have your way, who wouldn’t let you get away with your bullshit. That’s why you can butt heads with Rogue and still get on with her; she gives in to you in the end,” V concludes for him, just to be a bit bitchy. He deserves it. “That’s why you like women who want to fix you; they’ll stay because they think that if they just love you enough and in the right way, you’ll magically wake up one morning and be their dream guy.”
“Yeah.” Johnny, for once, doesn’t look too happy with this revelation. “And with you I’d be hitting a wall. I can’t do that with you, you’re too… you. Assertive. Whatever. You’d have my balls in a vice grip in seconds if I tried to pull the shit I’ve pulled with Rogue and Alt with you, and I wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
V smiles. “That might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
“It’s not one, though.”
“Sure it is. Johnny Silverhand can’t handle me. I’m putting that on my fucking bio.”
“You’re a bitch.”
“Yeah, well, there’s people with enough balls to deal with it.”
“Fuck you.”
V laughs, delighted. Johnny grumbles, his aviators back on his face, but at least he doesn’t get up or leave. The light from the rising sun catches on the rim of his shades, silencing V.
“Sun’s coming up already?”
“It comes up early.”
“Yeah I know. Still.” V sits up, dusting sand off her hair and clothes. She grabs the whiskey, the bottle mostly empty by now. How long have they been there? Must be hours. The light illuminates the roller coaster, the sky behind it already light with the oncoming dawn. V stops with the bottle on her lips, staring at it. “Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“The roller coaster.”
“What ‘bout it?”
“Think it works?”
“Nah. It’s busted. Why?”
“Would be a fun way to cap this night off, don’t cha think?”
Johnny glances from the roller coaster to V. “No.”
“Bet I can get it running.” V stumbles to her feet, somehow doing so without spilling the last of the whiskey.
“V, no. Bad idea. It’s old and busted and we’ll die.”
“No we won't. It looks stable enough for one ride.”
“V.”
V downs the last of the whiskey, tosses the bottle on the beach and heads towards the roller coaster without a backwards glance, despite Johnny calling after her. She’s got a goal in mind and Johnny is right; she’s stubborn and doesn’t care about what he thinks. Well, not in this situation. Not unless he truly asks V not to start the ride; she’s not mad at him anymore, not like she’d been when Judy had asked her to go diving with her.
And she’d been sorry about that, apologized, promised she’d listen in the future. And she will, if Johnny tells her no and means it.
There’s no power in the roller coaster, which V expected. Johnny appears by V’s side, giving her that look he loves giving her; the one he has when he’s about to tell her he was right and she’s a gonk for not listening. “Told ya.”
“Gimme a sec.” V starts scanning the roller coaster and the surroundings. She spots the power lines after a while, and follows them a little ways away, down the stairs and into a small nook.
“Why does this even matter to you?” Johnny asks as he leans on the railing above V as she starts fiddling with the fuse box.
“Never ridden one of these things,” V replies absently. “And it’s there.”
Johnny waits until V manages to connect the right wires and the roller coaster comes to life. V whoops in joy, grinning up at him, and though he still looks his grumpy self, he’s not telling her no anymore.
V makes her way to him, her footing less stable than she’d like, but she’s drunk so she doesn’t care. Besides, she can do pretty impressive stunts in exo-jacks, she can handle a bit of drunk stumbling in platform boots; they’ve got a sturdier heel for starters.
“So we doing this?” she asks as she reaches Johnny, waving dramatically at the lone car waiting for passengers.
Johnny looks like he’s about to tell V no before shrugging and glitching ahead of her. “Why the fuck not. We die, I’m gonna haunt your ass forever though, got it?”
“Got it.” V hurries after him, excited and, if she’s completely honest, a little scared. The ride could break and kill them, even if V’s scans indicated it’s good for the ride.
“Ladies first.” Johnny motions for V to get in, and she does, giving Johnny a small curtsy to boot. He scoffs, but when V stumbles he grabs her arm and steadies her. It’s surprising; they don’t touch often. V can count all the times with one hand, and that’s including their first meeting.
V slumps into the seat and waits for Johnny to take the one next to her before bringing the guard rail down.
“Make sure it clicks,” Johnny says, so V yanks the rail until she hears the loud click. “It’s how you know it’s secure. Unless there’s fault in the mechanism, but if we find that out mid ride, we prolly won’t live to fix it.”
“Positive thoughts, Johnny,” V says as she hacks the ride and starts it.
“Okay. Bet you’re gonna scream like a little girl.”
“Screw you.” V grins, knowing Johnny’s probably right.
The ride’s slow climb is nerve wrecking and exciting. V clings to the rail as the car reaches the top and plunges down. And okay, she does scream, but it’s not like Johnny’s taking the whole thing in bored indifference or whatever he was angling for before. The alcohol in her systems probably makes the whole ride worse — or better, she has no reference — than it should be, but as she eases into the sensation of the car climbing up and surging down, what healthy amount of fear she’d held evaporates and makes way for excitement.
She laughs, truly, from nothing but sheer joy. When she looks over to Johnny, he’s grinning, meeting her gaze, her excitement and joy mirrored in him.
It’s freeing, in a way, like the worries and problems and all the shit Night City has thrown at V to bury her don’t exist for a few minutes, blown away by the wind and the sudden drop as the car surges down again. V relaxes into it, lets go of the rail, and enjoys the sensation of falling.
The ride comes to a stop too soon, and V, still laughing breathlessly, tries to decide if she should ask Johnny if they should have another go. The queasiness in her stomach keeps her from doing so, and as soon as Johnny has glitched out of her way, she hurries to get to her feet. She ends up leaning over the railing, worrying she’ll vomit and grinning all the same.
“That was fun.”
Johnny materializes by her side, his arms crossed. “Says the chick whose about to throw up.”
V waves him off. “Has nothing to do with whether or not that was fun. It’s the booze. That I drank for you. You’re welcome, asshole.”
“Gee, thanks.” Johnny lights a cigarette. A faint taste of it fills V’s mouth. “Not like I forced you to do that.”
“’S what friends are for.”
V does throw up then, but the berating she expects from Johnny never comes. Instead he glitches to stand next to her as she leans over the railing and empties her stomach of the alcohol she’d consumed.
“Think that’s our cue to go home,” Johnny muses. V nods as she spits on the ground below. She’s almost certain she imagined the gentle tone under Johnny’s words.
“Just gimme a sec,” she says, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing.
“Take as long as you need.” Johnny doesn’t leave her side, and V doesn’t tell him how much she appreciates his silent company; Johnny’s in her head so he knows V’s every thought and emotion — he knows V in a way no one has ever done, so there’s no point in voicing things they both already know.
“Let’s go,” V says as she pushes herself off the railing.
“Throw up in my car and I’ll kick your ass,” Johnny replies, the smile tugging at his lips softening the threat to friendly ribbing.
V still salutes him with mock seriousness. Johnny rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, but the ghost of a smile is still on his lips, and he stays by V’s side, a comfortable, warm silence settling around them.