09/10/2077
PetroChem Oil Fields
Outside Night City, Northern California
V
-
After a few moments of readjusting in the aged leather seat, took a moment to look at the city once again from afar. Even outside of the border gate, when he was only a couple miles away from the Aldecaldos camp, he could feel it tugging at him. The city was trying to drag him back, with his nails digging into the sand and dirt, begging him to return to the concrete jungle where he belonged. He was too far away, as if he had been excommunicated and was then called back to the fold. He knew he didn't belong, but he felt it calling him, plucking at his heartstrings.

He could always imagine the city as a person, and as he sat on the bonnet of Johnny's Porsche, he could see it once more. An attractive woman, busty with an hourglass figure who oozed charm and charisma. Then, as soon as he approached, she changed. She stopped being attractive, the charisma fell away into a bitch of a woman who spewed filth, vile hatred and cursed anyone who went near her. That was Night City, that was all it was, it deserved to be burned away. It deserved to be purged, consigned to history as a failed uber-capitalist state run by corporations with no real government.

He could see why Johnny took a disliking to it. For all it was worth, it was where he realised that it was not the place for him, not anymore. The city was the equivalent of a jungle, filled with predators and creatures in every dark corner and alleyway. Drugs and booze flowed like blood through arteries, it spat gunfire and shit out the dead into piles of garbage and trash to be forgotten.

"You see it too, don't you? Why this place needs to go, you've seen it, you've been a part of it." Johnny uttered, appearing to sit next to him on the hood. "Now it's you it's trying to get rid of. It's trying to eat you up, but you just won't let it. You're the one stirring the pot, making it angry. It just won't let go."

V nodded in silence, thinking before speaking. "I never wanted this. Never thought that any of this could happen to me. I think about it a lot, being a kid again, I couldn't hurt a soul. You know?"

"We all couldn't at one point, V. Now, one odd look and you've got a knife in someone's gut or a bullet in someone's head. Nobody would blame you for it either, this city is filled with pieces of shit, me included."

"I know, but I was just some geek fuckin' kid. I had my eyes on Panam as some prize, but all I would do was hide in some tent with my head in an engine or looking at a suspension spring. I was some fuckin' nerd, and look at me now." V mourned. "Some real fuck-up."

Johnny shook his head. "Hell no, V. You're more than some fuck-up. That's my role in this, I will own that shit till this chip dies out and whatever engram I am disappears from this world. You don't get to act like you've fucked up, you did what everyone else would have done in your position, with a little bit of luck on your side."

V nodded to himself, looking at the ground as he took Johnny's Malorian from his left hip holster. The feel of it, the weight of the pistol was heavy in his hands. It screamed ego, silver-plated and it fired as loud as any heavy rifle. It was Johnny's, and the rockerboy confirmed it himself when he laid his eyes on the gun. Like it was nothing, almost muscle memory, V twirled it in his fingers like the gunslingers of old. Johnny laughed, shaking his head as he picked himself up from the hood of the car and looked out to the city, once more.

They couldn't have been more different, as the rockerboy looked at the mercenary at his side. Despite the physical differences, there was never somebody Johnny thought he would have hated more. Yet, he couldn't hate V for anything that he hadn't already been guilty of. Killed people? Too many to count. Self-pitying? Most definitely, they'd both made mistakes and hated themselves for them.

Took the fight to the corpo-rats in charge of the city? Hell, it was only the second time in the decades, if he didn't count the corporate wars between the rats themselves. They'd destroyed countries themselves, it only made sense they'd take an entire city down to make it even. Whether it was Militech or Arasaka, they were all the same, all that changed were the names on their little plastic employment badges.

"I fucking hate this city." V sighed.

"It just takes, and takes, and takes," Johnny replied. "You give it everything, all the money, all your things, you could give it your fuckin' name and it would still ask for more. The only way to escape? It's to say no, to tell every single person to go and fuck themselves and show the world you mean it."

V held both pistols on his hips in front of him, almost comparing the flashiness of Johnny's silver-plated cannon to the exoticness of Jackie's remaining Nue pistol. The handle of the cannon was black, in comparison to the mahogany finish of Jackie's pistol grip. The bronzing of the barrel on Jackie's pistol, the black engravings against the all-silver plating on Johnny's old firearm. He slid them gently into the holds as V hopped back into the car, Johnny joining him in the passenger as he kicked his feet up on the dash.

The mercenary turned to the rockerboy, who looked right back. "This is my car; I can do what I fuckin' want with it."

The old car sped off into the desert, across dusty roads and bumpy trails before they finally made it to the highway on the way back into the city. Just before they joined the traffic queues, they turned off to the right, speeding off back into the dusty roads as they crossed over. Crashing through sandtraps, they rushed across the wilderness to the north of the city as they caught sight of smoke plumes rising from the oil fields and the derricks that towered above all.

It was all dirty, it was all just filth and grime and everything that Night City was and represented. Greed, all-consuming greed and avarice that swept across the corporate city-state, slithering all over the citizens and dragging them deeper and deeper into pits of depravity. It was no wonder why so many people died, so many lives lost in such a concrete maze of death and despair that solidified it's title as 'The Worst City in America'.

"I never thought that this place could ever be worse than it already was, back in twenty-three," Johnny muttered. "Guess even for a self-proclaimed visionary, I was a real fuckin' gonk."

V agreed. Anyone who didn't was lying to themselves. "You preached it to the masses, and what did they do about it?"

"Didn't fuckin' listen for one. If there was one thing about the people in this city, they were all so arrogant and in-fucking-sufferable that they couldn't see even if they'd shoved their heads so far up their ass that it had popped back up again." Johnny grunted in response. "For all that screaming and shouting I did with Samurai, guess it just fell on deaf ears."

"Ain't that the truth."

"You're telling me, V."

They'd eventually rolled through the fields, through legions of derricks that pumped up and pumped down throughout the night. Black liquid dripped, oozed into hills of sand as the pair of rebels continued driving past. As they reached the end of the crowded derricks, the Porsche stopped as they reached a massive landfill, forgotten and lost to time. Junk, rusted metal, rotten bodies lost to the ages that piled on top of each other. Crap on top of crap, heaped upon more forgotten crap, V thought to himself, cursing the process he'd found himself stuck in. It was the Night City mindset.

The pair got out, V grabbing an old cigarette packet before slamming the doors shut as they just looked at the trash heap in front of them. Somewhere, deep down, Johnny's bones and silver arm were buried there, probably at the bottom knowing their luck. The lack of dirt or sand said it all, none of the bodies or the trash even had the care put in to hide them away. It was just an open grave, an open mass grave that nobody cared to cover over. V was quiet, staring into the corpse-ridden abyss as he tried (barely) to seek out the unique silver-plating of Johnny's signature prosthesis. There was no chance of them ever finding it, let alone the bones of him. How would he even know it was Johnny, in the end, bones were just that, bones.

He'd almost considered trying, but in the end, the absence of Johnny's dry and coarse voice made him stop. As V had stepped towards the landfill, he'd felt the spectral touch of Johnny's 'real' hand against his chest stopping him. The spectre of Johnny Silverhand moved towards the hole, kneeling before the remains of the forgotten as he picked up a handful of sand at the edge. In silence, he'd watched the grains of sand fall between his fingers and back into the landfill. There was nothing left of him, nothing to remember other than the enraged growls from the songs he'd written and let out into the world.

Johnny stepped away from the landfill, wiping away the dirt from his leather trousers. He was shaking his head, denying something to himself as he paced from between the landfill and his Porsche. He'd ripped off his aviators, sliding them in his back pocket. He'd never done that before; the glasses hid his emotions from the world that weren't implied from what he was saying. There were bags under his eyes, noticeably heavy as they darted all over the place. Eventually, he'd stopped, walking away to a pile of sheet metal and sat down. V had followed the vision of the rockerboy who'd come to terms with his mortality.

V was quiet, waiting for Johnny to say something, anything at all. Soon enough, he did. He'd taken his glasses, held them in his hand as he took the dog tags from around his neck and held them in the other.

"So that's how it is." Johnny had muttered. "There's nothing here at all."

"What were you expecting, from someone like Smasher? Headstone? The flag and flowers of the old world?" V responded, as drably and dry as he could.

Johnny shook his head. "Nah, I… I dunno. A marker, I guess. Something. Anything. Even if Smasher put something shitty to say, called me some washed-up fuck-up, it'd be something."

V sat next to him, thinking to himself before the familiar glow of the Muramasa shone around them. As quietly as he could, he shorn off a piece of the metal, carving something delicately into the material before he dislodged the blade entirely from his arm. Standing up, he'd pinned the shorn metal into the ground, impaled by the glowing red Muramasa. It was something, and V wasn't known for his stone-carving, but a marker was a marker.

The carving glowed, red-hot. 'Johnny S. 1988 to 2023'

V turned to the rockerboy. "How about that? Better?"

Johnny had huffed, a feigned and deadened laugh. "A bit. Let's say it was my real grave. What would you write? Here lies Johnny Silverhand…"

"The relentless rockerboy, a legend of Night City," V said, garnering a somewhat parched laugh before he continued. "Here lies Johnny Silverhand, the man who saved my life in more ways than one."

Once again, Johnny shook his head as he stood up, V following diligently behind. "Kid, you have no idea how much I wish that were true."

"It is true, Johnny. You dragged my body out of the desert, you were the one that helped me see that being a corpo wasn't the way to live, helped me see that it was Panam helping me along the way. You said to me somewhere, don't let that one go, she's ride or die."

"V, just listen to me, let me unwind…"

"Johnny…"

"V, please. Listen, I realise I fucked up a lot of things. Either I let down or used every last person who ever gave me their trust. Alt, Rogue, Kerry, I was a real blind and selfish bastard when I was alive. I've managed one thing for now, just barely, to not fuck this up, what we have as two complex personalities in one fucking brain. I didn't even think it possible, looking through your head."

V looked back to the city before he focused on Johnny once more. "It's been a real bumpy road, but we made it this far. I don't see this road going for much longer."

"Might not be long now, but there are still some big fuckin' bumps on the way. Most people I thought were my friends? They couldn't even stand to be in the same room with me, especially at the end. You're the fuckin' closest to me, by a longshot. You're always there with me, twenty-four-seven, three-six-five. Yet, somehow you still don't hate my dead guts."

The rockerboy lit up a virtual cigarette, holding it between two fingers as he twiddled with his glasses and tags in the other. V nodded, taking a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket. He lit it up slowly, savouring the first inhale before he let it out. The smoke from the fake and real cigarette mixed together. "I wish we could have talked like this more, would've made things easier."

"Never found the right moment. Not that I helped with that, sometimes." Johnny admitted. "Remember putting that chip in, seeing things that weren't there at first, telling ol' Doctor Vik that it was just some weird hallucinations? Bet you never thought you'd have to contend with me being here like a fish out of water."

"Remember a lot of times when I tried to relax, and you'd complain about Meredith or me not smoking enough, or you calling me a pussy?" V shot back, with a smirk.

"Never thought we'd make it this far for you to care that much." Johnny said, soon standing over him.

V took another slow drag, letting loose before he looked up. "When you said you let your friends down, did you mean Rogue?"

Johnny scoffed. "Rogue, Alt, Kerry, Santiago, fuck…"

"Not all is lost yet, at least not with Rogue."

The dead rockstar folded his arms, shook his head, again and again, denying himself. "Can't pretend like nothing's changed over fifty years, can't just insert myself into her life, not like this. Not that I would anyway."

V could understand that, at least in a way. Johnny let him see behind the curtain, how he and Rogue had never really gotten the chance to be a thing, due to Alt being with Johnny or Johnny himself just being a straight-up, no-nonsense piece of shit. However, it was all in the past, a time that was long forgotten by ninety-nine per cent of the people that ever lived for more than a year in Night City.

"Smasher business gets to her; she didn't even want to come tonight. You can't leave it like that. Besides, we already have sort of crashed in on her life, been doing it for a month now."

Johnny bit his tongue. That was a rare, once-in-a-lifetime moment. "I don't know. I offered to take her to the movies once, never took her up on it though. Maybe? Shit, I don't know."

"Might be worth it, get it all out as something if we ever find the time. You could, I don't know, take over my body like you did in the desert." V offered, causing Johnny to perk up. Just from the eyebrows, he was annoyed.

"No way, V. I might have been an asshole then, but I ain't one now, not with you. I'm living in your head, your body. I don't deserve the right to fuck with your life, not when I barely salvaged one for myself."

"Hey, cool it, chief, it was just a suggestion." V buffered, watching as Johnny softened again, strolling towards the Porsche. "You okay?"

It might have been the one time where Johnny was more stoic and silent than V had been, perhaps the most silent he'd been in his entire life. "Yeah, just coming to terms with it all, it ain't pretty. I wasn't one for a solid, comfortable or easy life. I made it harder for myself, in more ways than one. This? The marker, just puts a lot of things into perspective for me. Come on, let's delta, there's nothing to see here after all."

"Was it worth it? Coming out here, seeing everything through your eyes?"

Johnny stopped, dead in his tracks. He turned to V, a fulfilled smile on his face before he disappeared. "Absolutely. Thanks, V. Of all the heads I could've trapped myself in, I'm real glad it was yours."
-
The Afterlife, Watson District
Night City, California
-
Johnny hadn't appeared or said anything on the drive back from the oil fields into the city once more. V took the Porsche for a joy ride throughout the city, spinning around the roundabouts, drifting barely around corners that could have wiped him out in a second. The car roared, letting the prey in the sights know it was there before it leapt back into the action it had been missing.

Action that, from the sound of the engine, it clearly enjoyed. Swivelling and spinning, ducking into streams of traffic, barely missing other cars and larger trucks as it broke into Watson. It was so goddamn loud; V wouldn't have been surprised if it woke up the neighbourhood as he prowled the streets in the Porsche. He soon found himself back at the Afterlife, of all the places, it was his temporary home away from home, wherever his real home was.

Squama had waved him in, and V had noticed the increasing security patrol around the compound that Afterlife had become. Casings littered the road, Tyger Claw bodies left to rot on the pavement as blood leaked onto the sidewalk. He'd found an open storage locker, driving the Porsche inside before closing it up and locking it down, when the car garnered a few odd looks from the guards.

"What's up, fre, Morgan was asking where you got to."

V let out a sigh. "Sorting out some personal issues, had to get a new frame of reference from a friend."

"Aye, fre, I get you," Squama said, the pair bumping fists. "Head on in."

V patted Squama on the back, jogging inside the club before he swerved through the guard posts inside and headed upstairs. Rogue was probably in a council session with Morgan and Spider or Shaitan if he was awake or not after what happened to him, considering he couldn't see any of them. Some of the guards had gotten some sleep, personnel shifting around depending on who was sleeping and who was on guard.

In a rare sight, he saw Rogue's booth doors were closed off to the rest of the club, Crystal Shell technology obscuring what was inside. Moving over to the door, he found himself looking through a small crack where the Shell tech was not fully working. Peering inside the booth, he could just about see Evelyn curled up in the corner of the seating with Judy sat comfortably next to her, the pair wrapped up in each other. They were clothed, but V could see that every touch between the two meant something to them. Judy brushed her fingers softly over the skin of Evelyn's neck, their legs intertwined as Evelyn gently held Judy's hand.

He smiled, leaving them their deserved privacy as he headed upstairs to the apartments above the club. He'd never noticed the soundproofing on the roof of the club and the stairs up to the private rooms. Judy and Evelyn, perhaps it made more sense than he would have thought. The looks they gave each other; the way Judy had cared for Evelyn herself when they rescued her. It made sense.

As he reached the apartment rooms, he could roundabout make his way to the rooms that were empty. He knew which one was Rogue's, and with the small Mox pendant tied to a door handle, he could tell which one was Judy and Evelyn's to his close left. The sound of some heavy metal coming from the furthest-left room pushed V's assumption that might have been a room that was used as a base for Spider and Shaitan. He approached the furthest room to his right, with nothing coming from inside. The door was unlocked, and V pushed the door in as he entered.

He could hear the clicking of metal, the ring of an empty magazine and the sound of a heavy rifle bolt being pulled back. Walking further, he could see Panam sitting in front of a makeshift work table. Overwatch was in her hands, slowly being cleaned out and prepped for the next engagement she'd find herself in before she noticed the lurking presence in the room with her. Her eyes widened as soon as she saw him.

"V!"

She'd gently placed the rifle down, rushing to him and enveloping him into the tightest hug he'd felt in a while. She'd made herself comfortable, gun parts on the desk whilst her clothes were strewn all over the floor. Unlike her tidy little tent, her temporary housing was littered with her mess. Perhaps it was something about nomads, but V found himself annoyed with it, and yet familiar with it.

"Hey, Panam. How you been?"

"Bored out of my mind, without you here." She replied. "I was talking with Judy and Evelyn for a bit, but then they started getting all feely and I was out of there. Rogue was talkin' to that old guy and Shaitan, and I wasn't in the mind to get my head taken off so I left them alone."

V let out a muffled laugh. "You not clicked with who the old guy is yet?"

"Well, it sure as shit ain't Johnny Silverhand, is it?"

"Close, but no cigar, sadly," V replied. "That's Morgan Blackhand."

Panam laughed, punching him lightly in the shoulder as he removed his combat gear slowly. One tactical glove, both elbow and knee pads, peeling the ballistic vest off until he was left in kryptek cargos and a short sleeve. V waited for a moment until Panam eventually let what she had heard sink in. "No fuckin' way. That's Morgan fucking Blackhand?"

"All the way, that old man is The Solo of Solos. Master of the Mercenaries if you wanna be dramatic." V flaunted, relaxing as he tried to destress from everything.

"He's really fuckin' old, kinda like Cassidy." Panam mentioned, putting Overwatch back together before focusing on V. "Thought he'd be taller though."

V had taken to throwing his combat gear on the floor, next to Panam's jacket. Next was the gun belt, both pistols still inside as he laid them next to Overwatch on the desk. Even when he was out of his gear, he still looked overdressed in comparison to Panam. She was wearing the small bandana over her hair to protect her dreads, and from the fresh strawberry scent, he could tell she'd showered. Her boots and socks were at the foot of the door, pants kicked next to her jacket as she found herself in a pair of baggy shorts. Once again, she'd ditched her bodysuit for a white vest.

For once, she could tell that V was tired and fatigued. She caught sight of his sunken eyes, slumped posture that was a rare sight in and of itself. She stood up, lying down on the small double bed, leaning on the pillows as she beckoned V to join her. A smile on her face, she watched quietly as he did away with his combat boots and laid across next to her. He revealed a tired smile, his head sunken into the pillows.

"Rogue told me everything, you know?" Panam revealed. "At first, I was kinda angry. Wondered why you didn't come with the rest of them."

"I'm sorry. I just didn't know if you'd believe me, I told her the same thing." V mumbled. "I was with him. Talking about things, things he needed to let out."

"Silverhand?"

"Yeah, Johnny," V said his name. Almost as if they were real friends. "He's quiet though, right now. Usually, he doesn't shut up."

Panam stroked his cheek. "Was he the one causing you to have those memories, about the war?"

V shook his head or shuffled oddly against his pillow as much as he could. "Doubt it. Might just be me."

"You know I'm here for you then, just like I always have been," Panam reassured. "Maybe we could drive out, talk to Mitch and Scorpion about it if it helps?"

"In time, maybe."

He looked so dopey when half of his head was in the company of what felt like a thousand pillows. Even when he was still in most of his gear, there was a part of Panam that knew his head still wandered from place to place. He looked like a corpo-soldier, but spoke and acted and emoted like he was a Nomad, she could make it out in how he spoke. He was there, in ways that most others wouldn't be able to see.

Since she had reunited with him on that stupid Nash job, she'd been a witness to the many sides of him. The angered merc, the reluctant hero, a traumatised soldier and the nomad boy she'd lost so very long ago. They were converging into one person, the man that was lying in front of her, so stupidly overdressed in tight combat overalls with his head in a pile of pillows. Her finger dropped, falling to his chest as she swirled circles with her finger, playfully flicking his nipple which earned her a smirk before he pushed her hand away.

He picked himself up from his pillows, setting up a small lean-to as he looked at her. He removed her bandana, letting loose strands of her dark brown hair frame her face. Her shorts had started to ride up her legs, revealing more skin. She'd noticed the new arm, black metal with blue decals that replaced the cold silver. She'd taken hold of it, letting him brush the strands behind her ear he cupped her cheek, letting it softly fall down her arm before it came to a stop at her hips.

"Chicken." She'd whispered.

V smirked before drawling. "Stop it, that ain' true."

"You stopped on the roof."

"What, you looking to give Judy a show?" V asked with a hushed laugh. "Don't answer that."

He'd barely noticed her hands travelling down his chest, slowly trickling against his stomach as she untucked his shirt, feeling the patchwork and skin grafts for herself. He'd soon removed the shirt for her, letting her ogle each scar and battle wound, each small piece of grey neuro-patching, each graft that she could tell wasn't his skin when she compared it to his face and his neck. His dog tags remained around his neck, a trinket she played with when she kneeled up towards him before she pulled it over his head, placing them on the nightstand.

"You're not Virgil McCall, not anymore."

V tried to turn away, but Panam had stopped it. "And you know that how?"

"Because to me, you're just V. That's all that matters."

There was a silence that didn't break between the two. Perhaps she had said too much and pushed him back into his own mind again, she'd made a mistake. He couldn't look away, he could only look at her, she was all that kept his attention. Memories of languid kisses, lingering in the mind both from weeks back all the way to a mere day prior. His hands ached for contact, as she pressed her hands against his before he kissed her.

He smelt like cigarettes and gunpowder, something not unfamiliar to her. His kisses were soft, slow and cautious as if he were scared to be left alone again. It had always been her pressing him, but never the other way around. She'd almost consider herself caught off-guard, but not before she'd pressed against him, her hands snaking around his neck. She pulled him closer, their lips breaking away before she dragged him into another kiss.

It was more longing, needy and she was breathing so quickly and her heart was beating so fast. She could feel the tinge of cold in his cybernetic hands as they pressed against her hips, pulling up her vest and over her head. She'd rushed to unclip his belt, yearning for him to just kiss her again and again, to just stay with her in the same bed for at least one night where she could claim something she'd longed for and never thought she'd get would at the very least, happen.

In no less than a few seconds had he removed his pants and pulled at her own shorts, pushing her back against the mattress before he tore them from her legs. Her underwear fell next, accompanied by his own before he leered over her. He'd relished the moment he'd been able to finally feel his cold skin against hers, hot and ready for him as he pressed wet kisses on her neck, falling down to her collarbone, her breasts before she'd pulled him back up and kissed her on the lips once more.

She'd pushed him away, forcing him on his back before she had crawled on top of him. She was so frantic, so desperate for the sensation that she had wanted from him since they had first kissed in that cabin. She was never rough, she didn't dig her nails into his skin, never pressed harder than she needed to before she felt him pressed inside of her. Her breath went husky, small whispers of half-finished words fell to nothingness as she let out small gasps with every tiny movement. She wanted to fall against him, kiss him and just stay there forever, but she needed it to be memorable.

His hands couldn't help but wander across her tanned skin, rising from her hips to lightly grab her ass and press her harder against him or gently scroll up her stomach to grab at her breasts. Even as she felt herself come undone, she fell down and kissed V as hard as she could, refusing to make any untoward sound that could be heard by anyone as she tried to keep going. As she felt herself coming undone, Panam could feel small tears falling, wiped away by one of V's thumbs as she wrapped herself around him, refused to ever let go before he rolled on top of her.

Hands clasped tightly together as V once again pushed himself inside of her, wishing that he could make the moment last as long as he could. He looked into her eyes, seas of green wide open as he felt legs wrap around his waist. He couldn't get out, nor did he want to leave her. In every sense, she was a masterpiece that he couldn't help but just admire, his eyes wandering over the little smattering of scars on her hip that he soon pressed his hand over. He fell forward, biting and sucking at her neck, moans erupting in his ear that pushed him ever so close to the edge he didn't want to fall off.

Her kisses, her little bites against his neck that she peppered whenever she could, were fervent and needy. They'd fell into an unprepared kiss, falling into chaos as each one of them battled for dominance before Panam had been the one to bite his lip and pull away, teasing before she'd kissed him properly. He'd never lost rhythm, but he did as soon as he felt one hand leave his neck and slide down his side, gently pressed his ass before 'intimating' that maybe he should go a little harder, a little faster.

"Panam…"

She didn't shush him, pulling him closer as he himself got closer to the edge. "Please, please, V, don't leave me again, please…"

"I won't, I won't," he repeated, saying it to himself as much as he was promising her. "I, oh shit, Panam, I love you. I really fucking love you."

She'd almost cried out with joy when she'd heard it, even if the way he'd phrased it was just so him. "I love you too, babe. Please, please, keep going, don't stop."

When they fell off that edge, it was like a perfect puzzle, the final two pieces clicking together to form a complete picture. After ten years, ten agonising and excruciatingly long years, she never thought it would end up like this. He never knew it would have been her all along, but in some senses, she'd always remained in his mind despite everything that had happened. They were still connected, with V soon rolling off before he'd took the covers of the bed and laid them over himself and Panam.

She'd turned on her side, looking at him as he held on to what was an extremely content smile. Her hair, and his, were a mess of black and dark brown, as he once again pressed away a runaway tear from when she'd lost control of herself. She'd snuggled closer to him, pressing her skin against his, almost sticking to him as she swiped away the mop of black hair from in front of his face.

Panam smiled, a dumb smile when she'd place an arm across his chest before looking up at him. "You said it. You said those three words."

"What, I love you?" V replied, looking to the woman at his side, stroking the side of her face. "You ever think that I might mean it?"

"I know you do. I love you too, V."