We'd been in the car driving further and further from the heart of Night City for what seemed like an eternity—or the anxiety leaking from Johnny's every pore made it feel that way. He sat next to me in the passenger seat, staring out the side window, his left knee bouncing uncontrollably.

I slid a hand over his leg to halt it because he didn't know he was doing it. He snapped his gaze to me over the rim of his sunglasses—confusion and embarrassment lacing his expression. "Hey. No matter what we find or don't. S'gonna be alright. Yeah?"

Johnny patted my hand but didn't keep it there and sighed. "Not even sure what has me so goddamned spooked. Why is this such a big fucking deal after all this time?"

I rested my hand on the steering wheel, stewing over my next words. "We always tell it straight to each other, right?"

Johnny slid the Aviators down his nose and gave a curt nod.

"Well, Johnny, think about when I woke up—when we woke up in the junkyard." I gripped the wheel tighter, keeping my gaze focused through the windshield. "If I would've died—" Licking my lips, I stole a glance at him, his attention entirely on me. "—what would be left of me? What would be there to find? How would they find it?"

Johnny rubbed his chin, his face slowly falling.

"And you died fifty years ago, Johnny," I whispered, gravel coating my throat. "Get what I'm tryin' to warn you 'bout?"

Johnny's jaw tightened, and he pushed the glasses back up his nose. "Just drive, V."

Sulking in my seat, I nodded and flipped on the radio—the stale silence that followed was far too suffocating to bear. It took another twenty minutes before we reached the location in the oil fields Rogue had given us the coordinates to.

Johnny perked up as we neared a shack boarded together by dozens of metal scraps. He looked out one window, then the other, drumming his fingers on his knees. "Okay. It's gotta be here somewhere."

I parked the car and turned off the ignition while taking a deep breath. "Let's get out and look. Ain't gonna see shit from in here."

Johnny glitched beside me once I'd crawled out. The dismal darkness of the night sky played well, with the gloomy mood overshadowing us both. The only light source emanated from a lit oil torch nearby fanning shades of orange over piles of wreckage.

"Can't believe they drug it all the way out here," Johnny mumbled.

After scanning the views of the macabre-like oil fields, I shrugged. "I don't know. This view sure beats the hell outta the junkyard."

Johnny tore off his glasses and paced back and forth—crouching, standing, and frustratingly running his hands through his hair. He pointed at a cinder block. "Can you move that? Maybe somethin's under there or fuck—" He moved to grab a flat piece of sheet metal and growled when his hands shifted right through it. "Fuck," he yelled, his voice echoing from the vast open space around us.

It killed me to see him like this—vulnerable and afraid. I pursed my lips together and wrapped my arms around myself, letting him sort things out for himself until the moment he asked for me—if he asked for me.

"There's nothin' fucking here," Johnny mumbled, a light chuckle bubbling from his throat. "So, that's how it is." He smirked and slid the Aviators back on before sitting on a wide sheet metal. "Nothin' here at all." He leaned forward with his elbows pressing into his knees and head hung low.

I squatted in front of him, canting my head to one side. "Aw, Johnny. What'd ya expect from those assholes, though, really? Headstone, flag, and flowers?"

Johnny's shoulders slumped. "Nah. I—I dunno. A marker? Something. Anything." His tone didn't border on defeat. It was defeat. And it killed me to the core.

Biting my lip, I looked around and scooped a jagged rock resting at my feet into my palm. I patted his calf before walking to a rusted flat piece of metal across from us. "We'll figure something out." Offering him a warm smile as he eyed me quizzically, I carved his initials, and date of death and brushed it clean.

Johnny's chin lifted, and a ghost of a smile graced his lips.

"That better, princess?" I grinned back at him, hoping our usual dynamic would help lift his spirits.

"A bit, yeah." He sniffed once and sat up straight. "Let's say it was my real grave—what would you write? 'Here lies Johnny Silverhand…'" He displayed his hands like a billboard.

Warmth pooled in my belly, the answer coming to me all too quickly. Crawling back to him, I sat on the ground at his feet and curled an arm around his knee, gleaming up at him. "The Guy Who Saved My life."

Johnny frowned, and he slipped the glasses away from his face, peering down at me with a cinched brown. "Aw, Val. You don't know how much I wish that were true."

"Bullshit, Johnny."

Johnny's brow quirked.

"It is true." I squeezed his leg. "I'd be a rotting corpse in the junkyard right now if it weren't for your chip. You gave me a second chance, Johnny. How many folks can say that? Hm?" Raising to my knees, I cupped his cheek with my palm.

His chrome hand covered mine, and he pinched his eyes shut. "S'pose I can say the same thing about you then." Our gazes locked and he kissed my hand. "I'd still be in a fucking digital prison if it weren't for your crazy ass shovin' my chip in your head and goin' and getting yourself shot."

I choked out a laugh, fighting back rare tears welling in my eyes.

Johnny stood, and I turned to follow him, but his hand pushed my shoulder, urging me to sit. "Just stay put. I got somethin' to say, and I need you to listen. Hear me?"

Gulping, I sat on the sheet metal, clasping my hands between my knees, and nodding at him.

Johnny stood in front of me with his thumbs hanging from his belt loops. "I realize I fucked up a lotta things. Either let down or used every last person who gave me their trust. Blind, selfish bastard that I was." He kicked a pebble with his boot, gaze casting downward. "But I've managed one thing for now. Not to fuck this up, what we have, Val. Or am I crazy to think that?"

My heartbeat throttled into a gallop and I shook my head, the tears growing increasingly hard to suppress. "You haven't fucked it up, Johnny. Close, maybe. Real close, but—" I pushed out a laugh to hide the emotion building.

Johnny half-grinned and dragged a hand through his hair. "Look, most people I thought were my friends, they couldn't even stand to be in the same room with me." He stepped forward, his hand curling around the back of my neck, kneading it. "You're fuckin' closest to me by a long shot. There twenty-four-seven. And yet…you don't seem to hate my living guts."

I shot to my feet, a single tear sneaking down my cheek. "We can call each other dick and cunt all day long, Johnny. But you know I don't hate you. I've gotten to see this side of you, this whole other part."

He kissed the tear away and trailed a finger down the length of my nose. "Certain parts of this place remind me of the area I laid low in for a bit with the Nomads." He scanned our surroundings and rubbed my knuckles with his thumb.

I pinched his chin and turned his face to look at me. "Nomads? You? When?"

"After that botched rescue of Alt." His gaze dropped to our feet and he moved his hand to my lower back, pulling me closer. "I didn't know what to do with myself. Couldn't even stand my own goddamned reflection. Santiago offered me a tent and I took it. Lived life as a fucking vagabond for months. Barely left that tent to take a piss."

"Did you like it?"

His dark eyes met mine with a raised brow. "Like what?"

Offering him another warm smile, I smoothed a strand of his chocolate hair behind his ear. "Bein' away from the city? Not sure I've ever been gone that long."

"In a way." He dipped his chin and kissed me—a kiss of past, present, and future and all the mysteries that went along with it. "Yeah. There's no fucking corpo's out here. No scrolling bright ass ads. It's just you, those you roll with, and the dirt."

Sighing, I pressed our foreheads together and closed my eyes, trying to imagine it. "Sounds positively preem."

"But, the only music out this way is the kind you play around a fire. No stages. No gigs. No fans." He slipped his hand in mine, his other hand remaining at my back, and slowly, we swayed.

I'd never been good at dancing, but let Johnny take the lead, our boots kicking up dirt as we side-stepped. "Ah, so not becoming a Nomad yourself any time soon then?" I grinned.

"Not exactly." He paused to dip me, his fingertip teasing the hem of my shirt before bringing me back up. "But if I ever had the chance again—I'd use it as a frequent escape from the noise."

I took his face in both hands, raising on the balls of my feet to bring us at eye level, another tear rolling down my cheek. "And if I ever get the chance again, Johnny. I want to escape with you."

"Deal." His lip bounced in a tiny smile, and he brushed his thumb over my cheek, scraping the tear away. "Gotta say, I never thought we'd make it this far, princess."

"You didn't exactly make it easy." I slipped a finger into one of his belt loops if for any reason but because I didn't know what else to do with my hands. I'd never had a conversation like this with someone I cared about—emotions laid bare on the table, vulnerabilities at an all-time high—the risk of hurting each other so easily there.

Johnny shrugged. "I mean, you kinda deserved it." He grinned and gave me a quick before I could retort. "Let's delta, hm? Nothin' to see here after all."

Wiping the back of my hand under my nose, I nodded and slipped my hand into his. As we returned to the car, something caught my eye in the rubble, and I squeezed his hand. "Wait a minute."

"Ya see somethin'?"

I dropped to my knees by the same piece of metal I'd carved Johnny's initials, pushing aside random bits and springs. A torn piece of withered fabric with a partial patch stared back at me. Picking it up, I ran my thumb over the embroidered words: Los Alamos Labs.

"Does this name mean anything to you?" I held the patch to Johnny.

He lowered his Aviators low enough to read it. "It does sound familiar, but I can't place it."

"Think Rogue might be able to scrounge somethin' up? It could be a clue. It was right here at the exact coordinates she gave us."

A new hope brightened Johnny's expression. "If anyone can make sense of shit in the middle of an oil field—it's Rogue."

Nodding, I called Rogue.

"V?" Rogue's face appeared at the corner of my holo. "Any luck in the oil fields?"

I tossed the cloth in my palm. "Not exactly. I mean, possibly? We hoped you could look into somethin' else for us?"

"Anything. What ya got?"

"Found this old patch in the same coordinates you gave us for Los Alamos Labs. Might be more information about Johnny's remains?" I cut a glance at Johnny, who stood rigid with his hands folded in front of him.

"Los Alamos Labs. Why does that sound so familiar?"

"That's what Johnny said. Gotta be somethin' to it."

Rogue nodded. "Yeah. Give me twenty-four hours. I'll see what I can dig up."

"Thanks, Rogue."

"Anytime."

Sighing and shoving the patch in my back pocket, I turned back to Johnny. "Well, not sure if it'll—"

Johnny raised a finger to his lips, shooshing me. He sat on the same metal slab and silently patted the area next to him, coaxing me to sit. With a weak smile, I obliged him. When he motioned at his shoulder for me to lay my head on it, the smile sparkled into a genuine one.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "Johnny the rock star. Johnny the rebel. Johnny the fucking terrorist. No one bothered to realize that sometimes—Johnny just wanted to be."

"Yeah." I nuzzled my head further on his shoulder with a contented sigh. "I get that."