Shelter from the storm. At the end of the day, that's all any of us are lookin' for. Sometimes it's the real deal, sometimes it's not. What a lot of chooms don't get through their skulls is that it ain't just about a roof over your head or a cig in your hand. What's that thing they used to say in the way-back-whens? "Home is where the heart is?"

The sentimentality of it is enough to make me hurl, but deep down they're right. Shelter ain't about all the shinies you have squirreled away from the greedy world. It's about what you build with your own two hands. And who you build it with.

She will never be clean of sand, she's sure of it. It's invaded her ears and nose, coated her tongue. It scratches inside her clothes as well as... some other places she'd rather not think about. But while the wind rattles the roof above her head, she's more than content to shake one last pant leg free and join her unexpected guests for an evening of well-deserved rest.

The roaring fire beckons, promising an easy end to a day that has been anything but. Panam motions to take the seat next to hers, which she accepts with a tired smile.

"Hey there." Panam wraps a cheerful arm around the merc's shoulders as V eases down next to her. "Wanna see what I found?"

She passes V an old, dirty-looking bottle. One whiff confirms its contents: old, old booze. V stifles a cough and scrunches her face. "Ugh. What even is that?"

"Whiskey. In theory, at least." Panam's smile widens. "Expiration date's from before the last war. If we're lucky, it hasn't turned to poison just yet."

Today's been chock full of gambles. What's one more? V tips the bottle back, downs a swig, and immediately regrets it. The whiskey burns like blazing sandpaper on the way down and she can't tell if that's the point or if she's had too much taste for sand already. She coughs and curses, but goes ahead and tries again despite her better judgment.

"Good, right?" Panam smirks. "I guess today's our lucky day."

"Lucky." Saul grunts from his chair across the table. There's a sour look in his eyes. "Interesting choice of words."

Panam takes the bottle back from V with a roll of her eyes; the merc is still fighting back a coughing fit and gratefully relinquishes control. Panam throws her head back and gulps down a respectable swig. She does not cough, unlike her city-girl companion. Her voice is a little strangled, however, when she fixes Saul with a glare. "Do I hear another lecture coming on?"

"No lecture," Saul admits. "But we do need to talk."

He leans toward them, his steely gaze fixed on Panam. Panam's grip on the bottle tightens and V can almost see her hackles rising.

"All that shit with the Wraiths," the man mutters. "It shouldn't have happened."

"No it shouldn't have," Panam agrees. "And if you would have-"

He interrupts. "You don't understand. I mean any normal time it wouldn't have happened. They wanted everything: camp locations, smuggling routes, offloading points. They weren't interested in more raids. They were aiming for a planned, tactical strike at the heart of the Aldecaldos."

"I don't get it," V says. She blinks away the whiskey burn still clinging to her tongue. "From what I've heard tell, Wraiths don't operate like that."

"No, they don't." Saul's brows furrow into a tight scowl. "So you know why I'm concerned. The hideout where they stashed me was a small one. An outpost, maybe only ten, fifteen guys. But if the bulk of the Raffens found out the state our clan is in..."

He lets the threat hang in the air. When V looks at Panam, she notices that worry has taken the place of her earlier fury. The taller woman's lips are pressed into a tight line as if she's fighting to hold back words she'd rather not say.

"We can't hope to handle the likes of the Raffens on our own." Saul leans back with a grimace, gingerly crossing his arms. Panam leans forward in turn, keeping the distance between them constant and not allowing him to inch away from her keen stare.

"So you think the solution is to sell out the clan to Biotechnica?"

Saul's face is stony. "Yes."

"V, tell him it's a damn rotten idea!"

V sighs and shakes her head. "Gotta agree with Panam. Putting faith in corps is a top-tier shitty idea."

Panam beams, but Saul is not so easily convinced. He turns his death glare onto V now and demands, "What could a streetkid solo possibly know about it?"

V sinks back into the comfort of the couch - and the warmth of Panam's arm still around her shoulders. "Y'know what I always liked about nomads? You all have this taste - no, a hunger for freedom."

Her eyes narrow. "That's a rare thing in Night City. Corps got their grubby claws into everything. The clothes you wear, the shit you eat, even the goddamn air you breathe is all signed, stamped, and delivered courtesy of a corp. There's no freedom on the streets besides what you steal for yourself."

"Exactly," Panam says. She takes another shot of whiskey.

V shrugs, holding the man's unflinching glare. "And I can't believe you'd just hand over everything you have, your freedom, to the likes of Biotechnica."

Saul's jaw tightens even as Panam smiles wider. They're mirror images of one another, each pulling opposite directions in an unseen game of tug-of-war. Eventually Saul can't help but scoff and turn away, knowing the truth in V's words. It's all around them, after all; one five-minute stroll through Pacifica and you can see just how much corps care about their business partners.

"Thank you, V." Panam rests back in her seat and crosses her legs with a triumphant grin. She squeezes V's shoulders lightly. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

"A convo for another time," Saul growls. "And I'm sure you'll hold me to that, Panam."

"You know it." Panam tips the bottle in toast and drinks again. The wind picks up outside, tearing at the walls of their appropriated hideaway with ferocious intensity. Panam passes the whiskey back to V, who finally manages to let it burn its way down her throat without suffocating her.

"Look, Panam..." Saul's voice has a tense tone to it.

"Ooh, there's your I'm about to say something important face."

"Shut up." He sighs. "I... won't forget what you did for me today. If you'd like to come back... everyeone'll be waiting, arms open wide."

"Including you?" A single elegant eyebrow raises.

Saul's expression goes dark. "There will have to be changes, Panam. No more jumpin' to the front of the line, no more racin' off on a wind and a whim."

Panam's head lolls and she glares up at the ceiling. "Christ, here we go again..."

The sudden hostility on the air is palpable. V can feel her friend tense up beside her. Across the table, Saul's eyes take on a hard look. Part of V wants to shrink back into the couch with only the whiskey for company, but she isn't about to let old grudges curdle an otherwise fine finale to a long day.

"Look," she interjects, "is this really the time for all this? We're all exhausted, all amped up. Why don't we table it, just for tonight?"

"You know what, sweetheart?" For a brief while, Saul's harsh gaze holds Panam's defiant one. Then the nomad leader hoists himself to his feet with a groan of exertion. He looks like he can only stand through sheer force of willpower, but he does it all the same. "The merc's right. It's late and we'll have plenty of time to tear at each other's throats later."

Panam inclines her head the slightest bit. Her rebellious air relaxes a little - but only a little.

"Right now all that really matters is catchin' a few winks before the world goes to shit again." Saul limps out from behind the coffee table, his hand clutched against his ribs.

"You, uh... need help?" Panam ventures.

"Fuck off." He hesitates a moment, then staggers away toward a side room. V wouldn't be surprised to see Panam to leap to her feet with a readied shout, but the woman simply smiles and watches the man limp away. The solo settles for another swig of whiskey; her mouth no longer tastes of sand, so either she's swallowed it all or she's getting used to the booze. Either or is fine by her.

Saul only makes it a few feet before coming to a halt again. He glances up and watches the ceiling tiles quiver in the wind, an inquisitive tilt to his head. "Huh. Do you know what they call these storms in North Africa? Haboobs."

He cranes his neck back to them and chuckles. Only then does he seem to remember his state and he doubles up, holding his side. He sets off again with one last laugh of, "Damn do I love that word..."

Both women stare after him, each equally confused. A few seconds later, a hefty crash from within the side bedroom signals that Saul has officially checked out for the evening. He starts snoring shortly after that.

Panam removes her arm from around V's shoulders and shifts to face her. Her eyes dart between the merc and the door, both worried and irritated. "What the hell was that about?"

V shrugs. "Probably just the meds. But just in case it wasn't..."

She raises the whiskey bottle with a grin. "To haboobs."

She takes a swig and hands it over to her partner, who does the same. "To haboobs!" Panam exclaims and throws her head back. This time she does cough, much to V's delight. The nomad shoves at her with an amused groan of, "Blugh... That shit packs octane, doesn't it?"

"We deserve nothing less after the day we just had."

"Amen to that." Panam leans against the couch's armrest, one hand propping up her cheek. "We've earned some R-and-R, to be sure. In the meantime-" She nudges at V's knee with the toe of one boot. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"You asked me once before about the wildest gig I ever drove. Now it's your turn. Craziest shit you've ever gotten yourself into. Go."

"What, tryin' to pry into my deepest, darkest secrets?" V shoots her couch buddy a quick wink.

Panam's warm brown eyes twinkle with a glint of something V doesn't recognize. "Something like that. Maybe I just like bedtime stories."

"Hmm..." V taps her chin. She's certainly spoiled for choice. The Konpeki Plaza heist is the first that springs to mind, of course. But she doesn't want to bring down the mood with the story of the worst twenty-four of her entire life. Her enduring quest to rein in Del's wayward taxis is a close second, but that would take too long to explain. She finally settles on one and declares, "All right. Got one for you."

"Spin it." Panam wriggles into a more comfortable position and closes her eyes.

"So this one time, Jackie and I were cruisin' Japantown. We'd just wrapped up a gig for Wako-"

"Okada?" Panam scoffs at this. "You work for that old relic?"

"What, you don't?"

"No thanks." She sticks out her tongue. "Too sinister for my taste."

"I'm gonna tell her you said that." V snickers. "Still, she's not so bad once you get to know her. Provided you keep your distance."

"Just tell the story." Panam shuts her eyes once more. "I like listening to your voice."

All the familiar butterflies swarm to life in her stomach, but V holds them back and resumes her story. She tells of the time she and Jackie stumbled across a secret underground fighting ring and discovered that the only way to dismantle it (on Wako's behalf) was for Jackie to pose as a prizefighter with V acting as his sly, street-savvy handler. Panam listens to everything in silence. Her eyes stay shut, but the telltale smile on her full lips proves she's far from asleep.

"And then," V concludes with a flourish of her hands, "Jackie punches his fist in the air, covered in blood with no idea that his pants are around his ankles, and shouts, Any of the rest of you imbéciles feel like dancin?!"

"Ha-ha!" Panam bursts out laughing - at least until V, giggling as well, shushes her before they wake the slumbering grouch next door. To stifle her amusement, the nomad takes another gulp from the bottle. "I don't know if I'm just tired or if all the whiskey is finally going to my head, but that's the funniest fucking thing I've heard in months."

V grins and takes her next share of the booze. Panam watches with a smile, twirling a stray strand of hair between her fingers. "I wish I'd known him. Jackie, I mean."

V sighs and leans back against the couch and her eyes take on a faraway look at the tug of wistful memories. The ache of loss remains, but the weeks have helped soothe the worst of the nightmares. "Ah, he'd have adored you. Cut from the same cloth, I think."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Panam shifts onto her back, legs tucked up to give V some room. Her eyes contemplate the intricate patterns of dirty ceiling tiles. After a few moments of contented stillness, she sighs and murmurs, "It's funny."

"That was kinda the point."

"Not the story, gonk-brain." Panam aims a gentle kick in her direction. She settles her hands over her stomach. "It's just that I don't often sleep with a roof overhead. But this will be the second time with you."

Oh shit, the butterflies are back.

If Panam notices how tense her companion suddenly is, she doesn't comment on it. She continues, "When you're on the road day into night into day, your butt basically fusing with your seat, you forget what it's like."

"This an improvement?"

"Dunno." Panam shrugs. That same strand of hair twists between her painted fingers. "Just different."

She chuckles. "You know, this would make for a decent little motel, wouldn't it? Fireplace, booze..." She glances at V with a smirk. "The grumpy guy at reception is the one thing missing."

"Pretty sure he's the one snoring next door." V jerks her thumb in the direction Saul had disappeared.

"Ha!"

The solo grins and lifts her chin, her voice falling to the gravelly grumble of a long-suffering butler. It comes out more sultry than anything else and she could kick herself for adopting such a seductive tone. Ah well. Too late to turn back now.

"On behalf of the staff of the Independent California Motel, I bid you welcome," she says imperiously. "Do you have everything you need, ma'am?"

"Mm-hmm." Panam's knowing smile widens. She shifts on the couch and stretches out, laying her feet across V's lap. The merc's hands float up, unsure of everything that's happening, at least until Panam wiggles into a comfortable seat and goes still again. V tentatively lowers her hands onto the road-worn leather of the nomad's boots, trying her best to ignore the way her heart thumps in her chest.

"Couldn't ask for anything more." Panam's words are smooth and silky. She's well aware of what she's doing. And what she's doing to V, specifically.

The merc hides a nervous gulp and continues her masquerade. "And how's your whiskey, madame?"

Panam takes a swig, pretends to ponder and savor the bouquet. "Hmm... it's warm, with a... subtle metallic aftertaste. Just the way I like it. It's bold, yet smooth. Four out of five stars."

"So generous, ma'am."

"What can I say? I'm in a giving mood."

Said mood is quickly getting heavier than V had anticipated. On any typical day, with any typical person, she'd pump the brakes and call it a night. But this isn't a typical day and it's certainly not a typical person. This is Panam, the woman who only needs to walk into a room to set V's heart aflutter. It could be the stress, the alcohol, or maybe just Johnny's invisible hand at work, but she's determined to damn the torpedoes and charge full steam ahead.

"Ma'am," she says in her stupid sexy butler voice, "I'm sure you'd be cozier with your shoes off."

"After a full day in them? In this heat? I'd fear a health code violation."

"Nonsense!" V proclaims. "After a day as full as today, a woman of your stature deserves to kick back. To unwind."

Panam quirks up an eyebrow at that. Her incredibly tempting lips never drop that sidelong smile. "Oh?" she purrs. "And what did you have in mind?"

"I've... got a few ideas." V lets the voice drop. Now her voice is sultry for real. Her hand trails up along Panam's boot, over the raised rubber inlays of her riding jeans. She moves with her palm, leaning closer to the woman who is at once so close and too far away. "Think you know what kind."

The shock-beat of adrenaline in her heart vanishes the moment she sees the way Panam looks at her from beneath half-lidded eyes. Her hand drifts higher, her lips draw closer. Panam moves as well, and then their lips connect and all further thought abandons V's mind.

The kiss is simultaneously everything V imagined and so unexpected it boggles her mind. The whisky-tinted lips beneath hers are so fucking soft. She loses herself in the press and a soft sigh crawls up her throat when Panam links a hand into her hair and pulls her closer.

Jesus. If someone had told her this was how her day was gonna end...

Then Panam's body arches against her. A muffled moan spills from her lips and V has no more time for distraction. It's the most electrifying sound she's ever heard, and she immediately sets herself to finding ways to hear more. Her hands glide up Panam's ample hips, over the rough patch of scarwork from their first gig together.

She pulls Panam into a sitting position and pops the jacket collar that wraps around her neck like a choker. She tugs the jacket down and presses her lips to an exposed neck that shudders with heavy breath and heady arousal. When her teeth scrape against skin, she feels Panam shiver with a muttered, "Fuck..."

Exploring fingers slide up V's back, clutch at her shoulders. V does the same, ghosting gentle touches down Panam's ribs and enjoying the swell of heavy breath beneath her palms. She pulls back and kisses those incredible fucking lips again, and Panam clings to her like a drowning man at sea.

But then the taller woman suddenly stiffens and V can instantly tell it's not in the good way. Hands at her shoulders guide her back and Panam scrambles away on the couch, out from under V. Her cheeks blush dark with embarrassment. She's breathing hard, hair wild about her face.

"Um..." she clears her throat and runs her fingers through loose strands of hair. "Uh, V, I..." Then she squeezes her eyes shut with a furious grimace and she hisses, "Shit, shit, shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"V, I can't do this."

"What?" V sits back on her knees, hurt blooming in her eyes and in her heart. "Why?"

Panam buries her face in her hands. "This was stupid. A mistake."

"Oh." A chill settles deep in the pit of V's stomach. "Okay..."

Panam sighs and drops her hands. Her gaze is swarmed with a slew of emotions; embarrassment, fear, and guilt foremost among them. She presses at her temples and leans back on the armrest.

"Look," she mutters. "I like the way we do things. I do. But this... ah, shit." She shakes her head. "I like things as is. I don't want to spoil it."

V wants to argue. She wants to find some way to persuade Panam that this won't spoil anything. In fact, if she has her way a whole lot of crap will be better because of it. Her brain babbles a steady stream of nonsense and she can't begin to find a way to reply. Thankfully, Panam is doing plenty of babbling of her own.

"I-I just thought after the day we've had... and the way you were looking at me... and the whiskey didn't help things either... V, I'm sorry." She sighs explosively and buries her head in her hands again. "I was tipsy and turned on and curious. But I'm not... like that."

V gleans her meaning almost immediately and her heart sinks under the weight of sudden certainty. "You're not into other women."

Panam shakes her head and repeats, "I'm sorry, V. But I don't want to lie to you."

"Nah." V returns to her earlier position on the couch, sure to give Panam plenty of room. She tries to look nonchalant - disappointed, sure, but unfazed. She's certain that she fails. "I'm the one who should be sorry. Shouldn't have thrown myself at you like that, specially when there was whiskey involved."

She sighs and shakes her own head. "Dunno what I was thinking..."

They sit together in the most awkward silence imaginable. Panam stares at her lap while V watches the dust swirling outside the badly-boarded windows. It's some time before Panam breaks the ice and hesitantly speaks.

"So... friends, then?"

"Just friends." V gives her a short smile. "Actually, now that my brain's workin' again, I kinda agree with you. Better that way."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." The merc easily swallows the lie. "But we can talk more about it later. For now I think it's time to follow Saul's example. We should get some shut-eye before we make any more bad decisions, yeah?"

Panam nods and slowly tucks herself into her earlier seat on the couch: legs curled up and giving V plenty of space. V slides back to her end of the couch too. The space between them is physically minuscule, but it might as well be a gulf. She resigns herself to a tense, dejected catnap before Panam's voice calls her attention back.

"V... I'm glad you decided to come with me." Panam looks her in the eye and any trace of embarrassment is replaced with sincerity. "It meant a lot to me."

"Of course." V's words are sincere as well. "Anytime."

Panam nods. V nods back. The matter is settled. The former snags her coat back up from the floor and drapes it over her shoulders to keep the worst of the cold out. She curls up and closes her eyes. The latter just relaxes into the old couch, head tilted back and eyes closed.

Panam has been bundled up for a while when she sleepily yawns and murmurs, "You hear that?"

V doesn't open her eyes. "Uh... no?"

"The wind has waned. Storm's breaking." Panam's voice is sluggish. "Dunno about haboobs, but when a chinook rolls rough and rowdy across the plain, I sure can't get any shuteye." She yawns again. "G'night, V."

V releases a long, slow breath. Now that the exciting and disappointing parts of the day are respectively over, it's easy to recognize the familiar tug of fatigue. She snags the forgotten whiskey bottle and downs the last few swigs, just for good measure; it warms her bones and eases some of her still-raw nerves. She casts one last glance at her friend, curled up and sleeping like a baby on this piece of shit couch, and smiles.

"Good night, Panam."

She thought sleep would elude her as it has so often in the past. She thought she'd toss and turn all night with desperate thoughts of what could have been - if Panam hadn't called a stop, if she hadn't both accepted and then rejected V's advances.

But there's a strange sense of peace in the air, rolling in on the storm. It's a calm thing, a quiet thing, but V discovers that wounds that would have hobbled her any other day are strangely painless here. Sure, things haven't worked out the way she wanted them to. But that was tonight. There's always tomorrow, and who really knows what that will bring?

She stretches out and rests her hands behind her head. When her eyes close, her mind is free of everything but an overwhelming desire to sleep.

V drifts off a few minutes after the nomad, her head falling against her shoulder as she's swept off by dreams of better days. From then on, the only thing that breaks the nighttime quiet is the raging of the storm and a gently crackling fire. Cockroaches skitter across the kitchen's ancient linoleum, no more than black specks on a dirty bone backdrop. A single inquisitive rat - a determined little bastard who'd long survived NC's pest control laws - pokes its nose from behind a stack of dusty old screamsheets and tests the air.

Said air shatters into a buzzing screech and digital scintillation that none present can see or hear. Johnny materializes into a comfortable seat on the living room table, his hands resting on his knees. He watches the sleeping women, strangely appreciating the peace and quiet. Long time since he'd experienced either, and he's as surprised as the next choom to realize he doesn't hate it.

He keeps an eye on V while she sleeps, noting that she appears to be free of nightmares for the first time in a long while. He can feel her contentment through their sympathetic connection. It's tinged with disappointment and embarrassment, but deep down she's... happy. For the first time since she lost her choomba back at the tower, she feels she can let her guard down a smidge.

Ah, what the hell...

"On behalf of the staff of the Independent California Motel," he murmurs to no one, offering a quick nod to his slumbering host, "I wish you all sweet dreams."

Then he crackles back into oblivion and the room is calm once more.

The sun rises early, warming the desert chill from V's bones. She returns to the land of the living, unsure just where she is and why she's there. Her... condition leaves her with a wake-up headache on the best days, but this time it's coupled with-

"Ugh," she mutters. "Whiskey. Who the fuck thought whiskey was a good idea?"

She sits up and her back protests the motion, aggressively reminding her that she spent the night sprawled across a couch that's at least thirty years old. Her head throbs until she yanks the bottle of omega blockers from her jacket and shakes two into her mouth. They stick halfway down her throat but once they're down, the pulsing in her temples eases.

Something's off; last night she'd had company. Now Panam is nowhere to be seen. The only sound is the radio playing in the corner, spouting a news bulletin about the hellish haboob and the damage it had done to the city outskirts.

Shit. All things considered, she'd thought things had ended on a decent note last night. But what if it had scared Panam off?

She rocks herself to her feet with a pained groan. A brief stretch crackles the bones up her spine and loosens her up enough to walk without limping. She makes her way to the front door, pausing only to catch a glance at the notably empty whiskey bottle. She curses herself one more time, then punches the door control. It sheathes open to spill sunlight into the room and her world goes white. When her Kiroshis finally adjust to the brilliant glare, the first thing she sees is a familiar red jacket and the woman inside it. The tension drains from her body at the sight.

"Morning!" Panam says brightly. She's sitting on the front steps with arms linked over her knees. "Sleep all right?"

V pauses to let out a short breath. The morning just got a whole lot brighter. "Back's all fucked up. My first stop back in town is gonna be my ripper. Seems I need a few springs taken out."

She gingerly takes a seat next to the other woman. "What about you?"

"Ah, I slept like a puppy. Shitty couches are nothing new to me." Panam smiles. "Though my ripper says I've got the spine of an arthritic eighty-year-old, so that doesn't count for much."

"Hey, that ain't bad in these parts. They say eighty is the new fifty."

"Ha! Fuck off."

They sit and enjoy the morning together, casually eavesdropping on Saul's muttering from across the yard. A nomad van has parked in the scrub that used to be the farm's front lawn and Saul is stubbornly allowing Cassidy, another nomad, to patch him up before heading back to camp.

V jerks her chin in the direction of the surly man. "Saul doin' all right?"

"Eh. Cracked skull, six busted ribs, bruised kidneys. The usual."

"Jesus."

Panam smirks. "Doesn't stop him from going right back at it, bossing folk every which way. Some things never change."

"So..." V says as she shifts position. "We gonna talk? About last night?"

"We, uh, don't need to." Panam's shoulders go tense. "But if you really want to-"

"No, no." V steps in before things can spiral back into the land of the awkward again. "I just wanted to apologize. For makin' you uncomfortable."

"Oh, V. You didn't make me uncomfortable." Panam sighs. "If anything, I just feel like shit for leading you on. Didn't know what I was doing."

"Psh. You never know what you're doing."

She glares at V, but there's mirth in those brown eyes. "Fair enough. I meant what I said, though. I do like you, V. I trust you. And maybe if things were different..."

"You and me are chooms, Panam." V rests a hand on Panam's shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. "So long as that stays true, anything else is just background noise."

"Really? Just like that?"

V nods. "Just like that."

"Well... so long as you decide to stick around a while longer, I guess that's good enough for me. I hope it's good enough for you?"

"Uh-huh." V shoots her friend her most charming grin. "What, you thought you were the first pretty face to bat her eyelashes my way?"

"You're the absolute worst."

"I know. But just for the record?" A soft blush warms V's cheeks. "In another life, I would've rocked your world."

"Ha!" Panam laughs then - a sound as free and authentic as the woman herself. "And just for the record: In another life, I would've let you."

"Glad that's settled." V straightens a little. The pang of unspoken what-ifs still sting, but a weight has been lifted from her shoulders all the same. It's there, it's out in the open, and they're both laughing. No damage done. No regrets to fret over.

"Time to move on." She speaks to no one in particular.

Panam nods. A push off the stairs carries her into the scrubgrass lawn. "Time indeed. I better get rolling."

"Not one to kick back and relax, are you?" V follows close behind, off the porch and through the weeds to a pair of bikes waiting for their riders.

"Not my style. Not by a long shot. I've got places to go, stuff to shoot. Not too different from you, I imagine." Panam swivels and leans against the nearest set of wheels. "We - the Aldecaldos, I mean - have work to do if we're going to prepare for the Wraiths. Saul will set everything up in camp, whereas I..."

"Whereas you...?"

"Saul said it himself: the Wraiths that took him were a scouting party. If they're snooping around our routes, then I need to do some recon of my own."

"Call me?" V quickly adds, "Let me know how things go with Saul?"

Panam swings onto her borrowed bike. "Count on it. I think it's finally time you bought me a beer for once."

A warm look passes into her rich brown eyes as she nods in farewell. She moves to kick the starter, but V's hand flashes out and catches her wrist. For a moment, even she doesn't know why she does it. But by then the die has been cast and it's time for one more gamble before they go their separate ways. Unlike getting a little handsy in the midst of a sandstorm, though, this particular wager carries far greater dangers.

"Hold on a sec." V grits her teeth and asks, "Can... can I see your phone?"

Panam's eyes narrow, more out of curiosity than suspicion. "Um... why?"

"Why else? I'm about to make a gonk decision."

Panam's curiosity gets the best of her and she fishes the phone from her jacket pocket. She hands it over and leans her forearms on the handlebars to watch as V scrolls through her contacts. There aren't many.

When she sees her own handle, the merc comes to a halt and her fingers dance across the screen for a few seconds. Then she thrusts the phone back into the other's gloved hands, trying to ignore how her cheeks burn. The red-clad nomad studies the changes V made with the small crease of a confused frown between her brows.

"So... Valerie, huh?"

V replies with a tight, nervous grin. "That's me."

Panam digests it for a moment, then smiles. "I like it. But if you don't mind, I think I'll stick to the name I'm more familiar with."

"Sure. Just don't go spreadin' it around."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Panam tucks the phone back into her pocket and kicks the starter again. The bike rumbles to life beneath her. She flashes a final grin at the solo and flexes her grasp on the handlebars.

"Look after yourself, V," she says. "I won't be a stranger. Promise."

"Same to you, Panam."

And then she's roaring off into the sunrise, kicking up a plume of thick desert sand in her wake. The bike's roar fades away like distant thunder, leaving V to enjoy a few moments of beatific morning quiet. Then a stutter of digital feedback interrupts it and Johnny slinks into view, cigarette in hand. He watches Panam's bike shrink into the distance as well.

"That didn't go quite as planned, did it?"

"Rarely does," V says with a sigh. She turns her attention back to the house; might as well scour it for anything interesting before taking off again. Johnny sizzles into a lazy lean next to the door as she mounts the stairs.

"What, that's it?" he demands. "You pine over Biker Girl for weeks, then just give up?"

"Unlike you," she glares at him, "I know how to take no for an answer. My pride isn't so fragile that it can't take a few hits."

"Huh." Johnny huffs on his cig with a shrug. "Your loss."

"We're in agreement there. But at least it's all water under the bridge. Panam's a good friend. No matter what else might have happened, I'm glad it stayed that way."

"So what happens now?"

"We're gonna check out what's here." She slips inside and sets to work scanning. "Then back home. I need a cold shower."

"A familiar feeling stops me in my tracks. I know your love is going to leave me cold, but I keep coming back."

- Jessie Frye, Fantasy

Author's Note: I gravitated towards a Judy romance as my first "canon" playthrough, but I still found it almost criminal that Panam was not available for a female V to pursue. I loved how the rough, no-nonsense V devolved into an awkward stuttering mess around Panam. Plus, the way Panam treated V (especially in this particular scene) was just too damn seductive. There was waaay too much sexual tension to believe there was no attraction there.

But I respected the dev's last-minute decision to keep her off-limits - didn't agree, but I respected. And the more I worked through her story, the more I actually found myself enjoying her always-friendly, often-flirty relationship with V as it developed into the tightest of bonds - all without a blossoming romance.

This is my "best of both worlds" solution. Lil bit of steamy, then yanked back into the awkward rejection us fem-V fans know so well.