"Oh Christ Jackie you're not gonna believe this." The portly man behind the counter whispered, gesturing with his chin. "She's going back to the revolvers man."

Jackie buried a low, sorrowful groan in the greasy countertop, sinking deeper into his arms. Wilson reached over to pat his head.

"I agree, it's gone too far. Adams and Washington and all the rest of 'em are rolling in their graves."

Jackie peeked up at the shop owner's sweaty, gleeful face. No matter what Adams and Washington might have thought, he was enjoying this. Wilson was an artist, and like any artist he loved to see his work appreciated. His eyes were narrow, hungry, soaking in the long looks and tentative caresses V gave each gun as she wandered down the aisles.

"Not the shotguns, girl." Wilson muttered, as V turned to greet a rack of long-barreled weapons for the tenth time. "You're better than that."

Jackie snorted. "It's been an hour. She's lost."

"Quiet." Wilson hushed, a broad grin spilling out from behind the finger at his lips. "Finding a gun's like dating, y'know. It doesn't happen all at once."

Jackie cocked an eyebrow at the gunsmith. He frowned and shook his head.

"Never mind, of course you don't know." Wilson nodded down at the pistol holstered at his hip. "Yours was a custom job, wasn't it?"

"Yeah so?" Jackie asked, draping a protective hand over his pistol's golden inlays.

"So you designed your input. Picked out all the parts you wanted and had them put together like one of those dolls over at Clouds. Beautiful. Perfect even, but not real." He puffed. "Real women don't come like that."

Now it was his turn to grin. "Tell me more about the real women, choom."

"I get it. You don't believe me."

"Course I do." Jackie shrugged. "Gotta be some reason why she's been walking in circles, lost, in your store. No perfect guns in here, si bueno. But maybe you're short on real guns too."

Wilson shook his head, jowls fluttering. "You're not getting it, Jackie. I told you, it's like dating. Look, right now all this iron," he waved at the rows of weapons, "is trying to get in your friend's pants."

"Uh huh."

"But like the girls you date, none of 'em are perfect. Look. That one's got a flashy grip, but the sights are a little off." His fingers twitched as he pointed. "Revolver over there could put a bullet through a Villefort, but it'll pop right out of your hand after if you don't hold on tight."

Jackie ran a hand through his hair, strangling a few choice locks near the top. "So when my friend asked me where she could find the hardest iron in Night City, and I told her she'd find it here─"

"Rock hard. Diamond hard. Adams wouldn't have it any other way."

"What I was really bringing her across the city to see was a bunch of junk and a gunsmith handing out gonk dating advice?"

Wilson scowled. "Nothing's perfect, Jackie, not even that golden girl you've got." He nodded towards V, who was bent at the waist, peering closely at an arrangement of handguns. "Everything's got a little flaw, including guns. It's what gives traditional iron character. Nowadays, Corp girls walk in here looking for a gun that fits in their purse and hits without aiming." Wilson gave him an incredulous look. "Without aiming!"

"Smart guns, lo sé." Jackie shook his head and bit back a smile. "Can't imagine a lot of Corp girls walking in here though."

"Bite me." Wilson snapped, turning his back to watch V teeter hesitantly near the shotguns. "But your friend here, she knows what I'm talking about. I'll tell ya, right now she's tryna figure out what she can live with. Who cares if her output snores, long as he's strong and treats her right?" His eyes flicked over to make sure he was listening. "He could be smart and good with his hands and funny, but maybe he's a little old, or a little worn-out looking y'know? Long as he does the job."

"Right." Jackie yawned, sliding off the seat. "Think she's planning on settling down anytime soon? Getting married? Cause I've got this thing with Misty tonight and…"

"Shhhh!" Wilson hushed him, eyes locked on something behind him. Heels click-clacked across the linoleum floor.

"Did you find what you were looking for, ma'am?" He asked, laying it on thick with the concerned eyes and folded arms. "I've got a couple of good pieces in the back if you're still looking."

"Do you have any smart guns?" V's soft voice came from just over his left shoulder. Jackie fought hard to keep the triumphant grin down as he watched the gunsmith's face turn red.

"You…" The man glanced back at the range of custom-built weapons set up for display. He swallowed. "You want a smart gun?"

"A small one. One I could fit in my…"

"Purse?" Jackie offered helpfully. Wilson's glare probably meant he'd pay for that in maintenance charges later but damn if the man didn't look like a kicked puppy.

Serves him right for bad-mouthing La Chingona Dorada.

V stepped up beside him, nodding. "A purse, or in my pocket." She eyed the shopkeeper. "Arasaka would be better, but I'd settle for Kang Tao."

"Got no Arasaka crap here." Wilson mumbled, lips pursed into a thin line. "Better keep looking."

V straightened. Raised one of those perfect eyebrows to a condescending height and gave Wilson a short, dismissive nod before turning his way. "Let's go Jackie. This was a waste of time."

He jerked his thumb towards the door. "I've got a couple of things to take care of, chica. Gimme a minute?"

She gave him a look, as cold and icy as the one she'd given the shopkeeper. A look that demanded to know what he could possibly want with the man she'd just dismissed so decisively. Maybe it worked on Arasaka assistants or receptionists, but he just met her eyes head on until she spun around in a huff.

Jackie waited until the click-clack faded behind him before chancing a look at Wilson. He wasn't smiling.

"Wanna gloat?" He asked, arms crossed. "Go on, I deserve it."

"I wouldn't dare choom." Jackie smiled, eyes flickering blue. Wilson straightened up, his own eyes glowing to match.

"Two grand? What for?"

"A custom job." Jackie held up his hands. "I know, I know, I'm skipping past the night walks, the drunk sex, the messy break-up. But she needs good iron, whether she wants it or not."

"For two grand? Fuck dating. I'll make her the best custom-built gun she could ask for." He tilted his head. "How do you want it?"

"Needs to be light. No attachments." V wouldn't like anything too flashy, and her aim was going to be shit, no way around that. "Gotta shoot fast without jumping out of her hands. Easy to reload and small, so she can hide it."

Wilson nodded, rubbing his chin. "I can do that. Plenty of gonks on the street carrying more bullets than brain cells."

"And none of that traditional iron bullshit, comprende? Paying good money to make sure this thing won't blow up in her hands."

"Woah!" The gunsmith held up his hands. "I get it. Comprendo. Golden girl gets nothing less than the best. Swear it on Adams."

"Thanks Wilson." He offered his hand. Wilson shook it distractedly, eyes fixed on the counter.

"Something small caliber, probably burst fire to drop recoil." He looked up suddenly. "Where'd you get the money?"

"Biz is picking up a little." Jackie lied, shrugging to deflect further questions. "And she'll pay me back. I'm sure of it."

"Good on you." Wilson muttered, already turned around and rummaging through parts he kept beneath the counter. "Got a name for it?"

He did. One that made him smile. "Dying Night."

Wilson smirked at his parts.

"May your every night be bright, Jackie."

He found her on a bench, a few feet away from the store, watching Coach Fred spar with some juiced-up, pink-mohawked bruiser.

"Never showed up for any of my matches." He said, nudging her shoulder. "But now you're interested?"

She smiled and scooted over a little. "They used to have kenjutsu tournaments at Arasaka. I'd watch sometimes."

"Y'mean sword fights?" Jackie asked, taking a seat by her side. "Coach organizes a few in his spare time. Could be a great way to stretch that arm of yours, chica."

"You think that'd help?"

"Maybe. Gonks rush you in an alley, they ain't expecting you to pull out a sword and go all samurai on their asses." He shrugged. "Might be better than a smart gun."

She snorted and held up her hand, palm up to show pink flesh. "Smart gun, right. Like I'd be able to use one without an uplink."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Only kind I knew anything about. Frank had one." She shifted a little further down the bench. "Everyone at Arasaka did."

Course they did.

In the ring, Fred weaved around a wild hook before backpedaling towards the ropes. Sensing weakness, his hulking opponent barreled forward, still swinging.

"Left hook, right uppercut." Jackie muttered and sure enough, mohawk swung hard with his left, setting up for what would be a devastating right. Only Fred bobbed under the hook and sidestepped wide. Mohawk's finisher fizzed through air, momentum carrying him forward, left flank exposed to a short, sharp jab.

V gasped, but Mohawk shrugged off the blow, tossing one of his own that was dodged just as easily. He was smiling; Coach's punch hadn't landed nearly as hard as it could've. They were playing it up for the crowd and, by the look on V's face, it was working.

"They're feeling each other out." Jackie said, after a wild haymaker grazed past Fred's ear. "El oso over there's not half bad. He's leaving his left wide open, too open."

"On purpose?" She glanced at him, wide-eyed, and a small frisson of pride swelled his chest. Wasn't often he had the chance to teach her something.

"Bluffing. Covering his weakness by making it look worse than it is." He grinned, tapping his temple. "All in the mind, V. Now Fred's thinking twice about lining up those shots, wonderin' if oso's got something planned."

"He's a lot bigger than Fred." V observed, as another rippling punch flew just shy of the Coach's chin. He was backpedaling hard, rotating to avoid the ropes. "Does he have to do all that?"

"Boxing's more complicated than it looks. Plenty of the guys I fought were bigger." he nodded at the ring "Trick's to win the mind game, turn that strength against them."

"What if there's two of them?"

Jackie frowned, scratching his chin. "If you're talking off the mat, I'd say you're better off running. Two versus one is long odds, V, especially in a fistfight."

"And five? Ten?"

"That's when it helps to have a piece." He tugged on his jacket, flashing his pistol. "Drop one or two then delta."

"You'd run? Even with a gun?"

Jackie shifted on the bench, cleared his throat. Suddenly aware of V's eyes burning holes in his sideburns.

"Didn't know we were talking about me."

She went silent again. Mohawk and Fred still going at it, tossing sweaty jabs and feints, but she wasn't watching. Just staring at the ground, grazing the floor with her red heels. Like what she's thinking is too big for him.

"Spoke with Padre the other day." He muttered, staring at his own patch of scuffed concrete. "He's furious. Everyone is."

V nodded.

"Borgs got no place in Heywood." He leaned back, rubbing his neck. "Some of the boys are planning a little reminder for the cybergonks, V."

"The boys?" She jerked towards him, lips pressed tight. "You mean the Valentinos?"

"Who else? They stepped on our turf. Killed a girl. Somebody's gotta pay."

"And you're going with them?" She seized his arm, fingers digging dents in his skin. "Jackie you promised."

"Relax, V." He placed his hand over hers, rubbing her cool skin before prying it off. "I'll stay with you. I promised, didn't I?"

She nodded, bringing her hands into her lap.

"You did."

"It's just…" He paused. He had to say it right. "They want to hit the right guy, y'know? No point stirring shit up unless they're sure."

"And they think I know."

"Yeah." He tilted his head slightly towards her, eyes still on the mat. "Do you?"

"No."

"V, this is serious. People are gonna die. That girl─"

"Girl?" Her nostrils flared as she turned on him. "You don't even know her name, do you?"

"I don't." He said, expression flat. "And it doesn't matter now. She's dead."

Her lips, parted pink and dripping with acid, pressed shut.

"Best we can do now is revenge, V. Make the fuckers bleed, so they think a hundred times before stepping near Mama's place again."

Her eyes lingered on his for a second longer before darting back to the mat. They'd seen the anger burning behind his cool green eyes. Not just for the girl, or Maelstrom, or for his lingering Valentino pride. But for her.

For going ahead with her stupid plan without him. For dragging Maelstrom goons over to Heywood and getting someone killed. A second was enough to catch the guilt in her eyes.

He gave her that second. Then another. Was planning on saying something at three when she spoke.

"When I started running, one of them chased after me." She whispered, eyes never leaving the mat. "Their boss, the one without eyes. He almost had me, but one of the others got in his way."

Tears again, dripping silently down her cheek. This time, he placed his arm on her shoulder and pulled her close.

"A name?"

"They were all saying it, Jackie. All at once, when they were dragging me to the bay."

A long silence. He kept her close.

"Royce." She whispered into his jacket. Her fist thumped against his thigh. "Royce. Royce. Royce." Thump. Thump. Thump.

Royce.

Royce!

"Hey Royce!" His hand flew up and caught the spanner inches away from his face. Muscles, real and synthetic, bulged as his fingers wrapped tight around the tool. It creaked, groaned, then finally gave way under the crushing pressure.

"Nice upgrades!" The asshole testing his reflexes was also the only asshole in Watson who could get away with it. Brick, with a glinting, shit-eating grin waved at him from his booth. "Where'd ya get the scratch?"

"Picked it off the street." Royce answered, throwing a casual shrug. "Bitch just handed it to me."

"Really?" Brick cocked his head, still grinning. "You get me my cut?"

"Sure boss. I'll get Dum-Dum on it."

"Ah don't let that hack-monkey get between us!" He chuckled, waving his hand. "Bring it to me in person, eh? And I've been thinking about getting you some work now that you're up and running again."

Royce took a hit of lace and said nothing. He was far from up and running. Functional, sure, but the ripper had promised the pain would get better once the new parts were installed. New stuff, all custom-made for him instead of the Lat-Am military rejects that'd ruined his body. And they'd worked, for a while. Long enough for him to put away the drugs and focus on getting his group organized.

But then the pain came back with a vengeance, worse than ever before. His freshly cleared synapses had sent the brunt of it straight to the back of his head, jolting him awake and out of bed, crawling on trembling hands towards the trash receptacle.

"Some gonk-ass scheme they're working on needs a Militech robot. Lot of punks been asking after this job, y'know. Good punks, some of 'em even had potential." Brick glinted him another smile. "Wanna know what I told 'em?"

His lips puckered tight around the inhaler. Another deep hit blessed him with patience.

"I told them no. Fuck off. My man Royce has a score to settle with Militech." Course he looked up at that and course Brick met his glare with a smile. "His girl's been worked over by the corps and he's gonna pay them back. Ain't gonna let us get fucked."

"Course not." Shithead.

"There's a convoy moving the thing tomorrow night. Travelling past the docks. Your monkey has the deets."

"Fine." Royce spat. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and got up. Didn't even say goodbye.

Brick watched him go, smile still plastered on his face. It didn't drop till the silhouette behind the door was gone.

A Militech spy. In his own gang. Fuckin' secrets out of him all night.

He picked up a wrench and tested his arms on it. It didn't give.

Forty grands worth of implants. High as the moon. Ugly as a mother fucker.

The equation was getting clearer in his head.

Royce and Brick.

One plus one gotta equal one.

"Close your eyes."

The authority in his voice caught V off guard as they exited onto the street in front of megabuilding H10. Her eyes snapped shut on instinct and stayed shut thanks to his rough hands wrapping around her temples. They guided her forward, his body pressed close to help her keep her balance going down the steps.

"I'm wearing heels." She hissed, and the hands wavered.

"Keep your eyes closed." He warned, sliding them away from her face and down to her hips. The indignant insult at the tip of her tongue disappeared in a gasp of air as she went weightless for a few seconds before being brought gently to the ground. Ballet saved her last pair of heels, but nothing could save this man from─

"Steps over." He whispered, hands returning to her eyes. "No peeking."

The excitement in his voice was enough. She sighed, moving forward in step with him. A rush of hot air brushed past her face, bringing with it the scent of spices. Her nose curled at the unfamiliar smell of grease. This wasn't anything like Ms. Welles' cooking, and nothing at all like the premade meals she had at home. He murmured something too soft to hear.

"Ahhh. Open your mouth."

She did. Didn't even think about it. She was back in the bathroom again and he was in charge and─

The thing Jackie stuffed in her mouth arrived with no warning. V choked, her tongue rejecting the steaming intruder before returning for a tentative second lick. Then a third, as her brain slowly registered the appeal of what it was tasting. She bit into it, letting the sudden explosion of spice, veggies and synthmeat filling clash with the greasy dough. The hands moved away from her eyes but she kept them closed, savoring every bite.

Only he would go this far for a dumpling. She thought, as the hands guided her to a bench. Her eyes stung from the heat and something more.

I could cry. I could laugh.

She settled on something less dramatic. Snapped her eyes open and launched a well-aimed punch that got him right in the shoulder-meat. Jackie tried to wince, but the ear-to-ear grin on his face refused to budge.

"What was that?" V asked, looking down at the plate of round, glistening orbs pressed to perfection and garnished with a pair of chopsticks. Her stomach growled and Jackie picked up another dumpling, bringing it towards her face.

"I'm not ten." She grumbled, snatching up the chopsticks. "I know how to eat."

"It's Dim Sum." Jackie answered, swiping one off the plate before she could stop him. "Told you, you had to try it."

"You didn't have to─" she swallowed, took another bite, swallowed again. "─force it down my throat, you know."

He shrugged. "Only way to get you to try new food. You're free from cardboard burritos now."

She kept chewing. He was probably right.

He rubbed his neck.

"There's an apartment I had an eye on, here in H10. Rent's reasonable, and I was hoping to stay closer to Misty, y'know? Drive her to work maybe?"

The next dumpling was too sour. V downed it quickly.

"But I thought you might want to stay here. Watson being your home and all that." He paused, waiting for her reply.

She poked another dumpling with a chopstick. It was probably sour too.

"Not that my home isn't your home." He added quickly, smiling to dull the blow. "You can stay there as long as you'd like. Mama loves having you around."

"But…" Tell me why she looks at me like that when I'm walking around the house. Tell me she doesn't blame me for what happened at her bar.

He bit his lip.

Just say it. She doesn't want me around.

"V, I won't go after Maelstrom. I'll stay with you, like I promised."

"Mmmhmm."

"But you should think about what you wanna do next. I know you don't want to stay at the bar."

"Bar's nice. The Tequila is killer. Or so I heard."

He sighed, long and hard. It gets to him sometimes, the way she speaks when she's uncomfortable. It's all over his face, the frustration he's trying so hard to hide. Would've been nice if it'd started after Arasaka, so she could write it off as Corp-speak she'd grow out of.

But no, she's been like this for as long as she's known.

A self-defense mechanism. Her Life Coach would've said. Deep trauma. We can book an extended session to talk about it.

"I can't go to the moon if you're stuck down here, Val." He whispered, fixing her with the green-eyed smoulder that had stolen hearts and virginities all across Heywood.

Her heart leapt into her throat, pounding so loud it made her head spin. Jackie and Val. He'd promised her that, way before he'd met Camila or Misty or any of the others. Our dream.

"What am I supposed to do?" She croaked. "I've got nothing."

"You've got me." He poked her forehead. "And that big brain of yours. I could use a netrunner on my gigs."

"I'm not getting any implants, Jackie. Or getting in a bath. I've seen Netrunners fry."

"Don't need to, V." He said, speaking faster now. "Get an ICEpick, or jack in directly. I need a cool head watching my back, wiping cameras and planning out approaches. Like you did in Tijuana, or with Padre."

She shook her head. "That was a one time thing."

"It doesn't have to be. Val, listen, there are big contracts floating in the market right now. Padre's fronting me a few thousand just for taking one of these jobs, with more eddies coming up in advance."

"Another trap. Another easy way to die." But her blood was pumping.

"We've gotta take chances, V. Night City's like a woman. All you gotta do is─"

"─spread her legs, I know." V handed the half-empty plate back to him. "She might kill you for it though."

Another long sigh. Jackie's shoulders sagged. He grabbed one of the dumplings, twirled it between his fingers before popping it in his mouth.

"I get it, V. I shouldn't have asked." His expression grew grim. "You're safe. That's all that matters."

"There's other ways to make money, Jackie." V said softly, pulling out her phone. "I'll find something. I don't have to be a waitress."

He frowned.

"I don't know if Mama would want you back at work so soon. Not while those fucks are still breathing."

He's going to hate me for this she thought, as she flicked through her phone. The shard was already slotted into it; had been since the night he'd let her keep it. The name of her target, his daily schedule, what he'd be wearing.

Jackie droned on, talking to a child, waving his hands around like he was guiding traffic.

"-and you could try-"

"Jackie, can I go home now?" She asked, eyes glued to her phone. "I've got something to work on."

"Another plan?" He asked. His tone was dripping with worry, and his eyes would be too if she would meet them.

"Yeah. Sleeping." She said, offering him a small smile and rising to her feet. "The food was great, but a bed would be even better."

He got up and offered her the plate.

"Finish the rest of them and I'll drop you off."

The offer was genuine, but she knew Heywood was in the wrong direction for him. Every time he said her name, her heart twisted a little more. She wasn't going to let him say it again.

"It's fine, I'll take a cab. Ms. Welles gave me some money."

"Oh." His face fell to the dumplings. She was a bitch again. Atleast he could drown his anger in her breasts. She'd have to settle for the pillow.

"Stay safe, V." He leaned in for a hug, and she clung to him tight.

Dumplings and smoke with a hint of aftershave.

"Thanks Jackie." She mumbled into his jacket before pulling away. "I'll see you soon. Say hi to her for me."

"Misty? Sure, but you'll have to meet her one of these days."

Fuck you Jack.

It wasn't fair. To him, to her; all because of a 'ganic heart that was finally free of blockers and hormones and now refused to give in.

"I'll drop by sometime." She managed to say, before her stinging eyes forced her to turn away. It wasn't until she was safe behind a taxi's tinted windows that she dared look back, to see his dark eyes following her while he chewed.