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“Ok.” Johnny’s voice takes on that same, off tone, the one that shakes a little. Almost sounds like he’s disappointed that she said yes. She knows he’s not, though. He cares about Rogue. V can tell, because she cares about her, too. It starts to rain, dust kicking up from the land around the oil field, the stench of some kind of chemical runoff permeating the air. It comes on quick, all at once, with little warning -- like most other things in night city. “Let’s delta,” he finally says. “Nothin’ to see here after all, and I don’t want you to get that jacket soggy.” V stands up, nodding in agreement. “Worth coming out here, though?” She asks over the thunder. It’s not just rain. A storms coming. How fitting. “Absolutely,” Johnny says as V pops up the collar of the jacket, like that’ll do anything to protect her from the rain as it rapidly rolls in. “Thanks, V. ...Of all the heads I coulda’ popped up in, hella glad it was yours.” During their return to the car, V comes to regret parking it further away than she needed to. It seemed like a good idea at the time -- she’d had no idea what was up the road or what to expect -- but five minutes feels more like fifteen in the downpour. Johnny walks alongside her the whole time. He doesn’t have to. She appreciates the gesture. When she reaches the car and climbs into the driver’s seat, she takes a second to find her bearings. She’s soaked, and although Johnny’s jacket has definitely kept her warm, she’s hardly comfortable, either. “Hate having my hair wet,” she remarks, looking at herself in the rear-view mirror as Johnny glitches beside him. He scoffs, although it’s more playful than mean spirited. “We’ll be home soon. You can worry all about your hair crisis then.” V reaches forward to start the engine, but something on the back dash catches her eye. A packet of cigarettes in pristine condition. She thinks about what just happened, about the exchange her and Johnny just shared, and makes a decision. “Hey, Johnny,” she says, twisting in her seat and smiling. “Wanna smoke?” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, climbing into the back seat. Of course he wants a smoke. He always wants a smoke. He smiles, glitching into the backseat with her when he realises she’s serious. “Thought you hated it.” “Must be the bleed,” she explains with a shrug. It’s not. This is something she’s doing for him. They both know that, but neither of them say anything, both of them too afraid to ruin a good thing. The packet looks new, but it isn’t. The box is without the plastic wrap that comes with a new one, and it’s half smoked. To their luck, there’s already a cheap cigarette lighter inside. One less thing to worry about. V takes a cigarette out and places it between her lips, lighting the end of it, watching Johnny as she inhales. He smiles a little to himself, visibly relaxing a little, the feel and taste and smell of real smoke scratching a previous unscratchable itch. The two sit in silence, rain buffeting the outside of Johnny’s Porsche, V’s boots kicked up and resting on the centre console, enjoying a moment of peace that feels undeserved or almost stolen. They stay like this for the duration of the cigarette, until V leans forward and reaches out to the ashtray in the centre console, stubbing it out. “V?” She turns around to address Johnny, who hasn’t moved from his position in the backseat. “Yeah?” He carefully takes her hand in his, and her heart all but stops. Carefully and quietly, without a word, he leads her to him, closing any distance between them until their foreheads are touching. His sunglasses are gone, and she’s straddling him, and all either can hear are their own breaths and their heartbeats and the rain pelleting on the roof of the car. She braces the backseat behind him, and his hands cup her face, fingers lacing into her hair. Something, somewhere changed tonight. Something finally clicked, slid into place, and it’s all of a sudden like they can see what’s been there the whole time. V knew, deep down, that this was there. So did Johnny. It’s always been there, lingering below the surface, growing, developing in the two most stubborn people in the world who were always going to pretend it didn’t exist until the last possible moment in the backseat of a Porsche. But it was always there. When he kisses her, it feels like the single realest thing in the world, to both of them. They’ve been able to touch before, something only the two of them can do, but this… is different. They both forget the shit they’re in, they forget she’s dying, they forget he’s not physically real. It’s like he’s really there. She swears to god that he’s warm. The kisses are slow, lingering, each of them like they could be the last one before one of them realises what a terrible mistake it is they’re making right now. It’s probably inadvisable to develop feelings for the engram in your head, or the person who’s body is hosting you like some kind of parasite, but as V peels off Johnny’s jacket, the thoughts fall to the wayside along with the rest of her clothes until she’s completely naked, hair wet, his dog-tags resting on her chest along with the bullet that started everything. Fuck, she’s beautiful. It’s the same thing he thought when he first saw her, when he first realised he was in her body and saw her reflection. Back then, it triggered an anger in him, unexplainable at first, but one he realised was the fear that he’d have to experience being treated the same way that he used to treat women when he was alive, that being trapped in someone so gorgeous was some kind of cosmic retribution. Now, though? He can’t understand how the fuck he lucked out like this. Unlike last time, he’s gentle when he takes her. There’s no degrading her or name-calling or choking this time, no. How could there be? This isn’t the first woman he’s had who he’s wanted to cherish, but this is the first one he’s been willing to admit to himself that he cherishes. She’s changed him -- she makes him want to change. It’s slow. They try to be gentle, but there’s a firmness to their movements, neither of them wanting to let go of eachother, scared this might slip through their fingers. She sighs into his ear and he moves his head to seize another kiss. Her kisses are incredible. He can’t believe he denied himself this. V is far from perfect and that’s what makes her so fucking perfect. Most people who get to know Johnny even a little end up being disgusted with him, loathing him. But V? V knows everything about him. V knows him better than anyone can possibly know someone in normal circumstances and, somehow, despite that, she doesn’t hate him at all. The opposite. She’s actually in-- He stops that thought as though V has telepathically shushed him, rolling her hips against him, moaning his name in a way that’s so quiet and gentle that it sounds more like she’s pleading with him than anything. You’re thinking too much. She keeps riding him, the pace remaining slow and consistent, V revelling in how his hands want to touch and feel every part of her as though she’s just as likely to vanish as he is. This isn’t just sex. It’s different, something special that she doesn’t know if anyone’s had from Johnny before. His hands and arms don’t pin her down or throw her around anymore, now holding her, cradling her as she arches back and holding her upright as her legs begin to shake. His mouth doesn’t berate her, words not trying to beat her into the ground with poison. Instead he says her name and it feels like a weight that’s been pressing on her chest is finally gone. Last time their bodies were synchronised, but this time there’s more. Parts of V that she didn’t even understand are finding themselves in him. As they both begin reaching their peak, the grips become firmer, the kisses more desperate, but every move remains meaningful. It’s not about getting off this time. It’s about being as close to each other as possible, about soaking up every feeling and emotion and thought that each other has to offer. They finally reach it together, but there’s no swearing or shouting, just choking on moans that escape their chests as they kiss each other, V gripping the sides of his head in her hands, Johnny holding her by the waist desperately in order to keep her upright. V’s whole body trembles, breathless as she collapses against him, feeling like every muscle in her body is able to finally release tension she didn’t even know they were holding. The feeling of her body completely against him, trembling as they both come in what feels like an ongoing loop thanks to the bleed is something he’s unsure how he’s ever lived without. The softness of her skin, the smell of her hair, the sound of her voice… it’s everything. Exhausted, she rests against him, slowly finding her breath again and listening to him find his. The rain keeps on outside, and V doesn’t move. They stay there in the backseat, Johnny sprawled out and V draped against his chest, an arm around her. Neither says anything. They don’t need to. They’ve long passed the need for words. V has, for all intents and purposes, never felt more wanted in her life. Johnny hasn’t, either. They remain there until the rain lets up. V even drifts off to sleep a few times, unable to resist the call during such a period of contentment. The world outside the car is uncertain, full of questions -- even more now that they’ve crossed this point of no return -- but for now, this is perfect. For now, it’s a reprieve from what was and what is to come. It’s what the two of them need, and, for now, it’s enough.