contains: fem reader, reader has a husband (barely described), angst, fluff, Johnny and V bickering as usual, reader has hair (no specific length, texture, or color, just described as having grey streaks), reader has lines from aging! Lemme know if I missed anything!!!
pairing: Post-Engram!Johnny x 2077 Daughter!Reader, Male V x Johnny’s Daughter!Reader
an: holy shiz balls I don’t even know what to say… I’ve been through so many versions of this so I’ve finally just settled on this. Ik it’s probably complete 💩 but omg I was driving myself crazy because I couldn’t figure out how I wanted it to be, plus I’ve had extremely bad writer's block this last month! so if you see any mistakes, no you dont. 😵💫 anyway, I hope you like this @hi3431! And I am so sorry for how long this has taken me! I’m surprised the few of you are still invested in dad!johnny because of how long it always takes me to write, but thank you all so much for doing so anyway! 🤞😖💖
"I am lookin' at the damn map, Johnny!"
"Yeah, the wrong fuckin' way! You've got it all outta whack, fuckin' turned! Straighten it out, 'n' you'll see!"
They've been driving in circles in the same area for literal hours. They arrived in Fresno County early this morning, traveling through the hills and asking around in small towns. If she were going to come out this far, she definitely wouldn't be residing in a big town.
"Oh…" V blankly stares at the map on his dashboard after doing exactly what Johnny said.
"Well, my brain's fuckin' fried more than it already is, okay? This fuckin' heat... and these fuckin' circles!"
"Well, now we won't be goin' in circles. Now let's get back on the road. Gotta get some kind of intel by evening at least."
"Okay, okay. Just no more orderin' me around an' shit. Can't process anything."
The road out of Night City ended miles ago.
What replaced it wasn’t much better—a thin strip of cracked asphalt winding through dry hills and scattered trees.
Circles. Upon circles. Upon circles. Since early this morning.
It’s now four o’clock in the afternoon.
They've been through Firebaugh, Mendota, San Joaquin, and Kerman so far, all with no luck.
"Let's try Helm and Five Points," Johnny suggests, boots kicked up on the dash, aviators hanging low. "They're further out.”
Once they arrive in Helm, V parks on Main Street as he did in all the other towns they've been through. He steps out in casual clothes, kicks, and Johnny's aviators.
He tries the food market first, shows the old, slow lady who ran it the picture of you he was able to klep early in his research. "You seen this lady around?"
The old lady leans forward, squints, gives up, and reaches for her glasses to try again. "Hm... maybe been through here a couple times, I believe."
She looks again, even closer this time. "Yeah, she's been through here before. Not a local, though."
V's face lights up. "So she has been through here."
"Yeah. She missing or something?"
"Something like that... yeah."
"Hm, well, hope you find 'er, young man."
"Thank you, ma’am. Have a good day."
With that, he walks back out to his V-Tech, hops in, and freaks out. "We're gettin' close, Johnny! I feel it!" V can't deny how invested he is now.
"Yeah, yeah. 'Cause of you."
They move onto Five Points and park on Main Street. He hits the food market and shows the younger employee the photo.
"Yeah, been through here a lot of times. Actually came through the day before yesterday. Real nice lady. Talks to me every time. Says I'd look good doing something I love."
That makes Johnny materialize and lean against the nearest shelf, eyes glued to the floor.
"So do you think she'll be through here soon? Can I catch her?"
"You trying to hurt her?"
"No," V huffs out a laugh as he shakes his head. "No, jus' lookin' for her. She's an... old friend of mine."
"Okay." The young boy keeps his eye on V for a few seconds, assessing him, before slowly nodding.
"Do you know where I can find her? You know where she lives?"
"How do I know you're not tryin' to hurt 'er?"
"Look," V looks down at the boy's name tag. "Jackson. She's an old friend. Someone important to me. Jus' tryin' to find 'er... talk to 'er.
Let's just say... I have something she'd probably want back."
The boy assesses V one more time. The boy had clearly grown a bond with you. "Alright, alright, I believe ya. She..." he scratches the side of his head and shrugs. "Talks like she has a homestead. Loves 'er chickens. That typa lady. Comes through for feed and stuff. That's all I know, man. Ain't been to her place personally."
"Alright, yeah. Okay, I can work with that. Thanks, Jackson." V places your photo back into his pocket.
V practically jogs back outside to his V-Tech and slides in. "Alright, Johnny. We're right on her. Gotta be outside town." He pulls into the road, ready to hit the outskirts.
For what seemed like an hour—really fifteen minutes—because of Johnny's strange, dead silence and tense posture in the passenger seat, barely answering, they arrived at a little place.
The fencing half replaced, half untouched and old, rickety. The simple family home recently painted, the door yet to be. Chickens squawking and chasing each other, goats bellowing, two of them head-butting.
"Think this is it, Johnny?"
"I don't know..." Johnny solemnly mutters, head down as he slightly lifts his shoulders and drops them.
"Nothin’…" he looks out of the passenger window at the house, as if he actually was. "Jus' wishin' it was me. Findin' her... seein' her. I don't know, maybe feelin' her."
"Man, it is you. You're just... in my head. We did this together an' we're doin' it together."
"Hey… 'member what I said? Body's all yours when the time comes. ‘Sides, still got our ‘seudos’s. Maybe you and her could get together sometime if everything goes good. Hm?"
That makes Johnny look back down to his lap with a small grin before looking over at V. "Thanks, kid. Maybe you're right. Guess we'd better go see if it's her, huh?"
"There's the determined asshole I know. Yeah... les'go."
V steps out, pauses as he rounds the front of the car to gather his bearings, and straightens his clothes. He adjusts his white short-sleeve button-up, smooths his jeans, and runs a hand through his hair before removing Johnny’s aviators and tucking them in his pocket. He finally exhales and steps forward, wearing the same outfit Johnny had teased him about earlier, asking if he was going on a date with his daughter.
Once he steps foot on the stone walkway, chickens surround him, not harmful, but playful, running circles around him as he walks, which makes him genuinely laugh. "What're you doin' ya little meat birds?"
Just as he’s about to step onto the porch stairs, a big, dopey dog rounds the corner of the house, barking loudly and deep, almost grizzly in sound.
"Whoa... hey there, buddy." V raises his hands in surrender. "I'm cool. I'm very much... cool."
Johnny materializes on the porch steps, "No way, V. Told 'er I wanted to get one of those one day. English mastiff. A girl."
The dog stops and intently stares into V's eyes, unmoving as it continues to bark.
V's foot was just about to land on the next step before the door locks were opened and the door swung open. "Sable, down! Now!"
"Jesus.." Johnny mutters, dropping his head into his palms, before his image cuts and disappears. "Same damn name. Yeah, this is her."
V finally looks up to the door, and sure enough, there you stand, very close to the picture he's used to get this far.
Days spent buried in records upon records and databases, cradling glasses of whiskey, combing old forums, speaking with an ex-die-hard fan of Johnny’s, cracking open childcare facility reports on your “disorderly behavior”, facility transfer records, and they're finally seeing you in the light of day.
Johnny's image cuts to the porch railing, leaning against it with an evident pout across his lips as he takes you in.
Grey hair threaded through the same shade he remembers, lines earned, not erased, or artificially altered by a Ripperdoc. You’re authentic, you, and most certainly real in this moment. Not a fragment of his once-consciousness, not a flickering light or sense that he’s fought with for the last fifty years, but in the flesh.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to cause all of this."
Your attention was elsewhere, on Sable, who still wouldn't let up.
"It's fine, honey." You walk across the porch floorboards, clapping your hands. "Sable, inside! Now!"
Sable's head droops, ultimately stopping her relentless barking, but still intently looking into V's eyes, feeling him.
You look down at the timid young man. "Come on up. She'll follow once she sees I trust you... if I can."
"Course... yeah." V moves up and slightly behind you to the side, lowering his hands and crouching.
"C'mon, pretty girl," you softly command this time. She obeys, trotting her way up and entering through the open door, retreating to her usual spot on one of the couches.
V lets out a breath of ease and stands. "Beautiful dog, ma'am."
That makes you chuckle a little, noticing how the boy was acting like he wasn't about to shit his pants a second ago. "Sorry about that. She's real protective of me. She's a good girl, though."
"So what'd you need? People don't usually come out here without a reason. And they usually come with the same one.”
"Name's Vincent,” he holds his hand out, and you accept the greeting. “But you can call me V.”
"That's nice, V,” you cross your arms. “But it doesn't answer my question."
"Well.." V bites back a grin and rubs the back of his clammy neck. "You want honesty? I just don't wanna sound like a creep."
"Sure,” you lean against the porch railing. “I guess.”
"Ah," you immediately push yourself off the railing and head for the door. "You're one of those. Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Jesus Christ, V! Don't let ‘er get away!” Johnny scolds him in the back of his head.
"Wait!" V's hand shoots out to grab at the fabric of your shirt before he can think, immediately regretting it and retracting his hand.
Your face twists in confusion and annoyance at such audacity. “Excuse you?”
"Shit, I'm sorry, ma'am. I jus’—there's jus' things I need to figure out. I'm an…” V quickly racks through his brain to conjure an excuse. “Independent journalist, I'm not signed to anyone. Swear."
"Mhm, that's what they all say. Or said... until I started takin' care of them."
That makes V's throat bob, his mouth suddenly dry. "It's nothin' like that. I swear, ma'am."
"Okay, then what's it like? 'Cause you sure don't look like one to me. They usually try harder... more creepy."
V's mouth opens, closes, then opens again to try. "Okay, I'm not lyin' about tracking you down or figurin' things out. Look, I'm not... like the others," he huffs out a humorless laugh. “Quite the opposite, actually."
"There's nothin' to say about my daddy anymore," you shrug and make your way back inside, pausing and turning around to him. "What you're tryin' to figure out, you can look at the ScreamSheets, kid."
"Just!—Just hear me out! Please!"
You stop, push the door slightly open again, considering the boy once more. He looked like a good boy, definitely not a journalist or coming all the way out here just to ‘talk’, but he was genuine. Nervous with clammy hands that he wrung too many times.
There was… something else about him. He smelled of smoke, a bitter liquid, and something warm. And his features? His mouth was set in a specific way you haven't seen for fifty years, and there was a stern crease between his eyebrows, and it looked as if his body was constantly fighting a cocky posture. All in only a way a certain rockerboy’s would be.
No… it was just the mention of your dad messing with your head. The memories that always surface with the sound of his name.
"Ma'am,” The boy softly calls out for your attention, making you shake your head out of your trance. “I've got—I've got something you might wanna know."
"Okay… yeah. I'm sorry. Fine, but no funny business,” you open the door wider, allowing him into your home. "Too hot to stay out here anyway. Let's get you something to drink, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course. Thank you, ma'am."
V steps past you and into the threshold. He’s immediately hit with a homey, inviting atmosphere. Summer citrus wrapped in warmth, real leather furniture that was mended and not replaced, worn with age, with little scratch marks from tiny claws adorning them.
A couple of shotguns and a rifle lean against the wall next to the door for easy access. Just in case.
“Honey, a visitor!” You shout up the staircase before making your way into the kitchen.
Family pictures line the walls, some professionally taken, most blurry as if little hands took them on the sly. V takes them in. For himself, yeah, since he didn't know much about having a family, but mostly for Johnny, who hadn’t said a word or appeared since V walked in.
One showed you as youthful, alongside a tall, handsome man a bit older than you, and two teens, all working on the homestead, captured in a low-angle, blurry image taken by unsteady, tiny hands.
Another showed a much younger you and the same man sitting in a car, a selfie taken with your own hands. You look happy—truly happy and in love—but there’s something else beneath the surface, as if you’re healing.
A moment later, V heard the soft scuff of footsteps and the thud of boots coming down the stairs, followed by a warm voice. “Everything alright, hon? Heard Sable yappin’ her head off.” A tall, broad-shouldered man came down from the last step, a damp towel around his neck, trailing over his bare, solid abdomen. It was the same man from the picture, only broader now, his hair gone gray with time. Body firmly built from years of labor.
He pauses once he sees V. “Who's this young man?”
V slightly ducks his head at the man’s rather warm, fatherly tone, but meets his hand. “Vincent, sir, but you can call me V.”
“Nice to meet you,” your husband says, introducing himself.
V nods once with a polite smile as their hands detach.
“What brings you out here?”
“Well, I'd like to talk with your wife, hopefully.” V looks back at you in the kitchen. “Got something she might want to know about… her dad.”
“Well, before ya do, you got anything on you?”
“Guns… knives,” James began. “Sorry, it’s just how this household works. Had too many run-ins. And we don't just let anyone in here. I guess to my wife’s better judgment, we did today.”
“Oh… ‘course, I understand. An’ no, I don’t.” V lifts his shirt just above his belt and does a quick spin to prove himself.
“Alright, I trust you,” James playfully lands the back of his hand against V’s shoulder as he walks away, still watchful and guarding, but hiding it well. He nods for V to follow, “Come sit. You look like a decent boy.”
“‘Course, oh and uh… good luck talkin’ to ‘er. She–how do I put it—she don’t really like hearin’ about ‘im anymore. Heard the same stuff over an’ over, I don’t blame her, really.”
“What would you like, V?” You call out from the kitchen, looking in the fridge. “We have water, lemonade I made fresh today, and soda.”
“Don't pass up her lemonade, kid. S’nova.”
V grins and replies from the couch, “Lemonade, please, ma'am.”
“So, you like a journalist or somethin’?”
“Was,” he pauses for a beat, cringing at himself. “Until like three minutes ago. Blew it.”
That makes James genuinely laugh. “Yeah, you tried to fool the wrong one, kid. She’s good at that. Let’s just say,” he lowers his voice. “She’s got me more times than I can count. Can’t get nothin’ past ‘er.”
“I can hear you, y’know,” You smirk and look into the living room at your husband as you pour the lemonade. “That’s exactly why I always catch you. You can’t ever keep it down.”
“Shit…” your husband mutters and waves you off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Darlin’.”
“Just sayin’.” You giggle and shrug, gathering the three cups in your hands before heading back to the living room to join them.
“Here you go.” You hand V his cup, and he takes it with a thank-you. Then you give your husband his, sit in your chair across from him, and settle in. “Alright, V. What’s so special that I need to know? People come out here every few years, diggin’ up my father’s ghost. Nothin’ new that I probably don’t know.”
At that, Johnny materializes on the far side, as if taking in the sight of a family. One he couldn’t be a part of.
V sets his cup down on the low table and rubs the back of his neck with a quiet exhale. Suddenly, Sable hops off the other couch and prances over to him with a soft cry, climbing onto the couch he’s sitting on and resting her head in his lap.
You and your husband exchange a raised eyebrow, and the shift stuns V even more, given the stark contrast with her earlier demeanor. “Whoa, girl,” he murmurs, timidly reaching up to stroke her head. “What’s the matter?”
“Okay, what's goin’ on here, V?” You place your cup alongside his and cross your legs.
He huffs, “Well, I'm afraid you won't take me seriously.”
“Well, there's not much left in the world that I don't believe.”
“Okay… okay. Jus’ don't freak out.”
“‘Kay, I won't freak out,” you put your hands up in mock surrender.
“You guys know about the Relic, right?” He looks between the two of you.
“Yeah, it's that uh… Arasaka shit–ain't it? Those personality chips?” your husband leans forward.
“Exactly… well, long story short, me an’ a choom of mine kinda… sorta… klepped one at Konpeki Plaza—”
“Wait, that was you?” you chuckled, your husband joining you.
“You guys heard about it?”
“Yeah, we um… kinda laughed.” You and your husband looked at each other, definitely trying not to lose it. “We thought about how only gonks would do something like that.”
“Yeah… Well, that was me—a gonk. Anyway, job went to shit as you saw. Had to stick the biochip in my head. Got shot in the head. Biochip brought me back. Now an asshole is overwriting me.”
You blink at him, trying to comprehend everything he just said. “And we’re… supposed to do what?”
“Nothing,” V pauses and looks down at Sable as he rubs her forehead. Sable looks up at him, whining once more. He looks back up at both of you and humorlessly huffs out a laugh. “It just so happens to be your… dad overwritin’ me. Got ‘im in my head.”
The room went dead silent. Too silent to the point you could only hear the hum of the fridge and the goats bellowing outside.
After a moment of blankly staring at the kid, you snort as an unamused laugh erupts from your throat, and your husband joins in.
“Alright, kid,” your husband says, standing. “Pack it up.”
“See? Knew you guys wouldn't take me seriously.”
Sable’s head shoots up from V’s lap, and she looks at her papa, whining.
“The kid’s a liar, Sable.”
“Look,” V pointedly says, his tone a bit harsh before quickly correcting it. He then gently pushes Sable off his lap and leans forward, looking at you both. “I know how it sounds, trust me, I do. I had a hard time believing—sorry—but the asshole was in my brain when I woke up. I know how it all sounds—I sound crazy, but I swear to both of you I’m not. I wish I could prove it right here and now, but I can’t.”
That same silence returns, and your husband steps back to his chair, more thoughtful now as he sits there, looking at you through your eyelashes to make sure you’re okay. Your laughter had already died down long ago, and you were now staring at V in thought, maybe in a bit of anger.
"I'm sorry for comin’ out here like this, I am. But I ain’t lyin’, sure damn wish I was. He wanted me to find you, and I wanted you to know. There, that’s all,” he throws his hands out as he stands. “If you want me to go, I will.”
“Shit, V. What’re ya doin’?” Johnny materializes in front of him, raising his hands in question before cutting over to the couch next to Sable.
V stands there with his hands on his hips, waiting for an answer or some kind of notion you wanted him to leave. You sit there with your elbow propped on the armrest as your eyes are glued to the floor.
He was just about to give up and walk away when you suddenly rose from your seat and walked over to the picture window with your hands on your hips.
Your husband whistles to cut him off and grab his attention, doing a cutthroat gesture to stop him. Your husband knew all too well about your behavior and when to butt in. Now was not it.
After about a moment of silence, the only sound of the grandfather clock cutting in between the four—five—of you, you speak low without turning around, tears slipping from your eyes and cascading down your face.
“You come to my house… dig up the past like the rest of ‘em… and what–expect me to believe you have my dead father in your head?” You scoff and shake your head, wiping the tears with the back of your hands as you turn around, “He’s dead. Dead. This some kind of sick joke?”
“No,” V stresses with his hands. “It’s not. I wish it was, ma’am. I really do. If only I wasn’t such a dumbass, I’d take it all back; I never woulda done that job. Never woulda got your damn dickhead father in my head. Now... I will leave—“
“Oh, you will leave,” you begin, voice dark and hurt as you come forward. “Get out of my house!”
“Hey—Hey!” Your husband stands, coming between you and V, gently holding you back, placing his hands on your shoulders to ground you. “Now… this ain’t gonna happen. Calm down, baby.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Tell him to get the hell out!”
“Sh…sh…” he brings you into his arms and leads you to the kitchen, as you burst into tears, wetting his chest. He turns back to nod at V, motioning toward the front door. “Be out there in a minute, V.”
“Yes, sir.” V obeys and heads outside, sits on the porch steps, and drops his head in his hands in utter scandal.
“Guess that went well, huh?” Johnny materializes next to him, mirroring his slumped shoulders.
“All thanks to you,” V says aloud. “Hope this is the last of your little ‘remember me’ adventures, ‘cause you ain’t gettin’ anymore with me.”
“You agreed to do it, kid.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you always fuckin’--I don’t know–manipulate me. You always know how to get me.”
“Christ, V. Have a little heart.”
Before he can finish, the front door opens and closes. Your husband’s heeled boots clack against the floorboards as he moves to sit next to V with a tired groan. Johnny materializes far out, leaning against a boulder and watching the horizon with the light of the setting sun.
“Sorry about that, kid. She still gets shaken up with that stuff.”
“No, I'm sorry, sir. She's right, I shouldn’t have come out here. I guess I just… wanted to help the demon up here.” He taps the side of his head, earning a chuckle from your husband.
“Yeah, you definitely got to her. Shoulda went a tad bit lighter. But… it’s all true?”
“Well, don’t laugh, because it’s why I didn’t tell you guys in there. Then she woulda really freaked out on me.”
“I can… talk to him, see him, see his memories. Except all of it isn’t actually him, it’s just… a copy of his personality, his own depictions of his corrupted memories. He isn’t conscious, basically. Just a construct of what they could copy onto the chip. I guess I don't… actually have him up in here, but it's still… y’know, him. One thing that ain't corrupted is her. Saw memories of him with her, damn near almost killed me out one night in a dream—a nightmare. I don't know, sir. It's all just—one big mess.”
Your husband stares off into the distance with furrowed eyebrows. “I guess it ain’t too hard to believe. Nothin’s surprising anymore, amirite?”
“Yeah.” V huffs out a chuckle.
“But that’s… interesting. Think I heard talk of it in the office back in the day. Though it's a real shitty thing to do… kleppin’ the rich’s personalities, makin’ copies of them.”
“Tell me about it. Never thought I’d be this close to corp tech.”
“Yeah, know how you feel. Let’s just say… worked for the corps back in the day. Glad I got out of it.”
“Ex-corpo,” your husband corrects him. “Worked for Zetatech.”
“Oh… wow. Yeah, can see why you fled. Helped out a choom from Zetatech, told me what they do to ones that flee the nest.”
Your head lies in your arms on the table as tears flow freely. You don't know if you're crying from the mere fact that the boy had your father in his head, or the anger you felt for hearing those words. Why would it affect you this hard if it weren't true? Is it because you felt the weight and sincerity of his words when you didn't want to? Or is it because no matter what you do or where you go, you truly will never escape your father?
The first man you truly loved. The first man you trusted. The only man who taught you how to decipher reality from the falsity of the world, to fight for what is right, and live true to yourself.
Except he was the man who easily hurt you as he was lost in his ego, then apologized in his own terrible way, and made it up to you in his own Johnny-way.
Your tumultuous past, filled with nasty words in your ears about your father, as they touched you with sick intentions, disgusting roleplays they made you endure. You learned to live with it at the time, for the sake of making eddies. For years, since you fled the treacherous child care system, that’s all you knew. Sick hands, substances to drown the revolting sensations, whispered prayers to your dead father for guidance. Though you never felt him, never felt his spirit. Is this when he’s finally answered your need for clarity, for that same warmth only he could obtain?
Your breath comes and goes sharply, piercing your lungs and your heart, making you rub and grab at the skin above it. Just as you rise to grab a tissue, you hear the faint creak of the front door, and the dull, familiar thud of your husband’s boots follows.
“Go away,” you mutter in a small, broken voice as you dab at your tears while standing at the kitchen counter with your back turned to him. He comes up behind you and rests his hand on your back, slowly rubbing up and down.
“Darlin’... I just think you need to talk to the kid. I did, and what he's sayin’ sounds… true. I don’t think the boy’s lying.”
“You don't get to tell me what to do,” you bitterly bite, turning around to him and meeting his eyes with sharp ones. “I want him out.”
“I–I get it,” he starts, voice warm and soft. A tone you've grown to adore, through the many times he’s used it with your kids, and even you, through your difficult times. “I do. But I do get to help you. I just think you need to hear ‘im out. I know it’s hard for you every time someone comes out here diggin’ your dad up, hell, even the mention of him gets to ya. But just give ‘im a chance, hm? Maybe it’ll give you some type of clarity. You never know. You felt you could let him into our home. That says somethin’, don't it?”
You continue to glare up at him with red, puffy eyes through your eyelashes as your arms are crossed defiantly over your chest.
You let out a sharp exhale through your nose and pin your eyes on something else–as long as it wasn't him–before you meet his once more. “Fine.”
Your husband lets out a breath of relief and wraps his arms around you, cradling your head against his bare chest. “Thank you. He said he just wanted to tell you how it worked, and you could ask anything from there. He won't be pushin’ anything on you.”
“Okay,” you mutter into his chest. “I’m doing it for you.”
He didn’t say anything else, just gently pulled away from you with a soft, knowing smile, hoping you would get some sense of clarity.
With a hand resting on your lower back, you both walk out to the porch, and Sable follows behind, settling on the floorboards with a contented sigh. You sit beside V on the steps with a stubborn tick in your jaw, and your husband settles into one of the rocking chairs behind you.
“So… guess I’ll take it a bit easier than earlier,” V starts, then repeats his explanation he told James, in simpler, easygoing terms for you, and you listened as you stared off into the darkening land, feeling that same strange warmth from him once more.
He told you about the occurrent, unyielding, inevitable overwrite of his neural pathways that would eventually get the better of him and erase his identity to replace it with your father’s, unless he could get help. He also made sure to mention the Omega Blockers Viktor provided, and the Pseudoendotrizines that Misty gave to him that night in his apartment. He talked about his and your father’s growing relationship and the need to not take the Omega Blockers as much anymore, which earned a genuine laugh from you. You were especially intrigued when he had told you that the Pseudoendotrizines can basically let Johnny have full control over his body.
He let you ask your ever-flowing questions, your valid curiosity getting the better of you.
“So, does he ever… think about me?” you ask as you look over at him, voice much calmer now.
“It’s kinda complicated. You see, he’s not like… alive-alive, he’s still… gone. But I have his memories and kind of that train of thought and personality, so yeah, it hits me sometimes.”
You slowly nod, soaking in everything he's told you for the last twenty minutes, feeling otherworldly but content at once.
“It’s crazy,” you begin, a soft smile coming to your lips as you mindlessly look down at your fingers you’re twiddling. “I used to pray to–to whatever’s out there, used to pray to him, to feel him. Maybe just a flicker of a feeling, y’know. He wasn’t the best father, no, but he–” You get cut off from your own tagged breath, tears threatening to fill your eyes once more. “I know he loved me.”
At that, Johnny materializes from his seemingly stuck position on the rock, over to the bottom of the steps, looking directly at you with sad eyes.
You wipe at your eyes and shift in your spot. Your husband stands and kneels behind you to comfort you with his warm touch.
You smile at the boy through tears before gathering yourself once more.”Shit, I’m sorry. I just… anytime someone’s come here with the same story, diggin’ him up again and again, sometimes belittling him in a way they think I won't notice, I always think of the times he tried.”
You let out a small giggle before continuing, “Like you said earlier, he was very much an asshole, but he tried as a father. Sometimes he'd come home smellin’ like booze and pure rage overall from the studio or from his little skirmishes or whatever, but he’d always make sure I ate and did my schoolwork… stuff like that, even if he was shit at doing it.”
You pause for a moment, recollecting, before continuing with a soft chuckle. “Daddy couldn’t cook for the life of him. So nine times out of ten, we were eatin’ take-out.”
Johnny’s mouth twitches in the faintest grin before his image flickers onto the steps, sitting in front of you and V.
“Sometimes he’d put take-out in a pan of whatever, totally thinking he’d trick me into thinkin’ it was his cooking. I always knew, but never said anything.”
“Shit,” Johnny turns, sitting sideways on the step and looking up at you. “You knew about that? Damn it, thought I had you.”
“Sometimes he’d bum traditional recipes off of Uncle Kerry and try to recreate them. Let’s just say, they were… something alright.”
“Hey,” Johnny smirks. “You were the one that begged and whined for it when you couldn't get his cookin’. So I tried, ‘kay?’
“He tried, though, and I still ate it.” Another small moment of silence washes over the summer evening, and only the sounds of the homestead animals and Sable’s soft sighs could be heard until you hum under your breath. “There were bad moments too, when whatever went on his head got the best of him.”
Johnny’s image cuts to your husband's truck, leaning against it on his shoulder with his back turned to you all.
“Sometimes he'd yell at me if I wasn’t listening to one of his delusional rants, then he'd lecture me. But I don’t pin him with those moments. Daddy was… sick. I knew about his past. The war and… what happened. Heard talk about why he was the way he was. The good times are the ones I hold dear,” your lips droop into a small frown as you look up at the boy. “I’m sorry, I'm just rambling at this point.”
“No, no. Keep goin’. It’s nice hearin’ about it all. I don’t know all the bits of Silverhand. ‘Sides, your dad’s listenin’ to ya.”
“He is?” You grin, letting out a breathy, delighted giggle.
V warmly chuckles and nods, “Yeah, just got done sayin’ a minute ago that he thought he had you with the take-out.”
That earns another laugh from you, and a deep, gravelly one from your husband, who is still gently rubbing your shoulders.
You continue with the times of you and your dad, completely ignoring the life you lived after he passed. Or maybe your mind couldn’t reach those parts, the treacherous, vile territory.
You told the boy that Johnny was definitely not father material, but he smartened up on some of the aspects of your upbringing. Yeah, of course, he still never let you touch a public school or a public doctor’s office–caught up in his own view of life for that. But he took care of you as far as you knew. That was his way of caring for you, protecting you in one of the few ways he only knew how: keeping you from corps and letting trusted people he hadn’t burnt bridges with yet to replace them.
He tried his best to comfort you in his own Johnny-way, letting you tuck in next to him with his ‘ganic hand splayed across your back for warmth instead of the cold metallic of the other. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, but he sure as hell tried his best after the first two years of your life, settling into something as close to the role of a father as you could get, when it came to him.
V feels the weight of what Johnny’s ‘thinking’ in this moment as you speak about him. It’s something close to gratitude, thankful for the parts of your early childhood you don’t remember. V feels that, and the unbearable weight of the regret, the grief, and the love Johnny held—and still fiercely holds—for you.
The weight is so much that V physically feels it in his chest. He clutches his shirt over his heart and doesn’t interrupt you, though his solemn eyes involuntarily drift to the side of your face, but it isn’t V in this moment. It’s Johnny.
A fierce, paternal wave washes over V’s entire body, making him grunt and almost double over. V had certainly never felt or had the love from a father, but if this is what it felt like, V would like to hold onto it forever. It was a mix of worry, devotion, sternness, love, and most of all love. All the things he’s never felt from someone who carries his own blood–never had anyone with his blood, just the streets and his street family.
“V! I said, are you okay?” You place your hands on his shoulder in a panic as your husband holds the boy up on the other side, gently pulling him up from his slumped position. Sable was right behind the three of you, whining and wagging her tail in fret, digging her snout between yours and V’s touching knees.
V groans loudly, a sound from the depths of his chest, as he rises, clutching his head with both hands and wincing. “Hm?”
“Maybe we should call it a day, yeah?” you suggest as you and your husband follow suit, voice soft but edged with a trembling worry. Your thumb rubs unconsciously over the curve of his shoulder, as if soothing a child.
“Yeah… yeah. I'm sorry, ma'am,” he begins, voice thin and breathless. He eases away from your and your husband’s touch, moving down from the porch steps to the desert earth below. He bends over, bracing himself with both palms planted on his knees, shoulders rising and falling with each drag of air he pulls into his lungs. Sweat beads at his hairline, glinting in the last of the evening light. “It’s jus’... It’s the chip.”
Johnny cuts in front of V, crouching to meet his eyes, forearms propped on his knees. “Please don't leave without askin’ her, V.”
“What you said back in the car earlier. Y’know, ‘bout gettin’ together or something. Maybe for lunch or whatever domestic people do.” Johnny tips his head toward you as he speaks, mouth quirking, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze that doesn’t quite match the snark.
That makes V break into a small, almost-proud grin despite the residual ache in his skull. He pushes himself upright fully, rolling his shoulders back as if trying to shake the episode off his body. He meets your eyes as your face is still set in confusion and worry. “What?” you ask, searching his expression for any sign he might be about to topple over again.
“Nothing… he’s just wanting to know if you’d like to go out for lunch with him.”
His words take you aback, and you feel your chest loosen, a breath leaving you that you didn’t even realize you’d been holding tight under your ribs. Your mouth shifts into a grin as you place your hand flat against your chest. “He said that?”
“Yeah, but he said whatever domestic people do.” V chuckles, the sound low and a little shy, the corners of his eyes crinkling with something softer than you’d seen in them all day,
“So… like, you'd take the pill, and he’d just be… him?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I'd just be in his position basically.”
You thoughtfully nod and look over at your husband with a happy glint in your eyes. He reels you into his side before you look back at V. “Okay, V. Yeah, I’d like that.”
You nod, sure more than ever.
“Alright,” he grabs his phone out of his pocket. “How ‘bout I call you an’ let you know when I can. I’m always just busy, y’know.”
After giving him your details and seeing him off with your husband—Sable too, wagging her tail happily and nudging his leg with her nose—he goes back to his V-Tech parked along the side of the road beyond your fence.
“Hey, V,” you call out, moving a step down the walkway.
“Yeah?” He stops midway as he slides into the driver’s seat and looks up at you.
Johnny materializes against the passenger side door, ‘looking’ at you once more with those solemn eyes of his, though a little softer than when they first saw you.
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
V huffs through his nose with a soft smile. “Will do, ma'am.”
As you watched him settle into the driver’s seat and start the engine, you were somewhere far out. Eyes on him, but your mind focused on one thing as unbearable excitement crept up: lunch with your father.
Literally me these last few months:
