The Queen of Useless Information

Days passed by uneventful. Jago had been in this work flow where all work got done swiftly, with little to no hitches - which he knew better than to acknowledge out loud, and jinx it.

The Militech cargo arrived on time, Bennett took his setback with more grace than he'd expected -and the gift helped-, and Y/N...had been a more present form in his life. She'd still disappear every other day, making him temp his messages. He knew this phase all too well. Fragile, yet exciting. Easy to ruin. He had to reel in his own eagerness more often than he'd like (or expect), refrain from reaching out constantly, and when he did, he'd write, and rewrite...Still, she'd saunter into his life, often.

"It's not her." Matty shot from her desk, caged between dossiers and screens. She'd caught him checking his messages again after he heard his phone buzz.

"How would you know?" He sheepishly said back, knowing well she's right.

She groaned, battling with the obvious.

"She's never texted you back before at least noon. She's clearly a night owl."

One can hope, he thought bitterly, but agreed with her. Not that he'd give her the satisfaction of telling her so.

His text today had been a sunrise picture of the skyline, camera aimed towards the Pacifica sea's horizon. All he'd followed it up with was "I hope one of us is getting sleep. Have a good day today."

He thought it was sincere and proof enough he'd been thinking about her. Matty had told him he sounds like an old, try-hard man.

He'd seen her twice since they had had dinner. She had graced him with her presence once for drinks at the Heavy Hearts, though they arguably spent most of their time in each other's personal space in a booth in VIP, where she'd tested his resolve with a cocky grin all night. He'd barely managed to get out, Barghest's affairs had had him overworked, albeit handsomely paid, therefore he'd welcomed the distraction of being dragged out of the office to play her mind games. The other time they'd met up, was an odd thing he couldn't stop thinking about since.

She'd asked him to meet her at Longshore Stacks, of all places. He'd obliged, assuming she'd get in the car and go someplace nice. That had not, in fact, happened. Instead, she dragged him to the very center, where a tree sat. Surrounded in candles and offerings, he watched the shadows cast a play of somberness on the pictures and notes of people lost. He stood next to her, hands in his pockets, watching her. She swayed to the soft sound of someone playing a hang drum nearby, arms loosely crossed, hands cradling her elbows. Her eyes were closed, in the heart of Dogtown, vulnerable in her immersion of someone else's shrine. He wondered if she felt safe because the people here were too focused on grieving to hurt others, or perhaps, as a naive and selfish part of him hoped, because she knew he'd protect her. It was funny, how fond of her he'd become, so quickly. Usually guarded to the teeth, he'd found himself easily leaning into her energy, craving it, even.

Eventually, the song ended, and she slipped her hand around his elbow, quietly leading him to a seedy little stand nearby. It seemed comical, surely, how he sat perched on the stool next to hers, in threads that cost more than everyone in a one mile radius earns combined, with Charles silently towering over them a few feet away, scanning menacingly the passerbys.

"My brother told me this place has the best okonomiyaki in town-" she'd promised as she cut into the meal, sauce swirling almost as pretty on the vegetable pancake as the pattern she'd done on her nails. She wore some kind of dress he'd never seen before, certainly not in Night City. It felt kind of European, come to think of it. Floral pattern, seemed like cotton, which is rare nowadays, with a slit on the side. It all looked... ethereal, like an old time fairytale creature had settled next to humble little him. He'd offered her his jacket, to ward off the night chill, but she'd waved him off, thankful but eager to embrace the cool breeze.

"He was certainly not wrong." He praised, bringing a bite to his mouth. He'd listened to her talk animatedly about her brother constantly sending her on "quests", salvaging parts and fixing Cyberware as if she were on his payroll (which she technically was, but not really).

"I don't understand the appeal of this lifestyle, sometimes." She huffed, picking up her soft drink can.

"I know what you mean. I often question the way Night City people live, but at some point I decided it was more reasonable to take some risks for high reward instead of endlessly fending for myself, letting life pass me by in a pointless, minimum wage 9-5." Jago let his gaze drag across the ghetto that Longshore Stacks was, around them.

"I don't think federal prison is a reasonable risk, babe." She laughed after a sip of the drink.

Jago's ears buzzed at the term of endearment, his ears tipped pink.

If she noticed, she made no mention of it.

"I wanna ask something, but don't feel obligated to do something about it," she eventually started, and he forced himself to tune back in.

She watched him for a second, in his expensive quarter zip sweater and slacks, perched on a street stall stool, broad shoulders hunched towards her. He seemed so jarringly different from their surroundings, yet so fitting beside her, eager to be in her orbit even outside his element.

She hesitated.

"Go on," he urged softly, his hand shuffling closer on the counter towards hers, subconsciously. "I'm sure we can figure it out."

She smiled at him softly, averting her eyes as she finally spoke up.

"I have been offered a job by a smaller corp as an associate engineer for custom cyberware." She paused, and he could tell by the way she bit the inside of her cheek it wasn't something to celebrate.

"But?" He nudged, eyes flicking between the chain dangling from her neck, and her face.

"They operate with Scavs. Often." She said with a grimace. He recalled her trepidation towards the gang, the unease she'd expressed on their date.

"I don't think I should take the gig. But, I've been here for nearly a month now, and I'm starting to run out of options." She sighed, finishing her drink and unceremoniously crushing the can into a disc.

"If it's out of your comfort zone, you shouldn't have to do it. You're capable, sociable, and qualified for better." He offered simply, one of his hands settling atop her fidgeting ones. She finally looked him in the eye, sporting a tired expression on her features.

"My brother once suggested I look into if Barghest needed any cyberware engineers. And I really wouldn't, I don't like working with the military, not to mention the conflict of interest-"

"What conflict?" He cut in with a chuckle, fingers gently running his fingers over her knuckles, feather light.

"Well...this." she shot back with a small smirk, leaning in to peck his lips.

She laughed at the way he chased after her for more, taking in the shy smile he offered in turn.

"I don't wanna put you in a tight spot-"

"You're not. You couldn't possibly." He interrupted, leaning back in his seat.

"Do you think you guys have any openings?"

"I'll ask. Murphy should know." He mused, fishing out his phone.

"Well not right now!" She laughed, pushing his phone down and leaning into his space again, one foot resting on the stool bar between his. The air shifted immediately, as he glanced down at her exposed leg, the slit of the dress, the bust of it, the curve of her chest peeking from the fabric-

"Hasn't even hired me yet and he's already committing sexual harassment." She teased, cocking her head. He groaned good-naturedly, eyes finally finding their way back to hers.

"One could argue I'm merely conducting a thorough investigation-"

"Wow," She laughed in faux disbelief, "I'm telling Hansen his finest are corrupt AND lecherous."

"...He'd probably agree." He replied with a wince, but quickly straightened up as she slid from her chair and into him, now in her full height and leaning on him. Cradling her in his arms, he stared down at her, as she pressed the side of her face into his shoulder.

She smelled sweet and floral, just like her dress.

"I believe this is straight up bribery." He whispered quietly, and felt his heart swell as her chest vibrated with a rich laugh, right against his own.

"I still feel inclined to say you don't need to look too seriously into it, if there's nothing that's fine, I'll find something else." She finally said, pulling back a bit to look him in the face.

He simply nodded.

"So...how about I compensate you for that misconduct with some dessert?" He added after a beat, sliding off the seat and into his full height.

"Who's bribing whom now?" She cheekily said, pulling him by the hand towards one of the other stalls down the street.

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"I don't know what else you want me to say." Spinner huffed, arms crossed and stance far less friendly (as if he wanted to be friendly with these butchers) than when he had arrived that evening, which had been a reoccurring situation since the day you had blown him off to hang out with what he could only assume was an output.

Fuck this gig and fuck that gonk Ilya for making him forego a middleman, that he statistically always had less problems with. Not looking at these Scav fucks also helped.

"Ma Cyka, don't tell me you don't know!" The angry scav he'd had the displeasure of dealing with for the third time this week had little patience and a whole lotta slur in his thick Ukrainian accent. Him reeking of booze didn't exactly help, either. Shit, he'd probably interrupted his extensive binge drinking time with the other two loud Scavs in the next room.

"I've never worked with this kind of cyberware before. Why would I know what's wrong with it??" He replied exasperated, shifty as he noticed the other, main Scav watch the interaction from the doorway of this cursed construction site.

"Attitude don't help nobody." He finally spoke up, pushing off the chipped, bare door frame. Your brother didn't shrink as the man entered his personal space, voice low and intimidating. "You said chrome is good. Why make problem? You buy, your problem now."

"I'm not the one causing problems choom, you don't even have schematics for half of this shit, I'm figuring this out as I go." His exasperated tone just earned him a shake of the head. "You can't sell me gonked out chrome man. It's just not how it goes. All I want is what I paid for. We've been doing business together for a year now, have some appreciation for customer loyalty man."

The Scav sucked his teeth, measuring him up as if he had half a mind to hack him to pieces, too. The perspiration on Spinner's brow did not help his case.

"Look," Spinner said, grabbing the limp cyber arm he'd brought back in, "I cannot fix something I don't know the original function of. You want me to reinvent it? You have to at least give me working cyberware, man. I don't think I'm unreasonable here. This is the third piece of cyberware this week. That's 3 out of 10."

The Scav pulled a cigarette out of his pack, letting it hang off his lips. He took his time looking for a lighter, feeling up his pockets languidly.

"Ilya say you have good engineer. Why not show?"

Your brother swallowed dryly at the prospect. He knew where you stood about this, about the Scavengers. He also knew you'd bust his head open if you knew he was actively collaborating with them at this point.

"I shouldn't HAVE to fix your busted chrome choom. Not when I paid a literal arm and leg for it. Would you like it if someone told you he was selling you a working arm, then gave you scraps?"

"Next time, bring engineer."

Next time?? There won't be a next time, you Scav piece of-

Spinner exhaled through his nose aggressively. Pacing, he glanced back at the red faced Ukrainian, who'd been mumbling under his sour breath. He looked back at the arm.

"No engineer, no Ilya. You have me, and we know each other by now. That should be enough. You need to honor your end of the deal."

"This look like corporation to you?" The Scav shot back, accent deep and rough, blowing smoke in his face to make a point. "Don't piss me off Mudak."

Spinner knew where this was going, and he had to think fast.

"Okay, you know what? How about this. why don't you let me take this arm, show it to my engineer, and if they know how to fix it, I will bring the notes back so we can apply it to the rest, how about that? That way your guys can fix the rest of the faulty chrome, and I can have choose from the next batch to make up for the unusable ones you sold me."

The Scav just regarded him, frown on his mouth and contemplation in his eyes. The drunk Ukrainian mumbled something rude from the corner where he was now leaning, probably about how Spinner's engineer ain't shit, but neither paid him any mind. He was supposedly an engineer, too, only difference was he was a complete gonk.

The Scav in charge sighed, nodding at the floor.

"Take, and bring back. We have new cargo tomorrow. We cut out, and you check and choose on Monday. Bring back arm, fixed."

No room for argument, not that Spinner wanted it. He looked at the arm on the workbench. It still had caked blood on it, as if whoever they had taken it from had been hacked to pieces so savagely, that the blood had stained permanently; a token of sin.

It would be a bitch to clean before he'd present it to you. Still, better that, than to lose 7 thou eddies.

The construction site the Scavengers had their base of operations in was big and ugly, walls torn, windows broken, and the suspicious blood smears in every other room were enough to have your brother booking it out of there, cyber arm wrapped in newspaper, tucked under his own, 'ganic arm.

Yeah, you'd definitely beat his ass for this.

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"Can you pass me that cartridge?" You mumbled, screwing in a base component on the board of what would, upon closing and screwing everything back on, be a cybernetic arm with a jagged retractable blade.

It was some weird, Syrian design, simultaneously primitive and brand new to your NUSA-based eyes. It'd taken you two days scourging the Net with your funky little cybermodem to get any info on the origin, and a few hours to figure out what this design was meant to be based on. Still, it was more work than it was worth, but your brother's insistence had you putting in the work and hours.

Speak of the gonk, your brother absent-mindedly passed you the still-in-wrapping cartridge you'd ordered expedited from some middle eastern dealer out of Dogtown, left hand holding a tablet he was a little too immersed in if you had something to say about it.

The sound of Growl FM was filling the comfortable silence just fine, so you chose not to pry. He'd been acting weird for a while, ever so secretive and serious. It was unlike him, to keep so quiet.

Your house growing up had always been this space of chaotic intellectual energy. Between your father's unpublished story drafts and insurance company documents scattered across the desk and dresser, your tablets and shards on cyber-anything adorning every surface you could (in)conveniently drop it on to get back to later, and your brother's perpetual fascination with the human body, an array of old anatomy books, schematics and hand drawn designs, always crowded your poor mother's space. Still, the shuffle of papers, the tapping on the pad, and the scent of coffee all reminded you of home.

The loud stomping of boots down your brother's stairs, not so much.

You both whipped your heads up from your work as his entrance coms rang, shrill over the hum of the servers and the not-so-approved pirate radio of Growl FM that you'd found out the speaker, Ash, ran from a van in the area. Ballsy, that chick. Glancing at your brother, you found his eyes glued to the blurry figures behind his bulletproof glass door. The screen suspended over the ripper chair now showed three Barghest soldiers, decked out in gear, right as rain. Not something a ripperdoc wants on his doorstep.

"Sit there and be quiet, no smartass comments okay?" He quietly warned, pressing the lock release button under his desk.

They swaggered in, scanning the room mechanically. Their faces were all covered, one with a chunky helmet that's seen better days, and the other two with balaclavas, black eye paint smudged underneath.

"How can I help, guys?" Your brother offered when he realized they weren't going to speak first, standing before them in the middle of the space, wringing his hands.

The one who stood in middle settled his pixelated eyes on you, and you did your best to pretend you didn't notice under the tint of your welding glasses, as you continued hot glueing the cartridge as if it were your best work yet. You were almost done, anyway.

"We're here on official business, sent by the lieutenant." was all he offered, voice like gravel. He sounded almost robotic, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd injured his vocal cords and had them replaced with chrome.

"The lieutenant himself? Well, consider our humble establishment honored," your brother said with a nervous chuckle. "What can I do for you?" He asked again.

The other balaclava poked around casually, glancing around the cement pillars, tilting their copperhead rifle up and down as they pace slowly, the neon color somewhat menacing even with the safety on, in these close quarters.

"We're not here for you." The front soldier finally said. He offered no explanation, but your stomach dropped all the same. You risked a second glance at them, eyes meeting the ones of the woman's in the helmet. Smart and quick, they scanned you top to bottom, probably for weapons, or to measure the worth of you. She wore a cyberdeck on the arm that held her neon green kyubi.

There was no malice, nor hostility in her eyes.

"Huh?" Your brother seemed to have short circuited, because who else would they be here for-

"Wait. No. No, no." He quickly pushed back, holding up his index fingers, panic hardly contained into a grimace pretending to be a smile, as he took an unconscious step forward that the rifle guy did not appreciate. "There's some misunderstanding here, I cleared my sister's permit with Dodger months ago. She's registered in my shop as an attending engineer, she's got all her licenses and credentials up to date, you can find it all on the registry. She's had an entry pass since-"

He was spiraling hard, and the other two armed soldiers were visibly tensing.

The loud scraping of the chair you sat on resounded over the noise, and everyone seemed to pause. Slowly removing your welding glasses, you stretched your neck and arms, as if to show you were no threat.

"Okay. Is this some kind of overnight bag thing, or do I come as I am?" You finally inquired in faux jest, voice far calmer than your racing heart felt.

"No, all you need to bring is your personal engineering kit, if you own one. If not, one will be provided to you before your interview and trial." The woman replied, as the frontman seemed to weigh you and your reactions in turn.

"What is the charge- wait. Did you say trial? Are you... recruiting my sister?" Your brother incredulously deadpanned, going through every emotion in the book in the span of seconds.

"That's yet to be determined." the frontman stated, eyes finally leaving you to look down at him from his towering height.

Your brother would sigh in relief if it didn't sound as ominous as a Barghest visit itself could be.

Turning to you, he tried to meet your eyes, as if to reassure you, though it felt like he needed the reassurance more. You gave him a weak, uptight smile, right hand blindly rolling up your engineering kit. Pulling on your cropped jacket, you took your kit under your arm and finally looked at the woman, as if your shared gender would offer some solace.

There was none.

"Shall we delta?"

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The ride had been quiet, the early morning streets desolate, as is customary for Dogtown. You'd been ushered into the back of an armored Barghest vehicle you'd never seen before, probably meant for squad transport. A soldier on each side of you on the bench, the frontman across. He hadn't said a word the entire time, until you stood at a standstill before the Black Sapphire garage gate. This looked nothing like the fancy entrance they'd welcomed guests for the party back then. On the way in, he'd explained gruffly you'd have to put your kit through another scanner, and leave any weapons or flammable objects behind for safekeeping. You'd just nodded mechanically, being lead to a compliant process that ultimately brought you before this guy you vaguely remembered Jago mentioning.

"How's your day been?" He'd asked, adorning you your last name with a 'Miss'.

"That's Doctor, actually." You'd instinctively replied, and felt like biting off your own tongue as soon as it flew out of your arrogant little system.

Luckily, he just laughed good-naturedly.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were only an engineer, I wasn't aware you were also a ripperdoc?" Murphy said with an unexpectedly friendly demeanor that did not match a man of his profession.

"I'm not. But I have a doctorate in bioengineering. I got it a year ago." You plainly offered. He hummed, swiping through a tablet that presumably held your extensive dossier.

"Ah, there it is, my bad, I haven't done my homework well. So Doc, you worked last for a mid tier corp back in Boston, what happened there?" He dove into your work history instead.

You shuffled in your surprisingly comfortable chair. This conference room was quite pleasant for a military organization, all things considered.

"We had a disagreement in what constitutes as human rights." You offered, as short and vague as possible.

"Your dismissal says you "abused time off". Do you often require leave from work?" His voice held no judgement. It felt... refreshing. God, the bar was in hell.

"I took mental time off, which was supposed to be my right within the contract." You started, but paused to reign in the bitterness. It wasn't like you didn't know they'd boot you for being human. That's what all corps do, if they could they'd round you all up and shoot you in the back of the head, and hire tireless AI instead.

Murphy hummed.

"I understand. Barghest takes mental health seriously. We have many fine men and women that have served and were rewarded for their bravery with no benefits, nor grace when they fell short. We don't have that problem. We offer support, and reasonable leave."

That seemed nice, all things considered. Again, low bar, but you could live with it.

"I have no qualms about working. I love my job. I just needed a chance to breathe, which I knew they wouldn't grant me. So I took a leap, and paid the accounted price." You told him, leaning back in the chair, arms folding over your chest. Resolute. He liked that.

"Alright. I won't lie," he concluded, setting down the tablet. "I have received a lot of positive information regarding you and your work when I dug a little. Which makes this a hell of a lot easier."

You wondered if that came from a very biased Jago, or elsewhere. He knew fuckall about your work, so all he could be is a very biased judge of character.

"As far as I'm concerned, I see a reliable, agreeable engineer, who had a bit of a rough patch. We don't care about your past here. What we do care about," Murphy said, putting his interlocked, cybernetic fingers on the table, "is that you'll be able to deliver projects on time, communicate with adjacent departments, and make concessions whenever needed, because we all work as a team, to keep this town up and running."

So far so good.

"Do you have any questions for me, or rather, Barghest?" He concluded with a small smile.

"Sure, what's the pay like here?" You bluntly asked, and his laugh seemed genuine, easing your worries of coming across as rude.

"Good question. Once you clear our trial, we will give you a proper sum offer, but you can count on our paycheck at least matching your previous, plus the percentage we'll add upon verifying your speed and problem solving ability. There's also full coverage on medical. We offer room and board for nonresidents, though you can choose for yourself if you wish to reside with us or your brother." Pausing at the mention, he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Hope we didn't stress him out too much with our unscheduled visit today. I would've reached out to book a meet with you but, we're a bit pressed with other tasks right now so..."

This had you perking up. Was there such a need for an engineer, or was there something stirring up Barghest? You wondered if this would keep Jago busy, too busy for you. Not that he hadn't been prompt and responsive each time you two spoke or made plans. He was clearly into you enough. Hell, he even found you a gig. You'd have to come up with a way thank him, no matter how this trial were to go.

"He'll live." You retored with a little more mirth.

"Preem, shall we get to the trial, then?"

A small, self assured smile curled at your lips.

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"Thanks, I appreciate the swiftness." Jago said, taking the new folder off Matty's hands, as she speedwalked back to the office, and he went for the elevator. God if he had to take another meeting with these meatheads, he'd implode.

"Charles, let's head down to conference." He simply threw at the soldier, as he came up to his burly frame where he stood at the end of the hallway, listening to some bullshit story about a joytoy and a foldable spine. Charles jumped at the opportunity to escape these gonk ass recruits that immediately stood in attention at Jago's brief appearance. His boss waved them off without a glance.

"I thought you were done with meetings today." He mused, more than asked, when they were alone in the elevator. Jago sighed, loudly.

"You and me both."

The elevator ding was followed by Jago and Charles stepping onto floor 37. Scrolling through his messages on his vision screen, Jago automatically, blindly turned a corner towards conference room 4, slamming right into someone.

"A mindenit-!" he huffed under his breath, subconsciously grabbing onto the person, stabilizing them both, as Charles definitely didn't overreact and whipped out his gun.

"Already up and running with that harassment charge!" She laughed, her hands finding purchase on his forearms where they peeked from his rolled up sleeves.

"Y/N!" Jago exclaimed, half in surprise, half in delight. Murphy did a once over at the interaction, glancing at Charles with a sharp nod to put the damn iron away, he'd scare the chick.

"Are you coming or going?" Jago inquired, distracted by the way your hands slid to take hold of his.

"I'm done with the trial." You informed him, as if he were supposed to know what that meant. He raised a neat eyebrow at Albert, who stood behind her with his arms crossed, a small smirk that promised nothing good on his lips.

"Doctor L/N apparently dazzled the test runners, though I'm not supposed to tell y'all that." He offered conspiratorially, showing some teeth. You simply smirked back, eyes darting from him to Jago, a sliver of pride under the facade.

Jago simply nodded, eyes softening upon falling back on you.

"That's good to hear. You should get the final decision quickly, then."

"That folder for me? Aw Jago, you shouldn't have." Murphy joked, grabbing the manila folder Charles had picked up off the floor where it had flown to in the crash.

"It's the quotas you all badgered me for." Jago groaned, eyes rolling. You kinda liked this no bullshit version of him.

"Delightful, I'm sure Bennett will piss his big boy pants over this." Albert replied while glancing at the contents of the file. You merely watched the interaction with curious eyes. Albert looked impressed with whatever was on those documents.

"I'll...walk her to the elevator." Jago offered, suddenly shy. Albert looked up over the frame of his sunglasses, a knowing smirk on his lips, eyebrows drawing close.

"Don't keep us waiting, Szabó. You know I don't like the suspense of an incoming, juicy Bennett crashout." He laughed, turning back towards the hallway he'd brought you through earlier.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Dr. L/N," he finally threw over his chrome shoulder to you, "I hope we'll see you around some more."

"Likewise, see you, lieutenant." You bid farewell with a cheeky salute that earned you a bark of a laugh.

Okay maybe not all military folk were as you thought.

Jago gently ushered you back to the elevator, hand on the small of your back, his warm skin a shock to your AC kissed one.

"How was everything?" He paused to ask as he pressed the call button for her. She just regarded him for a second.

"They scared the hell out of my brother at pickup," you laughed, partly at the fact that somebody had managed to put the fear of God in your deviant brother, and partly at the shadow that crossed Jago's face. "Murphy was nice. You guys friends?"

"Not exactly, but we are on friendly terms." He offered quickly, "did something happen? I'm really sorry, sometimes the soldiers get carried away with their arrogance-"

Your soft hand smoothing down the front of his olive green quarter zip had him trailing off, as it stopped to splay over his heart.

"Don't worry, they were just doing their job. Nobody roughed us up or anything." you reassured, "A call in advance would've been nice, though." You pointedly added, the teasing in your voice clearly relaxing his posture.

"I'm sorry, I was drowning all day yesterday and today. I wanted to call this morning, but I figured you'd be asleep when he told me over breakfast at the mess hall he'd reach out, then I forgot to text you-" his ramble was cute, the fluster on his words and cheeks was endearing. You simply took his left hand in both of yours.

"It's fine. I get it, you guys are in an uproar, probably over the festival thing. Also, I never got to thank you properly for the flowers."

He paused, recalling the synthetic tropic begonias he'd had delivered to your brother's apartment in the city center. A fury of orange, red and pink.

"The selfie was more than enough." He quietly replied, keeping to himself the amount of times he'd gone back to look at you, in your cute pajama top and shorts and beautiful eyes looking up at the camera, flowerpot in your arms cradled like precious cargo.

You'd made your brother take the picture, grumbling the whole time, but he'd angled the phone over your forehead for a comically cute effect perfectly, like you'd asked. He then proceeded to try and interrogate you about your mystery output, but tougher (your mother) have tried and failed to make you crack.

"Am I your phone background yet? Be honest." She joked, and, had he not been paranoid about someone at work seeing, he definitely would be doing that. For now, he'd have to settle for looking at the picture every chance he got.

"I was thinking of putting it on a billboard, for better visibility. I'd hate to share the picture with anyone else, though."

You snorted at his statement, and so did Charles as he cringed a pace away, awkwardly looking away.

"Didn't peg you for the jealous type." You teased, letting go of his hands to rest them on your engineering kit, now strapped to your hip harness.

"I'm not jealous, I just prefer to keep what's mine safe and far from the wrong eyes."

"Oh is that what I am, yours?" You egged on, voice suddenly serious. Jago flushed a nice shade of peach. You couldn't stifle the laugh that bubbled out of you.

"Well, I'd like you to be." He bashfully retorted when you'd stopped, gaze lowered, long lashes brushing his face. Something warm cracked inside your ribcage, like honey poured out of a squeezed honeycomb.

"I'd like that, too." You found yourself quietly saying, faster than you could second guess it. The brilliant smile he rewarded you with did away with any traces of doubt left.

Tenderly, he took your right hand, and gently brought it to his lips. He planted soft, haphazard kisses across your knuckles, gray eyes on you the entire time.

Now it was your turn to feel shy.

"Charles will take you home. I'd rather you don't have to repeat the earlier experience with the soldiers." He said pulling away after a beat, hand migrating for a thumb to draw circles on your free hip, oozing of protective, yet comforting masculinity.

It was funny, how some people were born a certain way, with the advantage of its standard socialization and privileges, yet they never managed to figure it out just right; while others had to go through throes of trials and processes to become the very same thing, and they wound up doing it so well, to the point of putting those born to it to shame. You often wondered if a genius without nurture could still surpass those born with all the commodities to excel. Seeing someone like Jago, who had to go the extra mile to be his true, authentic self, and he does it not only effortlessly, but also well, had you thinking the genius would at the end of the day still be a genius, even if they got a late start.

There's always time, contrary to popular belief.

Night city suffocated you with its need for speed; faster, harder, better, all needed right here and now. Humanity is impatient, and the commodities of today have dulled us and our need for going through the motions. Instant results took something fundamental from us. Metamorphosis does not happen overnight. The cocoon takes time to transform us, because it must take us apart first. What a privilege it is, to be able to reinvent yourself, to start anew, as your true, real self.

You gently slid into his space again, nose bumping his softly. Letting your eyes flutter closed, you pressed your mouth to his, reveling in the way his breath hitched and then released with a soft sigh. The elevator finally dinged, but you paid it no mind, as your hands came to wrap around his neck loosely, fingers scratching at his nape. The kiss deepened, suddenly making you both aware of the closeness, both physically and mentally.

His hand instinctively shot out to grab the closing elevator door as it dinged again, the force of his slam vibrating through his bones. The other hand that had wrapped around your waist squeezed the flesh reassuringly.

Charles cleared his throat, still facing away. Jago took the hint; he was running late.

"I'll uh, I'll see you soon." He offered, pulling away hesitantly. You let one of your hands caress his cheek, slipping away slowly and into the elevator. Leaning back against the opposite wall, you nodded at him. Charles sauntered in, body rigid and flush against the side of the shaft, by the panel.

"Make sure she makes it to wherever she needs to go safely, and I'll see you downstairs after I'm done here." Jago ordered, firm and levelled. You could definitely get used to this.

"Later, handsome." You shot as the doors closed, and the wink you threw him hit him like a bullet.