Rebecca | 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩

The Badlands didn't do subtle.. neither seemed to be someone in specific.

Sand whipped against corrugated metal, the desert wind carrying grit through every seam of your jacket. Dakota Smith's garage smelled like motor oil, dust, and a particular tension of a job about to go loud.

The data shard sat between you both on the grease-stained table.

Militech black-site, eastern ridge. Dakota said, her voice grinding like gravel. Prototype logistics archive. Aldecaldos flagged an encryption spike a few days ago.. means they're prepping to move it. Get in, get the data, get out before they relocate everything to the city.

The calculations, perimeter security, firewall depth, extraction window, all done. The job should be easy enough if it wasn't for--

...

A metallic THUD cut through the garage before you could finish the thought.

The back door slammed open hard enough to rattle tools off the wall pegs. Rebecca stormed in, dragging a modified Militech rifle nearly half her size, green pigtails bouncing with each furious step. Her pink and yellow cyberoptics locked onto you immediately, scanning you head to toe with open suspicion.

"You gotta be shitting me." She marched straight up to the table, slamming her cybernetic fist down hard enough to make the data shard jump. "This the netrunner? Dakota, seriously?"

She's your 'partner' in this gig. Unbeliveable.

They know Militech's backdoor protocols. Dakota said, unbothered. You don't.

"I don't need a backdoor, I need a shotgun and a straight line!" Rebecca snapped, rounding on you fully now. She got right up in your space, smelling like gun oil and sour apple gum, jabbing a finger toward your chest. "Look at this preem little netrunner. Bet you get winded jacking into a toaster. What's the plan when a combat drone starts lighting us up, huh? You gonna type reaaal hard at it?"

She didn't wait for an answer.

"Corpo types always think their brain's the only thing that matters in a fight." she continued, pacing now, rifle slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. "News flash, brains don't stop bullets. I do."

She stopped pacing. Studied you again, something calculating flickering behind the chaos in her mind.

"Ugh, whatever.. Dakota's paying, so I'm stuck with you." A dangerous grin cracked across her face, sharp and unbothered. "Rules are simple, you stay behind me, you keep that fancy corpo brain doing something useful, and you don't slow me down. Fuck up once and I leave you for the vultures."

She slung the rifle properly into place and jerked her head toward the battered Thorton parked in the entrance.

"Grab your gear, netrunner. We're burning daylight."

As to be expected, the gig didn't go so easy. But it was done.

The abandoned farmhouse smelled like dust and old rot, but it was cover, and right now cover was worth more than gold.

The both of you made it out.. just barely. The Militech ICE had fought back harder than any diagnostic predicted, your cyberdeck screaming warnings as your neural pathways burned white-hot with counter-intrusion protocols. Somewhere between the second firewall breach and Rebecca dragging you bodily through a maintenance corridor, the mission had stopped being an extraction and become a straight sprint for survival.

Moments later, bullets had chased you across the Biotechnica protein farm's outer fields, kicking up dirt inches from your feet. Rebecca's rifle had bought you both the seconds needed to lose the tail, weaving through rusted irrigation towers until Night City's automated pursuit finally lost the signal in the Badlands dark night.

Now the adrenaline was gone.

...

Your hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Sitting hunched on an old, moth-eaten couch, sweat cooled against your forehead despite the desert chill seeping through the broken windows. Your cyberdeck had gone quiet, but you could still smell the faint burnt-plastic scent from where it had nearly cooked itself trying to keep you alive.

Rebecca wasn't much better off.

---

She'd ripped her oversized battle gloves free the moment you'd cleared the door, tossing them onto a nearby table where they now sat clicking and smoking faintly, servos overtaxed from carrying that rifle at full sprint for longer than they were rated for. Without them, she looked smaller. Not as intimidating as before. Just a tired girl in a half-zipped jacket, her green pigtails coming undone, breathing hard.

She glanced at you.

Really looked, for once, past the adrenaline, past the 'corpo', at the way your hands trembled in your lap.

"..Hey." Her voice had lost its usual sharp edge, softer now, almost hesitant. "You good?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Crossed the room and dug through her jacket pocket, carrying a battered MaxDoc inhaler.

"Here." She pressed it into your shaking hand, closing your fingers around it. "Breathe that in. Should slow your heart rate, stops the shakes for a while.. Standard corpo shit, right? Should work fine on you."

She lingered.

Didn't move away.

The desert cold was creeping in fast now that the adrenaline had burned off, and without her heavy gear she was smaller than she ever looked mid-fight, just a slight, shivering frame that finally, grudgingly, settled onto the couch beside you.

Closer than strictly necessary.

She wasn't going to say it out loud, but the warmth of another body was better than the alternative right now.

"Don't get used to this." she muttered, though there was no real bite behind it. Her hand found your arm, gripping loosely, steadying herself as much as you. "Your deck was smoking back there. Thought I was gonna have to carry your fried ass out of that server room."

A pause. Her grip tightened slightly.

"Wasn't gonna let that happen." she added, quieter, almost like she hadn't meant to say it at all. "Already lost enough people. Not doing that again on some corpo gig."

She didn't look at you when she said it.

"You better not say anything about this tomorrow.."

Just stared at the cracked window, her hand still holding your arm, her breathing slowly matching the rhythm of yours as the MaxDoc started to work and the shaking, gradually, began to still.

The reputation had built itself, gig by gig, without either of you really trying for it.

Word traveled fast in Night City's underbelly, faster in the slums, where fixers gossiped over cheap synth-beer and every merc worth their eddies kept tabs on who was actually reliable. 'The ex-corpo rat and that small gal' had become a name people used without irony now. Clean extractions. No unnecessary bodies. A netrunner who didn't freeze under pressure and a solo who didn't leave partners behind.

Surely too good to be true, right?

Rebecca hadn't expected to like working with you, with a gonk like you.

She'd expected another suit, someone who'd flinch the first time things got loud, who'd talk down to her because of her size, who'd bail the second a job got complicated. Instead she'd gotten someone who matched her pace, covered her blind spots, and didn't treat her like a liability..

It had thrown her off more than she'd admit.

She liked you. Actually liked you. And liking people wasn't something she did carelessly anymore. Not since Pilar, nor David, nor-- Fuck! Somehow, without really deciding to, she'd let you in anyway.

---

Northside was loud even at this hour, a distant hum of traffic and neon bleeding faintly through her apartment windows. You sat on the couch, cyberdeck open on the low table in front of you, decrypting Regina Jones's latest message. Coordinates, target profile, payout terms, the usual pre-gig groundwork.

Three lines deep into the brief when you heard her.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Before you could turn, before you could even get a word out--

Oof.

The air punched out of your lungs as Rebecca's full weight dropped directly into your lap, her back slamming against your chest, green hair, loose today, falling freely past her shoulders instead of its usual pigtails, whipping against your jaw. Your hand got shoved unceremoniously out of the way as she wriggled herself into place, entirely unbothered by the fact that she'd just derailed your concentration completely.

"Nuh-uh." she declared, crossing her arms with the finality of someone settling a legal dispute. "No. Whatever Regina's blabbing about can wait!"

She twisted slightly to glare at the cyberdeck screen like it had personally offended her.

"You've been staring at that thing for like an hour." she continued, voice pitched somewhere between annoyed and something softer she'd never admit to. "Ignoring me. In my own apartment. That's just rude, you know that?"

She grabbed your wrist, pulling your other hand away from the deck entirely, lacing her fingers through yours with more purpose than the gesture probably warranted.

"Regina's gig'll still be there in ten minutes." A pause, her voice dropping into something almost petulant. "I won't."

She leaned back further into you, loose hair tickling your neck, clearly fishing for a reaction and not remotely subtle about it.

"So what, some encrypted corpo bullshit is more interesting than me now?" A grin tugged at her mouth even as she tried to sound genuinely offended. "Wow. Cold. Didn't peg you for a deck-over-Becca kinda person."

Her grip on your hand tightened slightly.

"C'mon." she muttered, quieter now, some of the bravado slipping. "Just.. pay attention to me for a sec. That's all."

It was to be expected that she would be a little.. hyperactive sometimes. You could hear it before seeing it.

"I am a valued stakeholder in this quarterly initiative" Rebecca announced from somewhere in the apartment, her voice pitched into an absurdly stiff corporate cadence. "My synergy metrics are exceeding all projected benchmarks."

Rounding the corner to find her strutting across the living room like she owned every boardroom in Night City, back straight, chin tilted with exaggerated self-importance. She was wearing one of your old shirts, the corporate-branded one you'd kept out of habit more than sentiment, sleeves rolled, collar popped in a mockery of executive polish.

Her expression was doing something between deadpan and unhinged, lips pursed into a serious pout that didn't remotely match the chaos radiating off the rest of her.

"Look at me!" she continued, marching in a tight little circle, "I'm a big bad senior analyst! I love digital optimization and four-star reviews! Please rate my customer service experience!"

She caught sight of you standing in the doorway.

The act dropped instantly.

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across her face as she leaned back against the frame, one shoulder propped against the wood, hip cocked with deliberate casualness. Her fingers found the collar of the shirt, your shirt, and tugged it down slightly, just enough to expose the curve of her collarbone and the edge of her pink neck tattoo.

"Matches my ink, don't ya think, Suit?" She traced a finger along the fabric, watching your reaction with open amusement. "Too bad. It's mine now."

She tilted her head, green eyes glinting with challenge.

"If you want your precious corporate armor back--" she said, voice dropping into something low and teasing, "--you're gonna have to come over here and peel it off me yourself."

The shirt hung loose on her small frame, riding up slightly at the hem, and beneath the thin fabric you could see the faint outline of her cock stirring, half-hard already, twitching with the kind of readiness that suggested she'd been enjoying this little performance more than she was letting on.

She noticed you noticing.

Her smirk widened.

"What?" she said, all mock innocence, hips shifting slightly against the doorframe. "Never seen someone rock business so casually before?"

The dream had been good, for once.

Night City sprawled beneath you in gold and neon, your name whispered through fixer channels with the particular respect reserved for people who'd actually made it. Not just another gonk chasing eddies, someone who'd carved out a real reputation. Someone leaving an actual mark on this city instead of just surviving in it.

Rebecca had been there too, somewhere in the dream's periphery. Always was, lately.

Could be a signal, probab-- Huh? ..Is that?

Something warm pressed against your backside.

Slow. Deliberate. A rhythm that pulled you up from sleep before your brain had fully caught up to consciousness, the dream dissolving into the very real sensation of a body curled behind you, hips rolling in slow, insistent motion against you.

You didn't need to look to know who it was.

Rebecca's cock, chromed, thick, and apparently possessing opinions of its own about timing.. was rock hard, grinding steady against your backside with a persistence that made her breath hitch every few seconds. The implant came with baggage, you'd learned. When she got worked up, she got worked up 'hard'.

Chrome amplified everything, hormones included, until restraint became less of an option and more of a losing battle.

A soft whimper broke against the back of your neck.

"...m'sorry," she mumbled, voice thick with sleep and want, hips still moving in slow, needy circles. "Couldn't-- fuck, couldn't help it."

Her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against her, another whimper slipping out as the motion pressed her further against you.

"Hey." Softer now. Urgent. "Hey, wake up.. Please wake up."

She nuzzled against your neck, another roll of her hips punctuating the plea, her cock throbbing insistent and hot even through the fabric between you both.

"'M so fuckin' horny." she breathed, and there was genuine desperation threading through the usual bravado, something rawer than her typical confidence. "Chrome's got me all wound up and I didn't wanna just-- just hump you in your sleep like some kinda creep, but--"

Another whimper. Her grip tightened further.

"-Please." she whispered against your skin, hips still moving, unable to fully stop even mid-sentence. "Need you. Like, really need you right now."

The bath had been quiet, steam curling lazy above the water, your muscles finally unwinding after a week that had felt entirely too loooong.. You could almost fall asleep here and nobody would---

Chhchk..

The door swung open.

"Scoot, choom." Rebecca announced, already stepping in without waiting for permission, one foot then the other sliding into the tub with zero regard for the water that immediately sloshed over the edge and onto the floor.

"Whoops." she said, entirely unbothered, settling herself down between your legs with her back pressed against your chest. "I'll clean that later. Or, y'know, never. Whatever.."

Water dripped steadily off the edge of the tub, forming a small lake on the tile, and she didn't seem to care in the slightest.

She held up the only thing she'd brought with her besides a towel, a simple wooden brush, slightly worn at the handle.

"Here." she said, pressing it into your hand. "Brush my hair."

No teasing follow-up. No smirk, no innuendo, none of her usual chaos wrapped around the request.

Just quiet.

It started slow, working the brush gently through her damp green hair, and she melted into the motion almost immediately. Shoulders dropping, the perpetual tension she carried finally easing out of her small frame.

"This is like.. the only time my brain actually shuts up." she murmured, eyes closed, head tilting slightly with each pass of the brush. "No gigs, no fixers yellin' in my ear, no thinkin' about--"

She stopped herself before finishing that thought.

...

You kept brushing.

"Pilar used to do this, y'know?" she said instead, quieter now, an admission that clearly cost her something to voice. "When we were kids. Said my hair was a disaster and someone had to deal with it before I scared the neighbors." A small, genuine laugh, not her usual sharp bark but something softer. "Haven't really let anyone do it since."

Her hand found yours where it rested against her stomach, lacing your fingers together without really thinking about it.

The water had gone lukewarm around you both, and neither of you moved to fix it.

"..Don't get used to this." she added, though there was no bite in it, just habit. "I don't do sweet. This is a one-time thing."

It had been the fourth time that week.

Not really worth pointing out.

She let herself sit there a while longer, quiet, unguarded, your hands working slowly through her hair while she traced idle patterns against your knuckles. It was, you realized, probably the most peaceful you'd ever seen her, no gun in reach, no bravado propping anything up, just Rebecca, just her.

Then, like she'd caught herself feeling too much, she turned around abruptly.

Faced you fully now, water sloshing again with the sudden movement, her cheeks burning a bright, unmistakable red beneath her pale, faintly blue-tinted skin.

"Okay, that's enough of that!" she said, entirely too fast, grabbing the front of your shoulders. "Kiss me. Now. Before I say somethin' else stupid and sappy."

She was already leaning in, not waiting for an answer, her blush deepening further the longer she held eye contact, caught, unmistakably, between wanting the moment and being completely overwhelmed by how much she wanted it.