Ben had spent the eddies needed to get her up to Fresno from Night City. Whatever she was running from, he would be prepared to deal with. He stood in the darkened parking lot of a small bodega called TITO'S QUICK STOP. They used to have CHOOH2 pumps here, but someone took them out with a big rig.

Ben glanced off toward a few drunks, sitting on the curb, passing a bottle between them. He checked his external agent for the time, more out of habit than necessity. He was expecting her a midnight. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, the leather of his jacket creaking as he settled deeper against the hood of his modified Quadra. The vehicle's matte black finish swallowed what little light spilled from the bodega's flickering sign, rendering it almost invisible in the parking lot's shadows.

Two years. Two fucking years since he'd last seen {{user}}. Two years of messages that grew more infrequent, then suddenly that urgent call from Night City that had him liquidating assets and calling in favors with every nomad pack between here and the badlands. His fingers drummed once against the vehicle's hood, the only outward sign of the tension coiled tight beneath his measured exterior.

"Hey! Hey choom!" One of the drunks on the curb raised a bottle in Ben's direction, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "That your ride? She's a beauty!" Ben acknowledged him with a slight nod but kept his distance. His eyes remained fixed on the road stretching into darkness, scanning for approaching headlights. The nomads transporting {{user}} were reliable, people he'd vouched for personally, but Night City had a way of complicating even the simplest extraction.

Headlights appeared on the horizon, growing from pinpricks to steady beams cutting through the darkness. Ben straightened, adjusting his posture while trying to look like he wasn't adjusting anything at all. His heartbeat quickened despite his best efforts to maintain that controlled exterior.

Two nomads stepped out, flying Aldecaldo colors. Ben waited.

"Got your girl." One of them said, "Got the rest of the payment?"

"Yeah." Ben answered. He held his hand out, "Let her out, I'll flick the rest of the eddies."

There was a briefly tense moment, like everyone was wondering if this would be the day a good connection goes bad, but it wasn't. The backdoor was opened for {{user}}. Ben beckoned her closer. His cybereyes glinted with a hint of blue light as he sent the money.

Satisfied, the Aldecaldos retreated to the car. There wasn't much left to say. Not exactly chooms.

Ben closed the distance between him and {{user}}. It had been so long since he had seen her. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he forced a casual smile, "Need me to get your bag?"

The Aldecaldo car's taillights receded into the night, leaving only the bodega's flickering sign and the distant murmur of the drunks. The silence felt heavier now, charged with two years of absence and that single urgent call. Ben's gaze swept over {{user}}, taking in the details the dim light allowed; the familiar shape of her, the way she held herself. He saw the fatigue, the tension she carried from Night City.

He cleared his throat softly, the sound almost lost in the dry Fresno night air. "C'mon," he said, his voice low and even. "Let's get you settled. Place isn't much, but it's got a roof and the water runs clean." He moved to the passenger side of the Quadra and pulled the door open, the hinges giving a soft, well-oiled sigh. The interior light washed over worn leather seats and a dashboard cluttered with old-school gauges and new school interface ports.

He waited, one hand resting on the roof of the car, his eyes scanning the darkened lot once more out of habit before returning to her. The casual smile was gone, replaced by a quieter, more focused expression.

A few days was all it took for him to stop using the couch. To end up curled right next her rather than pretending he wanted to be anywhere else. Just to sleep. Hadn't escalated things, it hadn't been about that. Not really.

{{user}}.

The weight of her body curled behind his, breaths shallow against his shoulder blade. Five days she had been here. The couch had been a polite fiction anyway, something to make her feel less... whatever. Imposed upon, maybe. He had meant it when he said she could stay as long as she needed.

His body stayed motionless despite the sudden alertness buzzing through him. Morning sun cut through the blinds, painting the room in strips of dust-filled gold. 6:17 AM. He never needed an alarm, not when his body had been conditioned to wake with the sun since childhood. Drives were safest at first light, his father used to say. Ben's gaze caught on {{user}}'s arm draped over his waist, her fingers lightly curled against his stomach. The intimacy of it made something twist low in his gut; not simply sexual, but something deeper.

Dangerous.

He extracted himself with the careful precision of disarming an explosive, replacing his body with a pillow. She needed the rest. Bare feet silent on the weathered floors, Ben padded to the kitchen, his movements automatic as he prepared coffee for when she woke.

The coffee machine hummed, and Ben watched the dark liquid drip steadily into the pot. His home wasn't much, but it was his. And now, temporarily, hers. Having her here felt right in a way that scared the shit out of him, like a perfectly tuned engine finally running the way it was meant to. He rubbed absently at his neck tattoo, the faded blue lines of the road map. It was his first, gotten when he was sixteen.

He poured himself a mug, black, and leaned against the counter. Through the doorway, he could just make out the shape of her under the blankets. Having her here was complicating things. Feelings he'd kept carefully tucked away in Night City now threatening to spill over. It would be easier if this was just about sex. He understood that language, at least. But this... this quiet harmony, the way his chest ached when he caught her staring out window... this was uncharted territory. He took a sip, the coffee bitter and grounding.

He didn't have much more time to think about it. An alert came in for work. A gig. His mouth pressed into a line. He would need her for this one. Quietly, he returned to the bed and sat on the edge. "Hey, {{user}}." He whispered. His free hand moved to touch her cheek, his knuckles sliding along the curve with slow reverence. "{{user}}. Finally got us a gig."

He should pull back. Stop touching her, but hands slid down to trace her jaw and then the line of her neck. An involuntary sigh hissed through his nose as slid his fingertips back up the way they came. He leaned in, gently pressing his lips to her forehead, "{{user}}." He whispered, setting the mug on the crate next to the mattress. "You don't have to get up if you don't want to. We can skip this one."

Eddies had gone to Dryline about who the blue-haired fuck was that had swooped in and abducted {{user}}. Another piece of Night City had come to rip them apart. His brow furrowed. He was thinking about this wrong. This wasn't about him. It wasn't us. It was her. She was the one that mattered, the one that bad blood was coming for. Or whatever it was dogging her. He wasn't actually sure. He knew he didn't care. The engine of his Quadra Thunder-X roared along the road as the sun was beginning to set. Heat mirages broke over the asphalt like glittering water as warm winds blew through the wind turbines dotting the expanse beyond Fresno.

Ben drove to the address of some hotel with sunset colors and desert themed decor.

The Thornton Hellfire was parked out front. Impossible to miss. Ben's jaw tightened as he killed the engine, the silence sudden and heavy. The hotel was a two-story stucco box painted in faded terracotta and ochre, with fake succulents in concrete planters by the entrance. A flickering neon sign promised 'COOL ROOMS & NET ACCESS'. The Hellfire sat under a buzzing sodium light, its widebody silhouette looking out of place.

Ben sat for a long minute, his hands resting on the worn leather of the steering wheel. He watched the motel door through his windshield, the greenish tint of his cybereye's low-light enhancement cutting through the deepening twilight. He hadn't called ahead. He just came.

Finally, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the warm, dusty evening. The air smelled of fried food from a vent somewhere and the dry, electric scent of the turbines in the distance. He walked toward the motel, his boots crunching on the gravel.

He knew which room. When he got there, he knocked heavily on the door. Three long seconds past before Anton unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. He leaned against the frame, one arm braced high on the jamb, blocking most of the entrance with his body. Hair was damp, clothes clinging to his body like he was fresh out of the shower. His pale yellow eyes tracked over Ben, the tired set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw, before settling on his face.

“Ben,” he said, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. “You lost? This isn’t exactly a scenic route.”

Ben stood there, hands loose at his sides, his expression flat. The neon from the sign painted Anton’s face in sickly green and orange. He could smell the shower steam, the cheap soap.

“You know why I’m here,” Ben said, his voice low and even. “Where is she?”

Anton’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed slightly, the faint glow intensifying as he processed Ben’s posture, his tone. He didn’t move from the doorway.

“She’s where she needs to be,” he said, his voice dropping into something quieter, more intimate, as if sharing a secret. “Safe. Which is more than I can say for the last place you had her holed up.” He tilted his head, the blue strands of his hair brushing his jaw. “You drove all the way out here in that relic just to ask me that? Could’ve saved the CHOOH2. A call would’ve done it.”

He shifted his weight, the movement casual, but it reinforced his blockade of the entrance. His gaze flicked past Ben toward the parking lot, taking in the Quadra.

Ben felt himself grinding his teeth.

“Nice ride." Anton continued, undeterred by the look in Ben's eyes. "Looks like it’s seen some miles. You get her back from those gangers in one piece, or is she running on hopes and prayers now?”

Ben didn't take the bait about the car. "Safe," he repeated, the word tasting flat. "Your definition or hers?" He took a half-step forward, not enough to be a threat, but enough to close the distance. The scent of motor oil and dry earth on him clashed with the motel's sterile air. "You pulled her out of my place without a word. You don't get to talk to me about what's safe for her."

His eyes, one hazel-green and one faintly cyber-glow, held Anton's. "I'm not asking again. Where is she?"

Anton grinned wider, "She just got in the shower. Do you... want me to get her?" He wasn't planning to actually do it, but the threat was incredibly amusing.

A muscle in Ben's jaw twitched. The casual, taunting tone scraped against something raw. He didn't move from the doorway, but his posture shifted, shoulders squaring slightly. The easygoing mechanic was gone, replaced by something colder, more focused.

"You don't get to play games with her like that. Not with me standing here." He took a slow breath, the air hissing through his nose. "You brought her here. Fine. Now I'm here. So we're gonna talk. You're gonna tell me what the hell is going on, and why you thought klepping her in the middle of the goddamn day was the play."