Chapter 25 - Chapter Twenty Five

David had been going through the motions for weeks now, jobs with Maine's crew when they came up, shifts at the Vault-Tec Medical Delivery Service, visits to the clinic to check on his mother even though she hadn't moved, and every time he sat in that quiet room with machines beeping softly he told himself maybe tomorrow she'd open her eyes, and then one morning the call came through his phone, short and direct from the clinic staff—"Your mother is awake, stable, responsive"—and for a long second he couldn't breathe, just staring at the message before bolting from his apartment and taking the fastest route to the hospital, the whole city blurring around him until he was pushing through the clean white halls and into her room where she was propped against a pillow, thin but alive, eyes open and tracking him as he stumbled inside with a half laugh and half sob, saying "Mom" like it was the only word left in his mouth, and she smiled, tired and small but real, whispering his name, "David," before he reached her side and held her hand, not caring that it felt frail in his grip because it was warm and moving back against him. The doctors explained she was still weak, that she'd need therapy and monitoring, that her body had taken damage from the crash and the coma had left muscles stiff, but she was recovering, she was present, she was herself, and when they left the room to give him time he sat down and started talking, telling her everything she'd missed, not sure where to begin but deciding to just let it all out in the order it came to his head, starting with the shootout that had landed her here, how he thought he was going to lose her forever, then about the job he'd picked up at Vault-Tec Medical Clinic delivering medicine, describing the white delivery trucks with the red cross logos and the armored guards who always rode with him, laughing a little as he admitted it felt more like running a convoy than delivering meds but it paid steady and felt right, like he was actually helping people instead of just scraping by. She asked questions in her soft voice, wanting to know how he'd managed on his own, and he told her about the apartment, about working shifts between deliveries and odd jobs, leaving out the worst of the nights where he didn't eat or slept only a few hours because there was no point in making her feel guilty for something she couldn't change, instead focusing on the good parts, how the clinic staff treated him with respect, how people smiled when they got their medicine, how he made enough to keep a roof over his head, and how he felt like for once he wasn't just another body drifting through Night City. When she frowned about bills he shook his head and said the clinic handled it, that she didn't have to worry about the money because it was covered, which made her cry in relief, squeezing his hand like she never wanted to let go. He told her too about how the city was changing, how the air outside felt fresher, how the desert around the walls had turned green, how people were starting to hunt and forage, how even the poorest could eat real food now, and she laughed softly, saying, "Sounds like the world decided to give us a second chance," and he agreed, though in the back of his mind he still wondered who or what had made it happen, because he knew cities didn't just fix themselves. They spent hours like that, him talking, her listening, both of them laughing and crying in turns, catching up on everything lost in the long silence of the coma, and when the doctors came back to check vitals and remind him visiting hours were almost over he promised her he'd be back the next day, every day, until she was strong enough to walk out with him, and as he left the room he felt lighter than he had since the day of the crash, like he was finally carrying hope instead of grief, and for the first time in months Night City's neon didn't look cold to him, it looked like something he might actually survive long enough to see from tomorrow into the day after.