Chapter Text
“Vik! Got one for you here!”
Goro’s body lurched forward, feet barely touching the ground as V dragged him by his side, past the clattering metal gate in front of Viktor Vektor’s clinic. Whatever treatment he found for the damage the relic did, it must have worked, Goro thought blearily. V wasn’t lacking in strength, not now as he supported Goro’s weight without breaking a sweat, and not when he’d smeared those mercenaries across the pavement.
With his cyberware all shut off and his head ringing from a concussion, Goro could only make out vague shapes – the red glow over the work bench, the wavering glare of the neon sign against a back corner of the wall, and in the screeching jumble of colours the shadow of a bulky man, now quickly rising to his feet. Goro still remembered this place from when he’d been stitched up here by the ripper doc after his escape from Yorinobu’s assassins and the time spent waiting for V to recover.
“Goro Takemura?” the voice came as through cork in his ears.
A second pair of hands grasped on to Goro and pulled him over to the chair in the middle of the room. Goro did his best to assist the men, but his limbs, heavy with useless implants that were only chunks of metal and plastic now, always seemed to react a half second too late. He tried not to groan as his body fired up nerves that he’d hoped were already numb as they pressed against the well-worn leather of the chair.
“What happened?” Vektor asked.
“Ate a grenade,” V answered.
“He looks well for that. You too if you stood next to him.”
Goro would have huffed is there was any breath left in his lungs. Vektor was not wrong. Considering circumstances, things could be worse.
“He saw it before I did and ran up to kick it away, so I’m preem. Arasaka let him go and I decided to call him over for a chat, since he was still in Night City. I mean, obviously he had some misgivings, but I figured, we’ve worked together before, so why not?” V prattled on while Vektor adjusted the screens.
Goro managed to glower up in the general direction of V. V waved his hands.
“I didn’t know those Raffen Shiv fucks would choose right now to try to take me on! Glad you did fight on my side, though. After your last message, I wasn’t sure...”
“You are somewhat preferable to those ghouls,” Goro ground out.
“I’m impressed you can still talk, but maybe you shouldn’t,” Vektor said, pulling a glove with metal exoskeleton parts over his hand.
“Look, he still likes me.” The wordless but clearly negative noise Goro made did not discourage V. “You did say you wanted to see what we could possibly have left to talk about. It’s a start, anyway! Er, maybe keep sharp objects out of his reach, Vik? Because there were a few too many allusions to seppuku in your last message.”
“I do not plan to,” Goro had to stop to take a rattling breath, “inconvenience someone who is helping me by sullying their place of work.”
“I’d hope you also not waste my work by throwing it away later.” Vektor glanced up at V. “I think it might be best if you wait at Misty’s, though, since you two are just going to continue squabbling.”
Goro would have voiced his disagreement with such a flippant way to describe their fight, but he did feel like some of his ribs were intruding into his lungs, so he decided to save his breath for more valuable contributions.
V hesitated briefly before he exhaled. “Alright, I’ll get out of your way. You better pull through, Goro, we weren’t done arguing.”
The shape of V waved at the corner of Goro’s eyes. He did not comment on that, either, as he found his throat was starting to close up. However, in that moment, Vektor parted the remains of his shirt and pressed a Bounce Back to the middle of his chest.
Air rushed into him like a fierce, cutting wind. Goro tried to breath it instead of coughing it back out as Vektor pulled the jack out of Goro’s wrist and connected it to his machinery, glancing at the screens for a moment.
“Are all of your implants shut off? I thought you must have a pain editor running.”
“Arasaka disposed of me,” Goro managed with some difficulty. “I never had an editor, though. Figured... better to develop the tolerance naturally.”
He wondered now why he’d made that decision despite the fact that he had never seen himself leaving Arasaka. Pride? Pragmatism? Or had he always wondered if at some point, he might be discarded? He has seen it happen to many other men and women over the years, after all, and only a fool would think himself completely untouchable.
“That tolerance is so high it might be a curse,” Vektor said as he turned away to rummage through something out of Goro’s wavering sight, culminating in the sound of plastic on a steel tray. “I’m just saying, passing out might have been more merciful. I’ll put you under for a bit. You don’t want to be awake for this next part.”
Goro didn’t protest as a needle slid into one of the few parts on his arm that was still flesh. As the last of his failing vision dimmed, he thought that it would be rather ignominious to die in a puddle of his own blood in a ripper’s shop beneath a brothel. However, he was too old to believe that despite all the beautiful poetry of the samurai, death from lethal weapons was ever anything but messy and ugly. If he went, then maybe this would be as good a way as any other.
-
REBOOTING 80%
REBOOTING 100%
ERROR: FAILED TO CONNECT TO SERVER
Goro watched, thoughtless, as the last line of text kept scrolling at the top of his field of vision on repeat, in the small band where he used to receive the latest intel and internal news that didn’t require his immediate attention.
“Good evening,” Vektor said. “Welcome back.”
Laboriously, Goro turned his head. His vision had cleared and the burning incisions of separate wounds merged into a throbbing, all-encompassing ache that made moving his body painful but possible. Vektor was seated by his side, considering columns of numbers and letters on a screen. His dark outline was a solid presence in the island of light over the chair, expression calm despite the blood splatted all over his arms and apron like he was a Victorian doctor. The dark, dried drops looked especially vivid against his tattoos.
After tapping away on a keyboard, Vektor turned to him. “Do you see your display?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I haven’t tried to jailbreak Arasaka tech of this calibre very often.” Vektor reached over to switch off something in the intricate stack of his machinery. “Do your optics have access to your biomon?”
“No.”
“Alright. Give me a moment.”
More tapping, then Goro’s sight twitched once, twice. Next to the Arasaka logo, the band now began to display an array of concerning medical statistics.
“My biomonitor may question whether this effort is worth it, considering the prognosis,” Takemura said slowly.
“It better be or I wasted three hours,” Vektor responded easily. However, his expression sobered as he turned around. “You should be mostly over the hump, but a few MaxDocs are not putting you back on your feet. You’re looking at weeks, if not months of rehabilitation. The good news is that you’ll probably be back to about full strength afterwards, give or take a few more chronic aches and a lot more scars.”
“This is an achievement.”
Goro had fought enough battles to know he’d been held together with willpower by the time V dropped him into this clinic. By all rights, he should not have survived. It was a testament to Vektor’s skills that he could perform such operations here, he thought, as he looked around the dingy room, the Arasaka logo still bright in the corner of his visions.
The Arasaka logo.
His thoughts caught up only slowly with the reality in front of him. As someone who had had several close run-ins with death in a long and storied career, his first instinct on a ripper doc’s chair was to comply with treatment, everything else coming later in the queue of his mental processes.
“Why are my augmentations running?”
“I need them functional to keep you alive. They can pump stims and assist your organs.”
“I understand, but – they were shut off by Arasaka.”
“Told you, I cracked them. My experiences with V’s biochip has given me some unique insights into Arasaka technology.” Vektor sounded a little proud. He could be – not many could claim to be able to do this much. “Especially when he showed up here with the blueprints to modify his brain so it would start running him again. Don’t ask me where he got them because I didn’t. I’d wager the same place that he received Johnny Silverhand’s body.”
“Johnny Silverhand?” Goro asked, staring.
Vektor paused. “Did you never learn who was on the chip?”
Goro just shook his head. If he’d been in less pain, he may have been able to muster shock. “And now he lives again?”
“That’s correct.”
Goro put the thought aside for now. Arasaka was already crumbling under Yorinobu’s leadership. There wasn’t much Johnny Silverhand could do, and, he remembered with a sinking heart, it was not his problem anymore.
“You are good at what you do.” Goro had already told V as much when they first met after the fateful night of their first meeting. It had been tremendous luck that V had access to a ripper doc like Vektor; and now, Goro was the lucky one, though he did not truly feel it. “I am surprised you have not been poached.”
“Oh, they’re trying. I’ll take the compliment, though.” Vektor looked Goro over. “Your implants aren’t connected to Arasaka servers anymore, so your old employers shouldn’t be able to see they have gone live again.”
“They know I won’t turn on them, so I suspect they have little interest in me. But it’s good that they don’t know you can do this.”
Was it a testament and praise to his loyal nature that he knew they would likely be able to predict this correctly, or should it be humbling to know they would consider him as harmless as an old family dog they chased away and be right? Goro could not say right now.
Vektor nodded his head. “I wouldn’t for just any customer, but V put in a good word for you.”
“I wouldn’t know why,” Goro muttered darkly.
But ironically, he did believe that V liked him, despite the fact that he’d had a leading hand in ruining Goro’s life. V had saved him once already when it would have been much more convenient not to and even Goro had told him to run, and now he had again.
“Says you’re not the type to go rat out a small-scale ripper doc. You wouldn’t prove him wrong, would you?”
“You did it to help me. I am not so unreasonable. Also, Arasaka does not heed my word anymore.”
“And they’ve got bigger problems, one assumes,” Vektor says, gesturing at a screen across the room where the news were running mute, showing the disordered stock market.
They sat in silence for moment, the TV screen adding a frantic flicker to the steady light sources in the room. Finally, Goro realised he needed to leave. He pulled his jack out of Vektor’s machinery and sat, but the room immediately started spinning.
“Careful.” Vektor caught him as Goro’s body sagged sideways when his left wrist did nothing to carry his weight as he looked to stabilise himself, apart from shooting a bolt of pain up his shoulder. “As I said, you’re not nearly at full strength. Also, the muscle and flesh you still have in your left arm is going to need extra time to recover. I’m expecting a month at least.”
Which was a problem. Goro had easily gotten used to sleeping on the streets – his early childhood and much of his time as a rookie soldier had not been more comfortable –, but you needed to seem like you could defend yourself if you wanted to keep out of trouble. He had no money to steal, but if someone saw weakness in him, all the expensive cyberware that was likely keeping him alive right now would quickly become his cause of death.
That was not Vektor’s problem, but from the frowning gaze he’d focused on Goro’s very visible neck implants, he’d probably arrived at a similar conclusion.
“I will take care,” Goro said. “And as soon as I find work, I will pay you back.”
Vektor sat with his elbows balanced on his knees, rubbing the back of his head, quiet for a moment before he raised his head.
“You know, I have a room here where I put up patients who need a breather – the kind I can trust not to cause issues, anyway. You should stay a few nights. It’s not going to do much for my reputation if one of my patients ends up dead in an alleyway.”
It was a weak excuse for compassion and a shame that someone felt they needed it, but understandable in Night City, where such impulses might seem unreasonable. After all, nobody would have known of Vektor’s involvement if Goro was torn apart in a back alley somewhere. “That is kind of you, but I wouldn’t impose.”
“You’re V’s – friend?” Vektor chuckled quietly. “Something like that. It’s safer to keep you under supervision, too. You’re not out of the weeds yet.”
Goro wanted to protest, but found that it would have been wilful stubbornness at that point. Walking out into the street was suicide and as much as he did not know right now what his prolonged life should be good for, he had a real debt to repay to Vektor for keeping it going. After all, the ripper doc hadn’t asked V to bring this trouble to his doorstep.
“I apologise for abusing your hospitality,” he answered sincerely.
“Don’t worry, the room is not that nice.”
With a smile, Vektor pulled Goro to his feet. It hurt, but his legs carried him, albeit shakily. With Vektor’s arm around his ribcage, he was led up the stairs into the inner courtyard, a process that took a good amount of time as Goro found his feet again, trying to gain some purchase with his good hand pressed against the naked tiles and cement of the wall. Vektor waited for him to reorient himself in his body, showing no signs of exhaustion from holding him up in the meantime. The thick muscle Goro felt bunch against his body was surprisingly soft, all natural.
As they headed for the elevator, there was shuffling behind an open doorway to their left. V stuck his head out and grinned at Goro.
“Look who’s back among the living. Where are you taking him, Vik?” V asked.
“I’m keeping him on site for a bit. This was a close call. Might still be if he runs off too early.”
V nodded his head. “Well, you heard the doctor, Goro.”
“Yes,” Goro just said.
He would have left it at that, but a sense of propriety forced him to slow his steps as they approached the elevator. V had waited for him here to make sure he was alive. Despite all his misgivings, Goro had to honour that there were not many left on this planet who would have cared enough to do this.
“V,” Goro called over his shoulder.
V spun in the doorway, hands buried in the pockets of his garishly coloured jacket.
“Yeah?”
“I thank you.”
V laughed at him. “You don’t sound grateful, though.”
And he wasn’t. As far as Goro was concerned, his life was over – he had failed and all that he’d worked for and known since he was nine years old had fallen apart. How realistic was it that he would manage to construct something new out of debris shattered into such small pieces, even if he had known what to build in the first place?
“Saving my life was unnecessary. However, you both did go to some lengths to do so.”
“You did also make sure a grenade didn’t explode in my face. Anyway, take it easy for a bit. There’s no corp hounding you anymore! Could have its good sides, too.”
That ‘hounding’ had happened to be the focus of his world, but Goro knew V didn’t understand that. He was a free spirit, exuberant and defiant even in the face of what had looked like certain death. At the very least, Goro could no longer claim this two-bit thief had no convictions.
The elevator brought Vektor and him up to the floor above the brothel, according to the faded label next to the buttons. Vektor unlocked a door set in the naked concrete wall of the hallway, which led into a shorter, narrow, just as nondescript tunnel. There was a door at the end, but Vektor instead swiped an access card on the other one to the left.
He hadn’t lied that it wasn’t a beautiful room. There was only a tiny window at the top to let in sunlight and aside from an iron-rod bed with an old mattress and a greyish blanket and a shower and a toilet in the corner, there wasn’t much in there. It was a roof over his head, however, reasonably clean and dry, and as such much better than anything Goro could have procured for himself.
Vektor reached into his trouser pocket. “Here, surveillance chip linked to my Agent. Only for the biomon.”
Goro nodded his head. He recognised the very common hospital model chip. Of course, back when he was the bodyguard of the head of Arasaka, he would have never put potential spyware in his head and risk revealing more information than he was aware of, but what difference did it make now? He didn’t have access to Arasaka’s servers anymore and Yorinobu would never share any of his ideas with Goro.
Slotting the chip into an open port, Goro looked around.
“Can I take a shower?”
He was still covered in his own dried blood.
“Yeah, just mind the bandages.” Vektor tapped his chin, looking at the tatters of Goro’s outfit. “Do you have any extra clothes?”
“I can wash mine in the shower,” Goro said.
He’d gotten used to running around in damp clothes lately. There was a reason the memory of him wringing out his shirt in the river back home had been so close at hand when he talked to V during their stake-out. Maybe he would even be able to procure a needle and thread somewhere to mend the clothes.
“We’re about the same height. Let me see if I have some stuff in the back of my wardrobe you can borrow.”
Goro regarded him closely. “You are doing a lot for one patient.”
“We aren’t strangers. You did spend two days in my clinic before,” Vektor pointed out. “And from the way V tells it, you did just save my friend’s life.”
That was true, Goro supposed. It was strange to think that he had – connections here, in Night City of all places.
And it would be nice to get out of these blood-soaked rags, if he was honest. He was quite adept at sewing, but safe for the leather jacket, he doubted he could make them presentable anymore, even had he had use of both his hands.
“I can only thank you once more,” he admitted.
“Not for that.”
Vektor patted the doorframe once as acknowledgement before he turned around and left. Once the door had closed, Goro leaned against the wall. He was so tired even crossing over to the bed seemed like too much effort, but he persevered and managed to stand straight when Vektor entered again, carrying a towel, a soft pair of jogging trousers and a black pullover folded in his arms.
“Not quite your style,” he said with half a smile, “but you’ll probably spend quite a bit of time asleep for now, so it should be comfortable.”
“I don’t expect to be attending any important events in the near future,” Goro answered dryly.
Vektor chuckled and pressed a key card into his hand. “For this room and the door at the front. You’re not a prisoner, despite what this place looks like, but – you know my professional opinion.”
“Do not worry. I will not leave without telling you.”
It would be a dishonour to sneak out with another man’s clothes on his back, and besides that, Goro owed Vektor more than an ephemeral debt for such significant treatment. And I doubt I would make it much further than the elevator, anyway.
-
Goro sat on the floor of the shower for too long, first scrubbing himself with the piece of soap and cleaning whatever parts of him weren’t covered in bandages, then washing out the towel that had grown pink from his blood. It took a while to pull on Vektor’s clothes, but they fit him reasonably well, although the pullover was a bit too wide around the chest and biceps, his own sleek mechanical muscles not quite matching Vektor’s natural bulk.
Exhausted like he’d spent a week awake, he dragged himself into bed afterwards and was asleep until a knock at the door.
He did not need to reorient himself. He had gotten used to not knowing his environments. The fact that he was relatively safe here was the actual novelty. He’d woken up to enterprising fools trying to rob him too often.
Dragging his feet over the edge of the mattress, Goro forced himself to sit straight. “Yes?” he called.
“Just me.”
Vektor, fiddling with the metal claw on his hand, let the door slide open. He looked Goro over.
“Is something wrong with my biomonitor values?” Goro asked.
“No, not in any unexpected way. I’m just going to have dinner in a while. You should eat as well.” He snorted. “Unfortunately, I’m never up to cooking after work, even if I always shop like I will. So it’ll be frozen food.”
If there had been no choice, Goro would have taken the offer. He had no money to go out and buy food even if he could have left. However, the mention of an alternative let him hope that perhaps he could escape Night City’s awful packaged concoctions for tonight. It could hardly be a burden for Vektor to consume something of higher quality, unless he happened to mirror V’s propensity to eat as if he was trying to find the least nutritious object sold at any given location.
“If you have ingredients here, I can cook,” he offered.
“Are you up for that?” Vektor asked, raising his brows.
Goro glanced at his limp hand. “It will take longer with one hand, but if you do not mind that, it should be no problem.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he had cooked something while being impaired. Unexpected fights often left one in situations where going to a restaurant or bringing a cook into the danger zone didn’t end up being a reasonable choice, but Saburo Arasaka couldn’t be expected to accept corner store snacks instead.
“No, that’s fine. I want to work out some kinks with this thing,” he gestured at the metal construction on his hand, “so that’ll take a while.”
Slowly, Goro moved to his feet. “Then allow me.”
He could walk now that he had replenished a little energy, and after some hours of stims coursing through his body, although he understood why Vektor kept a hand hovering close. Goro glanced backwards briefly, instinctively considering locking his room, but there was nothing in it and Vektor had probably locked the door at the front of the hallway.
Vektor’s apartment opened into a living room with a kitchen attached. It looked clean enough but lived-in, like he had been here for a while. Small piles of knickknacks congregated on the ends of the shelf and at the corners of the board hanging by the door. The walls had wallpaper and the posters on them were nailed down and not askew. Most of them were promotional material for local boxing events, although a couple advertised movies that Goro did not know. One of the boxing posters, showing crossed gloves faded to a soft orange with age, identified Viktor Vektor as one of the participants.
That explains the build for a ripper doc. He is not just a fan. Although to do this kind of work in Night City, without corporate protection no less, it might be generally advisable to look like you could defend yourself. Now that he thought about it, he did remember trophies over Vektor’s work station. Every time he had ended up in his workshop, his attention had been badly split, or he wouldn’t have forgotten about such a striking detail.
The kitchen was promising – it included a stove with four stovetops and an oven –, though it looked suspiciously less used than the rest of the place.
“There’s nothing personal in the kitchen cabinets, so feel free to open them,” Vektor said. “But if it’s too much, there is always frozen food.”
“It will be fine,” Goro answered quickly.
“Not a fan?” Vektor asked, amused.
“You do not have to feed me at all, so I would take what you choose to give me. But then, unless you insist, maybe we don’t have to.”
Vektor shook his head. “Oh, I won’t complain if I don’t have to do the cooking,” he said easily, pointing his thumb to a door on the left. “I’ll be over there. I’d call it my study, but it’s my bedroom, too.”
He kept the door to the adjacent room half-open when he left, perhaps to make sure he could hear if Goro did something he was not supposed to, or to catch if he collapsed to the ground.
Goro looked around. Vektor was not right that there was nothing personal in his cabinets. Having trained himself to assess environments fast and efficiently for decades, there was always some information to be gleaned from the way people ordered their lives. Again, he got the sense of a home as he opened the doors. The plates and glasses were a disordered bunch, from different sets, some looking quite old, possibly having lost some of their companions over the years. Most of them seemed to be for general use, nothing fancy except for a few wine glasses and whiskey tumblers out in a corner. There was a small layer of dust on the pots and pans, though their presence spoke to some silent ambition.
The fridge actually held some items outside of ready-meals, among them a package of higher quality synth-meat and a few slightly wilted looking vegetables. Goro also located a packet of rice that was a few days from going bad. There were even some spices in the cabinets.
He dragged a chair over from the table which felt a hundred pounds heavy, despite being hollow stainless steel, and sat down heavily in front of the sink to wash the rice. His dominant hand worked and he could still use the wrist of his other arm to function as dead weight, at least. Making stir-fry this way, while seated no less, was not a speedy affair, but he did end up being able to plate two meals that looked acceptable by the end.
Vektor must have heard the finishing clink of plates, since he emerged just as Goro was arranging the plastic chopsticks he had found on the table.
“It is ready,” Goro said, holding on to the back of the chair. It would have been impolite to sit down before his host, though he’d spent most of the last hour sitting.
“The food looks good. I’m surprised it came out of my kitchen.” Vektor fell down on the opposite chair, eyeing the plate. “I had leeks?” he asked, with a gently amused, self-deprecating smile, as he considered the meal.
“Only for a day or two more or they would have gone bad.”
Vektor picked up the chopsticks when Goro had sat down.
“Food is really too expensive for me to waste it. I always think that thought might push me to use it, but unfortunately, it rarely does.” He took a bite, then another, eyes widening. “Although, even then, my cooking isn’t on this level. I thought you were a bodyguard? Is this a hobby?”
“Yes, but it was part of my job, too. Of course, Arasaka-sama had chefs. However, travelling with one was not always convenient. Besides, if your bodyguard cooks, you have eliminated one way to get poisoned.”
“Makes sense,” Vektor said with a nod.
“I did start early, helping out my father in the small place he owned, but that is very long ago now. He didn’t have real vegetables to cook with often, either.”
“So you trained to be a chef, too?”
Goro shook his head. “Chef is overstating it. It was a more casual place. Arasaka also picked me when I was nine, so while work was what I did instead of schooling, I wouldn’t count it as a full apprenticeship.”
“I see.”
Vektor looked at him for a long moment before he turned back to his food.
“If we are speaking of former professions, it seems you have been a boxer. Did you ever fight professionally?”
With his chopsticks, Goro indicated the small golden boxing glove around Vektor’s neck.
“For a while. I did end on a loss, but without a broken skull, so I tell myself that was some type of success.”
“It is better than many can say,” Goro agreed.
After an hour of cooking, his small reserves were used up again, so Goro managed only through discipline to make himself eat. That, too, was an old lesson – you ate when it was available, since it was unclear when more would come, usually in the form of scraps from his father’s food stall. Often, however, even he had nothing left over, or to offer in the first place, if the rations never made it to Chiba-11.
Opposite him, however, Vektor seemed to be enjoying his food quite a lot and, watching him, Goro felt a type of satisfaction that had become almost lost to him in the last half year. Perhaps it was pathetic to consider cooking a middling meal an accomplishment, food with unevenly chopped vegetables and some too-brown rice that he hadn’t stirred properly because his tired mind kept wandering; but it had been such a long while since he had been of use to anyone.
Thanks to this reinforcement, though, he managed to pull together the strength to collect their empty dishes by the end and stick them in the sink with the pan, knives and chopping board. Vektor rose as Goro opened the tab.
“You already did the cooking. I can do the washing-up.”
“You paid for the meal,” Goro said in a tone that brooked little argument. “Do you eat breakfast?”
“Not unless coffee counts.”
“Not for eating, no. Would you like me to make some tomorrow? You have the ingredients to make tamagoyaki, at least if I substitute the mirin.”
“If you’re offering, I wouldn’t say no. But you may want to sleep in to get some more rest.”
“Outside of cooking, I won’t do much but get rest,” Goro answered. “When would you like me to come around?”
Vektor hesitated briefly, but finally nodded his head. “Let’s say seven?”
With a few taps of his fingers, Goro directed his Agent to set an alarm at the appropriate time. As he brushed leftover rice off a plate, he felt instantly grateful that there would be a reason for him to get up in the morning.
-
“Can you turn your head all the way to the left?”
Goro winced as he tried and Vektor stopped the movement with a hand, leaving Goro’s face to lean again his palm.
“Like I thought. You have pulled several muscles that connect to your cyberware, not to mention the broken ribs. That wouldn’t usually impact you this much, but because your nervous system has been replaced to enhance functionality as well, it’s all interconnected.”
“What does that mean?” Goro asked shortly.
“Just more evidence that a few days of long rest won’t be enough.” Vektor shrugged as he leaned back, adjusting the sunglasses he often wore when at his workplace. “But it’s not like a lot of people tend to stick around, so the bed’s free.”
Goro wanted to tell him that he would attempt to figure out alternative accommodations, but unfortunately, he did not know what that would look like, short of kneeling to V, which was just shifting the burden of taking care of him to somebody else.
“Don’t make that face, Mr. Takemura,” Vektor said into his thoughts, in that same calm, slightly playful tone that Goro was starting to get used to. “There’s worse things in the world than taking a break. You’ll be in better shape to do whatever you would like afterwards.”
Afterwards was not something Goro cared too much about. He wanted to protest, but making Vektor continue to force his hospitality on him would have made him a poor guest, too. Here was to hoping that Vektor did not get sick of his cooking anytime soon. He did seem to have liked the tamagoyaki, at least. The leftovers sat in a box on his desk.
-
“You took the tamagoyaki to work today. Do you usually not eat lunch, either?”
Goro poked at the simple curry he had managed to put together for dinner. His appetite had not returned, but Vektor ate hungrily, which did lift his mood somewhat.
“I’ll usually drop by a food stand on the street.” Vektor studied Goro’s expression. “They’re not that bad.”
“I thought a doctor would be more careful,” Goro said flatly.
Vektor chuckled. “Well, I am becoming spoiled at a rapid pace,” he said, indicating the curry with his spoon. “If you are looking for opportunities in the future, you could consider a career as a cook.”
Goro very much wasn’t, outside of the immediate question what he would do to pay Vektor back the money he owed. However, the thought did make the corner of his mouth twitch briefly.
“A drastic change. Although – you have made one.” He paused, looking up. “May I ask what made you stop boxing? It seems you have some affection for it still.”
“Ah, well...” Vektor shrugged, hesitating as he glanced at one of the posters. “I wasn’t good enough to make it at the top. That’s the truth of it, not that I like it. And even if I had been, I was wondering at times if it would be worth it. In the end, most big-name boxers go down to the boards with damage they don’t walk off. Not even if they know their way around an implant.” He cocked his head, a knowing smile on his lips. “But if I’d had any realistic chance, I probably would have still tried.”
This man was quite self-aware, Goro thought. It took a lot to speak of your past weaknesses, but even more to resist the temptation to build them into your story as something more palatable than regret, forming them into building blocks for some better purpose you realised later instead of admitting they had been obstacles that had forced you to turn around against your will.
“A wise choice, then,” Goro said gravely.
Vektor shrugged. “That’s what I hope. I’m not unhappy where I am, so it worked out for me.” He paused. “Could for you, too. Not as a chef, maybe, but in my experience, there’s always more out there than you think.”
“You said you lost a fight to end your career. I let my charge get murdered. My failure was somewhat more catastrophic,” Goro pointed out.
“Pretty unusual circumstances, from what I understand.”
“But the reality remains.”
Vektor didn’t push, just kept eating his curry. Goro was glad for it.
When they had finished dinner, Vektor handed him a slip of paper and a pencil.
“I’m getting groceries tomorrow. If you want to keep cooking for us – not that you gotta –, you should write down what I should get.”
“How old-fashioned,” Goro said, turning the pencil in his hand.
“It’s not like either of us is a spring chicken anymore,” Vektor joked.
“‘Spring chicken’...” Goro’s considered the absurd comparison with his brows raised. “What an odd expression.”
“Probably has something to do with farming,” Vektor mused as he got up. “Not that I would know. I was born in Night City. Not a farm in sight.”
“I am best at making Japanese food. Would that be alright with you?” Goro asked. If Vektor was a local, he might prefer the local cuisine also.
“Sure. They’ll have most of the ingredients here in Chinatown, I’d guess.” Vektor raised a brow. “Not the stuff Saburo Arasaka had, of course. But you’ve been making due here so far, so I think you can estimate what’s likely to be around.”
Goro got to work and only noticed halfway through his diligent note-taking that Vektor had taken up the position at the sink to wash the dishes.
“I can’t keep you on your feet for this long. Not good for your recovery,” he claimed, turning a glass upside down and placing it on the drainboard when Goro caught his gaze.
-
Since Vektor wanted to go to the grocery store that day, Goro decided the next morning that it was fine to use up the ingredients that were still left in the fridge. Half of it went to their breakfast, but a portion of blanched, lightly-seasoned broccoli and cooked rice as well as some fried synth-fish and mushrooms ended up carefully stacked in a plastic container.
“Here is your lunch,” he said, pushing the plastic box towards Vektor as he got up from the table.
Vektor lifted the lid and stared at it. “Did you cook all this today?”
“Of course,” Goro said, lifting his chin. “It wouldn’t be fresh until midday if it had been sitting in the freezer all night.”
“You really didn’t have to. But – it’d be a waste to leave it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As Vektor grabbed the container, still admiring its contents through a gap between lid and bottom, Goro decided that accounting for lunch for the coming week when he had given Vektor his shopping list had been the right thing to do.
“Did you make anything for yourself?” Vektor asked, scanning the kitchen.
“I won’t be awake for lunch,” Goro said truthfully.
Vektor gave a slow nod. “That might take a few more days. You are spending your awake hours quite busy, after all.”
“I have never enjoyed being idle. Now less than ever,” Goro said before he could think better of it.
After regarding him for a moment, Vektor nodded his head again. Though he didn’t say anything, Goro had a feeling Vektor understood his meaning, yet once more, he didn’t use the opportunity of his unguarded comment to attempt to force Goro to elaborate. That, more than any words could have, almost tempted Goro into saying something. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet and followed Vektor out of the apartment.