Gloria's gaze snapped toward the man lounging across the room, cigarette dangling from his lips and mischief dancing in his eyes. The same smug grin. The same trench coat—filthy but somehow odorless. There was no mistaking him.
Arthur.
Her husband.
The man who had vanished years ago without a trace, swallowed by Night City's underworld. Rumors said he'd died in a gutter somewhere, a casualty of the chrome chase. But here he was, alive and annoyingly well.
"Arthur, you bastard! How dare you come back?!"
Without hesitation, she lunged at him, fury written across her face.
Arthur didn't move. He just opened his arms and caught her mid-swing, pulling her into a firm embrace.
"Easy now," he murmured.
Her fists pounded his chest, but he barely reacted. His skin, reinforced with steel-threaded dermal plates, made her punches little more than echoes of emotion. But he let her rage anyway. Let her vent years of pain, of abandonment, of struggling alone.
Then, just as she drew back to swing at his face, Arthur tilted his head and kissed her.
Across the room, Victor groaned audibly, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. "Unbelievable. Save someone's life, and they turn the clinic into a romance drama."
He downed the shot with practiced ease. "Should've charged a mood tax."
Back on the couch, Gloria stiffened. She should've slapped him again. Should've screamed. But somehow, the kiss disarmed her. When Arthur finally pulled away, she buried her red face into his chest, overwhelmed by a mix of rage, shame, and something softer.
David, sitting nearby, was completely dumbfounded.
His strict, unyielding mother—who once lectured him for forgetting to comb his hair before school—had just melted in the arms of a man who looked like he wrestled dumpsters for a living.
Arthur looked down at Gloria with a smug grin. "Tantrum over?"
She gave a small nod against his chest.
Arthur stood up, still holding her. "Put the bill on my account," he told Victor. "If it runs over, let me know. I'll handle it."
Victor waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Just get out before I need to sanitize the couch."
Arthur carried Gloria out into the neon-soaked streets, David trailing behind, still processing.
The world buzzed with its usual chaos—sirens howling, AVs roaring overhead, and advertisements flashing in every direction. But within that madness, Arthur moved with quiet focus.
"I know it's been hard, Gloria," he said softly. "But I'm here now. I'll make it right."
She didn't answer at first. Just buried her face deeper into his chest.
"Hmph. Don't think you can walk back into our lives and expect forgiveness, you bastard."
Arthur chuckled. "Come on. I saved your life. Doesn't that buy me a few points?"
"You owe me a decade of child support and at least three birthday parties."
Arthur smirked. "Guess I'll start making it up to you now. How about we start with a second honeymoon?"
"Shut up," she muttered, cheeks burning.
From behind, David groaned. This is so weird.
---
The next morning, the TV blared as always.
"Good morning, Night City!" came Stanley's booming voice, full of synthetic cheer. "It's your favorite loudmouth back with the news, tunes, and trashy truths from this glorious chrome playground!"
Gloria stirred with a groan. "Ugh. Why is he still alive?"
She blinked at the time and shot upright. "Sh*t, I'm late!"
Arthur leaned against the bedroom doorway, holding a pneumatic injector. "Relax."
She turned, startled. He walked over, pressed the injector against her abdomen, and clicked it. The hiss of medicine seeped into her system.
"Your new prosthetics are still syncing with your nervous system," Arthur said. "You need rest. I already reported in—told them you're out for medical reasons."
Gloria pulled away. "You... contacted my job?"
Arthur shrugged. "You think I don't know how to spoof HR calls? I once pretended to be an Arasaka executive for three weeks to break into a data center."
Gloria narrowed her eyes. "And when exactly were you planning to tell me this?"
He raised his hands. "Now?"
She groaned again. "And who's paying our bills while I'm recovering? You?"
"Obviously."
"You got a job?"
Arthur grinned. "Sort of. Let's call it... venture capitalism."
Before Gloria could respond, her eyes narrowed toward the living room. "Is that David... still here?"
David was lounging at the kitchen table in a wrinkled shirt, chewing on fake cereal.
"David! Why aren't you in school?!"
"Dad said I could skip today," David said, completely unapologetic.
Arthur blinked. "Wow. Bus. Thrown. Thanks, son."
Gloria folded her arms. "Arthur."
"Okay, okay," he said, standing up and rubbing his temple. "Look, the kid's been through hell. Let him catch his breath."
She looked at David, who tried to fake an innocent smile. After a moment, she sighed. "Fine. One day."
David pumped his fist.
"And," Gloria added sharply, "don't even think about Afterlife."
David froze. "Wait, how did you—?"
Arthur winced. "Okay, that one's on me."
Gloria calmly stepped over, dug her heel into Arthur's foot, and twisted.
"AH! Mercy!" Arthur yelped.
"Don't 'legend' my son into a bar full of mercs, criminals, and brain-fried gonkheads."
Arthur staggered back. "Understood, General."
She returned to her chair, looking completely unbothered.
David looked between them, amazed. "Is this how you two got together?"
Gloria smirked. "I tolerated him."
Arthur lit a cigarette. "She loved me."
"You vanished for ten years."
"Still came back."
She shook her head, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "And you're still a pain in my ass."
Arthur exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Yeah, but I'm your pain."
---
Life in Night City was chaos. But somehow, amid the madness, the Martinez household had found a new rhythm—strange, loud, and definitely unstable. But it was theirs.
And in this city, that counted for everything.
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