A respected man. A noble man. A good man. These were the things that the city believed, these were the things he'd told himself over and over. So why didn't Wilson Fisk believe it? Why, sitting here at dinner, did he not feel like a good man? A beautiful woman who loved him, who wanted the best for him and believed the best from him. He didn't deserve any of it, he didn't deserve the help and love he recieved from the only three people he cared about.
He loved the city and wanted to do his very best to help it be all it could be. Or so he told himself. When it came to what was best for the city, didn't caring for it's people first? And yet he'd killed so many, it may not be him personally killing people, but it was his hands that were choking the city. His thumb was on the pulse and he felt like he'd been pressing on it for too long.
There was a coldness that passed over him when he got angry, it settled in his heart and burrowed itself in there. Sometimes he forgot who he was, what kind of a man he claimed to be. He constantly had to remind himself that there was no line between good and evil, there wasn't a limit to how much bad you could do before you yourself was a bad person. Or vice versa, the amount of good he did couldn't change anything.
It's all about perception. If he believed that the world could be a good place and he believed that he was a good person that could help the world on to be better, then of course, he'd be a good person, right?
Good and evil was a funny thing.
When one views good, they often pair it with peace. When one views evil, it becomes a sense of morality. If peace was the only gateway to being good, Wilson could find it simple. Likewise, if it was only morals that set the standard, he was just as evil as the next man. But if it was only dependant on those two prospects, surely the world would be in chaos and good and evil would be a moot point. No man is entirely peaceful and there is no such thing as perfect morals, good and evil would cancel each other out.
Some believe that good is derived from a hope that natural love is infinite. Others say good simply consists of love and continuity, whereas evil is death and destruction.
Wilson saw himself as neither good nor evil, he saw that he was both. Continuous death was an easy balance between the two, he often told himself. Therefore he was both good and evil.
"What are you thinking about?" A lilting voice broke through the canvas of his thoughts.
The rain that was smeared across the window blurred and he turned his focus onto her. Only her. "I was contemplating a...concept." He explained.
Vanessa gave that bemused smirk, the one he loved, yet always wanted to kiss away. "Religious or theoretical?" Her eyebrow seemed to twitch, wanting to raise but not wanting to seem too conflictive.
"Both. I'd hate to ruin our dinner with idle prattle about theories, I'll have to consult Wesley on it later. We can discuss it then, I only want to think about you tonight," he shook it away, carelessly.
Her elbows touched the table cloth gently and creased it as she released her weight upon them. "If you say so. When you do discuss it with him, you'll have to let me know, I'm interested in these theological conversations you two keep hinting at."
Such a tender smile, she had. On a bad day, just a smile from her could bring Wilson to tears. His emotions were the most demanding part about him, he never asked for anything from her, he never expected much from anyone, but that didn't mean that he didn't have needs. He needed Vanessa like a fish needs water, he could breathe above the water line, but needed to go back under to survive.
There was such tenderness in the air that one would never expect from these two strong willed people. As his hand caressed hers from across the table, she noticed how utterly content she was. She had a strong man who loved her as much as she loved him, and he had a good friend, who was starting to become a friend of hers. It was the life she'd never expected but always felt she deserved.
