Warriors ⎜ John Wick

Novem

Winston and Jessica spent the next few hours sharing stories about her father. Winston would recount his ruthlessness and precision on the job while Jessica would counteract that with how he used to put bandaids on her scrapes after she fell off her bike and then plant a kiss on top to perfect the healing process. Jessica had gotten several drinks in her system which allowed her to loosen up and throw her head back laughing and ignore any lingering gazes.

The two were just calming down after Winston's story of her father's least elegant job which he had attempted to pull off after spending the entire night in a bar.

Winston looked at Jessica, examining her face and finding the dimples that showed themselves on her aching cheeks. "I don't suppose you know that John was quite good friends with your father?"

Jessica leaned forward in interest, nearly knocking over her most recent glass of scotch. "Really? I didn't think John was that old."

Winston chuckled. "Oh, he's not. Your father took John under his wing when he first joined us. Marcus passed everything he knew on to John. Not that he needed it of course. John's past was very... difficult to say the least. By the time he had joined us there was very little left for him to learn."

Jessica nodded slowly. Guilt prickled at her for collecting this information through Winston rather than asking John herself, but she had a very strong inkling that John would be more closed off than ever if she were to bring any of this up.

She opened her mouth to ask another question but before she could the concierge - whose name was Charon, she had discovered through her talk with Winston - appeared next to their table. 

"Mr. Wick has returned." He spoke slowly. Jessica would have loved to find out if he had ever narrated for an audiobook. His voice was so steady and soothing she could almost fall asleep just listening to it. Charon's gaze settled on Jessica. He held eye contact with her as he spoke rather than glancing further down. He was the first man to do so the entire evening: even Winston had copped a peek at one point. "I am afraid he is in need of some medical attention."

Jessica nodded, straightening her skirt as she stood up.

"He is in your room, Miss Powell." She thanked Charon for the announcement and Winston for the drinks before she made her ascent to the eighth floor.

When she finally opened the door to their room John was all but passed out on a chair, a glass of bourbon sitting on the table next to him. He shifted and lifted his head at the sound of Jessica shuffling around in the room. She threw a robe over her dress, not wanting to get blood on it, and sat in front of him. A small tray of sterile sutures, hemostats, and gauze rested on the table. Once she had exited the lounge Charon had chased after her and asked what supplies she would be needing so he might send it up to her room. Jessica had been expecting it to arrive after her but Charon was very prompt as it would seem. 

John had already removed his many layers of clothing which all lay discarded on the bed, leaving him only in his white undershirt. Blood seeped through the fabric just above his left hip, an area that Jessica had treated just a few days ago. She lifted up the shirt, revealing a large gash that had cut into his healing flesh. Jessica sighed and looked up at him.

"You ruined my beautiful stitches."

John coughed out a laugh which soon morphed into a gasp of pain. He downed the glass of bourbon and poured another, trying to dull the throbbing he felt throughout his entire body.

Jessica returned to the laceration in front of her that still oozed a slow stream of blood. After quickly glancing him over she decided this was the most urgent visible wound and set to disinfecting and cleaning it, a process that saw John swallow three more glasses of bourbon as she scraped gunpowder and dried blood from the gash.

John mentioned a pain in his right shoulder once she had finished and was about to begin suturing. Jessica fetched an ice pack for him to place on the area, but suspected it was just a diversion to give his side a breather from the pain. Despite how strong he was, any man would succumb to the pain of cleaning an especially grimy wound. But of course he would never admit such a thing.

A fourth glass of bourbon met John's lips as Jessica stitched away. She was sure that he was at least buzzed by now but she didn't know if he would act any different as a drunk. Jessica couldn't imagine him becoming bubbly and giggly and definitely not emotional. Jessica came to the conclusion that he was an inquisitive drunk when he finally started to talk to her. He started by asking questions about her childhood and then her college and medical school years. She answered each question happily, knowing that talking would distract him from the pinch of the needle. Eventually, however, the lighthearted Q & A ended and John fell silent for a few moments before speaking up again.

"Who did you lose?"

Jessica very nearly reeled back in shock at the rather personal question, but she managed to keep her composure and glanced up at John. He was staring down at her, his eyes heartbroken and rimmed with red.

"No one really knows what to say unless they've felt it."

Jessica sighed and finished off the stitches. She set her materials down on the tray and leaned back in her chair.

"My husband." John barely batted an eyelash, almost as if that was the answer he had been expecting. "But I don't really know what you're feeling. Maybe part of it, but not the stuff that makes you want to lie down and never get back up." John frowned but did not move his gaze away from her. Jessica sighed and ran a shaky hand over her pristine hair. "We had known each other throughout my time in med school and didn't start dating until some of our friends set us up and we thought it might be a good idea. We got married when I was fresh out of school and just about to start my residency. And five years ago he was killed on the job. You see, he was a cop and getting together just made sense because dating for both of us was just so difficult with how busy we were. It was hard to find someone who could understand that our jobs were about more than whatever money and perks came along with it."

Jessica didn't want to look up at John. Though he was hardly in any place to judge her for what was to come next, she was still terrified of what he might think and she didn't know why.

"I really thought I loved him, I think I actually did at some point. Every time our friends would talk about their passionate romances I just convinced myself that our relationship was different. That we had more important things to do than go on romantic getaways or spend an entire weekend in bed. But when he died I... I hardly felt anything. I didn't mourn him. I mourned his company. I loved his presence in my life and the idea of him. But I didn't love him. There was a reason our marriage was passionless and that's because there wasn't anything there. So, yes, I know what it's like to feel alone and like you have no one left in the world, but I can't even begin to imagine the pain of losing the love of your life. I don't know what it's like to feel as if you're half of a whole and you can never be put together again because that one person who made you feel complete is gone."

When Jessica finally looked up, John was kneeling in front of her. A single tear had slipped down his cheek and past the corner of his mouth. John held his arms out, offering the chance for them to grieve together. He would mourn his wife and she would finally mourn the man that she used to love and the woman who she used to be.

And Jessica took it.

She fell into his arms, both of them forgetting about his broken body, and cried. Finally, beginning to let go of her own pain and guilt, and perhaps, one day, being able to move on.