Of love that shall not yet avail
It ends with a bullet to the heart. His bullet, his gun, his heart. There’s a kind of irony in that, if he cared to look for it, which he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to die here. He had three quarters of a marriage, he had love and a future, he had… nearly everything but not enough. Now he’s losing it all, lifeblood dripping onto the cold concrete floor, his phone ringing out with no-one to answer. It’s Wilson calling, he knows it is, he wishes he could answer, say everything, that he loves him, that he’s dying, that he wants to hear his voice one last time, that he’s sorry for leaving him alone. It’s too late though, the phone rings out.
He’d always been a practical man. Not a romantic by any stretch, but somehow Wilson had drawn him in, anyway. He had that effect on people, charisma, despite his slight social awkwardness. In a lot of ways before he met Wilson, Wesley had just been going through the motions, good at everything but lacking in purpose, in vision. Wilson Fisk had vision, so much vision. He had anger issues, and a stutter, and on occasion he fucked up big time, but he burned with an intensity that Wesley had never seen in another human being, it was hypnotic. He wasn’t sure when he first realised he was in love with his employer, the knowledge crept up on him slowly, until it just became a fact of life, as familiar and unnoticed as his own heartbeat. He did know the first moment he realised that Wilson might return his feelings though.
They’d been working late, very late, both of them more exhausted than they would ever be willing to admit in front of their business associates, and Wesley had realized that Wilson hadn’t hesitated to collapse over his own desk the minute their visitors had left. Hadn’t hesitated to show weakness in front of Wesley, when he’d give himself a caffeine induced heart attack rather than offer that much trust to anyone else. That was when Wesley knew, his feelings weren’t unrequited, and while he might not usually like making a fuss over what he wanted, this was different. Here he had a chance at something special, something he wanted in a way he hadn’t known he could want things. It wasn’t just for him either, he knew it would be good for Wilson, that his employer needed someone to act as a stabilising influence.
So he approached Wilson, asked for what he knew Wilson wanted, and he was so relieved when he found out the cause of Wilson’s hesitation was something so easily fixed. If Wilson wanted a full marriage, Wesley would make sure that happened, and honestly he’d be lying if he said the idea held no appeal for him either. They would find a day marriage to balance out their night, and between the four of them they would have something safe and secure to hold on to.
Wesley had the best of intentions, but he was so busy, organising meetings, and bribing cops, and planning how best to move forward Fisk’s empire. Wilson might be the man with a vision, but Wesley was the one who knew how to make it happen, how to manage and manipulate everything until it was just so. Unfortunately making things happen was time consuming, and it was hard to find time to meet women. It wasn’t really surprising that Wilson found someone before he did, he had a way of drawing people in.
Wesley wanted this to work very badly indeed. He coached Wilson carefully on how to deal with Vanessa, offered wine recommendations, and tried his level best to keep Wilson’s dates business free. It didn’t entirely work out, but in the end Vanessa came back anyway, drawn in by Wilson’s drive and conviction. Wesley liked her. She might have been an honest citizen, at least until she met the two of them, but she was neither weak nor naïve. In her own way she had a will as strong as Wilson’s, although her way of expressing it was far more subtle and polished.
Talking to her was easy, he had never known what it was like to have a moiety sibling, but he knew instinctively that they fit, in the way that moiety sibs should. They talked, and laughed, and bonded over their shared interests in fine wine, and art, that Wilson had never quite managed to share with them. They stayed up late plotting elaborate surprises for Wilson and talked about what they might want in an evening wife. Apparently Vanessa liked blondes.
He loved them both, Wilson and Vanessa. Now he’s dying and Vanessa might never make it out of her hospital bed, and he shudders to think of what might become of Wilson left alone. People forget, why death is the cardinal sin. Death has become an abstract. People have forgotten what a terrible thing it is, how much is taken from a man when his life is cut short. All the things he’ll never do or say, the people he’ll never meet, the people he’ll leave behind. The sheer magnitude of the theft, beyond most people’s comprehension. Now Wesley understands, in a way he never did before, and there’s no time to say sorry, and no way to take it all back. He doesn’t want to die, and maybe there’s a certain amount of justice in that, but Wesley doesn’t want justice. He wants the people he loves, he wants to live, he wants to not be dying alone here in an abandoned warehouse with his murderer.
She surprised him at the end. Karen Page woman of the evening. He’d gone in expecting her to be ordinary, expecting her to back down. He’d talked to her, told her to give up. He’d sat there with a gun on the table and threatened everyone she’d ever cared about, as she listened still defiant despite her tears. He’d expected her to crumble, they all did. Even after she’d picked up the gun he’d been so sure she wouldn’t fire it. It was only after she pulled the trigger that he realised the cruel joke the universe had played on him, because in that moment she was magnificent. Terrified, and terrifying, as she emptied the gun into his chest. Maybe it was just that he was dying, that this was his last chance to complete the square, even if only in his own mind, she was evening and he was morning, and in such situations there is always a certain subtext. But honestly he believed it was more than that, it was the look in her eyes as she pulled the trigger, over and over. Utter determination, a lioness defending her pride, all broken edges and mad defiance. It was her voice, as he asked her…
“Do you really think I would put a loaded gun on the table where you could reach it?” and she replies, with rage born of desperation.
“I don’t know? Do you really think this is the first time I’ve shot someone.” In that moment she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or would see. Beautiful and terrible, like staring right into the heart of the sun. And then she was gone, and he was gone and all that was left was a phone ringing out in an empty warehouse, calling for a lover who would never come home again.