Despite his calm demeanor, Wesley's chest was tight and, in spite of his resolve, there was some small part of him that didn't want this. That was the reason for his quickly pounding heart and the way he felt on edge. He was being purposely careless. He knew he was and this was exactly how he wanted it. He left the hospital intent on solving more than one problem over the course of the evening. Karen Page would be dealt with, after all, she was the 'good' sort, and killing a man would weigh on her conscious, maybe even make her run from herself to the point of leaving the city altogether. Also, through this, Fisk would be free. Free of him and the guilt.
James paused once he stepped out of the main reception area, out of the stale smell of sick and disinfectant, and into the crisp cool fresh afternoon air. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, hoping to steal his resolve. This was the right thing to do. He knew it was. The only thing that was holding him back was selfishness and a desire to stay by Wilson's side, no matter what it meant. He let out a long slow breath, opened his eyes, and started forward again towards a large black SUV. He found himself pausing again when he reached the vehicle to cast a glance back towards the hospital. He had to fight back the urge to return, to stay with Fisk. It was a moment before he unlocked the vehicle and slid in. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb it had been parked at. He had to hope that when he was found Fisk didn't see anything past his anger. If he did, he'd see this for what it was. A suicide mission. He liked to think that, given Wilson's temper, he'd be thrown into a fit of rage at finding him dead, that through the red haze blinding him, he wouldn't see how ridiculous this was. James was thoughtful, meticulous, and he was good at coming up with a plan on the spot. The idea that he'd go into a sort of hostage situation, alone, with little regard for his own safety, would make his motives transparent to anyone who stopped to think about it. He hoped that Wilson wouldn't be given the chance. Not with Vanessa there to pick up the pieces.
Vanessa was good for Wilson. Despite James's initial jealousy, he'd come to see that. It was the little changes in his former lover and employer that had made it obvious. Vanessa would be released from the hospital and, with him still around, things would go back to the way they had been. Though he and Fisk had never talked about it, Wesley caught the little guilty looks he was shot and the way Wilson seemed to hold back with Vanessa around him. He'd tried to play supportive, to show that he didn't mind this change in their dynamics, but they both knew that he did. Wilson felt it. Wilson felt /everything/. Fisk could run white hot with bursts of anger, could be surprisingly empathetic at times, could even be shockingly gentle when given the chance. Wesley had tasted it all and had given Wilson the thing he needed most; a source of stability amidst a torrent of raw ever changing emotion than ran so strong it bordered on being unstable. Hell, it was unstable.
The two of them had been a good fit for one another. James was giving Wilson what the criminal mastermind needed, or so he thought. Vanessa challenged Fisk, and pushed the Kingpin out of his comfort zone, something that James would have never been willing to do. He could see the love there, growing between the two, and could still the guilt.
Necessary. That's what he was telling himself. The more he considered it on his ride to Ms. Page's apartment, the more he was able to ignore the cold fingers of fear that were sliding their way, icy and dry, along the curve of his spine, wrapping around his insides and holding tight like a vise. The thought of death was terrifying, but it was necessary.
Getting his hands on Karen Page had been surprisingly easy. For a woman who was making a habit of sticking her nose where it didn't belong, she was careless. Perhaps she assumed that the Black Mask would make a habit of saving her. Either way, she was the one he needed, not Ben Urich. Ben was old enough to be more wary than afraid, and he had little fight in him. Karen would be scared enough to be impulsive, to be dangerous. Plus, by killing him, she'd be guilt ridden enough that she'd more likely stay away from Fisk's affairs. She'd want to forget everything, to run from what he knew she was going to do when they were alone together.
Waiting for the redhead to wake had been the worst part. It had left him playing out scenarios in his head of what would happen when this was done with. It was a loop, playing on repeat, eating away at him as he paced the little room he and Ms. Page were in. The doubts were cast aside when he caught movement from his captive. The moment the woman woke, gasping and coughing, body lolling as if she were a rag doll, he began the show. He couldn't let her know that he wanted what was to come. He had to make this look real. He had to make her believe this was real. She was in danger and those she loved were in danger; she had to survive and to do that, she was going to have to kill him.
When the first shot rang out and the bullet burrowed its way into him he was almost relieved. The pain was grounding. It reminded him of why he was here, of the purpose he had and had always had. Wilson needed this from him and it was the last service he'd be able to do for the man he loved. It may as well been his own hand on the trigger over Ms. Page's. His body jerked as a few more shots followed. He was grateful. He coughed, tasting the bitter metallic taste of his own blood, and winced as he swallowed a mouthful down.
He was vaguely aware of Ms. Page leaving him, of the sound of the heavy metal door of the dingy warehouse screaming open and then closed again as it twisted on its rusty hinges. His skin was quickly growing cold, making him more and more aware of the wet warmth that was spreading across his chest and soaking into his shirt. He only regretted that Wilson was going to find him like this.
Necessary.