Chapter Text
The day started out as it normally did these last days for John Wick. He had been walking to the hospital with some groceries from around the corner. He’d been out of the life of an assassin for two months now and Helen had been in the hospital for a week. On the way back to the hospital his eyes had briefly met yours. You had looked busy, walking down the street, listening to music when suddenly he heard a few words of it. “So, even though I’m not the one you adore, why not settle for me?” The baritone voice seeped into his consciousness on the lowest volume, your eyes still stuck behind his eyelids. The small smile that crept on to his face would be something he would feel guilty to admit even years later. How could he smile on his way to seeing his dying wife at the hospital? Could your mood have really been so infectious?
It wasn’t until half an hour later when you were at your temporary home office- AKA the Marriott’s guest lounge, typing away, that you felt a sudden ache in your chest. A culmination of pulse-throttling anxiety and vertigo-inducing despair announced your appearance in a downtown Manhattan hospital. You knew you would lose her soon, you knew you were running out of time to do something, yet you knew you could only continue bearing witness to the decline of her well being like some morbid tourist. “Oh God.” You choked out, just looking at the woman in the hospital bed, eyes peacefully closed.
You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting at her bedside until he jumped to action. All you had allowed yourself to think was about her. “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?” His strong build seemed toppled like a sturdy building weathered down by centuries of abuse. His raven hair tussled like he had just jumped out of a shower and not bothered to brush it further. His eyes, though sharp was his gaze on you, held a weariness. He’d been crying. Had you seen him before?
John certainly didn’t know who you were and it would only be later that he realized you were the same girl listening to that song that had been the briefest moment of comfort. You would have answered him had it not been for a woman in a white coat entering the room. “Mr. Wick?” She asked. His eyes tore away from the empty spot where you felt like you were standing
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.” Your heart sunk, eviscerated by the wolves of loss, allowing you only a whimper to escape your lips. How was he keeping such a straight face? The doctor made no sign that she had registered your presence in the room. “While you were gone we had to induce a coma. We couldn’t manage her pain through medication anymore. I’m sorry we didn’t notify you, but it was Mrs. Wick’s choice to leave you unaware.”
A few more questions were answered- No, she would not wake from the coma. Yes, they were waiting on his approval to pull the plug. Yes, they were sure there was no coming back. The third question, you had asked and the doctor had given Mr. Wick the answer.
“I’ll give you some time.”
“Thank you.” You both responded.
The door clicked shut behind the doctor. Wick’s head hung in resignation and he muttered out a few words “They told me this would happen.”
“What?” You hesitantly took the seat beside him
“They told me I might go crazy.”
“I’m confused about this too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Less than a few minutes ago I was downtown at the Marriott.”
John let it drop. He wasn’t about to go investigating. “Could you give me some space?” The grit in his voice compelled you to take his hand. He pulled it away, but his demeanor had not changed. He was ephemerally solemn, hollow.
“I can’t.” You didn’t know how you had gotten there, to begin with, or if you were even physically there. You felt the need to say goodbye, yet hold on to never say it. And, you had the unshakeable feeling that you were meant to be there for Wick. John feeling all of these things in return, held your hand.
It had been another two months before you saw Mr. Wick again. Originally, you had thought it was a one-off. Your therapist suggested it may have been an intense hallucination created by work related stress. She suggested a vacation. That’s how you ended up 300 kilometers away from your home in Rome, visiting family in Florence. You’d been watching the Florentine skyline out of the window of your hotel room when you heard his voice behind you “Well, this is nice.”
Turning around, you saw him. This time with some added bruises and cuts “Christ, what the fuck am I stressed about this time?”
“Where is this?” He took easy strides as if he wasn’t stabbed and bruised.
“Florence.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know. I just got home.”
“What happened to you?” Barely knowing each other’s names, you were touching the side of his face and he was looking at you like you were a bed and he hadn’t slept in years.
“You should see the other guys.”
“What’s happening here?” Your voice came out as a whisper, protecting what felt like the sanctity of the moment.
“I don’t know.”
“I need to know if you’re real. I can’t…I can’t imagine what would happen if you weren’t.” When the tip of your nose brushed up against his, you felt the sensation he felt from your actions. You felt the longing to be safe, comfortable, and loved.
“I’ll come find you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I will. It might take a while but I will find you. Where do you live?”
“Rome.” You gave him your address then smiled a little “Shouldn’t you ask for my name first?”
“I guess I should’ve started with that. What’s your name?”
“Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he tasted your name in his mouth “I’m John.”
“Hello, John.” You smiled, two ships at the harbor from the incredible monsoon of loss.
“Hello, Y/N.” He disappeared the second your lips touched.