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Waking up with the sun on the horizon was once a dream. The salty breeze flowing into the room pushing the curtains so the sun can warm her cold skin and open her sleeping eyes. The bliss of the moment died away during the morning stretch. As her arms spread across the bed her hands didn't touch anything. Even though it had been weeks since she had began sleeping alone she always felt like something crucial was missing, like that small panic when you wake up somewhere unfamiliar. She eyeballed the air where she would usually see Wilson's eyes looking back into hers but she couldn't see him, couldn't smell him, couldn't feel him.
She shut her eyes again. Now she can see her Wilson, his small smile and his brown eyes that always seem grateful to see her and afraid to lose her. She can smell his natural scent which is unlike any other fragrance and only describable by the word home. Finally she can feel him - his daunting, protective presence, his smooth skin, and the weight of his large arm resting across her body as he holds her. She can almost fall back asleep like this. She wants to fall asleep like this and when she wakes up she wants to see him like this and have it be real. But she opens her eyes and the only thing greeting her is unrumpled bed sheets.
Vanessa has never hated mornings more in her life.
James awakens every morning with pain tearing through his flesh. He awakens with a fearful jolt as if from a dream where he fell to his demise. But James hasn't dreamt in weeks, not since he awoke covered in soil and dressed in his Sunday's Best. He distinctly remembers the first few moments of living without air - like he was drowning and being choked by sand filling his throat. Then the chest pains started all over. They burned as well. But he was in his bed and not alone.
Madame Gao, stood above him and for the first time spoke to him directly and without flourish. "You were found dead, James. I saved you. How I cannot explain but I'm sure you understand why."
To James she had seemed unreal, inhuman, but still familiar. He listened to her every word and never once questioned if it was truth. Madame Gao may have liked games but she never cared enough to lie.
"But your death means you cannot stay in New York. Nothing is left for you. Wilson is imprisoned and if you are found alive you will be too."
How could Wilson been found out? James had been so careful. Every loose end had been tied, no one would speak out against him out of fear. James imagined Wilson in a cell alone and cold. He had to get to him, be with him. James tried to sit up despite his pains. "No, I have to stay with him. He needs me now more than ever."
"Wilson is a grown man. He needs no one."
"Forgive me, Madame, but you don't understand. He needs me. And I need him. We can't be apart..." He brought himself to a sitting position clutching his burning chest all the while. But the pain wouldn't stop him. The tears and hard breaths weren't enough to stop him.
"He's already buried you," she interrupts. "Returning to him now would ease his mourning but seeing you rot with him in cell would torment him."
James was buried? It made sense once he thought of it. He looked down at the dirt and grass on and inside his classic black tuxedo and underneath his nails. The scene of his own funeral played out in his head. He saw the six men carrying his casket, flanked immediately by Francis. Then right behind him was James's mother and father who wept appropriately as if they had ever truly loved their son. Wilson and Vanessa were right behind them and even though they wore all black, as did the rest of the party, they stood out like the shine in beady black eyes surrounded by blue-black skin.
His tears blurred James's already impaired vision since his glasses were not on his face. Suddenly his chest pains weren't bothering him as much. James had seen Wilson unhappy many times before and each time James wondered if his pain surpassed Wilson's. In all of his life no one had the power to hurt James more than Wilson, but finally James realized the man who caused his pain was himself. His death is what broke Wilson's heart. He hurt Wilson, he hurt Vanessa, he hurt himself.
"You mustn't feel as if you've failed him, James. There is more you can do. You can still serve your friend." Madame Gao placed a wrinkled hand under his chin and pulled it up so he looked at her. She wiped his tears away. "His beloved Vanessa has fled as he wished her to. Join her. And as you protect her, you can remember that you still have purpose and you can fulfill your duty."
When Madame Gao smiled at him it was impossible for his spirits not to be lifted. With her mysterious ways she had given him a second life, a second opportunity, and a smile. And then she left. Shen turned around and walked away using her cane to support her slow exit.
James found getting out of bed to be the most difficult activity. But he had a duty to fulfill. He showered in hot water to clean his filthy skin and hair and to loosen his stiffened muscles. In the shower he thought about a lot of things: how to get to Vanessa, how to orchestrate Wilson's escape from prison, etc. But there was one thing he didn't think about.
He never once thought about how he died.
James joins Vanessa in the kitchen of their beach house. She usually beats him there as James's morning pains and stiffness often slow him down significantly. Neither of them have changed out of their bed clothes and James's glasses hang off his t shirt collar. He sits at the kitchen bar just as she places his food down. Vanessa never thought of herself as a good cook but James never lets a bite of her food go untasted. They eat together silently. Neither of them have much to say. In this foreign country where neither of them have friends nor work they have only a few stories to tell one another and after so many weeks they've run out. Vanessa clears the bar after they finish their meal and loads all of dishes into the dishwasher.
"Let's go out today," James suggests.
"Out?" Vanessa smiles. "Where? What do you have in mind?"
"I haven't planned it all yet. But you and I spend our days couped up in here. We hardly go out and explore. We can shop, find you a new dress some new jewels and there's got to be a decent suit shop here somewhere. We can find a spa, get massages. Eat out at a nice restaurant that doesn't have to pretend to be 'ethnic'."
"You want the full tourist experience then?" Vanessa laughs.
James rolls his eyes even though he know Vanessa is teasing him. "No. Just try and enjoy all of the things we enjoyed back home."
Vanessa closes the dishwasher and turns it on. She dries her hand on a towel and tells James, "All right. Let's go."
The pair shower and dress before leaving to explore the city. Of course they're being followed by their guards everywhere they go. They find all the spots James suggested, Vanessa finds an expensive boutique and tries on several dresses that she shows to James. He sits outside her changing room patiently waiting to critique every outfit she tries. Not the green dress; it doesn't show off her shape well enough. The red one is to die for. Somehow he loves the orange one the best and insists that she buys it. Vanessa trusts his judgement. She leaves the boutique with two new pairs of shoes and four new dresses. James visits a local suit shop and is fitted for three - Vanessa presses him to exit his comfort zone and to try lighter shades, a pale tan, white, and a sky blue. They also sign up for a couples' massage for an hour, during which James cried but didn't allow Vanessa to see or hear. He doesn't realize that Vanessa cried either.
They finish their day on their private beach. They tan on their beach recliners, Vanessa in a classic black bikini and James in pale blue trunks while reading a novel that Vanessa had recommended. Occasionally he closes the book to discuss the novel's events with her frantically.
As the sun sets. James closes the book which he's nearly finished. Vanessa sits up and puts her sunglasses into her beach bag. She stops and looks up at the changing sky and all of its beautiful colors.
"Isn't it lovely," she says, "We can actually see the horizon and tonight the stars."
"It is," James replies looking up as well. "One of the many perks of not living in a polluted garbage heap we call cities."
Vanessa laughs, "You're so opinionated and so blunt with everything you say."
"That's just a not blunt way to call me an asshole."
"It is." Vanessa stands up and picks up her bag and puts it over her shoulder. "It's getting chilly and I still have to make dinner."
James stands up, takes Vanessa's bag from her and leads her back to the house.
"You know what's terrible though?" James asks as Vanessa catches up and walks alongside him.
"What?"
"I hate cities. I hate visiting them and I hate living in them. But for the first time in my life I've never longed to be in one. I want to go back." Vanessa looks up at him. In all this time they've known each other James had never truly confided in her. He'd told her private stories and thoughts but never once had he confessed an emotion or feeling that he might actually feel uncomfortable or ashamed of.
"Well," she starts, "it makes sense doesn't it? You've never loved cities, especially New York because despite all they had to offer they never offered you anything that you actually wanted."
James was quiet for a moment, "There isn't much I want. Even when I thought I desired many things, I enjoyed them but I never felt... bound by a city. Actually I've never felt that way about anything."
"Places aren't typically what people seek. Tourist don't go to Paris or California to stand on the land. They want to experience something that they can't experience somewhere else. When they've had their fill of that, they leave. It isn't often that a tourist truly wants to stay somewhere forever. It isn't the place that keeps them bound but rather, something or someone that makes them wish to stay. Because the land isn't home, it's where home happens to be."
Moments ago James was blunt and specific. He could speak freely without beating around the bush but now it wasn't so simple. Vanessa's voice was soft and nonjudgmental. He knew she knew what he was feeling, what he was talking about. She understands how he feels. But somehow he finds it hard to speak.
"James," Vanessa says as they reach the house's backdoor.
"Hm?" James opens the door for her.
"In a few years, once he's free, we'll be able to go home again. It's only a matter of time."
They walk inside together and James shuts the door behind them. Only a matter of time? The words left Vanessa's lips so easily, but they both knew that when you loved a man like Wilson Fisk nothing could ever be that easy and simple.