Chapter Text
Iosef
Sleep didn’t feel like sleep at all when it felt like continually falling interspersed with brief moments of nothing. Then a smack to the face and rough hands on clammy skin. Someone’s fingers were down his throat and he was voiding his life into the toilet under his face with violent, back wrenching force.
“Got anymore?” John’s voice.
A warm hand on his back. John’s hand. On his bare, sweat slicked skin.
Iosef shook his head, but staring watery eyed down at the mess curdled in the water, the stench overpowering, he retched again.
“Where’s your shirt?” John asked after it seemed he was genuinely finishing emptying his stomach. He pulled Iosef to his feet and used his own foot to flush. Damn, he had long legs.
“Dunno.” Iosef looked at the floor but didn’t see it. Vaguely remembered taking it off. “Maybe my booth.”
John pulled him out of the stall and over to the bank of sinks. A few people came in and out of the bathroom while Iosef rinsed out his mouth, drank as much water as he dared, and John washed his hands at the sink beside him. He let John sling an arm under his as he walked him out of the main club floor and down to exit from the VIP entrance. Iosef gave a half-hearted wave to Francis, who was outside on bouncer duty.
“Runaway?” Francis asked John, lifting his stubbled chin to indicate Iosef.
“Let him off the leash too soon.”
Francis chuckled as John walked Iosef down the sidewalk and around the block to where he’d parked.
There was nothing to say. Nothing worthwhile. Iosef swallowed against his sore throat, pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the passenger window. I’m going to have to clean my forehead grease off it later. I know it. It was a pleasant contrast to the warm air coming from the vents. He barely began to drift off, it seemed like, and then they were pulling into the garage.
John walked around and opened the door for Iosef when he didn’t do it himself. “Out,” he said, calm yet firm. The same as always.
Iosef complied, then started loping off to the house, shivering in the chilly night air and holding himself. John walked up beside him, but Iosef ignored him. His pride had been injured. He’d done it to himself, but he hated John was such a thorough witness.
“You good?” John asked.
No. “Yeah.”
Into the house. Into his room. He didn’t bother closing the door or changing what was left of his clothes. He only kicked off his shoes and crawled in bed. Miserable. Alone. Sore. The exact opposite of how he’d wanted his night to go.
He woke at half past nine in the morning and dragged himself to the shower. He didn’t wash, just stood under the spray until he felt human enough to seek out food and coffee. He took both outside so he could smoke while he ate. John was somewhere. Daisy was somewhere. He didn’t care. It wasn’t until he was halfway done with his eggs and toast that he realized he didn’t know where his phone was.
Fuck! I left it at the club.
But when he went back to his room after cleaning up in the kitchen, he found his phone on his nightstand. Plugged in.
Whatever I owed him before, I owe him more now. He could feel his sentence stretching out before him. An unknown amount of his life tacked on to the existing unknown.
He checked his phone and found a singular text from Wick.
‘Went to the dog park. There’s painkillers in my bathroom. Behave.’
Iosef narrowed his eyes at the words. It felt like a test or something. Wick’s room and the attached bathroom had been off limits from day one. It made sense. It was his private space and Iosef wasn’t welcome there. He’d respected the boundary more out of fear than anything else.
He didn’t need anything extra for his aches—the caffeine and nicotine had helped enough for him to deal with what remained. But it was too tempting not to look. Take a tour.
He went upstairs, taking his time, still uncertain if there were security cameras hidden away inside the house. Moving too quickly felt like a bad idea anyway. The door to Wick’s room opened easily enough. Just like any other. And Iosef walked in, looking out of the floor to ceiling windows at the balcony and the landscape beyond. He looked at the wall hangings. Generic suburban home shit. Minimalist and bland like the rest of the house. One side of the bed was unmade. He looked at the massive digital display on the clock on the nightstand. A silver bracelet lined with daisies was laid out beside it, the chain perfectly straight.
In the large master bath he paused to look at the twin sinks. Rectangular to match the overall architecture of the house. One side clearly Wick’s, recently utilized, water droplets still present in the basin, little flecks of dried toothpaste on the mirror. The right hand side was far neater. Feminine things laid out in a tray as if patiently waiting for their owner to claim them. Mirror spotless. Counter and basin bone dry.
Curiosity taking over, he inspected the closet and chest of drawers. Surprisingly, he found only men’s clothes and shoes, and clutter stashed away. Some part of him has accepted she’s not coming back.
It was strange to think about. To consider what it must be like to care about someone who wasn’t family so intensely, to have shared your life with them for years, only to have them leave a hole behind that couldn’t possibly be filled. Her pictures were still dotted throughout the house. Her coffee mug remained in pride of place on the kitchen counter, the daisies on either side a soft touch that lingered awkwardly where it no longer belonged. Iosef wasn’t allowed to touch it. And Wick still wore his wedding ring.
So much for ‘til death do us part.’
Helen was still there. Iosef had never met her, but he knew her face, her tastes, her soothing voice. Snippets of a life kept alive by one man’s memories and mementos.
If I died tomorrow, my father and my uncle would mourn me. Sure. But what kind of hole would I really leave behind? His future had always been assured by his father’s empire, by rights of who he was. So Iosef just lived to live, for the most part. Long term consequences weren’t things he liked to consider too deeply. That way was paved with cutting thoughts. They’d mourn but they’d be relieved too. One less fuck up to worry about. Doesn’t matter how hard I’ve been trying since Atlantic City. I tried to do something right and look what that fucking got me.
It was easier in the moment to think about someone else.
He wondered if Helen had family. If Wick did. But the latter was less likely. Even if the man had living kin, he’d likely severed ties long ago because of his dangerous career. Nothing like human collateral to ruin an assassin’s power and control.
Iosef sat down on Wick’s side of the bed, looking out through the massive windows. It was a slightly different view from the one he had in his own room, which sat beneath the master suite. More lofty. A place where a man could feel like a king in his castle, surveying his lands. But he didn’t think Wick thought of the world that way.
He probably wakes up and doesn’t even see anything. Just goes through the motions of existing. Lets a ghost talk to him. Cries on his dog. The miserable fuck.
He still felt the weird urge to get Wick out of his head, out of his grief loop. It would take years probably, for the guy to heal in a significant way. His dad had said as much about losing his mother. Iosef had been too young to understand anything his father had experienced in her wake. But any step forward had to be good. Healthy.
Still, Wick refused to go out and have a good time. Wouldn’t even play a drinking game at the house. Didn’t care about video games. Hell, Iosef would take a fucking board game at this point.
Wick needed friends maybe. People around his age.
Or a vacation. Somewhere warm. A change of scenery. Then he’d be forced to soak in the wider world at least a little.
He went out to the balcony through the sliding glass door and leaned on the railing while he smoked. His head throbbed at him again, the sun a little too bright, so he pulled the hood up on his hoodie, closed his eyes and slumped over his arms.
A few minutes later the soft sliding sound of the door made him jerk upright too quickly. He winced as he turned, cigarette hanging from his lip.
“What are you doing?” Wick asked, tone and expression annoyingly unreadable. Daisy trotted out and stuck his nose through the bars of the balcony’s railing, sniffing avidly.
Iosef took a drag from his cigarette, lifted it from his mouth and exhaled the smoke through his nose. “Smoking.”
Wick only stared. You know what I meant, his demeanor said for him.
“Being bored. Same as usual,” Iosef said. He turned back to his previous position, reaching down with one arm to scritch at Daisy’s head. “Just with a hangover this time.” He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the shifting of fabric and watched Wick settle onto one of the cushioned lounge chairs, legs stretched out. Daisy hopped up on his lap and got comfortable. The puppy was probably worn out from the park. He took another drag. “You should let me take Daisy to the park some time. Cute dogs are a great way to pick up cute girls.”
“You can hold his leash next time we go.”
“Fair enough.” Iosef shrugged. He squeezed the cherry out of what was left of his cigarette, let it drop to the lawn, and pocketed the butt. He didn’t feel like arguing. Like pushing again. Not with the previous night looming over him like an aching, uncomfortable shadow.
Eventually, Wick’s voice cut through the silence.
“It’s not going to happen again.”
“I know.” Iosef’s shoulders hunched defensively.
“Next time, I’ll go with you.”
Iosef turned to him, surprised, confused. But then his brows furrowed as he leaned back against the rail. “What’s in it for you?”
Wick idly stroked Daisy as he rolled over and yawned on his lap. “The same thing that’s keeping you here.”
Iosef shook his head. Laughed a tired, bitter laugh that trailed off. He massaged his temples, then eyed Wick critically. “Ask yourself something: will I ever be sorry enough for you?”
More silence. But at least Wick had the wherewithal to look thoughtful.
“Anyone else who would’ve assaulted you, stolen your prize possession, and almost killed the last living breathing will of your wife… They’d probably be dead. Or missing more than a tooth.” Iosef tongued the gap in his molars, then held up his hands before shoving them in his hoodie pockets. “But you made a promise. You cut a deal.”
“Sounds like you’ve been thinking more clearly this morning.”
Iosef’s fingers itched to be occupied. He lit another cigarette, elbows resting behind him on the railing again. He watched Daisy’s back paws twitch as he slept. “Thanks for grabbing my phone last night. And the ride.”
Wick’s shoulders shifted as he huffed out a breathy little laugh. “Is that humility I’m hearing?”
“More like humiliation,” Iosef muttered. He’d done it to himself. He knew. But he still hated it. Hated knowing his father would hear about how pathetic he’d been in his club. Insult to injury. Again. Even though it had been far from his intention. He had to get out of his own head. The hangover wasn’t helping distract him anymore as it began to wane. Exhaling another cloud of smoke upwards, he cocked his head toward the house. “Want to watch your dumb movie before I make lunch? I promise not to interrupt with commentary this time.”
*
John
The offer had been surprising. The promise even more so. And the reality of Iosef sitting on his preferred end of the couch—one leg crooked, the other dangling off the cushion, actually paying attention to Pride & Prejudice—was pleasantly shocking. He wasn’t mocking with words. Wasn’t making much noise at all, even if his facial expressions gave away something of his feelings.
Daisy stretched out between them, having fallen asleep again after eating a little and playing with a plush rabbit that seemed to be one of his favorites.
“Is this guy serious?” Iosef blurted out with a laugh.
On screen, Mr. Collins proposed to Lizzie, unwilling to accept her refusal until she’d been forced to completely rebuff him.
“Very,” John said with a small smile.
“What a loser.” Iosef ran his hand over his goatee and shook his head. “At least Darcy is kinda mysterious and charming even if he is an asshole. No way would someone like her ever go for a guy like Collins.”
John paused the film, gesturing with the remote at the TV. “You have to understand the culture of the time and place. Most people didn’t marry for love. They didn’t have the luxury. All they could do was try to secure a match that was beneficial economically.” It felt like the most he’d said in weeks. And they were all Helen’s words, still in his mind, from after the first time he’d watched the movie with her. Of course I’d been more open to it, more willing, because I wanted to know what she loved about it. I wasn’t just bored.
And John could understand the issue with pacing. Iosef liked things fast and loud. John’s quota of fast and loud had been fulfilled a long time ago. Well, mostly. He still went out for his adrenaline runs in his car a few times a week at the ass crack of dawn when Iosef was still sleeping. But the easy pace of a Regency romance was decidedly lacking in excitement if you weren’t invested in the matters of the heart. Or at least family drama.
He’d seen the movie a dozen times, maybe more. And that was just this version—his and Helen’s shared favorite of the adaptations. I wish I’d recorded her reading passages to me. Just like he often wished he’d recorded more of their time together. It was an easily dismissed notion, ultimately. If he’d been more focused on recording their life, he wouldn’t have been as present in it as he’d wanted to be. And that was something he refused to regret. He’d given Helen his all. It was something to be proud of, something she wouldn’t have wanted any other way.
For now he could garner extra enjoyment from covertly watching Iosef’s profile, his big green eyes reflecting the light of the screen, expressions changing as he got sucked into the story in spite of his prior protests.
“Ah, the ending was cheesy,” Iosef said as the credits began to roll.
John shrugged his shoulder, half nodding in agreement. “It is.”
Iosef leaned over to play with Daisy’s ear now that the pup had woken up again. “I liked Darcy’s aunt. The lady. She was hilarious.”
Daisy tried to nip at Iosef’s fingers, but the young man was too quick and teased Daisy with a laugh.
Amused, John leaned his head back against the couch and watched the two of them for a moment. “A romantic story and you liked the rude aunt?”
“Lizzie and Darcy were fine too. Once they got their heads out of their asses.” Iosef wasn’t fast enough and Daisy caught his thumb in his sharp little teeth. “Ow,” he said firmly, going still. It was enough to make the puppy pause, at least, but Iosef had to pull his hand free of the danger zone himself. He settled back against the couch, mimicking John’s pose but with his arms crossed over his chest. “It was alright.” He stared at John for a long moment, ignoring Daisy as he climbed up onto his lap, paws on his arms for leverage, and began tugging at the string of his hoodie. “It was her favorite, wasn’t it.”
John nodded, scrubbed his hands over the heavy stubble on his cheeks as he sat up with a sigh.
Was.
In a way, it always would be, since she’d never see anything new that might take its place.
He pushed himself up and headed for the kitchen, needing some space for his emotions.
“Next time I get to pick the movie,” Iosef called after him. “We can take turns inflicting our favorites on each other.”
A pang of familiarity twinged in John’s chest. He paused at the top of the short steps leading to the kitchen, turned his head just enough to catch sight of Iosef distracting Daisy from his jacket with the bunny toy. Must have really scared himself last night. He’s being more agreeable than usual.
But he wouldn’t expect it to last. Iosef was too mercurial.
“You can pick on any night but Friday nights.”
“Why not Fridays?”
John clenched his jaw, cheeks flexing with the pressure as he considered whether or not to respond. “Friday nights are date nights.”
Iosef looked over at him. “…With Helen?”
John nodded and headed into the kitchen. “I’ll make lunch today. Take Daisy outside for me.”
“Yes, sir.” Iosef playfully called to Daisy to follow him to the back door.
John shook his head, fighting a laugh. He didn’t understand how the asshole did it. Every time he was getting too deep in his loss, one little thing Iosef said or did would yank him back to the surface. Sometimes with laughter, sometimes abject irritation or borderline rage. A floatation device he still didn’t want to appreciate because of the man holding the tether. But he did.
*
“Iosef.”
The younger man didn’t flinch. Mouth slack, dirty blond hair tousled. There was definitely drool on his pillow.
“Iosef,” he said more loudly and patted him on the cheek a couple times.
“What?!” Iosef bolted up as John leaned back, looking around frantically. “What is it?” he asked in a hushed voice, eyes bloodshot in the low light from the hall, shoulders heaving with every breath.
“Everything’s fine. Get dressed. We’re going for a ride.”
“Shit. Don’t fucking scare me like that.” Brows furrowed, Iosef threw the covers off and stalked into his bathroom.
John sat on the end of his bed while he waited for him to get ready. It didn’t take long, and soon Iosef was buckling himself into the mustang’s passenger seat with a yawn. He slumped down.
“Should’ve had a smoke,” he muttered.
“You should quit while you’re young.” It was the first time he’d said anything about Iosef’s habit. The first time he felt like he wanted to say anything, like he gave enough of a shit.
“Okay, Dad,” Iosef shot back without any venom. “Where’re we going?”
“I know you drove my car when you stole it—”
“Oh god is this a weird punishment thing?” Iosef flipped his hood up and drew the strings tight as he sank down even further in the seat until his knees bumped the glovebox. “Dammit, John, the sun’s not even fully up. It’s too early for this shit.”
“Not a punishment.” John laughed, low and throaty as he pulled out onto the street and headed on a familiar route. One he normally took alone. It was fucked up, but he kind of liked that Iosef had no idea what was going on and was already a little scared. “A reward.”
“For stealing your car?”
“You keep insisting we get out of the house together. Do something fun.”
“…Is this a weird date?”
John cocked his head to look at Iosef, squinting at him. Again with his leaps of logic. “Why do you always expect something sexual? Have I done something to make you think that’s where my head’s at?”
There wasn’t an immediate response. Iosef tugged at his hoodie’s strings again. “It’s jokes.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious.”
John put the radio on to diffuse the awkwardness. At first he thought Iosef was giving him the silent treatment when he didn’t start trying to fill the silence, but when he glanced over he saw he’d fallen back to sleep.
By the time John pulled up to the familiar private airport, Iosef was still asleep. He drove through the gate and out to the strip of runway he was most familiar with. A smirk on his lips, he sped down the tarmac, giving the wheel a hard stopping turn. The momentum jostled his passenger awake as the car half drifted in a one-eighty.
“The fuck?” Iosef spluttered, grabbing at his seatbelt and the door, feet slamming down into the footwell as if he had his own brakes.
“You like to live fast, right?” John raced down the opposite direction they’d initially been going. “Like fast cars?”
“Yeah!” But Iosef didn’t sound confident. “Shit, Wick.”
John grinned as he let off the gas and swerved the car around again. “This is a good way to get your blood flowing. Let off a little steam.” It was something he’d done for years—at first it was a way to let out his pent up aggression after getting out of the business. More recently it was a somewhat healthy outlet for the darker parts of his grief. He lined the mustang up on the middle of the runway and set to barreling down it, pedal to the floor with a satisfying purring roar of the engine. Ahead of them several hulking yellow utility trucks were parked.
“John.” Iosef stared straight ahead. “John!” He pressed himself back in the seat, wide eyed.
“Let it out!” John did, even as he gauged the distance, grasping the steering wheel tight as he yelled. Iosef wailed beside him when he slammed on the brakes. The car squealed to a sliding stop, coming up a few feet short of the trucks. Leaving both of them panting, hearts galloping.
“Holy fuck you’re insane,” Iosef breathed, his voice high in his throat. He reared back and made to slap John on the chest, but John grabbed his wrist in a punishing grip. “Fucking ow you fucking adrenaline junkie!”
John loosened his hold but didn’t let go. Eyes locked on Iosef’s. Chest heaving as he caught his breath.
“Want to go again?”
Iosef blinked. Swallowed. Nodded. A gap-toothed grin spread across his face and he laughed. “Fuck yeah.”