"I hope I didn't cost you a sale," Wilson said, thinking back to the awkward conversation with the lawyer.

They were having sushi for lunch at one of the only places in the city that he found acceptable. Living in Japan for so long meant that he was used to fresh and high quality fish instead of the concoctions fried and coated in sauce that passed for a meal in the states.

"The gallery has never been busier. Nobody actually buys anything. They just all want to come see the girlfriend of the mysterious Wilson Fisk. I should call myself an installation and sell tickets."

He had ordered them an assortment of simple rolls, along with a selection of sashimi. His hands were deft with the chopsticks, he kept a pair of handmade ones here that had been designed for his larger hands.

"I have no idea how you do that," Vanessa sighed, clumsily trying to get her own sticks properly placed.

"Here," he said, dipping a piece of the toro barely into the soy sauce and then holding it in front of Vanessa.

"You could help me learn how to use these."

"Now where's the fun in that?"

Her eyes closed and she sighed at the taste. He was watching carefully, knowing that her reaction to the fatty tuna would be expressive. It was a perfect food experience, a density that melted in the mouth leaving behind an umami flavor on the back of the mouth. It was a rare delicacy, not even listed on menus since it was in such short supply.

He took a piece for himself, and then prepared a piece of salmon roll for her, a tiny bit of wasabi on top.

"Lunch was a bad idea," she said, after another piece.

He stiffened. "I'm sorry, do you need to get back to work?"

"No. Well, yes, but that isn't the problem. It's that watching you with those, it is very distracting."

Vanessa took his hand that was holding the chopsticks and drew it to her lips, kissing one of the sticks and then the finger, and finally his palm.

"Have I mentioned how much I like your hands?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His answer was interrupted by a knock at the door and Wesley's voice. "Sir, a moment please."

"Later," he yelled, at the same time Vanessa said "Come in."

She only smiled at his glare, kissing his palm again. Wesley came in with his eyes lowered, clearly not wanting to interrupt anything.

"Leland is outside. He says it is urgent. About the Japanese and their demands."

Wilson's fist clenched. "It can wait."

Vanessa shook her head. "No, take care of it now. I need to get back to the gallery. We have a new artist opening next week and there are so many things to do."

"Can it wait?" Wilson asked, pleading.

Vanessa nodded, and as Wesley opened the door to leave the sound of Leland's complaints were audible.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said, "but I just need time with you. Just a little bit of time to recharge. I'm not used to having so many meetings. So many conversations."

"And having a conversation with me makes those things easier to deal with?"

Wilson fed Vanessa another piece of raw salmon as he struggled to explain his feelings. "Time with you reminds me of what it is like to be myself. Not Wilson Fisk, the savior of Hell's Kitchen." Not Wilson Fisk, thug working up the organization, he said to himself. With Vanessa he found a place where he could be himself after so many years of pretending to be what others expected of him.

"I need you, Vanessa. Need to be around you. In fact, I've been thinking about how I want to be around you more."

She reached for her water taking a long sip and avoiding his gaze. Clearly she didn't want him to say what he was thinking, but he'd promised her honesty at one point. Honesty even in things she apparently would rather avoid.

"I was thinking that it would be good if we could spend more time together. I mean, we are both so busy now. You have work and I have these benefits. We can't even get through lunch without someone trying to come in and interrupt."

In his pocket was a ring. One that he had from long before he had ever met her. It was a sentimental token, something from his first job back in the old neighborhood when he was home one summer. He'd been picked for his size, someone to make sure the smash part of the smash-and-grab went according to plan. He'd been given it as his share but he hadn't sold it. Diamonds were worthless in the resale market, and he figured that he could get more trading it to someone who didn't know better. Maybe even get the jewel removed and turn it into something for his Mom.

Every other person got rounded up in that bust because they had sold the proceeds to a pawn broker who was working as an informant.

After that it became something of a lucky charm.

There were a hundred reasons not to ask her. It was too soon. He was embarking on a breathtaking criminal enterprise. She could clearly do better. He hadn't planned on asking. Not consciously. But he had brought the ring out of the safety deposit box it had stayed in for decades, so maybe he had been planning this all along.

Wilson's normally deep voice was barely audible. "Vanessa, what would you think about becoming my…?"

"Decorator."

"That wasn't what I was going to…"

"It isn't ideal. I know. It gets tricky when you start to combine the personal and the professional. Women who get paid to spend time with men are generally called whores. Or even worse, wives."

The only sound in the room was their breathing. Vanessa pointed to the last piece of toro, "can I have that?"

Robotically he prepared and lifted the fish to her lips. His hands were less sure now, and he dropped the fish into the soy sauce, ruining it completely.

He dropped the chopsticks, and looked at the door. "I should be getting to Leland. I'll have Wesley take you back to the gallery."

He stood up, his hands balling into fists. Vanessa's much smaller hand reached for his, barely covering half of it.

"I've never told you about my father," she said

"No, you haven't." He shoved her hand away, instinctively wanting to run away from the room and from her. He felt a surge of anger at his thwarted plans, swiftly followed by sickness over allowing himself to get angry at her. He wouldn't be his father. He wouldn't let his feelings harm others. He placed one hand on the back of her chair and let the other rest on her shoulder.

He gave her a squeeze to encourage her to continue her story.

"The man isn't really worth mentioning. I didn't even meet him until I was 14. And I ran from his house the first moment the opportunity presented itself. But the one thing he always impressed upon me was that the single greatest accomplishment I could ever achieve was becoming a wife. I had the best teachers and the finest clothes all so that one day I could become a piece of consideration given to demonstrate a contract between two men."

Wilson leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"You see, Wilson, for a woman marriage is a tradition of bondage. You can't change the nature of something with greeting card sentiments and good intentions. The nature of the thing will always come through."

It wasn't what he wanted. That wasn't important. What mattered, Wilson told himself, is what happened after you failed.

"So," he said with all the energy as if it had been his plan all along, "decorator. For the new properties, and of course the Union Allied offices. A job with a little more flexibility in scheduling?"

She agreed readily, and he made the arrangements. He also told himself that the ring should go back into the vault, but he didn't want to part with it just yet. Maybe just keep it around. For good luck. With the man in black still running around he could use all the luck that he could get.