John picked Delphi up from the floor. The people below were screaming and running. It was easy enough for them to slip out of the club relatively unnoticed.
John limped. Delphi bled. They walked into the Continental together this time. They were the only two in the lobby.
The usual hotel manager was off for the night. A lovely woman had taken his place. She recognized Delphi immediately. "Cute top, girl!" She exclaimed.
"Thank you, Margot." Delphi whimpered, trying to not sound as in pain as she was.
"I'm sure those stains will come right out." Margot said. "You know, if you put half a teaspoon of baking soda with a spoonful of vinegar in the wash with it, it should help."
"Really?" Delphi propped her elbow up on the counter. "I'm terrible at laundry."
"Oh yes! It'll get just about anything out."
"Interesting." Delphi smiled.
"I'll send up some bourbon?" Margot asked.
"That would be great," John and Delphi answered together, both surprised, and each convinced they were the one the question had been directed to.
Margot looked between the two of them and smiled.
John had the doctor sent to his room. The tiny man inspected John's wounds and handed him a bottle of pills. They shook hands at the door as John spoke with the doctor about his latest purchase, the latest Porsche Boxster.
Henry stitched Delphi's cut slowly. "Stop moving." He directed.
"I'm breathing, Henry." Delphi clapped back. Henry looked up at her, his dark eyes bore into hers.
"Don't be so dramatic." He deadpanned.
"I am not dramatic." Delphi upheld.
"I heard you shot Abraham Aalders five times." Delphi took as drink as her reply. She agreed that might have been a bit dramatic.
"You can't come here anymore." She said. And though Henry didn't like it. He agreed.
"I'm expecting a call from Aldrich." He told her, focusing on her last few stitches. "Finished." He applauded himself as slid off his rubber gloves. She had pulled her shirt up just enough to reveal the cut along with four or so inches of her pale skin. There was the wispy shape of a burn near her belly button.
In a rare act of affection, Delphi pulled herself closer to Henry, his arm braced on the other side of her hip, and let her finger trace his jawline. His breath hit her cheeks and she felt herself blush. He had a way of doing that to her.
This was, of course, a prime time for John to enter.
He had forgotten to knock.
Henry looked at John defiantly and didn't move, but Delphi did. It was a melodramatic motion that involved her hands in the air and a noise that conveyed annoyance.
John was, as usual, awkward.
"Should I go?" He said after he had been staring for a few seconds.
"Nope. The moment is gone." She said. Henry looked back at her and smiled. Again, it was a smile that made John's stomach hurt.
She put her hand on Henry's arm as he moved and she stood. John tossed her some pills. "These should help with mobility." She caught them in her left hand as she took a pull of bourbon with her right.
"Are we headed home tonight?" John asked. The word home felt funny leaving his lips but he enjoyed the affect it had on Henry. He snapped his head towards John quickly.
"You are." Delphi said, causing Henry to snap his head back to her. He would get whiplash at this rate.
John and Henry spoke at the same time. "I am?" and "He is?" they exclaimed. John's brow knitted in concern. So did Henry's.
"Yes. I can do the rest myself." She spoke nonchalantly. Henry's eyes stayed trained on her, obviously not fond of this decision. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. It was that he didn't trust himself. He didn't know if he could carry out the task she had asked of him. Though Henry was not a huge fan of John Wick, he was an ally in this war. His affection for Delphi was unmistakable, and it comforted Henry to know that someone else was on her side.
"Why does he get to stay?" John asked, realizing how childish he sounded but not caring.
Delphi relished this humanizing moment. She had a theory that underneath the whole boogeyman persona, John Wick was just a man.
"He's not staying either." She nudged Henry's shoulder, the kindest way she could think of telling him to leave without having to say it aloud. Usually, Henry would contest this dismissal, but under these circumstances he decided to check his pride and make an exit. He knew she wanted him to go, but was surprised that she followed him to the door. Wick stood in the middle of the room, feet planted like he was ready to argue.
Delphi brushed her knuckles against Henry's. "It has to look real." She reminded him.
"It will be real," he murmured as he took her chin between his forefinger and thumb. John looked away. Henry tried to convey everything he felt in a look; sorrow, adoration, and tenderness. Then, in an ultra-masculine way, he straightened his shoulders and slid out the door.
"What was that about?" John wondered.
"I've got some loose ends I need to tie up and then I'll be home." She said, dismissing his second question and moving on to why John would be returning home without her.
John had the notion that Delphi was a top notch arguer. That notion had been tested time and time again throughout their brief, but substantial friendship. Like when she insisted they watch Star Wars in production order not in chronological, but John wanted to watch them in line with the story. John felt like she had prepared that argument weeks before he even suggested they watch the first film.
John took a seat at the small table located in the middle of the room. This was symbolic of his decision to stay, regardless of what she said.
"John," she stated, most forebodingly, "this is a decision that you will regret."
But this time John didn't get the chance to reply. The hotel suite exploded with fire and smoke.
Aldrich Aalders stood on a neighboring rooftop, with a bazooka resting on his shoulder. He couldn't see into the penthouse suite, it was built fortress style with no windows, but he had a tip from an insider that Delphi Kane would be there.