Chapter 5

The next morning Matilda groaned and stretched her body as she woke. She rolled to her side and lazily threw an arm over the body next to her, her head pressed into a back. A small smile came to her face as she felt the tension, and knew John was awake. A small pang of guilt as she thought of the last time, she had shared a bed with someone. She kept her arm where it was, her hand lightly pressed to his chest. She could feel the steadying breath he took, anchoring himself. His hand covered hers…and removed it, his body rolling over to face her as he moved her arm.

"Good morning." His gruff voice cut through her drowsiness with a simmer of heat in her stomach.

"Good morning." she replied, voice light. The bundle of nerves was returning. "I think we fell asleep."

He grunted, rolling over and sitting up. "Looks that way." He rolled his neck. Stood. Took in his surroundings again, as if he had forgotten the night before. John looked down at her, a sparkle in his eyes. "Sorry about that."

She smiled. "It's a comfortable bed." She told him reassuringly. "I'll have to ask Winston where he got it." She rolled out of bed herself, stretching her arms high above her head.

The silence as he watched her was charged, the air heavy. Neither of them wanting to be the first to break the tension. Whatever this was. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "I'm going to the gym this morning. You?"

It was a question and an invitation. John looked down at the dress shirt and pants he had fallen asleep in. Considered. "Give me thirty minutes and I'll see you down there."

"OK. See you in a bit." She stepped toward her bathroom, throwing a short wave over her shoulder. He stood awkwardly for a moment, not quite sure how to say goodbye. If that had been it. Shaking his head, he picked up his shoes and walked towards the door.

He stepped into the hallway just as the door down the hall opened and Winston came out. The older gentleman looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Good morning, Jonathon." he hummed. Winston closed the door behind him. "Heading down to your room?" Winston took the few steps down the hall.

John nodded his head awkwardly. "Morning Winston." He gestured a hand towards the elevator. "Going down?"

The manager smiled knowingly at the man before him. "I was going to check in on my girl before breakfast. See if she wanted to join me."

Before he had time to think, John spoke, "We're going to the gym."

Winston inclined his head, attention fully on Jonathon. "Are you now?" He hummed to himself. "Well, I suppose I'll ask if she's busy after. Unless you plan on commandeering her for breakfast as well now." The look he gave him was serious, but the tone was playful.

John had the good sense to look embarrassed. "No…I…just the gym." He turned quickly on his heel before Winston could drag him into conversation. As the elevator doors slid closed, John pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes. He hadn't done anything, so why the hell did he feel so guilty? He took a calming breath and pushed '8.'

Winston chuckled as the elevator doors closed. He turned towards Matilda's door and knocked lightly. A moment later the door opened, the grin faltering a little as she realized who was at her door. "No smiles for your old man?" he asked, taking a step forward.

She opened the door wider, letting him in. "You know that's not what I meant." She gave him a small smile. "I'm always happy to see you. I just…thought it was someone else."

"Ahh. Yes." Winston put his hands in his pockets, an easy smile on his lips. "I ran into Mr. Wick in the hallway." He let the sentence idle in the air between them. "Have a nice dinner?" he asked politely.

Matilda huffed. "Winston…" She intoned warningly.

The man shrugged his shoulders harmlessly. "If the kitchen staff tells me of their own volition that they're making dinner for two in your room, well, that's hardly my fault." He smiled placatingly. "Allow your old man to poke a little fun at you darling." He held a hand toward her. She took it with a small smile. "He's a good man. Just be gentle." He swung their hands lazily between them for a moment before continuing. "Do you want to…talk about it?"

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He asked occasionally about London. About her partner. But she wasn't ready just yet to share her grief. Or her guilt. She shook her head.

"Breakfast, after your workout?" Winston asked easily.

She leaned into him, giving his cheek a kiss. "I'd love breakfast. I'll let you know when I'm done."

Winston nodded his head solemnly, a careful eye sweeping over the room. It was none of his business he knew, but when you're in someone's life for so long…it became habit to watch over them. Both.

"I'll be in the lounge darling." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before excusing himself.

Matilda closed the door with a small huff. She shook her head with a small smile on her face and finished getting dressed. Patting her pocket, double checking she had everything, she left the room a few minutes later. She made her way down to the lobby to steal a banana from the breakfast lounge before getting back in the elevator. She munched thoughtfully on the short ride to the second floor. While she finished, she lounged against the wall at the entrance to the gym. She was ten minutes earlier than their appointed meeting time. No doubt Mr. Wick would be punctual. She threw away her peel and crossed her arms lazily.

What a life. A couple of years ago, she had been contented. Living a modest life in the English countryside, considering going back to school. Working a few days at the bookstore. Coming home to watch him paint. How he came alive when he painted. She closed her eyes at the thought. They had been happier days, before. Before the endless bloodshed and violence, she had chosen. A means to an end. Only it hadn't ended how she had wanted. There would be no idyllic cottage, no coming home to the smell of paint any longer. No more wondering what song they'd dance to at their wedding.

She opened her eyes in time to see John getting off the elevator. He gave her a little half wave. She waved back, straightening quickly.

She gestured at the door behind her. "You feeling anything in particular?"

John shook his head as he stopped in front of her. "Cardio, then strength training. Or yoga. Something like that. Maybe some sparring if there's someone down." His eyes gleamed in challenge.

"Oh, I'm down." Matilda tossed over her shoulder, as she opened the door. She pointed towards two machines. "There's some ellipticals open."

He followed her as she got onto one machine. Neither of them had brough anything to listen to, but they didn't talk. They let a silence fall between them, only filled with exhales and grunts as they pushed themselves over the next forty-five minutes. In silent agreement, they stopped their machines and picked up nearby clean towels. Grabbed water bottles from the fridge and took a few swallows.

"So, what do you do first, yoga or sparring?" Matilda asked politely.

John grunted. "I'd prefer to stretch first, if I'm being given the option." He signaled towards the yoga mats.

Matilda nodded her head and followed. He led her through his usual routine. She asked clarifying questions when she needed to, and let it slip she'd only done yoga a few times before. He paid closer attention to her, fixing any mistakes in posture, and naming each position as they went through them. She appreciated the education, the thoughtfulness.

After thirty minutes of stretching and limbering up, John told her he was ready. "Now, keep in mind please that I'm older than you."

She cocked her head teasingly. "Are you suggesting to me that Baba Yaga is fragile?"

John shook his head, a small smile playing across his lips. "John is." He readied himself in a stance across from her. "There's a difference."

Matilda nodded her head in quiet understanding. "Rules of engagement?"

"I'm not looking for a fight, just friendly exercise. Tapping out allowed and encouraged." John took a calming breath. "We can begin when you're ready."

Matilda adopted her own stance, different from his. They stood for a few seconds, sizing each other up. Deciding how best to strike. They would be soft blows, friendly. No one was out for blood here. But Matilda was silently eager to try her best. How often could one walk away from a match with John Wick?

John took a step forward, and then another, crossing to her impossibly fast. She just had time to bring her elbow up to block his hand as he went for her chest. She countered with her other elbow, going for his torso. They became a blur of motion, jabs traded, blocked, some hits connecting softly. Sweat beaded on Matilda's forehead as she backed up a step, avoiding a lunge. She darted around him neatly, throwing her weight on his back and wrapping her legs around him. She used their weight to drop them to the ground and throw him over her head, so she had the upper hand. Before she could use it, he had gotten himself to his knees and thrown her to the ground, his head by her legs. He wrapped his legs gently around her chest and neck, holding her legs in place with his arms. His face was just out of striking distance. She smiled, and a hand gently tapped the mat. He let go and stood, offering her a hand.

"That was fun." she said, taking his sweaty hand.

John grunted in agreement as he helped her up. "Been a while since I had a friendly time on the mat."

"Well, whenever you're in the hotel just ask. I'm always looking to improve." She gave him a smile, panting as she caught her breath. "I should get going. I've got to meet Winston for breakfast."

John looked down at his watch. "Checkout time is soon. I should get cleaned up." He looked up to see what looked like sadness in those amber eyes, before it was chased away.

"When will you be back?" she asked politely.

John shrugged. Started walking towards the door, Matilda stepping in line with him. "Thought about taking some time off. A few weeks maybe." He looked down at her. "You're leaving soon?"

She nodded. "In January." Her eyes brightened, as an idea came to her. "John, what are you doing for Christmas?"

He pushed the call button for the elevator as he thought. He hadn't celebrated Christmas since Helen died, two years before. "Nothing." He admitted.

"Well why don't you celebrate with us? Winston and I are going out for dinner." Her invitation lingered between them, hanging in the air.

"I'll think about it." John promised. The elevator arrived and they both stepped on. Pressing the '8' and '10' and settling into silence. When the elevator dinged and opened on the eighth floor, Matilda brushed his shoulder before he stepped off. The touch burned where her fingers grazed, feeling her grasp even through the fabric of his shirt.

"Please think about it. Don't just say you will." she said imploringly. "You'd have fun."

That's the problem. John thought. But he didn't say anything aloud. Merely nodded his head as the elevator doors closed. Matilda was whisked up to the tenth floor without an answer. She steeled herself, tried to will her racing heart to calm down. She showered and readied herself for her breakfast. She would have to tell Winston she had invited John to share Christmas dinner with them. She wondered if he'd show.

†

Contrary to his words, John was in the Continental every weekend in December, and some weekdays as well. Word was out that he was taking on job after job relentlessly, barely giving himself time to rest. He was a man on a mission, hell-bent. Each job was completed with stunning precision. Whispers began, suggesting John was working something out. That he needed the money. That he was in debt to someone. They varied and were contradictory and were all over the Continental each time he arrived. Winston suggested he was working off some tension, which got a chuckle from Charon. The concierge shook his head in understanding. It didn't take a genius to see why John was spending more time in the hotel.

Every time John was staying, he met Matilda in the gym. Every morning at the same time. They worked on cardio; he walked her through different yoga routines. And they sparred. After the first couple of days, the sparring took up more of their time. They cut out the cardio, began with stretching. They would pause, ask each other questions about different moves and routines. How to get out of different holds. How to use an opponent's strength against them. They shared ideas on conditioning techniques. Things they'd tried over the years to relax and recover. They always left the gym sweaty, sore, and smiling.

They didn't have dinner together again. John joined Winston and Matilda on a few occasions for a drink. He only stayed for a short time, and then left for his room. Winston could see the way John's eyes glowed a brighter brown in her presence. How much clearer he was, more like his old self. And Matilda was less sorrowful, less aware of her grief. Her smile could brighten a room, but Winston hadn't seen it often since she had come to stay. He knew they were aware of each other; one's attention could be pulled by the other from across the room. When Matilda shifted in the booth to put her chin in her hand, John moved in sync to cross his legs and lean towards her. Winston wondered if his goddaughter felt guilty – being stimulated by someone so soon after her partner's death. They had never discussed it.

John was easier for Winston to read. Had known the man too many years for anything to get by him. John went back and forth between being an open book, his shoulders broad and his smile easy. Other times, he'd shrink back in on himself, his face gaining a hard edge. Winston wondered what was going on in the man's head.

Winston shook himself free of his thoughts and turned his attention to Matilda. "Darling, would you be so kind as to get Mr. Wick and I another drink?" His voice purred.

Matilda shot a glance at the half full glasses of her companions. "Sure." She slid out of the booth and walked to the bar. She threw a look at Winston over her shoulder, eyebrow arched in question. He merely shook his head and offered her a wink, before turning his attention to John.

Winston placed his hands on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What are your intentions with my goddaughter Jonathon?"

John balked; some of the color drained from his face. It took a moment for that calm façade to slip back into place. His brown eyes locked Winston's. "I'm sorry?"

Winston smiled and cocked his head. He twiddled his fingers a moment, deciding. "I love that girl like she's my own blood. I care for you, too." He cleared his throat. "I want to make sure you two know what you're doing."

John looked confused for a moment. "We're not doing anything." He took another sip of his bourbon, the peaty taste hitting his tongue and clearing his racing thoughts. "We're…friends." He finished carefully.

Winston nodded his head solemnly. "She hasn't been doing this long, you know." He sighed and finished the last of his dry martini. The burning gave him courage. "She's got a couple of years under her belt. I was surprised to get her call. When she asked me who to contact in London about serving under the Table." He caught John's eye again with a penetrating gaze. "Said she needed good money and fast, and she figured she could do it. Serve. I spent a long time thinking I wouldn't have to worry about her this way." He fingered the stem of his glass, eyes locked with John. "I've left her to figure out her new life with little interference. But…" Winston paused. "John…she's my girl. And you're a good man. But I cannot imagine you want to tiptoe on the edge forever. I cannot believe that she wants too either. You'll only end up hurting each other, with this indecision." He gave John a discomfiting look. "And I'd have to take her side."

John opened his mouth, was about to respond when Winston arched his eyebrow at something over John's shoulder. He let his expression relax into an easy smile, considering what Winston had told him. How much Winston had seen. How much he didn't know about this woman he was fascinated with. She'd had a whole life before moving to New York. He'd never asked, and she had never offered. There was something there…when she thought he couldn't see. A deep sadness in her eyes. A grief he knew all too well. How much did they have in common?

Matilda slid in next to him, bumping his elbow with hers as she passed him another bourbon. A jolt went straight through that elbow to settle in his gut, a fluttering heat he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Thank you." He took the glass from her, gazed at the pink tinging her cheeks.

She nodded in acknowledgment. "So, what were you boys talking about while I was gone?" She gave both a long glance.

Winston took a sip of his new martini, avoiding her gaze. She turned her full attention to John, turning her body to face him in the booth. She sat expectantly, her amber eyes dancing with delight.

John analyzed in that moment, sized up the woman next to him. Thought about the last several months and weeks. John had several thoughts in quick succession. It wasn't any of his business what her story was until she wanted to tell it. He enjoyed being around her, how easy it was. How relaxed he felt in her presence. That was enough for now. He could figure out the rest later.

John took a breath, and the decision was made. "Is Christmas dinner a formal occasion?"

Matilda's answering smile was bright, surprise lighting her eyes. "It's not black tie, but it's not casual either. Please dress appropriately." Her honey accented words soothed the bourbon burn in his throat.

She settled back into the booth, taking a casual sip of her own drink. Her heart went thump-thump-thump in quick rhythm as she stole a glance at John. A small smile on her lips, she steered the conversation in another direction. Watched as John and Winston danced on the edge of…something in the way they spoke. It didn't matter. John was coming to Christmas dinner.