Chapter 5

December 2016

The next morning Matilda groaned and stretched her body as she woke, trying to get all the kinks out of sleep. She rolled to her side and lazily threw an arm over the body next to her, her head pressing gently into a back. A small smile came to her face as she felt the tension, and knew John was awake. She felt 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. But he held her hand on the mattress between them, his hand warming up her cool fingers as he kept hold of it.

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

"Good morning." she replied, voice light, thick with sleep. The nervous energy that coiled her stomach tightly was returning. "I think we fell asleep."

He grunted, rolled over and sat up, and let go of her hand. "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." His hand instinctively went up to his neck, and he looked down at his loosened tie. A soft smirk crossed his features.

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. She was ready to get out of these jeans, couldn't believe that she had slept in them, the denim scratching at her thighs.

The silence as he watched her from the corner of his eye was charged, the air heavy. John's breathing came slow, in and out through his nose as he tried to control his racing heart. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break the tension. He cleared his throat. "I think you'd be better off asking Charon." He joked lightly.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder and gave him a half smile. "I'll keep that in mind for the move." She turned back around and paused a moment before calling 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. Taking a day off sounded enticing, even if it wasn't something he usually did. Spending more time with Matilda sounded even better. "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, before shaking his head at her. John grabbed his shoes and sat to put them on quickly before exiting. Of course, she trusted him to just leave.

He stepped into the hallway just as the door down the hall opened and Winston came out. The older gentleman looked at him and quirked 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, standing before John outside of Matilda's door.

John nodded his head awkwardly. "Morning Winston." He gestured a hand towards the elevator down the hall. "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. Mischief sparkled in those brown eyes.

John had the good sense to look embarrassed. "No…I…just the gym." He quickly turned on his heel before Winston could drag him into conversation and approached the elevator. As the 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? John put one hand over his heart and willed it to calm down from the frantic measure it was currently beating. He felt like a teenager who had just got caught sneaking out of his girlfriend's bedroom window by her father. John shook his head, a small smile on his face. Not a terrible way to feel, he admitted to himself. 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, hands still in his pockets, giving him the effect of utter calm. "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 yet to share her well of grief. Or her overwhelming 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. He took a small measure of comfort in the more organized state of the room, and surmised that yes, whatever had happened was none of his business. But perhaps they were both better off for it.

"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 ready to shower. She allowed the hot water to run over her shoulders and burn away any remaining tension from her night of restlessness. She was surprised she hadn't woken John with how much tossing and turning she had done. Usually, she was peaceful once she was down, but falling asleep next to someone else after so long…a small part of her had dreamed it was Lauren. Matilda took a shuddering breath and brought her hands up to cover her mouth as the sob wracked her body. The tears fell from closed eyes as she shook.

A couple of years ago, she had been contented. They had lived a modest life in the English countryside, and she had considered going back to school. She worked a few days at the bookstore. Would come home to the sight of him painting. Oh, how he came alive when he painted. She closed her eyes at the thought. It wasn't too long after that he had given it up, focused on getting better. They had been happier days, before. Before the round the clock medication and care, before all the doctor's appointments and chemotherapy. 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. No more seeing that bright smile he saved, just for her.

Matilda shook her head to clear her grim thoughts and shoved her face up under the spray, allowed the water to clear her mind, her tears, her feelings. I'm still here. I'm still here, she thought. I'm here and I'm worth fighting for. She turned and let the water run down her back one more time before she turned the water off and took a deep, calming breath.

A short while later, she was patting her pocket, double checking she had everything as left the room. She had made sure her face was scrubbed clean, and there were no signs of watery eyes. 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, even with her reminiscing. No doubt Mr. Wick would be punctual. She threw away her peel and crossed her arms lazily. Matilda cleared her mind and allowed herself some deep breathing exercises as she waited. She opened her eyes every time the elevator doors dinged, hoping to see the man she was waiting for. The seventh time, it was John. He stepped out of the elevator and gave her a little half wave as he approached her. She waved back, straightening quickly, a smile blooming on her face.

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

John shook his head as he stopped in front of her, hands on hips. "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 brought anything to listen to, but they didn't talk. They let a comfortable silence fall between them, only filled with exhaling and grunts as they pushed themselves over the next forty-five minutes. Their eyes would occasionally sneak a glance at the settings on the others machine; they would then turn up the resistance or speed in quiet competition. After forty-five minutes, in silent agreement, they stopped their machines and picked up clean towels nearby. Grabbed water bottles from the fridge and took a few swallows.

"So, what do you do first, yoga or sparring?" Matilda asked politely, her breath coming in short huffs.

John grunted. "I'd prefer to stretch first, if I'm being given the option." He signaled towards the yoga mats, his own breath coming in pants.

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 and the thoughtfulness. He tried not to linger too long with his touches when correcting her positioning, letting go once he knew she had it correct. Her skin was smooth against his hands, and it reminded him of how new she was to this life…and how blood soaked his own hands were.

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." He teased.

She cocked her head playfully. "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." John laughed. "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? She sized him up, eyes looking at him and up down, scrutinizing. Wondering just what it was that made him so deadly, feared…legendary.

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 backwards over her head, so she had the upper hand. Before she could use it, he had gotten himself to his knees and thrown her, 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. He's so fast, she thought. Damn. She smiled, and her 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." He put his hands on his hips as he looked down at her. "Usually, people are just trying to kill me."

She laughed, clear and bright. "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 her 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 with a shrug.

"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, filled only by the music of the elevator. When the elevator dinged and opened on the eighth floor, Matilda reached up and 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 he stepped off and out of her touch 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 breakfast. She would have to tell Winston she had invited John to share Christmas dinner with them. Matilda wondered if he would show, or if she would be left waiting for weeks in this hopeful anticipation. The idea of not seeing him for weeks compounded with the gut curdling feeling of her Christmas invitation. What is he doing to me? She thought as she stepped out of the shower for the second time that morning. What am I doing to me?

†

Contrary to his earlier 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 with renewed vigor each time he arrived to stay. 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, or what kind of tension he was working off.

Every time John was staying, he met Matilda in the gym. Every morning at the same time. The first few times there had been phone calls to her room asking if she was free, and then just a quick word "Gym?", before after the seventh or eighth time they started taking it for granted that the other would be there. They would work 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 and began with stretching instead. 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, chatting animatedly with one another.

They didn't have dinner together again. John joined Winston and Matilda on a few occasions for a drink. He would only stay for a short time, and then would leave 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 saw the way 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. Then again, Winston felt that three years was plenty of time for a young, vibrant woman to have grieved.

John was easier for Winston to read. He 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 knew he was thinking about Helen in those moments. Thinking of how his life had seemed so picture perfect, only for everything to come shattering down around him. He and Matilda had that in common. Winston also thought they were wasting entirely too much time grieving their partners, instead of grabbing life by the horns. He knew from experience, that if you wallowed in misery and self-pity, it would be your only bedfellow.

Winston shook himself free of his thoughts and turned his attention to Matilda at their table. "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 but didn't question him. "Sure." She slid out of the booth and began to make her way through the throng of people, towards 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; the color drained from his face, his complexion turning white as a sheet. It took a moment for his calm façade to slip back into place. His brown eyes locked on 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 finished the rest of his bourbon in a gulp; the smoky taste hit his tongue and helped to clear 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 hit his guts and flared his courage into a blaze. "She's got a few years under her belt. I was surprised to get her call." He admitted. "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. That I would do everything I could to keep her out of it." 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. John thought about 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, after that first night, 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? John wanted to know, to learn.

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, except for when he was around her. A heat he had been doing his level best to ignore.

"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 and curiosity.

John analyzed in that moment, sized up the woman next to him. He thought about the last several months and weeks. John had several ideas 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. How nervous, like a schoolboy with his first crush. That was enough for now. He could figure out the rest later. First, he had to stop ignoring himself and his desires; and hers.

John took a breath, his decision 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 another glance at John. A small smile on her lips, she steered the conversation in another direction. She 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. She winked at Winston when John wasn't looking, and he replied with a slight inclination of his head.

Coming here to soothe her wounded soul had been one of the best decisions she'd ever made. Not only was her relationship with Winston better than ever, but she also found herself moving forward in her work, honing skills, and building relationships with a clientele. She stole another glance at the man on her right, his dark hair tucked behind his ear. He was smiling at something Winston had just said, the lines around his eyes crinkling in mirth. She was moving forward in life too; grieving over Lauren and learning to accept that just because life wasn't turning out the way she thought it would, didn't mean it was all bad. John turned to catch her staring and he smiled softly at her. No, not bad at all.