#james wesley

You're one of the newer hires. Been working for Fisk as someone who oversees cash flow for smaller projects for at least a year. You didn't speak unless spoken to, didn't give an opinion unless asked, didn't ask unnecessary questions, and stayed out the way. You held a unique kind of poise that fit right in, in the world of Fisk's affairs.

Fisk sent you and Wesley together on side missions a lot. It started out for the purpose of him keeping an eye on you while you got shit done out of Fisk's sight. And while it was just that for months, Wesley had no idea what he'd be getting into.

You were much different when you weren't around Fisk. More chatty, charming...bold. You'd ask him all sorts of questions so casually like you were friends.

You weren't stupid. It was clear as day Wesley was essentially your babysitter. So, logically, you get your shit done with no issues while simultaneously trying to get him to back off. You've proven yourself enough, so perhaps talking his ear off about nonsense or prompting him with thoughts and scenarios would get him to tap out and tell Fisk everything was fine.

But it did the opposite.

You inadvertently made Wesley, uh...well, he wouldn't call it love. That's dramatic. He became...interested! Yes, that's the word. Wesley has taken a professional interest in you. Okay, maybe a little unprofessional too...

"What do you think of her?" Fisk suddenly asked. Wesley didn't face him. He was well aware who Fisk was asking about.

"She's a great asset to your projects. I haven't identified any problems thus far, sir."

"That is not what I meant," Fisk turned to him with that you know what I meant look.

"Socially?" He asked. Fisk nodded.

Hmm. How would he answer that? Does he factor in every time he's hidden a smile when you give him such a ridiculous ethically questionable scenario for him to answer? The way his heart beats a little faster whenever you walk by him and address him by his first name (Unless Fisk is around, you wouldn't dare)? How you called him out for staring at you while you filled in the numbers when you thought he wasn't there?

Or, maybe, when he flat out said, "I like you."

How his hand twitches when your hands are too close... that one time he waited for thirty minutes behind a column in the parking garage by your car just so he could surprise you by pulling you towards him for a kiss-

"I guess haven't thought that far," he finally said. But did he truly expect his boss to believe him when he came in the next day with a lipstick stain that matched the exact shade you wear every day on his neck that seemed to miss in the shower last night? Fisk said nothing, but found it amusing when Wesley caught it upon seeing his reflection on the way out of the office. How did he miss that?

Oh, right.

It could've been when you just got back in, reporting number patterns and changes in his latest small project and a few seconds after leaving his office, Wesley suddenly appeared in your line of view. Once he got close enough he looked around and grabbed your hand to lead you to the nearest storage closet

No words. Just lip locking. He's been running around all day and he just needs to feel something. Feel you. Normally he doesn't entertain the idea of mixing pleasure and work...like ever. But with you he allowed himself to bend the rules on occasion

He had you in his arms, skirt bunched up at your waist to straddle him better and teeth lightly latched on his neck to stay quiet in seconds. His big hands splayed across your back as he carried you made you dizzy. As neutral as he seemed about everything, he certainly didn't mind fucking up into you as if this was his last day on earth. He still had a few hours until he was off the clock, could be summoned at quite literally any moment now, but that wasn't a concern right now. His focus was just letting off some steam with his girlfriend; his partner; his new obsession he had to keep quiet

Very subtle, Wesley.

So when you passed by him, looking a little panicked as he practically beamed towards the men's room, you spotted the mark you left--totally by accident--and held back a laugh. He stopped in his tracks and spun around with narrow eyes before cornering you in a secluded area

"This is funny to you?" He asked while pointing to the mark. He didn't sound upset at all

"It's a little funny"

"Was it intentional?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

"No."

falling out of favor with allies in hell's kitchen meant that fisk was beginning to change his usual mode of operation. it was the sort of complication that required certain methods — ones which you were reasonably not unfamiliar with and what most would call: high levels of brutality against anyone standing in his way.

that was the kingpin for you.

you knew his methods well. respected them, even. it's why for all these years, you had been by his side as his trustworthy getaway driver.

with the worst rearing it's head, you had been more useful to him than ever. it was almost a point of pride for you — not to mention your wallet had been sufficiently happy with this new development. danger be damned, you had a well-paying job you were good at. just another reason to stick around.

of course, you knew you weren't special. an important man needed other hands to run the whole circus and you were keenly aware that you weren't the only one keeping the acts in line. but the moment you locked eyes with the person fisk called his right hand man? you hated to admit, but a little, teeny tiny bit of respect for the crime lord you'd worked for all these years had left your body.

"ah. we haven't met," the man said, holding out his hand to you, "you're my employer's chauffer, correct?"

you shook his hand, hoping your smile didn't look like the grimace you were fighting back.

"and you're… what? his temporary secretary?" the joke — if you can even excuse it to be one, given the fact that your eye was twitching at his choice of words — fell flat with your tone. you added no friendly chuckle and he saw no reason to do the same. instead he grinned, the expression devoid of any sort of actual warmth. it didn't quite reach his eyes, the ones staring at you behind his glasses as if trying to assess your worth with a single look.

"if our employer needs me to be? yes," he replies, so plainly that it almost makes you feel bad for him, "but as of right now, he wants me working with you."

he dropped your hand, straightening up, "i look forward to see why."

── .✦

to say that the two of you initially struggled to get along is an understatement.

james wesley was rigid beyond belief. formality was etched into every part of his being, precise with each action and word spoken. you quickly determined that he spent most of his time meticulously planning every little detail of the operations fisk had him running in order to keep everything perfectly under control. if fisk said jump, wesley would calculate exactly how high he'd need to leap in order to satisfy that requirement. he derived a strange pleasure from this, you observed.

you weren't sure whether this was about competition or not. after all, you never did very well with the formal types. it's a trait that's granted you some sort of favor from fisk — levity was not an easy thing to bring in a work environment like yours. as luck would have it, your healthy dose of spontaneity mixed with your general disregard of most social conventions had landed you a position as fisk's driver and part time informant. you often liked to joke that you were the closest thing he had to therapy.

being a more public facing ally would be "suboptimal," as wesley had once put it. remarks like these made you wonder whether you were supposed to feel more pressure from wesley's presence, but regardless of intent, you didn't seem to care. you'd proven that your instincts were honed perfectly to perform well in high pressure, life-threatening circumstances. social conventions didn't have to be a strong suit of yours when survival was.

but given that you were reserved for police chases and messier, more covert operations — meetings with the other criminal leaders from hell's kitchen often started with a reminder from wesley to keep your mouth shut. unfortunately, as he discovered, you were a difficult man to dissuade.

after a little incident when confronting the russian mafia, you were left to keep the car warm for any meetings to follow, leaving the threats to wesley. at least he had the decency to keep them somewhat subtle.

── .✦

to his displeasure, he found himself working with you often. things moved at break neck speed in hell's kitchen, and with the daredevil's interferences, the job hadn't been made much easier.

"what am i, wes?" you scoffed as he began to load yet another injured man into the back of your car, "an ambulance?"

"our employer wants him back alive. bring him back alive."

you drummed your fingers on the steering wheel boredly. "you know, a please wouldn't hurt."

he stared at you in disbelief.

you continued, unphased, "i know all the speed bumps around this place, babes. say it or i spend my time driving over each one of them."

the nicknames — it was always the nicknames that seemed to push wesley's buttons. with a grunt, he shoved the man into a seated position haphazardly and slammed the door. the stranger sprawled in the backseat groaned.

"rough night, buddy?" you asked, not bothering to wait for a response. he was writhing in pain. "yeah. me too."

your eyes flickered over his form, bruised and beaten, face pallid and eyes glazed. it didn't take a doctor to see that the man had one hand reaching out to death's doorbell. why had fisk insisted on keeping this one? how he was still breathing was a mystery in itself, let alone whatever happened to the poor soul.

still, your questions were less pressing than the current task at hand and the fat paycheck that awaited if you fulfilled it, so you forced your eyes back ahead at the road.

"no worries if you bleed all over the leather," you said, this time more to yourself than any present company, "i'll just get wesley to pay for my detailing."

── .✦

you couldn't be mad as wesley for a lot. he did, in fact, take care of cleaning up your precious car after that night. he took care of a lot of things when they spiraled out of control. practically all of his time was dedicated to running around and cleaning up loose ends that your inferiors left behind. so, while you might've complained about the job you had to do — out of earshot from your employer or other employees, obviously — you've never exactly envied james wesley. not his position, at least. more than often, you wondered if he ever got tired of it.

you got your answer during a particularly slow thursday. for you, at least. not the man you were watching, who was having a heated conversation on the phone.

fisk had taken up the task of setting up an art gallery on behalf of vanessa marianna. the sudden infatuation with the mystery woman didn't surprise you, but you hadn't heard too much about it. it was uncomfortable being left in the dark for once. it left you itching for something to do. no, you weren't exactly needed on the site — the point of contention being over decor and not drugs — but you came to offer help anyway.

and given that wesley sounded like he was halfway to murdering the person on the other end of the phone, you arrived just in time. their words were hushed, barely audible from where you were standing, but you could tell that something in his usually careful intonation was slipping.

you decided to interrupt the moment he hung up.

"you look cheerful," you commented, approaching him from behind.

the man turned to you with an expression of weariness you'd never seen on his face before. he was ostensibly still put together as he always was, but you caught a glimpse of something unfamiliar in his presentation. there was something in the slope of his usually squared shoulders, his slightly wrinkled suit jacket, the subtle dark circles forming under his eyes — it bothered you that you just knew.

enough so, in fact, that you didn't even bother asking.

"i uh… i know this one place. good diner. decent coffee," you started. the earnest sentiment crept its way into your tone, making you feel foolish and clumsy. approaching him with friendliness when he still looked halfway ready to slaughter the next inconvenience that came his way was more difficult than you had imagined.

you forced the rest of the words out anyway. "it's not a far drive. we could uh… you know. get you something to eat. perk you up at bit."

it wasn't surprising he declined almost immediately. to someone as driven as him, the prospect of leaving this disaster uncleaned was a death sentence.

"i shouldn't be abandoning my duties," wesley replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off an oncoming headache and the temptation of actually getting a moment to breathe.

but as he had come to know: you didn't relent easily.

"did you even sleep last night after that massive fucking shootout? did you evem eat breakfast?"

you never lowered your tone, and yet, the fact always alarmed him. he shot you a warning look.

"i don't see why that's a concern—"

"look at you!" you exclaimed, gesturing at him vaguely — which received a mildly offended look from the weary man — "you're not making it alive out of this day if you don't take a break. c'mon. hell's kitchen won't burn itself down if you decide to take a few minutes for brunch."

you and your sudden openness. he seemed to take note of it almost immediately and suddenly you wished you had never spoken at all, wanting to shrink back into whatever you had before. the cool indifference of being impersonal and strictly business affiliated felt so much easier than bordering on… what? earnest concern?

"you're asking me to have… brunch with you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. he almost seemed amused at the prospect — an idea which you disregarded, chalking up the unfamiliar glint in his eyes to the florescent lights of the room.

"take the fucking break."

you tried your best to sound demanding and unaffected but at that moment, he cracked a smile. a real smile. not the half smirk that he usually wore, but an honest smile — subtle enough to make you question whether you had simply hallucinated the pleasant looking upturn of his lips.

"looks like you're forcing my hand. if our employer asks," he lowered his voice, leaning in slightly, "you're the one in trouble."

with an effort that took all of your strength, you ignored the odd way your face heated up at the words, the way your heart seemed to leap in your chest at the look of genuine gratitude on the other man's face. as smoothly as possible, you turned for the door and started walking off, throwing him a glance over your shoulder.