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daredevilkink2015-05-16 07:55 pm
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Prompt Post #2
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Dark!Fill: No Place for Good Men 2/3
(Anonymous) 2015-05-27 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)It would be easier to arrange for someone to go to a party, Wesley thinks, if that person wasn't keeping their name strictly confidential.
Fisk, he's informed, doesn't like to have his name in too many places. Therefore he will be attending the party but doing so anonymously.
The people who need to know who he is will know, Wesley was told. So there it was, the way it would be, and Wesley does the best with what he has.
It's not that different from the job he had before, Wesley find. By the time the gala is only a day away he lets himself be a little bit relieved that he can do the job after all.
A long box arrives at his flat the morning of the gala. Wesley opens it to find a dress in deep purple, shot through with a little bit of shimmering black and silver where the dress catches the light. It falls down to his needs, short sleeve and off the shoulders in an obvious fifties vintage style. He's surprised the dress doesn't come with pearls, white gloves. But instead there's just a matching paid of heels, and a small clutch purse.
There was also a card, made of thick expensive paper. He pulls his it out with hands that shake a little and turns it so can see what it said.
For Ms. Wesley,
Job well done.
There are very few things Wesley want's to do less than put on that dress. But Fisk bought it, picked it out, and sent it to him.
So he gets up, showers, shaves his legs, tries to make his shoulder length black curls into something respectable, and puts on makeup.
By the time he's dress, panty, hoes, the only bra he has that won't show, dress, and shoes, he feels like crying or maybe throwing up.
He can't look at himself in his little bathroom mirror. The dress shows a little cleavage, not enough to be vulgar but a hint. He's hyperaware of it, ware of the way his bra and dress feels against them.
He can't have a break down now though, he needs to get out of his flat and do a job. So he picks up his little clutch and heads for the door.
There is a very large black SUV parked outside. Wesley hesitated and a driver climbs out of the front and opens the passenger door for him.
Frisk is already sitting in the back seat, in a tux and Wesley gets stabbed with intense jealously when he sees him.
He would give anything not to be in this dress, not to be in this skin, but something completely different.
The windows are tinted so he can't even look out one of them to distract himself.
"Congratulations." Fisk said in the deep, low rasp he seems to always use. "You did an excellent job with the arrangements Ms. Wesley."
Wesley only smiles tightly. He's skin itches all over, but also feels already rubbed raw.
The dress is beautiful and no doubt cost a fortune, but he's not sure he'll be able to make it through this while wearing it.
He clenched his teeth, he wasn't going to scream, cry or break down. He is going to smile, and be cordial. He was going to get through this gala and secure himself the personal assistant position. Then he was going to be the best personal assistant Fisk ever had, so good Fisk would never be able to replace him. There was no other option, he wouldn't let himself even consider failing.
"Is there something wrong?" Fisk was staring at him and Wesley should his head.
"Everything's find."
"You should know." Fisk's voice hadn't changed but there was an edge to it, one that made Wesley sit up and take notice. "I do not like being lied to."
Their gazes locked.
"It's a personal issue." Wesley said. "If it affected my work I would let you know."
He was close tot the edge and he knew it but Fisk just at back. "You do that." Fisk looked away and Wesley let his shoulders relax a little bit.
"Yes sir."
The location when the got there was a beautiful old-fashioned hotel. They were both ushered out of the car by security and through the lobby into what Wesley could only describe as a ballroom.
It was full of people: men in tuxes and women in jewel colored dresses, servers flitting between them with trays of Champaign and food.
"Wilson."
They both turn to see a lady coming towards them, smiling. When she was close enough to hooked her arm through Fisk's.
"I am so glad to see you." She said and he smiled at her, a real smile, full of warmth.
The lady laughed and pulled him away, while Wesley watched them go.
She wasn't beautiful he noted, but elegant and refined. It made a certain amount of sense that, this was what Fisk wanted, not all of the blond models he could have, but something with a cultured grace.
Not like Wesley, because right now Wesley was nothing, a hole in the shape of a person.
But maybe, one day he could wear a suit, walk as a man by Fisk's side and have a certain amount of elegant of his own.
The sadness filled him like cold, dirty water, chilling him all the way through. He turned a little jerkily and almost collided with a server.
"I'm so sorry." Wesley reached out a head, steadied the young lady and then slipped by her, into the lobby.
There were marble benches against the wall here and he sat ignoring the questioning looks he got from the ladies working behind the front counter.
He didn’t want to be here, he didn't want to be in his dress, or hell this skin.
Laughed rang from the other room.
He couldn't leave, he'd been fired for sure and without this job … the old fear gripped him but he pushed it way.
Things were different now, he had skills and money saved up, if he walked about of here he'd be able to get another job. He most certainly would not be on the street.
Could he live with hearing Fisk call him Ms. Wesley, every day?
The glass doors that they'd come through where across the lobby from him, the glass gleaming gold around the edges from the evening light He could see the street beyond them, all be it distorting things into colored smudges.
He could leave, walked away now. He could start over under a different name – a man's name, go somewhere where people would never know.
"Wesley."
The sounds of his name without the dreaded honorary makes him turn to find Fisk standing in the doorway.
"Come." Fisk said beckoning to him. "I need you at my side."
And like that it's decided; something inside him flips, comes into clarity. He stands and moves across the room next to Fisk.
"I'm here." He says and knows he's not leaving, not now, not ever.
It doesn't stop things from hurting though, doesn’t make it better.
***
He only makes it into the hall of his flat before he collapses but he's proud that he made it that far.
Alone he can indulge in weakness, so he lies there in the hall, looking up at the ceiling.
He imagines going into the kitchen and getting a knife, peeling his skin with it. In his mind he can see what it would looking, the skin coming away in long twisting corkscrew slices, like the skin of a ripe pear.
His breasts he could cut off one at a time, detaching them from his body like little mounds of dough. They would be soft and white in his hands. For the first time he don't hate them only feels deep affection in this goodbye. Because it would be goodbye, and then they could be gone for good, falling onto the floor next to his abandoned flash.
What would he find underneath all of that? What kind of person would he be than? Bare, bloody and new.
He does not go and get a knife.
Instead he just lies on the floor staring at the ceiling feeling himself breath.
He's turned a corner, without even realizing, and there is no going back now.
Fisk had said, he needed Wesley to stay by his side, and Wesley will but not like this.
Not any more.
He lies there until the sun comes up. If he slept he couldn't remember it. He gets up and changes and showers.
It's Saturday so he don't have work. Instead he looks up hair salons and goes out to get his haircut.
It all comes off, the girls working on him gives him a very respectable rather conservative men's cut without asking too many questions.
Next he buys several off the rack suits, that don't really fit him but he decides he'll improvise. He buys shoes, new underwear and ties too and take it all home again with him.
Back at his flat he goes through his closet and dresser, takes out all the women's clothes and puts them in a box.
The t-shirts and jeans stay, and the new suits go into the closest.
***
He comes into work, brace, ready for a fight.
He comes into work in a new grey suit and tie, hair all newly cut and combed.
That morning when he'd dressed carefully, watching himself in the mirror, he thought he didn't look like himself. He looked like someone better, but there is still a good possibility he will be loosing his job today.
He gets stairs all the way from the lobby to his own office. He ignores them with the last remaining vestiges of the bravado that brought him here dressed like that in the first place.
When he gets to his office though the bravery evaporates and Wesley sinks down into his chair, shaking a little bit.
Will Fisk be angry? Wesley doesn't want to think about that.
The phone on his desk beeps, Fisk's number. Wesley heart starts hammering in his chest but he answers it anyway.
"Please meet me in my office, to discuss last night." Fisk says, voice giving nothing away but Wesley's heart sinks anyway.
"Yes sir." He hangs up and then stands-passes one hand down his dress shirt to make sure it's smooth, straightens and buttons his jacket.
The moment of truth as arrived.
Fisk is sitting at his desk going through paperwork when Wesley pulls the door open and steps into Fisk's office.
He looks up and then really looks at Wesley, what Wesley is wearing, take it all in.
Wesley stands straight, keeps his eyes straight ahead and just waits.
"You did good work." Fisk says. "You seem to be detailed oriented and discrete, I believe we could work well together."
For a moment Wesley blinked, "So …"
"The job is yours." Fisk said. "If you want it."
"I … of course." Wesley couldn't even think, it was too good to be real. "Of course I accept your office."
"Good." Fisk said and then paused watching Wesley." It occurs to me." He started this time feeling out every word with care. "That we have never been properly introduced you and I. I of course I know what people have told me about you but you …" He trailed off for a moment still looking at Wesley. "I fear I have made assumptions."
"Yes you have." Talking back to Fisk was surely a bad idea but the words were already out there hanging between them. Wesley kept himself still, kept his chin up eyes gaze meeting Fisk's.
Fisk inclined his head in small nod. "My apologizes." He said. "Please tell me what you would like to be called."
It was like someone opened a door Wesley hadn't even realized was there beyond it he could see the sky for the first time and sunlight spilling through.
"Wesley." He said. "Not 'Ms.' Just Wesley please."
Fisk nodded. "Very well." He said and stood coming around the desk. "From now on I will call you Wesley."
He held out his hand, and Wesley took it in his own and shook it.
***
There was a box waiting for him when he got home.
Identical to the ones the dress had come in and Wesley's heart twisted as he pull off the lid. On top of tissue paper was a card just like the last time.
Apologies
Wesley pushed aside the tissue paper to find a dark suit, obviously tailored made from the finest cloth Wesley had ever touched. There was crisp white shirt too, gold cufflinks, a silk tie and matching pocket square.
For a long time he just kneels in the front hall of his flat and stares at the box. Then he picks it up and carries it into his bedroom.
***
Someone must have said something.
Correction, Fisk must have said something.
No one stared at him this time when he came to work in his new suit. No one even looks at him and Wesley thinks he prefers that.
"Good." Fisk says when Wesley steps into Fisk's office.
He moves across the room, up close to Wesley touches the lapel of his suit jacket, the not of his tie.
"I'm glad it fits." Fisk says, like he doesn't have everything worth knowing about Wesley, including his suit size, on file. Like he doesn't already know everything.
Wesley lets out a long shaking breath. "Thank you." He says. "Sir."
Fisk only smiles.