A/n- I just saw the movie (it is amazing) and my boyfriend owns the game- Timothy Olyphant is awesome! On the way home from the theater I heard Jordin Sparks' new song 'Tattoo' and it inspired me to write up this little one-shot! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine- except the plot.

Summary: Set during the movie. Nika and Agent 47 are on the run.

Diaka

The rain that splattered off the ceramic eaves created the distinct sound of needles as it tapped gently on the windows along the hotels' hallway. The plush carpet diffused the sound, masking the weather's intensity.

Agent 47 turned the gold door handle gently; the food parcel that was tucked under his arm slipping slightly as the door swung back on its perfectly oiled hinges. Such luxurious surroundings- how foolish… too ostentatious.

Still, such a hotel trumped any kind of roadside Inn they had come across in their many days previous. That, plus he felt the tiniest hint of sympathy for his female companion. 47 would bet his life on the fact that she preferred these surroundings to the trunk of his stolen car.

Stepping through the threshold, he stopped short.

The curtains on every window were drawn together; that plus the storm clouds outside and the room was claustrophobic; shadowy. What rays of light that did filter in through the gaps at the tops and bottoms of the windows were grey and minimal at best.

Wonderful, 47 thought, she was in a mood. Leave her alone for a couple hours and she gets depressed. The door closed just as silently as it had opened, his hand having never left its cool, mahogany surface.

"Nik-" He cut himself off as he set the food on the table.

A wine glass, stained red from its contents and the aftereffects of her lipstick, had been crushed against the varnished table, the contents having dripped down the side of the desk.

It wasn't like her to waste good liquor.

Two heartbeats and 47 drew out the gun that had been hidden in the back of his belt, the silencer already screwed onto barrel. Backing up, he was instantly hidden in the shadows.

The front room, a circular space, where 47 was squared against the wall, expanded out to the right through ornate French doors to the bedroom and adjacent bath. One of the doors had been closed; he couldn't see if anyone was beyond it.

Steeling himself, while ignoring the odd thump of his heart against his ribcage, 47 swiveled outwards, aiming a swift kick to the closed door. The wickerwork was forced off its stopper, swinging in a large arc on its hinge and banging into the wall behind it. It shuttered against itself.

A sharp breath hitched in 47's chest.

Nika was slouched in a chair, back to him, head tilted upwards toward the ceiling; although he couldn't see her face. Her left arm dangled limply, but her right was resting on a small round end table at the left corner of the bed, cigarette lit and burning in her fingers- which where practically in the ashtray.

There was blood on the hand holding the cigarette.

"Fuck." 47 turned on the spot, scanning the room.

It was silent, and quite still.

Stowing his gun, he crept towards Nika's body, the faintest hint of despair rising in his throat.

He knew they would find him- find her- eventually. Perhaps if he had been there he could have saved her… again.

Suddenly, and without any kind of warning, Nika moved.

47 froze where he stood, inches behind her.

"You know," She hissed through her teeth. "You aren't so quiet; I knew you were standing there."

Sighing, 47 strode away, shrugging off the jacket around his shoulders, throwing it angrily onto a chair in the corner.

"I thought you were dead."

Nika smiled bitterly, taking another drag of nicotine. "Not yet." She chuckled. "Not yet." 47 glared at her.

"There was blood-"

"I smashed the glass." She said simply, gesturing in the air; her hand showed a long scratch along the palm- the blood there was dry. Her eyes, unblinking, still stared up at the ceiling. The she added, "I was angry."

"Apparently," came 47's reply.

Nika swiveled in her chair, getting up slowly, catlike, her long legs extending little by little. She was performing a little show on purpose, 47 knew that. He kept his gaze on her eyes, he had to; she was only wearing a thong again.

"What do you want from me, huh?" She spat at him, a hand on her hip.

"I brought you food."

"I don't care what you do!"

"You're drunk again."

"I am completely sober- stop ignoring the conversation!"

47's face was calculatingly blank; his eyes darted from Nika's face to the window, then back again. "It seems less like a conversation and more like a chance for you to yell at me."

"You're-" She broke off and made a forced, frustrated noise, stubbing her cigarette out in the ashtray, turning away from him. "It's hard to think like this- to live like his. I don't know if I'm tired, hungry, upset, or what." Without a word she walked daintily out of the room and towards the foyer, heading for the food.

Loosening his tie, rolling his eyes, 47 dipped down to the mini-bar next to the nightstand. Vodka and other various liquor bottles rattled as the door to the fridge opened. Pushing away the alcohol, 47 took out a cold bottle of water; sitting down on the bed he screwed off the twist top.

In the other room he could hear Nika unwrapping the sandwich and crackers.

"What is this?"

Her voice was slightly amused and sweet at the same time; as if she had completely forgiven him.

47 tipped the plastic bottle back, the cold water easing the unnatural feeling he had experienced when he had thought Nika was dead. There was still a hard jumpiness lodged in his chest. He let out a soft breath. "Hmm?"

"There are no pickles on this sandwich," now she was definitely amused. "you don't like pickles or something?"

He didn't answer her, but leaned back against the silky pillows of the queen sized bed, resting his feet up on the comforter. Slowly, almost cautiously, 47 took another drink of water.

Sandwich in hand- minus the crackers- Nika strutted back into the bedroom, flopping herself down on the other side of him, a bite already gone of her meal.

"I thought the crackers were a bit useless, seeing as we don't have the wine anymore." She explained, mouth full. When 47 gave no reply, she turned to look at him; he was staring at the door to the bathroom.

Nika chewed in silence, studying his face and lack of expression. Her brows came together as she mulled over the internal conversation she was having with herself.

"Here," handing off the other half of the sandwich, she plucked the half empty drink out of 47's hands. Nika downed the rest.

"There are other bottles, you know." 47 said coolly.

"Yeah, but I figured you didn't mind, you know, vicariously kissing me so much," her eyes squinted at him as she talked. 47 resisted the smile that threatened to twitch over his lips; Nika grinned.

"I really did think you were dead."

At this, the girl became silent, eyeing the ashtray on the table. "Next time don't leave while I'm still sleeping," her gaze flicked up at him, "and I won't think you're gone. I thought you left me."

"I wouldn't do that," and it was hard for 47 to rationalize that the reason he didn't leave was for her protection and not because of… something else. He chewed his food slowly.

There was a moment of silence…. then,

"You don't mind kissing me, do you?"

"Nika…" 47 began, exasperated, sitting up.

"Because if you do," she started, half rolling- half stepping over his legs to land on the carpet so she could open the mini-bar. "I mean, I completely understand. Who would want to kidnap such a beautiful little whore like me?" It seemed that the iciness had seeped back into her voice. She pulled out a tiny vodka bottle. "I'm just not that pretty to look at." 47 glared at her, getting up as well as she straightened up to stand next to him, trying to feign searching for a glass as she pretended not to notice the way he was sort of looming over her. "I'm just so useful to have around, you know, to take out to dinner as some kind of decoy, to walk around like some kind of trophy. No, no, I get it. It's just-"

"I don't," 47 said sharply.

Nika looked up at him. "What?" She snapped.

"I don't mind."

Nika pursed her lips. "What; kissing me?"47 looked away. Her mouth slowly formed a small 'o', the bottle hanging limply in her hand. "Why don't you then?" Her voice was low, breathy, challenging. She was standing so close to him she could see the clearness of his gaze.

For a moment, she thought he was about to do something- something meaningful. His lips parted just a fraction, and his chest moved sharply up and down. His eyes were locked upon hers.

Nika could see- perhaps it was her imagination- the emotional conflict raging within him.

Duty or pleasure? Duty or pleasure?

"You should get some rest," he said finally, emotionlessly, stepping past her and opening up the bathroom door, closing it behind him. There was a small click. He had locked it

After a minute or so, Nika heard the shower turning on and she went back to lie on top of the bed, not bothering to pull back the sheets.

Curling herself around the pillow, she felt a strange despair rise within her breast.

Rejection.

Slowly, as fatigue took her, she felt tears brimming at the edges of her already smudged and tired eyes.

She was asleep before the water stopped running.

A/n-

I hope you enjoyed! If anyone is interested, the title is also the name of a very expensive vodka brand. I'd like to think it's Nika's premiere choice. I don't own it either.

Please review!

edit- I said I wouldn't do a second chapter... but since everyone asked so nicely I'll begin working on one.