Hitman is property of its respective owners
Nika sat in the middle of a three seat row with 47 on her left side on the airBaltic as other passengers boarded around them, anxiously turning the simple silver band at her left ring finger. 47 had presented the ring to her as they sat in their rental car in the airport parking lot not more than an hour ago. It had not been done as a proposal, or with any sort of fanfare or sentimental words; he had simply placed it in her outstretched palm, and she understood that it was only a prop to keep up the appearance that they were a married couple, but slipping it on her ring finger, feeling the cool, smooth metal settle against her skin perfectly, filled her heart with an unfamiliarly blissful anticipation. She had smiled to herself even knowing 47 was completely oblivious to its significance to her.
In all the time she had been with Belicoff, controlled by him, she had always been the whore. He had never tried portraying her in a different light; never the wife, never the girlfriend. And even though the clothes he bought for her made it pretty fucking obvious what her 'job' was, he had never even tried to refute it when they walked down the street together, never stood up to the men that asked "How much?", had only ever sold her off for the night if the price was right. It wasn't until a long time later, until 47 had rescued her from that life that she had finally stopped believing that a whore was what she really was, was all that she was. And it wasn't until 47 had given her the ring that she had felt she was truly someone's equal. 47 trusted her enough that he wanted her at his side as they ventured into this dangerously risky situation together.
But if she was full of that warm feeling of belonging as she sat in the passenger seat of that rental car then, she was most definitely not full of that warmth now, not as their plane, the very first plane Nika had ever been on in her whole fucking life, was taxiing through the darkness of a mild Latvian summer evening toward the runway, preparing for take off.
She brought her hands down to the armrests, fingers gripping tightly to the rigid plastic and metal, as her heart beat against her ribcage like a frightened canary. She suddenly felt 47's hand on hers and she jumped. Her head whipped to the left, looking at him helplessly.
He pried her hand up from the armrest gently and laced his fingers with hers, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Are you okay?"
"First flight," she choked out.
Realization dawned across his face and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm right here."
Nika forced a tight nod, then felt her fluttering heart jump up into her throat when the engines roared to life and the plane jolted forward. She clamped her fingers around his to the point where she thought she might have been hurting him, but he didn't pull away and a quick look to his face showed no discomfort, only a soft, encouraging smile. It calmed her nerves a bit, and when the plane finally evened out, she exhaled, thankful that it hadn't tanked right into the fucking ground for all the noise the damn thing made.
47 cleared his throat and when she looked over at him she saw that she was still clutching his hand. She released her death grip, casting him an apologetic look. "That wasn't so bad," she said, a shaky laugh following her words.
After all the near death experiences she had been through with 47, and everything there were about to walk into in less than two hours, and the one thing that caused her a near-crushing anxiety spike was a goddamn plane ride.
47's voice drifted over to her. "The first takeoff is always the worst. It will get easier for you the more we fly."
Nika smiled and looked at him. "And how many more flights are you planning for us?"
He settled back against his seat, undoing his seat belt and smoothing his tie down his chest. "After our files are erased, I see no reason why we can't just fly to France," he answered simply.
Nika's smile widened fractionally, though unlike 47, she opted to keep her belt buckled purely for safety's sake; bouncing between all the various modes of transportation since they had begun their journey as a way to cover their tracks had been more than fucking trying, and just the thought of getting on one more damn train had set her nerves on edge. The relief she felt at the realization that they'd be able to move from one destination to another without having to look over their shoulders every five fucking minutes soothed her nerves more than any shot of vodka ever could have.
"And," 47 continued, entwining his fingers with hers again, his voice low and uncharacteristically timid, "There is much of this world that I'd like to share with you." He cast his eyes down to their joined hands. "Once we've finished this, there's nothing holding us back from seeing it together, after we've had a chance to settle in at the vineyard."
Nika sank back in her seat, her heart warmed by the fact that he had been putting so much thought into their future plans, something she had not really had a chance to think about any further than simply getting to their plot of land. They spent the rest of their short flight, heads bent together, quietly talking about all the places they might visit, all the places Nika had always dreamt of seeing.
And until they finally touched down, she had almost forgotten they were even on an airplane, so absorbed was she in their conversation. They walked brusquely through the brightly lit CPH terminal after deboarding the plane, Nika finding it much easier to keep up with 47's long strides when she wasn't wearing high heels.
They stopped at the baggage carousel and only had to wait a few moments until their single piece of luggage made its appearance amongst a handful of other bags. 47 hefted it in one hand easily and grasped Nika's with the other, leading her through the crowd to the airport's entrance. One easy push through the plate glass doors and they were outside.
The not all-together unpleasant humid night air that greeted them was so much like the warm summer evenings in St. Petersburg that Nika momentarily felt an almost overwhelming rush of homesickness. But how could she feel homesick for a place she could never really consider home? True, it had been a place she had spent almost half her life, it was all she really knew, but it was also a place that had tested and broken the limits of her spirit, a place that had taught her more about the sometimes boundless capacity for cruelty in others than she had ever wanted to know.
Nika drew her hand into a shaky fist, digging her nails into her palm in an attempt to control her near-rampant emotions as 47 stepped to the curb to hail a cab. She centered her focus on him, on the stretch of tight muscle at his shoulder, visible even under his suit jacket as he raised his arm, focused on the short stubbly hair growing against his scalp, dark as she had always known it would be, focused on the thick silver band on the left ring finger of his outstretched hand, glinting dully in the overhead florescent lights, and she knew, with more conviction than she'd ever felt before, that it didn't matter where she was in this world, if she was with 47, she was home.
A cab pulled to a stop before him and he turned and motioned to Nika as she stood back from the curb a little ways. He held the rear door open for her as she stepped forward, then slid in next to her once she was settled in her seat, holding their suitcase full of disassembled weapons in his lap. He leaned forward, most likely giving the driver their destination in a language Nika knew was Danish, but couldn't hope to understand. The driver, a middle-aged man with a thin, angular face and an unruly mop of pale blond hair stuffed up under a pageboy cap, nodded and eased the car away from the curb and into the steady flow of traffic surrounding the airport.
47 sat unmoving, silently staring ahead, his eyes somehow distant and acutely alert at the same time. Nika knew that look. She also knew better than to distract him when he was mentally reviewing their plan of action.
She let her gaze drift to the window, to the brightly lit cityscape as it passed by in a blur, taking the quiet moment to go over the plan herself, trying to remember everything 47 had told her on their four hour car ride from Rēzekne to Riga.
The ICA operates on a global scale with contract information being sent electronically and by intricate satellite modalities to hitmen stationed in various locales across the world. It also manages multiple training and armory facilities throughout Denmark, but it is unlikely that there will be any Agents at the headquarters, since it largely only houses the Agency's archives and computer servers. That is not to say that the building won't be under surveillance, in addition to the guards stationed inside to protect the ICA's classified intel.
Diana will help us to gain entry through an emergency exit at the rear of the building and from there we will move to the second and the third floors, consecutively, to locate our files from the separate archive rooms. We will exit the building through our initial entry point.
Remember to keep focused, fire your weapon only when necessary as it's not suppressed, be aware of your surroundings at all times, and if something happens and we are separated, you get the hell out, Nika. Do not stop, do not look back. Get out and go to the vineyard and I will meet you there.
The cab slowed abruptly, bringing Nika back to the present. She lightly patted the zippered cargo pocket on her thigh, reassuring herself that the deeds were still where she had put them after 47 had passed them to her in the rental car. She had nodded then, had sworn to him that she would run if they got separated, if the unspeakable happened, but secretly knew she never could; she would do whatever she could to make sure that they left that goddamn building together, that he'd be right by her side when she stepped onto that land in the south of France for the first time.
She looked out the window when the cab pulled to a stop in a darkened business district on the outskirts of downtown Copenhagen, assessing the unassuming flat topped office buildings lining the street around them, trying to guess which one housed the Agency. Each structure seemed to look only slightly different than the last, barely discernable but for the varying neutral shades of the plaster covering them and the fact that some of them went up five stories or more while others only seemed to have three levels at the most. The streetlamps edging the sidewalk tinged each building-front with a subtly orange glow and cast deep black shadows into the spaces between them.
47 paid the driver and moved out of the car, holding his hand out for Nika once he had straightened outside of the cab. She scooted toward the open door and offered the driver a quick thank you before grasping 47's hand, and allowing him to pull her out onto the sidewalk. They stood under the light of a streetlamp until the cab disappeared back down the street in the direction they had just come from. And just like that, it was only the two of them standing alone in the desertion of an after-hours business district.
Nika looked up to 47's face. He was peering up the road with a scowl, but brought his gaze down to her, the lines on his face smoothing out when she lightly squeezed their still joined hands. "I'm ready when you are," she said with more conviction than she felt.
He nodded slowly, looking again up the street, before pulling her into the shadowed area between the buildings beside them. He led her back to a narrow alleyway that was bracketed on the opposite side by even more office buildings, but was clear of other people and lit dimly by small sconces hanging over each building's rear doorways.
47 crouched low, setting the suitcase on the gravel before him, opening it quickly. Nika knelt beside him and watched in amazement as he pieced together three guns, his two Silverballers and Nika's Makarov, from their loose, disassembled parts with barely a second glance to what he had grabbed out of the bag. It wasn't long until he was handing her her pistol and loaded clip, settling his own into the holsters under his jacket with a practiced ease.
He straightened, hefting the suitcase into a nearby dumpster, then stepped back and stood before her, smoothing his tie down his chest, his thumb rubbing against the back of the material for a moment, his eyes dark and serious in the weak light. "Do you remember what I said earlier, about what to do if we get separated?"
Nika nodded, casting her eyes to the ground between them. How could she forget? Do not stop, do not look back.
47 hooked a finger under her chin, bringing her gaze up to his, a slight frown tugging at his mouth. "Do you remember?" he asked again.
She pulled away from his hand, an unwanted spark of anger stinging through her. She didn't want to be mad at him, not now, not ever, but she couldn't help it. "Yes, Forty-seven, I fucking remember," she hissed, "Run and don't look back". Which I would never consider doing, she thought to herself.
He rubbed a hand down his face then let it fall limply to his side. Stark shadows pooled under his eyes. "For my own piece of mind, Nika, I need to know you'll do it. Please." His tone was pleading and desperate and immediately diffused her unwarranted anger.
She sighed resignedly. "I said I'd do it."
His eyes assessed her uncertainly for a moment before he turned without a word and began walking down the alleyway. Nika followed, driving her clip into the butt of her gun, chambering a round like 47 had taught her. And nearly ran right into the back of him when he stopped abruptly. He suddenly turned to face her and Nika glanced around bewildered at what he might have seen.
"What's…" The rest of her word were eaten up by 47's mouth crushing against hers hungrily, needful, like he might not get another chance to taste her. She was caught off guard by his kiss, her body momentarily frozen by shock, and it wasn't until she felt his hands tangling in her hair, tugging her head back gently, that she was jolted from her immobility. Her lips parted breathlessly, her free hand coming up to clutch his tie in a tight fist, her mouth returning his kiss with a greedy intensity.
But just as quickly as his mouth had been on hers, it was gone. She blinked her eyes open dazedly, swaying a bit, her heart thumping in that riotous pattern that only 47's kisses could incite.
He brought his hand up to her cheek and she couldn't help but turn into the touch.
"Remember," he began.
"I know, Forty-seven," she broke in, slightly irritated that he felt the need to remind her again about his specific instruction.
"Remember," he said again, firmly, "that I love you, Nika."
He brushed the pad of his thumb across her dragon tattoo, before dropping his hand into a pocket on his jacket.
"I love you too," she whispered.
He nodded, pulling a small earpiece from his pocket and settling it in his ear. "Then let's finish this."
He turned toward a building on the left, a structure as unassuming as any of the others, tapping the earpiece lightly. "Diana, we're here."
Nika's stomach roiled uneasily, and she took a deep breath to try to steel her nerves. Squaring her shoulders and bringing her gun up in her hands helped her to feel stronger, more in control, and when 47 glanced back at her, she nodded tightly. He released his pistol from its holster, and grasping it in his right hand, looked back to the heavy metal door. There was a soft click as he reached for the handle, and when he gave it a turn, it opened noiselessly.
Nika watched as he stepped in first, clearing the room. He motioned silently for her to follow. She did quickly and found that she was standing in an empty concrete stairwell, with a metal and cement staircase directly in front of her leading to the upper levels. There was a steel door to the left of the start of the stairs, though it did not seem as thick as the one they had just stepped through.
47 paused for a moment, head tilted slightly, listening to Diana. He turned back to Nika. "These stairs are clear to the third floor for ninety more seconds."
They sprinted up two flights, Nika silently congratulating herself for keeping up so well with 47, and stopped on the third floor landing before a door identical to the one on the first floor. A soft click indicated when Diana had unlocked it. Nika stepped forward, but 47 held his hand up, stopping her. She held back, readjusting the grip on her pistol as 47 slowly opened the door. A guard, dressed in a black tactical jacket and gray slacks stood with his back to them, completely oblivious to them standing in the doorway not three feet behind him. 47 moved forward silently, grasping the man about his neck and bringing the butt of his gun down on his head with a crushing force. The man immediately went limp in his arms.
Nika stepped into the hallway, closing the stairwell door softly. 47 was dragging the unconscious guard toward a utility closet and she walked over quickly, opening the narrow door. He stuffed the man in carefully.
"The second guard on this level is patrolling on the northeastern quadrant. Diana will alert us when he rotates back this way." 47 spoke quickly, his tone pitched low.
Nika silently gestured for him to lead the way, uncertain her voice wouldn't crack for how dry her throat suddenly seemed to be.
He turned away from her and began walking down the short corridor, with its pristinely white walls, Nika following closely behind him. He took a right at a branch in the hallway, then a left, leading her down a corridor exactly identical to the last two. They passed three closed doors, before 47 pulled to a stop in front of one near the end of the hallway. A key card device attached beside the door showed a blinking red light for a moment before the light flashed to a steady green. 47 opened the door quickly and ushered Nika inside.
Automated fluorescent lights came to life as soon as the door clicked shut, illuminating a large white, windowless room filled with neat rows of tall, black metal cabinets. Nika stood rooted to her spot as 47 holstered his pistol and made his way down one of the rows.
"Is this all of the contracts the Agency has out?" she asked, astonished.
47 opened a cabinet near the middle of the room, sliding out the long drawer and flicking through the many files in the row. "Yes, these are contracts that have not been completed yet, organized alphabetically. Agent files are located on the floor beneath us." He pulled a manila file folder from the row and closed the drawer carefully, then walked back to her as she stood by the door.
"And when the contracts are completed? What happens to the files then?"
47 nodded toward a wide stainless-steel tube set in the corner that ran from the floor to the ceiling. A small hatch was positioned in the middle of it, with a tiny, thick-glassed window set into the metal door. "The hard copies are incinerated and the electronic records remain encrypted in the ICA's database." He held the file out to her. "Would you like to do the honors?"
She did not hesitate to take it from his hand. It was the last remnant of her old life- a life she was eager to move on from.
Nika looked down at the file as she stepped to the incinerator, seeing a small black and white photo of her face paper clipped to the top corner. She almost didn't recognize herself; heavy, dark makeup, mouth set in a downturned, disaffected line, haughty eyes barely concealing the sadness inside.
She tore her gaze away from the picture, refusing to be overwhelmed by the sudden rush of memories that flooded her mind. 47 stepped to stand next to her and showed her how to operate the incinerator, and after a few moments, the old Nika Boronina was nothing more than ash.
The relief she felt was like a heavy, suffocatingly hot fur coat being lifted from her shoulders. She turned to 47, smiling. He returned it with a smile of his own, then bent his head to the side slightly, listening to Diana. His smile instantly faded.
"The second guard is circling back. We have two minutes to get back to the stairwell."
Nika's heart skipped a beat, but she followed behind 47 as he turned and walked to the door quickly. The hallway was as empty and silent as they had left it.
47 wasted no time in striding down the corridor, taking a right at the corner. Nika slowed for a moment, glancing down at her pistol as she too rounded the corner, just checking to make sure the safety was off, and when she looked back up, 47 was gone; the hallway was empty. She immediately stopped, panic flooding her heart. If we are separated…
She nervously licked her lips. Don't be fucking ridiculous, Nika, she chided herself sternly, He's probably waiting for me at the stairwell already.
She held her breath, trying to listen for footsteps and heard nothing.
It's okay; he couldn't have gone that far, right? She gripped her gun a little tighter and crept down the hallway cautiously. And still no sounds other than her own soft footsteps on the tile and her heart pounding rapidly in her chest hit her ears.
She came to an intersecting corridor and was faced three choices: straight, left, or right. A glance down each and confirmed that, yes, they were all exactly, irritatingly fucking identical. Shit. She picked the right turn and hurried around the corner, having no idea how much of their two minutes was already gone.
And came face to face with guard number two. Stocky, muscular build, short-cropped black hair, brown eyes wide with surprise. The shock on his face mirrored her own.
He fumbled to unholster his side arm, and Nika took full advantage of the opportunity. She acutely remembered 47 telling her to only fire her weapon if absolutely necessary, and so planted her feet, gripped her gun as tightly by the barrel in her right hand as she could, and swung toward the man's temple. He reflexively jerked his head back, but wasn't quite fast enough. The butt of the pistol smashed into the side of his nose with a sickening crunch. He cried out as blood immediately began to gush down his mouth and chin, and brought one hand up to cover his face.
Nika hoped the blow would have knocked the fucker out, even misplaced as it was, but he stayed upright and was reaching to his hip holster with the hand that wasn't covering his bloodied nose, still trying to pull his weapon free. She stepped forward, adrenaline rushing through her veins, mind reaching back to the self-defense techniques 47 had shown her. She slammed her foot down on the man's instep and brought her fist up into his gut as hard as she could.
It was like punching a brick wall.
The guard growled in rage and pain and grasped the front of Nika's shirt before she could even think about stepping back from him. He yanked her forward, but her shoes slipped in his blood splattered over the tile floor. She fell backward gracelessly, the guard, caught off balance, falling right on top of her, causing her to smack the back of her head as soon as she hit the ground. She swore she saw stars and blinked up dazedly as he straddled her, his hands going around her throat, the blood that was still streaming from his now-crooked nose splashing hotly down onto her face.
She struggled and fought as much as she could, but the man on top of her was just too fucking heavy for her to gain any sort of leverage against him. His hands tightened around her neck and she screamed, screamed with the last bit of oxygen she had left in her lungs, the one number she loved most in this whole goddamn world.
"FORTY-SEVEN!"