Four years later...

It was early winter in New York City, a gentle flurry of snow blowing across Diana Burnwood's face as she stood on the balcony of the high-rise condo. A cup of hot chocolate was clasped in her hands as she just enjoyed the slight chill.

After a whole week without seeing 47, she was beginning to grow concerned. While she had continued to stay at whichever safehouse he occupied, he still never took her into the missions with him. She would only get in the way. Even though she was far more skilled than she had once been- she was no Agent 47. No one really was.

She stared out into the city below. The streets here were never silent, even in the more up-scale parts, like here. A knock at the door brought her back into the condo. The Agency didn't know his safehouses, right? So who was at the door?

She looked through the peephole- a courier? 47 hadn't told her to expect a package. Making sure her pistol was drawn and not visible, she opened the door a bit, and peered out at the young boy.

"Hey- I was asked to deliver this package if the man who gave it to me didn't return after four days. I didn't ask questions." He held out the plain white box with an unopened letter attached to the top. "Don't worry- he paid in advance- tip included."

Diana opened the door and tucked the pistol into the back of her belt so she could take the box. No doubt, it was from 47. Probably what served as an apology for his extended absence. "Thanks." She closed and locked the door, and set the box down, plucking the letter off the top. On the back, it was simply addressed 'Diana,' which confirmed her theory.

A chirp from 47's laptop drew her to it before she could read the letter or open the box. She sat down, and opened the laptop to take a look at what it was.

The message made the world seem to stop for a moment, and her heart felt a deep sinking. Even as she read it, the screen was beginning to pixelate as the information on it was erased. 'Agent code BRO3886 - Termination confirmed. Erasing data.'

No- it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He couldn't be dead. Not 47. He acted more like a person around her since the day they'd spoken of his past- even in passing. More open. Softer. Her hands shook as she tore the letter open to read the contents. Every word was like a burning nail in her chest.

'Diana,

If you are reading this letter, then I have finally been killed. I did not make it back to you... and for that, I am deeply sorry. We both knew this day would come.

Know that the last six years have been filled with my fondest memories, and that it was never my intention to leave you like this. I regret that I cannot say these words to you in person, and that I will never have the chance to say goodbye.

You will find that my accounts have all been transferred to your name. I have left little behind for you aside from money, but I made sure this package would make it to you, rather than be collected by the Agency and forgotten. Take my last gift to remember me, and do not live your life in my shadow any longer. Return to Victoria and your family permanently. Make sure that you do not die alone.

You were the best parts of me, Diana. If there is a Heaven for me, then perhaps I will meet you there.

I love you.
47'

Tears filled her eyes as she read his last words. He never said them to her until this- his final goodbye. Perhaps it had been to spare her more pain- but knowing he had such feelings for her, and chose to bear them, rather than have her possibly care for him as more than just her best friend... it meant more to her than anything that could possibly be in the box.

Shaky hands gently pulled the lid off the plain container. When she saw the contents, she felt as though she would break. Her hand clasped over her mouth to somewhat muffle the gasp. For within the box, rested neatly upon a thin blood-red silk pillow, were 47's custom Silverballers, placed chambers facing eachother, the smooth black silencers tucked into the sides of the box.

47 had left her a large part of his identity- his signature weapons aside from the fiber wire. These had been made specifically for his hands- his preferences. If they had been on his body, they would be in the care of the Agency- either on display at HQ, or off to be destroyed. But they were here- in this box, and they were hers now. It meant that he had gone into his recent jobs without them- likely opting for Colts instead.

Her fingers gently brushed the smooth, cold metal of one Silverballer as if she was touching his face. "Oh, 47..." She barely regained her composure as she set the box down, and gently lifted the pistols free of the cloth. The weight told her they were fully loaded- the smell that they had been freshly cleaned and oiled before his mission. For a long moment, she sat simply holding them in her lap.

These custom pistols would be the only part of him she could keep, and he'd known that. His body would be recovered by the Agency, and cremated to erase any evidence of his existence. This metallic weight was all she had- all she would ever have of him again.

His face would leave her memory in time, but she would never forget those intense ice-blue eyes. And she would never forget him. In the morning, she would leave, as he had wanted. For now, she set the pistols back in the box, set it beside her on the bed, and curled up to sleep, tears still streaming down her face.

In the end- the only thing that had ever mattered to 47, the legendary hitman- had been her.

Post-Story: Farewell from the Author

That's all, folks. And before any of you get all fiery-tempered- I did warn you that the ending was sad. Yes. I did kill 47 in this story. Why? Because I wanted him to have a final chapter in his life that was entirely bittersweet. It's not like I'd kill off one of my favorite characters for nothing. He deserved a fond farewell in at least one story somewhere. I think it was fitting. And yes- I know I didn't write down exactly how he finally met his end. That is entirely up to you- the reader.

There was no actual romance, as you all will notice, which is why there's no 47/Diana tag anywhere. At the end, while he cared for her- even loved her- he didn't want her to suffer as long by loving him. None of my stories involving 47 as the center of the story will have any romance, as I believe the character would actually lose something if he just fell in love like a normal guy. 47 is far from normal- he is exceptional- and I hope that you, dear reader, feel that this story did him justice, despite the ending.

Also keep in mind that at the end of this story, Agent 47 is an ancient fifty-seven years old- far older than hitmen usually live. Especially when you consider that 47 is often sent into what basically qualify as suicide missions.

I know many fans who will hate the fact that the main character dies. It basically goes against the unspoken rule of fanfic. But why follow the rules? Why write the normal story, with only pointless romance? I wanted to step outside the box of what 'normal' fanfics are- to delve deeper into a close friendship, rather than to have the characters get romantically involved despite themselves.

To all of you, whether you loved or hated the story- thank you for reading! I'll see you again next time in the next fic. I promise I won't kill 47 again. Though I might have him kill someone else. We'll see. But do let me know if you'd like a few one-shot stories between Winter Wonderland and the Finale.

For now, my readers- fare thee well.