His shoes formed a clip-clopping horse pattern on the sidewalk as he walked down the street, stopping in front of her apartment building. He squinted up at it, and found her room after a moment scanning.
His fingers tangoed to his pocket, and he pulled out a little black pair of binoculars. She wasn't there, of course - she had left three days ago, for the funeral - but a lamp was on, and it lent a butter light to the corner it was placed. He focused his binoculars in, checking for any signs of intruders. Jackson had made his way to her building nightly, to make sure it was alright. (Strange things happened, he knew). The apartment was as familiar to him as his own.
In the back of his mind, a thought passed that he was being almost friendly, but it snuck away quickly. It would be cruel if some petty burglar made away with something, he thought. She didn't have anybody close enough to her that she would ask to guard her home for her, so he became the next best thing. Charming, a man soon to be threatening her life is going out of his way to make sure her house wasn't threatened. Putting his binoculars away, he sighed disgustedly at himself, and ambled back to his apartment. He did not go back again.
---
Excitement cracked over his head like a broken egg, and it pooled down his head and puddled around his throat. He couldn't breathe very well. The moments before the start of a mission was always like this for Jackson; he felt almost giddy. It was the closest he ever felt to being like a child again. Provided, of course, that the child killed people for money.
The airport was a hassle, but that was to be expected. He had plenty of time, plenty of time. He flipped through a magazine while in line.
Delayed, the cool voice over the loudspeaker relayed.
Jackson snapped his reading material shut with an angry flick of his wrist, and scanned the airport for her head. Nothing.
---
Waiting to store their luggage - he slipped behind her - "Oh, here, read this. My dad's given me enough to start my own library." The woman slobbered out a thank-you and wandered off in her grand-motherly way, and Jackson suppressed himself from recoiling.
Rude passenger - first words - a smile.
This would be easy. Jackson began to finally relax.
---
You know the drill, he murmured to himself, and launched into charismatic mode, scanning her face.
I've seen you drunk, or haggard and exhausted, giggly, jubilant, I've seen it all, he thought to himself as they chatted on about alcoholic drinks and names and grandmothers. Perfectly innocent banter. He had planned this out with one of those ridiculous romantic comedies she secretly enjoyed in his head. He had watched them along with her, bored to death, but secretly enjoying a few scenes. They occasionally made him laugh.
His phone rang.
---
He could not go back now. So he sunk himself into his uncomfortable coach seat and feigned surprise when her seat turned out to be next to his.