Working together, with her, is what he knows and what they're both good at. Still, it's new and exciting to do so without the ICA, and he's more than glad to have her back after all these lonely months. Something is different between them, but he can't quite put his finger on it. Maybe it's just that, they're free now, she's free to choose an approach for him without having to report to her higher-ups.
She's always been free to decide which assignments to take, in a sense, but now she's discussing them with him beforehand and allows him to weigh in, so they're making this decision as a team.
Travelling is a bit less comfortable now, but they'll make do. Having her with him in this rental car on this rainy journey outweighs the loss of his first usual class flights, and for the first time in twenty years, they can openly talk about anything.
Well, not anything, there are a few topics they tread around most carefully. They briefly talked about the neurotoxin and her parents when they reunited after their year apart and avoided this direction ever since, and they have never so much as mentioned the tango and what it may or may not have implied, back then.
He still has a hard time figuring out his emotions, but he's sure that he feels more for her than the loyalty they both relied on for so long. One year ago, he might have been sure this was mutual, but now, he couldn't tell anymore. Maybe it has been part of her plan, to line him up neatly for one of the things they will not talk about again, to make it seem like revenge for the other thing they will not talk about again. Who knows.
Does it matter? He used to be happy with what they had before the serum, before everything changed. Maybe it would be the best to go back to that and never look back.
He glanced at her, sitting in the passenger seat with her laptop on her knees, tapping away on the keyboard as she works on their target's expose. Her prim teal skirt has slid up a bit, revealing a little more of her thigh than she usually shows, and he tries not to stare. Eyes on the road, not on your handler.
Soon it's getting dark, and the rain gets even stronger, so they decide to find a place to stay for the night, before it becomes impossible to see the road ahead. Diana runs a quick online search, and it doesn't take long for her to find a motel not too far from where they are.
Another thing that got simultaneously worse and better since they stopped working for the ICA. He never cared too much for luxury suites, he has to admit they were nice. Now, he frequently sleeps in his sleeping bag again, on the floor of an abandoned house or in the passenger seat while she's curled up on the back seats of their car, but it's exciting.
They get to know each other on a whole new level, he now knows that she likes to read before bed and that she's a bit grumpy in the morning, and that she appreciates his talent to always find a place to get strong coffee for her.
They don't have an umbrella with them, so she runs ahead to get themselves their rooms while he's carrying their luggage over to the small office. It doesn't look like the worst motel he's ever been at, from what little he can judge in the light of the flickering neon signs.
He's drenched when he arrives next to her, but he doesn't mind, because she smiles at him apologetically, and his heart skips a beat. If only he could get his feelings for her under control. It's inappropriate, and it won't lead anywhere but into despair.
The porter assumes they're a married couple, and neither of them correct him. It's easier that way, and sharing a room means that he can protect her if anything goes wrong, and study her a little more if everything goes right. Deep inside he wants to pretend, believe that it's true; that she could love him enough to not only be with him, but marry him, vow to be his forever.
Diana rents a room for Rieper; some things never change and they both are unusually attached to his old alias. They shouldn't keep using it, they know it, but on the other hand, almost everyone who knows about them is gone now.
Their room is rather nice, on the upper floor with a small balcony overlooking the parking lot and the street. This should be a strategic advantage, should someone have followed them halfway through the country.
They fall into their usual routine of checking the room for surveillance, however small the chance might be, before Diana excuses herself to take a hot shower.
He spends his time alone thinking about them while rummaging through his suitcase for something to wear after his own hot shower, comfortable enough to fit into this environment, yet classy enough to feel like himself and presentable for her, because her opinion still matters to him, will always matter to him.
A pair of dark blue jeans and a simple black t-shirt should do. He remembers how she used to compliment his arms whenever she caught a glimpse of them. She doesn't do that anymore, now that they see each other almost every day. Maybe it would be awkward. Maybe her opinion on him has just changed after she got to know him even better.
She steps out of the bathroom, wrapped in a giant white towel, her hair wet and dark and wavy. It's a treat, to see her without her neat bun and her precise makeup, and 47 savours the moment as much as he can before he enters the small bathroom for his turn on warming up again.
Temptation lingers to touch himself, but he resists. She's only a few metres away, separated by this rather thin wall. He could never look her in the eye again if she caught him doing these unspeakable things, even if she wouldn't know that he always thinks about her when he does it. It feels like overstepping, and he knows he shouldn't do it, but her soft smile and her gentle voice and the warm scent that surrounds her when they sit close to each other is too much for him. He's yearning for her, and she doesn't even see him this way.
When he steps out of the bathroom, towelled dry and in his jeans and t-shirt, without his dirty thoughts, she smiles at him, but doesn't say anything until he sits down on his side of the squeaky bed to put on his watch he's placed on the night stand.
"The diner is still open," she comments, waving the grubby looking brochure a bit, making it produce a quiet flopping sound. "We could grab a bite to eat, if you're interested?"
He isn't really hungry, but he also doesn't want her to go alone, so he agrees. A cup of coffee is always welcome, even if it's horrible motel coffee.
From the inside, this diner seems even smaller than from the outside, but at least the tables are reasonably clean, and the waitress informs them that they're just out of coffee, but she offers to make a fresh pot for them, which they gladly accept.
Diana is busy browsing the menu while 47 scans the room, more out of habit than because he's expecting a threat. There are quite a few patrons here, mostly solitary motel guests, but at the table in the far corner he spots a young family with their two children, a girl and a little boy. They both have red hair, almost the same shade as Diana's, and his mouth runs dry. This is what she used to have. This is what he's taken from her.
Thankfully, she doesn't notice, and he tries his best to keep his eyes away from the family.
Diana slides the menu over to him like a bribe, and he almost laughs at this association.
"I think I'll have the spaghetti," she muses. "We could pretend to be in Italy." Diana sighs. "Remember Sapienza?"
47 nods, and on a whim, he decides to order spaghetti as well. He even takes it one step further and asks the waitress for a bottle of their best red wine.
Diana laughs and searches her purse for her lighter. She's stopped smoking again when they started to spend their days together, but she never stopped carrying it with her. Tonight, it's useful once again, and she lights the pathetic rest of a white candle on their table with it.
"Almost romantic now," she whispers, and the flickering flame is sparkling in her eyes.
It's hard to breathe, and he suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. Hopefully she doesn't notice.
The waitress saves him when she brings them their two cups of coffee and two empty wine glasses, before she disappears again to fetch the bottle of wine. She opens the bottle and allows 47 to fill first Diana's glass, then his own.
"We should let the wine breathe until our main course arrives," he suggests, and they sit in comfortable silence while they drink their coffee. It's almost too late for caffeine, but she probably has plans to work on her laptop all night, and he likes to lay awake and listen to the soft clacking of her fingers on the keyboard. It's soothing. It sounds like home.
The waitress arrives just as they finished their coffee and places the two large plates of spaghetti in front of them. They don't look like in Sapienza, and they don't smell like in Sapienza, and he's already sure they won't taste like in Sapienza, but it doesn't matter.
Diana raises her glass and allows him to clink his against hers, and then they sit in silence for a while, busy with their meal and their own thoughts, both dwelling on memories of the life they used to have and the small coastal town their paths used to cross more often than anywhere else.
"You know what?" she asks, and places her hand on his. "This is better than Sapienza."
He raises his eyebrows. "Is that so?"
She nods, smiling sheepishly.
"May I ask why?"
"I can look at you as much as I want now."
His heartbeat quickens, and in a sudden surge of braveness, he decides to push his luck. "Only look?"
Diana's face lights up, and the sparkle in her eyes makes her even more beautiful than usual. "No, maybe more. Maybe all of it."
He lifts her hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on her knuckles as a response.
All of it will be just enough.
Thank you for reading!
I've written many more Hitman fics, and you can find them all on AO3! Same username as here, Diana47
