"47, I... You're infected. You will need to find a solution for that."
Shit. He couldn't leave the empty room he was hiding in, not while those three guards were idling right in front of the door. If they didn't move soon, he'd have no chance to reach the storage room where the hospital kept the experimental cure for the Nabazov virus.
Diana had been right when she briefed him on the severity of that weaponised virus; the symptoms were strong right away, and they got worse the longer he cowered next to the door, listening in to not miss the moment the guards would finally leave. If they didn't leave soon, he'd be in serious trouble, but he was already too weak to risk a fight.
Eavesdropping got more and more complicated as the dizziness increased, until all he could hear was his own heartbeat and some muffled, tin-like sounds from the outside world.
Only Diana's voice in his ear was clear enough to stay with him. Without her, he'd be lost. Perhaps he was lost anyway, without knowing. She kept him informed on his own status and the position of the guards in front of his door; and if he hadn't known better, he'd said she sounded worried.
Was she worried about him? Surely she didn't want to lose a valuable asset, but would she grieve his death, should he not make it in time? Probably not. It was comforting to give in to the illusion, to pretend that she cared about him the way people care about their friends, but he knew he was lying to himself. It would be painful to admit that it wasn't true, once this was over.
The minutes went by, and Diana's voice stopped sounding the way he was used to. She was right there in his ear, where she belonged; but through the fog that increasingly engulfed his senses, she sounded far away.
"47? Are you still there?"
It became too exhausting to hold his crouched position, so he pressed his back against the cold metal wall and allowed himself to sink down, closing his eyes as he found it too painful to keep them open. Everything was blurry now, anyway.
"47?"
Maybe that was it, that was how his story ended. He had a good run, for a few years. Working with Diana had been a pleasure. Perhaps he should tell her... Perhaps he should tell her how he really felt, before it was too late. Not that it'd change anything, but she deserved to know.
He mustered up the strength to whisper the words he'd thought so many times; what better use to make of his last moments, and have his last words be "I love you," directed at the only person who really knew him.
Diana sounded unsure if she heard it correctly, but he repeated himself, and confessed that he'd been in love with her for quite a while. He didn't want to go without telling her, even if he knew that his feelings weren't mutual.
"47, stop saying farewell!" She sounded almost angry. "You know that I can't lose you."
She was rejecting him, of course she was. He shouldn't have said anything. Now her memories of him would be tainted by his unprofessional behaviour, and she deserved better than this.
Just as 47 considered lying down to avoid making a suspicious sound when his dying body slipped, the guards finally moved and walked away. 47 could barely hear their steps, but Diana confirmed it. She was urging him to hurry, and he didn't want to let her down. He had to try and follow her order, even if he was certain he wouldn't make it in time.
He scrambled out of his hiding spot to make it downstairs to the morgue. How ironic, that they stored the cure right there. He would be in the right spot either way. Perhaps it would be easier for the ICA to extract his body without raising suspicion, if he managed to make it look like someone deposited him there.
At such a late stage of the infection, it was hard to keep his balance, and he was stumbling down the stairs; clinging to the handrail to keep himself from falling. Only a few metres left. Maybe it wasn't too late after all.
His hands were shaking badly, and his fingers were almost numb, so he dropped the key card in when he tried to unlock the door to the storage room. Picking it up from the smooth floor wasn't easy, but Diana kept urging him on, and he didn't want to disappoint her.
The cure was there, right in front of him, and he almost dropped the syringe as well when he fiddled to remove the cap and tugged on his tactical turtleneck to expose his shoulder. The fabric was clammy from his cold sweat, but it stretched just enough. He didn't even feel the pain when the needle pierced his skin.
After injecting himself with the cure, he was still weak, but feeling a bit better already. He had to sit down on the cold floor before he felt confident to leave the room.
Diana confirmed that his readings were stabilising, and she told him to make his way to the helipad. She'd be sending the extraction team, and 47 wanted to protest at first, but he knew she'd insist, and he knew how important it was for her to get him out of there alive and in a somewhat acceptable condition.
He was supposed to leave the country after that mission, but Diana informed him that she'd rescheduled everything and secured a safehouse in Tokyo for him, and made sure one of the ICA's doctors was awaiting him there. The doctor would also be on standby for the duration of his stay. That would eat into their budget quite a bit, and Diana would have to answer to the Board, but 47 knew better than to protest, and he was too weak to try.
The flight from Hokkaido to Tokyo took forever, even though the helicopter flew at top speed. Had those four and a half hours felt like that on his way there as well? He couldn't remember it. The first responder on board repeatedly told him to try and sleep a little, but he couldn't. Diana was still in his ear, talking to him, and he didn't want to miss a word she was saying before she logged off.
She didn't; she stayed with him not only for the whole flight, but also for the ride in the unmarked ambulance that took him to the safehouse. He appreciated her company, especially after the stupid things he'd said before, things she clearly didn't want to hear.
It was one of many safehouses the ICA owned in every country, and while he normally preferred to stay in his own safehouses—most of them actually belonged to Diana—he was glad that the ICA took care of him, and that he didn't have to stay at a civilian hospital or the ICA Medical Facility. He didn't feel safe around people in white coats, and he wouldn't have been able to sleep at all had he been ordered to stay in their care.
The doctor was already waiting for him, and after he made sure 47 was okay, he even informed Diana. He told her that he was weak and needed lots of rest over the next days, maybe even weeks, but he would make it and was also no longer contagious.
The doctor left soon after, and 47 was all alone with his shame and his guilt.
He'd confessed his feelings for Diana! And he couldn't even try to hope that she didn't hear him, because he'd said it twice, and she had reacted to it!
47 felt awful, but he didn't know what to do about it. He should apologise when she called... if she called.
After a very long, very hot shower to get rid of the stickiness of the cold sweat and his thoughts, he returned to the sofa to recover. It'd cost him more energy than expected, and he wasn't used to feeling this weak in the first place. The infection left him drained, and soon it felt way too cold in the small living room. With stiff fingers, he unfolded the thin blanket that lay on the backrest of the sofa, and wrapped himself up in it.
It didn't do much to warm him back up, but it was better than nothing.
47's breakfast had been his last meal that day, and he was hungry, but he couldn't find the strength to get up from the sofa he was resting on. There had to be convenience food in the pantry. He could heat up a noodle cup later, if he felt a bit better, he thought while dozing off.
The sound of keys in the lock woke him up, almost two hours later. He tried to reach his gun, but just as the door opened, Diana's voice was there, close by, telling him not to worry. She was there. Why was she there?
Timidly, she sat down next to him, and she apologised that she wasn't at the safehouse when he arrived. Apparently, the ICA wouldn't let her leave until the doctor gave clearance. It made sense, the ICA didn't want to lose two prime assets in one day. She'd missed the last metro train and had to get a taxi, which took ages even that late at night.
He nodded, unsure why she apologised, why she even bothered to come to him, especially since it turned out to be such a hassle, and her own safehouse was likely at the opposite end of the city. The ICA knew better than to store all their eggs in one basket.
Maybe it was about his unprofessional confession, maybe she wanted to make sure he understood that his feelings were not reciprocated. It was impossible to keep eye contact, so he stared at his clammy fingers instead.
To his surprise, Diana offered to make him tea, to help him warm up and make him feel better, and she apologised again, telling him she wasn't good at taking care of sick people.
When he opened his mouth to tell her she didn't have to do that, didn't have to stay with him when she didn't want to and most likely had better things to do, she interrupted him and asked if he was hungry. He was, and he nodded, ashamed to force her to take care of him.
Diana laughed a nervous laugh, and confessed that she'd never been a great cook. He'd have to accept her offering of instant noodles and awkward company.
"I could make you pancakes for breakfast, though," she said with a smile. "Unless you want me to leave after dinner."
He shook his head. Was she being serious? Did she really want to stay with him, after everything he'd said?
A few moments later, she was sitting next to him, drinking tea while he ate the noodles she prepared for him, and to his amazement, her hand was resting on his back. She cared. She really cared, and she wasn't disappointed with him for his confession.
Perhaps they'd both be able to live with the knowledge that he loved her.
"Still cold?" she asked when he'd finished his meal, and when he nodded, she got up and walked over to the bedroom. Shortly after, she returned, carrying a pillow and a thick blanket in her arms. It didn't feel awkward when she placed the pillow under his head and wrapped him in the blanket. To his amazement, she joined him under the cover, snuggling up to him to help him fend off the cold.
Her warm hands cupped his face, and he closed his eyes and smiled when she promised to stay with him until he was allowed to leave. Maybe he was more than just an asset for her.
"47?" she whispered when he was almost asleep. "I love you, too."
Thank you for reading!
I've written many more Hitman fics, and you can find them all on AO3! Same username as here, Diana47