The bar was getting more crowded, but 47 already got what he came here for. He tried not to look as he placed his hands on the bar to push himself off his barstool.
Diana placed her hand on his, gently squeezing. "Wait." she whispered. "Don't go yet."
Was there a threat? Did she need him to stay to protect her? 47 tried to accommodate to the new situation; just moments ago they were pretending to be strangers, but suddenly they're supposed to be something else. Improvisation was part of the craft. He turned to her, curious to learn where this was going, hoping to play along the way Diana expects.
There was a smile on her glossy red lips, and a sparkle in her eyes. "You didn't think I'd let you spend your birthday alone, did you?"
He wasn't sure what to say. Of course he hadn't planned to celebrate, there was no reason to. It was a pleasant surprise, however, that Diana wanted to spend his birthday with him.
Diana turned to the bartender and pointed at 47. "Two more of what he's having."
47 tried to relax, but Diana's hand was still on his, and they were in public. They weren't supposed to be seen together in public. He should tell her to stop and leave, like he should've done immediately after he got the documents. Maybe he could stay for one more drink.
"So, what are your plans for tonight?" She leaned in a little closer, close enough for him to catch a whiff of her perfume. It wasn't intentional, he knew it, but it made him strangely nervous.
He shook his head. "No plans."
Diana raised a meticulously pencilled eyebrow at that.
It must've been the wrong answer, then. Not that it mattered; Diana already knew that he wasn't living a normal life between assignments. She knew that he lived for the moments she contacted him, either to tell him where to go or what to do, or—and those were the calls he liked the most—just to talk to him and come up with insane ideas for elaborate accidents, for fun, imagining how those assassinations would piss off Soders even more. It almost felt like having a friend during those calls, like having a life.
The bartender placed their new whiskey tumblers in front of them, and Diana raised hers a little. "Happy birthday, 47," she whispered before pressing a soft kiss against his cheek.
He didn't know how to react; his face turned hot, and he hoped he wasn't blushing. She'd get the wrong idea if he was. No, she'd get the right idea, something he had to prevent at all costs.
They should go, they should leave while they still could, as long as there was still time to turn back before they crossed the line, but 47 didn't want to. He wanted to see where this was going, wanted to find out what it felt like to have someone in his life.
Instead of saying goodnight and goodbye, he ordered two more drinks, fruity cocktails like the one she was having earlier; and instead of pretending to be strangers, he was holding her hand now. It was outrageous, really, just like the courage it cost him to turn his hand around and interlace his fingers with hers, or that she'd simply smiled and squeezed his hand instead of pushing him away.
Two or three rounds later, she pulled out her phone to order a taxi, and he was both sad that the night was coming to an end, and proud of himself for not messing it up. Maybe they could meet again the following year, on his next birthday, and spend some more time together.
He didn't let go of her hand when they got up from their barstools, not even when they slightly awkwardly bumped into each other while turning around. They still held hands when they stepped out of the bar into the night, the cool autumn air surrounding them at once. The fresh air should've helped him sober up, but it had the opposite effect on him; clouding his thoughts and making him act more irrationally than he already was, holding hands with his handler.
Her taxi was already waiting, and before he could think things through, he reached out with his free hand and cupped her face, drawing her in for a kiss goodnight.
His mind caught up with him shortly after, and he broke away. "I'm sorry!" He'd messed it up, right at the end. "I'm so sorry!"
Diana seemed surprised, but she was still smiling. "We should try this again."
47 nodded. He was just glad she was willing to give him another chance, and he surely wouldn't mess it up again next year.
"Right now, I mean." She laughed. "If you want to try again, that is."
Oh. Oh.
She took the step towards him this time, and when she reached up to cup his face, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm.
"Better?" she whispered against his lips.
"Much better." He smiled and kissed her again.
"My driver is waiting," she said, and his heart sank. "We should continue this in my hotel room."
YOU ARE READING
Part of the Craft
FanfictionAgent 47 and Diana Burnwood meet in a bar for a handoff. It's his birthday, and improvisation is part of the craft.