Honeymoon

It wasn't 47's first time visiting Paris in late spring, but it was the first time he wasn't alone.

After they'd finished securing the honeymoon suite together, Diana opened the tall windows, and then she sat there, on the far side of their bed—their bed!—to unpack her suitcase. She'd carefully collected all the fresh rose petals from the covers and placed them on her night stand, so she wouldn't squish them and rub the pigment into the impeccable white linen.

He would've simply thrown them away.

"I hope you don't have plans to leave me so soon after our wedding," Diana said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

47 raised his eyebrows, but when Diana pointed at his suitcase, he laughed and began to unpack as well. There was only one wardrobe, albeit a large one. Hanging his suits right next to her dresses was weirdly comforting.

While he was busy, she ordered a light dinner to their suite; earlier than guests would usually order dinner, but there was intention behind it. It would both keep up the appearance of being a newly-wed couple that wanted to put the queen-size bed to good use, and allow Diana to work without any interruptions later. Once she'd spread out her folders and arranged their planning board on the wall above their bed, any staff member entering the suite would increase the risk of anyone figuring out what they actually were.

The 'do not disturb' sign on their door would take care of their work's privacy after dinner; no-one would question a newly-wed couple's desire to spend a day or two without interruption.

They sat on their bed right next to each other, to enjoy their complimentary champagne before dinner. Their usual hard rule, no alcohol during work hours, could be ignored for one late afternoon in late spring Paris.

With a genuine smile, Diana raised her champagne flute and let it clink against his ever so lightly. "To our happy marriage."

It sounded wrong in his ears. Because it sounded right.

Luckily, there was still enough work to do for 47 to distract himself from the unusual tugging in his stomach.

They abandoned their plates and whatever was left of their dinner in the sitting area and returned to their bed, where Diana began to spread out all she got on their target to prepare for his briefing. They spend the whole night working side by side, until the early morning hours; going over floor plans together as Diana pinned them to the wall, discussing the most promising opportunities one last time, working out emergency exfiltration plans in case things went wrong.

It's a more relaxed atmosphere than usual. Not that working with Diana had ever been unenjoyable for him, but it was different in this honeymoon suite, with their two empty champagne flutes still standing next to each other on her night stand, the scent of fresh rose petals just as distracting as the alcohol in his veins, and with Diana's elbow touching his ever so lightly whenever she reached for the next manilla folder on their improvised desk.

"Join me for a drink before bed?" Diana asked after everything was done, but it wasn't a question. She had already taken two clean whiskey tumblers out of the cabinet and was pouring both of them a generous amount, before she led the way onto the balcony. A clear message that work time was over; not only with the strong alcohol, but also with potential ear witnesses to their conversation.

Not that they were talking much. It would've been awkward to role-play being in love shortly before climbing into bed together.

47 almost dropped his tumbler as the realisation that there really was only one bed truly sank in. During the months of planning and preparation leading up to their assignment, when they were working on their shared cover story and fabricating evidence of a life together, they had never even touched the subject of actually sharing the bed while they were on 'honeymoon' together.