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Diana awoke to the sound of a sharp rap on her door. She groaned, vaguely aware of her hand hanging off the edge of her bed, and the foot that was dangling off the other side. She blamed sleeping like a starfish on their chaotic schedule, bouncing from safehouse to safehouse, but she knew that even in the best of scenarios she was prone to sprawling out in her sleep. Humiliating. She couldn’t have anyone see her like this…
“Who is it,” she croaked, not bothering to open her eyes, fully intending to shoo away whoever it was, unless it was something urgent, which it very well could be, preparing to eliminate the last Providence Partner was serious business after all—
“It’s me.” The reassuring sound of his voice leveled her heartrate. Well…if it was just him, then it was alright. She shouted at the door, admitting him entrance. She heard the door open, then click shut, followed by footsteps shuffling across the old carpet slowly approaching. Diana begrudgingly forced herself up on her elbows, noticing the shoes that had stopped at the edge of her bed. She knew those shoes. Crockett & Jones. Balmoral boots, half leather, half suede. Yes, she knew them well. She had been the one who had bought them for him last season, after all. It gave her an odd satisfaction to note that they still looked clean even though she had seen him wear them a hundred times in the last year.
“You were up late,” 47 observed, pulling her out of reverie. She rubbed her eyes, checking the time. It was a quarter to five, the exact time she had asked 47 to wake her. She cursed his punctuality.
“Yes, preparing. I hate doing these mission briefings by myself, I’ve become spoiled over the years. I don’t trust Mr. Grey’s informants—with respect—so it’s a lot of double checking. Bad habit, I know.” 47 let her ramble, wordlessly placing a glass of water on her nightstand along with an aspirin.
She looked up at him gratefully. “I don’t think I can do these early mornings anymore,” she admitted, then said wryly: “Are we getting old?”
“No, you’re not old. You’re just stressed.” He reached out to tug on a lock of her hair teasingly, and she slapped his hand away, suddenly self-conscious of it. Messy. Loose.
“My hairdresser would contest that.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes, and reached for her glasses that she despised for anyone to see her in. They were a constant reminder that she was not, in fact, getting any younger, despite 47’s very kind attempts to persuade her otherwise.
“Well, I won’t argue with your hairdresser…but I know you’re stressed because you’re losing weight again,” he pointed out, and Diana frowned at that.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.
“Your ring barely fits.” He took her hand and stared pointedly at her middle finger—at the delicate half eternity ring she rarely took off since he gifted it to her—and slipped it off her finger with ease. “Or maybe I got your size wrong and you never told me?” he asked rhetorically, knowing full well he never got her size wrong. Diana snatched her hand back, her frown growing deeper. She had been trying to hide her figure by wearing oversized sweaters and loose-fitting coats, but she should have known it would take more than that to hide from him.
“I’m not wearing form fitting dresses anytime soon, so drop it,” she snapped back stubbornly. She held out her hand—a silent command telling him to replace the jewelry on her finger—and he hesitated. She thought he would say more on the matter…but he ultimately complied, replacing the ring on her finger shaking his head all the while. She mentally breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to bicker with him about this. Not now.
47 switched topics: “What do you need from me?” He began to aimlessly pace around the room.
She rubbed her temple, thinking. “A coffee, please dear Lord, and we need to check on the status of the tests we began last night. Remind Miss Hall, she’ll know what I’m talking about.” He wasn’t watching her as she said all this, but she could tell from the way he slowly nodded that he was processing everything he was being told.
She got up to move towards her suitcase, pulling on a light wedgie as she hobbled over. She was incapable of completing one task at a time: simultaneously checking her phone, taking stock of her inbox, cracking every joint in her body, and rummaging through her bag for the day’s attire. 47 continued to pace around, paying no mind to her clumsy morning routine. With Diana, he had seen it all before.
“You and Mr. Grey will be shipped off to Alexa Carlisle’s location later this morning, where a motorbike will be waiting for you. Are you feeling prepared, 47?” She tossed a pair of black trousers onto the bed.
He replied with a non-committal hum. She took off her glasses and wiped the lenses on her thermal underwear that she wore as pajamas—she preferred her silk set and matching robe, but some creature comforts warranted being left behind while on the road.
“This may be the last time we are alone and can speak to each other freely,” she continued, still multitasking, frantically typing on her phone as she spoke. “All our phone calls will be monitored from here on out, so it’s important to make the most of our time together. Is there anything I should be made aware of?” When he didn’t verbally reply, she looked at him, wondering if he had heard her. 47 was staring out the window. “Questions?” she prodded him. “Comments? Concerns?” He glanced at her, then shook his head, moving back to strolling around the room casually.
Diana considered him, her brows furrowing. She liked to think she knew him best… No, she was sure she knew him better than anyone. She took pride in understanding his subtle expressions, could predict his mood even without the biostat signals spelling out his heartrate… And yet lately, she felt he was distant somehow. Was he struggling with emotions he had never had to handle before? Or…was he simply confiding in Lucas Grey what he could never come to her with?
She watched him carefully fold the covers on her bed and lay out her pants neatly on the duvet. He took such care of her. He always took care of her needs. Did he understand that she wanted to take care of him, too? That these missions were just as much about justice as it was about making things right by him? She hated to admit she wasn’t thrilled at the thought of seeing him go. She had sent him out on countless dangerous missions, but this one felt different. Was this truly the end of the road? She couldn’t place the nameless fear in her heart. Perhaps he was feeling the same way…?
Diana glanced at 47 and realized he had been gazing at her, reading her expression. “I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be either,” he said, seeming to have read her mind. “It’s just another job.” She searched his face for a sign—a hint of any emotion at all—but he was like a mannequin. Stone. Stoic. Impassive. Over the years, 47 had learned to never doubt her, to never question her intel or second-guess her intentions. She in turn had learned to trust his planning and his methods. Questioning him now wasn’t fair to the bond they shared. So she simply pursed her lips and nodded.
When it was clear they had nothing left to report to one another, he said: “I have to go. You want coffee and you want me to talk to Olivia. I’ll get you another aspirin while I’m at it.” He turned on his heel and strode towards the door.
“47, wait,” she said, realizing something. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her. She stared at him for a beat. “I’ve never seen that coat,” she said finally.
He looked down at himself, then back at her. “I’m glad someone finally noticed.”
“It looks good, really good,” she said, walking over to him to examine it up close. She flipped open the lapel, feeling the tight stitching. She didn’t need to see the tag to know where it was from, recognizing the construction. “Crombie?”
He nodded, clearly pleased to finally show it off to someone who cared. “Made of Harris Tweed. I got it tailored.”
“Outstanding.” She took a step back to appraise his outfit in its entirety. Dark turtleneck, grey pants, plaid coat—he always looked sharp. She appreciated that about him.
“You don’t think it’s too much, do you?” 47 asked, adjusting his cuffs. “Lucas bullied me when he saw the price tag. Said it contributes to the capitalist machine.”
“Oh, to hell with Grey and his Liberal moral superiority,” Diana said, waving a hand. “With respect—he wouldn’t know twill from tweed if his life depended on it.” She rested a hand on 47’s breast pocket, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle. “Well, maybe I’ll get a new one soon then, we can match. Really stick it to Grey.” She threw him a mischievous smile. “You know how I do love to push his buttons.”
47 reached out and gently fiddled with lock of her hair, wordlessly telling her that he would like that very much. “Get it before I’m back,” he said, his icy blue eyes glittering with an emotion that could almost be described as happy. Diana nodded. It wasn’t much by way of reassurance, but she would take it. It was just another job. He would be back.
“Coffee. Tests. Another aspirin,” he said, ticking off the items she had requested he follow up on.
“Thank you.” He winked at her, leaving her to prepare.
He would be back… Wouldn’t he?