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He wasn't looking, not directly, that is. It was safe enough to let his eyes wander over her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, with the occasional split-second sideways glance, trying to commit every detail to memory while he finished his drink; her knee-length blood red dress and the matching glossy lipstick, the short black leather jacket, her thin leather gloves, the elegant way she's sat on that barstool.
He couldn't see her soft freckles in the dim lighting, he liked them so much, but standing close enough to her to smell her perfume made up for that.
They had accomplished what they both came here for; he'd felt her hand in his trousers' front pocket as she slipped him the USB stick while he ordered his drink and silently prayed that she hadn't noticed his body's reaction; fully aware that the memory of this brief touch would keep him awake and hard all night.
He knew he had to stop imagining them together, it wasn't going to happen and it only made his heart feel heavy when he was alone in one of his bare safehouses, when he allowed his hand to slide below the waistband of his sweatpants to feel a little less lonely for a while, and a lot more guilty afterwards.
47 set his empty glass down, fighting the urge to look directly at her before he turned around, and left, trying his best to keep a neutral face while walking towards the exit, forcing himself not to look back to see if she was watching him leave.
He was almost at the door when he overheard two men talking about her, the words "hot redhead at the bar" caught his attention and he decided to listen in, just in case, tried to convince himself that it was concern, not jealousy.
"That little fox smiled at me earlier," one of them said, "definitely taking her home tonight".
47 turned to look at him, he was about Diana's age, full dark blonde hair, beard, slight dad bod. The polar opposite of him, he noticed. At least he knew now what Diana found attractive in a man, and even though he never truly thought he'd have a chance, it hurt.
He told himself that this was none of his business, and he certainly didn't want to witness them getting to know each other better; and just as he turned away to finally leave the bar he heard the other guy laugh. "She's petite, are you sure she'll be able to handle us?"
47 stopped dead in his tracks, trying to keep the mental image out of his mind while examining the other guy.
"Nah, Tom, she'll be fine. She looks like she really needs it." The hairy guy laughed.
"Well then," said Tom as he handed his friend a tiny plastic bag, "just gimme a sign when you're ready to go." With that, he crossed the room, headed towards the bathrooms. 47 heard him murmur "can't wait to plough her ass" as he walked past him.
47 felt a hot rage in his stomach. He had to prevent this, preferably without getting Diana's attention. He cast a glance at Hairy Guy, who still leaned against the wall, watching Diana from afar.
He decided to take this opportunity and followed Tom into the bathroom. Just another drunk guy sleeping it off with his face in the toilet bowl, nothing out of the ordinary.
Their eyes met the second he exited the bathroom. She raised her eyebrows, clearly demanding an answer for his erratic behaviour, and he didn't have one that wouldn't include telling her that he just drowned a guy who had been planning to hurt her.
The barstool right next to her was empty, and she gestured for him to come over and sit down. Two strangers in a bar, talking to each other, that couldn't be too suspicious, it's what places like this are for.
Just before he reached his destination, Hairy Guy swooped in and sat down next to Diana. 47 had to fight the urge to drag him off that barstool and snap his neck in front of dozens of witnesses.
Instead, he leaned against the bar on Diana's other side, not too close, but close enough to listen in, and close enough to keep his eyes on them so he could intervene if necessary. He wouldn't let anyone hurt her.
"So ... how come a babe like you is sitting here all alone?" Hairy Guy asked with a confident smirk.
"I'm just trying to relax after work," she replied.
"I'm Greg. And you look like you need ... more." He winked and gestured at her now empty glass while his eyes were fixated on her body. "Let me help you with that." Hairy Greg waved at the bartender and ordered something for her.
47 leaned in closer to Diana. "Hi. I'm Tobias. Nice to meet you."
Diana turned to look at him, confusion all over her face for a second before she played along. "I'm Helen. Nice to meet you, Tobias." She smiled at him, and his heart beat a little faster. If only this could be real.
Greg placed a strong looking drink in front of Diana, grinned and said "Here, you'll love this. I know exactly what a little fox like you wants."
47 pushed the drink away. "You don't look like someone who drinks something like that," he told her with what he hoped looked like a flirty smile, "I bet you're more into ..."
He quickly scanned the menu in search for something with a hilarious name, she always laughed at his death puns, why not impress her with his sense of humour now.
Death in the Afternoon could amuse her, but absinthe wasn't what she should drink in this situation. Irish Car Bomb, oh no no no God no, not a good idea. Blow My Skull Off would make her laugh, he had to keep that in mind.
He blushed and cast her a sideways glance at Between the Sheets and Sex on the Beach, too brazen. Gunfire and Screwdriver could work, though. They had Seven and Seven on the menu, wrong numbers, she deserved the original, not some imposter.
Quick Fuck made him blush even more, and when he found Red Headed Slut on the menu he felt like passing out.
She still looked at him expectantly, and he decided to just ask her what she'd like to drink. Diana ordered a Screwdriver, and 47 regretted not going for that one.
Hairy Greg glared at him before setting his eyes on Diana again. "I haven't seen you here before, and trust me, I would never forget a babe like you."
"I've never been here before," Diana replied with a hint of amusement in her voice.
47's heart sank. What if she actually liked guys like that, she would be mad at him for interfering with her leisure activities, or worse, she could tell him off and follow Greg home. He had to protect her, and the only way to do that was by making her pick him instead.
Hairy Greg grinned. "Wanted to try something new, eh? It's your lucky night."
"Is that so?" she asked, sipping on her drink, glancing at 47 through her lashes.
He knew he was standing way too close to her right now, he could feel her arm brush against his leg and he was sure she could hear his heartbeat over the loud background noise.
Now or never. 47 gently tilted her head up and brought his lips to hers; his heart started to race when she melted into his embrace and parted her lips for him, it felt like his skin was on fire and he hoped that their kiss would last forever. It was over way too soon.
He stepped back, terrified. Kissing, being in love, wanting to be close to someone ... that was for normal people with normal lives, not for him. He wasn't supposed to have these feelings and emotions and desires, he certainly wasn't supposed to have them for Diana.
Diana. He overstepped. But when he finally dared to look at her, there wasn't anger or disgust in her eyes, just confusion and something else he couldn't quite place.
"Well, it's getting late," she said, and Hairy Greg immediately jumped off his barstool.
"May I walk you home?" 47 offered, hoping that she'd accept.
Diana smiled and said "I'd love that."
He had to remind himself that this wasn't real, he was just trying to protect her and she was just playing a role.
They left arm in arm. 47 didn't allow himself to enjoy this moment too much; he had to be vigilant, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. He knew they shouldn't be seen together in public, but he had to keep her safe at all costs.
As he had anticipated, someone was following them. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed what he assumed; Hairy Greg must've left the bar shortly after them and followed them probably with the intention of finding out where Diana lived. They would both leave the country in two days, but he still wasn't willing to take the risk.
Besides, possibly compromising an ICA safehouse wasn't ideal. They should've just met there in the first place, but the ICA advised against that; this safehouse was already at risk ever since Davenport and Swan took their celebrations too far after a successful mission. No need to give nosy neighbours more fuel for gossip.
He turned to her to tell her about Greg following them, but before he could say something she whispered "I know," and they slightly adjusted the direction they were headed. The feeling of his Silverballer pressed against his ribs from the proximity of Diana's body was reassuring. He could see her smiling at him from the corner of his eye as he tightened the protective grip on her shoulder, drawing her a little closer to him.
"You're really sweet, do you know that?" she said in a low voice, and he felt the blood rush to his face and his groin. She didn't mean it like this, he knew that.
Diana nudged him towards an unlit back alley a bit ahead of them, and he nodded after making sure that nobody was around to witness them disappear into the alley.
They stopped a few metres in, Diana taking cover behind a rubble container, 47 climbing up the scaffolding on that building. It was easy to make it look like an accident, the pile of bricks was already close to the edge of that platform and there was no need to confront Hairy Greg about this. Two less predators in this town, he really did the world a favour, free of charge.
47 jumped back down, careful to avoid the pool of blood seeping through the fresh pile of rubble.
Diana beamed at him and reached up to straighten his tie, before taking his face in her hands and kissing him gently, longingly.
They turned and walked back out of the alley after making sure that no-one was watching, Diana's head leaning against his shoulder while he told her about the conversation between Greg and Tom.
She wasn't angry, didn't tell him off for taking things into his own hands without consulting her first. Instead, she kissed his neck, whispered "thank you, 47" in his ear.
They stopped at the front door of her safehouse. 47 tried to keep the heartache out of his face and voice when he bid her good night.
"The night is still young ... I can give you your mission briefing tomorrow after breakfast," she said as her eyes roamed over his body, "or after lunch."