Like Lovers and Partners in Crime

3 - Acquaintences

I couldn't help but feel almost awkward around this man as he and I walk to the elevator at the far end of the hallway. I don't even know why I'm still around this guy. He presses the button to call the elevator once we're there.

"Diana said that I'm supposed to get to know you better before we begin our mission." He says plainly, not sounding very excited about it. I'm not exactly excited to be working with him, either. "I'm told that we're to pretend to be married."

"Yeah, I was told about that, too." The very thought of pretending to be 47's wife/lover makes my stomach churn and my insides recoil. Why couldn't they have found another female to do this? I wonder inwardly to myself as the two of us step into the elevator together. "What do you think about it?" I ask him, trying to spark up a conversation.

There is a long and awkward silence for a moment or two, and it makes me feel like I overstepped some kind of line. I look down and shuffle my feet, feeling a bit. . . .awkward.

"It's just business." He says after what seemed to be forever as he pushes a button to the fourth floor. "There's nothing really more to say about it." His words cut deeper into me than I admit, and somehow, I expected more. I should have known that he'd be one of those.

I mentally sigh to myself, feeling my eyelids as they become heavy and my body screams at me to let it go to sleep. I try keeping my balance, but as the elevator moves upward, I can't help it when I slump against the wall behind me. Blurriness clouds my vision and I had to tightly close my eyes to keep myself from becoming dizzy again. What an impression this is going to leave.

He glances at me when a "ding" is heard and the elevator comes to a stop, "Are you alright?" He asks me, but I can't tell if he's being genuine with that question or not.

After regaining my composure, I give him a quick nod. "Yeah, I'm fine." Judging by the expression across his features, I think he knows that I'm lying. "Let's proceed, then." I step out of the elevator as he keeps it held open with an arm. He steps out behind me and allows the elevator to close. "So. . ." I fix the coat of my suit. "What are we doing now?"

"Becoming better acquainted." He says, leading me down another hallway to an area that much, much more private than where we were at Diana's office. I can feel my entire body tense at the thoughts running through my mind, but he doesn't seem like the type to take advantage of a woman. I think he'd kill her before he'd even consider raping her. "It's a necessity that you and I get to know each other first. It'll make playing the role of 'bride and groom' easier on us both." I can't help but feel like he's being sarcastic as he says this.

"At least we can do it without the fornication, right?" I giggle at my own thoughts before just shaking my head again to push those thoughts to the back of my head. 47 is certainly a handsome man, that's for sure. Wait a minute, what the hell are you saying? No, no, he's. . . .he's not attractive. Remember what Diana said: no romantic relationships. That, and he's responsible for your brother's death. I let out a breath.

He doesn't seem amused at all, "Yes, but that doesn't mean we don't have to act like we are an actual couple." He walks over a minibar. I roll my eyes at his back before settling myself into a comfy chair at a table set in the center of the room. My eyes fixate themselves on his back, and I can't help but notice how broad his shoulders are; which was actually something that I hadn't noticed beforehand. His suit seems tight against him, which probably puts into perspective how physically fit he is. No wonder he easily overpowered Edd. I mused to myself as I watched him pour a couple of drinks into two different martini glasses.

"So. . ." I begin, but somehow am at a complete loss for words, "Do you have a real name that you go by?" My fingers twirl themselves in my ponytail that I pulled over my shoulder.

"47." He answers as he comes up to the table and offers me one of the glasses. I take it from his hand and swirl the liquid around a little as he sits across from me. "That is my name." What a weird one.

I raise both of my eyebrows before taking a sip of the beverage, "That's. . .odd."

"That's what they called me."

"They?" I ask him, confusion in my voice. "Who's 'they'?"

"The people who made me."

After taking another sip, I set the glass aside, crossing my legs underneath the table as my eyes meet his piercing blue ones. There's no emotion in them, and they seem cold; not so restless and tired like mine are. I probably look like a raccoon to him.

"Do you have any interests or hobbies?" He asks me after a long moment of silence.

I shrug my shoulders, "I suppose, if I ever have the free time, I like to spend it drawing and painting." I put my elbow on the table, resting my chin in the palm of my hand. "I'm usually so busy with work, though, that I almost always never have time for myself." I crack a crooked, half-smile. "What about you, hmm?"

"I don't do much outside of the Agency." He says, his eyes scanning my figure. They travel back up to my own eyes when he notices how tense I became, "I travel, but normally I wait to receive a contract." He takes a sip of his own drink.

"Maybe having me around will be good for you, then?" I bite my lip to hold back a giggle. "We'll make the perfect couple, you and I." Wait, why am I flirting with him? And. . . .Shouldn't I be more pissed off at him than I currently am?

He gives me the world's smallest smirk. Seriously, does this guy even smile?

"Perhaps so." He says and takes one more sip from his own martini. His eyes are fixated on mine and I can tell he's noticed the dark circles around my eyes. "Anastasia, do you sleep well at night?" He seems almost hesitant to ask me that.

I blink, tucking a stray strand of my bangs behind my ear. My eyes move themselves down to stare at the dark liquid in the glass. After a moment or two, I sigh and finally speak. "No, actually. I struggle with severe insomnia and the few times I do get to sleep, my brain decides to play vivid and horrible nightmares that keep at all ungodly hours of the night." I run my fingers through my hair to keep my bangs slicked back. "And this past week hasn't been any better. My nightmares have kept me up night after night and now they're becoming a bit much and there's nothing I can even do about it. . ." I put my head down on my arms. "It's awful-not being able to sleep."

When I lift my head back up, my eyes meet his, and I can see the distinct look of pity hidden amongst the sapphire of his irises. This makes me scoff. I don't need your sympathy. I think to myself.

"S. . .Sorry about the sudden breakdown." I manage to mutter as I rub my eyes. "You're the first one I've had a legitimate conversation with in awhile. I guess. . . .I needed someone to vent to." My voice trails off and I put my head back down, my hands shielding my eyes, my forehead resting on my fingers.

I can hear him exhale softly, "Do you not feel safe at night?" He asks me after a moment or two of silence.

My brows knit together at his sudden question, "Why would I not feel safe at night?"

"The file I read about you, Miss Hartman-"

I cut him off, "Please just call me Anastasia."

He nods, "The file I read about you suggests that you're a survivor of abuse."