#hxtmxn

[43versionsbetter]

[Via hxtmxn]: You forgot your undergarments last night...?

“...that explains so many things,” Katia replied, blushing bright red.

[ @hxtmxn ]

[43versionsbetter]

[via hxtmxn-AU]: Stretching before exercising was good. And just because he was at Katia's for awhile did not mean he was about to break from his strict routine. He was fifty-two. He might have looked thirty, but he was still aging and he needed to care for his body. Chin-ups, crunches, push-ups, and stretching before a jog.

She watched him, in part to learn from his technique and mimic it but also because he was as stare-worthy as ever. And also he was soothingly predictable, same routine every morning and she just kind of slid into it right next to him. It brought her a measure of peace.

Until the cat decided to interrupt, meowing tersely and reaching for her face. “Peter shush! I just fed you!”

[mad-hatter-teacups]

In the Company of a Friend

The message was brief at best when she received it. 47′s contact had been limited for some time since he’d gotten back into his contracts. While Mara knew not to expect to hear from him often, she felt her heart ache occasionally for the companionship in her apartment.

After the incident with Cacciatore, Mara since went under the radar. Nathaniel Essex paid her what was owed by the ICA after they allowed that fiasco to continue for so long. It would be more than enough, but she had more money than what she knew what to do with in her life. The majority of it was in savings, but Nate already handled the taxes.

The rain pattered against the windows outside and green eyes shifted up towards the clock, expecting 47 but he was running late. It was out of character for him, yet she had to remind herself (despite his cloning status) he /was/ still human. Not everyone was perfect.

The table was set for two, a third was always set for Diana (just in case) but this time it wasn’t at the table, rather it was settled on the counter in the event she ever showed up (or Mara just had an extra guest in general).

For now, the smells of pasta permeated the air along with the rich scent of basil.

[43versionsbetter]

47 bent close, his hands fully resting around her waist as he stood behind her, his nose slowly nuzzling her hair. He took in a deep, slow breath, the scent of her hair intoxicating... "You smell quite nice," he purred.

Katia giggled, leaning back against him as she waited for their toaster waffles to cook. “Thanks,” she said. “I could say the same about you. Maybe it’s that soap,” she added, cocking an eyebrow and smiling.

[43versionsbetter]

@hxtmxn

“Ugh, great,” she sighed, pushing herself off the bed as the old heater finally clanked to a halt. She looked up at the window, found it dark, and sighed, grabbing a blanket and wandering into the living room.

“Hey, Sev...?” she asked, quietly. “The heater just quit, can I...stay with you a while?”

[mad-hatter-teacups]

Awkward Dinner Arrangements

It had been some time since she had seen either Diana or 47. Since the handler's work move to South Africa, 47 was sparse here and there. Diana's emails were less frequent and it began to concern Mars before she finally sent messages to both of them. "Come visit for a nice dinner. I'll be making a taco bake with fresh ingredients. There will be wine and tequila. <3"

She didn't know. No one had said anything and even Nate seemed to be a little more involved in his work than usual. By the time she heard anything from Diana or 47...something seemed very off about each message.

Despite this matter, she set up like she was going to have dinner with her family anyways and waited for their arrival with records playing in the background and her cats skulking about.

[agent100]

[via hxtmxn]: -Tousles his hair.- "Hello, sunshine."

Century laughs and glances up at him, “Hey, man. Casual physical affection, nice. I’m tempted to ask if you’re feeling alright.”

[43versionsbetter]

Taken

@hxtmxn​

He’d placed two men to each exit, which still left a small platoon of men to follow him into the hotel. He posted one at the reception desk (from her expression it was the most interesting thing to happen to her while on the job and, while nervous, she seemed to find the armed man at least easy on the eyes; he shrugged, he couldn’t blame her), and several others, one at every other level, along the stairwell. He went to the elevator himself. Sure, it looked loud and showy, but all twenty-six of these men were under strict orders not to make a sound.

He pressed the button for the thirtieth floor and stepped back, waiting and watching the top panel of the elevator and feeling the car rise in every cell until he adjusted.

After almost two minutes, the elevator came to a stop at level thirty, and he stepped out and turned left. He moved slowly and gently; the people he worked for had strong reason to believe 47 would hear an approach, and he’d been given specific orders to be cautious. He stopped at the hotel room door and glanced at the keycard lock. From a sleeve he removed a previously prepared skeleton key and swiped it. The light blinked green, and he opened it slowly, as if prepared for any number of 47′s probable precautions. He encountered no resistance from the door, but that didn’t mean he didn’t trigger a silent alarm. He knew in case he did that he’d have to work quickly. He closed the door behind him and padded over to the bed, where 47 lay, still sound asleep. He removed a needle from his breast pocket and bent over 47, clapping a hand over his nose and mouth as he injected him with a sedative and watching 47 go limp just seconds after waking up.

One minute and roughly five seconds later, with the bodybag containing the unconscious Agent slung over his shoulder, he gestured to the man standing guard at the landing to pull everyone in, and followed down the stairs.

Two hours later, he slid the bag off of 47′s body and propped him, none too gently, up in a chair while the men tied him down. He sat in a chair of his own and allowed himself to take in the Agent’s face: pale and angular like his own, but earlier he’d glimpsed blue eyes where his had been green, and 47 had thicker eyebrows. Only minor differences, really. 47 was more built, more solid, than he was, and preferred suits, it seemed. Well, he couldn’t really hold 47 accountable on that end, as lab-issue scrubs had a nasty tendency to get really old and blasé rather quickly. He crossed his legs and waited patiently for 47 to wake up.