Friends with Fire // Bucky x Oc (Discontinued For Now)

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We land in New York around 8:00 P.M. and I step off the plane to find a car waiting for me, the blond-haired driver seeming impatient.

“Are you Miss Brantley?” he asks in English, stepping toward me.

I quickly switch my brain from Italian to English. “Yes,” I respond.

“I’ll be taking you to your hotel,” he says, reaching for one of my bags. I hesitantly hand it over and follow him to the trunk of the black compact SUV. I get into the back of the car and fidget around with my wristlet, watching as New York flies past. 

The nightlife of the city slowly crawls out as the sun sets and the lights brighten. We stop in front of The Pierre, A Taj hotel and one of the hotel staff hurries over as I exit the car and go to grab my bags.

“Please be careful with those,” I murmur, my eyes going a bit wide at his carelessness.

“Of course Ma’am. My apologies,” he replies, trying to be more careful.

My driver walks over and holds out a card to me. “Call me if you need a ride anywhere,” he says.

I stare at him before taking the card and tucking it into my pocket. “Thank you,” I say simply before walking into the hotel, the attendant close behind me. I make my way to the front desk, my eyes scanning the room. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling and lights are spaced along the walls. A few people are lounging in the chairs available and some plants sit against the walls, spaced evenly. I hate these hotels.

“Name please?” the woman behind the desk asks, giving me a carefully practiced smile.

“Reese,” I reply, fidgeting with my wristlet again.

“Brantley?” she asks, glancing up at me from her screen. I nod sharply. “We have the Park Suite all ready for you,” she says, her smile a bit more genuine this time.

“Thank you,” I say, my face blank. Olivia always decides on the logistics for my targets. My only concern is doing my job as she says I should. She knows how much I hate luxury hotels.

I follow the attendant to the elevator and wait silently until it reaches the correct floor. He leads me to a door and I use the card I had been given to open it. The attendant places my things just inside the door. “Is there anything I can get you, Miss Brantley?” he asks, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I say, wanting to be alone. He nods politely before exiting, the door shutting noiselessly behind him. As soon as he’s gone I pick my bags up and enter the living room, placing them on the couch. I press the circle on my wristlet, and the screen appears again with my target’s information.

Former Agent Jackson Lees
Age: 68
Status: Guarded
Threat: 6
Lives with his wife and two kids. Kids are 24 and 29.

I already know how to get to his address since I had found the best route while on the plane. I grab the backpack that has all the things I need in it and walk back out to the elevator.

“Leaving already?” the lady at the front desk asks a bit jokingly.

“I’m meeting with a friend,” I reply, trying to add a bit of a cheery tone to my voice. It only sort of works but the front lady doesn’t seem to notice my bad attempt and merely smiles before looking back at her screen.

I don’t have any trouble getting to my target’s address and easily slip past the security if you could even call it that. I pause for a moment outside of one of the windows and pull my mask and goggles out of my bag, putting them on. The mask covers the lower half of my face and the goggles sit perfectly above them. I adjust my hood before sliding the window open and slipping inside, closing it behind me.

I pause, listening closely for any sound. When none is forthcoming I silently make my way through the kitchen towards the staircase. I stay to the inside of them, against the wall, to make it less likely for a creaky one to protest. I reach the top and pause, looking down both sides of the hallway. 

Very slowly I let my vision go from normal to heat recognition. I can only hold this for a few seconds so I quickly look around before locating the room I want. Going back to my normal vision I start down the hall, hugging one of the walls.

I peek inside, the door slightly ajar, and locate the sleeping form that belongs to my target. My wristlet becomes icy against my skin at my proximity and I hold my hand out slightly, moving my fingers in a small wave. I wait a few seconds until my target slowly wakes up and gingerly places a hand on his chest.

“Where are you going, dear?” his wife asks sleepily.

“Just to get some water,” he replies, cautiously getting out of bed.

I slip back down the hall and stairs, pressing myself into the far corner of his living room. I listen as he trudges downstairs, completely at ease in his own house. He turns on the lights in the kitchen and I let out a breath when they’re dimmed. Still with a hand pressed to his chest he fills a glass and takes a few sips.

I wait impatiently until he sets the glass on the counter before quickly igniting the flames that had been slowly building in his chest. His mouth gapes open but no sound comes out. 

Within a few seconds, there’s nothing but a glass of water sitting forgotten on the counter. I silently walk over to the glass and lift it, dumping the rest down the drain. I dry out the interior of it and place it back exactly where my target had gotten it from.