disheveled [ sambucky bingo collection ]

3 | No Hesitation

Square Filled: Assassins AU

Warning: Cursing

Word: 2818

Summary: Bucky Barnes had a target: Sam Wilson, and just because the man was pretty good looking doesn’t mean he’s not gonna pull the trigger.

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You must remember that I am an international assassin, and I do not fuck things up so easily when it comes to my job. I once was assassinating against my will, until the coding in me began to fade away and I became more human—I walked away from HYDRA with so much blackmail and secrets that could cause the world to collapse. I haven't seemed to falter in my deadpan expression until this target had caught me off guard.

Samuel Thomas Wilson. Sam. Works at the Veteran's Affairs. Lives in D.C. Washington. Jogs at ungodly hours every day. He's got that cute smile he got going on whenever he yelled during his runs, and I agree wholeheartedly; anyone who calls yelling during runs is invalid and doesn't know that it helps so much.

I've been watching this man an awful lot now, seeing him in some places before he became my target, but seeing him so open and bare sent me backward in time. Sam Wilson was a bastard, in my opinion, and he had no right to look that good as the red streaks of sunlight settled on his cheekbones. 

Was he even real?

He's a twenty million dollar target, and I deserve to slow down on this.

I’m situated by the damned building that he kept passing on his jog, the Lincoln Memorial, and I see him through my scope, jogging at a steady pace in a sweatshirt and shorts, getting his routine on the go. I've only watched him from this point of view yet I have learned so much from him.

Actually, no I don't.

Which was probably why I let myself linger on this case for a full week before pulling the trigger.

The time I found my place was when I woke up at three a.m. to eyes where his usual routine was, and he was there thirty minutes later jogging; I didn’t even see him by the Monument, he just passed by me when I was walking up the goddamned steps. The fuck? I’ve seen things more ridiculous than this before the sun had risen, but I have to admit, a target that wakes up before four in the morning to do mundane things is completely out of my lane.

I mean, look at me: I woke up at two in the morning so I could set my rifle. There’s crazy shit happening in two in the morning.

I have then dedicated the first two days of my given time to study Sam Wilson and his habit, and all I learned so far was that he comes at the same time on the same path, and he did not once flinch or bothered to look around when I threw some rocks or made some suspicious noise on purpose. It was as if this man didn’t care if I just blocked him mid-jog and pulled out a SIG Sauer P226 and buried his decaying corpse in New Jersey. 

The third day, however: Sam Wilson came in a few minutes late, just eight minutes, and he jogged at his usual place; this was when I hid behind the trees instead, and I was so close to him. That’s when I saw the thigh holster on him, and there I deducted from the shape his shorts formed that it was a small weapon. Just seeing it sent shivers down my spine, electrifying me in a way I didn’t understand. The possibility of having to encounter him in combat then aroused me somehow, and strangely enough, I could see him pulling out the knife and striking me without hesitation. 

I went back to my first hiding spot behind some columns in Lincoln Memorial.

Everything else became mundane. I watched him through the scope of my rifle as I lay on my stomach, hidden by the shadows. The sky would then turn a dark violet as Sam Wilson passed by me several times, and his ignorance only proved fruitful; there’s a sick part of me that wishes he’d discover me, and then I realized I was just starved of companionship. I’ve come across a lot of targets who were skilled in combat, but there was something human about this man that made me reel into his persona. I never knew I could want to know someone this badly, badly enough to risk my profession and safety.