Title: Forget Me
Fandom: Ailee (Singer)
Rating: T
Length: 515 words
Content notes: She's an assassin, but there's no vivid description of blood or the killing.
Author notes: This came from the picture of a completely different idol, but it worked.
Summary: Ailee’s assignment became personal, very quickly.


Ailee had been in much more comfortable positions for her job. Even fully dressed in jeans and hoodie, the rocks under her pressed into her skin, leaving indentations she could feel and would for hours after she left this rooftop.

The rifle rested in the tripod in front of her, catching her attention and making her forget the discomfort. She heard nothing in her ear, so she checked her sight again, making sure her rifle was aimed exactly where it needed to be. Yes, there was the table, the chair, the flowers in the center, the correct one because it had an extra daisy in it.

"Target sighted," came the voice of her spotter in her ear, and she settled into the waiting headspace, where nothing mattered but the gun and the target at the end of it.

A woman stepped into her crosshairs, and Ailee drew back with a gasp. What the hell?

"What was that?" her spotter demanded.

"Nothing," Ailee said, and pressed her eye back to the sight. "Nothing at all."

How personal was this? She knew the assignment had come from her superiors, although she'd never expected to take someone out in Seoul, South Korea of all places, where she was from even if she'd never been there. Maybe because she'd fit in better? As long as she didn't open her mouth too much. She had too strong of an accent to ever be taken as a native.

Her spotter snorted. "Which means something's up. What is it?"

"I know her," Ailee said, distant.

"How close?"

Ailee swallowed. "Close enough," she said.

"Is it going to be a problem?"

"Is she the target, or is the man with her the target?"

Her spotter hesitated, and while he did, she did a little praying of her own. Please let it be him, please. Not that she had anyone to actually pray to, but at least this would help. Some. Hopefully.

"The client wants him dead for sure. I think... she's his target," her spotter said.

Ailee raised her eyebrows. "Trafficker?" she asked.

"As I understand it."

"Then I have no problems with any of this," she said, and breathed out, slowly enough to let out all her tension. "Bastard," she muttered under her breath.

She let it all go, focused on the dark head of the man in front of her, listening to the wind, watching the tree above them, the way he slipped something into her friend's drink....

Bastard, she thought again, and squeezed the trigger.

The recoil pressed the rifle into her shoulder, and she rolled away from it, reaching to grab her rifle and break it down, wrapping the pieces in cloth and stowing them into shopping bags. She got up, carefully ignoring the screams and yells and sirens from below, and went to the stairs to go down.

Her friend would never forgive her, had probably even forgotten her, but at least... at least this made them even. It didn't matter if she never knew it. Ailee knew it, and that... was what made this all worth it.