[ To Gamora’s own surprise, she actually sleeps. Completely at ease, completely disarmed, she falls asleep wrapped around Peter, like it’s the easiest thing in the world – even though it’s the first time she’s willingly slept in front of another person in years. She’s vulnerable when she sleeps, and even though she can respond quickly, there’s always the chance it won’t be quick enough. But in that enormous, plush bed, curled up with a prostitute, of all things, Gamora sleeps.
Her body wakes her after a couple hours, and (almost reluctantly) she detaches herself from Peter. She slips out of the room with her cases from under the bed, and in the darkness of the bungalow, she changes into black clothes, appropriately arming herself and packing surveillance equipment into a portable bag. As silently as she prepared, she leaves the hotel behind.
Finding Ramirez’s estate is easy enough. She quickly realizes her initial intel was completely right: the man lives in a veritable fortress with all the security measures he has in place. Breaking in and dispatching him isn’t an option now, but if she wants access to any of his systems (security or otherwise), she needs to physically plant the bug.
Sure, her father has lackeys who occasionally handle this sort of infiltration, but Gamora is guaranteed to be the most efficient weapon in Thanos’s arsenal – and besides, this is one of the reasons Gamora anticipated being in LA for so long.
She parks far enough away from the estate that her car won’t look suspicious. She treks through the back acreage on the hillside that’s technically part of Ramirez’s land, and she makes it all the way to the first electric fence. She follows the fencing along itself until she finds the connected breaker, tweaks a few wires, and then lets herself through the perimeter without so much as an identifiable print.
Gamora makes excellent time reaching the private security hub Ramirez has on-property – with a few hired guns manning the cameras and keeping watch. She even manages to clip the preliminary bug into place in Ramirez’s server with admirably short work, and she starts to think she might actually get back to the hotel and crawl into bed with Peter before sunrise.
That would— actually be nice.
Really nice.
An alarm blares in her ears before she even registers something went wrong.
Get out get out get out get out—
She needs to retreat, and she needs to do it now.
With practiced ease, Gamora has her bag zipped and on her back, and she’s leaving the security hub behind. She hears shouting, barking (does he have dogs?), and lights suddenly flood the area between the house and the hillside. Panic bubbles in Gamora’s belly, but she keeps pushing forward, keeps making for the fence—
She hears the gunfire, and it feels like it’s miles away. It’s not the first time she’s been shot at, not even slightly, but she at least thinks she’s in the clear this time, she thinks she made it out, because she’s past the fence, down the hill—
A too-familiar sensation of fire blazes up her side. It knocks her off her feet, sending her tumbling down the hill, and every bump and roll feels like knives jabbing into her ribs, but when she finally comes to a stop, she doesn’t waste a second. She staggers to her feet, pressing her hand against her waist, and she manages to cross the last stretch to her car before she even pauses to assess the damage.
Hissing through her teeth, Gamora tugs up her tight shirt, revealing a nasty, bloodied graze. The bullet didn’t tear through much, and it mercifully didn’t leave matching entrance and exit wounds, but there’s plenty of blood.
There’s goes the security deposit on this rental.
Gamora doesn’t deal with the valet this time. She parks the car in an open lot a block from the hotel, and despite the searing pain in her side (and from the variety of bruises starting to bloom under her skin), she sneaks her way back to the bungalow. As quietly as she can manage, even as her hands start to shake, she opens the door, locks everything up behind her, and then goes to dig through her cases for a triage kit.
In the middle of her search, she accidentally knocks a small set of knives off the table, and she swears under her breath as she quickly tucks them away in another case. Before she can make any more of a mess, she slinks off to the bathroom (attached to the bedroom, wonderful) to start dealing with her fuckup. ]
my hand slipped whoops
[ To Gamora’s own surprise, she actually sleeps. Completely at ease, completely disarmed, she falls asleep wrapped around Peter, like it’s the easiest thing in the world – even though it’s the first time she’s willingly slept in front of another person in years. She’s vulnerable when she sleeps, and even though she can respond quickly, there’s always the chance it won’t be quick enough. But in that enormous, plush bed, curled up with a prostitute, of all things, Gamora sleeps.
Her body wakes her after a couple hours, and (almost reluctantly) she detaches herself from Peter. She slips out of the room with her cases from under the bed, and in the darkness of the bungalow, she changes into black clothes, appropriately arming herself and packing surveillance equipment into a portable bag. As silently as she prepared, she leaves the hotel behind.
Finding Ramirez’s estate is easy enough. She quickly realizes her initial intel was completely right: the man lives in a veritable fortress with all the security measures he has in place. Breaking in and dispatching him isn’t an option now, but if she wants access to any of his systems (security or otherwise), she needs to physically plant the bug.
Sure, her father has lackeys who occasionally handle this sort of infiltration, but Gamora is guaranteed to be the most efficient weapon in Thanos’s arsenal – and besides, this is one of the reasons Gamora anticipated being in LA for so long.
She parks far enough away from the estate that her car won’t look suspicious. She treks through the back acreage on the hillside that’s technically part of Ramirez’s land, and she makes it all the way to the first electric fence. She follows the fencing along itself until she finds the connected breaker, tweaks a few wires, and then lets herself through the perimeter without so much as an identifiable print.
Gamora makes excellent time reaching the private security hub Ramirez has on-property – with a few hired guns manning the cameras and keeping watch. She even manages to clip the preliminary bug into place in Ramirez’s server with admirably short work, and she starts to think she might actually get back to the hotel and crawl into bed with Peter before sunrise.
That would— actually be nice.
Really nice.
An alarm blares in her ears before she even registers something went wrong.
Get out get out get out get out—
She needs to retreat, and she needs to do it now.
With practiced ease, Gamora has her bag zipped and on her back, and she’s leaving the security hub behind. She hears shouting, barking (does he have dogs?), and lights suddenly flood the area between the house and the hillside. Panic bubbles in Gamora’s belly, but she keeps pushing forward, keeps making for the fence—
She hears the gunfire, and it feels like it’s miles away. It’s not the first time she’s been shot at, not even slightly, but she at least thinks she’s in the clear this time, she thinks she made it out, because she’s past the fence, down the hill—
A too-familiar sensation of fire blazes up her side. It knocks her off her feet, sending her tumbling down the hill, and every bump and roll feels like knives jabbing into her ribs, but when she finally comes to a stop, she doesn’t waste a second. She staggers to her feet, pressing her hand against her waist, and she manages to cross the last stretch to her car before she even pauses to assess the damage.
Hissing through her teeth, Gamora tugs up her tight shirt, revealing a nasty, bloodied graze. The bullet didn’t tear through much, and it mercifully didn’t leave matching entrance and exit wounds, but there’s plenty of blood.
There’s goes the security deposit on this rental.
Gamora doesn’t deal with the valet this time. She parks the car in an open lot a block from the hotel, and despite the searing pain in her side (and from the variety of bruises starting to bloom under her skin), she sneaks her way back to the bungalow. As quietly as she can manage, even as her hands start to shake, she opens the door, locks everything up behind her, and then goes to dig through her cases for a triage kit.
In the middle of her search, she accidentally knocks a small set of knives off the table, and she swears under her breath as she quickly tucks them away in another case. Before she can make any more of a mess, she slinks off to the bathroom (attached to the bedroom, wonderful) to start dealing with her fuckup. ]