Disclaimer: No I don't own the rights to Human Target but Guerrero and Chance really should be paying rent for living in my head.
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fanfic so if you can't be kind be specific!
"Dude! What the fuck…?" Guerrero barely managed to jerk the gun to one side as he fired, sending the bullet harmlessly in to the wall behind his friend. Chance didn't so much as blink as it impacted scarcely inches from his face. Instinct demanded an instant kill shot for any intruder in his loft apartment but luckily for Chance a deeper reflex in Guerrero's brain acknowledged the familiar silhouette of the man leaning back, arms folded by the window.
"And Winston think's I'm the one losing his touch…"
"What the fuck dude? You're not even supposed to know about this place!"
Chance smiled. When it came to other people's privacy Guerrero had no qualms about breezing in, physically or via cyberspace. Locks were to be picked, firewalls demolished and encryptions to be broken. He didn't really care if someone knew he'd invaded their privacy or not, unless there was a tactical advantage to their ignorance. Chance clearly had the advantage here.
"Just because I never made a house call before, it doesn't mean I don't know where you live."
"Obviously."
Chance pushed away from the wall and wandered round the large, opened plan loft. There wasn't really much to see. A beat up, old leather couch stood against a bare brick wall, affording a clear view of the windows to the left and the front door leading the corridor on the right. A camp bed was set up in one corner, a small kitchen in another. A surprisingly expensive looking 19 inch flat screen television sat on an ancient coffee table next to a plain wooden picture frame containing a photo of a little girl, no older than six or seven years old.
Chance switched the TV on flopped onto the couch, remote in hand and flipped through the channels. His eyes flicked to the picture of the little girl. There was no mistaking the narrow face, angular bone structure and the coolness of the eyes. The girl, unlike Guerrero himself, had a wide grin and looked as if she smiled easily and often.
Guerrero tucked his gun away, dumped his jacket and keys on the kitchen table and opened the refrigerator, grabbing two beers and headed for the couch. As he passed the coffee table he turned the picture of the smiling little girl face down, a silent warning that its subject was off-limits. He passed a beer to Chance and sat down.
Chance finally settled on an old Bruce Lee film and they sat in silence for a couple of minutes watching the figure on the screen take down five heavily armed men with his bare hands.
"Shit, I wish I was that fast. You ever seen his screen test? The camera could hardly register his movements. They actually told him to slow down."
"Dude, I am that fast." Guerrero said without the slightest hint of modesty. "What do you want Chance? I know you didn't break in to give me a fan boy commentary."
"You cleared out the safe. Winston hasn't noticed yet, but he will."
Guerrero looked at him with blank, expressionless eyes. Chance was still watching the movie. There was no point trying to read Guerrero's expression. That man could out-stare a snake. If Chance was going to get information out of him it would have to be by provoking him to say or do something.
"I notice you left the cash," Chance said.
Still nothing.
"You took the portable stuff. The gems from that job in New Jersey. And the less conspicuous jewellery."
Silence.
"Where are you going ?"
Guerrero stood up and flicked the TV off.
"Dude, this has been fun and all but get the fuck out of my house."
"Are you bailing on us? You're part of the team."
"No dude, I'm a consultant." Guerrero stressed the last word.
"Bullshit."
Guerrero ran his hands through his lank hair in frustration. He really didn't need a confrontation right now. He needed space. Working as part of a regular team did not come naturally to him. Sure, since he left the old man's crew he'd team up when he needed someone else's expertise or intel but he'd just as quickly put a bullet in their brain if they double crossed him or got underfoot. But having people actually watch his back because they chose to gave them the leverage over him. It was weird, uncomfortable weird. Loyalty was something to be exploited, not relied upon. It added a stressful dimension to his work that he didn't need or enjoy. It was so much easier to watch his own back but lately he'd found himself giving thought to the safety of his colleagues, which was ridiculous. Chance knew how to take care of himself and Winston had better learn quick, or he was in the wrong business.
He needed space. He needed to do a couple of jobs solo to redefine his sharp edges that working as part of a team had eroded. He was softening to the company of others and if he lost his edge he could hesitate at the wrong moment and get himself killed.
He'd been planning to get out for a while now but the final straw came when he'd discovered he was damn near broke. There had been a few debts to pay that were way past due and unfortunately he been so tied up with one of Chance's cases it had been easier to pay up than "renegotiate". Not a few of those debts and favours had been generated by his work with Chance. Something between professional pride and a reluctance to deal with Winston's bitching over money stopped Guerrero from just asking for the money, so he just helped himself to the money he needed to get out. He had hoped he'd have a bit more time before they noticed. He'd been on the way to the airport before he'd realised he'd left behind the picture that was now face down on his coffee table. Getting caught out by Chance whilst he tried to retrieve it was further proof of the dangers of sentimentality.
"Dude, this whole crusader thing is your deal not mine."
"So why help? I know you get better money… freelance."
Guerrero shrugged. "For shits and giggles?"
"It really doesn't bother you?"
"What, dude?"
"The death. The killing." Chance thought for a fraction of a second an expression was about to break through Guerrero's mask but it was just a flicker, invisible to anyone who hadn't known him as long as Chance had.
Guerrero shrugged again, "Maybe some people do deserve to die."
"Do you ever think," Chance said, "that maybe we're those people?"
"If you've got a death wish, dude, you're talking to the wrong person. This conversation is exactly the shit I don't need."
Chance smiled inwardly. His technique was beginning to pay off. Maybe he could talk him round. Guerrero's skills and contacts were invaluable to their operation and truth be told he'd miss his friend if he took off for good.
"Well, I really don't need you running off with half the contents of my safe."
"Deal with it dude."
Guerrero retrieved his jacket from the kitchen and made for the door.
Shit.
Chance jumped forward, blocking the smaller man's exit route.
"Seriously?" Guerrero asked, one eyebrow raised.
"I was hoping I could talk you into staying with the team but…" Chance shrugged, palms up in a world-weary gesture.
"Dude, really. Not cool."
Guerrero threw the first punch, which Chance deflected easily moments before slamming his elbow in to Guerrero's jaw. Guerrero stepped back, reeling slightly as he wiped his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand.
"I'm totally getting this feeling of déjà vu dude. Only last time it was you bailing on me." Guerrero wiped the blood from his hand on to his jeans.
"I wasn't bailing on you, I was bailing on the old man." Chance replied, easing in to a defensive stance, ready for the next onslaught.
"Whatever dude. You bailed."
Guerrero stuck out against Chance again but this time he as Chance deflected the punch he ducked the returning blow and drove his knee straight in to the larger mans ribs. Chance heard a sickening crack and grunted.
"It's not too late to just talk about this, Guerrero." Chance was leaning forward, winded but unwilling to back down.
"Quit being such a baby. Get out of my way or take your beating. Your choice."
Chance straighten up, wincing ever so slightly from the pain of what he suspected were a couple of cracked ribs.
"Just remember I gave you the option."
This time Chance hit first, the discomfort of his ribs not even slowing him down. He'd fought through much worse and his show of pain had largely been to mislead Guerrero. As the flurry of punches and blocks continued back and forth, Guerrero retreated back in to the wide expanse of the loft, as Chance knew he would. Chance was physically bigger and stronger but he lacked Guerrero's speed and agility. At close quarters Chance had the advantage but given a bit of space Guerrero's fighting style really came in to its own.
There really wasn't much furniture to break in the room so it was sheer bad luck that when Guerrero dropped out of the path of Chance's fist and knocked him off balance with a low sweeping kick that the man should land on the coffee table where his daughter's photo sat.
