I'm working on a more substantial Human Target story, but it's proving difficult. So, here's a little bit of fluff in the meantime . . .

Happy Birthday

Guerrero arrived at the office just as Winston and Chance half-sang half-mumbled, more or less in unison, "Happy Birthday dear Layla/New Girl. Happy Birthday to you." Layla smiled and blew out the candle on a chocolate frosted cake.

"Hey, wait a minute," Guerrero complained, "she's not even a sub-contractor, she's like a sub-sub-contractor. How come she gets cake on her birthday?"

"Sorry to rock your crazy-ass worldview," Winston said, unapologetically.

Chance shrugged, grinning as he accepted a slice of cake, "Seemed like a nice thing to do, seeing as we co-opted her birthday weekend with a job."

"Hey, I tell you what," Winston suggested, "You tell me what your birthday is and maybe you'll get a cake too."

Without hesitation, Guerrero replied, "October 9, 1963."

"Bull." Winston managed to convey a world of skepticism in just one word.

"What makes you think I'm lying?" Guerrero asked, sounding curious rather than affronted.

"Because you told me. I don't even know your first name, no way you would just volunteer any kind of identifying information."

Chance and Layla were joking in the background:

"I think his first name's 'Eddie'," Chance put in, "No, wait, that's the wrestler . . ."

"Isn't he dead?" Layla giggled "Maybe Guerrero stole his identity . . ."

Guerrero held up a finger, "I've got proof." He opened his satchel, not even trying to hide the fact that he was thumbing through multiple IDs, and pulled out a driver's license, which he handed over to Winston. "There."

"It says that you were born in 1962, not '63." Winston noted dryly.

"And that your name is Joseph Martin," Chance added.

Guerrero shooed away these pesky details with a dismissive flick of his eyes. "The point is," he emphasized, "October 9."

The tech-expert had presented his evidence without a trace of humor, as if it ought to be obviously compelling. Three pairs of eyes stared back at him in disbelief.

"What?" he said, finally cracking up just a little, which, of course, made Chance and Layla lose it completely. Guerrero shrugged and helped himself to a big piece of cake. "Other people's cake tastes better anyway."

Winston glanced heavenward and shook his head, muttering something about the perils of working with a pathological liar.

Guerrero nodded toward Chance and, around a mouthful of cake, told Winston, "Hey, I betcha he didn't give you his actual date of birth either."

Winston looked pointedly at Chance, who was busy shooting Guerrero a 'thanks for throwing me under the bus' glare.

"Sure I did," Chance said.

Guerrero raised his eyebrows, "Oh, really?"

Chance mumbled, "Well, approximately anyway . . ."

Winston exploded, "Approximately? Approximately! What's wrong with you people?"

Chance looked slightly abashed. Guerrero didn't.

"That's it. I'm not making any more birthday cakes until I see birth certificates. And not from you" – Winston scowled at Guerrero – "I wouldn't believe you even if you brought me your mama and the doctor who delivered you."

Guerrero looked bemused. Or maybe he was just crossing 'coerce a couple of old people into lying for me' off his mental to-do list.

"You made this cake yourself?" Chance asked, trying to change the subject. "Wow – it's awesome!"

"Really, it is," Layla enthused, "Thanks so much. I didn't know you baked."

Winston seemed slightly mollified.

That is, until Guerrero looked over at Chance and offered, "I can hook you up with that certificate, dude. What D.O.B. didja tell him?"

XXXXX

Kinda silly, I know. Hope you enjoyed!