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A Chance/Ilsa fic.
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Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Human Target. If I did, I wouldn't stand for the crap that Fox is putting it through. Gonna be pissed if they cancel another great show.
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A/N: Here's another one-shot for Chance and Ilsa, who I am slowly starting to like as a pairing.
I hope you guys like this one, I know I'll love writing it.
As always, please read and review, I live for feedback!
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It started out with little things: him accompanying her to charity events and other public appearances, driving her home at night, checking in with her over the phone. These were things that friends and partners did. Sometimes they went out for dinner or drinks, but friends and partners did that too. Sometimes she was too tired to make the trip home, so he let her stay with him ... that was a friendly thing to do.
Their relationship didn't really seem to be changing all that much, until Ilsa's sister-in-law came to visit her one morning, and discovered her walking down the stairs wearing one of Chance's shirts. It was a completely innocent occurrence, she simply didn't have any clean clothing, as was going to have an assistant bring over her dry-cleaning before anyone else arrived that morning.
Connie, however, didn't see it that way. No, she'd seen the signs, ever since that opera fiasco. Ilsa had still been a grieving widow, then, but things were different now. It had been over a year since that night, long since Marshall's death, and Ilsa was no longer grieving the loss of her husband. She still loved him, and always would, but Connie could see the change in her.
She'd been to some of the events with Ilsa and Chance, she'd heard Ilsa go on about how considerate he was to check in with her, and how she valued his services, whether on the clock or off. Now, she just had to convince her daft sister-in-law of it.
She had it all planned out. She told Ilsa that she had a dinner planned for the two of them to catch up, and had Guerrero tell Chance to be at the restaurant to meet a potential client. It had required a little bribing on Guerrero's end, as he had explained to her vehemently that he was not a cupid. So, she was forced to invite him to dinner with her the same night, but it was a price she was willing to pay.
Now, Connie was waiting for Ilsa to call her and scold her for setting her up that way, or for Guerrero's phone to ring so that Chance could give him the same speech ... but neither of their phones were ringing. They were seated in the same restaurant, but in a private booth where they couldn't be seen by Chance or Ilsa.
Connie began tapping her foot impatiently, wondering if Ilsa had seen Chance there, and decided to return to her apartment.
"You're looking a little stressed," Guerrero pointed out, sipping at his wine.
Connie spared him a glance, noticing his seductively quirked eyebrow. She forced herself to ignore how ravishing he looked in the dark suit - much as he had the night of the opera - and peered her head around to try and sneak a peek at Ilsa's table. "I'm just ... concerned."
"Why?"
Connie turned back to look at him. "Aren't you the least bit curious to see if we were successful?"
Guerrero shook his head. "No, but I'm clearly not as invested in Chance and Ilsa's potential relations as you are."
Connie scowled at him, shuffling over in her seat to look out into the aisle.
Guerrero sighed, knowing that he had to change his tactics if he planned on getting lucky that night. He stood up from the table, casually making his way over to the nearest waiter to request a couple of glasses of water for their table. As he spoke to him, he glanced around the restaurant, spotting the two of them immediately. He took a moment to observe them, and then allowed a small grin to fall upon his face before returning to the booth.
"Well, what did you see?" Connie asked him the second he sat back down.
Guerrero just grinned at her, perusing his dessert menu.
"Guerrero!" she continued, bouncing in her seat like a child who was being denied their favorite flavor of ice cream.
He let her pout for another minute or so, but finally gave in. "They're having dinner."
Connie blinked, staring at him dumbfounded. "Just ... having dinner?"
He nodded, sipping the wine. The waiter brought the water he'd asked for, stepping away from the table once he was done.
"That's it? They're not ... arguing? Acting confused? Anything?"
"They're just eating, Connie," he told her. "Congratulations ... your master plan worked."
Connie nodded, sitting back in her seat. "It just feels so ... anti-climactic. I was rather expecting them to put up more of a fight."
Guerrero shrugged. "Guess they just needed a nudge in the right direction." Changing the subject, Guerrero asked, "So, you wanna try the chocolate soufflé, or do you want me to just grab the bill so we can head back to my place?"
Connie quirked an eyebrow at him, sipping slowly at her fresh glass of water.
"Your place?" he offered next, a little too hopefully.
Connie only grinned, content to let him do a little squirming of his own.
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The end.
Well, what did you guys think of that one? Like it, hate it?
Reviews are appreciated, flame if you must, but constructive criticism is much more useful.
Until next time ...!