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An Ames-centric fic.

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Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Human Target.

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A/N: Okay, I've started about three one-shots for Human Target in the last few days, as well as the next chapter for my "Dodging Bullets and Feelings" story, but every time I start on one, I get an idea for another - or for another fandom! Oy! I'm trying to reign in my muse, but she's as wild and bouncy as I am! So, we'll see how it goes. Hopefully I'll be able to find a couple of these and get them posted soon.

This one is not a romance fic - very rare for me. Instead, it's about what would happen if Ames got sick of being treated like a child, and turned away from the team when she needed them the most.

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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Ames was stewing in her anger, feeling it rise up more and more, until it was boiling so very close to the surface. This had been festering for weeks now, but lately it had only been getting worse. She'd been with the team for over eight months now. Call her crazy, but she'd expected a certain modicum of respect in that time.

Sure, they were pleasant to her - usually. Winston treated her like his dumb kid sister who always got into trouble. Chance treated her as though she was some charity case that he needed to "fix", and Guerrero ... Guerrero treated her in so many different ways, it was hard to keep track. If he wasn't annoyed, he was aloof. If he wasn't aloof, he was astounded; he was flippant, nonchalant, critical, domineering, apprehensive, rude, offensively-honest, uncaring, and impatient. Normally she could handle that - it was what made him Guerrero, and she respected the hell out of him. But lately, it had all just been piling up, and every single time he made a careless comment towards her, it chipped just a little more away from the wall that was holding in her scream of frustration.

Ilsa was possibly the worst out of all of them. Some days Ilsa would be her best friend, and they would communicate about everything. Whether it be the latest fashion trends, or teaching Ilsa how to properly pick a lock, or the day-to-day on-goings of the team ... it didn't matter. They were completely at ease with one another, and it was almost a motherly bond that Ames had grown to love and depend on. But, then there were other days ... days when Ilsa was not so carefree and chatty. Sometimes it was when Ames screwed something up - but that wasn't always the case. Other times it was because Chance had said something to upset the older woman, and Ames was the easiest target to expel her anger. Sometimes it was because she was frustrated over her cheating husband ... and Ames was the easiest the target.

She was sick of it. Yeah, sometimes she made a mistake here and there. Everyone made mistakes. There was a learning curve to any job, and she'd just begun to feel that she was coming into her own in this job, when she started feeling the effects of everyone doubts and misgivings.

They all thought she was a screw-up. Sometimes they even said it, though it was usually said in anger, and then retracted the next day - sometimes it took longer, though. She tried to brush it off; act like it didn't sting whenever they rolled their eyes at her "childish" behavior, or "dumb" questions. The simple fact of the matter was that it did hurt. A lot.

And today was no exception.

She'd tried twice to voice her questions about the case, wanting to gain a fuller understanding. Winston had cut her off the first time, telling her in his most condescending voice to 'wait until the end of class before asking her questions - and make sure to raise her hand'. Guerrero had silenced her the second time, informing her that her nattering voice was distracting him from enjoying his sweet and sour pork.

As the minutes stretched on, Ames's fuse was getting shorter and shorter. She was silent through her anger, trying to calm herself down. She told herself that she was just stressed. It had been a long week, and she just needed some R & R. Maybe if she took a nice, weekend getaway - go down to see Brody, maybe - then she would be feeling better. She just needed to make it through the day.

"I'm sorry, Ames," Winston's voice broke through her thoughts. "We're not boring you, are we?"

Ames blinked, looking up at him from across the table. "What?"

"Well, the grown-ups are trying to have a meeting here," Winston explained slowly, his eyebrows inclined as he regarded her in mock-politeness.

Guerrero threw his two-cents in next. "If it's too much for you to pay attention to the conversation, why don't you go see if there's some shiny toys you can play with?"

Chance remained silent, flipping through the pages of the folder in front of him.

Ames was silent for a long moment, staring between Winston and Guerrero. The little voice in her head told her to just let it go, and throw out some half-assed 'sorry' - like she was the one in the wrong. Problem was, the little voice in her head just wasn't loud enough today. "Are you kidding me?" she gritted out, glaring daggers at Winston.

He stared right back at her, furrowing his brow slightly.

Ames stood slowly from her chair, placing her evenly on the table in front of her. "Are you actually fricking kidding me?"

Chance looked up at this, surprised at her tone and use of expletives.

"I've been trying to ask about this case for the last half-hour, and every time I've opened my mouth, I've been shot down!" she exclaimed furiously, glaring at Guerrero next. "'Shiny'?" she repeated, her voice nearly going shrill. "I'm not a fucking bird, and I'm sure as hell not a three-year old, so stop treating me like one!"

"Ames, let's just take a minute here -" Chance began, trying to smooth out the situation.

Ames shook her head, pushing her chair back out of her way. "No, I'm not interested. I have put in a serious effort here, and all you people do is sit there with those smug looks on your faces and act as though the only thing I ever do is screw up! I'm so sorry that I haven't been killing people since the 20th century; I'm so sorry that I'm not a bitter, old man who gets his jollies off making other people feel inferior!" Ames directed that last comment towards Winston, her body shaking and turning red.

Ilsa made her way out of her office, drawn in by the noise of Ames's raised voice. "Miss Ames, what is the meaning of this?" she wanted to know, placing one hand on her hip.

"JV's losing it," Guerrero explained.

Without thought for her actions - or the possible consequences - Ames thrust herself into Guerrero's space, planting her hands on the arms of his chair and staring fiercely into his eyes. "I am not junior varsity," she told him in a dangerously low voice. "I am a fucking professional, and demand to be treated as such."

Guerrero snorted in response, removing her hands from his chair so that he could set his food down on the table.

Ames remembered the time that she'd been talking to Alejandro on the phone, and he'd kicked her chair away - as though she were some nuisance that could just be tossed aside at a whim. Clenching her jaw, Ames took a half-step back, bringing her foot up to the wheeled chair he was sitting in. Without giving him a chance to know what hit him, Ames sent his chair skittering across the floor, crashing into Ilsa's shocked form behind him.

"I am sick of being treated like an incompetent amateur." She spared one last look for Chance before she stated, "I quit." With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the locker room, hastily grabbing her stuff and slamming the empty locker shut behind her.

Unwilling to wait for the elevator, Ames threw open the door to the stairwell, refusing to look back into the office. She didn't want to set her eyes upon the team which she'd once wanted so badly to be a part of. The blood pumping in her ears nearly drowned out the sound of her heeled shoes clicking and clacking on the stairs as she made her way down the many floors, adrenaline flooding her system.

When she got back to her place, she secured the lock behind her. Ames looked around the small apartment, taking in the look of it all. It would be changing soon ... she didn't think she could even stay in San Francisco any longer. She needed a fresh start. Moving into the living room, Ames flicked on the television and radio, turning the volume up as loud as it would go. She turned on the sink, the dishwasher, the shower ... even her kitchen blender. Anything that would make noise was turned on, until Ames couldn't even hear herself think anymore. She sank down to the floor of her kitchen, feeling the handle of the cupboard digging into her back, though she had no desire to move.

Ames dropped her head onto her knees, opened her mouth wide, and let loose an eruption of screams that tore through her entire body. She didn't spare a single thought for her neighbors, or for anyone else who might file a noise complaint against her. It felt so good to just sit there on the kitchen floor, and scream herself hoarse.

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Ames called Brody that night, asking him if he knew of any jobs that might be available. He'd asked her what had changed, since she was on the straight and narrow path when he'd left. She gave him the short version, not wanting him to feel sorry for her.

Brody, however, had always been good at reading between Ames's lines. He told her that he'd been planning on making a visit to San Francisco soon, and that he'd see what he could stir up in a couple of days.

Ames thanked him, telling him that she was looking forward to seeing him. After she hung up, Ames sat on her bed, gazing at the phone in her hands. There was an array of missed (ignored) calls from Chance and Ilsa - even a couple from Winston. She didn't bother checking her messages, though. Deleted them right from the menu, not wanting to get sucked back into their world. She was on her own again, the way that it should be. She wasn't cut out for the "toe-the-line" kind of life, anyway.

Ames felt a small pang run through her body as she thought that, as though something were telling her that it wasn't true. She ignored it after some effort, depositing her phone on her bedside table and making her way to the bathroom for a long, hot bath. She only hoped that things would look better tomorrow.

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End of chapter one.

Well, what did you guys think of this one? Like it, hate it?

Reviews are appreciated, flame if you must, but constructive criticism is much more useful.

Until next time ...!