"Argh!"

The warbled groan of what sounded like a very frustrated and very angry Christopher Chance made her jump. She dropped her pen as she stood up from her desk and went to investigate into what could have him so worked up. The muffled sound of flesh meeting wood instantly set off every alarm in her head. She knew something was most definitely wrong with him when he started punching things- what weren't threats or punching bags and last she checked, a wall definitely did not qualify as either a threat nor a punching bag.

"Chance," She started up the stairs, into his apartment.

Holy Crap!

Whatever had happened had obviously taken it's toll on him, judging by the hole in the wall furthest from the door, his bloodied, bruised knuckles and the fact that he had collapsed against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

"Chance, are you alright?" Ilsa questioned, moving closer to him.

"Yea...just..." Chance let a harsh breath escape him. "Just a bad day."

His harsh breathing was evidence of his frustration and the hole that would be his temporary home decor until she could get a repairman to come patch the hole, was evidence that he was obviously angry about something. Ilsa raised an eyebrow as she let her eyes drift between the hole in the wall and his bloody and bruised hand. An amused smile played at her lips when he sighed and conceded, "Okay, maybe a little more than bad."

"I'll say," She nodded toward the hole. "I don't think you could do that much damage with a gun. Now care to tell me what happened?"

Where in the hell was he going to start the imminent rehashing of his horrible day? Should he start with the shower head that refused to spray anything but icy water or maybe the fact that he had slept with a mattress spring poking his back all night? Or maybe, just maybe, he should start with the fact that his workout had been anything but pleasant after pulling a muscle in his already busted up shoulder?

Then there was the date.

The date that had haunted him for six years. A date that he wasn't liable to forget anytime soon, even with Ilsa serving as a female presence in the office. A strong but oddly soothing female presence in the office. The kind that lingered in the back of his mind and reminded him on each mission that he had Ilsa waiting for him to come back and that she'd probably prefer him in one piece. The kind he hadn't felt since her.

"Well for one, my shower head refuses to spray anything but icy water..." Chance told her softly.

"Perfectly fixable. I'll have a plumber here in the morning." Ilsa shrugged it off, kneeling beside him to rub soothing circles on his back.

"I slept with a mattress spring in my back all night, that managed to find me no matter what position I was in..." Chance trailed off, looking up at Ilsa, who just nodded indicating that he could continue. "Then I went to work out which doesn't work very well with a busted shoulder. That last mission really did my shoulder in but anyway, I'm pretty sure I pulled a muscle in it."

"First of all, the mattress is perfectly fixable. We'll find you a new one." Ilsa told him softly, wondering when she took on the role of handy-woman and comforting friend. "Second of all, the doctor told you not to work out with that shoulder being torn in three different places. You could have torn the ligaments even more. Lastly, Chance, you don't get this worked up over things which you of all people know can be fixed. What else is going on?"

"It's the date." Chance mumbled softly.

"The date? What do you mean?" Ilsa asked in confusion.

His voice was shaky and warbled as the story spilled out - much to his surprise and Ilsa's complete and utter shock. He recounted the entire story of the death of Katherine Walters and how it had changed him. It was all he could do not to just break completely down and it took a lot of effort on Ilsa's part to not promptly throw herself off of the nearest bridge at her idiocy that had caused a great chasm between them when it came to the topic of love and marriage. It took every bit of her will-power to sit, collapsed against the wall next to him, and just listen to him recount the story of how he became Christopher Chance when all she wanted to do was comfort him.

"It sounds to me like you loved her a great deal." Ilsa noted softly when he finished his rehashing.

She was surprised to find her heart pounding in her throat, restricting her speech. She wasn't surprised to find him staring at her with glassy ocean water eyes. Eyes that flickered with the pain of losing someone, he had obviously loved a great deal, despite the risk he had taken for her.

"I didn't think anyone could ever understand how I felt when I lost Marshall..." Ilsa started softly, "That's why, after that case with the married couple, I lashed out. I thought you were pretending to know what it was like. I didn't know you actually understand. I'm sorry, I-"

"Didn't know because I didn't tell you. Winston and Guerrero were the only ones who knew." Chance shrugged softly. "Never had a day quite like this one before - the date just made it worse."

"The anniversary." Ilsa sighed softly, sliding her hand across his back. "I don't know what to say Mr. Chance-"

"Nothing." Chance shook his head, looking over at her. "Just stay with me."

"Okay." Ilsa agreed, leaning back against the wall as she ran her hand over his back.

And so she did. They sat there for hours, sometimes talking about everything and nothing and other times, not saying a word. By the time they moved, their movements were jerky and stiff but it had been what he wanted - what he needed.

"Ilsa..." Chance looked down at the floor. "Thank you."

"Chance," She moved closer to him and gently lifted his head with a firm hand under his chin. "Your welcome."

He moved to kiss her on the cheek but she moved at the wrong time and the kiss turned into something a lot more passionate than he planned, but the passion in it was comforting and he found himself seeking more of her. She wasn't going to pull away and question his intentions as he let his hands trail under her shirt. She simply wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the moment. The passionate yet languid kiss was only stopped when both had to pull away for air.

"You should go." Chance mumbled into the top of her head, "Before it gets too late - you shouldn't be out too late at night."

"Will you be okay?" Ilsa asked him softly.

"Yea." He nodded casually pulling away. "I'll be fine. Go - like I said, it's getting dark and late, if you don't go now, by the time you do go, I won't want you out of my sight until daybreak."

"Okay." Ilsa chuckled before turning to leave, tossing him a sweet smile over her shoulder as she disappeared down the stairs.

It was the next morning before they saw each other again. Neither said a word as they walked into the conference room where Winston was to brief them on the new mission. Nobody noticed - or if they had, they made no mention of it - Chance wink at Ilsa as they sat down, nor did they notice Ilsa's flustered smile.

Okay, after the weekend from hell - thanks to a combination of a possible life changing decision I'm going to be making between now and Thanksgiving and a decided lack of sleep - I needed some therapy that only Chance/Ilsa, hurt/comfort goodness could provide. So here it is. A little simple and the beginning is a little awkward but like I said, I needed some Chance/Ilsa, hurt/comfort goodness. Niagaraweasel, thank you so much for being my sounding board! I don't know of anyone else who would give me the encouragement to write what I needed to write in order to recover from my weekend and offer to let me spill my troubles to them! Thank you, it is much appreciated!

Leave me some love, Dolls! Reviews are much appreciated!

Love ya bunches,

RobertDowneyJrLove