Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
~ for niagaraweasel ~
"So this is it?", Adrianne Steward asked incredulously. "Mr. Winston will send us a helicopter and we're done? No more threats, no more hidden bombs, no more bullets barely missing my head? I will get my life back?"
Chance nodded, wiping thick sweat beads off his forehead. "Unless you stumble upon another encrypted treasure map again, you can spend your life cataloging potsherds from now on till judgment day."
"You still don't get it, do you?", she asked, handing him a neatly folded piece of cloth for his forehead.
How in the world had she managed to keep it that clean and meticulously in shape after the jungle trip from hell they had just gone through? And why the hell were the sweat beads on her forehead tiny and almost glass pearl like, while he emitted gross, smelling streams that mixed with grime and tiny dead flies sticking to his skin?
"Get what?", Chance asked, slightly irritated with her for no real reason.
"My job. The way I lead my life. You don't understand why I love being a curator, why I love sitting at my desk, studying shards and broken pots, as you described it so nicely."
His skin was beginning to itch mightily and his vision was starting to get affected by the intense midday sun. He was definitely not in the mood for a discussion of boredom versus adventure lifestyle. "We need to get out of the heat." He took her by the wrist and dragged her into the huge Maya temple they had stumbled upon during their flight from the hidden silver mine, deeper in the jungle. Despite the many arm-thick climbers that covered the deserted city almost completely, the temple's flat roof would provide a perfect landing place for the helicopter.
"Look at those fantastic reliefs!" Adrianne exclaimed as soon as they entered the ancient building's semi-darkness.
"The helicopter won't arrive before six, so enjoy yourself with whatever is so great about this stuff, I'll take a bath." Chance's interest in Mesoamerican culture was limited, but he knew that big Maya temples always had pools in the basement for cleansing rituals and yes, there it was - a deep basin filled with the clearest cool water he could ask for. A waterspout in the shape of a feathered snake even provided a constant stream, like a slow shower. He stripped in no time.
Standing in the water up to his waistline, he closed his eyes and indulged in the feeling of sweat, grime, flies and, of course, curdled blood, all slowly getting washed away. The itching stopped, comfortable coolness soothed the scratches and cuts he had obtained during their long trip... A heavenly feeling.
"Isn't it amazing that the channel system that provides this pool with water is still intact, after so many centuries?", an all too familiar voice startled Chance from his reverie.
Oh no.
"I thought you were studying those reliefs in the main hall", Chance sighed. The stream from the waterspout was hampering his vision and thanks to the echo in the hall he wasn't sure where to locate her.
"The most interesting reliefs are often hidden underwater", came the matter-of-factly reply. "Underwater archaeology is such an interesting field of research!"
Sighing, Chance stepped out from underneath the waterspout, aiming for the deeper part of the pool where a few ornate pillars would hopefully hide him from her view. Well, she'd probably be more interested in the pillar decoration anyway.
Where the hell was she? Although the holes in the walls provided surprisingly much light, considering they were in the basement, he couldn't see her anywhere around the pool - ah, well, underwater archaeology, she was probably diving to get a better look at...
WHOA
She emerged directly in front of him.
Wearing nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
"You've taken quite a beating back in the silver mine", she observed, studying his scratched and bruised chest with the same attention she had paid an ancient relief in the main hall a couple of moments earlier.
"Kind of comes with the territory…", Chance tried to shrug it off, but then she reached out and lightly traced a tiny drop of water running down his upper body, all the way to his waist line.
He was pretty sure she hadn't touched any of the reliefs like that.
"You know, as a curator, part of my job consists of restoring those broken pots… although usually people prefer referring to them as priceless artifacts." Her eyes lingered on the spot where the droplet had reached the waterline and disappeared. "Making them whole again after whatever ordeal they went through…"
That evening Chance learned that there were some interesting aspects to the job of a curator after all.