Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Chance knew what Guerrero was thinking. Left to his own devices, he would wrest the needle from Winston's hand in a heartbeat, pin his wrist to the kitchen table, cut his skin all along the forearm and then force him to stitch the wound up all by himself, just so he could feel what he was currently doing to Chance. Guerrero believed in learning through firsthand experience.
Guerrero knew what Chance was thinking. That ex-cop was having trouble enough adjusting to his new business partner. Guerrero's appearance only a few days ago hadn't exactly helped to forge bonds. So Chance had decided to build up trust through the time-proven blood-and-pain-way, by leaving his wounds to Winston's butchery needlework in the aftermath of their latest job. Chance believed in classical approaches and this form of bonding had been tested on thousands of battlefields.
Winston wondered what the two were thinking. Sure as hell that lowlife friend of Chance's was inwardly laughing his ass off at his clumsiness. The damn needle was way too small for his hands and he had never ever stitched up anything, let alone a knife cut on a human being's skin. In his days as a cop, when someone got injured, they brought him to hospital, as easy as that. No need for botched embroidery at a kitchen table.
It's one thing to let frustration, self-reproach, grief and anger take over and throw everything away in a "this far and no further" moment that had been – granted – long coming.
It's a totally different thing to stitch up an ex-assassin's arm in a decrepit warehouse six weeks later, with another (hopefully) ex-assassin looking on.
What had he gotten himself into?
… … …
The elevator's doors were already sliding open when Winston noticed that he had left his cell phone behind. As he walked back to his office, he saw Chance and Guerrero still sitting in the kitchen. What the hell were they doing there?
"Thanks for keeping quiet", he heard Chance say.
"It's your body, bro…", Guerrero shrugged, cautiously removing Winston's crude stitches.
As Winston watched from a shadowy corner Guerrero working on the wound with swift, practiced movements, finishing in five minutes what had taken him over thirty, the question he had asked himself only a few minutes ago reemerged.
What had he gotten himself into?
Only this time, the "he" was not Winston, it was Chance.
… … …
It took Winston a sleepless night to come to terms with the implications of that sentence's new version and two days to act on them. He waited till Chance was out with Carmine and Guerrero alone in the kitchen, eating food that was not his. Wordlessly, he sat down in front of him, grabbed the Chinese take-away carton and pushed it out of reach. Guerrero's face promised him a painful death, right up till he replaced the carton with an orange, a needle and thread. Winston expected a smirk and some wise-ass remark, but instead the other man merely studied him with a long, steady gaze. Just as the silence between them grew so intense that it was almost palpable, Guerrero produced a knife from a hidden sheath strapped to his ankle. With one frighteningly precise motion he cut the orange's peel, then took the needle and threaded it.
"Always begin sewing as far away from the cut as the wound is deep. Every 1/4 inch tie a square knot…"
He slowly handed Winston the fruit and the needle.
AN: This goes out to all my anonymous reviewers - I've got no other way to contact you: THANK YOU lovelylilac, Art3mis, ladybug, kehc, narcissa and those that I'm forgetting for taking the time to leave a comment! It means a lot to me!