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An Ames/Guerrero fic.
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Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Human Target.
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A/N: Well, I thought this one was gonna be another short one, but it ended up being an okay length.
This one is less of a romance fic and more of a comfort fic. After a case gone wrong, Guerrero had to save Ames, and then they deal with the fallout from that.
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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He'd been on his way home - or, at least where he was currently residing - but he couldn't seem to make it all the way. With a groan mixed with resign and self-annoyance, he'd made a left instead of a right, and made his way to a part of the city where he definitely didn't live. But, she did.
He didn't know what he was expecting to see when he got in the door - which he'd had to open because she hadn't answered - but her shivering, huddled up in a ball in the middle of the apartment had not been it. He wasn't the nurturing type, he was more of the "tell me who did it so I can kill them" type. Only thing was, that part had only been taken care of.
Should have just gone home, he told himself bitterly as he closed the door of the apartment.
She didn't even look up at the sound, nor as he made his way over to her slowly.
"Ames," he spoke quietly, in a gentler voice than he knew he had.
No response.
"Ames," he repeated, crouching down until he was somewhat level with her. When she still didn't make any move or sound to show that she had registered his presence, he reached a hand up to grip her shoulder, hoping to snap her out of whatever trance she'd fallen into. That was when all hell broke loose.
She screamed something that could have been "No!", before scrambling away from him as fast as she could. With the lights off in the apartment, and the night offering next-to-no light from outside, it was difficult to keep track of her as she moved.
When he heard the thump and clattering of a drawer being opened to his left, he knew she'd gone into the kitchen.
"Ames, it's me," he told her in a louder voice, making his way into the dark kitchen.
It was only his quick reflexes that saved him from a knife in the chest, as she came hurtling out of the kitchen like a speeding train off its rails. "Hey, snap out of it!" he nearly yelled, hoping that the firm tone would get through to her.
It didn't, and she lunged for him again. A sharp cry escaped her throat as she flew after him as though her life depended on it.
Seeing no other solution, he blocked her next hit, wrangled the knife out of her hands swiftly, and threw it back into the kitchen, hearing it imbed in the wall somewhere. Next, he hauled her back around to face him, pulling her close enough that she couldn't escape, and was forced to look into his eyes. "Ames, it's Guerrero," he spoke in a forceful tone.
Her breath was coming and going heavily, the force of her panting moving his own chest with each ragged breath. It took a few moments, but she finally registered his face in the darkness. Another moment, and then the tears began spilling from her already puffy eyes.
Maybe it was because he preferred the crying Ames to the banshee-butcher, maybe it was because there was currently no one else around that he had to put on his tough-guy exterior for. Maybe it was because of a thousand different reasons that he didn't care to name, but after a long couple of seconds, he pulled her towards him even closer. This time, though, he wrapped his strong arms around her tiny frame, allowing her to fall against his support as she let it all out.
After what seemed like hours had passed, and she had finally calmed down, the two of them sat in her living room. He'd turned on a lamp in the corner so that he didn't have to squint to see her. He also hoped that the somber lighting would help to soothe her.
He wasn't used to girls crying on his shoulder ... that was Chance's shtick. But after what had happened that day ... not even he could deny her the comfort that she undoubtedly needed.
He'd said it was a bad idea from the start, that she wasn't ready. He'd actually expected them to take him at his word, seeing as she was practically his protégé. It should have been his call ... but Chance had needed her, and Ilsa had signed off on it.
If he hadn't positioned himself so that he could see both angles, there was no telling what might have happened to her.
The thing about bait ... it almost never survives unscathed. Sure, she'd gotten the men out of the way to clear a path for Chance, but they'd honed right in on her.
He'd almost been to late to stop them from doing more than just tearing her clothing and getting their guts splattered all over her.
"Thanks," she spoke suddenly, tearing him from his thoughts.
Guerrero blinked, looking over at her. He'd forgotten how close she was to him. "Don't mention it."
She nodded slowly, chewing on her bottom lip. "And sorry ... I mean, for going after you like that."
He shrugged. "Keeps me on my toes."
She might have rolled her eyes, had she not been so grief-stricken by the events of the day.
"Look, I'm not exactly the best person to be dealing with this stuff," he spoke evenly, placing his hands on his knees to get up from the couch. "I could call someone ... Ilsa? Chance? ... Winston? Maybe a friend who can stay with you?"
A frightened look filled her eyes at the thought of him leaving, and her hand jumped out to stop him before he could stand. "Please, don't ... I mean ..." she blinked furiously, trying not to cry in front of him again. "Just ... could you stay a little longer?"
Guerrero clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, as though he were asking some higher power how the hell he'd gotten himself into this. "Alright, look, here's the deal: I'll stay, but I'm not gonna coddle you. Curling up into a shell isn't going to erase what happened." With that, he pulled out the gun that he carried in the back of his pants.
She glanced from the gun to him, worry filling her shiny eyes. "Oh, god, you're not gonna shoot me, are you? Come on! I'm not a horse with a broken leg, I -"
"I'm not going to shoot you," he promised, half of that promise being made to himself. "You're gonna learn how to use this thing."
Ames blinked. "I don't ... I've never actually shot a gun." She'd held them before, and threatened to use the weapon, but she'd never actually shot anyone. It was too messy. There were always better ways of getting what she wanted.
"Well, I'm fairly certain you don't want a repeat of what happened today?" he urged, raising an eyebrow at her over the lens of his glasses.
She stared at him for a moment before letting the air out of her mouth. "No, I don't."
Making sure the safety was still on, Guerrero nodded before standing up.
With her hand still gripping his arm, she stood with him, unsure of what he wanted her to do.
"Find a target," he told her, placing the gun in her hands.
Ames stared at him in confusion and surprise, feeling the weight of the cool metal in her hands. "You want me to shoot in my apartment? I do have neighbors, and they will call the cops if -"
"The safety's on," he informed her. "Just pick a damn target."
She glanced around her apartment, settling for one of the bulkier lamps in the corner. "Okay, now what?"
"Shoot," he stated simply.
"... With the safety off?"
Guerrero rolled his eyes once more. "Children today have no imagination," he grumbled.
"I'm not a child," she snapped back immediately.
Guerrero paused momentarily, glancing over her body. "I know."
Ames met his eyes for a brief moment, but not even her attraction for the older, dangerous man could overtake her wired nerves at the moment.
"So, take your aim," he told her.
Feeling like fool, Ames raised the gun and aimed for the lamp, staring between the two hunks of metal.
Guerrero sidled up behind her, whispering into her ear. "Now think about every single thing that those thugs would've done to you."
Her aim wavered, and her eyes fluttered at the memory. "What?" she breathed.
"Imagine every possible thing that could have happened to you if I hadn't taken them out," he told her in a harsh voice, even though his volume was low.
Ames's grip tightened on the weapon in her hands.
"Imagine the different ways they would have violated you," he added.
She clenched her jaw, exhaling heavily through her nose.
"Their hands all over your -"
"I get it!" she hissed out, unable to turn her head to look at him, though she could feel his warm breath on her ear.
Guerrero nodded, restraining himself from putting his hands on any part of her trembling body. "Now, imagine if you'd had a gun in your hands. Imagine if that weapon had been between them and you, and you hadn't needed me to save your ass. Could they have gotten their hands down those snug little pants if you'd had this gun? Could they have torn that tiny little shirt to shreds, if you'd had this gun in your hands?"
Ames screamed then, pulling the trigger on the gun. It didn't matter that the safety was on, it didn't matter that she wasn't aiming it at a real person. In that moment, she was back in that alley, surrounded by those goons, and every time she pulled back that trigger, she could almost hear the echoing of every single shot.
She lost count of how many times she pulled the trigger, she just kept pulling it back and screaming.
Guerrero stood quietly behind her as she pulled it over and over, feeling the rage, fury, and sadness pouring off of her in waves.
She'd get over it eventually. She was terrified, and lost, and in way over her head ... but she'd be okay. And if that meant giving her his favorite piece ... well, he'd just have to find a new favorite.
Maybe she'd make it up to him someday.
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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 ...!