Title: The Chicken Soup Case
Author: Red Fiona
Disclaimer: The characters and the settings do not belong to me; they belong to the Fox and DC. No money is being made from this.
Fandom: Human Target
Characters: Winston and Guerrero
Rating: PG-12
Notes: Set some time after 'Taking Ames'.
Summary: Winston ought to know by now that no good mood survives Guerrero being in the office.
Winston was feeling pretty good about the world. The last job had been completed without Chance nearly getting himself killed, and there'd been very little property damage. He might be able to avoid yet another "little meeting" with Mrs. Pucci. Ilsa was wonderful, but there was a limit to the number of times Winston could hear about the "image of the foundation" in a month.
He could hear Guerrero doing something in main space of the office as he stepped out of the elevator. That was less good, but he couldn't think of much that Guerrero could that could dispel his mood, well, not in the office anyway.
Winston realised how wrong he could be.
Admittedly all Guerrero was doing was spoon-feeding chicken soup to someone. The problem was that the person he was feeding was Chicago. Winston had assumed that Guerrero had either fed Chicago to the fishes, or whatever Guerrero did with people and Winston chose not to know about. If neither of those things had happened, Winston would have expected Chance to have told Chicago to stay out of San Francisco forever, but apparently not.
"Guerrero, a word, please."
"Busy here, dude." Guerrero carried on with what he was doing.
"I don't know if you've missed it, but Chicago here is a contract killer. You know, not one of the good guys."
All that got him was a "hey" from Guerrero and Chance, who was in his office pretending to do paperwork but actually just reading and giving Carmine scritches.
"He was coming for a job and had a malaria relapse. We're the only people he knows in San Francisco. What was I supposed to do, leave him on the floor at the airport?"
And now, suddenly Winston was the bad guy. "I don't know. Maybe take him to a hospital?" That got him a look of withering scorn. Winston had forgotten how much assassins hated the official medical profession. The trouble he'd had convincing Chance to get treatment for the injuries he received as part of the job.
"I'm just thinking of what Ilsa will say when she sees this."
"When I see what?" Right on cue, Ilsa arrived.
"Nothing." It was one of those automatic reactions that was never a good idea.
Ilsa saw Guerrero, saw Chicago and put two and two together to get a four that would have made sense if they'd lived a normal life. Ilsa had been round them for long enough to understand that normal was one of the words that didn't apply to them. "What is going on?" she asked.
"He's ill. We're helping. I don't get what's so hard to understand."
"We have these people called doctors ..."
"Doctors leave a paper trail, boss lady."
"I'm sure we can find a doctor who can manage discreet." Ilsa reached for her phone. "Just think about the damage to the image of the foundation if he died here."
Winston pinched the bridge of his nose. To think that the day had started so well.