Author's Disclaimer: I don't have any rights to Human Target or its characters. I simply thank the creators for letting my imagination run away with itself.
It had been a regular morning, like any other. Her alarm went off at 4:30am. She prepared her own breakfast, something she had been doing for the last year. At 5:00am she logged onto her computer for the after lunch weekly staff conference for the Pucci Foundation. She noted everyone seemed rather energetic for a Monday, but said nothing. Just complimented everyone on their hard work, and dedication. At 6:15 her personal yoga instructor and trainer Jenna showed up for their daily session. Today was a combination of 40 minutes of Yoga and 20 minutes of isometrics and then another 45 of cardio. It was a little after 8, when she entered her bathroom / dressing room to prepare for the day.
This morning seemed as normal as any other. So far though everyone seemed to be in a good mood. There weren't stresses or animosity that would traditionally vibrate in the creases of foreheads of her normal band of people. As the hot steam of her shower penetrated her aching stretched muscles, relaxing them, her mind clipped across the file tabs of her to do list for the day. Call Connie on the way to the office, and verify the theme and key note speaker for the benefit next month. Once getting to the office, check in with Mr. Winston as to whether there is a new client. Probably have time to make a few calls to a couple of potential donors, people she wasn't the closest of friends with, but wanted to be friends with her. Agh. "I hope there is a new client. Well not for that poor soul. I would hate for anyone to be in a position to need the teams services, but oh it was such a better use of my time. "She thought to herself.
It was customary for her to have her routines. To have her roles. To execute everything to the best of anyone's expectations. Unfortunately, there is no longer any surprise or challenge to the day, when everything is planned, and you can make your mission happen, just because of the name at the end of your title. Don't get it wrong. It's a privilege to be able to change the lives of millions. It is an honor, and a responsibility that anyone should want to wear the mantle for. But at what point, does Isla Pucci the woman, the sister, the daughter, the lover, the survivor, the force of nature still exist? And not the automaton of the Pucci foundation? The Pucci foundation is something that she lives to serve out of love, and in return she used to be loved for doing it. Now, she is under constant scrutiny to perform the job that both she and her husband had done together. She is strong enough for it. And she believes in it. It is selfless. But isn't it a crime to lose yourself too?
Now a life where every dream could ever come true just by thinking it is something that most people would never question. I could have any "THING" I could ever want, she thinks. But she can't have whomever she could ever want. Her love was killed taken away, and never to return again. Isla had never wanted things. She had never craved the big house on the hill, or the endless limit of her American Express Titanium Card. All SHE had ever wanted was security. After all those years of struggling to survive a simple jaunt on the streets of Belfast. After all those years of carefully shielding her pain from others only to focus on making others suffering lessen. After all those years of carefully learning about the human condition to ensure that she or her family would never suffer again.
This life of routine. This life of order. This life of careful planning. This life is what allowed her to thrive as one of the strongest survivors most anyone would ever encounter. This armor had its Achilles heel. And it was aimed right at her heart. Would she ever be able to love again? Of course under the right conditions; the right amount of mourning time, and the right person that the board and her foundation approved of… someone else could be brought in to give themselves to the selfless acts of saving the world, where they too would fall into this rabbit hole she found herself lost in. Despite all the tumbling and not knowing which was up or down, maybe there was something else that she had always wanted: LOVE. In many ways Isla felt much like Guinevere in Camelot. Would she be able to have her Lancelot without chaos erupting after the death of her beloved Arthur?
There was no doubt in her mind WHO her Lancelot was. "How did I get myself into all this again?" These musings weren't going to do her any good today. She was running late at this time. There would have to be another window of quiet time that would have to be used for this line of thinking. But one last thought did wondering into her head as she stepped out of the shower and pulled her robe on. She turns to look in the mirror, and speaks. "I have changed myself once before, I could do it again." She smiles, and shakes her head. Glancing at the clock she realizes that she needs to hurry. Connie isn't always the most patient sister in law.
9:30 she enters the office, and can't help but notice how quiet things are. She glances up the stairs leading to the mezzanine that's Mr. Chance's residence. "Hello? Is anyone in this morning?" It is then that she notices that the team is already assembled in the conference room with what looks like a new client. Oh the poor thing, she barely looks 18 and rather worn out. Quickly heading to her office first to depose of her bags, she notices on her glass desk lies a long stem red rose with a black satin ribbon. The note reads; "A knight is not fully armed unless he bears the favor of a lady fair."* We are able to help more people survive and be able to live again because you are with us. I am not just talking about our partnership, but your strength becomes my strength; which helps me find the heart that in so many ways I had thought I had lost. Thank you Isla. Happy Valentine's Day ~C
Tears are brimming at the edges of my eyes as a cast them across the room to where he is watching me. My own Lancelot. It's good to see routine being challenged, as I forget about the rest of my day I had planned, and quickly make my excuses as I plan on joining where I can to help someone else learn to survive.
The quote at the end is from the Adventures of Sir Lancelot 1956.