Authoress Note: I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it xD

Extra Note: So I was flicking through the HT section of the FanFic section, when I recalled a number written by cedricsowner. I went back and reread it, then had an urge go through and reread any and all fics regarding this couple... And then this happened. It's simple. It's bad humor. Enjoy! xD

This wasn't happening at all.

'Of course it's not', a voice in the back of his head, which oddly sounded like Chance, Ames, and Winston, spoke up. 'This is just your imagination finally spiraling out of control after years and years of keeping yourself at bay.'

That wasn't so hard to believe... But it didn't make this situation any more or less explainable! It didn't explain why he was stripped down to only his boxers, how he had ended up in what was defiantly a five star hotel room, and why he'd had to quickly snuff his reflexes when he'd woken up to feel something warm and a little heavy, though not uncomfortable, curled up on his side.

And it really didn't explain how the thing curled up beside him was Ilsa Pucci wearing a silk, eggshell white, nightgown, content enough to let her leg wrap around his, riding the nightgown up to give him a peak of the silky white underwear she was wearing.

None of it made any sense. He ran through his head, trying to remember what had happened last night, going over every detail he could. The last thing he could remember was... Was being propped up against a car and bleeding out his side. Frowning, he slowly reached down to touch the Ilsa free side, pressing carefully until he felt a distortion in the skin. Glancing down as best he could, he could make out a still fresh bullet wound about six inches from his heart. He'd been shot?

Drakes. He remembered being at Drakes then going to the Docs after a phone call... Barclay. He'd called for help. Said he was desperate. Had to be if he was calling him after trying to scam him two years back. Let him live after a blowtorch to the back.

When he got there, Barclay wasn't anywhere. His car had been there, but that was it. Gunshot. Right as he stepped on the doc, bullets started flying. He remembered drawing his and hitting two or maybe three before they stopped. Then what. He racked his brain, trying to remember what happened afterward, when beside him, Ilsa sighed softly and suddenly curled closer, her leg sliding up and her knee pressing against his inner thighs and getting really close now, before she snuggled closer and ceased her movements.

He'd actually held his breath until she stopped moving. As he slowly released it, he remembered. He'd tried to call Chance. He was off bad at that point and if his attackers showed up again, he may be in some trouble. In the past when this had happen, Chance had been with him. He'd saved his ass. But that had been long ago. And he hadn't had something like this happen in a long time, because he'd taken precautions for it. But he'd made a dumb, life threatening mistake and hadn't kept his guard totally up. Rookie mistake.

He glared as he touched the wound again, before silently giving himself a mental note to track down Barclay if he was still alive, and get him acquainted with some fishhooks. Again, like before, he was pulled from his thoughts as Ilsa moved. This time her whole body shifted and her head was now on his chest, her leg wrapping tight around his and sliding up more until he she was pressed against his crotch and her leg rubbing until she adjust for comfort in her sleep. He rolled his head back and grit his teeth. He had a lot of control. He prided himself in it. But right now, with his thoughts askew and everything else not making much sense, Ilsa wasn't making this easy for him.

When she stopped, he looked down at her. She was smiling softly, sighing in content and breathing softly, as her cheek was pressed into his bare chest. He was assaulted with her scent as he tilted his head down, her dark locks brushing against his mouth and nose. Expensive shampoo. Some sunflower and tea scent, mixed with a minty undertone and musk from her own personal scent. It was slightly overwhelming to his sensitive sense of smell. But not in a bad way.

He let the scent wrap around his mind, as he was brought back to last night and going to dial Chance. His vision had blurred... He'd dialed the wrong number. He'd dialed Ilsa. She'd answered. For the life of him, he couldn't recall what exactly was asked and said, but she must have known he needed her badly. Because she had come. Her driver and her showed up and she rushed out to him. The last thing he remembered was horror and concern on her face as she reached out to touch his shoulder. After that he'd blackened out, annoyingly enough.

The rest, waking up in her bed and how his clothes had gone missing... Well, he supposed he'd have to ask Ilsa when she woke up. This was going to be awkward. He wouldn't show her it was. But she would be stumbling over herself... And that actually sounded like a fun time.

Taking his glasses off, he set them on the night stand and sighed. It was one A.M. in the morning. He'd slept all day from pain. Now he was exhausted. Sliding deeper down into the bed, he carefully moved her body, trying not to wake her, until he was on his good side and her back was pulled against his chest, his arm not around her, but still on her, as he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. Might as well make himself comfortable before she woke up and freaked out on him.

o0o

Warm. She felt warm... And something hard pressed against her back... Something...

Ilsa slowly opened her eyes, fighting sleep away, as she blinked and furrowed her brows. A hotel room. She was in a hotel room? OK. That wasn't new. She'd been in a hotel room before. Why was she... Oh! That's right. Her meeting with the foundation had been far out from her home and she had opted to stay at a hotel rather than take the long hour drive. She been exhausted from the meeting anyway.

… And something warm was on her waist... And something hard was still pressed against her? Blinking herself finally, fully awake, Ilsa felt herself freeze and lock up as she felt warm air on her neck and something shift behind her! Startled, Ilsa slowly glanced back behind her... And sighed in relief. It was Guerrero.

Wait... Guerrero... Oh! Guerrero! Frantic and recalling the prior nights events, Ilsa shifted and turned, trying to look at the bullet hole, only for Guerrero's arms to hardened and lock around her. Her face went red as she watched him open his eyes and stare at her with his intense blue gaze. "Hey, boss," he said casually, as Ilsa blushed and blinked before nodding. "Mr. Guerrero... How are you feeling?"

Guerrero released her but she didn't fully move away. Instead she sat up and turned to look at his wound. It wasn't as bad as last night while she had tried to clean it. Luckily she always brought a first aid kit with her ever since she started working with Mr. Chance and became his business partner.

Truthfully, though, she'd been scared that she was hurting him more and doing everything wrong. She did her best to pluck out the remains of the bullet and cleaning out the hole with the alcohol. He'd grabbed her roughly once, but she assumed that was a reflex for his glazed and distant eyes opened briefly, looking at her, before he relaxed, seeming to realize who she was and allowing himself to pass out again.

From there it hadn't been so bad... Except for when she'd had to get to where the bullet was on his chest. His shirt and jeans were soaked with his blood and she very well couldn't put him on the bed like that... So she'd, red faced and mortified, stripped him, thankful that his black and white boxers were only sporting a few specks here and there. She'd felt like she was violating his space. But when she realized he could become sick or die from the bullet, she'd inwardly prayed he'd be understanding as she finished.

In answer, finally, to her question of his well being, Guerrero shrugged. "Not dead, dude. You did good." And though she tried not to show it, she couldn't help but puff up with pride and blush happily. From Guerrero it was rare for her to get a compliment, besides on what she was wearing. He always seemed to find her dresses favorable. Especially the strapless one she had worn to Connie's engagement party.

A silence fell between them, as Ilsa sat near him, finally allowing herself to take in everything around her. An ex-assasin, immoral and possibly one of the most insane men in San Francisco, was laying almost naked in her bed after she had helped save his life. It was a slight turn on, horrifyingly enough, for her to know that she was in bed with a man who could kill her with one hand. She distantly found herself wondering what else he could do with those hands... Oh dear, no!

'Two years without Marshall has really gotten to you, huh?' a small voice that sounded like Connie chuckled in the back of her mind. 'It's perfectly understandable to feel a little restless. It has been two years and two months since you've had sex, my dear.' Ilsa inwardly groaned, annoyed that she couldn't disagree. It had been a long time. She was by no means an old widow going thru menopause. Dear God no! When Marshall had been alive... They could get very "imaginative", for a lack of a better word, with their sexual adventures.

Scowling, Ilsa tried to push those pesky thoughts away. He was a coworker! And Guerrero! Of all the men to contemplate sex around! Was she mad? Was she asking for trouble. During all this, she noticed he had pulled himself out of bed, gone to the bathroom, and was now going through his phones, checking his messages.

His phone had gone off a few times while she was caring for him. At one point she had glanced over and seen "Mayor" and "Plumber" flash across the screen. She didn't want to know. His undercover illegal activities frustrated her, but she couldn't really do anything about it... And she really didnt want to. His illegal activities had saved their lives many a times. So long as she didn't witness him performing them, she wouldn't say anything. She learned a year ago it was pointless. As pointless as telling Mr. Chance to not do anything stupid.

Chuckling under her breath, Ilsa watched as Guerrero walked around the bed to grab his glasses and slide them on easily, before looking around. "Your clothes were ruined," Ilsa answered, assuming he was searching for his clothes. "I had my driver go out and but you something new... He wont be back til later this afternoon, though. He has most of the day off..." Guerrero raised a brow but shrugged, seeming uncaring about being left to walk around in only his boxers... Which, Ilsa really tried not to notice this, but they did show off a bit... Bloody hell!

Trying to collect herself, Ilsa looked away, trying to focus on anything but that image and thought. Dear God she was acting like some horny school girl! She was Ilsa Pucci! Ilsa Pucci of the Marshall Pucci Foundation did not go around fantasizing and ogling criminals like Mr. Guerrero! It was unhealthy.

'You know... You could-' Ilsa pushed the nagging voice away before it could finish that comment. She knew exactly what it was going to say. By no means could she ever do something like that with him... What about Mr. Chance? 'What about him? You share one kiss and suddenly you two are a couple? The last two years he's only given you puppy eyes and one kiss. You must know he's to lost in his past... But he isn't. Guerrero Isn't. It could be fun.'

Ilsa watched as Guerrero went to the kitchen area and dug through the few contents of the fridge, smirking as he grabbed her last thing of caviar and a fork, before shutting the fridge and leaning against the counter to finish it... And oddly enough, watching him eat in his boxers was, again, turning her on. How in the bloody hell does that work? Ilsa groaned and shook her head. Somebody upstairs was out to ruin her. Marshall always did have a sense of humor. Not funny, Ilsa bitterly thought as she stared at her lap.

This was going to be a long wait for clothes.

R & R

This will be a two parter. Second part coming soon ;)