Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: There's a smut version of this hiding in the M section.
Chance opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by pitch-black darkness. Not for the first time waking up like that, he allowed himself a moment to adjust to his environment. Step by step his other senses came back, too. He perceived the smooth purring engine noise of an expensive car shifting gear in stop and go traffic. The slightly chemical, artificially flowery smell of a freshly cleaned trunk. The cold steel of handcuffs around his wrists and the vague taste of copper on his tongue, indicating that he had bitten himself while being tasered.
So the Old Man had decided against making short work of him.
Well, that had been predictable. Joubert had spent years waiting to take revenge on Chance, he would want to savor his moment of triumph, make it as slow and painful as possible. Chance wondered idly where they were going. Back in the day the Old Man had used a soundproof cellar in the Bronx for occasions like these, but judging from the decreasing street noise outside they were heading out of town. Maybe he wanted to do it at a more meaningful place – the Market? It would only be fitting if things ended where they had once begun.
Chance took a deep breath and let it roll through his body, just like they had taught him in Nepal. Whatever was coming his way in the next few hours, maybe days (the Old Man was a master at keeping people just alive enough to breathe on their own and feel pain) he would not fight it. He would accept it as the fate that had always been in stow for him from the moment onwards he had first committed the unforgivable sin of taking another person's life.
It was the fate he deserved.
He took another deep breath, filling his lungs step by step. In the end the Old Man would kill him, but instead of giving his survival instinct a wake-up call, the thought provided him with an odd sensation of peace. He exhaled, slowly relaxing collar bone, chest and ribs.
Death was the only redemption possible for him and yes, he was welcoming it. Only a couple more hours and everything would finally be over.
The car stopped. Chance stretched, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. He didn't want to be tasered again. For whatever reason he preferred to walk to his place of execution.
The trunk lid opened. "Chance?", a soft voice whispered. Ilsa's face came into view.
Ilsa?
He shook his head, wondering if the taser had caused some sort of hallucinations.
"Chance? Are you alright?"
Nope, no hallucinations.
"How in the world…?" Slightly hindered by his handcuffed wrists, he climbed out of the trunk, staring at Ilsa in wide-eyed confusion. They were in an abandoned-looking underground car park, no other vehicles around, the air damp and moldy.
"When Guerrero told us you were going toe-to-toe with the Old Man, we contacted him." Ilsa carefully watched Chance. He looked terribly old and tired. "We told him in advance that you were coming and we struck a deal – he would let you both go unharmed against a certain amount of money. Well, apparently Katherine got away by herself…"
"You bought us? Ilsa, you've made a bad investment. Katherine…"
His voice broke and Ilsa rushed forward, pressing her fingers against his lips. With her free hand she unlocked his cuffs. "I doesn't matter", she whispered.
That was too much. That was just too much. It didn't matter? His whole life was based on a lie and it didn't matter?
While he was still frozen in shock and anger, Ilsa stepped closer to him, pressed her face against his chest, embraced him, kissed his throat, his chin, finally his lips, endlessly grateful that the Old Man had kept his word. Granted, he had been promised a substantial amount of money in exchange for Chance's and Katherine's well-being, but there had been the very real possibility that he would let his hatred of Chance outweigh everything else.
Ilsa was so relieved to have him back, alive, uninjured, that she didn't even notice him tensing up at her touches more and more. And even if she had, she surely wouldn't have understood why. So it came as a total surprise to her when he all of a sudden pushed her away, grabbed her hair, twisted her around and slammed her face first against the hood of the car.
"You should have let him kill me", he hissed, holding her hands pinned above her head with his left, still handcuffed hand, his right hand deeply – and painfully – gripping her dark locks. "You should have let him put an end to all of this."
"Nobody deserves to die", she whispered, her voice muffled by the hood of the car.
A new wave of anger surged through his veins, broke through barriers, flooded his mind. "Oh, really, Ilsa? Are you sure about that?" He gave her body another shove and when she didn't whimper, didn't give away the slightest sign that he was hurting her like he was hurting everyone, like he had Guerrero, like he had Winston, like he had all those people he had killed and their relatives, he did it again.
Still no sound from Ilsa.
Wrath washed over Chance like a thunderstorm. He wanted her to stop lying to him, to confess that he was causing her pain, that he was a monster that deserved to be shot and nothing else.
Ilsa felt the car's hood grow moist under her breath. An oddly trivial sensation, given the circumstances. What had Katherine, that beast, done to him? He was totally off the rails, completely lost in self-loathing and about to prove to her just how monstrous he thought he was. She needed to guide him back to his true self, FAST, or she would lose him forever.
She twisted and turned around. He was still pinning her hands above her head, but his grip had loosened while shoving her. She locked eyes with him, then lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist and pulled him closer. Chance could do nothing but stare at her.
"Nobody deserves to die", Ilsa repeated. "That includes you." She pulled his hands free from his grip, slowly, without any kind of struggle, sat upright on the hood and embraced him. Chance gasped for air. He couldn't believe it. As she tightened her hold, the tears started to flow, first one by one, then a continuous stream. Ilsa took his face in her hands and brought it level with hers. He was still staring at her, unbelieving that she could still do this, after all he had done to her. "You deserve to live", she whispered, brushing a kiss against his lips.
Cautiously, endlessly astonished, still crying, he returned the kiss. She opened his lips for him, invited him in, welcomed his tongue. Chance whimpered.
"I'm waiting for you", Ilsa breathed.
Where before self-hatred, fury and regret had reined, feelings he had thought long to be lost forever suddenly took over, filled him and consumed him. Peace. Safety. Forgiveness.
He caressed her breasts, her navel, her stomach, inhaled her scent, kissed where his touch wasn't enough and whispered her name.
Ilsa. Over and over again.
He melted into her. This was what they had been waiting for so long and it wasn't even remotely similar to what they had thought it would be like, but it felt right.
It felt right.
Chance bent over. She thought for a kiss and raised her upper body to meet him, but what he actually wanted was to press his ear against her chest. For a long moment he did nothing but listen to her heartbeat.
Losing himself in its steady rhythm, he realized that Katherine was meaningless. He, Christopher Chance, dark past and all, was loved by this wonderful woman. There had to be something in him that he wasn't able to see, something that made Ilsa, made his friends, go through hell and back for him. He still didn't know what it was that made them think he deserved to live, but if they saw it, he should believe them.
He should just believe them. And maybe one day he would see it, too.
"And what happens now?" He asked afterwards, physically and mentally drained, exhausted.
"We get dressed!", Ilsa retorted, suddenly laughing, and he broke into laughter, too. It was so goddamn cold in that garage. Quickly they put on their clothes and rushed into the car, letting the heating blow at full force.
"Let's go home", Ilsa told Chance. "Let's finally go home."