Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

"I don't need sleeping pills." As if to underline his determination, Winston pressed his lips together.

"I'm your doctor, you're my patient, if I tell you that you need sleeping pills, you do." Jessica was just as determined as Winston.

"Hey, everything okay with him?" Chance entered the hospital tent. "Got your message."

"Exceptional stubbornness aside, he's doing fine", Jessica replied, clearly frustrated.

Winston kept his lips firmly sealed.

"Stubborn? That means he's definitely he's definitely on the mend ", Chance winked. "So, if nothing's wrong with him, why did you call me down here?"

"I figured this would be a good opportunity to check your back and see how the wound developed", Jessica explained, suddenly sounding very professional and businesslike.

"You mean the wound I received over a year ago in that mine, when we were trapped?" He arched an eyebrow at her in mock seriousness. His eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"A professional look at it wouldn't hurt, would it?", Jessica shrugged as casually as possible. "Just to be on the safe side."

Looking from Chance to the doctor and back, Winston realized what was going on and groaned. "Give me the damn sleeping pills", he grumpily told Jessica.

… … …

"Somebody's asking questions about you."

Guerrero decided that he had definitely heard that sentence a little too often lately.

"Red-headed cop, heavy Irish accent?", he asked his informant.

The answer came as no surprise. Damn, she had managed to follow his trail all the way to California and he still had no idea what she could want from him.

"Let me guess – no name?"

"Still working on it."

Guerrero stared off into space for a moment. He was standing on the platform the doc had shown them on the day of their arrival. Up here his cell phone signal was best. It was only a trick of the light, caused by the setting sun, but Zenobia looked as if she was staring daggers at him.

"Pity you're not a pharaoh, hm?", Guerrero thought, grinning at the idea of what the ancient poisoner would have to say about those intruders who robbed her treasure and bathed it in floor disinfectant.

From the platform he had a good view of the hospital tent. Chance had disappeared in there quite a while ago. Guerrero seriously doubted that he was sitting with Winston. All that open flirting with the doctor in his presence and now a lengthy nighttime visit? Chance had seen him up here, knew he'd draw conclusions… He was sending him a message.

Yes, bro, I got it. But Ilsa has a say in that matter, too, doesn't she?

"Guerrero, man. You still there?" His informant was getting anxious. Prolonged silence from Guerrero, never a good sign.

"I'll be back in the city the day after tomorrow. Would be great if I could have a chat with her then. Take her on a trip to the garage."

He snapped his phone shut.

"And here I was, thinking you were admiring the view." Ilsa came walking up the stairs to the platform. "Anything I should know?"

She had brought a blanket. Meticulously she spread it on the ground. The stones were still warm from the sunlight.

"I wouldn't have let you interfere in the Philippa issue, I'm not planning to now", Guerrero replied curtly.

"So another Chance protection measurement of yours?" She had also brought a basket and was now producing tea cups and a thermos bottle from it.

Not exactly, but Ilsa didn't know that and there was no reason to enlighten her. "Somebody's got to do it."

Of course Ilsa sensed the hidden accusation. She was starting to regret her decision to attempt peacemaking with Guerrero. "I'm protecting Chance, too."

His reaction consisted of an arched eyebrow and a single word. "Philippa?"

"Everything has limits." Reluctantly, she poured the tea. Even more reluctantly she offered him a cup.

"When it comes to Chance, there are no limits." Guerrero waited and watched what impact his words had on Ilsa. She blinked, but she didn't withdraw the cup. He thought of her giving up her position with the board...

As he reached out to accept the cup, his fingers brushed against hers.

For a long while they just sat and sipped at their cups as the last golden beams of the sunset vanished and left nothing but pitch blackness.

"We should go inside", he finally said. "Desert nights are cold."

… … …

Desert nights were indeed cold, but Ames was outside nevertheless. Watching the hospital tent where Chance had disappeared over an hour ago. There was only a single lantern light still glowing in the tent. Didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on down there.

Shivering, Ames wrapped her arms closer around her. She should really go inside. And where was this strange feeling in her stomach suddenly coming from? Something between nausea and anger…

The realization hit her like a freight train.

Oh boy.

She was jealous.