Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
They were welcomed back home by the news that a body had been found floating in the Bay – a woman, red haired, clothes pointing to Irish origin, police was still working on DNA identification (no fingerprints, thanks to the fish)…
The team, of course, didn't need DNA verification, it was quite obvious who had found an untimely, according to the police report, execution-style death and a temporary grave in the water. Compared to the aftermath of Peale's visit, they received this new development with calmness, bordering on resignation.
"They don't really have anything on you", Winston told Guerrero. "Except for suspicions, but with your reputation, that's pretty much par for the course. I've got a police buddy of mine on the lookout. He'll let me know, should the suspicions turn into something more." He did his best to ignore Leonard's voice in his head: A buddy of yours on the lookout? You realize you're actively protecting him, don't you? Come on, humor me and try to explain that away…"
"Oh, shut up!", Winston snarled and only then realized he had spoken aloud.
Thankfully, his angry reply had been low enough to be confused with a sharp hiss. In addition to that Ilsa decided to use this moment to complement Winston's statement, diverting attention from him: "My lawyers have compiled the papers that prove you were in Syria with us at the time of that police woman's death. Should any need arise…"
"It's probably just a coincidence that she was asking around about you and then killed", Chance added. "And should this turn out to be an attempt to frame you…"
"We'll help you hide the body!"
Everybody stared at Ames. Unlike Winston, she hadn't spoken quietly. Wide-eyed, she clasped her mouth with her hands. Oh heavens, she hadn't meant actually saying that!
"We'll help you sort the matter out", Ilsa corrected her in a very pointed tone.
Winston said something about food, real food, not take-out for a change, and everybody agreed with the suggestion, promptly leaving him alone in the kitchen area to peel the potatoes he needed for that "real food" all by himself. Ilsa was a bit torn, on the one hand she felt she should offer help, on the other hand peeling potatoes would ruin her fingernails… and of course there was a lot of paperwork that had piled up during their Syrian adventure…
In an attempt to calm her conscience, she indeed started working on the letters that had poured in while they had been away. One by one she dug through the pile of unanswered mail, sorted documents and filed them.
Things went surprisingly well. Usually doing paperwork at the office when everybody was around was difficult because Chance and Guerrero always seemed to think that sparring was done best when she was sitting at her desk, trying to concentrate. If not that, Winston and Guerrero got into one of their ridiculous arguments or Ames worked out to some fitness video that somehow had to be displayed on the screen in the conference room. Today, silence reigned.
It should have made her suspicious.
Among the letters, Ilsa found a parcel. The new glass pear from Milano had arrived. She was thoughtfully weighing the small packet in her hand when suddenly Chance stuck his head in the room. "Come on, time to go."
"Go where?" He was still wearing hiking clothes, but not the same he had worn during the trip with the Brunes. Ilsa knew he had taken a shower to avoid helping Winston with the potatoes, but why had he changed into hiking clothes again?
Chance smiled and Ilsa recognized the familiar gleam of mischief in his eyes. Uh-oh, what was he up to?
"You want to be part of the team, Ilsa, don't you?"
She nodded, totally clueless at what he was aiming at.
"But when Brune informed you about the survival trip, you bailed out."
"But…", she started to protest.
Chance silenced her with his raised index finger and a facial expression bordering somewhere between seriousness and teasing. "That's a no go, Ilsa. Either you are a part of our group or you aren't there's no exemption clause when it comes to worms."
Ilsa's stomach clamped. Oh no. What was Winston really preparing in the kitchen?
To her short-lived relief, Chance told her to get her coat, they'd go on a trip. Absent-mindedly, she put the parcel with the pear in her purse.
A trip… "Trip" as in camping trip?
Of course Chance didn't tell her, but they drove for several hours and when they finally arrived it was at some god-forsaken spot in the middle of nowhere aka in the heart of nature. Night had already fallen and the first thing she saw was a blazing campfire. Guess what it illuminated? A tent of course. And the faces of Winston, Ames, Guerrero, gathered around the fire. Guerrero was holding some sort of metal skewer, apparently roasting something over the fire.
Oh great. So water vole it would be then.
They sat her down by the fire which, she had to admit, provided quite comfortable warmth. Guerrero cut a piece of crusted meat from the small chunk he had been turning in the flames. Thankfully it wasn't recognizable as a rodent anymore, they had removed head, tail, legs and everything else.
For a short moment Ilsa considered going for the "I'm vegetarian" exit strategy, but she almost immediately knew she just couldn't. This was about being a part of the team. She had to.
Taking a deep breath and then holding it, she took the piece of meat Guerrero was offering her, stuffed it in her mouth, barely chewed it and swallowed it as fast as possible, expecting the worst.
It didn't taste badly.
"How do you like your beef, Ilsa?", Chance smiled.
"Beef? Really? Just beef?"
They all laughed, and from then on it was a peaceful evening. They were insistent, however, that she spent the night in the tent she had seen at her arrival. She wouldn't be alone, they set up their own tents all around, but she had to sleep in the tent. No wriggling out.
Well, the Scotch they consumed while sitting around the fire, quite literally helped Ilsa to warm up to the idea and when she finally climbed into her sleeping bag, it didn't seem to be so bad after all. She was just about snuffing out her lantern when she remembered the parcel with the pear she had carried with her all the way from San Francisco. Maybe it was the Scotch, making her decisions a bit irrational, but she got up again to get it.
When she opened the parcel, the pear was not black, it was gray. The most beautiful gray Ilsa had ever seen – dozens of different shades of gray, flowing into one another… even in the dim lantern light she felt reminded of swirling ocean waves, crashing against a shore.
The pear was accompanied by a note. The light switch for the stairs is on the left, it said in Guerrero's thin, precise handwriting.