Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: Big thanks, as always, to niagaraweasel, my indispensable beta weasel. Big thanks also to mvignal, who pointed out some important aspects regarding the eaten cookies – by the way, she has just debuted with the first chapter of a very interesting Guerrero story, "Conjecture of the Paradigm" in the M section, check it out, it's a promising beginning!
They listened to Guerrero's retreating footsteps, the ding of the elevator, the swoosh as it moved downstairs…
The silence in the kitchen was almost palpable. It was as if someone had opened a window, not to the clement climate of San Francisco but to some eternally frozen arctic landscape. Icy winter's mist seemed to have come creeping into the room like the cold breath of a ghost.
Ash bit his lips. His head was spinning from a million questions, the most important being "What is he going to do? He looked so…determined. What will he do to the agent?"
But he was also very much aware of the fact that actually asking those questions was not an option.
"Trust me, with Guerrero, it's better not to know too much." Something Winston had told him, more than a year ago… and he had taken that advice to heart.
Call it an instinct thing.
"It would be better if you spent the evening at your mother's", Chance told Ash, finally breaking the silence.
Ash could only nod. Whatever was going on here, it was giving him the creeps. This was serious. More serious than the gun thing or even the wrecked car.
He didn't dare put it into a clear thought, but as much as he tried to shake it off, he could feel the truth.
Death was in the air.
In a way he had always guessed that Guerrero … was capable of bad things… Not sure what to make of all this, what to make of Guerrero, of his father's friendship with Guerrero, of the nature of his father's crew, he let himself be driven home.
His mother, of course, immediately sensed something was off, but he didn't tell her. Maybe he was imagining things after all…
… … …
The most humanitarian thing would have been to simply kill her, like a bolt out of the blue, before she could sense it coming. Getting into the house she had rented was easy enough, all he had needed to do was get in there, finish her off and leave again.
But with his son's wellbeing on the line, "humanity" wasn't high on his priority list.
This kind of thing touched on the very core of his existence. Living the life that he had chosen meant that clinging to too many things wasn't an option. It was a life that included constant good-byes, to things, places, people.
Once, however, he had decided to let something into his heart, he was willing to protect it fiercely.
Chance fell under that definition.
And, of course, his son.
His child in danger awoke a side of him that he usually kept well under control. He had almost let it take over after he had been framed for the murder of his friend, Jerry. The bastard who had been behind everything would have lost his sight and more, hadn't he been saved at the last moment by the arriving police cars.
The CIA agent, however, hadn't been so lucky.
And now Emma…
When she got home, he was sitting in her kitchen, gun at the ready.
"Kneel down", he told her as she stood frozen by the door, face pale as a sheet. She knew immediately what had happened – he had discovered the trackers. Good lord.
"You can't do this, not just like that, what will Chance…?", she sputtered out hectically.
"He knows." Guerrero raised his hand so he was directly aiming at her forehead and she quickly dropped to her knees.
"Look, I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry, I shouldn't have done that…"
Guerrero stepped behind her.
"There's something you need to know!", she screamed.
… … …
When Chance arrived back at the office, the others were still in the kitchen, actually cooking, of all things. The silence still hung heavily in the air, even enhanced, if that was possible, by the clicking, cracking, hissing sounds the various pots and pans produced.
Still nobody said a word. Heavens, they all knew how dangerous Guerrero was, they knew he didn't exactly share Chance's "nobody deserves to die" philosophy, but this was different…
This was Emma…
"Wouldn't it have been better to somehow get the trackers out of Ash?", Ilsa finally asked. "I don't know, make him vomit or something?"
Chance shook his head. He had thought about it, but since Guerrero… was putting a very final stop on whatever Emma had been planning, there was no need to put Ash through that kind of ordeal. The trackers would stay in his system for about a week and then slowly dissolve.
When the elevator dinged without security alert, they all jumped, even Chance. What in the world…? Only Guerrero could get in and out with the alert system staying mum, drove Winston nuts, he had tried numerous times to figure out how he did it, where he had manipulated the thing, all in vain, of course.
Guerrero? Back so fast? Had he changed his mind after all?
Unlikely.
Had he forgotten something?
Just as unlikely. Guerrero could kill you with his bare hands if necessary.
And then they heard a muffled cry and the shuffling of feet. He was not alone.
Emma?
Ames pressed her hand against her mouth. Ilsa started shaking. No. Not here. This was too much.
"Chance…" Winston was breathing heavily. He knew this was about Guerrero's son, but Guerrero was now crossing a line…
Chance nodded. This was not tolerable. He had to stop him. Pressing his lips together, he left the kitchen. The others looked at each other for a short moment… and followed him. They couldn't let him face an outraged Guerrero alone.
No way.
To their utter surprise, they found Guerrero outside the office's guest bathroom. With a shotgun slung over his shoulder. No sign of Emma.
Huh?
Before anyone could ask what the hell he was doing, however, Emma called from the inside: "Done."
"Push it through the crack underneath the door", Guerrero snarled.
Scraping on the floor, then a small white piece of plastic appeared. Guerrero picked it up and studied it.
Was that… a pregnancy test?
"See?" Emma's muffled voice from inside the bathroom. "It's positive!"
"You just saved yourself from a dive in the Bay", Guerrero replied calmly and unlocked the door.
Maybe more because the situation was so absurd than because of any probable cause, Ilsa and Ames both turned around, staring daggers at Chance. He hectically raised his hands in defense: "I swear I've got nothing to do with it!"
The door opened and revealed Emma, looking terribly shaken.
With a nod Guerrero directed her out of the bathroom and made her walk down the corridor till she reached the lobby, where Winston pulled up a chair. Another nod and Emma was sitting down. Then, however, Guerrero handed the shotgun to Chance and walked into the kitchen. For a moment everyone was confused, then they heard the tell-tale rattling of cutlery on porcelain.
Ah yes, of course.
He came back with a plate full of steaming food.
"Start talking, dude."