Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
48 hours after the events in the ER. The warehouse. Pre-noon.
Guerrero's mobile signaled: s/w ready for del
b there in 20, he texted back, polished off Winston's sandwich and got ready to leave.
On his way to the elevator he passed by Ilsa's office. He glanced at her, walked on, one step, two steps, stopped.
Looked again.
She hadn't even noticed his presence, so concentratedly was she staring at the documents spread out on her desk. It wasn't that she was immersed in her work that had caught his attention, with her that was pretty much par for the course, it was the way she did it. The look on her face… kind of fierce.
Guerrero decided he could spare a moment. At this time of day traffic on Van Ness wasn't that bad; he'd make it to the meeting place in time despite a little delay.
Even when he directly intruded Ilsa's personal office space she didn't become aware of his presence. Granted, he was moving in silent mode, but nevertheless… months of working with them and watchfulness yet had to make it onto her top priority list. He decided to teach her a lesson and swiftly stepped behind her back, seizing the moment to take a look at the documents that had captured her attention so completely.
Hm.
Boss, you sure about that?
"Interesting notes", he growled right next to her ear. Predictably, Ilsa jumped and let out a shocked gasp. "Mr. Guerrero!" She hectically started gathering the papers on her desk. "I know that in your line of business knocking on doors isn't exactly common practice, but around here I suggest…"
Guerrero pressed his fingertips down on the notes, preventing her from removing them. "So you're planning a counterattack on the board's plans to kick you out?"
"You're reading my e-mails?"
He looked at her over the rim of his glasses with an And this surprises you exactly why…?- expression. "This is quite a collection of dirt you've got on your fellow board members. You sure you want to go that way?"
"The Foundation is Marshall's legacy", she hissed with barely contained anger. "How dare they shut me out of it?"
"All they want is you coming back to London permanently. It's your involvement with us that's not sitting well with them."
"So you're suggesting I should cave in, be a good girl, go back to England and behave from now on?"
Her anger was reaching boiling point, but Guerrero's face remained totally unfazed. "This here…" he tapped at a credit card billing that practically screamed extramarital affair "…is not a game. Threatening and blackmailing people is a crime, Ilsa. It leaves a permanent mark on you. You don't commit it out of stubbornness, because you want more than you can handle."
Even years later Ilsa couldn't believe she actually did what she did next. Had somebody told her she'd do it, she'd recommended counseling.
As an inpatient.
Maybe it was the memory of Winston telling her that Maria and that Barnes woman could take care of themselves, together with the team's lack of confidence in her lock picking abilities in combination with the fact that the Barnes woman had been transferred to San Francisco and Chance had gone to see her this morning. All against the backdrop of the board trying to kick her out.
Or she was experiencing a vicious attack of temporary mental incapacity.
Well, whatever the reasons, she definitely did it. She hit Guerrero.
Yes, you read correctly.
She hit Guerrero.
Directly in the face. Open handed.
A slap.
Guerrero's reaction was immediate. He grabbed her left wrist, twisted her arm behind her back, brought her face down to the desk and kept her there, his other hand in an iron grip around her neck. "One thing is for sure, Ilsa", he said. "Suicide, which you just almost committed, is not a solution."
Ilsa struggled against his grasp. He increased the pressure. Searing pain shot along her twisted limb.
"You'll hurt yourself."
"I'm not going to back down", she hissed through clenched teeth. Knowing full well that she was risking a broken arm, she tried to jerk upright, aiming for a headbutt against Guerrero's chin. She didn't get far, of course, "iron grip" with Guerrero means iron grip. Nevertheless her attempt was not completely in vain. It got Guerrero thinking. Six months ago she probably wouldn't even have considered fighting back. Now she was striving against all odds and showing signs of having learned something after all.
"If that's what you want, Ilsa…" He increased the pressure on her arm to near damage point and waited for her to protest. When none came, he softly continued: "…if that's what you really want, I've got your back."
At this very moment, the telephone on her desk began to ring.
… … …
48 hours after the events in the ER. A row house outside San Francisco. Pre-noon.
Emma Barnes opened the door of her new home even before Chance had made it up the porch steps. "Doorbell isn't working yet."
Inside, the house was pretty much a construction site: Torn open floors, broken down walls, cables dangling from the ceiling, gray dust everywhere.
"Quite a lot to do", Chance commented, looking around.
"Manageable with a little assistance from a friend." Emma smiled. She looked dazzling in a short, figure-hugging summer dress. Obviously not an outfit she was planning to do any active renovating in.
"You brought that upon yourself." Chance wasn't smiling.
"Do I sense some subtext here?" She produced cherry juice and soda from a cooling box, fixed a drink and offered Chance another one with a gesture. He declined.
Heavens, what had gotten into him?
His oddly sober behavior was starting to get to her. "Are you angry with me?"
"Guerrero watched the surveillance tape that shows you killing the Blue Ridge Mountain killer. I know his account of what happened, now I'd like to hear your version."
Emma shook her head in a clear gesture of resistance. "I asked for transfer to turn a fresh leaf. I don't want to think about this mess anymore. It's over and done."
Chance grabbed her arm to prevent her from stomping off. "This needs to be talked about."
"Leave me alone!", she snapped and pulled back vehemently. The drink in her hand spilt over, splashed and left several dark red stains on his shirt.
Great. It looked like he had just cut someone's throat, there was no way he could go outside in it. Emma got him an oversized T-shirt she used as a nightgown.
She didn't turn around, he didn't turn around. So he removed his shirt in front of her and she kept staring at him unabashedly.
Damn, it would be so easy now to make a playful comment and go back to the light banter that had initially characterized their relationship.
But in the light of what Guerrero had told him?
Not an option, at least not till she had explained herself.
He put on the T-shirt. Just then his mobile signaled. A text message from Winston, calling him back to the office. They had a new client.
A/N: Thank you, another-all-nighter, for leaving another comment! This fic, especially the Ilsa angle, was inspired by chapter 23 et seq. of tree979's wonderful slash fic "Comfort". Thank you for letting me play with your idea!