Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The farm.
After the ceremony Winston and Guerrero discreetly regulated the flow of traffic to the barn, where the real buffet and cake was put up. Garcia's food, however, was not neglected. Even Aunt Estelle tried a piece of his version of a wedding cake and Harry and Nelly posed with it for the classic photo.
"There's a pigsty right around the corner", Ilsa quietly let her know as Estelle bravely chewed… and chewed… and chewed… on her wedge.
Night fell outside and the band began to play. Guerrero had chosen the music – period – as there was no agreement whatsoever achievable among the community members and their usual solution, to mix lyrics and melodies of different songs was SO NOT an option. As Nelly and Harry led the dance, a small smile stole upon his face.
He rested his eyes on the bride for a moment – nice dress – then let his gaze wander to Ilsa.
Talk about nice dress.
A fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by Chance, too. He extended a hand and asked her for a dance.
"Last time we did that, you were checking me for signs of poisoning", Ilsa recalled as they slowly moved to the rhythm of the music.
"Unless you've actually eaten one of Garcia's tapas, you should be safe tonight", he smiled, blue eyes twinkling boyishly.
She rolled her eyes in reply and snorted. "Instead of dancing with you, I should…"
"I'm sorry", he cut her off.
Ilsa was so surprised, she almost tripped over her own feet, she, veteran of a million charity ball nights. "Excuse me?"
He caught her in his arms. "For the credit card thing and the running off thing and all, you know…"
Ilsa opened her mouth, then closed it again. Hesitated. "I understand", she finally said.
It was the best answer she could have given.
"Partners", Chance thought, and for the first time it sounded right.
While Guerrero was watching Ilsa and Chance, Winston had an eye on Ames and Alejandro who were dancing close by, cheek to cheek. Ames was practically glowing in his arms, and it was surely not from the non-alcoholic punch that was served. They were a pretty couple and the way he gently held her in his arms while she was leaning her forehead against his shoulder spoke of trust and harmony.
Ames was happy.
Winston, more than any other team member, knew what a hellish childhood she had had. She deserved this and he wanted to kick himself for almost talking her out of this marriage.
… … …
Same time, San Francisco.
Someone was unpacking his luggage in a seedy hotel room where the receptionist surely wouldn't remember him. Black trousers, black pullover, leather gloves, a syringe and a 45er … just in case.
Someone else, on the other side of the city, in a half-renovated house, was unpacking her luggage, too. No syringe, but her suitcase did contain a weapon.
Another someone in a run-down apartment somewhere in the middle between the two, was cleaning and loading his recent purchase. Another gun.
Not only just in case.
… … …
The farm.
Can you get drunk from a non-alcoholic punch? Moira surely looked like she was. She stumbled and swayed, bumping against people in what looked like an attempt to cross the dance floor. Ilsa, Chance and Ames were closest and hurried to her side. She looked somewhat bewildered, her pupils were blown and her skin was unnaturally pale. As soon as Ames approached her, she grabbed her wrist and pulled her close with surprising strength.
"Hey", Ames protested. Moira's fingers were entangled in the bracelet Ilsa had given her and she worried she'd break it.
"Protect your heart", Moira whispered. "It's worth it."
Ames, busy working her bracelet free, reacted with a noncommittal "mhm".
Moira didn't react at all to Ames' disinterest. She had already turned her attention to Chance. "Get up", she told him, voice hoarse and unnaturally low. "It's worth it."
"Moira? Everything okay?" Nelly came dashing towards her friend, Harry in close pursuit. Moira stood very still for a moment, statue-like, frozen in mid-movement. Then her eyes rolled inwards and she fell unconscious. Chance managed to catch her just in time.
Wow, was he busy catching ladies this evening.
"We'll take care of her." Ilsa patted Nelly's arm reassuringly as Chance picked Moira up and carried her out of the room. "She probably just needs a little rest." Then she joined Chance to show him where the clairvoyante's room was.
The party went on as if nothing happened. Most of the attendees knew about Moira and the little scenes she sometimes created.
"Her breathing rate is normal, her pulse seems okay… maybe just the excitement and the stuffy air", Chance mused as he lowered her onto her bed.
"What in the world was she talking about?" Ilsa placed a wet cloth on her forehead and Moira let out a contented sigh. It didn't look like she needed a doctor.
Chance shrugged. "No idea. She's always a bit out there, and the whole wedding thing was quite stressful…though, if stress triggered this, it should be you running around, making cryptic comments and fainting." He smiled. "You've done a great job. I would've gone crazy, organizing this sh…"
Something had caught his eye.
One of Ilsa's sleeves had ridden upwards a little as she had tucked Moira in.
"What's that rash on your skin?", Chance asked.
"Must be from Garcia's food", Ilsa mumbled and quickly covered the reddish spot, but of course he knew exactly what caused this kind of distinctive blisters.
Ragweed.