Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

~ coldly breaks the dawn ~

San Francisco, FiDi, on the steps of an office building, around noon.

Ilsa's smartphone signaled. A new text message – the impromptu meeting the chairwoman of the "Make Children Smile" Foundation had asked for, was cancelled. Apparently an unforeseen emergency had come up. Ilsa didn't mind much. This would give her time to make an unexpected appearance at the warehouse.

- insert slightly evil, British accented laughter here -

She knew how much the feeling of being controlled annoyed Chance. Allowing herself a smirk, she was just about to call her driver back to pick her up again when a familiar voice called out to her: "Mrs. Pucci? Now that's a surprise!"

Ilsa turned around and immediately recognized Scotland Yard Inspector Rebecca Eddington. She had once helped her and Marshall out of a very tight spot. "Very tight" as in "life-threatening". Without Rebecca, they would have both died eight years ago at the hands of a lunatic who had believed Marshall to be his father.

Very long story, tragic ending. For the lunatic, fortunately.

"Inspector Eddington! What a pleasant surprise!" They hugged and Rebecca suggested going to a café nearby for a cup of coffee and a bit of catching-up.

"I'm so sorry you lost Marshall. What a terrible blow." Rebecca squeezed Ilsa's hand in sympathy and they shared a moment of sadness, remembering the time they had all been together. For a while the inspector had been a regular guest at the Pucci household, till all the stressful requirements of life separated them again.

"Tell me what you've been up to", Ilsa asked Rebecca to lighten the atmosphere again.

"I'm not sure if you've ever heard of the Braitch serial killer. He targeted young single mothers, killed 12 of them. Scotland Yard caught him and I was supposed to protect him from the wrath of his victims' relatives. One father was so deeply hurt and desperate, he hired a professional assassin to revenge his daughter's gruesome death. The assassin almost killed me, but I managed to protect the Braitch killer." She took a sip from the café au lait she and Ilsa had ordered.

"A short time later the Braitch killer escaped. He killed a colleague's wife and kids." She paused again. When she spoke again her voice sounded lower, hoarser. Ilsa suddenly noticed how thin she looked, how pale her face was.

"I could have saved them all, had I not been so damn dutiful."

"Oh my God, Rebecca." Now it was Ilsa's turn to squeeze her hand.

"It put everything in a different light, showed me how useless everything was, the whole silly game of right and wrong. All I would have needed to do was step aside and let the assassin do his job…" Rebecca looked up and locked eyes with Ilsa. "I kind of changed sides after that. I'm not with Scotland Yard anymore."

She took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I truly am."

"Sorry for what?", Ilsa asked, suddenly feeling slightly uneasy. Something was wrong.

"Sorry for poisoning you", Rebecca replied. "I've got a job tomorrow at the grand reception at the museum. Some corporate bigwig named Binham. You're the only one on the guest list who knows me from my previous life and could identify me. But don't worry, succinylcholine hits fast and brings about minimal pain. It'll be over in a minute and everybody will think it was a heart attack."

Momentarily lost for words, Ilsa stared at the woman she had once considered a friend. A cold shiver ran down her spine. "I'm sorry", she finally whispered.

Rebecca was surprised. "I don't understand, why are you…?" Something made her let the sentence trail off. A certain pressure in her chest region.

"For swapping the cups", Ilsa answered.

Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Guerrero.

It's a simple precaution, boss. Always order the same the other person wants and swap the glasses.

Practically the first lesson he ever taught her after she started working with the team. And he had been adamant about it. For weeks he had poured castor oil in her coffee/tea/what have you, till swapping glasses had become an automated habit for her.

While Rebecca still stared at her, breathing heavily by now, sweat accumulating on her forehead, Ilsa quickly wiped down both cups with a napkin.

Another Guerrero lesson.

Of course Rebecca had chosen a café where the only area under video surveillance was the register. It was the busiest hour of the day, all around them customers were piling up. The noise level was quite significant.

No one would remember her.

Rebecca was gasping for air. She could have called for help, yes, but nobody knew better than her that there was no time left to get the antidote.

So poisoning it would be.

Shaking, knees so weak, she feared they'd buckle, Ilsa got up and walked out the door.