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

~ BRMK ~

The warehouse.

The cane came down hard on Chance's bare back.

"Hey, Guerrero, we're sparring", he groaned.

"Yes, and you're not paying attention", his friend replied.

The next blow hit the back of his left knee. Chance cried out in pain.

"Pay attention, dude."

Sparring with Guerrero was, on the one hand, the greatest training one could get because he was enormously controlled in his movements. Accidents were a rarity. On the other hand that also meant Guerrero knew exactly how far he could go without causing severe damage and that in turn meant, should he, for whatever reason, decide to teach his partner a lesson – such as now – things could get painful.

Very painful. Just this side of really hurt painful.

Chance was maybe a little subdued, but definitely not in the mood to get beaten up like a school boy during recess behind the cafeteria. He spun around, ducked and aimed a blow at Guerrero's kneecaps. Guerrero, however, anticipated the move, jumped up, landed on Chance's cane and pinned it to the ground.

Barely avoiding a violent blow directed at his chest, Chance leaped backwards and retreated. He was now unarmed against Guerrero with a cane.

Uh-oh.

"Wanna run?", Guerrero asked, swinging his cane.

"And let you get away with this?" His back was still burning.

For a moment they circled each other in silence, the only sounds the muffled pit-a-pat of their bare feet on the ground and their ragged breathing.

Finally Chance seemingly got impatient, lunged forward, Guerrero lashed out – but this time Chance managed to duck the blow. He tackled his friend off his feet, wrested the cane from his hand and sent it flying across the office, in whose center they were working out.

Guerrero brought his knee up, hit Chance's abdomen, Chance didn't let go, they rolled over, once, twice, there went Guerrero through the coffee table in the lounge - CRASH! Struggling and clinging to each other, they both fell backwards through one of the glass walls straight into Ilsa's office.

Landing hard in a ton of tiny glass shreds somehow brought them to their senses. For a moment they just sat still and looked at each other. Then Chance broke into that familiar lopsided smile Guerrero hadn't seen in a while.

"She's going to kill us for that", he said.

And both burst out laughing.

"Mission accomplished", Guerrero thought contentedly as he wiped some blood from his brow.

At this very moment the elevator signaled, the doors slid open and Winston came stomping out.

"Aren't you a bit late, dude?", Guerrero asked, looking pointedly at the huge clock behind Ilsa's desk. "Don't wanna nitpick or anything, but you know how Ilsa is regarding working hours… I'm just saying… " He allowed himself a broad grin.

Winston came trampling towards him like a fuming rhino. "You know what? There are days when I really wonder how my life would be without the whole lot of you in it! You know where I've been last night? You know that? You want to know?"

"What happened?", Chance asked, coming back from the office's showering facility with a towel. Why use his own when those from the office where washed by a cleaning service while he had to wash his personal laundry himself?

"I spent the night in a holding cell! With criminals! I tried to reach a certain someone, but apparently HE HAD TURNED HIS PHONE OFF!" Winston was so angry, steam was practically rising from his ears. "I was framed for MURDER! Luckily forensics proved it can't have been me, but I WAS FRAMED FOR MURDER!"

Chance frowned. "Hang on a second, you couldn't reach…"

The elevator signaled again and out stepped Ilsa. She was furious, they could tell by the way her heels were clicking.

And then she saw her office.

Huh. Guerrero with a cane suddenly didn't seem so frightening a sight anymore.

"Sometimes I really wish I had never, ever met you, Christopher Chance!", she bellowed at him. "Somebody tried to pin a murder on me! Made it look like I shot a man in cold blood! It's even on tape!"

Winston's anger evaporated into thin air. Instead a cold shiver was running down his spine. He looked at Guerrero and Chance. What the hell was going on?

"Well", Ilsa kept on ranting, "luckily I was lifted of all charges because at the time the murder happened I was already in a police station, being questioned FOR HOURS about my knowledge of a certain black Cadillac in which a CIA agent was blown up a couple of months ago!" She took one of the white glass pears from her desk and threw it at Guerrero. Guerrero stepped aside and it crashed to the floor somewhere in the back of the office, shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Why didn't you catch it?", she shouted at him. "You catch knives, burning stakes, even attacking raccoons. Why the hell didn't you catch it? That was a thousand dollar hand-blown Murano glass pear!"

She was, obviously, quite stressed out.

Before the men had a chance to say anything calming, however, the elevator signaled for the third time.

Ames.

"You won't believe what happened!", she said, oblivious to the trashed office.

"Let me guess, you got framed for murder?", Chance asked.

"How did you…?"

The telephone on Ilsa's desk rang. After a short exchange of glances Chance walked over and picked it up.

"Mr. Chance", an unknown voice on the other end of the line said. "Do I have your attention now?"