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

"You sure, Chance?", Winston asked. "Twelve years is a long time."

Chance shook his head. "I've never seen her."

They both noticed Guerrero's suspicious silence at the same time.

"What is it?" Chance's eyes practically bore into him. Guerrero wasn't simply silent. He was black hole silent, dungeon silent, burnt down house silent.

"Spit it out!"

"This is additional information…" Guerrero slowly handed Chance the sheet of paper he had been staring at. "The informant who brought the picture has talked to a couple of people who have actually met this Philippa… last paragraph…"

She used a word that reminded me of my childhood days in the Waikato region, New Zealand. The term was very special, only used by the folks of Whangamata. I asked her if she was a kiwi, if she was coming from there, but didn't get a straight answer out of her.

"Does Whangamata ring a bell?" It wasn't really a question. Guerrero knew the answer. Of course it did.

This Philippa, coming from Whangamata, a hick town in New Zealand? This couldn't be a coincidence.

The past always comes catching up with you.

Chance pushed back the notebook on his lap so violently, Winston had to dash forward and catch it before it crashed to the floor. Batting away any attempts of Winston to steady him, Chance clambered out of the bed. Clad only in drawstring pants, he staggered away from them, out of the room. Winston wanted to rush after him, but a warning look from Guerrero made him stop dead in his tracks.

"He's going up on the roof!", he protested.

"Don't worry, he just needs a bit of breath." Guerrero looked as if he needed a bit of breath, too.

"Would you mind telling me what the hell…?"

… … …

They had a job in the Waikato region that took a bit of sticking around. The target was making things ridiculously complicated. They had to stake him out for several weeks. He was pretty paranoid, changed his way to work all the time, employed several bodyguards… One day during another dull surveillance session Junior noticed this girl…

Guerrero knew his friend was lost the second he laid eyes on her for the first time. She was his type – definitely pretty: slim, quite tall, blond, flowing mane… but that wasn't the point. She had that gleam in her eyes, this hint of mischief Junior was always looking for in his lady friends.

Juliet. Oh damn, Juliet.

… … …

Chance looked up to the sky and couldn't help but notice how ridiculously pale it looked, compared to how he remembered the one in New Zealand, so goddamn many years ago.

A little more than twelve, to be exactly.

He closed his eyes and allowed the memories to come back and overflow him like driftwood on a beach.

Of course he hadn't read the book she was pouring over when he first approached her. Well, he was good at pretending, wasn't he? She saw through him after about two seconds. But she played along, tried to trap him, asked questions that would reveal he didn't know a thing about the story. He managed to wriggle his way around them every single time.

She studied at Waikato University, but she was from Whangamata.

A week later Guerrero told him he'd manage surveillance alone and lifted him of all duties for the weekend.

In hindsight Guerrero regretted that decision, for it was that weekend that did it.

She giggled as he pulled her back into the sheets. "We've got all the time in the world", he whispered against her bare back and breathed a flurry of sot kisses along her spine.

Later she took him to the blowhole at Whiritoa beach. The wind tugged at her hair, made it flow in a golden stream. She laughed and fell into his arms.

When Junior came back he had this idiotic idea firmly cemented in his head.

… … …

"He told her what he was and she totally freaked. Said she never wanted to see him again." Guerrero shrugged. "Told him so, but… you know he is… Well, the job was done, we left New Zealand, didn't hear from her again… till a couple of months later news came in some of the Old Man's enemies were after her."

Guerrero paused, took off his glasses and wiped them. "Didn't make any sense to me back then. What did they want with a short-time mistress of Junior's? If she had a child from him, however…"

"They could have used the child to pressurize Chance into going against the Old Man", Winston concluded.

Guerrero briefly nodded, still wiping his glasses. "Chance tried to reach her but couldn't get hold of her. Even went back to Whangamata, but she had pulled a disappearing act. Then one day the Old Man called him into his office, told him she was dead."

He paused, face unreadable, but there was a faint, dull something in his eyes. Sadness? Pity? Winston wondered what he might remember about Chance's reaction to the news.

"It was a messy job, heavy-calibered gun, chest wound – she bled to death." He put his glasses back on. The faint something disappeared.

"Juliet… After all these years. Juliet." He almost spat it out.

"What is going on?", Ilsa asked, hovering on the doorstep. She was really getting better at moving around silently. They hadn't heard her coming. Or maybe they had just been too preoccupied. "I heard Chance go up on the roof… Do you think that's wise, letting him alone there, so shortly after he almost…?" The expression on her face was definitely painful. "Who is Juliet?"

Guerrero pressed his lips together, looked at Winston, looked at Ilsa.

"Juliet is the reason Chance didn't stay with Maria. And the reason he left Winston behind... Didn't want to get attached anymore. Too dangerous."

It took them a while to let that sink in.

Behind them pit-pat on the stairs indicated that Ames had been listening in the whole time and was determined to put her two cents in. She definitely had enough of all that maudlin talk. There was a problem at hand, for heaven's sake!

"Well, time to talk to that Philippa chick, isn't it?"

Truer words had never been spoken.