Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

It hadn't taken Ash long to figure out who exactly the guest at the office was. Ilsa and Ames used the monitors in the conference room as TV and they kept watching the news, everything they could get about the gang wars. Ash could easily hear the reporters talk if he removed the rug in front of his computer desk, lay flat on the floor and used an empty glass as hearing aid.

One name was repeated over and over again: Kareem Aquam.

Ilsa and Ames weren't watching these particular news for no reason. His dad was somehow involved and that meant his client was somehow involved in this. And since he knew the client was the daughter of a gangster boss… She had to be Kareem Aquam's daughter.

What surprised him was her age – he had heard her speak when he had opened the door to his room a crack. Judging from her voice she had to be young, probably his age.

In theory Ash was well aware of the fact that gangster bosses had to have teenage children, too, but somehow knowing that a living, breathing exemplar of a multiple murderer's offspring was downstairs fixing a milkshake in the kitchen, was disturbing. Ash couldn't quite pinpoint what upset him so much about it, but something did.

What upset him even more, however, were the latest news – and Ilsa's and Ames' reaction to it. "Tell me that's not our van", he could hear Ilsa say. Ames' silence spoke volumes, and when she finally did speak – "this doesn't mean they burnt it with someone inside" – it only added to his worries. His dad was in deep trouble.

Confined to his room, Ash was going up the walls.

Shakeema had heard the news, too. The two women had tried to keep her from watching, but she heard very well and it wasn't much of a distance between the kitchen and the conference room. A shootout. Police had only found traces, a burnt car, lots of damaged buildings, fences, parked vehicles. No mention of any bodies. But that didn't mean there were none. Her father's people surely wouldn't leave him behind, dead or alive. The men had confiscated her mobile, so she had no means to find out more.

She was going up the walls.

It didn't help that Ilsa started marching up and down the lobby, a sound that, thanks to Ilsa's high heels, could very well be heard both in the kitchen and upstairs in Ash's room. Ames' "Can't get hold of any of them, calls go straight to voicemail.", wasn't exactly reassuring either.

The elevator's signal made them all go freeze frame. When Ames yelled "What happened?", there was no holding back for neither of the children. Ash yanked open the door of his room, Shakeema came rushing out of the kitchen.

Supported by Guerrero and Winston, Chance stumbled out of the elevator. His face was one crimson red mess.

"Go back, back!", Ilsa ordered, loudly and sharply.

Shakeema thought she was talking to her and simply refused. "What about my dad? Is he alright? Did you hurt him?", she all but shouted at the men.

Actually, however, Ilsa had been talking to Ash. She had heard the door open and correctly identified where the sound had been coming from. There was no way she could let Shakeema see that there was another kid around. She'd draw conclusions and in no time Aquam would have leverage on Chance.

Ash got the hint. His father was still alive, for the moment that was the most important thing, so in that regard he had seen enough. He had also heard enough, though – how dare that beast ask about her monster of a father first? While his dad was bleeding like hell, more stumbling than walking, obviously in great pain… Clenching his fists, he quietly slipped back into his room.

"We've got to get him to the bathroom first", Guerrero commanded. Both he and Winston were exhausted from the events of the afternoon, not to mention the minor injuries especially Guerrero had received during Chance's stunt with the van through the boarded up gate. Guerrero had already relocated Chance's shoulder and they managed to get Chance up the stairs, but then the women took charge and the men didn't complain.

Winston slumped into Chance's armchair in his living-room and poured himself a generous amount of Scotch. Ilsa waited till Guerrero had settled down on Chance's sofa, then gently removed his glasses and started cautiously disinfecting lots and lots of tiny scratches he had received when the wooden panel had crashed through the van's window. She felt his eyes on her as she meticulously moved from one wound to the other, using fresh cotton swabs for every cut. He was half-blind without his glasses, but still it felt like a wolf was watching her. One that had decided to trust her. For now.

In the bathroom Ames stripped Chance of his shirt without further ado and helped him out of his jeans, too. He needed help washing the blood off his face, his shoulder and knee needed cooling… Chance let it all happen. She steered him to lean backwards against the soothingly cold bathroom tiles and he closed his eyes. He hissed when she applied the disinfectant, but that was all. The pain in his shoulder was crashing against him in waves. Whenever it subsided a little, his injured knee started to pulsate. After a couple of minute he caved. Everyone had limits.

"There's… there…", he mumbled, then pointed at the medicine cabinet. "The green bottle… a syringe… "

"I'll do that", Ames said determinedly. "I know how to inject somebody with something." She glanced at the label. "But we'll better do this in the bedroom. This stuff kicks in fast."

… … …

Ash, meanwhile, had decided that there was no way he was just sitting around doing nothing while his father was dealing with the aftermath of what had obviously been a highly dangerous job. And since he couldn't do anything else, he decided to vent his frustration. Quietly he sneaked out of his room, down the stairs and to the guestroom.

Shakeema was more than shocked when suddenly a strange boy yanked her door open and entered her room. "Don't shout", he hissed at her.

"Who are you?", she snarled, but more out of habit than actual lack of knowledge. One glance and she knew. He looked so much like the blond man, he had to be his son. "What is this about?"

"They risked their lives for you and first thing you did was ask about that scumbag Kareem Aquam!" Outraged as he was, Ash kept his voice down, reducing it to a low hiss.

"What's your problem?", Shakeema, not willing to take crap from anybody, shot back.

"Your father is a murderer! Innocent people have died because of him! And still he's more important to you than the men who went out there to protect you!"

Shakeema pulled herself up in front of Ash. "I love my father and he loves me. That is all that matters."

Taken aback, both by the content of her statement and the unwavering strength with which she delivered it, Ash was lost for words for a moment.

"He's a monster", he finally said. Knowing his time was running out, he walked back to the guestroom's door. "There's no way to love a monster, unless you're a monster yourself."

… … …

Upstairs in Chance's living-quarters, Ames had just finished giving Chance the injection. She decided she'd spent the night in the armchair by the window to make sure he'd be okay. Ilsa called from the living-room: "Is there another syringe in the bathroom?"

A second later, Ames heard a muffled "ouch". Guerrero had grabbed Ilsa's wrist. "You're NOT going to sedate me like Chance."

"You're exhausted. You're injured. You need rest." Ilsa knew better than trying to pull her hand free.

"Not yet." Guerrero hauled himself up from the sofa. The way he moved to the door, quietly, like some sort of panther, told Ilsa that something was off. Winston was watching Guerrero intently, too. When he moved downstairs, they wanted to follow him, but a curt motion of his hand stopped them. He hadn't drawn his gun so at least they knew they needn't brace themselves for another attack tonight.

… … …

"You have no idea what you're talking about", Shakeema snarled.

"I know right from wrong", Ash spat, opened the door, slipped out and quietly closed it behind him. The office was silent. If he now managed to…

"Hey, dude."

… … …

In Chance's bedroom Ames had already arranged a pillow and a blanket in the armchair when she decided to get up one more time and check that Chance was fully covered. His injured body needed warmth now. Bent over his sleeping form, she tugged at his blanket to pull it a little further over his shoulder.

Just then his hand shot out, grabbed her wrist and held on to it. Oh damn, she should have known better, especially after overhearing only minutes earlier what Guerrero had done to Ilsa – after a day full of adrenalin his instincts were still running full force, protecting him even when he was deep in a drug-induced slumber.

Ames didn't have the heart to disturb him. He needed rest. Sighing, she curled up by his side, her face to his, as he still, surprisingly gently now, held on to her hand.

How strange, she mused as she stared into the semi-darkness, that the Zodiac, who had caused so much pain and wreaked so much havoc, had left this world so unceremoniously. She couldn't help but think that Chance had been right to try and hand the Zodiac over to the police. The relatives of his victims… they'd go to their graves without knowing he had been punished. He'd be famous for ever, just what he had wanted. A fascinating mystery no one could solve that would always be remembered.

But what else could they have done?

With her free hand, Ames pushed a few stray strands of hair out of Chance's face.

In their game there were no clean wins.