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

~ Oh, the blue Danube ~

"As you can see…" Innokentij changed to the next slide of his powerpoint presentation "…we're not talking about short-term goals but envisaged developments covering the course of the next ten years."

With satisfaction he noticed that he still had his audience's full attention. The consortium of people from China, Argentina, Denmark, Sierra Leone and Uzbekistan was all ears. Even the Yemenite representative was nodding appreciatively. But of course he was also the first to ask an additional question at the end of Innokentij's presentation.

"We're very pleased to note that Bogdan's unfortunate demise did not diminish the strength and potential of горизонт. However, in order to not only create but also stabilize a network this deep and far reaching you need, in four to five years at the latest, at least one reliable enforcer – utterly loyal to the organization, highly competent in many different areas, able to blend in a huge variety of groups and societies all over the world… Such skilled personnel is hard to find."

"I'm already looking at a suitable candidate", Innokentij smiled.

… … …

It was early Saturday morning at the office. Ames had moved back in a couple of days ago and only yesterday they had managed to transport the last piece of her stuff from the apartment she had shared with Ken back to the Tenderloin. To everyone's surprise that last piece had turned out to be a shiny black grand piano she had never mentioned possessing before.

"When I left… after Scotland… I thought I'd try something new…" Ames seemed intend to shrug it off as a fancy idea, but something about her expression told Chance that was not the complete story.

"That's a Steinway, custom made, costs a fortune. How did you afford it?"

"I kept my money together", she replied, a bit snappishly. It drove her nuts, not remembering what Chance had told her back in the cavern. The way he looked at her now and then… Was he waiting for her to make some kind of move? Or was she misinterpreting things?

The doctor had said she might regain some bits and pieces of memory once she was completely recovered, but by now she wasn't very confident about that anymore. The problem was not that she didn't remember anything, the problem was that she wasn't sure what had been real and what had been wishful thinking.

And she sure as hell couldn't ask him.

"Could have sworn I read about a custom made grand piano being stolen from an LA mansion around that time. Left everyone wondering how the thief pulled it off..." He gave her a boyish smile.

"I've heard these things get stolen quite often. There's a huge black market for grand pianos." It was amazing how earnestly she delivered that sentence.

"I bet getting that thing out of the mansion without setting the alarms off thoroughly impressed the insurance company that eventually hired you. I'm surprised they let you keep it. Or is the original owner's daughter now lambasting For Elise on a Chinese fake?"

Ames stuck her tongue out at him.

Anyway, moving that piano to the third floor had taken all of Friday evening. Ilsa had offered hiring specialists, but for whatever reason the men had regarded transporting the instrument as some sort of male pride thing and thus they had ended up staying overnight at the office, too tired to go home.

So, on Saturday morning, since Ash had also spent the night at his father's, the kitchen was quite full of life.

Guerrero was already eating cereals at the kitchen table, Ames was chopping something healthy on the worktop and Winston was messing with the coffee machine when Ash came padding in. Ilsa hadn't arrived yet and nobody was surprised Chance was sleeping in. Carmine seemed to be dozing on his pillow in a corner, but despite his half-closed eyes he was on guard, ready to jump in when needed. This many people in the kitchen meant a highly increased chance of someone dropping something edible.

Ash, still drowsy and in his PJs, poured himself a glass of orange juice and carried the glass and a plate of toast to the kitchen table. As he placed the glass on the table, Guerrero suddenly shot forward, grabbed his wrist, twisted it around and pinned it to the table, sending the glass smashing on the floor.

"You're hurting me!", Ash protested, quite shocked by this sudden outbreak of violence.

"Stop struggling", Guerrero instructed him calmly.

Winston, who had spilt his coffee in the sudden turmoil, angrily grabbed a paper towel. "What the hell…?"

"Look at his hand." Guerrero's voice was cold and eerily placid. It made Ames shiver.

Winston walked over to the kitchen table, took a look and froze. "You can't be serious."

"What's the matter?" Now Ames came over, too. "OH."

"I've got no idea what… OUCH!" Ash flinched.

"Told you to stop struggling, dude."

Winston took a deep breath. "The injury on your hand…"

It was small, but deeper than the first layer of skin, reddish and jagged, less than 24 hours old, located at a very characteristic spot.

Now Ash got nervous. "Nothing but a scratch."

"That kind of scratch comes from firing a gun and forgetting about the recoil. It's called rookie wound." Ames couldn't believe it."You fired a gun."

"This is nothing! What are you making such a drama about?" Ash's was on the edge of trying to wrest his hand free again, but this time a look from Guerrero stopped him right before it would have really hurt. "You're not going to tell Dad, are you?"

Oh, Ames knew the answer to that…

"No, we won't." Guerrero paused. Letting the boy's hopes go up and then crashing them was not exactly fair, but it definitely increased the learning effect. "You're going to tell Chance."

At this very moment Chance walked in. "Tell me what?"

He was smiling, but of course he already knew something was off. He had been woken by the sound of shattering glass and he had heard his boy cry out. His eyes rested on Guerrero.

Ash threw Guerrero a pleading look.

Slowly Guerrero turned Ash's wrist, so Chance could see the wound.