Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
This time Ash noticed Chance slipping in through the side door. "Want to train alone", he muttered, turning his back to his father. A day ago, before all the disasters that had suddenly broken out, he would have hurled a "Can't I be alone for FIVE minutes?" at him, but now… Ash knew what Winston was to Chance… to all of them, actually.
Winston was loud, quick-tempered and didn't mince words, but he was also… Ash frowned, trying to find an accurate description… like a … coach… or a … corner man. Like in boxing. Always there when needed, the figure in the back that made sure everyone got home safe.
His absence was palpable everywhere. The warehouse felt empty without him.
Ash reminded himself that Winston was not dead, he was only in prison. His father, Guerrero, Ames, Ilsa… they'd somehow get him out.
They'd somehow get him out.
Chance walked over to his son and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on", he said and steered him away from the sandbag. This was something Ash hadn't reckoned with. He had thought his father would sit him down, ask what the hell had gotten into him… instead he directed him into the elevator. Ash was astonished, unsure what to do and a bit curious, too. So he followed his father's lead. Wordlessly they rode to the third floor.
Oh no. The third floor.
The warehouse's shooting range.
"I don't…" Ash expected Chance to shove him out of the elevator, but instead he exited the car first, stepped outside, turned to him.
"Come on." Chance slightly tilted his head, eyes resting on his son, not exactly relaxed but completely calm, ready to wait out whatever decision he would make.
Ash swallowed, hesitated, took a step back… Chance still stood there just looking at him, waiting, giving him all the time in the world to make up his mind. For whatever reason, Ash suddenly felt reminded of ice-hockey, the split second in front of the goal cage, when he had to decide now or never whether to pass the puck to another player or give it a go himself…
He stepped out of the elevator.
Despite the tight knot in his stomach, Ash couldn't help but look around. He had never been allowed to enter the third floor before. It basically looked just like the other empty floors of the building, lots of space, little furniture. Everything was surprisingly clean, though. On a table by the actual shooting range he could make out the black shape of a handgun.
Not exactly a surprise. But still…
Everything in Ash wanted to bolt and make a run for the stairs. But there was his father, standing perfectly still, his eyes resting on him, watching him…
I don't want to disappoint you, Dad.
The irony of the situation, however, wasn't lost on him. A week ago he'd have been overjoyed and excited if his father had taken him here. Now all he wanted to do was turn tail and hide somewhere.
But… the disappointment thing… just like in ice-hockey, this was a now or never situation…
"I don't…", he began again, but his voice broke, he couldn't say anything. The horrible wail of the dog suddenly filled his ears again and the image of his writhing body…
"I have killed. More than once", Chance suddenly said, hesitated for a second, then added, a little quieter: "In my job."
For a moment, all memories of Gus vanished, wiped away by this totally new information. Now, Ash knew his father used guns frequently and common sense told him they were not only for show and to scare bad guys away, but actually hearing from him that he…
Chance let the words sink in. He watched his son's reaction, anxiously waiting for any signs of repulsion, fear, horror…
Nothing of that.
"You know, don't you?" Ash started shivering. "About… the wrecking yard…." He nearly choked on the words.
"I know you didn't want all that to happen. It just kind of snowballed, it began as what seemed like a good idea and somehow span out of control…" Inside the knot in Chance's stomach was slowly dissolving. Ash was looking scared and small and lost, but not because he had just heard him confessing that he had killed more than one human being. He was scared what he, his father, would think about him! He mattered to Ash.
Relief washed over Chance, despite the graveness of the situation. Granted, he had told him a pretty watered down version of the truth, but still… His son didn't deem him a monster.
"I'm so sorry…" A single tear crept down Ash's face, then another one… finally they started flowing. Chance reached out and embraced him.
"Will this ever…?" Muffled voice against Chance's chest, trembling back and spine underneath his hands.
When his father didn't answer, Ash lifted his face, sought eye-contact with him. "Will this ever go away?"
The knot in Chance's stomach returned, harder than ever. He had feared this question, feared what the answer would do to his son. But there was no way around it, not the way Ash's eyes bore into him.
Don't look at me like that.
He hated himself for the answer he had to give. Maybe he should… to soften the blow at least for a short while…? But he had already lied enough to his child. "You take a life and a part of you is gone. This will stay with you forever and nothing can take it away again. You cannot go back."
Chance tightened his embrace.
"But you don't have to face this alone."
Ash sobbed against his chest and Chance just wordlessly held him. Only when the shaking of his body died down, he patted his back. "Now come on, we've got stuff to do." He gently steered him towards the table with the gun.
"We'll practice target shooting."
White hot fear ran down Ash's spine – mixed with sheer disbelief. "After all the shit I've pulled you want to teach me how to use a gun?"
"I trust you that you're never going to touch a gun again unless you have no other choice. But should the moment come, you need to know how to use it properly." Chance showed him how to check the gun.
"We kind of attract trouble, don't we?" Ash's voice was barely above a whisper, the horror of the past few days, the dog's death, the kidnapping, Winston's arrest all tugging at it, threatening to break it.
Chance reached out and tousled his son's hair. "Word of advice – no mischief after eating a tracking device. Not with Guerrero on alert. And he's always on alert, trust me."
The ghost of a smile flitted across Ash's face.