Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: Great to hear from you, Jackattack!
Joubert looked Greta up and down and finally shook his head. "Are you serious? A woman? All this shit for a woman?"
Baptiste gripped the handle of the weapon he had taken from the thug on deck tighter, maybe because they could hear shouting coming from somewhere below them, maybe for some other reason, long overdue.
"She doesn't deserve this", he hissed. "She needs help."
"Have you run a background check on her? You can't know her for long or I would have noticed." Joubert produced something that looked like a miniature grenade and gestured for Chance to keep an eye on the lower gallery.
Baptiste broke into a bitter laugh. "You don't understand a thing, do you? She's sweet, she's innocent, she wants to help people…"
Chance had to bite his lip at that. This was exactly, exactly, how he would have described Katherine.
"Nobody is ever truly innocent. Haven't you learned a thing from me?" Between getting the grenade ready and watching out for the approaching thugs, Joubert was regarding Greta with an outright scowl right now.
Both Chance and Baptiste made contemptuous harrumphing noises at the same time:
"You're the one who hasn't learned a thing!", Chance hurled at him.
"You're so blind to anything that doesn't fit into your plans!", Baptiste joined right in.
"Erm…" Greta cautiously chimed him. "I hate to interrupt, but..."
Joubert threw the miniature grenade down the corridor, while Chance fired a array of bullets, then they all turned towards her.
"You've got thirty seconds, missy", Joubert growled.
"My timing might be far from ideal..." She swallowed hard. Joubert looked pointedly at his watch.
"There's something you might want to know, considering that you're risking your life for me and all…". She directly addressed Baptiste now. "The knowledge in my head these people are after… and that other people are willing to pay so much money for… All those formulas and stuff that's the groundwork of the patent… I didn't exactly develop them. It's more that I … obtained… them."
Baptiste blinked and stared at her, obviously not believing his ears.
"These formulas were part of a bigger technology… weapon technology, to be precise. I guess that's why there's so much money in this auction they were planning. I know a thing or two about a really horrible weapon… I wanted to use at least part of it for something good, something positive that will help the environment instead of causing destruction…", she quickly added, seeing the look on Baptiste's face.
"But the money you received for the patent you made out of that stolen knowledge wasn't bad either…", he slowly stated.
She shrugged her shoulders sheepishly.
"Well at least now she confessed she's a thief she can't be too hard on you when you tell her your secret", Chance chimed in, looking sheepishly, too.
Baptiste threw him a murderous look. Greta, of course, was all ears – "Secret? What secret?"
"Oh, he used to be a professional assassin – one of the best", the Old Man replied nonchalantly.
"WHAT?"
"Hate to interrupt, too, but we're getting company." Chance pointed down a corridor where the approaching thugs had apparently recovered from the explosion. Without a word Joubert joined his side and they started firing as Baptiste grabbed Greta's arm and dragged her upstairs.
He was acting more on instinct and habit than conscious decision, though. His mind was reeling, trying to process all the new information. If Greta really knew about a secret weapon and the knowledge she possessed was that important, she would never be left alone. She'd be on the run forever. A new identity could provide relative safety, "relative" being the key word here... Question was, would he accompany her on a continuous life on the run - although she had lied to him? Or would he stay with Joubert, as a lesser replacement for Junior, for the rest of his life?
Never ever had Baptiste wished more to have a bit of time to himself so he could ponder everything in peace and weigh his options without pressure. Except maybe the day Joubert had sent him to go after Junior...
But just like back then there was no chance in hell he'd even get the tiniest breather - they were on an oil rig in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by heavily armed thugs...
"Go with her", just then a very familiar voice whispered by his side. "Don't even think about it. She's worth it. This is your chance."
Baptiste looked at Junior and couldn't help but shake his head. There he was, almost nine years after the Katherine Walters ordeal, and he was encouraging him to grab his opportunity to a different life.
This was more generosity than Baptiste could take. Suddenly it all made sense: Guerrero's decision not to kill Junior in the cabin... and his own, years later, during the Cervantes intermezzo.
He felt he should say something, but with all the gunshots and the explosions around them...
"They're going to take the helicopter!", Chance yelled. They were on deck by now, with a tiny lead, but it was shrinking.
Joubert suddenly stopped. A bullet grazed his shoulder, he started running again. But it looked like he had just realized something.
With more luck than anything else, Baptiste and Greta made it into the helicopter. There was no time for good-byes, every second they wasted was a second the helicopter could be hit by a bullet and be rendered unusable.
As the helicopter's door closed, Chance could hear Greta turning to Baptiste: "So, when exactly were you going to tell me about this assassin past of yours?"
If not for their adversaries in close pursuit, Chance would have laughed his ass off right on the spot. Better fighting through another dozen thugs along with Joubert than facing an angry woman who was fiercely determined to explain the difference between stealing formulas and killing people - in every. little. detail.
Joubert and Chance managed to escape with a boat. In the process they seriously damaged one of the rig's pillars, but hey, no blowout, just as they had promised. The ocean was safe for another day and considering the amount of thugs that had taken a rather steep dive while trying to stop them from getting onto the boat, the sharks were probably throwing a spontaneous party right about now.
It took them thirty minutes to get back to shore. None of them spoke a single word. They both knew what Greta's knowledge meant for the rest of her life. And they also knew, if Baptiste chose to stay with her, which he apparently had, this was the last they would ever see of him, too.
... ... ...
Chance saw no point in offering Joubert help with his bleeding shoulder, once they were back on solid ground. He was more than used to patching himself up alone. Chance, however, decided that a bit of assistance from Ames couldn't hurt to take care of the multiple cuts, bruises and grazes he had received.
To his utter surprise, though, when he stepped out of the elevator he wasn't welcomed by Ames, but by Ilsa, who looked slightly stressed out.
"Oh, draw a number!", she groaned at him more than slightly exasperated, rolling her eyes at his roughed up appearance.
In the background he could here Ames sneeze. Was that Guerrero's field kit on the kitchen table, with bloody cotton pads all over? Winston was cooling his forehead with an ice-pack and why the hell was the table tilting over so much? Not to mention the wet kitchen rug?
Guerrero kicked a chair towards him so he could sit down.
... ... ...
Joubert indeed had no trouble patching himself up without assistance.
He didn't need anyone.
Absolutely no one.
Something cold and intense, but not anger, washing over him, he opened one of his drawers, took out a 25 year old bottle of Scotch and poured himself a generous amount.
As the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon, he emptied the whole bottle.