Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Crystal blue water, white beach, palm trees swaying in the wind... the only thing marring the picture postcard setting on the quaint little South American island was a WW II plane, nose half buried in the sand, waves slapping against its tail in a slow, lazy rhythm.
Once Ames had established that she was still alive, she felt better.
"You alright?"
Chance's voice. So he was alive, too. Good. She totally felt like killing him right now.
"Plane's still intact! Granted, we lost a wing… two wings… but what's the old saying? As long as there's no fire, it's not a plane crash!"
He came clambering over to her, the brief shadow on his face betraying his easygoing attitude, giving away that he was actually very worried about her.
Ames was torn between the urge to kick his ass and cautiously wipe the sand off his face to check for scratches. Then he helped her outside and WOW, what a pretty place. She should have brought her bikini.
On second thought…
"Is the island inhabited?"
Chance shook his head. "No, we're pretty much off the grid here." He looked at the deep blue ocean, smiled at her and climbed back into the damaged plane.
"Gotta try and contact HQ. Ilsa can send someone. Or maybe Guerrero knows a guy."
Ames looked at the deep blue ocean, the amazingly cloudless sky, the sparkling white beach… a soft breeze was cooling her skin while the warm sun gently caressed it… she hurried after Chance.
The plane's radio equipment was still working and Chance had no trouble getting through to San Francisco. Much to his surprise, Ilsa replied.
"Guerrero and Winston are busy planning ambush. Roger."
"Okay… we'll be needing some sort of transportation at the following coordinates… 11° 1′ N, 63° 55′ W…"
"Roger and Wilco."
"Ilsa! First off, who the hell taught you to speak like that? You've been reading the wikipedia entry on radio communication or what?"
Back at the warehouse, Ilsa quickly closed the website she had been studying since Guerrero had put her in charge of the radio equipment.
"Second, "Roger" simply means "received", as in "understood". "Wilco" means "received and will comply." If you say "Roger Wilco" it's a) incorrect and b) redundant." He wasn't exactly sure why he was snarling at her for this petty point. Maybe it was because seeing Ames bent over in the co-pilot's seat that had come loose during landing hadn't exactly been a pleasant sight.
"Are you alright?", promptly came the slightly irritated, British accentuated answer.
"He crashed the plane, broke his toy, that is all", Ames quickly interjected. "Everything's okay, though. Beach is nice, shoulda brought bathing stuff. It's warm, plane works fine as shelter… And nobody else is here. Nobody."
A moment of silence on the other end. Ilsa quickly accessed Wikipedia again and looked up if the Isla Mapache had some sort of fresh water supply. The answer was yes. There was actually a very nice natural pool with a waterfall not far from the beach… she wondered if Ames' cell had a signal… The website also informed her of rich fish stocks all around and the absence of any sort of dangerous spiders etc. Chance, with his assassin training, should be able to provide them with decent food for a couple of days and he surely was able to produce a fire…
"Wilco", she transmitted, then cut the connection.
"What was that?", Chance asked, frowning.
Ames, however, smiled. Perfect example of woman-to-woman subtext communication and the male in the room not having a clue. Her smile grew even broader when her cell vibrated and when she quietly checked it, it was a very interesting message from Ilsa.
Chance wasn't quite sure what had happened during the radio transmission, but he did have the feeling Ames and Ilsa had just conspired against him. Ah well, he hadn't hunted down Russian spies and native traitors for nothing.
"Let's see if we find some food till help gets here", he told Ames.
There was something in his voice that sent Ames' alarm bells ringing.
"Are you planning to catch a fish?" Ames wasn't quite sure in which movie she had seen the hero spearing fish with a pocketknife attached to a stick, but she could imagine Chance doing something like that and enjoying it.
"I was thinking in the direction of something containing more protein."
Ames vaguely remembered a scene from the Lion King… Timon and Pumbaa informing young Simba that from now on gazelle was off the menu and beetles and maggots were on… Slimy yet satisfying…
"I'm not going to eat anything with antennae!"
"Oh, don't worry, snakes don't have antennae…" Chance retrieved his combat knife from the sheath attached to his ankle and let it gleam in the sunlight.
"Are you kidding me?" Ames dashed to the back of the plane. With a little luck the pilot had left a sandwich somewhere…. Or an apple… a banana… chewing gum… anything that didn't slither!
"It almost tastes like chicken! You'll hardly notice the difference!"
Ames was so busy digging around in the trashed inside of the plane that she didn't notice Chance lazily leaning in the entrance, laughing his ass off at her frantic search operation.
"I don't think I'm hungry", she finally mumbled, shoulders slumping in defeat. Chicken…
"Ames…"
She turned around, saw him standing in the doorway, lopsided smile and in his hands… a basket full of groceries!
…that he had quietly moved out of sight when she had been busy checking her cell phone…
"There's more outside. Apparently the pilot was running orders for some remote village. We could stay here for a week and the snakes would still be safe."
... ... ...
As Ilsa had assumed correctly, Chance had a fire burning in no time whatsoever. Half an hour later they enjoyed the first warm meal of the day. Comfortable silence stretched between them, the birds of the island and the waves slapping against the beach the only sounds, except for an occasional crackling of the fire.
It was so tempting to just indulge in this peaceful atmosphere and enjoy it while it lasted. On the other hand... Ames knew she would hardly ever get Chance alone for herself, more or less confined to a small area where he couldn't evade a very necessary conversation by running off.
Although she wouldn't put it past him to swim to the next inhabited island, just to get away from certain topics...
"I think she would be angry with you", Ames said with a sigh, putting the huge plant leaf she had used as a plate aside.
Of course Chance didn't understand what she was talking about, so she decided to make herself a little clearer.
"Katherine", she prompted.
Predictably, Chance put his food down and turned away. "Ames…"
"She wouldn't want you to be lonely for the rest of your life. If she loved you as much as you loved her, she'd want you to be happy." She could see he was ready to bolt. No way. Fiercely determined, she got up and walked into the direction of the pool Ilsa had texted her about.
"Where are you going? Ames?"
She kept on walking, didn't turn around. This worked on horses in that movie with that Redford guy, maybe it worked on ex-assassins, too?
A couple of more steps, she pushed some huge plants out of the way… there was the pool… ah, noises behind her back, Chance was catching up with her.
So, Winston, what exactly was wrong about getting most of your education from TV again?
"Ames…" Chance reached for her arm, but Ames turned away from his grip and began to undress, her blouse, her skirt, her bra, her panties… just like that.
Deliberately not paying any attention to frozen-on-the-spot Chance, she lowered herself into the delightfully cool water. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of her skin welcoming the water's soothing touch.
For a moment Ames felt she was the center of the world and nothing else mattered.
Then she opened her eyes again and it painfully hit her that that simply wasn't true. Someone around here mattered very, very much.
"Come in here", she said. "The water is fine."