Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and I intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: Special thanks to minx227 who provided a very interesting thought for this chapter & of course, as always, THANK YOU niagaraweasel for all your help!
"I hardly recognize you anymore. What happened to you? You're not the Ilsa Pucci I used to know and love like a real sister!" Connie's bitter parting words were still ringing in Ilsa's ears although hours had passed since the jet had taken off, leaving a devastated East Coast behind.
According to the weather forecast temperatures were going to drop significantly within the next few days and snow would come upon the very same area that had just been hit by the hurricane. Another catastrophe on top of the first one, since millions of people were without electric power – no heating, no hot water, no gasoline…
The Marshall Pucci Foundation had released a huge amount of emergency funds and helpers from all over the continent were on their way right now to support the official institutions. It was a good thing Connie was already on the spot to organize things. Judging from what they had seen once daylight had come, however, the rebuilders were facing a Herculean task. Nothing would ever be the same.
Ilsa couldn't help but think that Marshall's death had done to her life what Sandy had done to the East Coast. It was true, she wasn't the same Ilsa Pucci anymore that had worked, shopped, socialized alongside Connie Pucci. The philanthropic society lady had turned into … what? A shady sort of vigilante? A death-retardant specialist's assistant?
Would Marshall still recognize her?
She recalled the words in the letter he had left her... she still knew them by heart, although she hadn't read it in a while.
Strongest woman I've ever known.
Guerrero came walking down the jet's aisle, sat down next to her and handed her a glass of Scotch on the Rocks.
"You would have cut his ear off, right?", Ilsa asked, not daring to look at him.
"Yes", he said, barely audibly but firmly.
"It would have saved us a lot of trouble…" She let the sentence trail off. Her decision not to do it could have resulted in horrible disaster. It had been a close call.
His reply came without hesitation. "You did the right thing."
And then he actually leaned over and brushed the briefest of kisses against her cheek.
Guerrero wasn't one for public exchange of affections, so this was doubly touching. Ilsa looked at him, dared a faint smile for the first time that day and decided Connie had gotten it all wrong – "these people", Chance, Winston, Ames, Guerrero… they hadn't destroyed the old Ilsa Pucci. They had rebuilt her after the catastrophe of Marshall's death had almost shattered her.
"We should really discuss what to do about Eva Khan, now that certain questions are settled." …for the time being, Winston added silently as he approached Ilsa and Guerrero from the direction of the galley. He'd somehow pay Guerrero back for knocking him unconscious like that, he would!
Winston was skipping through the pages of the file on Eva while walking, but actually he was resting his eyes on Chance and Ames, who were slowly making their way to the front from the back of the plane. Ames' thundering "PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN AND YOU'LL SLEEP ON THE COUCH FOR A YEAR!" still seemed to be echoing through the jet.
Well, it wasn't the first time Chance had gotten a thorough dressing-down after a job and he took it in his usual unfazed manner. Boyish smile on his face, he flopped down in the seat next to Ilsa. Ames, however, was obviously still simmering, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes didn't help. She sat down opposite from him, as far away as possible, holding her back uncharacteristically upright.
"Yeah, dear Eva seems to have gotten herself into quite a bit of trouble", Chance said lazily, glancing at his own copy of the file. "A tournament to determine who'll be the leader of an… obscure…" for a moment his expression changed, revealed a deeper layer of emotion, but only Ames and Guerrero noticed "… temple in the jungle of Borneo. It seems leaving the temple's emblem at a prominent location served as some sort of entrance ticket to that tournament."
"As far as we know Eva Khan's father spent some time at that temple in his younger years… there used to be a so-called "master" …Ryvuu… Ryuu… Rynuu…? He apparently helped him a great deal to find his way in life…", Winston read from his file. "The community seems to have declined ever since… there are indications its members are nowadays involved in black-marketeering of tropical timber and illegal hunting… looks like Eva wants to restore the temple to its old glory by taking part in that tournament and winning."
While Winston was speaking, Chance underneath the table gradually slid his leg forward, till his foot reached Ames. He slipped out of his shoe and gently, very gently began running it up and down her legs.
Ames rolled her eyes. She wasn't sixteen anymore. Her days of playing footsie with somebody were over.
But oh damn, Chance was enormously skillful… and he had very nimble toes… His soft strokes along her skin were like a promise to completely make up for his misbehavior… if only given the opportunity.
"According to my guy in Borneo the last tournament round will be a fight till death", Guerrero chimed in. "Samurai sword fighting style."
"We won't let that happen", Chance stated firmly, his toes resting against a particularly sensitive spot of Ames' inner thigh, applying just enough pressure to make her want more. "Eva is no killer and we won't let her become one."
The pilot announced that they'd arrive at SF airport soon.
"But maybe we should postpone making plans for one night and just get some R&R", Chance suggested, fastening his seatbelt.
Everyone except Ames looked at him like he had just sprouted a second head. Even Guerrero raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"I'm somehow really tired…" Chance stretched his arms and yawned "… not really keen on facing evening traffic to get back to the warehouse….There's a really nice hotel a block down from the airport, I'm thinking about getting a room there for the night. We hadn't been planning to get back to San Francisco today anyway, had we?"
Oh, those twinkling eyes. Ames pressed her lips together, but try as she might, they curled into a smile nevertheless.
The plane's wheels set down on the tarmac.
"Uh, bro, maybe you'll want to face evening traffic after all…", Guerrero said, checking his smart phone. "Looks like someone is getting an unauthorized tour of the office…" He showed Chance the video feed from the warehouse's security cams.
… … …
"Nice place", Helen conceded, nodding appreciatively at her surroundings. "Gym, firing range, stylish lobby… you've got a holding cell, too?"
Ash shrugged in what he hoped was a cool "could be, but I can't tell you"-gesture.
For a moment none of them said anything and the quietness of the office became almost palpable.
"So no one is here?", Helen said, eyes resting on him. "Your folks are away on a job?"
"Yeah, they won't be back before tomorrow…" Ash let the sentence trail off… were they thinking the same or were his hormones making him imagine things?
More silence.
Helen kept looking at him.
His gut told him that she was expecting him to make some sort of move… but what if his usually reliable gut feeling was somehow distorted…. by something below his waistline?
Helen sighed, grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the couch usually reserved for waiting clients. "The fog is making my leg worse and this looks really comfortable!"
She flopped down on the cushions and pulled him with her.
He was completely paralyzed.
This was a different kind of being "alone with a girl" than stealing a private moment behind the gym or the ice rink. This was being truly alone. And the girl in question was Helen. Helen, who visited him in his dreams at night…
"For heaven's sake, ASH!"
The real Helen smacked his chest.
"Am I that appalling?" For the first time ever since he had met her she sounded unsure of herself.
Ash finally came to again. "No, no…" He reached out, gently ran a finger along the line of her face and leaned over. Just like last time, their lips seemed to melt into each other.
This time around, however, she went for his shirt, tunneled underneath the fabric, ran her hands up his back… and he did the same. His fingers found the clasp of her bra in no time. Damnit, it was one of those complicated things where you needed an engineer's degree to… it unhooked.
Helen threw a leg over his thighs and pulled herself onto his lap.
DING….
The elevator, Ash thought dimly…
Oh SHIT, the elevator!
"Give them a second to rearrange…" Ames told Chance inside the car, snapping her smartphone with the video feed shut.
When the elevator's door slid open, Helen was still sitting on the sofa, but Ash was leaning against the glass wall of Ilsa's office, practically on the other side of the room.
"Looks like we've got a visitor…", Chance said, entering the office. "Nice to see you again, Helen." Then he rested his eyes on Ash.
"Son…"