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

The blade stopped a hair's breadth from Chance's carotid artery. Chance could feel it press against his skin through the cloth of his hood.

"I'm not going to do this", Eva whispered between labored gasps of breath. "I'm not going to do this."

She removed the blade from Chance's neck and let her sword sink to the ground. "Do you hear me?", she yelled into the direction where she assumed the organizers of the tournament were sitting.

"I'm not going to do this! By beating him I rightfully claimed leadership of the Temple and my first decision is to let him live!"

For a moment deafening silence seemed to engulf everything. A clouded leopard roared in the distance. The sound felt like a clap of thunder to Eva's ears – electric, angry, wild.

Slowly, very slowly, the organizers got up, becoming visible in the semi-darkness. Tall figures, thin figures, short and hunched ones. One after another they got to their feet… and started applauding.

"The true leader has just revealed herself!", one of them exclaimed with a hoarse voice. The others followed, with similar praise. Eva, however, turned away from them and focused her attention on her still kneeling opponent again. She extended her hand. "You fought well. Now get up and we'll talk."

To her utter surprise, the man didn't take her hand. Instead he reached for the cut in the cloth covering his upper arm and widened it a bit so that she could see his skin.

A dragon tattoo.

A very familiar dragon tattoo.

Years ago in Brussels, when she had still been with Hugh Prentiss, picking the fighters for him, she had encountered a mysterious man… Grant Johnson. She had known from the start he wasn't a normal fighter. The second she had laid eyes on the tattoo that looked so similar to the Temple's emblem that her father had shown her many times she had known he hadn't simply turned up to win the Christof.

In the end he had helped her break free from Prentiss, find out the truth about her father's death and, as an additional bonus, had given her a very enchanted night to remember.

He had saved her life.

Oh good lord, she almost killed Grant Johnson! Eva gasped in horror.

Chance got to his feet, removed his mask and gave her that lopsided smile she remembered so well.

Yes, from all he could tell, the lesson had sunk in.

… … …

"I think I heard something outside", Ilsa remarked, letting the ice-cubes in her scotch on the rocks rattle against the glass of her tumbler.

"Yeah, he's approaching", Winston confirmed, glancing at the monitor that showed them the gangway area of the jet.

Ames harrumphed, folding her arms across her chest.

Guerrero got up and headed towards the restroom in the back of the plane.

A second later the door swished open and Chance climbed in, back in casual clothes – jeans, t-shirt, sunglasses.

"I guess letting me tramp to the airfield instead of picking me up after the tournament was intended as some kind of punishment for my slight change of plan during the last round?" He smiled innocently at his team, showing his dimple and tilting his head.

Nobody smiled back.

"Okay, I know it looked dangerous, but…"

The cold metal of an exquisitely sharp samurai sword pressing against the unprotected skin of his neck stopped him mid-sentence.

"You're going to tell us some bullshit about how you would've rolled over and out of reach at the last minute, dude?" Guerrero's hand around the hilt of his sword didn't quiver at all. His stance was firm and completely balanced.

"You don't seriously think I would've risked…" Chance made his voice sound relaxed and casual, but he didn't dare move. Guerrero was a master at inflicting pain without even remotely endangering his victim's life. The fact that they were friends didn't mean he would refrain from teaching him a lesson. Chance remembered his broken wrist only too well.

"Demonstrate it, dude. Show us how you would have rolled over at the last minute. Get down on your knees, I'll deliver the blow, let's see who is faster…"

Guerrero was seriously pissed. And from the fact that neither Winston nor Ilsa or Ames objected to his actions, it was easy to deduce that they were pissed as well.

"You've got a son", Guerrero hissed through clenched teeth.

"What were we supposed to tell Ash, had this gone wrong?", Winston added. "That a Katherine-moment was more important to his father than staying safe for his child?"

Chance pressed his lips together and all boyish easy-go-luckiness vanished from his face.

"Katherine-moment?", he echoed.

White hot anger shot through Ames as she heard the name. Katherine! That goddamn ghost that had almost ruined everything back in Scotland and had made him play hard to get for years!

"The moment back in the safe house when you decided, all by yourself, without anyone influencing you, that you wouldn't kill her", Winston explained. "A Katherine-moment. You wanted Eva to experience the same so she wouldn't eventually cross the line after all."

Chance shook his head, very carefully so he didn't accidentally cut himself with Guerrero's sword.

"Not a Katherine-moment…", he mumbled.

Now he had everyone's attention.

Chance, however, fell silent. He didn't say any additional word. All they could see was his Adam's apple working up and down, giving away how much in turmoil he actually was.

"Dude…", Guerrero finally said, almost gently.

"I wanted to give her a Guerrero-moment…"

Guerrero knew immediately what Chance meant. He just would have never expected him to voice it somehow.

The rest was equally stunned. This was CHANCE, talking about his FEELINGS.

"You could have beaten me in the safe house. When we fought. But you didn't. You gave yourself up to me, put your life in my hands. My finger was on the trigger… and then I suddenly realized what I was doing… before Katherine interfered. That's when the decision was made: No more killing."

Deep silence filled the room. Everyone was speechless. These were more words regarding his feelings than Chance had uttered in the last few years combined. He couldn't have proven more forcefully how much he trusted them.

"Grab a shower, bro", Guerrero said softly. "And maybe Ames can help you with the bruises and stuff."

… … …

After Ilsa's old jet had gone up in flames in South America thanks to Hector Lopez, she had bought a newer model with certain amenities. Among them a small bathroom with a real shower.

Ames followed Chance into the facility. Her face betrayed the storm of emotions that was raging inside of her. On the one hand Chance had just, for the first time since she knew him, totally opened up… but to the team… what about HER?

"It's not only because of Ash why I shouldn't have pulled that stunt", Chance said just then, facing the shower stall. "He's got top priority. But you're second, right behind him. Because of you I shouldn't even have thought about that shit either."

Ames watched his quivering shoulders and something melted inside of her. She softly touched his shoulder, turned him around and brushed a kiss against his lips.

"I can live with that."

… … …

As the jet finally started, Ilsa lightly smacked Guerrero's chest. "Now tell me how in the world you managed to hide a giant samurai sword in my plane without me noticing."