Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
~ the hardest part ~
The moment the shot was fired all hell broke loose. No force in the universe could have kept Chance behind the police tape. He stormed in with the special unit. Nobody tried to stop him. Ames sent a silent prayer heavenwards thanking all whom it may concern for Ilsa's influence on the governor.
Despite the turmoil in the bank and all the frightened hostages lying flat on the ground, Chance recognized Philippa immediately. His heart froze. The blood, the gaping wound on the back of her head… He knew she was dead the moment he laid eyes on her. But where was Ash?
A split second later he realized she must have thrown herself in front of a bullet and was still covering him. The special unit's members checked the building for any signs of the hostage takers, but Chance could only think of his son. He pulled Philippa's body aside and grabbed him, putting him on his feet, frantically looking for any kind of injuries.
His shirt and trousers, even parts of his blond hair were crimson red, but all the blood on him was Philippa's. Ash was unharmed.
Only then it dawned on Chance what his son had just witnessed.
His mother's death.
Ash was just staring at him with huge eyes. Years ago Chance had seen a horse with a broken leg. It had looked at him in exactly the same way.
Terror. Confusion. Unfathomable pain.
Chance took his child in his arms and carried him outside. Someone tried to stop him, telling him they needed the boy's clothes since it was evidence, and anyway he was a key witness, but Winston stepped in.
… … …
"You should have taken him to a hospital", Dr. Grace said. "He is highly traumatized. This is nothing you can treat with a bit of pep talk and sparring. He needs therapy and special medication. Don't allow him to bury this somewhere. He has to talk about it."
Chance thought about how he had undressed Ash like a small child, put him under the shower, washed the blood off… He hadn't moved on his own at all. Completely paralyzed he had let his father dry his skin with a towel and dress him again in fresh clothes.
Grace was right, they needed professional help with this. But instinct told him a hospital was not going to work.
"At least make sure he takes those tonight and tomorrow." Grace put a small box of pills on the kitchen table.
"Sedatives?" He eyed the box with open distrust.
"A new generation of anti-stress meds that work directly on the protein synthesis in the brain. After today's events he's an almost certain candidate to develop severe PTSD. Clinical studies indicate that this special type of drugs helps putting the chemical imbalance in the brain cells that was caused by the traumatic event back into order again."
Chance still looked skeptical. In both his former and current line of work frequent traumas came with the territory. It was what the old Christopher Chance had meant when he had said "It was never easy." And it was what Guerrero meant when he told newbies in the business that the emotional crashes were the worst part of the job.
"Don't think of it as a chemical crutch. Think of it as the same principle as disinfecting a wound. It can heal only when you clean it."
Winston briefly appeared in the doorway, holding a plastic bag – Ash's blood-smeared clothes. He just looked at Chance and lifted the bag a little. Chance nodded and Winston walked away again. A short time later they heard the elevator ding.
CSI was already anxiously waiting to process the clothes. Their delayed and rather obscure mode of deliverance could cause problems once they had the hostage takers in custody. A cunning lawyer could easily dispute their admissibility as evidence.
Judging from the fierce way Guerrero was hacking away at his computer and making three words long telephone conversations, however, there'd probably never be a lawsuit.
Chance decided he needed to talk to Guerrero about this matter, but not now. At the moment all that mattered was Ash.
Winston also had an appointment at the morgue. He was going to identify Philippa. One or two of Ilsa's lawyers would meet him there and brief him on how to explain her rather checkered biography without giving away information that would compromise Ash's or Chance's safety.
They had to tread very carefully here – Philippa had spun a highly complicated web of lies, false documents and fake IDs to protect her son. The lawyers had basically hacked a legally valid path through that jungle which Winston had to follow strictly when it came to answering questions.
The rest of Ilsa's lawyers was working on the paperwork necessary for Chance to gain custody of his son. So far there were no official documents whatsoever that connected him with Ash. They had to work fast to prevent social services from starting to snoop around. Not an easy task, considering that Chance's biography was just as checkered as Philippa's… Well, Ilsa was present to make sure they did their very best.
… … …
Dr. Grace was called to another emergency. Urging Chance one more time to get professional help she hurried away. He took a glass of water, grabbed the box of pills and walked upstairs with a heavy heart. Grace was right, wounds needed cleansing, and if that stuff helped…
Ames was sitting with Ash. Judging from his position on the edge of the bed he hadn't moved at all since Chance had placed him there. Ames' face was streaked with tears. His son's was void of any expression. Chance nodded at Ames and she quickly got up and left.
"Take this, it'll help." Chance fumbled a single pill out of the box and held it out to Ash on the palm of his hand. With the other he offered him the glass of water.
For a moment Ash simply stared at both.
Then, in one violent move, he angrily lashed out at both pill and water.
"No way", he hissed.
With every other person, even Guerrero, Chance would have found a way to give the sedative by force, maybe in a different form.. a short struggle, a quick injection … but he couldn't with his son. He just couldn't.