Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Ilsa kept telling herself that their new client, Diane Evensong, must have been a pretty woman, once upon a time. She tried picturing her in a cheerleader uniform, a bikini or a prom dress… it was fruitless. Her inner eye refused to show her anything else but the skeleton like person right in front of her.
"Ten years ago I needed money", Diane began. "I had fallen in love… head over heels… quit my job, moved to another city… only to find out he was an idiot. It ended badly… found him in bed with the neighbor… I ended up kind of shipwrecked… no job, no apartment... my parents had told me from the very beginning he was no good and I wasn't exactly keen on proving them right by coming crawling back to them. Then I saw an advert on the notice board of a café – experimental subjects wanted…"
Ames studied the woman and tried to keep herself from involuntarily shuddering. She looked so horrible… a wreck, a shell, a ghastly shadow of the person she must have been ten years ago. Instinct told Ames to keep as much distance to her as possible. Idiotic of course, since Diane's poor state of health wasn't infectious. But still…
"Everything went fine", Diane continued. "They told me it was a study regarding the interdependency between natural and artificial hormones in women of my age group. I visited the laboratory once a week, they gave me pills, checked my blood pressure and took blood samples about every month or so. The payment was very generous. It gave me the breather I needed to take back control over my life."
She reached for the glass of water Winston had placed on the table for her. Her hands were shaking so badly, she needed to hold on to it with both hands. Painfully slowly she brought it to her mouth and took the tiniest sip from it. Nevertheless half of it trickled along her parched lips and down the right corner of her mouth. She seemed to have great trouble swallowing the rest.
"After six months the tests were over. In the meantime I had found a new job, met a nice man, moved to the outskirts of the city… life was getting better again and it continued to do so for the next ten years. Matt and me got married, but we never had children – apparently I was unable to conceive – but I didn't think much of it, till…" Diane looked at her shaking hands. The spidery thin fingers were slightly curved, like claws. She could only straighten them with great effort and just for a short time.
"Three months ago my hair suddenly started falling out. My teeth became loose to the point where I bit into a sandwich, tasted blood, checked and a tooth had gotten stuck in the bread, completely pulled out, dental root and all. Doctors diagnosed me with multiple organ failure. No idea what caused it, no idea how to treat it. I've got about a week left."
Ames glanced at her reflection in one of the conference room's many windows. Her dark long hair was shiny, her skin was carefully tanned, her lips were full, nature had provided her with a generous cleavage… she was proud of herself, her appearance, the effect she had on men… especially Chance, of course.
"What happened to your husband?", Ames asked Diane. "What happened to Matt?"
The way Diane averted her eyes and bit her lower lip said more than a thousand words.
"He couldn't deal with it…", she finally choked.
Her words sent a violent shiver down Ames' spine. So her husband ran away when things got difficult. Would Chance do the same? Or would he stay by her side? Against an invisible, invincible opponent he couldn't fight? Would he be able to see her suffer, would he be able to stand having to watch helplessly?
She remembered how he'd been during the plane ride, when they had known Ash was in danger but too far away to interfere… like a caged tiger. And now… was taking this case not similar to running away? Because he couldn't stand seeing Ash suffer? If she hadn't felt so sorry for Diane, she'd probably have voted against this job.
Judging from the looks on Ilsa's and Winston's faces, they were probably thinking in the same direction. Guerrero was curiously absent. Where was he?
"From what you told me on the phone I gather you suspect the pills you took in connection with the study on artificial hormones to be responsible for your illness?", Winston asked.
"The pharmaceutical company behind the study refused my doctors any insight into the study files. To me that means they've got something to hide. They claim I've got no proof whatsoever that the ten year old study and my current state of health are connected. I tried suing them for access to the files, but my appeal was denied. The judge subscribed to the company's opinion. The study and my decline are too far apart, in their opinion… but there's no other explanation! This can't be natural!"
She had cried the last part – too exhausting for her fragile condition, apparently. She started coughing badly.
"We'll go in and get copies of those files for you", Chance said matter-of-factly. "Shouldn't pose too much of a problem."
"In that case…", Ilsa, who had sat in silence the whole meeting, suddenly chimed in, "Mr. Winston, Ms. Ames and I will handle the files' retrieval. Our company is currently going through a phase of restructuring and Mr. Chance's skills are needed here."
Chance stared at her in speechless anger. What the hell was she thinking? How DARE she?
"A WORD, Mrs. Pucci", he snarled.
With a very confused Diane Evensong and a team rather proud of her braveness looking on, they headed to her office. Chance barely waited with yelling at her till the door closed behind them.
Ilsa patiently waited out his rant about her not being his boss, not being in charge of the field part of the job and generally still an amateur on so many levels. "I understand that you feel the need to get away", she finally said. "But your place is here, with your son."
"He wants to be left alone right now", Chance replied angrily.
"What your son wants, Chance, and what he needs are two different things. You can't go off on a case with your child so devastated. You have to stay close to him. He must know that he is the most important thing in the world to you." Ilsa was now practically pleading with Chance.
"He is! But he doesn't want me around!"
"And you wouldn't want anyone around in that situation either, would you?", Ilsa asked, arching her eyebrow, suddenly suspiciously calm again.
Chance realized where this was heading.
Was that ashram thing going to haunt him forever?
"But what I would want and what would be good for me are two different things…", he sighed, nodding in something he very rarely admitted: defeat.
Ilsa poured him a drink.