Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: One more time: This is not a how-to guide on parenting!
Suddenly the warehouse with all its floors and vast spaces seemed too small for Ash. It felt like the walls were coming down on him, slowly moving forward as in Poe's The Pit and the Pendulum… Threatening to squash him like a bug, to suffocate him by squeezing all the air from his lungs.
He clambered off his mother's bed, stumbled through the remnants of his former home's furnishing and threw himself against the emergency door that led to the stairwell. The enclosed space of the elevator was completely out of question right now. He needed to move, to run, to breathe… worried and at a total loss how to deal with the situation, Isamu trailed behind him.
Ash hurried down the stairs, taking two, sometimes three steps at once, grabbed the handrail to literally swing himself around the corners and made it to the first floor in what Isu figured must have been record time.
One of Chance's bikes was leaning against the wall right by the building's back exit and when Ash rushed out of the building as if the devil himself was after him, Isu grabbed it and followed his friend. He knew from first-hand experience how fast and persevering Ash could run. His own level of fitness was significantly lower.
Traffic and the people on the sidewalks at first prevented Ash from going top speed, but he kept a light, rhythmic trot, regular as a sewing machine and in the long run extremely tiring if one wasn't trained enough. Isu tried to figure out where Ash was heading and seriously hoped it wasn't the Golden Gate Bridge, to do something really foolish. Ash was not only older and bigger than him, he had also grown some serious bulk over the last few months. If push came to shove, he wouldn't be able to stop him.
Isamu pondered calling Ash's father, Mrs. Pucci or Guerrero, maybe even his own mother, Akemi, but on the other hand… he had no real proof that Ash was in danger. The look of raw pain that had appeared in his eyes while looking at the photos of his mother for the second time had been outright shocking, but maybe Ash just needed to let off some steam? In that case bringing in the adults would cause more harm than good.
Ash was the type of person that needed a physical outlet for his inner turmoil. Isu had first noticed that when watching him play ice-hockey. Part of what had made him such a brilliant enforcer was based on his ability to take all his bottled up frustration and release it on the ice, while struggling for the puck or protecting his team's goal. But back then his frustration had stemmed from more or less normal teenage trouble, the incident with the wrecked car and later, when his father had found out he had fired a gun…
Now that his mother was dead it was all a totally different story. Ash had never really spelt it out, but Isu knew him well: It wasn't only the manner of her death, the fact that she had died protecting him. There was also the additional problem that only moments before she had slapped him in the face. Where the hell was he supposed to find an outlet for that kind of ballast? And now the growing feeling that she had hidden stuff from him… stuff Ash's father knew about but didn't tell him. Oh, Isu knew that feeling well. He could say the same about his mother. There was something about his father, his life and his death, that she was not telling him.
Ash soon left the Tenderloin westwards, crossed the Western Addition, turned south, headed through Fillmore and finally turned west again, entering Golden Gate Park. In the park itself, with more maneuvering space, Ash, as unbelievable as it was after all the miles he had already mastered, actually picked up speed, gave up his rhythm and just ran, like a bolting horse… till he all but collapsed near Elk Glen Lake.
Isu quickly sent a text message to the mother of Guerrero's child, informing her that a combination of unfortunate circumstances would prevent Ash from babysitting. Then he slowly approached his friend, not sure if he wanted company or not.
"I won't bite you", Ash said, voiced strained with exhaustion. Sweat was running down his face in thick streams. Isu handed him a bottle of water that Chance had kept attached to his bike.
"I don't know where to go, Isu..." Eyes resting on the lake, the water lazily slapping against the shore, the silence only now and then disturbed by a bird flying up or landing, Ash fell silent. After a while Isu's cell phone signaled, the mother of Guerrero's child. Ash not coming wasn't a problem, she had already found a substitute. The sun slowly started to sink and the heat of the day was being replaced by a rather cool breeze coming in from the Bay. It felt like it was going to be a misty night. Still wordlessly, Ash got up and began walking again, not hunted as before, but still aimlessly. Isu silently followed him.
At first Ash seemed to be heading further towards the Bridge, but then he turned around and they ended up in the Castro district. Not exactly the place to be with the day waning, but on the other hand, Ash was armed with his mother's knife and they both knew a thing or two about self-defense. Granted, Guerrero would still chew their ears off for taking an unnecessary risk, but Isu was confident they'd be able to stand their ground.
Ash halted his steps in front of a Tattoo studio – Samoan Jack's Tattoo Shop. It wasn't hard to guess what had caught his attention. "These are Maori designs", he said, staring at the shop window. "Like the rock drawings mom copied on the photo!"
A certain similarity was undeniable: Huge posters displayed intricate black and white patterns in curvilinear forms, apparently based on the spiral – just like the patterns Philippa had drawn on paper, decades ago.
"You've got quite the expert eye. These patterns are indeed of Maori origin." A huge man with shoulders like a bear and a big belly to match suddenly stepped out of the shadow around the shop entrance. Both boys tensed.
"Samoan Jack", the stranger introduced himself. "This is my shop. I specialize in traditional tattoo designs and methods of application. These over here are Hawaiian." He pointed at the other shop window, but Ash hardly glanced at it. He was mesmerized by the Maori patterns.
Samoan Jack noticed his fascination and smiled. "Maoris take great pride in their tattoos. They traditionally display them on their faces, probably because of New Zealand's climate. This one here tells the story of a war between the forces of evil and good. Old Maori legend, goes back thousands of years… according to that legend, the battle is still raging, with the forces of evil on the rise and the good side barely hanging in."
"I want this one", Ash said, eyes still trained on the complicated black spirals, twirling and overlapping each other in seemingly never-ending turmoil.
Samoan Jack laughed and pointed at the 21 and over sign next to his shop's entrance. "Sunshine, you're way too young for this kind of shit, believe me."
Isu, however, saw the determination in Ash's eyes, the burning desire, the sheer need. Ash was slowly going mad over the whole situation, his mother's violent end, his grandfather's demise… all the question marks, the things that just didn't add up. He desperately needed an outlet. Could this here… maybe…?
"We could add a bit to the regular price…", Isu cautiously suggested.
Samoan Jack laughed some more. "Hell no, kids, whatever price you pay, it's not worth a lawsuit with your enraged parents! I really don't need no mommy yelling at me at the top of her voice for harming her baby."
Wrong choice of words. Oh boy did he choose the wrong words.
Isu literally saw the wrath rise in Ash, all the anger and frustration were ready to erupt, right here, right now, in the middle of the Castro, in the face of a man who looked like a bear…
"What if Guerrero allows it?", Isamu blurted out. He hadn't really thought about it, he had just hectically tried to somehow defuse the situation. Samoan Jack looked like the type of guy that was familiar with Guerrero's name.
His assumption turned out to be correct.
"You two know Guerrero?", Samoan Jack said, caught somewhere between disbelief und newly found interest in the two kids. Who were they?
In reply Isu took his cell phone and speed dialed Guerrero. He tried to behave as casually as possible, but inside his heart was racing as he was desperately trying to figure out what the hell he should tell him.
Guerrero picked up after the third ring. After Walter had so narrowly escaped them in Ecuador, they had, without much discussion, decided to call the mission off for the moment. Winston's hesitation to pull the trigger had somehow been like a wake-up call… or at least a vague question mark… The determination they had felt so strongly all the way to Guayaquil had somehow evaporated on that damp, hot morning in the stinking street, as the unknown limousine had whisked their target away at the last minute.
None of them was of the superstitious type, but maybe… maybe they should rethink their strategy after all? Winston had hesitated pulling the trigger for a reason… and that reason deserved consideration.
They asked Ilsa to arrange transportation for them and came to the understanding that they'd use their San Francisco resources and computer equipment to figure out who had taken Walter and why. They all agreed that in their backpacker masquerade there just wasn't much they could do.
Upon arrival at SFO Winston was still down. They hadn't managed yet to convey to him that he hadn't failed them, that in fact he might have… it was hard to put into words. Guerrero decided to give him a bit of time alone with Chance. He told them he'd catch up with them later and first alert a couple of his informants to the black limousine issue. Chance and Winston had just disappeared with a car sent by Ilsa when Guerrero's cell phone signaled, with Isamu's number on the display.
In the end Isamu decided to go for bluntness. Much explanation wasn't possible, Ash was listening in, rooted to the spot only a few feet away from him, struggling with an intense onslaught of pure fury. "Ash wants a tattoo from Samoan Jack. Do you give permission?"
So few words, but Guerrero knew exactly what Isamu was hinting at. He vividly remembered Junior in his younger years, his way of dealing with emotional pain… there was no question what the tattoo was about. Should he allow Ash to go down the same path? Without consulting with his father first?
He had a pretty good idea under what circumstances Isu was calling… time was most likely pressing… "Let me talk to Jack", Guerrero finally said.
Five minutes later Ash and Isu found themselves inside the shop and Ash was taking off his shirt. Although not the traditional Maori place for a tattoo, the pattern would be put on his right upper arm. "Traditional Maori tattoos are completely different from Western tattoos", Samoan Jack explained. "The skin is carved with chisels, not punctured with needles. It leaves the skin with grooves. This is going to hurt."
"I want this", Ash said.
Samoan Jack shrugged his shoulders and laid out his instruments – pointed, very sharp looking chisels, knives and small, hammer-like objects. The sight of them alone was enough to send shivers down Isamu's spine, but Ash didn't seem to care. He looked at them with calm determination. This was a challenge and he was willing to face it. Taking on a prone position, he laid down on the tattooist's treatment couch.
Samoan Jack dipped one of the chisels into black color and used one of the small hammers to drive the chisel's tip into the middle of Ash's upper arm. Ash gasped and almost curled into a ball.
"Told you it hurts, boy", Jack said, a lot softer than before. "Look, we can stop here. At the moment all you've got is a tiny black spot on your skin. Easy to remove with a good laser…"
"No", Ash said.
Samoan Jack placed a second dot on Ash's arm. Again Ash gasped.
"This'll take hours", Jack warned, wiping blood off the boy's skin.
"Go on", Ash urged.
Five minutes later he was throwing up from pain. And of course still not caving in and calling it quits.
"This won't work if you keep moving", Samoan Jack said.
"Can I hold him?", Isu asked, feeling quite a bit queasy himself.
Sighing and silently cursing Guerrero, Jack showed Isu the right position to hold his friend.
"That okay with you?", Isamu quietly asked Ash. In reply Ash wrapped his free arm around him in a tight embrace, holding on to him as if for dear life.
… … …
Six hours later Samoan Jack called cabs for the both the boys, praying to all Gods he could think of that neither would collapse on their way home. Guerrero had promised him he would sort things out at the parents' side, but it was very clear, if anything happened to the kids, he'd hold him responsible…
Now, they both were a lot tougher than they looked at first glance. The blond one had shown remarkable stamina – of course, the adrenalin flow had helped, but still... He had thrown up three times, had forced himself to eat something in between to stay up and had even taken the part where the chisel's tip had inevitably hit the bone. Samoan Jack had seen grown men go down from that sort of searing, very extreme pain.
The Japanese boy's part, however, hadn't been any easier. Carrying his friend through this, supporting him despite all the blood and the stench from the vomiting… holding him, softly murmuring to him… That kid was just as tough.
Good Lord did he hope they'd make it home safe and sound.
… … …
They did make it home safe and sound. Guerrero had talked to Akemi and when Isu came home his mother waited for him with late night food and no questions.
Ash came home to an office still illuminated, too. Winston, Guerrero and his father were sitting around the kitchen table, a bottle of Scotch between them. Ash could feel his father's eyes resting on him the moment the elevator's doors slid open. Slowly he walked over to the kitchen area. Whatever he'd have to say, he'd listen to it and then just go to bed. No yelling, no you just don't get it, dad. He wasn't up for a fight. Not tonight. Bracing himself for getting read the riot act and months of grounding, he halted by the table.
"Well, show it", Chance said.
For a second Ash was so surprised that his father wasn't shouting at him, he didn't do anything.
Chance just waited.
Ash slowly took off his shirt. Thick black spirals, intricately curved, now covered his right upper arm, twisting and turning in endless varieties.
"Sit down before you fall down", Chance said and pointed at a vacant chair with a nod of his head.
Shirt still off, Ash sat down, grateful to relieve his buckling knees from the weight of his body.
Taking a deep breath, Chance took an empty glass, filled it with a small amount of Scotch and pushed it towards his son.