Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"I really hope this is just a social call, Harry. Chance is away on a job, so are Winston and Guerrero." Ames was in the bedroom, sorting through Chance's personal clothes. He had a huge equipment store full of garments for his various assignments – tailcoats, Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts, safari suits, even kilts and also lots of different uniforms, of course.
They were kept in perfect shape; you never know when you need what. Their assignments were more often than not time-sensitive; shopping was usually not an option. Damaged stuff was sorted out, you can't go to a party acting as an ambassador with a burn hole in your suit. They also regularly added stuff that could be useful one day.
Chance's personal clothes, however, were a different matter. He had this ancient black leather jacket that Ames thought was rather cool, but he also owned lots of jeans that had to be years old, not to mention all those faded, baggy shirts that he claimed he needed for workout. If he was really planning to do workout in all of them they'd never be able to accept another client because the guy you go to when nobody else can help was busy in the gym.
Well, now that he was away and Ames' presence not required, this was probably her once in a lifetime opportunity to do away with at least the most ragged clothes and replace them with more appropriate exemplars.
"How come you're not with them? Did you and Chance have a little spat? You two are such a pretty couple, it would be a pity if you broke up. Now, if you need a bit of counseling, you won't believe it, but I do have an online degree in relationship therapy. Yes, I know, it sounds unlikely with my success as a PI and all, but there was a time in my life when two roads diverged in a yellow wood…" Harry sat down in the chair by the bed, crossing his legs and putting a hand to his chin in classic Freudian pose. "I took the other, as just as fair…", he added poetically.
Ames stifled a sigh. "Ash's with them. They don't need me this time around. Ilsa's staying at home, too."
"What? They're letting the kid tag along but not me? How many times did I ask Chance to take me on a mission with him, but it somehow never worked out… and now Ash?"
"It's a guy thing, Harry." Ames unfolded a gray shirt that displayed huge gashes in the chest area. Shuddering, she put it in the bag that would go straight into the garbage can.
"HEY!"
… … …
"Okay, before touch down a couple of ground rules." Chance took a seat in front of his son.
Ash noted how different his father sounded… matter-of-factly… serious… this was his professional voice, the one he used when giving instructions to clients that definitely needed to be followed. Ash nodded, indicating that he was willing to listen.
At first he had regarded Ilsa's order to solve the problem in Haiti as totally ridiculous, one of her silly ideas, but now, with the jet slowly approaching Toussaint Louverture International Airport, things were different. There were guns hidden in the secret compartment under the airplane's floor paneling, he had received various vaccination shots against all sorts of sketchy Caribbean illnesses… his wallet contained a fake pass port. They were really going through with this… Ash knew he shouldn't be, but damn he was excited.
"You're not going anywhere alone. Under no circumstances", Chance began.
Ash had expected something like that and nodded.
"You're not going to carry a gun. This is a paper trail case, most likely no need for firearms."
Ash gave his father a long, poignant look.
Chance heaved a sigh. "Yeah, granted, I know... but this job's really a milk run. So in the unlikely case that changes, you'll run, hide or do whatever else necessary to get out of harm's way. We've got the rest covered."
Okay, this was a little harder to take, but Ash saw his reasoning. Aiming and firing at people was totally different from target practice. The way Gus, although just a dog, had died at his hands still sometimes haunted him in his sleep… not to mention the sound of the shot that had killed his mom… Ash was not keen on taking part in a shootout.
"To make sure you don't get lost you're going to wear a tracking device at all times", Chance finished his list.
Oh now, wait a second, WHAT?
Ash's reaction came promptly. "You can't be serious!"
"It won't hinder you a bit. Guerrero put a really small one into a wristwatch."
"Dude…" Guerrero was suddenly by his side, took his arm, put a metal watch around his wrist. The way the clasp closed with a very solid-sounding, definite clack told Ash Guerrero had decided not to rely on simply telling him to keep it on. His hold on Ash's limb was not uncomfortable, but of course tight enough to make clear he could easily turn it into an iron, threatening to snap a bone, grip.
"This is ridiculous! What do you think I am, some millionaire's poodle? Or a criminal on parole? Save your Neal Caffrey shit, you're not Agent Burke!" Ash had briefly met the two a year ago in the context of a job. Burke hadn't noticed the boy watching the visitors from a secret observation point in the office. Neal had and had also drawn his conclusions regarding the kid's family ties but said nothing. He knew Guerrero long enough, any hint that he presented a danger to Chance or someone close to Chance could result in serious consequences.
Ash had hated the sight of the young man with a tracking device strapped to his ankle that, if he wasn't in the company of his warden Burke, created an invisible prison around him that only allowed him a two mile radius to roam free in. Maybe it were Ash's own experiences with tracking devices (thank you, Emma Barnes!) that made him sensitive in this point.
"We can also keep you on board of the jet for the rest of the mission", Winston chimed in, walking down the aisle towards the others. "Probably not quite what Ilsa had in mind, but I don't see Ilsa here, though…"
Ash bit his lip and fell silent.
In the distance Toussaint Louverture International Airport appeared.