Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: So this is it, the final chapter of my sixth season. I know my updates have grown a bit spotty lately and I'm terribly sorry for that. The past one and a half years were a bit difficult, lots of changes to deal with… I'd like to thank every single person who took the time to review, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear from readers. Special thanks and a big hug, as always, go out to niagaraweasel, my dear friend and betaweasel. Without her support I would have ended this after one season. There will be one final season, "Shinjitsu means", in which I'll hopefully bring everything together. I'll start posting the chapters about a week from now. Maybe you're interested?
No doors.
That was the first thing Ash noticed when he walked into the tent city where the little thief lived.
No doors, only curtains, barely covering the entrances to the hundreds and hundreds of Quonsets that the camp consisted of. Curtains made of oddly colorful cloth, often with floral patterns more appropriate for candle-lit dinner tables or a Country Living style bedroom.
Roses. Lilacs. Forget-me-nots.
In addition to that, probably against the frequent intervals of rain, bright blue plastic sheets. Those sheets served as substitutes for missing walls, roofs, window panes… In the States they used exactly the same material for garbage cans.
Why in the world did they call this type of camps "tent cities"? Ash didn't see a single tent anywhere, only one rusting, crooked ramshackle hut after another, with numbers sprayed on flaking outer walls, apparently in an attempt to install some kind of order.
A kid of about five in an oversized Philadelphia 76ers T-Shirt and torn Bermuda shorts led Winston and Ash through the labyrinth of narrow paths between the huts. Everywhere people were sitting in the entrances or walking to and fro, transporting stuff with wheelbarrows or on their backs. No car would have fit through the openings between the shacks, not even a donkey. For bikes the ground was too uneven, thanks to its original tarmac being broken in numerous places. Earthquake damages, still. In addition to that the paths were constantly zigzagging, twisting right one second, then to the left only a few steps later.
Everyone seemed to be keeping chickens. There were also dogs lying in the corners, sleeping, and here and there a goat was tied to a stake in the ground. Ash wondered if maybe the other Haitian tent cities really consisted of tents and this camp here actually represented one of the more refined living quarters.
Good Lord.
On the other hand: The people here lived. They didn't simply exist, they lived. There was a sense of pride in the way they carried themselves, despite the devastating losses they all had suffered and the utter misery of their current situation. Ash saw women cleaning the huts, despite the animals the smell in the streets could have been much worse and there was no garbage lying around, only rubble most likely stemming from buildings that had collapsed during the earthquake. People probably simply didn't know where to put it.
The Haitians hadn't given themselves up. They carried on, as best as they could. Ash felt reminded of his mother's words: Keeping on living is the hardest part. What he was struggling with for so many weeks now, these people were doing it: They were keeping on living in the face of complete destruction.
The five year old pointed at a hut that actually had a door – but needed a curtain behind it because it was so askew, a small dog could have fitted through the gaps between frame and door. The hut had no electricity. Because the roof mainly consisted of plastic sheets daylight, colored in blue, dimly lit the one room the shack consisted of. One room that, according to the information Ash had gathered about the thief, six persons shared – where they slept, ate, kept all the stuff somehow valuable to them: Pots, boxes, clothes, jerry cans… Of course there was no running water as well.
The boy was sitting on one of two beds in the room. After a brief greeting Ash sat down next to him. Winston had decided to wait outside.
"I ruined your source of income, didn't I?", Ash asked in French.
The boy gave him a hateful look.
"Sorry I did that. Really. But if you had continued stealing from the Foundation the consequences for the whole branch office would have been devastating. Maybe they would have even closed it. That would have not only put a stop to your income for good but also harmed a lot of other people."
No reaction from the boy except more vitriolic looks.
"Not cool dude, seriously not cool", Ash added in English, without really thinking about it.
Huh.
He flinched.
When had he started using Guerrero's vocabulary?
The boy snorted. Apparently French wasn't his only language.
Ash reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced the small origami crane he had folded while waiting for Winston to organize transportation to the camp where the boy lived. "A friend of mine made one of these for me a while back, after my mom had died."
Now he at least had the kid's attention.
"That's a crane. In Japan the crane is a symbol of hope in dark times. It stands for good fortune, longevity, fidelity… After the earthquake, tsunami and Fukushima nuclear disaster in March 2011 people all over the world folded cranes and sent them to Japan." Ash started turning the folded bird in his hand. The boy kept his eyes trained on it.
"In Japanese Jishin means earthquake. But it also means self-confidence. I know you feel like you have no other choice except stealing to get by. But there is another way. You're not as stuck as you think you are." Ash took a deep breath. Jeez, first he sounded like Guerrero, and now his words carried some of Winston's wisdom in it. Not that he had ever actually heard him say something like that, but he had uttered similar stuff lots of times.
Winston and Guerrero… the two were almost as important to him as his father. Ash shuddered at the thought something could happen to them… ever since his mother had died they had been the solid ground for him no earthquake could shake.
"Accept the punishment the Foundation has in store for you… and then ask them for a scholarship."
At that suggestion the boy rained a hailstorm of French expletives on Ash, even worse than what he had told him out on the street. This time around there were even a couple of curses thrown into the mix.
"I'd be angry, too", Ash conceded. "Quite the blow to one's ego, asking those who think they've got the right to punish you for help. Goddamn earthquake and all the shit that happened afterwards that leaves you no choice… but think of Jishin … self-assurance… you're strong enough to walk tall through that humiliation – and in the end come out on top."
The boy said nothing.
"Think about it." Ash put the origami crane into the boy's hand, got up and exited the hut.
He didn't need any guide to find his way back to the entrance of the camp. Nodding at Winston he just walked back the path they had taken previously, without a single wrong turn. Winston couldn't help but admire the boy's sense of direction. Ash didn't say a word and Winston decided not to ask what exactly had gone down in the hut. This visit somehow had been very important to him, it was better to leave it at that. He had already lied to the boy big time today, there was no need for an invasion of privacy on top of everything else.
Invasion of privacy?
Winston shuddered. When had he started using Guerrero's vocabulary?
Ash briefly wondered if he had been too patronizing towards the boy… but as he kept thinking about the situation in the hut, the crane, the words he had said, the little thief slowly disappeared from the center of his thought and somehow, in a weird twist of mind, Ash saw himself sitting on the bed, exactly where the boy had sat… staring at the origami crane … in his own hands… and listening to his own words… uttered by himself… sitting right next to him.
Huh. Either the heat was getting to him after all or his mind was trying to explain to him why he had felt the intense urge to talk to the boy. What he had told the kid went for himself, too: Not giving into the thirst for revenge he felt raging inside of him was a heavy blow to his ego, to his deepest desires and wishes. But he could walk tall through it.
Jishin.
Earthquake AND self-assurance.
He could let go of his hatred and despair and keep on living. His father, Winston and Guerrero would help him.
… … …
On the plane ride back home Ash fell asleep almost as soon as the wheels had left the tarmac. Chance looked at his son and the expression "sleeping like a baby" came to his mind, but in an odd, unease-causing sort of way, a bit like it felt when he heard people say "Merry Christmas".
He had never seen Ash sleeping as a baby.
In fact he had never seen him as a baby at all.
So much he had missed. Twelve years of his son's life. And now that they were finally together, they were still not allowed to simply sit back and enjoy this unexpected gift… violence, secrets and lies tainted what should have been nothing but pure joy.
He hadn't had the guts to tell his son the truth. Again. And this time it was even worse because Ash had directly asked him… and he had lied to him. Straight in his face.
Chance felt sick to his stomach.
"Bro?"
Guerrero had taken a seat next to him and he hadn't even noticed. Winston joined them, too, bringing the glasses to the Scotch Guerrero produced.
"If this doesn't call for a drink…"
They emptied the whole bottle in almost complete silence. No words were needed to know they were all thinking about the same thing.
Violence, secrets and lies…
Ash woke up once during the flight when the plane suddenly hit a cold air pocket and dropped a little. He opened his eyes, squinted at his surroundings and noticed his dad, Winston and Guerrero drinking. They apparently were not aware of him being awake.
Drowsily Ash watched the men for a moment, then smiled. Having a relaxing drink after a successfully wrapped up job, that was one of the men's rituals. It was such a peaceful sight. He remembered how good it had felt when his dad had included him in their circle the night he had come home with the tattoo…
Maybe they could regularly go on jobs together in the future? He was almost sixteen, in two years he'd be done with school… why not work in the family business?
Content and for the first time ever since his mother had died at peace with the world, Ash curled himself up once more and sank back into the realms of sleep.
… … …
Back home in San Francisco the following day the shop was closed, so to speak. No clients at the warehouse, no new job. His dad, Winston and Guerrero were hung over quite a bit and Ilsa let them have a day off instead of insisting they tackled long overdue paperwork.
Ash, on the other hand, felt well rested and decided it was time for a certain visit he had procrastinated way too long.
"I brought flowers, mom", he said as he laid a single white rose on his mother's marker.
A fresh breeze was coming in from the Bay. White clouds rushed across the clear blue sky.
He still missed her, desperately. But for the first time ever since she had died he felt he could let go of the anger and concentrate on the good memories.
"You were a great mom", Ash whispered.
"Единственное, что важно в жизни, это любовь, которую мы оставляем после себя в тот момент, когда мы уходим без спроса и должны попрощаться." he suddenly heard someone say.
The only important things in life are the traces of love that we leave behind when we have to leave unexpectedly and have to say good-bye.
Startled from his thoughts Ash turned around and saw a man about the age of his father, dark hair, short, dark beard, broad shoulders, standing hunched over by a grave. He looked terribly sad. A big man, bent down by grief. Boy, could Ash relate to that.
"То, что ты имеешь в глубине своего сердца, нельзя потерять со смертью", Ash told him.
What you keep deep in your heart you cannot lose through death.
"Ты говоришь по-русски?", the man asked, visibly surprised.
You speak Russian?
"чуть-чуть", Ash replied.
A little.
He was cautiously smiling at the stranger, trying to put him at ease. It was working. The man already looked not so desperate anymore.
"Мало что может стать началом много", Innokentij said, smiling back at Ash.
A little can be the beginning of a lot.