Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and the only payment I receive are your reviews so pay up and let me know what you think!
Author's note: Christmas has got in my way recently but now it's nearly out of the way I can write again! This is part one of a two parter. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review!
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Part One: Ilsa
"There's no such thing as personal space when you're on a job, Ilsa. I did try and warn you."
Chance's words tickled as he whispered in her ear. He was right of course, she has been warned that going out on a job would at times force her far from her comfort zone but she had been unable to resist the rare opportunity of sneaking a look at the Ethelwaite collection the night before the exhibit was premiered to a select few benefactors at the museum. Seeing the collection of medieval artefacts before the general public was not enough for Ilsa, she wanted to see them before even her rich and influential peers got their preview.
Watching Chance and his team work had made Ilsa realise she lived a pretty dull existence in comparison with their chaotic, adrenaline filled lives and so she had found herself looking for an opportunity to partake in a small act of rebellion. Going with Chance to scout out the museum had seemed perfect. There was little to no risk of violence, all they had to do was avoid the security guards and plant some surveillance equipment in preparation for the private showcase the following evening. Guerrero had declared the museum's own surveillance inadequate as the cameras were poorly positioned and there was no audio to the feed.
Chance had been extremely reluctant to let Ilsa tag along, resisting all her logical, well planned arguments until she finally threatened to tip off the museum were he to go without her. He had tried to put her off as best he could but every warning he issued only increased Ilsa's determination to go with him. Winston took Chance aside and what she saw of the animated exchange led Ilsa to believe that the former police detective was actually taking her side. Perhaps he felt that if she was going to insist on following Chance into the field it would be safer is she went on a relatively safe mission to plant a few bugs than risking her tagging along on a real mission. Chance finally seemed to decide that the combination of Winston pleading her case and the added hassle of Ilsa tipping off the museum would make what should have been a simple task pointlessly complicated.
"Fine." He grumbled. He threw a backpack in her direction in her direction and she caught it awkwardly. "No heels. No skirt. Wear something you can run in."
She wasn't quite sure what to expect in terms of the break-in itself but when Chance dragged her aside to avoid a patrolling security guard she had hissed a complaint about the rough way he manhandled her into their cramped hiding place and crushed his body in on top of her.
They were probably only crammed awkwardly together in that alcove for a minute or two whilst the security guard went through the motions of checking the room but it felt so much longer to Ilsa. The guard's actions seemed automatically performed, the result of repeating the same cursory checks over and over until they were the result of habit rather than genuine vigilance. However perfunctorily the guard performed his duties Ilsa felt sure their presence would be detected. It seemed impossible that he would overlook the presence of two people barely even hidden from sight in the tiny recess in the wall behind one end of an information board.
Ilsa felt her heart thumping so hard and so fast that it seemed were the guard to stand too close to the wall she was pushed against he would surely feel the vibration of her runaway pulse. She didn't even realise she was holding her breathe until Chance almost soundlessly whispered "Breathe" into her ear.
She had undoubtedly got the adrenaline rush she had been seeking as they hid from the security guard. The thrill of being so close to being caught somewhere she wasn't supposed to be took her back to being a teenager again. For the most part she'd been the model student at the boarding schools where she'd spent her adolescent years but occasionally she had been seduced into taking a walk on the wild side. She had snuck away from the dormitory after lights out from time to time to meet up with some of the older girls and enjoy elicit cigarettes and pilfered bottles of Schnapps, sometimes even meeting up with boys.
Hiding in the museum with Chance wasn't quite as straight forward as sneaking around at school had been. As terrifying as the house mother was, she was never armed with anything more dangerous than a sharp tongue and the threat of expulsion. The museum security men, on the other hand, were armed with 9mm pistols.
Once she followed Chance's instruction to breathe, Ilsa's heartbeat calmed down to a mere gallop and the feeling of impending cardiac arrest faded. The guard had already passed the area in which they were hiding, his eyes sweeping unseeing past their hiding place and Ilsa was surprised to find that despite the initial adrenaline rush she felt quite safe, tucked out of sight with Chance.
She supposed she shouldn't feel that surprised that Chance's presence was so reassuring, after all the man had already put his life on the line to save hers, it was how she met him in the first place. There was something troublingly different about this though. She had put herself in this situation and intruded into his world, not just in the usual manner by issuing orders that were ignored whenever it suited him or by raising ethical objections to his methods. She had bullied and pushed her way into tonight's mission and although she was completely confident that Chance could deal with any complication her presence caused, she did feel a small pang of guilt for making him take her along just to satisfy her need for a little excitement.
If Guerrero had been the one sneaking into the museum she would not have tried to tag along and that knowledge troubled her slightly. It meant that it was Chance specifically she wished to share her little adventure with and truth be told he was part of the appeal. She hadn't foreseen, on a conscious level at least, that she would spend part of the evening with her body pinned to the wall by Chance's powerful frame and she was quite unprepared for her reaction to it.
Her first response had been pure reflex. She had protested his rough and over-familiar manner as he shoved them both out of sight but when the shock subsided, and it seemed that they remained undiscovered, all sorts of feelings began to surface. She felt guilty that she felt so alive, pressed against another man when Marshall, her beloved husband was dead. It didn't matter that the contact was in no way sexual, just her heart beating so hard felt like an intimate betrayal. She could feel Chance's heart beat too, strong and steady beneath the hand she'd placed on his chest in attempt to push him away in the split second before she'd realised he was shoving her out of sight. There had been no chance to rearrange themselves before the guard stepped into view so Ilsa found herself trapped with one hand pinned between them, her back to the wall and Chance's body crushed against hers, his mouth barely an inch from her ear.
Ilsa tried to think of Marshall as Chance's heart beat beneath her hand and his breath whispered against her ear. He was a good man and she missed him. His death was the end of her world and she knew the pain of his absence would never really heal or fade away completely. She had in a way felt relieved that her life was also in danger when he was murdered, the threat had allowed her to grieve privately and in relative solitude in her fortress of private security. It was Marshall himself, in a way, that finally drew her back out in to the world, or rather his legacy. Without Marshall and Ilsa Pucci at the helm their foundation faltered under the weight of bureaucracy and lack of leadership. Wealth wasn't the only the Puccis' only asset and without their abilities to charm, shame and generally manipulate heads of state and multinational corporations alike the organisation had lost much of its influence. If she didn't step up and take Marshall's place his life's work would fall apart and that was something she knew she couldn't live with. She had sought Chance's help for the sake of her husband's memory and in doing so had inadvertently opened up a new world.
It was this new world that was the problem. She had justified bankrolling Chance's highly unusual team by arguing that it was extension of what the Marshall Pucci Foundation sought to achieve, to help those who needed it. In her heart though, Ilsa wondered whether Marshall himself really would have approved. Marshall always tried to fight for the everyday people who found themselves caught up events beyond their control, civilians in war torn countries, orphans, victims of natural disasters and man made catastrophes. She wondered if her late husband would have thought of men like Chance as part of the problem rather than the solution. Even when he decided to fight the good fight, how many people had Chance, Guerrero and maybe even Winston, left without husbands, wives and parents? Marshall abhorred violence but to Chance and the others it was merely another tool to be utilised. Despite Chance's motto - no one deserves to die - when it came to it he could and would kill when he saw it as necessary. Perhaps Marshall would have felt more sympathy for those who became collateral damage in the team's missions than for the clients who could afford their help.
There was something about Chance that Ilsa couldn't help responding to, his genuine need to atone. Chance wasn't a good man and he was well aware of that. There was something else too. If Ilsa has been forced to put a name to it she probably would have called it an awareness. He was completely aware of the horror and pain he had caused in his life before becoming Christopher Chance and he was equally aware that there would never be a release from the guilt of the things he had done. He embraced this awareness and never allowed himself even the merciful delusion that he would ever satisfactorily make amends for all he had done. It had been in a way easy for Marshall to be a good person, it was in his nature but for Chance it was different. Chance's nature had been corrupted by those who had deliberately manipulated him into becoming a cold instrument of violence. Ilsa found it heart-breaking whenever she saw Chance relaxed and easy going around Winston and Guerrero. It was like she caught a glimpse of who he could have been had he not crossed paths with the Old Man who warped him into becoming Junior and it was these moments that gave her hope.
Ilsa felt a new wave of guilt that her thoughts had once again turned back to Chance instead of Marshall. She could pretend that she had got involved with the team to assist them in fighting the good fight but she knew that part of the reason was to try to help Chance the damaged man, not Chance the unconventional bodyguard. It was this desire to become involved with Chance personally that worried her, it felt disloyal to Marshall's memory and being so physically close to him as they waited for the coast to be clear only clouded her judgement further. She wasn't blind, the moment she first laid eyes on Chance she had seen he was a very attractive man but it had been an objective observation, made when her grief was still excruciatingly raw. Now, however, she was forced to examine her feelings for Chance without that emotional buffer and she found that she wanted to be much more to him than his employer or even his friend…
"Okay, we're good to go." Chance said stepping back in to the room that the security guard had just vacated.
As soon as he moved away Ilsa missed the feeling of his body against hers and felt slightly unsteady on her feet. She had enjoyed Chance's close physical proximity despite the onslaught of guilt and confusion it had brought. She would have to process those feelings later and decipher the implications when she had the time and space to do so. In the meantime there was a job to be finished.
"Lead the way, Chance." She said. "I'm right behind you."