A kiss is just a kiss

Chance knew Guerrero had checked in with Winston and had been informed that he and Ilsa were safe. Guerrero had said something about being unavailable for the next week or so but he’d hung up before Winston had been able to ask him for details, not that Guerrero was likely to provide them. Tactically, Guerrero’s best course of action was to stay as far away from his son as possible, but Chance knew that after a threat from a rogue CIA agent, Guerrero would need to see his son with his own eyes, even if it was just from a distance. It was for this reason that Chance had acquired a van and staked out the house where Guerrero’s son lived with his mother.

As he sat waiting for some sign of Guerrero’s presence, Chance tried to work out exactly what he was going to say to him. He was torn between laughing the kiss in the office off as a joke between friends and a full-on confession of his feelings towards Guerrero, but he knew he’d have to find some middle ground in order to preserve their friendship. They both knew the kiss hadn’t been entirely meaningless and that had to be acknowledged in some way before they could move past it. There was no logical reason why Guerrero had to kiss him to prove his point about Chance wanting to kiss Ilsa, and if the reason wasn’t logical, it made sense that the reason was a more personal one. This theory was supported by the fact that the kiss wasn’t exactly hurried and Chance had sensed a reluctance in Guerrero as he pulled away. Thanks to the involuntary sound that he had made as the kiss ended, Chance knew that he couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed it either. As awkward as the situation was, they needed to talk about it.

Chance had been watching the house for about an hour when the passenger side door of the van swung open and Guerrero jumped in beside him.

“Drive,” Guerrero ordered, slamming the door behind him.

Without a word, Chance turned the key in the ignition and the van pulled away. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Chance drove them out of the suburbs. He knew their destination wasn’t important, what Guerrero wanted was to put some distance between them and the house where his ex lived with their son.

“Did you see him?” Chance asked when they had put some distance behind them.

Guerrero nodded.

“That’s good,” Chance said.

They drove on in silence for several more minutes before Guerrero finally spoke.

“You can drop me off here.”

They were only a block away from Drakes bar.

“Don’t you think we should talk first?” Chance said, glancing across at Guerrero.

“What’s there to talk about? We got the photos, the CIA agent is history, my kid is safe. What’s left to discuss?”

“You’re kidding right?” Chance asked in disbelief.

“Pull over. Anywhere here is fine.”

For a moment Chance considered doing as Guerrero asked and just letting him get out of the van and pretending like the kiss had never happened, but he just couldn’t do it. Rather than slowing down to let Guerrero out, he slammed his foot on the gas and took off, weaving through the traffic at a breakneck speed.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Guerrero demanded.

“I’m taking us somewhere where we can talk,” Chance explained.

“There’s nothing to talk about, dude,” Guerrero said, turning away from Chance to stare out of the window.

Chance didn’t stop until they reached an underground parking lot with only a handful of cars parked up. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but it was at least quiet and out of the way enough to offer them a certain level of privacy. He cut the engine and stared out of the window at nothing in particular as he struggled to find a way to start the conversation he and Guerrero needed to have.

“So?” Guerrero said. “Talk!”

Chance glared at Guerrero for a second, then got out of the van, taking the keys with him. He knew that Guerrero could easily hotwire the van and take off leaving him there, but his gut feeling was that he wouldn’t. Besides, the parking lot was only a little off the beaten track. Even if Guerrero did take off with the van, it wouldn’t take Chance that long to walk to the nearest taxi stand.

After about a minute, Guerrero took a deep breath and got out of the van. Chance turned to face him and forced himself to meet he’s friend’s cool-eyed gaze.

“You kissed me.” Despite all the ways Chance had considered trying to broach the subject, in the end he just gave up and blurted out those three words before he lost his nerve. Chance thought he might have seen the merest flicker in Guerrero’s eyes but it was so quick he may have imagined it. Guerrero stared at him and Chance stared right back.

“I was just proving a point, dude,” Guerrero said eventually, successfully keeping any hint of emotion from his voice despite the fact his heart seemed to be racing at three times its normal rate.

“Proving a point,” Chance repeated.

“Yeah.”

“What point did you need to prove so badly that you had to kiss me? Because honestly, the whole kissing part was a bit distracting…”

“For fucksake, Chance!” Guerrero glared at him for a moment. “Kissing you was a mistake, I know that.”

Chance had tried not to let himself hope that the kiss had meant anything to Guerrero, but his words still hit him like a physical blow.

“I’m sick of you and Ilsa avoiding the inevitable,” Guerrero went on, apparently oblivious to the fact that Chance was struggling to breathe normally. “You finally fucking kiss her and instead of doing something about it, you come bleating to me! As if I give a fuck…”

Guerrero turned his back on Chance and kicked at an empty soda can at his feet, sending it skittering noisily across the ground. He didn’t quite trust himself to meet Chance’s eyes at that particular moment.

“If you don’t give a fuck, why was it so important to prove your point? Why kiss me?”

“When Ilsa kissed you, you kissed her back because that’s what you wanted. When I did it, you didn’t. Maybe a practical demonstration wasn’t necessary, but I did prove my point, dude.”

Chance knew that this was it. This was the moment to tell Guerrero how he really felt.

I didn’t kiss you back because I couldn’t believe it was really happening…
I didn’t kiss you back because I was scared you didn’t really want me the way I want you…
I didn’t kiss you back because I’m an idiot and a coward and I was too scared of losing you to tell you how I feel…

But Chance didn’t say any of those things.

“Well, it proved something,” He mumbled with a shrug, wincing inside at the awkwardness and inadequacy of the comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Guerrero demanded, turning to face him.

“Maybe you’re jealous.”

“Of what?”

“You tell me.” Chance shrugged.

“Fuck you, Chance.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Look,” Chance said, “I know you’re angry because that agent found out about your kid…”

“Angry? Fucking angry?” Guerrero snarled. “Dude, you have no idea what I’m feeling right now!”

“So tell me!”

“You want to know what I’m feeling? Right now?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, I’m feeling sick to my stomach that my kid was at risk because of Ilsa fucking Pucci! If you’d just have manned up enough to act on how you feel about her, maybe she would have left the whole Julia thing alone!”

“So it’s my fault that the CIA went after your kid?” Chance demanded.

“Sure, why not! You could have just dropped it, but instead you had to go chasing after her to tell her that I’d found Marshall’s mistress!”

“Well you were the one who managed to miss that fact that Julia was CIA! How about you take some responsibility for this mess?”

“Yeah, well she fooled you too, Chance! You’re not exactly perfect either!”

Chance let out a weary sigh and tried to figure out how the conversation had drifted so far from what they needed to talk about. All he’d managed to achieve was to work Guerrero up until he was so angry that any kind of rational conversation was going to be impossible.

“What the fuck are you still doing here anyway, Chance?” Guerrero asked. “Isn’t this the part when you’re supposed to claim your thank you fuck for saving the damsel in distress? Isn’t that how it usually works for you? If Ilsa’s ever going to put out, now’s the time dude!”

Chance clenched his teeth to stop himself from saying anything he couldn’t take back. Guerrero had made it perfectly clear that kissing him was a mistake and nothing more. Guerrero was pretty upfront with things on the rare occasions that he actually talked about his feelings and Chance had no reason to believe today was any different. Chance knew he had to somehow bury his feelings for Guerrero again, the way he had all those years ago when they first started working together. He threw the keys to the van at Guerrero’s feet and turned to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Guerrero demanded.

“I’m going to claim my thank you fuck,” Chance replied, without turning round. “Take the van. I’d rather walk.”

Guerrero picked up the keys and watched Chance until he disappeared from view. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Chance that he felt sick to his stomach, but he hadn’t been entirely honest about the reason why. He’d always known that sooner or later someone would find out about his son. He’d dealt with the immediate threat and already had a contingency plan in motion that would see the boy and his mother relocated with new identities within a matter of days. What had really turned his stomach was the idea of telling Chance that the memory of that kiss was driving him slowly insane, and the fear that it would mean the end of their friendship if Chance ever knew that he wanted nothing more than to tease that noise out of him again with his mouth and his fingers exploring every inch of his body…

He couldn’t tell Chance how he felt, he knew that, but why the hell had he goaded Chance into pursuing Ilsa? Maybe if Chance was in a relationship with someone else it would make it easier to accept that they would never be more to each other than friends. Guerrero sighed and climbed back into the van.

Despite what he’d said to Guerrero, Chance didn’t seek Ilsa out. He knew she was probably at her apartment making preparations for her rescheduled flight to London, but he just couldn’t face seeing her right now. He couldn’t return to the office either, not without having to run the gauntlet of Winston’s matchmaking and Ames’ tactless insights into the female flight response when romance was concerned. So he just walked. He had no particular destination in mind and he barely registered his surroundings. He replayed the conversation with Guerrero in the underground parking lot over and over, thinking of the things he didn’t say but wished he had, and of all the things he should have said differently. Ultimately, all that mattered was that he’d found out how Guerrero felt about it the whole mess. The kiss was a mistake, nothing more.

Chance could have lived the rest of his life without even considering acting on his attraction to Guerrero, if it hadn’t been for that one stupid mistake of a kiss. It was rare for Chance to be attracted to another man, but not unheard of. He had avoided the entanglement of a serious relationship all his life, so he found it easier than most to regard sex as nothing more than a momentary distraction with no significance attached to who he shared his bed with, man or woman. Maria was the only real exception, and even their relationship, if you could call it that, lasted only a matter of weeks. And Katherine Walters… Katherine had been like a blinding flash of light that had momentarily lit his way before he was plunged back into darkness. He would always care very deeply for the woman who had lit up his life in those few days that had torn ‘Junior’ apart and left Christopher Chance standing in his place, but as much as he cared for her, he knew that, had she lived, he couldn’t have lived up to the responsibility of loving her.

Commitment to another human being was something Chance felt ill-equipped to deal with, especially when sex, or god forbid love, had anything to do with it. Guerrero was different from anyone else in his life. He was more than a friend or a comrade, he was the one person who understood him better than he understood himself. The idea of tainting the most important, most enduring relationship he’d ever had with something as fleeting and shallow as sex seemed insane to Chance. Guerrero was too important to Chance for him to be lusting over him, and it was only by keeping that thought firmly in his mind that he’d been able to bury those feelings in the first place.

Chance had to find a way to stop obsessing about Guerrero. He had to consciously will himself not to dwell on Guerrero’s small, well muscled frame and what it might feel like to have his body naked beneath him. They’d tended each other’s wounds so many times over the years that there wasn’t much of Guerrero’s body that he hadn’t touched at one time or another and Chance had every scar, every blemish mapped out in his mind’s eye. He longed to retrace that mental image again on Guerrero’s body, with kisses and caresses, where before there had been only the firm but gentle touch of a friend trying to repair the damage to the body of an injured comrade. He wanted to push his face in to Guerrero neck and breathe in deep lung-fulls of Guerrero’s scent, all earthy and gun-powdery with just a hint of his musky scented deodorant. He yearned to feel the warm wetness of his lips against his own, contrasted with the tantalising scratch of his facial hair against his skin…

Shit, it was getting harder and harder not to think about Guerrero in those terms, and Chance knew he couldn’t just switch those thoughts off. He couldn’t just keep walking the streets of San Francisco indefinitely either. He found he was walking down a street with an old fashioned diner at the end of the block, and an angry growl from his stomach reminded him that it had been hours since he’d last eaten.

It was dark when Chance finally returned to the office, and he wasn’t surprised to find Winston waiting for him in the gloom. It was a pretty safe bet that Ilsa had already said her goodbyes and left for the airport, so Chance had been expecting a lecture from Winston on his return. Sure enough, Winston had a little something to say about Chance ‘forgetting’ to be there to say goodbye. It was impossible for Chance to explain to Winston why he’d turned his back on whatever it was between himself and Ilsa, and he knew what little explanation he gave his partner sounded weak and unconvincing.

“I’ve known you a long time,” Winston said, “this is the first time I’ve seen you scared.”

Chance was scared alright, he was terrified of losing Guerrero, but there was no way he could tell Winston that.

“But she‘s…”

“Yes?” Winston cut in before he could finish.

…not the person I want to be with, Chance thought. She‘s not Guerrero. Out loud he said: “She’s an impressive woman… What’s the point? Someone just ends up getting hurt anyway.”

“Don’t you have enough scars on you to know that things heal?”

Chance let those words sink in and suddenly he could see that he had two paths laid out in front of him. On the one hand, he could continue to obsess about Guerrero and submit himself to more heartache and rejection that would probably lead to the destruction of their friendship; on the other hand he could take the path that led to Ilsa, an attractive, intelligent woman who cared about him deeply, and maybe even needed him. Being with Guerrero was never going to be more than a fantasy, but Ilsa could offer him something real, maybe even something lasting. Or at least she might have offered him that if he hadn’t left it so late.

“It’s probably too late.” Chance said, sounding tired and defeated. “Her plane’s left by now anyway.”

Winston seemed to agree with him for a moment, and then, with feigned casualness, he reminded Chance that they were still hooked into the CIA feed.

Chance decided just to stop fighting it. Everyone and everything seemed to be pushing him towards Ilsa, and he cared about her, he really did, so why not give her, give them, a chance? He’d gotten over his feelings for Guerrero once before, he could do it again.

He raced to the airport with Winston green-lighting him all the way. He smiled as he thought of what the look on Ilsa’s face would be when he turned up at the last minute again, and how this time he wouldn’t be bringing her news about her husband’s killer. This time he’d be able to say to her what she wanted to hear. He would ask her to stay.

Chance hoped that once he had Ilsa in his arms, the small part of him that was still crying out for Guerrero would be silenced and the agonising longing for his friend would fade away.


- Don’t go.

- Are you asking me to stay, Mr Chance, because the team needs me or…?

- Yeah.

Ilsa sank into the seat of her waiting car with a mixture of embarrassment and relief. She allowed herself a brief glance at Chance standing by the aircraft hanger and felt her stomach flip at the sight. He had come for her. He had asked her to stay. Actually he had asked her not to go, and even when she had tried to get a straight answer out of him as to why he wanted her to stay, his reply had been ambiguous. Just when she was about to get all the confirmation of his feelings that she needed, just when he stepped forward and was about to kiss her, Henry had interrupted the moment by asking her where she wanted her bags sent. Suddenly there had been a subtle shift of power, and rather than Chance asking her not to go, it felt as if she was seeking his permission to stay. She blurted out some nonsense about delaying her departure in order to run some errands, but she knew Chance saw straight through her empty excuses. She was staying for him, and she had already made that decision before he even arrived at the hanger.

The journey back to her apartment was infuriatingly slow, as every set of traffic lights seemed to turn red as soon as they approached. The unusually long journey only served to heighten her frustration at the evening’s turn of events. Chance had been right there, telling her not to leave and she’d been just a heart beat away from kissing him and letting go of the pride and fear that had made her keep him at a distance. Facing Julia had finally given her the closure she needed over Marshal’s death and she knew her husband had loved her too much to want her to spend the rest of her life alone. She could now allow herself to act on her feelings for Chance, but she let one unfortunately timed interruption shatter the intimacy of the moment and her confidence had failed her.

Ilsa forced her mouth into a tight little smile and thanked her driver for carrying her luggage back up to her apartment. As soon as she shut the door behind him, her body sagged with relief that she no longer had to keep up the appearance of being the calm, professional Mrs Pucci. She let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the door, closing her eyes and trying not to think about what an earth she was going to tell Connie about delaying her return to London.

“Ilsa.”

Her eyes flew open and her mouth dropped into a surprised little ‘o’ when she realised that Chance was standing in her apartment with the same slightly amused look that he’d had when she’d left him at the hanger.

“Mr Chance, how did you…?”

Chance smiled and shrugged. “Winston’s still hooked into the CIA’s feed. He’s been helping me beat the traffic tonight.”

“So all those red lights on the drive home…?”

“Weren’t exactly coincidence, no.”

Chance began walking towards her and she tried to take a step back, forgetting that she was already backed up against the door.

“But why are you here? In my apartment?”

Chance took her hands gently in his own.

“Because I’ve got a promise to keep,” he said softly.

“What promise?” she asked.

“On the roof of the hotel. You said ‘please don’t let me go’.”

“And you said…”

“Never.”

Chance leaned in and gave her the softest of kisses and Ilsa kissed back, her mind reeling at the tenderness of his touch. Chance pulled back, and Ilsa saw how serious his expression had become.

“This is it, Ilsa,” he murmured. “This is me, not letting you go.”

She smiled, and they kissed again. This time they both melted into the kiss, and handholding soon gave way to reaching for each other, and Chance pulled Ilsa against him in a embrace that made her heart race. Then it wasn’t enough to just kiss and cling to each other, and fingers began plucking at buttons and zippers as they sought to explore each other further, to feel naked flesh pressed against naked flesh.

Somehow they stumbled to Ilsa’s bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind them. Ilsa felt as if things were racing far beyond her control, but she surrendered to that feeling as they tumbled on to the bed, accepting that this was where she wanted to be and who she wanted to be with.

Chance’s touch was everything she had dreamed it would be, and her body seemed to light up with every kiss and caress. Chance left her lying on the bed for a moment whilst he retrieved a condom from the pocket of his jeans, which had been discarded on the bedroom floor. Ilsa was dimly aware that she ought to say something about the presumption Chance had made by having contraceptives so close to hand, but she was too glad that there was a condom to really object. Chance smiled at her shamelessly as he ripped open the foil and slipped the condom on whilst Ilsa bit her lip and drank in the sight of his naked arousal.

She moaned as Chance slid inside her, and he kissed at her neck as he made long, slow thrusts. Ilsa wrapped her legs around him and dug her fingernails into his back, urging him to move faster and deeper. Chance complied, burying his face in the side of her neck as their movements became faster and more frenzied. Ilsa murmured half-formed words of encouragement until the rising tide of her climax overwhelmed her, leaving her calling out his name in breathless little gasps. Chance soon followed her, letting out a muted groan as he emptied himself inside of her.

Chance carefully collapsed on the bed beside her and discreetly disposed of the used condom in the small trash can beside the bed.

“Thank you,” Ilsa sighed, as she cuddled up against Chance. laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

“What for?” he asked, sounding slightly amused.

“For making this easier for me,” she replied with a smile. “if you hadn’t just turned up like you did… I don’t know. I suppose we would have just carried on as before.”

Chance sighed. “Well I’m glad you approve of the change.”

Maybe Chance was just tired after their exertions, but Ilsa thought she detected a note of sadness in his voice. They lay there for a while and Ilsa tried to decide whether or not to ask him if he was happy, and what she would say or do if the answer was less than a resounding yes. She knew that the attraction between them was very real and, after tonight, she knew that the reality of sleeping with Chance was far superior to her fantasies but… there was something missing. They had connected on a physical level, but it still felt like their was an enormous gulf between them, as if some other, deeper connection had failed to be made.

Just when Ilsa had decided that she would say something, she realised that Chance’s breathing had changed, indicating that he was well on his way to being fast asleep. She sighed, knowing that her question would have to wait until morning. Chance shifted slightly and began to snore, so she rolled on to her side and closed her eyes in an attempt to fall asleep.


Ilsa slept badly that night, as her brained worked overtime, trying to pinpoint what was bothering her. She came to understand that it wasn’t just the melancholy note to Chance’s voice that had unnerved her. She had no regrets for what they had done but it felt more like coming to the end of some unfinished business between them, rather than the beginning of something new. Objectively, there was no way she could deal with the terrible risks Chance took day to day in his job and just the mere fact that she could even look at it objectively was proof that, although she loved him, she didn’t love him enough. She had no right to ask him to turn his back on the job that offered him respite from the burden of his past but she couldn’t live with it either. She had another life in London waiting for her return and she had hidden from it long enough already.

Ilsa tossed and turned until she finally gave up on sleep altogether around dawn. She slipped quietly from the bed and gathered up her clothes from the night before and stepped quietly into the bathroom. She took her time in the shower, smiling as she thought of Chance coaxing her senses back to life the night before. She dried herself briskly and redressed in yesterday’s clothes.

“Morning,” Chance smiled sleepily as she emerged from the bathroom. “I guess I didn’t give you much time to unpack last night.”

“No,” Ilsa said. “But perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.”

Chance’s brow wrinkled in confusion and for a second Ilsa wavered. She wished she could just crawl back into bed and into Chance’s arms, but she knew if she did she would only be postponing the inevitable and making it harder for both of them in the long run.

“Chance, I….” She took a deep breath and forced herself to continue. “I can’t stay. I wish I could but I can’t.”

“Why?” Chance asked, looking hurt. “After last night… I thought we were going to try and make this work.”

“But it can’t work, can it?” Ilsa said. “I can’t keep running from my old life, from my responsibilities, and you can’t turn your back on the people who need your help. I’ve done nothing but get in your way and messed up from the moment I hired you. I don’t fit in your world, Chance.”

“You haven’t been doing this as long as the rest of us, Ilsa. Give yourself the time to learn how we work.”

“Chance, the truth is I don’t want to be a part of that world! I don’t want the people I care about constantly putting themselves in dangerous situations where they can be shot or stabbed or blown up!”

“It’s not always that bad, Ilsa.”

“Yes, actually, it is.”

Chance reached for his jeans and slipped them on.

“Ilsa, we need to talk about this,” he said walking towards her.

“There’s no point in talking about it,” she said squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin with what she hoped was a look of determination. “We’d just be fooling ourselves.”

Chance lifted his hand to her face but she turned away.

“So what was last night?” he asked.

“Last night was…” she hesitated for a second. “Last night was goodbye. And I wouldn’t change it for all the world.”

She left Chance staring after her as she left the room. By the time he had dressed himself, she was already calling her driver.

When Winston entered the building early that morning and found no sign of Chance, he took that as a good sign. It seemed that Chance and Ilsa had finally worked things out, and the thought made Winston grin as he headed to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee. He’d just poured himself a generous mug full and was sitting down to enjoy reading the morning paper in peace, when he heard the arrival of the elevator. That was not a good sign. Guerrero was going to be out of town for at least a week and it was far too early for Ames to put in an appearance, so that only left Chance and Ilsa, and if things had gone according to plan, neither of them would be showing up at the office right now.

Winston’s heart sank as Chance walked out of the elevator looking dishevelled and heavy-hearted. He gave Winston a weary nod of acknowledgement and headed up the stairs to his sleeping quarters without a word. Winston watched him go and wondered how in the hell Chance had managed to mess things up. He poured Chance a cup of coffee and took it upstairs with his own. Chance had headed straight for the bathroom and was taking a shower, so Winston sank down into Chance’s couch next to Carmine and waited for his friend to emerge.

When Chance stepped out of the bathroom wearing sweatpants and an old, faded t-shirt he accepted the coffee Winston handed him with a mumbled word of thanks and sank down into an armchair. Winston waited to see if Chance would volunteer any information about what exactly happened when he saw Ilsa, but he just sat staring into space, taking the occasional sip of his coffee.

“What happened last night?” Winston asked gently when it became evident that left to his own devices Chance would probably take the details of last night to the grave.

Chance sighed and gave him a look that made it clear that he really wasn’t keen on discussing the matter, not now and possibly not ever.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” Winston said firmly. “I broke god knows how many laws and risked any number of traffic collisions to get you to Ilsa in time, not once but twice! The least you can do is tell me what happened last night!”

“Last night…” Chance placed his mug on the coffee table and hesitated, running his hands through his damp hair. “Last night went according to plan. This morning, not so much.”

“So you ….?” Winston asked, with a vaguely suggestive wave of his hands.

Chance nodded.

“Well, what the hell happened this morning?”

“Ilsa told me she couldn’t stay.”

“Couldn’t stay? Why the hell not?”

“Because of what I do. Because of the risks I take. Because she has a life in London waiting for her. Take your pick really.”

Winston let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Chance. I shouldn’t have pushed you to keep chasing after her. I really believed you guys had a chance at having something special.”

“Yeah, me too,” Chance said.