Ambivium

by Jessica Roberts

For Sara and Jake, a murder case turns out not to be murder, but should the case be closed that easily? Right after Thanatopsis.

Title: "Ambivium"
Rating: PG-13
Legal: I don't own 'em. I wish I did.
Spoilers: For Sara and Jake, a murder case turns out not to be murder, but should the case be closed that easily?

Thanks to my beta-reader Wormie (www.wormieness.com). All mistakes are mine because she tried really hard to keep me from making them.

Come here directly without going to my main Witchblade fanfic page?

*****

Jake McCartey stood with his partner, Sara Pezzini, as they waited impatiently for the coroner to finish whatever she was doing to the corpse in the chair in front of her. The apparent victim was a white male, probably in his mid-thirties, sprawled in a wooden chair, and, in addition to having what appeared to be a silk tie strangling him, he was completely naked. His partner didn't seem at all fazed by it, but Jake was uncomfortable. No matter how long he did this, he didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing dead naked guys.

"Vicky, you got anything?" Sara finally asked the coroner.

The black-haired woman turned and looked at them, obviously just noticing they were there. With only a quick glance at Jake, she turned to address Sara.

"My first inclination is to call this an accident," Vicky Po said. "If it weren't for the circumstances, I'd say the guy had a thing for autoerotic asphyxiation, and he just wasn't careful."

"Autoerotic asphyxiation" Sara began.

Jake cut her off.

"Yeah, cutting off the blood and oxygen supply to the brain to increase arousal," he said.

"I know what it is, Jake," Sara said, raising her eyebrows at him, "I was just going to say that I just don't get the attraction." The corner of her mouth quirked in a grin. "But maybe you can explain it to me."

"No! I had to write a paper about it once," he said hurriedly. "In college!" He turned to Vicky - time to change the subject. "What circumstances?"

"Ask McFadden," she said, grinning and waving toward a forensic technician peering carefully at something on the floor. "I'll let you know when I get a time of death."

She turned back to the body, and Sara and Jake went over to the tech.

"Hey, McFadden," Jake said.

The tech looked up at him, then at Sara.

"Pez McCartey," he said, and Jake rolled his eyes. He just got no respect. "Doorknob was crushed - shoved just about through the door," he said. "And look here." He pointed at the floor. "The guy must have just vacuumed before he got off because there's a footprint here."

Jake peered at the carpet. The outline of a shoe was visible, but barely.

"How do you know it's not one of our guys'? Or the victim's?" Jake asked.

McFadden shot a quick look at Sara, then pointed to the print again.

"This is too big to be the victim's," he said, "And none of our guys are wearing combat boots."

"Combat boots " Sara trailed off and stared at the weird red stone on her bracelet. After a minute, she gave a quick shake of her head. "What did this guy do, anyway?" she asked Jake.

He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open.

"Molecular biologist," he read. "Worked for Gerodyne Genetics." He flipped the book shut. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," she said, but Jake could tell she was hiding something. "Why don't we find out what he was working on, and maybe that'll give us a lead."

"Yeah, sure," Jake said.

She suspected something, but, as usual, wasn't sharing. Why should he expect anything new, though?

*****

Sara and Jake were ushered through the huge house to the equally impressive backyard. Kenneth Irons stood on a vast stone porch, watching the scene in front of him. Sara stopped, her mouth hanging open, and stared.

In the middle of a vast backyard, Ian Nottingham, Irons' personal security and general bad-ass, stood holding the leashes of two large, shaggy dogs that part of Sara's stupefied brain identified as Irish wolfhounds. It wasn't the dogs that surprised her; she'd seen them before in Irons' study. What stunned her was that the yard was full of children, maybe fifteen to twenty of them, all swarming around Nottingham and the dogs. The dogs dashed about as much as their leashes allowed, but Nottingham stayed perfectly still, not even swaying as the excited dogs pulled in opposite directions.

Irons turned to face the two cops and Sara shut her mouth quickly.

"Ah, Sara," Irons said, a patently false smile on his face. "And Detective McCarty, we meet again."

Sara raised an eyebrow at Jake, who only smiled tightly. She'd have to find out what that was about later. Right now, they were here because Martin Patterson, they guy found strangled this morning, had worked for Vorschlag Industries' biggest rival in the genetics area and had formerly been a Vorschlag employee. Somehow, she just knew that this had something to do with Irons - hence heading straight for the top.

"We're here regarding one of your employees, Mr. Irons--" Sara began.

"Ian has been with me almost constantly for the past few days," Irons interrupted testily. "And he has been busy all morning with the children."

Even with the distance between them, Nottingham's head snapped up at the mention of his name. Sara turned back to Irons.

"One of your former employees, I should have said." She cocked her head to the side. "Is there a reason that you think Nottingham might have been involved in something we need to know about?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he said, glancing at the man on the lawn. "He does so love frolicking with the little ones."

Sara turned back to regard the black-clad man on the lawn. He wasn't doing anything that could, by any stretch of the imagination, be called frolicking. Nottingham stared straight at Sara, and the Witchblade flared to life.

Black boots, circling around the body in the chair.

"Sara?" she dimly heard Jake say.

She tore her eyes away from Irons' assassin and looked at the other men. Both of their faces showed concern, but she only believed Jake's was genuine.

"I'm fine. Just thinking," she said. "Mr. Irons, are you aware that a former employee of yours, Martin Patterson, was found dead this morning?"

"No. That's terrible," the billionaire said, not sounding even remotely surprised.

"Under what circumstances did he leave Vorschlag?" Jake asked.

"Was it amicable?" Sara added.

"I believe so," Irons said, and smiled one of his fake smiles. "I don't know the details of every single employee termination. We are a large corporation."

"We'd like to speak to Nottingham," Sara said. "As an employee, he might know things you don't."

"Ian does not consort with the staff," Irons said, frowning, then smiled again. "I find it undermines his position in Security."

"We still want to talk to him," Jake said.

"Yes, he mentioned how much he enjoyed his last interview with you, Detective McCartey," Irons said brightly. "As you can see, he's entertaining at the moment. I'll have him contact you when he's finished."

Irons turned away from them, clearly dismissing them. Jake moved to protest, but Sara grabbed his arm and pulled him away. She knew the bastard enough to know that was all they were going to get.

*****

As soon as they left, Irons summoned Nottingham from the circle of children. The dogs surged toward their master and Irons rested a hand on one of the great beast's heads. Putting a finger under Nottingham's chin, he forced the eyes of his creature up from their habitual downward gaze.

"Go to her tonight. Get more information than you give," Irons instructed him. "Find out what has happened." His guard turned to go, but stopped when Irons continued. "I hope I won't discover that you've been engaging in extracurricular activities, Ian."

After a long moment, Nottingham returned to the children on lawn. Irons smiled. What a happy scene.

*****

Sara came awake with the gun in her hand and pointed it toward the end of her bed. The dark shape there didn't move.

"Hello, Sara," Ian Nottingham's voice said from the darkness.

Sara considered firing, just to see what would happen, but remembered all the paperwork that would be involved. Sliding the gun back under her pillow, she sat up.

"Your keeper couldn't tell you to come see me at work?" Sara asked peevishly.

She'd been having a dream that she couldn't quite remember, but she hadn't liked it. Her hair was in her eyes and her mouth tasted like something fuzzy had shed its skin in it. Pushing her hair back and throwing the covers off, she stood up.

Nottingham whirled suddenly away from the bed. Sara padded after him into the kitchen area.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Sara asked, getting a bottle of water from the fridge. "Can't you ever act like a normal human being?"

She turned to find him perched on the back of her couch. Scowling, she stalked over and turned on a lamp. She could see him looking at her sidelong from under those long lashes of his. Cracking the seal on her water bottle and taking a long drink, she studied him. Dressed in black, always in black. His hair was loose tonight, curled around his face. Fat drops of water in his hair and coat shone in the lamplight. He wore a silver ring and necklace, something that seemed out of character for him. Nottingham just didn't seem like a jewelry type of guy to her.

"What do you see?" he asked softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

For once, Sara suppressed her urge to be sarcastic and just shrugged.

"A man," she said, "Wet and cold and alone." She grabbed a towel from the kitchen table and tossed it to him. He caught it without looking at it. "What am I supposed to see?"

Sara heard a quick intake of breath as if he was going to reply, but he remained silent. Sara moved to stand next to him and waited. When he still said nothing, she moved closer, clearly invading his personal space. She could feel the full weight of his attention on her. After a moment he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Mr. Irons said that you wished to question me," he said.

Sara sighed and took a few steps back.

"What do you know about Martin Patterson, a former employee at Vorschlag?" she asked, disappointed. For a few seconds there, she actually thought she was going to find out something real about him.

"Little," he said and ran the kitchen towel over his face and hair. "I've never had much contact with the staff."

The Witchblade tingled on Sara's wrist.

Black boots, circling around the body in the chair.

A gloved hand, gently running along the taut silk tie.

"Did you kill him, Nottingham?" Sara asked.

"No," he barked and his head snapped up. "Though he deserved it."

He tossed the towel back to her and stood. With a small bow, he turned and headed for the door. He opened it, but before he left, he turned to her.

"Don't forget to lock up," he said, and swiftly shut the door behind him.

With a growl, Sara threw the towel at the closed door.

"Small rebellions," a voice said from behind her.

Sara whirled around to see her dead partner, Danny Woo, standing next to her cursed drum kit. She'd begun seeing his ghost on the day of his funeral. She would have been totally freaked if she didn't miss him so much.

"What are you talking about, Obi-Wan?" Sara asked.

"He can only achieve small rebellions," Danny said patiently. "Don't ask what he can't give. He tries to give you more than you accept as it is."

"I don't want anything from him," Sara said, and went to pick up the kitchen towel from where it had landed.

"Is that really true?" her dead partner asked.

"He's a freak, Danny," Sara said, shaking her head.

"No more than you."

"Oh, thanks! But--" Sara turned to find the ghost gone. "Never mind, I'll just talk to myself. That's at least as sane as talking to dead people."

*****

Jake tried not to look at the clock as his partner finally came into the office, but he couldn't help it. 10:30. She was two hours late and hadn't even called - not that he had really expected her to.

Well, he had at least gotten in a few good hours of work before she had shown up. She wasn't going to like what he had found, though: the new information pointed the finger straight at Ian Nottingham. Sara probably didn't even see it, but even Jake could feel the electricity between those two. They even moved the same way. Even when Nottingham had been beating the crap out of him, Jake had been reminded of how Sara moved when she was angry: careful, fluid, not a movement wasted. And unnaturally fast.

Sara wasn't going to like what he'd found at all.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, tossing her motorcycle helmet onto a stack of folders in the corner. "I overslept."

"No problem," Jake said. "The captain's been out all morning, so you're covered there."

"Great," she said, and sat down at the desk facing his. "So, did we get anything from the Coroner's Office on Patterson?"

"No, not yet," he said, then took a deep breath. "Found out what the guy was working on at Vorschlag, though."

"What?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"A classified military project."

Sara's eyes widened and she put down her paper cup.

"The Black Dragons," she said.

"I would bet. And Nottingham is the only one of them left," Jake pointed out. "Think he's taking out the ones behind the project, too?"

Sara shook her head.

"I talked to him last night. He said he didn't kill the guy," she said.

"And you believed him?" Jake asked incredulously. "Come on, Pez! It's Nottingham!"

"Just because you got hit by a truck in his vicinity," she said meaningfully, "is no reason to jump to conclusions."

"I'm not jumping," Jake said. "I am taking a very tiny baby step."

*****

Sara flipped through the crime scene photos, though she really wasn't seeing them. She'd spent the whole day looking at information on the case, and she still wasn't sure what had happened to Martin Patterson. They couldn't get anything out of Gerodyne about his work there, other than it was not military and had to do with gene therapy. Maybe Vicky was right, and it really had just been an accident. But that still didn't explain why Ian Nottingham was involved.

Jake was pissed at her, and he probably had the right to be. There was no love lost between Irons' bodyguard and her partner, though Sara wasn't exactly sure what had prompted Nottingham to just about kill Jake. What she thought about Nottingham was more complicated.

She was getting used to seeing him everywhere, though she didn't like it. She certainly didn't like the ease with which he'd broken into her apartment last night. She hadn't really slept in this morning - she'd had a locksmith out to change the locks. Even though she knew it was unsafe, she'd nailed shut the window with the fire escape, too. She'd like to see the creepy bastard get in now.

"If you want to stay close to me, just ask, Sara. We can be inseparable."

"You wouldn't lift the Blade against your own flesh and blood, would you?"

Nottingham never had told her what he had meant by that. Was she really supposed to believe that they were related? He was probably just jerking her chain as usual.

So why had she believed him when he said he hadn't killed their victim? Nottingham had been there, she had no doubt about that - if they took a cast of those boots of his, one of them would fit that print on the carpet perfectly. That was a little sloppy for Nottingham, though - a little too obvious of a clue. She didn't think Nottingham would actually lie to her. She'd noticed that whenever he didn't want to answer a question, he just changed the subject or phrased his answer so carefully that she thought he had. Last night, though, she'd asked him a direct question, and he'd said "no."

She believed him, that was all there was to it. Now, what he was doing there after the guy was dead, she didn't know. That was something she would find out.

"Hey," she said, looking up from the photos. "How'd we find out about Patterson? Neighbor? Co-worker?"

Her partner flipped through the file in front of him.

"Call from a pay phone down the street," he said shortly.

Great, he was still pissed.

"Look," she said. "I really don't think Nottingham killed the guy. But I think he was there."

"Should we bring him in?" Jake asked.

"You know what, that went so well last time, I think I'd rather not," she said. Jake winced, but he didn't look so angry anymore. "I'll interview him myself first. If anything comes of it, I'll bring him in. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," he agreed after a moment, then looked at the clock. "It's getting late; want to catch some dinner, play some pool?"

Sara smiled. She'd been forgiven.

"I need to work out, but, yeah," she said. "Stop by my place in a couple hours?"

*****

Nottingham watched from the window until Sara stepped out of the shower. He swiftly turned his back then, only listening to her as she moved about her loft apartment. When he turned back several minutes later, he was entranced, despite his strictly ingrained self-control. With her hair down and wearing a short black skirt and a tiny black t-shirt, she was more beautiful than the models who routinely followed his employer around.

This was a totally different type of beauty than he had seen the night before. Last night had shown him a sleepy, innocent, pure beauty. He had barely been able to contain himself with her dressed only in a loose NYPD t-shirt and white cotton panties. Tonight, however, she was the sultry beauty. He envied the man she was dressing for, and was not pleased when there was a knock at her door.

He switched his position to get a better view of her guest and had to suppress his fury when he saw her partner, Jake McCartey, enter the loft. He was clearly as stunned by Sara as Nottingham was, especially when she put her foot on a kitchen chair to lace up her knee-high black boots, showing a long expanse of muscular thigh. After a second, McCartey lifted his eyes to the ceiling and stuck his hands in his pockets. From the look on his face, Nottingham assumed the betrayer was whistling. Sara looked over her shoulder at her partner, mischief in her eyes, and Nottingham felt a stab of jealously at that simple intimacy.

Jake McCartey didn't deserve Sara's trust, let alone her flirting. Nottingham knew McCartey's job in the department, and knew how far he was from succeeding. Nottingham would not see Sara sacrificed for the surfer boy's job advancement. Sara had prevented her partner's death once, but if Nottingham had the opportunity to finish the job, he wouldn't hesitate.

*****

"We agreed not to talk about work," Jake said, as Sara sank yet another ball.

"I know, but this Patterson case is really bugging me," she said. "We're missing something."

"You're missing something," Jake said, and Sara nodded toward the eight ball. "Though not on the pool table, of course."

She looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled, then made the shot without even looking. The eight ball went in the pocket. He'd lost again.

"Good thing we're not playing for money," she said, then put her stick back in the rack. "Let's not focus on Nottingham for the moment, OK? What have we got?"

"A molecular biologist with a major kink, used to work for Gerodyne's biggest competitor on a secret military project, but is now doing harmless gene therapy research," Jake summarized.

"They told you it was harmless?" Sara asked.

"No, but what else could it be?" he asked. "Making superhumans or something like that? It's just a way to treat diseases. I was reading about it in the Times the other day."

"But it wouldn't have to be harmless," his partner said slowly, looking down at the bracelet on her wrist, like she always did when she was making one of her weirdly accurate intuitive leaps. "Think you can lean on Gerodyne, try to get more info from them about exactly what he was working on?"

"Yeah, sure, why not," Jake said, "But not until they open tomorrow." He nodded to the table. "Want to beat me again?"

"As fun as it's been, I think I need to talk to Nottingham," she said, and snagged her leather coat from a nearby chair.

Jake looked at his watch.

"Now? It's midnight," Jake pointed out.

Sara shrugged.

"I have a feeling I know where he'll be," she said, and walked away.

Jake kicked the wall behind him. No matter what Sara said, Jake was sure that Nottingham was their guy. Jake had personal experience with Irons' bodyguard's violent and irrational tendencies. How Nottingham knew that Jake wasn't who he seemed to be could be attributed to Kenneth Irons' influence and interest in Sara Pezzini. But Nottingham's antipathy for Jake seemed to have no rational cause. If Nottingham truly knew that Jake was a federal agent, then Nottingham should know that he wasn't really a corrupt cop and Sara was in no danger from him.

Nottingham was obsessed with, in love with, or otherwise involved with his partner, that much was obvious. When he'd seen them holding hands and his partner staring into that psychopath's eyes, it made Jake want to beat the living hell out of Nottingham. Of course, it hadn't quite worked out that way. Nottingham had pummeled him instead, with only Sara's intervention saving Jake's life, he was sure. If Jake got another chance at Nottingham, though, he wouldn't hesitate.

*****

As she'd expected, Nottingham was inside the apartment when she got there. Her door had still been locked and a quick glance confirmed that the window remained nailed shut. However, there Nottingham was, sitting on her kitchen counter in the darkest corner, hands in his lap and head down.

"Get off the counter," she said by way of greeting. "You're worse than a damned cat."

He hopped down, his long black coat flaring out before he landed. She would bet that he practiced that move in front of a mirror, to get just the right amount of flare to be sufficiently dramatic. Just like a cat.

"I'm going to shoot you one of these days, you know," she said, but her heart really wasn't in the threat. She'd only said it because she knew he expected something like it.

"Did you have a nice evening out?" Nottingham asked quietly, still standing in the darkest spot.

"What do you care?" she shot back, slapping on the light switch.

The kitchen lit up with a bright glare. For a moment, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she could have sworn Nottingham looked hurt. She didn't believe it though. Despite his declaration of love in her office a few days ago, she wasn't sure this cold killer even had any feelings.

Sara opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. She glanced at Nottingham. He was still just standing there.

"Want one?" she asked, holding the bottle out to him.

"What do you care?" he asked, mimicking her tone of voice perfectly.

"Fine. Forget I asked," she said and closed the refrigerator door a little harder than necessary.

She popped the cap off the beer with the edge of the Witchblade, a neat little trick she'd discovered - it was pretty jewelry, a mystical weapon, and a bottle opener, too! Nottingham winced visibly as she used it for its new-found purpose, and Sara grinned. She wondered if he'd report back to Irons on her current use for the Blade.

"OK," she said after she took a long drink. "You didn't kill Patterson, but only because he let his kink get the better of him before you got there." She waited, but Nottingham didn't react. "Jake thinks that you were after him because of his involvement in the Black Dragons research. I don't." Again, no reaction. "I think it's his current project - whatever that is - that has Irons' panties in a twist." Nottingham's eyes narrowed slightly at her; for him, that was like jumping up and down and clapping his hands. Bingo. "What do you know about gene therapy?"

"I know that Vorschlag has been on the forefront of that technology for a long time," he said, his voice holding an edge Sara had never heard in it before. "I know that Martin Patterson was one of the best scientists working on the Black Dragons program."

The Witchblade hissed on her wrist and she looked down into the swirling colors.

"Someone's been playing God, trying to rewind and fast forward evolution all at the same time," Vicky said.

"What else could it be?" Jake asked. "Making superhumans or something like that?"

"What's he working on, Nott-" Sara raised her head and broke off.

He was gone.

*****

"Where have you been?" Irons asked as Nottingham attempted to surreptitiously enter the study.

His creature stopped where he was and took up his trained submissive stance: legs apart, hands behind his back, head down. He failed to answer.

"I asked you a question, Ian," Irons said, keeping his voice calm.

Nottingham was like an animal in so many ways: he could sense fear and anger. If Irons showed his emotions, the other man would tailor his responses to fit. If Nottingham were not given any indication of what was the best way to act, however, Irons had found that he got a more honest response.

"I was watching Sara Pezzini," Nottingham finally said.

"Just watching?" Irons asked.

"She had her locks replaced and returned home while I was still inside after testing my key," he said, his voice even and toneless, as if he were reading a grocery list. "She threatened to shoot me."

"Oh, Sara does have such a sense of humor," Irons said, smiling slightly. "You had best make sure that you don't anger her further. You will stay away from Sara unless I tell you otherwise." Nottingham nodded after a short pause. "You may go."

With a quick turn, his creature left the room. Nottingham's increased interest in the Wielder had not gone unnoticed. Irons could feel the effects of time beginning to wear on him, and he needed Nottingham now more than ever. It was time his creature was reigned in.

*****

Jake grabbed Sara by the arm as she took a step toward Captain Bruno Dante. Jake yanked her back from the Captain and out of his office. All but dragging her, he got her into their office and closed the door before she exploded.

"How can he take us off the case?!" she demanded, slamming her fists down on the desk. Jake closed the blinds. "We've got evidence of forced entry and evidence that someone else was in the room!"

"Come on, Sara," Jake said, leaning back against the door, "You don't even believe that it's a murder. We've got better things to spend our time on."

"You think it's a murder," Sara pointed out. "Why are you letting go so easily?"

"Because our captain told us to," he said, and hoped she wouldn't press the issue. "And maybe you're right. Maybe Nottingham just stopped by."

Sara rolled her eyes, and Jake winced inside. That sounded stupid even to him, but he wasn't going to go against Dante, especially when he had finally gotten so close to the corrupt captain. Sara only wanted this case for its connection to Nottingham, and that wasn't enough for Jake to risk his investigation. Besides, anything that kept Sara away from that psycho assassin, the better.

"Stopped by? Are you saying the erotic wasn't quite so auto?" Sara asked nastily.

Jake sighed. Just because he was a tiny bit uncomfortable with homosexuality was no reason for Sara to assume that was why he was so happily dropping this case. And there was no need for her to put that image in his head, either.

"Look, we're homicide detectives, not suicide," Jake said placatingly. "We just don't have the resources to investigate every little suspicious thing. Since you don't believe that Nottingham did it, and we have no other suspect, we've got no reason to keep this case open."

Sara glared at him for a moment, then sat down heavily in her chair. Obviously forcing herself, his partner smiled at him.

"I'm sure you're right," she said. "We have plenty of work to do."

She pulled a cold case file in front of her and made a show of flipping through it. However, Jake didn't miss her sliding a piece of paper from the Patterson file into the one she was looking at.

She wasn't going to let this go.

*****

Finally alone in the office for the first time all day, Sara pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Flipping it open, she was just about to dial when she stopped.

She had no idea what Nottingham's phone number was.

He was the one who always called her, who always found her, not the other way around. It was creepy and annoying, but right now she would have given a limb to get one of his pesky phone calls. She didn't know what was so important about this Patterson guy, but she knew that Nottingham had left that footprint on purpose. He wanted this case investigated. Why his wishes should mean anything to her, she didn't know, but, at least for this, they did.

She closed her phone and put it back in her pocket. She wasn't going to wait for Nottingham to come to her. All she had to do was find Irons and Nottingham would be there like a malevolent shadow. Irons would never tell her what was going on, but Nottingham would, if only she could ask the right question.

To do that, she was going to need more information.

*****

Irons again had Nottingham entertaining the children, not because of any feeling of civic duty, but because Irons knew how uncomfortable it made him. Trained as a warrior, Nottingham had never been instructed in how to react to children. They made him nervous - they moved too fast and too unpredictably, leaving him no time for relaxation when he was in the middle of the screaming swarm.

The only concession that Irons had made to Nottingham was that he was allowed to use the dogs as entertainment again. The wolfhounds enjoyed the attention, and his master was far more concerned about the animals' happiness than Nottingham's.

The assassin was well aware that Irons had noticed his increasing attention to the Wielder as a woman as well as a warrior. As practiced as Nottingham was at hiding things, this physical and emotional attraction wasn't as simple to hide as a disloyal thought, a hope, or a wish. Try as he might to not allow it, his well-trained body even betrayed him when he was near Sara - his heart rate increased, his breathing grew rapid and shallow, and he began to perspire.

It felt like fear.

*****

Irons wasn't surprised when his housekeeper called to ask him if Sara should be brought back. Captain Dante, his own pet police officer, had let him know that the Martin Patterson case had been ruled a suicide, but Sara wasn't pleased with the outcome.

Irons really had no concerns that he would be implicated, even if he had ordered his former employee's death, but he did not like that Sara was showing continued interest in the case. It was not that he worried that she would discover the connection between Vorschlag and Gerodyne, but rather that she seemed to be too interested in the case for Nottingham's involvement. It would not have bothered him had she been interested in Irons' involvement, but that his creation was holding her interest that was troubling.

Watching Nottingham on the lawn, Irons frowned. How much Nottingham disliked being the center of the children's world, Irons was well aware. He wasn't sure, though, whether he was pleased that Nottingham didn't show that dislike. Perhaps Nottingham had been trained slightly too well to hide his thoughts and emotions.

"Mr. Irons," Sara said from behind him.

"Sara," Irons said, not turning around. "Two visits in three days? To what do I owe such an honor?"

"It's about the Patterson case," she said, coming to stand next to him. "I have a few more questions for Nottingham."

Nottingham looked up at the mention of his name. Irons shook his head, and the other man lowered his eyes, though slowly. Irons turned to Sara.

"I was under the impression that Mr. Patterson's death had been ruled a suicide," he said. "What more could you possibly need from Ian?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"That's police business, Mr. Irons," she said coldly, "Not yours."

*****

How Irons had found out about the closing of the case, she didn't really care. What she cared about was that he didn't want her talking to Nottingham. That was enough to make her sure that she was on the right track.

With a final look at Irons, she turned on her heel and headed across the lawn. Again, Nottingham was swarmed by squealing children and the capering pair of hounds, but he barely moved, except to raise his head slightly as she approached. The dogs bounded toward her and she fended off their slobbery greeting.

"You put yourself in danger, Sara," Nottingham said, his voice low.

"What, from the dogs?" she asked as they lost interest in her and surged toward the children again.

His brows knitted slightly and his eyes quickly flitted over her shoulder toward the house. Sara raised her eyebrows. From Nottingham, that was as much of a warning about Irons as she'd ever gotten. Was all not well in Irons' fiefdom?

She took a step closer to him and she heard him take a deep breath, but he didn't say anything. Pulling out her notebook, she flipped it open to look at the notes she'd made during her research today. Gerodyne was a private company, but she'd been able to dig up some info with a little web surfing, a few judicious phone calls, and a science lesson from Vicky Po.

"Gerodyne signed a contract with Vorschlag Industries on November 12 of this year," she began. "The day after that, Martin Patterson quietly switched from one company to the other." She glanced up at Ian. He was studying the grass. She flipped to the next page in her notes. "OK Gene therapy can be used to alter someone's cells, but those changes wouldn't get passed on to any offspring." He still didn't look up. "Patterson, it seems, was working on how to change germ cells so that any changes could be passed on," she said, and Nottingham's eyes flicked up briefly. Jackpot. "Why would Irons want Patterson killed when he was working with Vorschlag on such a potentially lucrative project?"

Nottingham's eyes flicked up again, but to look past her.

"Sara," Irons voice came from several feet behind her, "I think you've taken Ian away from the children long enough."

"Or wasn't it Irons who wanted him dead?" she asked, lowering her voice.

Nottingham looked at her and gave the barest shake of his head. Then, turning away, he loped across the lawn, the dogs and children following. Sara turned to Irons.

"Thank you for your help," she said, smiling sweetly. "I'll see myself out."

*****

Jake sat at his home computer, wishing that what he was looking at wasn't right. The FBI had long ago tapped what had then been Sara and Danny's office phone, and he had called up the day's log to see what Sara had been up to when he had gone to lunch. She had looked like the cat who ate the canary when he had gotten back, so he'd been suspicious.

From the looks of it, she'd had a busy hour, making four phone calls: to the New York Times, to Gerodyne, to her friend Gabriel, and to Vicky Po. Mainly it was the calls to the Times and Gerodyne that concerned him. The Times number he recognized as being one of the journalists on the business beat, and the other was Gerodyne's human resources number.

He'd known she wasn't going to drop it, but he had hoped that she wouldn't be dumb enough to pursue it using department resources. She had to know that she was under watch by Captain Dante, didn't she?

Maybe if he helped her out, then she'd get done faster and get into less trouble. It was probably a bad idea, but even though he was in the police department under false pretenses, she was still his partner. He really shouldn't use his FBI contacts, but what the hell. That's what partners were for.

He picked up his phone and dialed.

"Hey, Mike, it's McCartey," he said when the other end picked up. "Can you check into a couple things for me for me?"

*****

Nottingham paced his room restlessly. Normally, he was able to use meditation to relax his mind, but not this night. Irons had sent Nottingham away only when his "dinner guest," a barely legal aspiring actress and gold digger, had begun to giggle and paw at the billionaire's clothes. It wouldn't have surprised Nottingham if he had been forced to stand guard inside the other man's bedroom - Irons was that furious with him.

His master had angrily demanded that Nottingham tell him everything that he had told Sara, so Nottingham had repeated: "You put yourself in danger, Sara." That was all he had actually spoken in words to the Wielder, though that was hardly all that he had said. Nottingham had luckily been spared the task of repeating Sara's words when Irons was called away to greet his entertainment for the evening. That didn't mean that Irons had forgotten to ask, only that he would ask later.

As it was, he was grateful he had been sent away. The woman Irons was currently bedding looked suspiciously like the Wielder - silky brown hair, striking green eyes, small pert breasts

Nottingham wrenched his mind away from that image. He could not protect Sara if he allowed himself to be distracted by her appearance or his growing emotional attachment to her. He had already once tried to tell her what he felt and had been rejected. He had no intention of saying another word about it. He would do the only thing he knew to show how he felt for her: protect her.

But he could not do that here, confined to the estate and specifically ordered to stay away from her. Maybe it was time he broke the rules.

Tapping on the screen that showed the camera in Irons' current bedroom, a quick glance showed that his master was sufficiently occupied at the moment, and probably for several hours more. He double checked to ensure that it was a live feed rather than recorded, and saw that it was. Not that he expected anyone to tamper with the system, but a good warrior discounted not even the simplest strategy.

He was, he told himself as he closed his bedroom door behind him, just going to quickly check on Sara, and then return. It was her safety he was interested in, only that. Was not his charge to protect the Wielder as well as Irons?

Easily evading the security cameras and devices he himself had installed, he left the estate and walked the several blocks to the decrepit garage where he kept a motorcycle. He had bought it two weeks ago, but had decided that it was something Irons didn't need to know about. He had never tried to keep anything like this from his master before, but he had found it incredibly easy to do. As long as he wasn't asked, point blank, "Are you hiding a motorcycle from me?" Nottingham knew that he could come up with an answer that would not be a lie, yet would shield the truth.

He made his way to Sara's side of town, then to her fire escape. Her loft apartment was lit only by candlelight, and Sara was on the couch, her feet up and her head back. Her eyes were closed, and by the lights on the stereo, she was listening to music. He wondered what it was, but he dared not get close enough to the glass of the window to hear. Hidden in the darkness was his place.

Nottingham had no idea how long he had been watching her when Sara suddenly sat up and looked at the door. He carefully shifted his stiff limbs as she stood and stretched luxuriously. She opened the door, and Nottingham frowned when he saw her guest: her partner.

*****

"Hey, Jake, what's up?" Sara asked, and opened the door wider to allow him in.

Sara didn't fail to notice that he looked over his shoulder before he came in. She shut the door after him, then turned and leaned against it. Jake looked anxious, shifting from foot to foot and not looking her exactly in the eyes. Sara tilted her head to the side and smiled, trying to put him at ease. After a long moment, he stopped fidgeting and thrust out a sheaf of papers at her.

She took them and slowly paged through them, her eyes widening as she realized what they were: the phone records of Martin Patterson, both home and work, for the last month. She looked back up at Jake's nervous expression.

"Where did you get these?" she asked, stunned.

"I've got a friend in the department who owes me a favor," he said, looking down at the floor. "And I was being a jerk earlier, and I thought you might forgive me if I, you know, gave you a hand."

"Thanks," she said, "Really. I appreciate it, especially since I know you think I'm being stupid." She smiled again. "Come here."

When he didn't move, she took a couple steps forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. For a second, he tentatively hugged back, then Sara disentangled herself. She was about to thank Jake again for the phone numbers when a flash of movement outside the window near her bed caught her attention.

Darting around Jake, she raced to the window and peered out into the dark, but she couldn't see anything. Damn it. She had wanted to ask Nottingham a few more questions and had been hoping he would put in an appearance, and these phone numbers were just one more thing to ask him about. She had intended to get Nottingham's own number from him this afternoon, but Irons' intervention had scotched that plan.

"Sara?" Jake called from the other end of the room. "Something wrong?"

She turned around and tried to hide her disappointment.

"No, no. It's just " She hesitated, trying to come up with an excuse. "There's this stray cat I've been feeding, and I thought I saw it." She shrugged casually. "Guess not."

She walked back across the room to Jake.

"Well," he said, "I'd better go. I just wanted to drop that off." He looked intently at her. "Don't call those places from the office, OK? The captain would be pissed if he found out you were still working on this."

Sara laughed. The rookie was right.

"I won't, I promise," she said.

She showed her partner out, then went to look out the window again. Why had Nottingham run off? She hardly believed that a couple of nails in the window frame would have made him give up so easily. After a minute, she shrugged. It didn't really matter. If she had more questions, she did know where to find him.

*****

"Did you have a nice evening out?" Irons asked as Nottingham entered the room.

His creature stopped just inside the door, then, after a long moment, continued into his bedroom. After taking the time to hang up his coat and pull his hair back, he took up his habitual stance.

"No," Nottingham finally answered.

Irons did not like the growing independence of his creation. There was a time, not too long past, when Nottingham would have stood outside his bedroom door all night when he had a guest, ready to provide any service required, security-related or not. For Nottingham now to leave the estate -- which he had done, as Irons had seen him re-enter on the security monitors in front of him -- two nights in a row, was a disturbing trend. As much as he hated to admit it, Irons required Nottingham's assistance now for even the simplest things -- descending the four flights of stairs to Nottingham's basement room had been exhausting.

"Why ever not?" Irons asked keeping his voice as careless as possible.

"One of the sensors is not working on the back gate," Nottingham said. "I must watch the gate until it can be repaired."

"So vigilant," Irons said, and stood, trying not to show the stiffness in his limbs.

He walked to where Nottingham stood, head bowed. Stopping mere inches from him, Irons raised his hand quickly. Nottingham's eyes closed, but otherwise, he didn't move. Brushing the other man's stray locks back behind his ear, Irons leaned close, his lips nearly touching Nottingham's cheek as he spoke.

"Do not forget where your loyalties lie, Ian," he hissed. "Should you find yourself in need of a reminder, I can provide one."

*****

Sara called in sick the next morning. She was sick, she rationalized, sick and tired of all the crap going on in the department, in her life, in the world. If she could solve one thing then she might feel better. Just one thing was all she wanted -- was that so much to ask?

Yeah, probably.

Grabbing her cup of coffee and cordless phone, she plopped down on the couch and began to study the phone records Jake had given her. She recognized Kenneth Irons' direct office line, which was interesting. One number was called nearly every day, though, from both his home and his office, which was even more interesting. She dialed the number.

"Ashmus Home for Children," a pleasant female voice said. "How may I direct your call?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Sara said, putting on her best phone voice. "I'm calling about Dr. Martin Patterson's relationship with your organization."

"Are you a journalist or something like that?" the receptionist asked.

"Something like that," Sara agreed.

"You'll need to speak with our Executive Director, Martha Fell, then," she said. "Please hold while I connect you."

While she waited, Sara grabbed the yellow pages from the table next to her. Under "Social Services," she quickly found a discreet advertisement for the orphanage, indicating that they cared "for the less fortunate of our city's children." If they were at all involved in whatever scheme of Irons' this was, she could guarantee that they were "less fortunate." There was a click, then another female voice.

"Martha Fell. How may I help you?"

"Good morning, Ms. Fell," Sara said. "I was calling in regards to Dr. Patterson."

"One of our finest benefactors," the other woman said, and sighed. "He will be greatly missed."

"How long had Dr. Patterson been involved with your home?" Sara asked.

"Oh, for several years, but he had become much more of a frequent visitor in the last few months. Some of our more difficult placements were under his medical care, all of which he provided for free," Ms. Fell said. "The children will miss him. What publication did you say you were with, dear?"

Sara hung up. If she ever managed to find out what was going on and get it into court, she wouldn't be accused of lying.

So, medical care to orphans, a molecular biologist, gene therapy, a connection to Vorschlag, Kenneth Irons and Ian Nottingham Where did it all lead?

Test subjects.

*****

Jake scowled at the stack of papers in front of him. He supposed he ought to be glad that no one was being murdered so that he wasn't required to be at a crime scene, but with the alternative being this towering stack of paperwork He almost wished someone would get themselves killed. Not that he would get assigned the case anyway. With Sara out sick -- though she had looked fine last night -- he was stuck here in paperwork purgatory until she felt better.

The phone rang. He picked it up.

"McCartey, Homicide," he said with a sigh.

"Hey, rookie," his partner's suspiciously healthy voice said.

"I thought you were sick," he said.

"Mental health day," she said, then quickly continued. "I think I hit the jackpot with one of those phone numbers, but I wanted just a little more help."

"No," Jake said firmly.

"What?" Sara exclaimed. "Come on, Jake! Just hear me out!"

"Sara, no," he repeated.

He had already done more than he should. There was no way he was going to risk his primary role in the department just because his partner had a jones for a non-homicide case involving that creep Nottingham. Hell, maybe his refusal to help would get her to leave it alone and they'd both be better off.

"Why?" she demanded. "Why won't you help me?"

"Because if Dante catches on, it's both our asses," he hissed. "I'm not ruining my career over a case we're supposed to have dumped."

There was a long pause before she spoke again.

"Fine," she said, her voice cold. "Thanks again for the numbers."

She hung up.

Jake stared at the phone in his hand for a minute before hanging it up. She wasn't going to let go until she had what she wanted. But there was just no way he could help any more, and he wasn't going to feel bad about it.

Yeah, right.

*****

"You're a little ungrateful, aren't you?" asked a voice from next to her.

She looked over and was unsurprised to see Danny apparently sitting on the couch next to her. Frighteningly enough, the novelty of seeing a ghost seemed to have worn off. What was her life coming to?

"Ungrateful?" she said, dropping the phone. "So what are you? The Grateful Dead?"

"Ha ha," said Danny with a grin, then his face grew serious again. "He's got his own stuff to think about, Sara. Don't discount him."

"I'm asking too much again?" Sara asked sarcastically.

"Small rebellions," he said, nodding. "McCartey and Nottingham do what they can, even if it's not always what you want."

"I wasn't going to ask for much," Sara said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Of course you weren't," he said. "Individually, each request is small, but they add up. The cost is getting too high."

"What do you mean, too high'?" she asked suspiciously.

"Think about what they have to lose when they help you. Regardless of what you may sometimes think, the world doesn't revolve around you, Sara."

Sara looked down at her wrist and tapped the dormant Witchblade.

"Tell that to this thing," she snapped, then looked back up.

Danny was gone.

He always did that - just disappeared before she got a straight answer out of him. In a lot of ways, his behavior as a ghost reminded her a lot of Nottingham's. They both popped up at unexpected moments, only half answered her questions and disappeared when she wasn't looking. Maybe they even took turns watching her, for all she knew.

Sara resented Danny's implication that she was self-centered. Sure, when she had a hard case, she tended to stick to it to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, but that was a good trait for a homicide detective. She asked for help, yeah, but she couldn't be expected to do everything herself. Plus, she only asked when she really needed it.

And she would never purposely put Jake's career at risk. He was a bit of a doofus, but he was shaping up to be a great detective, in spite of her lousiness as a training officer. Granted, he needed a little practice with undercover work -- he just never seemed comfortable pretending to be something he wasn't -- but that would come in time. Danny had no idea what he was talking about.

And Nottingham? What did that hired killer have to lose? Not his job - Sara doubted that Irons would ever be willing to lose his perfect lethal weapon. Nottingham was only doing what Irons wanted him to when he passed along information. She couldn't imagine Nottingham ever disobeying an order or doing anything of his own accord. So what did he stand to lose? A little bit of sleep? He'd live.

*****

Nottingham stood behind Irons, head down, hands clasped behind his back, as his master sat at his desk, pretending to ignore the man nervously waiting in front of him. Bertrand Shumate from Gerodyne Genetics had tried clearing his throat several times now, and Nottingham recognized the signs that he was about to talk, just to break the silence.

The man was well aware that Irons was angry, though he had no idea how much. This morning, Nottingham had finally been required to repeat Sara's words to him. That she had deduced so much with the barest of information infuriated Irons, but it pleased Nottingham immensely. Irons sometimes forgot that the Wielder was a detective and had an incisive intelligence. Nottingham never forgot. He didn't doubt that she had already discovered even more than she had told him yesterday.

Shumate took a deep breath, preparing to speak, but Irons beat him to it.

"And what are you doing about this little problem, Bertrand?" the billionaire asked, still not looking up from the paperwork on his desk.

"Uh, I wouldn't call it a problem, Ken." Irons' head whipped up. "Mr. Irons," the man corrected himself. "The case has been closed, and I'm sure a complaint to her captain will clear the matter up."

"You obviously have no idea with whom you are dealing," Irons said.

Irons didn't either, Nottingham knew, but he kept his mouth shut. If his master wasn't capable of understanding Sara's true depths by himself, Nottingham surely wasn't going to help.

"Sara Pezzini is persistent," Irons continued. "She has already been ordered off the case once. What makes you think a reprimand from her captain will have any effect?"

Shumate looked defeated.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" he asked quietly.

"I suggest that you turn Patterson's research over to Vorschlag," Irons said. "Then tie up the loose ends."

"Loose ends?" Shumate was confused for a moment, then Nottingham saw the understanding dawn in the man's horrified eyes. "You mean the children? But I can't--"

"You will," Irons said, his voice cold. "Should I have to send Ian to do the job, he will get rid of some other loose ends as well."

Shumate digested this for a moment, flicking his eyes to Nottingham's dark bulk. Then he set his jaw and smiled grimly.

"Of course, Mr. Irons," he said.

After the door closed behind him, Irons resumed his examination of the papers in front of him.

"Follow him," he told Nottingham, not looking up. "Ensure that everything is done. If it is not do it yourself."

With a nod that his master couldn't see, Nottingham turned on his heel and left the room. Without a doubt, he would see that everything was done, though perhaps not quite the way his master intended.

*****

After Nottingham left, Irons allowed his shoulders to slump and leaned back in his chair. He had hoped that the project that Patterson had been working on would be completed by now, before his resistance to the previous Wielder's DNA had become so pronounced. However, it did not appear that was to be the case. The research would have to start anew, now that it had been discovered by the Wielder.

It was unfortunate that she had been assigned to the case and made the connection between the two companies, but more unfortunate that she persisted in her efforts to involve Nottingham. Irons had entertained hopes that Sara might come willingly to him. Now, however, he doubted it. She might possibly be persuaded to come by Nottingham, but Irons was not sure he wanted that.

He would have to find some other way now of acquiring what he needed: Sara's blood.

*****

Sara stood in the dark outside the Ashmus Home for Children, a large brick building surrounded by a wrought iron fence and an evergreen hedge. All in all, it looked well-cared for and a pleasant place, if you had to be an orphan. Sara had nearly ended up in a place like this -- well, not as nice as this -- after her parents died, but her friend Maria's parents had taken her in.

Maybe that's why this case still had such a hold on her. There but for the grace of Maria's family What she still couldn't figure out was why Nottingham had wanted her to look into this case.

He loped across the lawn, the dogs and children following.

Irons wouldn't be so bold to bring his test subjects into his own home, would he? Of course he would. He thought he was untouchable, and, unfortunately, in most respects, he was probably right.

With a sigh, Sara turned around and walked back to her car. There was nothing she could do here tonight.

*****

Nottingham stood motionless in the courtyard doorway, the pack of children behind him silent and wide-eyed. Only when Sara drove away did he step out and motion the children to the van that waited outside the back gate. As they entered, he moved to the driver's side. The window rolled down and he passed a bag through to the blonde woman at the wheel.

"Two million?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"As agreed," Nottingham answered. "Plus identification papers." The last child entered and the van's back door closed. "I will know if you do not fulfill your end of the bargain."

The woman's eyes dropped to the ground and she had to try several times before she could speak.

"I will," she said, still not looking at him. "I owe you. They'll be fine."

He nodded and took a step back. After a moment of hesitation, the woman rolled up the window and started the car. As it pulled past him, small hands waved to him through the windows, and just before it rounded the corner, he raised a hand in return.

*****

Jake didn't put down the paper as Sara came into the office. He wasn't sure he was talking to her after she had left him saddled with paperwork yesterday. He'd see what kind of a mood she was in before he decided for sure.

He heard her sit down across from him and sigh. As he mindlessly scanned the page in front of him, the paper was suddenly snatched from his hands.

"Hey!" he yelled. "I was reading that!"

His partner spread the paper on the desk, her eyes speeding across one of the front page stories. After a moment, Jake was able to read the upside-down headline: "Orphanage director found dead; 13 children missing."

"Sara?" Jake said. "Sara!" Her head snapped up, and Jake was baffled by the look of betrayal in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

She dropped her head down and shook it. When she raised it again, the betrayal had been replaced by sadness.

"Nothing." She tossed the paper back onto his desk. "You can't save everyone, right?" She laughed, but it had a bitter edge to it. "Sometimes I don't even know why I try."

Jake had opened his mouth to respond, but the captain's voice came from behind him.

"MaCartey, Pezzini, you're up." Jake turned and was handed a slip of paper. "Have fun, kids."

The captain left and Jake looked down at the paper - there was a name, address, and a brief description.

"Hey, that's weird," he said, holding the paper out to his partner. "It's the head of Gerodyne. Isn't that where that Patterson guy worked?"

"Yeah," she said and took the paper. "Multiple stab wounds to the base of the neck," she read. "From large-bore syringes. Possibly injected with unknown chemicals." She smiled grimly and handed the paper back. "You know, somehow I don't think we're going to solve this one," she said, then stood up. "Come on, partner. We've got work to do."

*****

The End.

What did you think? E-mail me at kusine@yahoo.com.