Late Night Interlude
By Elf/Kameka
* * * * * *
Ian Nottingham watched Sara Pezzini toss and turn from his perch on the fire escape. There was a possibility that Sara was having a bad dream brought on by her work as a Homicide detective, but the bracelet on her wrist negated that. The stone in the center of the Witchblade was glowing and Ian's enhanced sight could see the swirling colors. Sara always woke from the visions quickly, and Ian stayed where he was so she wouldn't see him when she did wake up. Thirty minutes passed while Ian waited, and he grew more concerned over each of those minutes.
Finally, he gave into his concern. The lock wasn't a deterrent, and he easily climbed through the large window closest to him. He moved slowly towards the occupied bed, ready to leap into the shadows should the Wielder wake up.
Reaching out to brush the hair away from her sweaty forehead, he gently ran his gloved finger across her skin. He smiled slightly when Sara automatically turned her face towards his touch, and stroked her again. "Lady Sara," he whispered almost inaudibly. A part of him wanted to wake her, to see her looking at him with leaf green eyes clouded with sleep.
A drowsy "hmm?" was his answer, murmured by Sara as she twisted once again and tried to burrow into the pillow.
Ian looked at the tangled sheets on the bed and grimaced. He was sure that Sara would be much more comfortable on fresh sheets, but he wasn't sure if she would sleep through him moving her to and from the sofa. Sara twisted again, flinging one arm across the mattress next to her as if warding odd something, and Ian touched her face again. "It's alright, Lady Sara, nothing can hurt you."
His reassurance went unanswered as Sara twisted again, taking hold of the pillow beneath her head and flinging it to the floor.
Ian knelt beside the bed and watched her continue to move without rhyme or reason, until he finally took off his glove and reached out to touch her face again, wondering if she had a temperature. Her skin was warm but not hot, and Ian sighed with relief.
He pulled back from the contact, frowning when Sara began to move on the bed again. Hesitantly, he reached to her again, resting his hand on her cheek, and the woman he touched instantly stilled. "Lonely, are you?" he asked in that same whisper.
He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed with his hand still on her face, fingertips gently stroking. "I know what that is like. No man is an island in and of himself. It doesn't mean that men aren't isolated, alone in the shadows on the fringe of the society."
Sara sighed and curled up on the mattress, one arm folded beneath her head.
Ian traced her free arm, the one that held the Witchblade. "This ensures your isolation. It has great gifts, but comes at a price few could bear. You're strong enough to be one of those few, Sara."
Sara fidgeted slightly and blindly moved her arm until her hand connected with Ian's.
"Want me to stay?" Ian smiled and bent over to pick up the pillow from where it had fallen. Using his free hand to gently lift Sara, he placed it under her head. A sharp tug brought his hazel eyes to her face, marred by a frown.
"What's wrong now?" His answer was another sharp tug, one that propelled his unsuspecting body onto the bed next to her. He lay rigidly for a moment, stunned and about to get up, before he felt Sara's weight curl up next to him as she placed her head on his chest and draped her arm across his body.
"My sitting wasn't enough?" He chuckled when his question was answered with a slight shake of her head. "Alright, milady, I'll stay with you. Your knight will keep the demons at bay so you can rest."
Ian relaxed his body, an easy task when he could feel Sara's warmth moving through his flesh straight into his bones. He doubted this was what Irons had meant when he ordered Ian to watch Sara, but at this moment, Ian wasn't worried.
No man is an island, in and of himself, Ian thought as he drifted off to sleep with the woman who completes him.
*
The next morning, Sara woke feeling wonderfully refreshed. She climbed out of bed and stretched, her eyes going to the twin indentations on the pillow. Frowning, she remembered her dream, a Witchblade vision. The memory of Joan being hunted by her countrymen and burned at the stake. During the dream, she remembered the acrid tang of fear and heat from billowing smoke being replaced with a cool gray mantle of contentedness. She tore her gaze from the indentations and looked towards the fire escape. Could it be?
The End
* * * * * *
Ian Nottingham watched Sara Pezzini toss and turn from his perch on the fire escape. There was a possibility that Sara was having a bad dream brought on by her work as a Homicide detective, but the bracelet on her wrist negated that. The stone in the center of the Witchblade was glowing and Ian's enhanced sight could see the swirling colors. Sara always woke from the visions quickly, and Ian stayed where he was so she wouldn't see him when she did wake up. Thirty minutes passed while Ian waited, and he grew more concerned over each of those minutes.
Finally, he gave into his concern. The lock wasn't a deterrent, and he easily climbed through the large window closest to him. He moved slowly towards the occupied bed, ready to leap into the shadows should the Wielder wake up.
Reaching out to brush the hair away from her sweaty forehead, he gently ran his gloved finger across her skin. He smiled slightly when Sara automatically turned her face towards his touch, and stroked her again. "Lady Sara," he whispered almost inaudibly. A part of him wanted to wake her, to see her looking at him with leaf green eyes clouded with sleep.
A drowsy "hmm?" was his answer, murmured by Sara as she twisted once again and tried to burrow into the pillow.
Ian looked at the tangled sheets on the bed and grimaced. He was sure that Sara would be much more comfortable on fresh sheets, but he wasn't sure if she would sleep through him moving her to and from the sofa. Sara twisted again, flinging one arm across the mattress next to her as if warding odd something, and Ian touched her face again. "It's alright, Lady Sara, nothing can hurt you."
His reassurance went unanswered as Sara twisted again, taking hold of the pillow beneath her head and flinging it to the floor.
Ian knelt beside the bed and watched her continue to move without rhyme or reason, until he finally took off his glove and reached out to touch her face again, wondering if she had a temperature. Her skin was warm but not hot, and Ian sighed with relief.
He pulled back from the contact, frowning when Sara began to move on the bed again. Hesitantly, he reached to her again, resting his hand on her cheek, and the woman he touched instantly stilled. "Lonely, are you?" he asked in that same whisper.
He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed with his hand still on her face, fingertips gently stroking. "I know what that is like. No man is an island in and of himself. It doesn't mean that men aren't isolated, alone in the shadows on the fringe of the society."
Sara sighed and curled up on the mattress, one arm folded beneath her head.
Ian traced her free arm, the one that held the Witchblade. "This ensures your isolation. It has great gifts, but comes at a price few could bear. You're strong enough to be one of those few, Sara."
Sara fidgeted slightly and blindly moved her arm until her hand connected with Ian's.
"Want me to stay?" Ian smiled and bent over to pick up the pillow from where it had fallen. Using his free hand to gently lift Sara, he placed it under her head. A sharp tug brought his hazel eyes to her face, marred by a frown.
"What's wrong now?" His answer was another sharp tug, one that propelled his unsuspecting body onto the bed next to her. He lay rigidly for a moment, stunned and about to get up, before he felt Sara's weight curl up next to him as she placed her head on his chest and draped her arm across his body.
"My sitting wasn't enough?" He chuckled when his question was answered with a slight shake of her head. "Alright, milady, I'll stay with you. Your knight will keep the demons at bay so you can rest."
Ian relaxed his body, an easy task when he could feel Sara's warmth moving through his flesh straight into his bones. He doubted this was what Irons had meant when he ordered Ian to watch Sara, but at this moment, Ian wasn't worried.
No man is an island, in and of himself, Ian thought as he drifted off to sleep with the woman who completes him.
*
The next morning, Sara woke feeling wonderfully refreshed. She climbed out of bed and stretched, her eyes going to the twin indentations on the pillow. Frowning, she remembered her dream, a Witchblade vision. The memory of Joan being hunted by her countrymen and burned at the stake. During the dream, she remembered the acrid tang of fear and heat from billowing smoke being replaced with a cool gray mantle of contentedness. She tore her gaze from the indentations and looked towards the fire escape. Could it be?
The End