Title:  Thanksgiving

Author:  Madame Hausfrau

Rating:  PG-13 

Legal:  'Witchblade' is the property of Top Cow and Warner Brothers Productions.

Summary:  Two months after 'Consectato', everyone regroups to reflect on what's really important.       

Note:  This story heralds my debut into the addictive WB universe. Any and all reviews are appreciated. Since this is one of our main holidays for 2002, Kenneth Irons is around to enjoy the festivities. In the meantime, I'll keep syntax errors to a minimum and figure out these posting procedures. Enjoy! 

Congrats to Will Y. Lee (Danny) who portrayed Col. Moon in 'Die Another Day'.  The movie was awesome!

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Ian Nottingham was instantly awake.  Bleary-eyed and disgusted, he let his cell phone ring for as long as he

dared,  knowing who it was and dreading it.  He knew Irons detested waiting but Ian was way past caring. 

After pulling a twenty-hour shift, all he craved was sleep, preferably uninterrupted.

Emitting an irritated grunt, he flipped onto his back and spoke into his offending STARTAC. 

"Yes, Sir", Ian modulated. 

"Good morning, Ian.  I trust you rested well after your exceptional work yesterday.  Prepare the jet, for I've received a most delightful invitation to holiday with friends in Austria for a weeks' time."

……You have friends?!  Ian sarcastically mused while Irons elaborated the particulars. 

   "Make the usual travel arrangements while I pack a few items.  Pending weather restrictions, I expect to be airborne by noon.  Contact me immediately upon flight clearance, and Ian,"…..Irons quipped,

"Sir",…..

"I've decided to let you remain behind.  Maintain surveillance on our fair Sara and  report in daily."

Ian met the abrupt dial tone with an internal beatific smile.  The need for sleep suddenly cast away, he rolled out of bed, settling into slow careful stretches; although abbreviated, the exercise allowed him to mentally prepare his

day- hell, his week, for an euphoric fifteen minutes.

Not having fallen off the turnip truck, Ian realized his own actions would most likely be monitored during Kenneth's absence.  Analyzing all scenarios, Ian resolved to rest and relax but remain alert for the usual suspects: i.e. hidden cameras, recorders, bugs, etc.  . Ian wished his personal space secure- if only for a precious week.  With one final lunge he headed for the shower.  Fifteen minutes later, his PC hummed with life while several calls were placed and reservations confirmed.  Printing Irons' final travel itinerary was a snap; in fact, any task hastening the man's departure to areas of considerable distance, especially overseas, was performed with whoop-ass gusto. 

****************

 At 6:00 a.m., Ian decided to catnap while awaiting word from Vorshlag's pilot.  He was one hour in before his cell rang again.

"Yes, Sir?" Ian inquired.

….."Hello, Ian.  I'm pleased that your tone is civilly polite.  That's good.  Your schedule permitting, I'd like to meet with you this afternoon…..say 2:00 p.m. @ the usual place.  Thanks for your time.  G'bye."

Ian's thoughts drifted to and fro…"Not to worry my friend, I'll  be there…..I'll definitely be there."

With that, Ian again drifted off, to a place where all was right in the world and Sara was once again his……. 

*******************

11:30 a.m., met Ian following behind an immaculately tailored Kenneth Irons as the pair traveled deep within

the bowels of the secluded corporate jet entrances of  LaGuardia airport.  Passing through obligatory security

checkpoints and onto the tarmac, both men were grateful for their dark wool overcoats; unstated but welcome

 respites from the bitter winds that grace  New York winters without fail.     

"Young Nottingham," Irons said, glancing at his ever-present pocket watch, "proceed with your back brief."

"Sir," Ian began, snapping to parade-rest, mentally verbalizing Irons' 'to-do-list' much to the generator's

complete satisfaction,  noting all the while, the familiar  pieces of luggage being placed deep within the cargo hold.   

"Excellent work, Ian," Irons beamed.  "I shall see you within a weeks' time, and remember, Ian,…..

Nottingham regarded Kenneth with a glance, "Sir?"

"Full disclosure, Ian,  full disclosure. The elder man grazed Ian with a no-nonsense look.

Nottingham raised his head even higher to give Kenneth an answer of his own, a mental 'Whatever!'………. 

"Understood, sir.  Have a safe and enjoyable stay……..until 3 December, then?"

"Until then, Ian."  Irons said smiling and hugged Ian affectionately.  "Thank you."  With that exchange, Kenneth

 turned and headed toward his plane.  Upon boarding and settling in, He was met with his usual wait staff.

 "A drink, Mr. Irons?" Kenneth glanced up from his paper into the blue eyes of Svetlana, his professional,

ever-efficient favorite.   "Yes, please.  I'll have the Regaleali Merlot."   Nodding curtly, she left his view.        

Still on the tarmac, Nottingham regarded the plane as it began to taxi down the runway.  With a sigh, Ian replayed

 the events of the last few moments:  'What gives, Father?  There are endless days, hours and minutes when

 I literally  can't stand the sight of you - then you haul off and do something nice.

  I've always  craved your approval, your acceptance, your ……love.  Such rare moments! 

However, I know I'm just a means to an end.  Your creative cruelties and continued  efforts to control………

Enough!…  It's 26 November and I have a week- one week to be!  During these few days, I will reflect

and thank, and be thankful for all I have...and have been given…for there are so many people out

 there who are without means, support, help,  nor  the basics- of food, water and shelter………….'  

***************

"Mr. Nottingham?……..Mr. Nottingham?"  Jared, one of Irons' personal drivers, took Ian from his reverie.

"It seems Mr. Irons' left this envelope in the limo, should we contact the plane?" Jared ventured, taking off his

cap momentarily to reveal neatly tapered salt & pepper hair atop a tall, swarthy, middle-aged physique.

On a whim, Ian took the bulky blank envelope, opened it, read the highly embellished note card and smiled wistfully.

"No need.  It's just my 'work' bonus."  Deeming all traditional holidays, customs and observances as 'frivolous

 and unnecessary', Nottingham knew this was Irons' way of paying him for extra services rendered.

Reading the man's mind and noting his blank but crestfallen expression, Ian suddenly took half and gave an

astonished Jared the remainder- along with a firm zip-lip gesture. 

A grateful Jared mimicked this gesture many times over, much to Ian's chagrin, before  heading back to

1111 Faust Street,  $10,000 richer,  in Irons' Lincoln Chrysler sedan; its inky sleekness oozing class and 

elegant sophistication. 

   

…"Yes, Father, we'll clash one day, but until then,……" Ian mentally deducted items from the dwindling laundry list while humming his rendition of a classic B.B. King tune, glancing ever upward as Irons' personal Learjet thundered off into the now sunny distance:

                                        ……'The thumb has gone,…… the thumb has gone away'……………     

****This ends chapter one.  Please review and whip out the red pens.  It's the only way to learn…

(Now I'm off to crank off another chapter and figure out how to post it so the margin words aren't chewed