-1Collision

Author: DarkAngelus1

Disclaimer: I own none of characters in the work below. Witchblade and The Darkness belong to Top Cow and Kenneth Irons (the one in the comic, not the wuss in the show), who is undoubtedly running everything. Bill Gates, eat your heart out!

Synopsis: The World of TNT and Top Tow come together as comic-Ian makes his first dramatic appearance in Sara Perini's life. Jackie Estacado, AKA The Darkness will be there. Kenneth Irons from the comic will also make an appearance, as he was too bad-ass to leave out. Everything after the first episode of TNT's second season will be used only sparingly as it pretty much sucked (never change writers mid-season). Long live the Witchblade, and all it's future movie and game counterparts!

Chapter Two

"What the--?"

Ian placed one hand on the cub's shoulder, silencing him with a small squeeze. He took a step forward, Excalibur whispering to him of impossible things. Images flashed through his mind, a different face in the mirror, a Wielder not his own, events he had never witnessed, and some that he had--though with different players. He felt his body sway and forced himself to stillness, all his concentration centering on the man who had caused these visions.

The man wore all black, of course. Military-style fatigues tucked into lace-up boots, black shirt and black trench coat. Better to blend into the shadows, Ian thought practically. A large silver ring in the form of a dragon flashed from the fourth finger of his gloved right hand, its small black stone gleaming in the moonlight, and Ian suspected that it was only a different form of the one he sported.

He was shorter than Ian but taller than Estacado, six-two, perhaps. Dark brown hair secured at the back of his head in a warrior's knot, a close-cropped beard hiding the lower portion of his face. His features were more Mediterranean than his own patrician ones, his eyes large and dark and surprisingly easy to read.

The man seemed to realize it too, dropping his head to watch them from beneath his lashes. Ian took a step backwards, watching with hidden amusement as the man did the same. Now that they were both in shadow, that head came up once more.

Dark forms began to take shape in those shadows, and Jackie used every bit of self control he possessed to restrain the Darkness. Something weird was going on here, and he didn't want either man dying before he figured out what it was.

"Who are you?" the stranger asked, the words laced with something resembling uncertainty.

"Someone who, apparently, shares your name," Nottingham answered cautiously. He gestured to the fully armored man beside him. "This is Jackie Estacado."

"Jackie Estacado has been dead for two years," that soft voice replied. The sound of metal-on-metal sounded as the man drew a broadsword from a sheath seemingly hidden under the trench coat. "I repeat, who are you?"

"He just told you, moron." Jackie moved to his left carefully, keeping his gaze trained on the stranger. The darklings formed out around him, whispering amongst themselves as they made plans to eat the guy, and he hoped that he could control them. They didn't always listen when there was killing to be done. "Guys, please, you're screwing with my concentration here."

He got a full three seconds of silence before the whispers started again. This time, he just ignored them. "Nottingham? How do you want to play this?"

Ian kept his gaze trained on the stranger's. "Don't kill him unless he forces you to."

The stranger paid no heed to the armored man attempting to flank him, nor the shadows that seemed to come to life, his attention focused entirely on the tall Englishman before him. "Tell him to stop where he is or I will kill him."

It was said flatly, without any inflection at all, and Ian knew that he meant it. Whether he could do it or not was another matter entirely. "Halt, Estacado."

The words were accompanied by a dribble of blood, and Jackie stopped for fear the other man would simply get himself killed trying to defend him again. "Damn it, Brit. This guy is not messing around, and we can take him."

"I know." Ian spat to one side and wiped the blood from his chin. He forced Excalibur back into its ring shape and raised his hands. "I am unarmed now, and am unfortunately not in the proper state of health to engage you. Perhaps, this is best left for another time."

"No," the stranger said forcefully. His head lowered fractionally, dark brows meeting over narrowed russet eyes, his bold features taking on a sinister cast. "I want to know why you are impersonating me, and I want to know now."

Dangerous or not, Ian simply lost patience with the man. "My name is Ian Nottingham. How I came to share that name with you, I do not know. At this moment, my lungs are filling with blood due to a puncture wound. My friend and I are trying to reach someone who can help me. I have no intention of dying tonight," he added through clenched teeth. "If you do not get out of my way right now, I will let Estacado's demons devour you."

The stranger who claimed his name stared at him steadily before inclining his head once. For the first time, he let his gaze stray to the other man. Roughly six-feet tall, with black hair well past his shoulders, he was covered from his toes to just above his eyes by what appeared to be some kind of soft, perhaps organic, armor. The eyes were blazing yellow pits, rimmed in a red that bespoke of demonic origins. Not truly well versed in the satanic, he none-the-less recognized the accompanying odor of brimstone.

Not to mention, the small army of demons currently chattering away at his feet. A dead giveaway, he thought with a rare flash of humor. He sheathed his sword with quick, economical movements, and assumed the 'at ease' stance: legs braced apart, arms clasped behind his back, head lowered. "Where were you taking him?" he asked, slanting a sidelong glance at the one who called himself Estacado as he spoke.

Jackie glared at him, pissed that he had been denied yet another chance to take someone's head off, especially with the darklings chafing at their tether. "I'm taking him to Long Nose Vinnie's," he snarled, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the bar.

"Ah, I will accompany you, then."

"Oh, hell no, goth boy. I--"

"It's all right," Ian broke in, very carefully putting one foot in front of

the other as he made his way to Estacado's side. "I have a feeling that we are farther from home than we realized. He will likely know the people here better than us--"

Jackie scowled. "This is not a good idea."

"--and I am about to collapse. So, if you could help me as you did before. . .?"

"Well, why the hell didn't you say so?" Jackie exclaimed, forcing the

armor away. He pulled his arm across his shoulder and supported him.

"I believe that I just did," Ian murmured as he passed out.

"Shit!" Jackie looked at the stranger impatiently. "Well, don't just stand there. Help me. This guy weighs a ton."

The other man called Ian Nottingham came forward and quickly took the Englishman's free arm. Shouldering him with grunt, he quickly agreed. "Yes, he is quite heavy."

Great, Jackie thought, another one that talked fancy like the Brit. Just what he needed. The unconscious man's breathing became more labored, the wheezing louder, and Jackie swore viciously. "Don't you die on me, you cryptic son of a bitch. I don't want to get my ass kicked by your psycho girlfriend."

Nottingham frowned slightly at the images filling his mind, triggered by contact with the unconscious man. A very beautiful Latino woman with enormous brown eyes, a muscular man of indeterminable age with silver-blond hair, a young Japanese girl with eyes full of dreams and tears. Another Japanese girl, more sophisticated this time, in bed with a man he didn't know. The three women he didn't recognize. As for the man. . .

He pushed his suspicions away and helped Estacado drag the dead weight between them to the back of the strip club. He tried the knob and found it locked. "Can you hold him on your own?"

"Yeah." Jackie shifted awkwardly and held on to the Brit, wishing he weren't so damned tall. "What've you got in mind?"

The other man flashed him a surprisingly childlike smile before simply grasping the doorknob and turning it sharply. The lock broke and he slipped inside, leaving Jackie to laugh as he kicked back to watch the show. With nothing more than his hands, the stranger took down all eight men in the club's back room. Some were alive, some were dead, all were incapacitated. But, hey, they had a safe place to take the Brit. That's what counted.

Nottingham came back and they took Ian into the back office. They set the Brit down on the sofa, and Jackie winced at the sheer amount of pinkish froth bubbling up between his lips. "Nottingham!" he shook the man's shoulders and cursed violently when he didn't get a response.

He looked up at the stranger and said, "Is Vinnie lying around here somewhere dead?"

"No, he is absent tonight." Nottingham pulled a cell phone from inside his coat and swiftly dialed a number. "Mr. Carletti, this is Ian Nottingham. I am in your office and require your presence." A pause, and then, "Yes, I mean now. And bring a doctor who will be discreet."

He closed the phone and settled back in a plush chair to wait. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, studying the two men over his tented fingers. "Now, tell me how he came to have my name."

Jackie rolled his now-brown eyes. "I don't know, man. It's just his name." He glanced at the Brit, who's skin was beginning to look a little gray around the edges, and sighed. "Why don't you tell me why you think I'm dead?" he said, searching the Brit for the gun he always carried on him. He found it and shoved it in the waistband of his jeans.

Nottingham crossed one leg over the other as he continued to study them. "Jackie Estacado was an enforcer for Frankie Franchetti. Two years ago he was gunned down outside of his home, an obvious gang hit."

"No way!" Jackie paused in the act of pulling off his leather jacket. "Somebody actually had the balls to take me out?"

That earned him a small smile from the solemn man. "Rumor has it that it was an inside job, that someone within the organization authorized the hit."

"Who?" he demanded, thinking of the heads that would shortly be rolling.

"Frankie Franchetti," came the calm answer.

"Son of a bitch!" Jackie slumped back in his seat, surprised at the hurt that spread through him. Similar to what he'd felt as he'd watched his 'uncle' kill his beloved Jenny. "Why?" he asked in a much quieter, more controlled tone.

This time it was Nottingham who shrugged. "I'm not sure. It had nothing to do with Vorshlag Industries, so I paid little attention."

If he was trying to distract him, it was working, Jackie thought with irritation. "Vor what?"

"Vorshlag Industries." The dark head tipped to one side consideringly. "Kenneth Irons' company."

Jackie snorted. "Him, I know. Where I'm from, it's called Irons International." He realized what he'd just said and groaned. "God, not again." This had better not be Hell. He drew a deep breath and asked, "We're still in New York, right?"

"Yes."

"Thank God," he muttered with a relief that he knew was bogus. "The towers still gone?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Jackie frowned as he tried to get his bearings. "Is Batman still running around Gotham, fighting the good fight?"

Nottingham matched his frown. "Who?"

"Damn," Jackie muttered, not liking this at all. "How about Superman up in Metropolis?"

"No."

Jackie swore roughly, raking his hair back out of his face. "I don't suppose you've heard of the Darkness, either?"

"Yes, I have." Nottingham sat straight up in his chair, his amber eyes narrowing on the other man. "In the alley, I heard you claim that title for yourself, which is impossible. Jackie Estacado was the last of the bloodline, and he never came into the gift."

Jackie stared at him, floored. "How old was he when he died?" he ask-ed quickly.

"Nineteen," came the soft answer.

"So, the timelines or whatever, they're running parallel," he murmured, half to himself.

Nottingham drew a deep breath and thought, I have to warn him. If he is truly who he claims to be, and Father finds out that he exists. . .He shuddered at the thought of what Kenneth Irons would do to get the power of the Darkness for himself.

He opened his mouth to speak when he heard a commotion in the hall-way. Carletti, he thought, drawing his Glock and aiming for the door. The short, balding, overweight Italian came through the door slowly. His fear was obvious as he saw Nottingham with the gun. He swallowed hard and forced himself to enter the room, followed by yet another stereotypical Italian.

Vinnie glanced at the couch and did a double-take. "You're dead," he stated, blinking to assure himself that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

"Yeah," Jackie snapped, "I keep hearing that."

Nottingham hid a smile as he observed the gangster's reaction. He suspected that having Estacado around was going to prove to quite entertaining. Provided he could keep Father ignorant of his identity, of course.

He cleared his throat, watching with satisfaction as Carletti jumped. "As you can see," he gestured towards the sofa, "I have a problem. I'd like it fixed."

"You want me to kill him?"

"No, I want you to fix him." Nottingham felt like slapping the idiot. "My. . .cousin is visiting from England, and he had a little accident tonight. So, If you would be so kind. . ."

"Oh, of-of course." Vinnie waved the doctor forward, and went behind his desk. He dropped in his chair gratefully, not wanting to give Irons' head of security a reason to kill him.

Jackie scooted to the end of the couch and watched suspiciously as the 'doctor' examined the Brit. The man, who Jackie actually didn't know, muttered to himself the whole time. While he didn't understand all of it, he caught enough to know that Nottingham needed to be in the damn hospital, not the back room of a strip club.

He looked at the stranger and said, "You got a place where we can take him? Hole up for a while, maybe?"

Nottingham merely nodded and watched the doctor work. "Mr. Carletti, we will need to borrow your man for a few days, until my cousin's condition stabilizes. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, no problem," Vinnie said quickly, just wanting them to get the hell out of his club. "Keep him as long you want."

"Thank you." To Jackie, he said, "I have a car nearby. If you will give me a few minutes, I will go retrieve it."

"Go for it. Vinnie ain't going to try nothing, are you, Vinnie?"

It might have been the menacing tone of voice Estacado used, or the

truly evil smile that spread across his face, that convinced Carletti not to call Don Franchetti with the news that the boy was still alive.

Nottingham smiled as the gangster stuttered a suitable reply. Holstering his weapon, he tugged at the ever-present gloves on his hands and stood. He turned on his heel and left the club, realizing that he would have to kill Carletti to keep this little meeting a secret. Once his name-bearer was healed, the doctor would have to be eliminated as well. No witnesses to carry tales--to either Don Franchetti or Kenneth Irons.

He walked the three blocks to his car swiftly and drove the Jaguar back to the club. He left it unlocked as he went back inside, knowing that no one would be stupid enough to steal his car.

Jackie waited in the Jag while Nottingham went back inside. He had a feeling that he knew what the other man was doing, and he had no intention of stopping him. Vinnie's eyes had slid to the phone on his desk so many times that Jackie was amazed he hadn't had to off him himself. The Brit in the back seat couldn't defend himself, so the other man was doing it for him. Weird, but it seemed to be true. Maybe it was that honor thing the Brit had been going on about.

He glanced turned sideways in the seat, keeping an eye on the two men behind him. The Brit was still out, his breath still rattling in his chest. The doctor had used the cellophane from Jackie's pack of cigarettes, a straw, and some tape to give him more air, but his lungs were still filling with blood. The sooner they got him to wherever they were going, the better Jackie was going to feel about this whole thing.

For the first time, he wondered where Pezzini had ended up. He hoped that she ended up on Trick Street. He chuckled at the thought. Considering how the Witchblade always managed to shred her clothes while protecting her she'd fit right in. It served her right. If she'd just grown a set and learned how to control that damned gauntlet, none of this would've happened.

Personally, he thought that the Brit was crazy for putting up with her crap. Any woman treated him like that and he'd toss her to the curb, bonded by fate or not. The last thing any self-respecting guy needed was a bitchy, holier-than-thou hypocrite treating him like shit. God, maybe he was better off without the sex he missed so much. After all, it always came attached to a person.

Or maybe he'd just work harder at creating a woman out of the Darkness to take care of him. The first few attempts hadn't turned out so well, but he had a looong time to practice, so. . .

His thoughts were cut short as the car door opened and Nottingham climbed in. The other man shot him a meaningful look and he nodded in return. Vinnie wouldn't be carrying any tales of dead men and non-existent cousins to anyone.

"I have a loft in SoHo," Nottingham said softly as he pulled out of the alley. "I've arranged for all the necessary equipment to be delivered there tomorrow. Romano here," the man in the back seat looked up upon hearing his name, then remembered to mind his own business, "will care for our friend until he has recovered enough to move around on his own. I won't be able to spend much time there, but I'll make sure that you have everything that you need."

"Uh, thanks." Jackie ran an agitated hand through his blue-black hair. "No offense, but do you mind if I ask why you're helping us?"

"Everything is connected," Nottingham said, remembering what he had seen when he touched the other man. "I'm not sure how yet, but I know that it's true. When your friend wakes up, I hope to find out more."

"Good luck," Jackie said with a snort. "That man is cryptic as hell, and he doesn't talk much."

"No, I'm sure he that doesn't." Nottingham allowed himself a small smile. "I am curious about both of you, and why you ended up here. Can we not leave it at that?"

Jackie leveled cold, flat brown eyes on him. "If you screw us over, I'll kill you," he said finally.

The smile grew. "I believe you would try, Mr. Estacado."

"Try hell!" Jackie matched his smile, pushing the intensity away. "I'd wipe the floor with you, if there was enough left to do it with."

Nottingham laughs, and he is startled at the sound. He'd thought that he had forgotten how. "Threat duly noted."

He pulled into an underground garage and pulled into an open spot. They dragged the unconscious man into the elevator, and Nottingham punched the button for the top floor. They took the big man into the apartment silently, and Nottingham led them to the largest room in the loft. They laid him on the bed, and stepped back, watching the doctor work for a few minutes.

He gestured to Estacado, who followed him into the small kitchen. "I must go," he said abruptly. "Mr. Irons will wonder at my tardiness if I do not. There is plenty of food, and a television should you desire something to alleviate your boredom."

"Yeah, thanks," Jackie mumbled uncomfortably.

The other man nodded and handed him a piece of paper. "This is the code for the security system. If you don't remember to use it, it will go off. It's quite loud. Also," he added, "the number of my cell phone should you need it. Please, don't call unless it's an emergency. I would have to lie to Father about your identity, and he would know it."

"Knows you too well, huh?"

Nottingham shrugged. "I simply do not lie well."

"Okay," Jackie responded slowly. Somehow, he was surprised. The Ian Nottingham he knew could lie like a rug--an expensive one, of course. And what was with this guy calling Irons 'Father'? He'd have to ask the Brit about it when he woke up. If he woke up, Jackie thought with a sigh.

Nottingham misinterpreted that sigh. "You should be safe here, Estacado. To my knowledge, Father hasn't discovered this place, yet."

Yeah, that was reassuring, Jackie thought sourly. "And if he does?"

"You'll have to kill him," came the unexpected response.

"Why?" he asked, only mildly curious.

"Because he will do anything to acquire power, and yours is. . .special."

"That's one way of putting it," he muttered. "And you'd just let me do him, if it came down to it?"

Nottingham's expression darkened. "No, you would have to kill me, as well."

"Fuck."

"Exactly." He managed another small smile. "Take care of. . .me."

Jackie gave an unwilling laugh and nodded. "You got it, goth boy. Watch your back."

"You as well." Nottingham did something then that shocked him; he ex-tended his hand and let the other man shake it. "Good night, Mr. Estacado, and good luck."

Jackie studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Jackie, man. Call me Jackie."

"Jackie, then."