Connections
Part Two - A Little Light Dinner Conversation
Sara paid the deliveryman and took the boxes from him. She set them on the coffee table and lit some candles against the coming evening. Keep it calm and relaxed she thought, he is probably going to be embarrassed enough by last night. I don't think he has ever had someone to just talk to, tell secrets to. She was about to go after Ian when he appeared, walking into the living room with his vest and tie over his arm as if about to leave. He seemed just a little more relaxed, some of the tension was gone and he was more or less rested. "Hey, Nottingham, put those down and get some dinner, then we can talk." She ignored this obvious attempt to leave, determined that after all of that, he was not going anywhere without an explanation, without letting her in on what he wanted in the first place. Sara handed him a plate and pointed to the boxes, acting as if things were perfectly normal, as if last night's conversation had never happened.
"Certainly, Sara, whatever you wish." Some of his formality had returned and she was unsure how to take that. He sat down on the opposite side of the couch trying to act casually, as if this was an everyday occurrence, wishing he could just enjoy the moment of peace between them.
"You better take those off," Sara said, pointing to his gloves. He removed them, moving his ring back onto his hand. He took a slice of pizza and gave a cautious bite. His stomach took over from there. Three more pieces later Sara laughed. "Easy, Boy, you are going to make yourself sick. When was your last real meal?" She was enjoying the sight of his elegant if slightly rumpled figure sitting on her couch doing something so normal as eating pizza.
"Actually, I have been trying to remember myself." he told her, smiling a little shyly at her.
"The same time you got some sleep?" she asked.
"Probably."
'Then do me a favor and at least slow down." Ian nodded. It was nice to have her treat him like a person, not some kind of freak, especially after last night, after she knew so much about him. He relaxed a little bit more, just enjoying her company. She got up and went into the kitchen and his eyes followed her. She grabbed a couple of bottles of water and tossed one to him, he caught it and drank most of it in one swallow. She shrugged and threw him the other one, getting a new one for herself.
"Sara, I wanted to thank you for last night, for your help," he started, not sure what else to say.
"You needed help. I was here."
"I just... I told you things, things that."
"Ian, listen, what you said to me last night stays there, just between you and me. We both have secrets, some of them we share. I guess just now we are all we can trust." She turned back to her dinner trying to keep them both from embarrassment. This situation had gotten out of control and she was not sure how to react. She didn't want to embarrass him. hell, she wished she could forget some of what she had learned last night. It would be a lot easier. Ian was startled by her candor; she seemed to actually accept him. He wanted to reach out, tell her how much her words meant to him, but too many years of training held him back. He didn't know how. And always overall, the fear that she would suddenly change her mind, reject him. He couldn't let that happen now.
They sat and ate, letting the quiet settle in, each in their own thoughts. Sara finished her third slice of pizza, and looked up to catch his quick glance at the box. He had finished his, all of it, and was watching her eat. She smiled; well at least his appetite seems to be recovering. "Go for it." She told him.
"I'm sorry?" he asked.
"You're still hungry, have some of mine." He gave her a questioning look, and she nodded to reassure him. "Are you always this hungry?"
"Well, not in the last few days, but yes, usually." Sara shook her head.
"Amazing, you must have been hell to feed as a teenager."
"So I have been told." A quick flash of humor as they both ignored the brush with last night's conversation.
"Ian, how old are you?"
"I'm thirty. why do you ask?"
"Just another in the long list of things I don't know about you." "You have a list?" he asked, that rarely seen playful tone in his voice for just a moment. "Actually," he continued more slowly, "I didn't think you cared to know."
"Yeah, well, until last night I didn't. But I think I have changed my mind." She looked down, the conversation had gotten serious again and she was unsure what to say next. She phrased the sentence very carefully. "Ian. last night I found out a lot about your father and a lot about your upbringing, your memories. But even after all that I know very little about you. I just have pieces, but I think that I want to know more. I think that it is important somehow." Sara looked at him cautiously, afraid that after that he would bolt. He just sat there quietly for a moment looking down, gathering his thoughts.
"I would like that," he said softly.
Sara looked down and gathered the boxes and plates, filling the silence with activity.
"Can I help?" Ian asked.
"Don't worry, there's not much to do."
As Sara went into the kitchen, Ian stepped into the other room to wash his hands. They were both thinking very hard, trying to figure out what to say to each other now. In a brief moment everything had changed again and neither knew quite how to go on.
By the time Sara came back and sat down on the couch, Ian had returned. She noticed that he had put his gloves back on.
"Why?" she asked him, before she could stop herself.
"What?"
"Why do you still wear them?" It saddened her, enraged her to see him still trapped by his fathers' rules. But she had no way to explain it to him that he would understand.
"Because, Sara, I don't know how not to," he answered simply. "They have become a part of who I am."
"No. They are a part of who you were." She was fighting to control her temper, knowing that he was not the man she was furious with, and that he wouldn't understand. It frustrated the hell out of her, she had always had a soft spot for wounded children and kicked dogs, and Nottingham, well in his own way he was both. How could she possibly explain that what she wanted more than anything at this exact moment was to bring his father back from beyond the grave so that she could kill him deliberately this time? "Now, you decide who you are, who you want to be." She looked up at him. The tension had risen again, and she was almost sorry she had started this. Almost. She wondered if he would respond or if he would he duck.
"And who is that exactly?" he asked, half-pleading. "Irons wanted me as the perfect extension of his will, and you?" He looked her in the eyes. "What about you, Sara, you who are the only one left to me? You want me to cast off the habits of a lifetime to become. what? Who am I to you, Sara? What do you want me to be?" There was no malice, no anger in his words, although they shocked her deeply. "I made the decision and now I have no idea how to go about it." He looked at her, sad, frustrated, lost. all she could think about was comforting him, a strange enough thought in its own way. Slowly she held out her arms, wondering if he would leave, not real sure what to do if he accepted. She wondered how long it had been since anyone but Irons had even tried to touch him.
After years of rigid discipline it was hard to reach out. He was trying desperately to keep control. Slowly, awkwardly, he leaned forward into her arms. He was rigid, stiff.She held him gently, waiting for him to relax, afraid that he couldn't, wondering what to do if he tried to break away. She leaned closer, letting him rest his cheek against her hair. They sat like that for a long moment before he began to relax a little against her. He reached out, shaking a little, and put his arms around her, desperately craving the comfort she offered.
She shifted and looked up at him. "It is not up to me to decide that, it's up to you. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to push you. I wish I could understand, but I don't, and I can't explain it to you. No frame of reference. You are also asking me to accept a lot, and I am just as confused as you are. Nothing makes sense right now." He tightened his hold on her, afraid of his own reaction. He wanted to run, to stay. Kindness was shattering in its own way, when you had no experience, no blueprint for how to react to it. Trying as hard as he could not to ruin this-all that he had left to keep him in this life-he needed to quiet his mind and just enjoy this moment. the care she was showing him, the feel of her close to him. He forced himself to relax a little more, to accept anything that she offered.
Sara's mind was whirling like a carnival ride. She felt Ian relax against her and tried to figure out at exactly what point she had lost control of this situation. how she found herself holding the most confusing man she had ever met in her arms. Between life and death struggles, she either wanted to kill him, or run from him. Now she was just holding him as both their worlds fell apart and discovering that she actually cared for him. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his shoulder; surprised and pleased when he didn't flinch away. She had to admit, if only to herself, that it felt good to be this close to him. She wondered if he felt the same sense of safety, as if this were all very familiar somehow. After all he was someone who could help her with this thing, the Witchblade, which had taken over her life. Someone who could watch her back when no one else could and understand what she was going through. Everything hung on his decision, whatever that was. Had he come here originally to help her or to tell her she was on her own? The only thing she was sure of was that he was not here to avenge his father, to kill her. I'm sure he still feels the obligation that Irons instilled in him. If he makes the offer, should I accept? I won't be responsible for him. Overall, I think I would prefer it if he helps me because he really wants to.
She slipped her foot out from under her to ease her back and slid a little closer to him. "Ian." she said quietly. Her voice came from so close it startled him a little, but he did not let go, determined to hold on for as long as she would let him. "What was the decision?" She shifted in his arms so that she could look up at him, sure that he would break away from her, not sure she wanted him to. He raised his head and looked at her. So close, I could almost.He shut that thought down immediately.
"I'm sorry?" he asked, like someone waking up from a dream.
"You said you made a decision. What was it? Or do you want to tell me?"
"Two purposes, two desires," he said simply. "Irons is dead, you are not. I will stand by you, as much and as close as you will allow me. Help you as much as I can." He waited to see how she would react, half-expecting her usual sarcasm to emerge.
"Are you doing this for him or for me?" she asked.
"Both. and for myself." She smiled, accepting that as the best of all possible answers. Maybe there was some hope for him. Maybe he would be able to break out of the box he had been kept a more-or-less willing prisoner in for so long. She held him for a little while longer, then gave him a gentle squeeze and let go slowly.
"In that case we really need to talk." She put her hand on his arm reassuringly and he gave her a sweet, shy smile.
"I would stay close to you forever." Deadly, loyal, shy, sweet. God, I'm learning an awful lot about Ian Nottingham in a short time. A lot more than I ever thought I would want to know.
"Yes, but you have to go home some time, if nothing else for fresh clothes, maybe a shower."
"Actually I have a bag in the car." She blinked at him.
"You wha-?" realizing that she might have the wrong idea, he stopped her mid-word.
"Sara, I would never presume so much," he told her, a touch hurt. "After all that has happened, the house has become. uncomfortable. Right now I just can't stay there. I am going to stay at the office, or get a hotel room. I need to get away for a little while."
"So, basically, you ran away from home." He nodded. Sara closed her eyes, trying to get a handle on this newest twist. She thought about it for a moment, and without making a conscious decision, heard herself tell him to go get his bag. If anything, Ian was more stunned than she was. She sighed. "Ian, it's late, and we still have a lot to talk about. If you stay here, there is at least a 50/50 chance of us both getting some sleep." Her tone reassured him that the offer was sincere and fresh clothes sounded really good. He thanked her as he rose and went out.
Sara just sat on the couch. Unlike everything else at this exact moment, it was solid, real, normal, and uninclined to confuse her. She put a hand over her eyes for a moment and was intensely annoyed when the phone rang. She thought about letting the machine take it, but changed her mind. Ian would be back at any moment and they did not need more distractions. "Pezzini, this had better be good," she said abruptly.
"Easy, Partner, just me. How was the date?" Danny said, unable to resist teasing her a little.
"Still here, and since when do you call at 11:00 on a Saturday night-my night off-to inquire about my love life?" she returned acerbically.
"Since Lee reminded me that I was supposed to ask you over for tomorrow night and I forgot."
"O.k., good reason. Tell her thanks and I'll take a rain check, alright?"
"I'm sure that you can bring your new friend," he said suggestively.
"No, that's all right, but another time, o.k.?
"Sure, but I expect all the details on Monday."
"Yeah, and I expect the precinct to produce drinkable coffee," she told him as she heard Ian enter and lock the door. "I'll see you Monday, got to go. O.k.?"
"Sure. You want me to pick you up?"
"Fine, later." She hung up the phone and turned to Ian. "Would you like to clean up first and then talk or the other way around?" Ian looked down at his rumpled shirt with distaste, wondering how he possibly could have let her see him like this and not even noticed. He stopped, thinking a little ruefully how much like his father that thought was, a man who always believed in showing a perfect front to the world, impeccable dress as much armor as any knight's of old. Sara watched him, smiling inwardly. He actually forgot, she thought, registering his sudden discomfort. "You know where the shower is, we can talk afterward."
"Certainly," he said, suddenly itching to be clean. He took his bag and headed toward the bathroom. Sara rose as she heard the door close. Might as well get changed herself. She wandered towards the closet and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and the tee shirt that she usually slept in. Somewhere at the back of her mind it occurred to her that it might be nice to have something a little more.. She pushed the thought back to where it came from, a little confused. Down, Pezzini, he's only here to talk and besides.That was when she noticed the clean towels. on the wrong side of the door. She grabbed a couple and knocked, hoping to catch him before he got too far along.
"Hey, Ian, forgot the towels." He opened the door and took them from her, not even noticing her pole-axed look in his haste.
"Thank you," he said as he closed the door. Sara let her breath out slowly, wondering why she was only just now noticing exactly how handsome he could be. With his hair free and his shirt undone, he was not the least bit hard on the eyes. She changed and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Got to get a grip. I need to get out more. Oh, well, when in doubt make tea. She put on the kettle and sat down to wait for him.
Ian stepped into the hot shower and relaxed a little. Of all the sanctuary he could have found, he had never pictured Sara's apartment as his place to hide, maybe to heal a little. Why was she doing this? He tried to look for motives, but unlike his father, Sara was showing him that not everyone needed them.that the world was not as simple, as black and white, as it might appear. And he trusted her. It was hard to admit in some ways, even to himself. Happiness, pleasure, emotions long banished beneath duty and loyalty were resurfacing in force. It had been a long time. when had happiness ceased to matter, buried beneath doing a good job, pleasing his father? Perhaps it is time to rediscover what it meant. what it means.to be happy? He turned off the shower and stepped out.
When he returned, he was comfortably dressed in a black sweater and sweat pants, his hair loose, and his gloves and ring in their places. He sat down next to Sara a little self-consciously. She smiled encouragingly, but the smile froze at the sight of his gloves. She tried not to let her distaste show, but he saw and his gaze dropped. Slowly, without looking at her, he removed his ring and gloves, placing the gloves on the table between them and returning the ring to his hand. Sara thought for a moment, wondering how to respond to the gesture. Looking down, she caught sight of the 'blade on her wrist. She removed the bracelet and placed it on top of the gloves. Ian looked at her, surprised. "Now, it's just you and me," she told him. He flashed her one of his rare smiles.
"Put aside duty and obligation for a moment?" he asked.
"Something like that." They sat in silence until the whistle of the kettle startled them both. "Tea?" Sara asked, trying to act like this was normal, just a visit from a friend. Friend? At what point had Ian changed into a friend? But that he was, or at least that was part of it.
"Yes, thank you," he answered. While she busied herself in the kitchen, he glanced around the room. For the first time, he registered the familiarity of the pistol and harness on the end table on her side of the couch. It is mine. I was carrying it last night. how did I forgot it? That was a dangerous slip. he chided himself. He had registered its presence earlier, but this was the first time he had recognized it. or missed it, for that matter. He was becoming sloppy. And how did it end up on the table? "Sara." he asked uncomfortably as she returned and set the tea mugs down. "How." He pointed in the direction of the table. He took a second to phrase the question as she followed his gesture, recognizing a sudden change in his manner. She realized what he was trying to ask, but let him get the question out, giving her a few more moments to figure out what to say. "I don't remember disarming myself," he said finally. "How did you get it off of me?"
Sara considered and discarded several replies before settling for the absolute truth. "Ian, you were in a very. confused. frame of mind last night. You were grieving and exhausted and I was a little concerned about you. I couldn't let you go to sleep wearing it, and besides, I didn't want you waking up in a strange place armed." She shrugged. "It's the cop in me. Before I put you to bed, I took it off of you."
"That was.kind of you, Sara, although it was not necessarily the safest thing to do. I swear I would never have knowingly hurt you. You believe that don't you?" He gave her a pleading look.
"I was never afraid of that," she said, realizing as soon as the words were out that she really meant them. That shook her. Suddenly a flash of Ian, kneeling with a Katana held before him. Take the cause out of the man; there is no cause for a man. "But there was another possibility." She looked at him until guiltily, he lowered his eyes for a moment.
"I had thought about it. that's when I left the house." he admitted. "But I never would have done so in your house." He raised his eyes to find her looking back at him challengingly.
"No, you would have crawled off like a wounded wolf, and I wouldn't have found out until it crossed my desk. That actually bothers me."
"No, Sara, you would know." He pointed to the Witchblade.
"And that would be better. knowing and being unable to do anything about it?" she said sarcastically. "Besides, I can't always see the things I need to when I need to."
"I can show you, it's.a part of our connection. Besides, the time for that has passed anyway. I would not leave you now, not alone, with no one to help you, to protect you."
"I don't need your protection, although I appreciate the offer. What I do need is your help. Are you willing to do that? To help teach me to control this thing?"
"I came here last night to do just that, to offer you whatever I could, whatever you would take from me. I have lived with it all my life. My Father was obsessed with the Witchblade, with its power."
"Yeah, I got that part, but what do you mean about our connection?"
"When he first possessed the Witchblade, he tried to wield it himself. He could only keep it on a few moments, but in that time he bonded with it on some level. It burned the scar into his hand, and changed him. The only things he took from the encounter were the ability to see some of your visions, and a certain telepathic link. The ability to locate you, talk to you, he could even know what you feeling in some ways. I inherited those abilities. I am not sure whether that is just the contact or something to do with some of the things I underwent through his experiments that strengthened it. I am.I was connected to both of you," he saw the look of shock and anger flash across her face and hastened to explain. "I have not used it except to find you, to know that you were not in danger. It can be blocked. He taught me as a child how to block him out as he did to me. You can learn to do the same although I imagine we could still find each other. It is much stronger between us, especially now." he trailed off realizing that she was still trying to get her head around the initial information while he was spilling out words like a faucet, trying to get it all out before she changed directions again and got angry with him.
It was probably the longest single speech she had ever heard him make, barring the other night and he had not really been himself then. Irons and the Witchblade? That explained a lot. But the rest of this was enough to really make her head hurt. Sara had never been one to believe in all that mumbo jumbo, but now with the things that she had seen...it made sense in some ways. But she was not sure she wanted to believe, not sure she didn't either, certainly there were advantages.
"So that's how you've been able to find me, follow me without being seen. Pity it doesn't work on others."
"Not that I am aware." he said, a little disappointed that she went so quickly to the practical applications.
"And you're aware of my presence, even if you can't see me?" she asked.
"And you of mine, although you are not consciously aware of that. Not yet."
"You will show me?" She was trying to focus on too many things at once. She needed to get back to the information she needed but there seemed to always be more that she did not know. Just when she had picked up one piece, she discovered that it was in fact twenty more. "But not now," she said firmly, "Now we are going to get back to where we were," she said, trying to get things into perspective. "Look, Ian there is so much you have to tell me, and I know we can't do it all in one night, but I can't just keep getting side tracked. All of this is important, but I can't get my mind around it all at once."
"Everything is connected. But I understand why it is not easy. I have had a lifetime to accept what you have only begun to be aware of. I have been trained since my childhood for the moment that you would emerge and bond with the Witchblade.
"Did you know that it would be me?" she asked "That I would be chosen?"
"Yes, that is why I was there, at the museum that day."
"How long had you known?" Ian looked down, embarrassed by the admissions he knew he would now have to make, wishing he could lie to her or at least not admit everything, afraid that she would turn away from him if he did. "Ian, please, I need to know, and now." She reached out for him, sensing his conflict. "I know this is hard, for both of us. You have things to tell me, and I have to accept things about my life that I never wanted, never knew."
"You don't know.the things I have done for Mr. Irons, for my Father. It is not easy."
"Ian, just for tonight, it's just you and me, not a cop and a.whatever. Any crime you admit in connection with the Witchblade, I will ignore. This is more important and a lot of it no one else can know anyway, not that they would believe it if we told them."
"That is not what I am worried about Sara. I was not expected to be concerned about such things, about what others would think. But I am. I am worried about what you will think of me, what it will do to our.friendship?" He said, looking for a word to describe what was coming to be between them, less than what he wanted, more than he what dreamed.
"Don't worry about that, not now. I understand you've done things you are not anxious to tell me about. Look at me, I'm not proud of some of the things I've done since I got this thing. I killed your father, even though he." She stopped, the scene flashing through her mind as it had done frequently in the days that followed, the sight, sound and feel of the blade sinking in, sinking through. The words, always his voice, the words that she did and did not understand at the same time. She shook her head to clear it.
His turn to comfort her, he didn't know what to do. He reached out his hand to her, shaking a little. She saw him reach out and knowing what it took for him to make the gesture, she took it in hers. His hand was smooth, lacking the usual calluses and very strong although he held hers tentatively, almost as if he were afraid he would hurt her. He squeezed her hand gently, reassuring her. "I didn't mean." she began.
"It's over, we have no reason to relive it again, ever," he told her, just a hint of steel in the last word, giving her the out that she would not allow him. She was shocked that he could do this for her, and she wished she could give him that option, but she needed to know too badly. His hand felt good in hers, giving him as much comfort as she got.
"Now, let's get this over with. I really need to know." she said, pulling herself back together, but not releasing his hand.
"Mr. Irons has a book, a book of prophecy which foretold that the Witchblade would be taken up that day, so he put it on display at the museum, somewhere you would have access. He sent me to watch over it and you, to make sure that you.bonded." He took a moment and tried to get his thoughts and feelings in order, again. She distracted him and he needed to focus, now more than ever since she had allowed him the opportunity. He had thought a great deal about this conversation, what to say and how to say it. She wanted direct answers to direct questions, or thought she did. It was not how he was raised, Irons being the master of word games. He took a deep breath and continued. "After the explosion, we were not sure what you remembered, what you would be willing to accept. So he had me continue to watch and he tried to force a conflict. When you failed to take the bait at the Rialto, he was furious.
"The Rialto, what has that got to do with anything? It was a set up."
"It was a gift." Ian corrected gently. "Mr. Gallo had been trying to buy it for some time. Mr. Irons had me arrange for him to be there that day. You were supposed to kill him."
"God, why couldn't the man just send flowers? You have a twisted idea of gift giving, the two of you." She gave him a confused look. "Why did he want me to do that? I knew there was something wrong."
"To bond with the Witchblade, to lead you to him for the information he possessed, to control you and it through you. There are few blood heirs to the Witchblade, Sara. He believed that you were the one to be chosen." He ducked his head again, not really sure how to continue, what to tell her and how much. He wanted to tell her everything, to give it all to her, but some secrets were not his to tell. He looked up, she was still sitting there, watching him, holding his hand.
"Why me, Ian?"
"The WitchBlade chooses Sara, usually a blood heir, although not always. You come from that bloodline. It is your destiny."
"Destiny, I am getting a little tired of hearing about my destiny. My mother never heard of the thing. How could something like that be forgotten?" She asked a bit sharply. He considered carefully his answer, balancing her need to know with her impatience.
"She would not have. The Witchblade has been out of play for over 40 years. And for hundreds of years before that, it was in the possession of those who did not want it to choose a wielder unless they could control her."
"Who?"
"First, the Vatican who took it from Joan after her capture and only let it out upon occasion, with a woman handpicked by them to further their goals, then by Hitler, in trade for protection during the war. He was fascinated by objects of power, even ones he could not control. It was stolen from him by one of his staff as a gift for his mistress."
"And sometime after that Kenneth Irons got a hold of it," she asked trying to hurry the story along.
"Something like that. Ian answered quietly. Sara sensed there was more to the story than that but decided that was a story for another time. Besides, she realized, there was probably a lot more than she could get in one night, even if they talked until dawn, which was starting to look like a possibility.
"So, Irons tried to set me up to kill Gallo and got pissed when I didn't, then what?" She brought him back to the more recent past firmly.
"I.I wanted to bring you to him, let him see you. He sent me to retrieve it from you but." He looked down at her hand.
"And that is when you met me at my car." She realized that this was getting harder for him. She wondered if she should push him, decided she would do it anyway, and deal with the consequences later. "I thought you wanted me to go see him, that's what you asked me to do at any rate."
"I wanted him to see you, to release me from my order to retrieve it, to give you a chance to prove yourself."
"To prove what?" she asked, startled and a little annoyed, although she immediately tried to hide it. Ian tried to let go of her hand, but she held on tightly.
"That you are the true wielder and should not be. interfered with."
"So, you set me up too?" she said, with a cold calm.
"Sara, I was disturbed, confused. I did not know what to do when everything I had been taught began to conflict." He brought her hand closer to his chest, almost closing in on himself. "Don't you understand? I could not hurt you and I could not refuse his order. He wanted me to kill you or at least take your hand and I couldn't. All I wanted was for you to show him, or at least resist long enough for him to realize it on his own. I did not foresee what he would do, how far he would go." He looked up at her. "I could do nothing."
"I understand, now. But at the time I didn't. You took a lot on faith," she told him.
"I have a lot of faith, in you." He raised her hand and cautiously kissed it, trembling internally at his own boldness. Sara blinked in shock but was touched by both his words and actions, more than she really wanted to be, and a little embarrassed.
"OK. Thanks" she said confused, not really knowing what to say.
"Let me finish, please, I may never be able to do this again."
"Let's finish it then, Christina Wayles."
"She.My Father was.they had an arrangement," he said finally not able to look at Sara, distaste, disgust and something like embarrassment meeting in those few confused words.
"What kind of arrangement?" she asked cautiously.
"They were.they had. She." He gave up, trying to find a way to explain something that both shamed and repulsed him so deeply.
"What?" she said, frustrated and puzzled, trying to figure out what his was trying to say. What could they have possibly been doing that had Nottingham so tongue-tied? A thought struck her from left field and she tried to see where it fit in. Her eyes widened and she shook her head a little to clear it. "Lovers? Is that is? Was that how he was trying to control her?" She broke out. Ian ducked his head almost down to his chest. If she didn't know better she was swear Ian Nottingham was blushing. "That's what you were trying to say isn't it? That is what she meant by killing Gorda being a favor for a friend, another set up."
"I would not have chosen that word but, yes." His muffled voice came to her from where he was looking at the floor, wishing that she had not insisted on the whole story.
"Alright, but I am sure she wasn't the first, I mean Irons did not have the reputation for being a monk." She said not completely sure what was bothering him so much about the situation.
"But she was a Whore!" He said vehemently. Both is words and his anger shocked her. It was the first time she had seen him that mad, certainly the first time she had heard him swear. Cold anger from him did not surprise her but the heat in his voice did. Probably not the first time there either she thought to herself, would have thought he would have better taste though. "And he meant to use that to replace You!" His voice was quieter, but still angry. Suddenly his behavior at the warehouse became crystal clear, his orders, his duty plus his distaste for Christina must have made the situation practically unbearable.
"And so you tried to get yourself killed, or to get me to kill you." He started to say something but she held up her hand. :"Don't.." She reviewed the situation in her mind, putting the pieces together. "And what about Danny?" she asked her voice suddenly gone dangerously quiet. "Who's idea was it to bury my Partner alive?"
"Christina's, although Irons knew, approved." He told her, trying to keep his voice calm. Ian continued quickly his voice thick with urgency "He meant nothing to me but what he meant to you. If I had refused, someone else would have been found and I would not have been able to protect either of you. Your partner was supposed to die in the Rialto; we have all had the vision. But I knew you could save him given time." Sara sighed, frustration and anger fighting with the realization that yelling at him would only cause him to shut down and maybe lose the chance to learn more. She bit her lip to keep all the sharp comments inside.
"I know you didn't give the order. I knew that much in the church. I just wish you hadn't been involved at all." Sara was trying to put it all together in her head, here was a man who had just admitted to trying to kill her partner to save him?
"I told you, Sara, that I had done things in my Father's service that you can't forgive, and that I can't ask you to. Perhaps I should just go." Ian's world had gone completely black in the space of that one admission. Despair threatened to choke him as he got out the words that he was sure would severe their ties forever. She looked on as his expression changed. His shoulders slumped and as he started to rise she peered up at him. He looked as if his world had ended. She shook her head as a small voice in the back of her head whispered to her. He had done only what he thought was necessary. You owe him that much. This is important, the connection is important, for you, for him. She tried to ignore it but it wouldn't go away. The image of him with the katana, the things he had said, all spun around in her head. Christina, Irons, was it any wonder he was afraid to have a straight talk with her, especially considering some of what she had said before.
"Ian, wait." She said finally. He looked down at her a small spark of hope coming to life. "I.I understand that you did what you felt you had to do. It is hard for me to accept it, but since Danny survived, I think I can live with it. I think I have to."
"Are you sure? Maybe it would be easier." He left it open-ended.
"Yes, it would be easier, but I'm not sure that it would be right. Damn it, Nottingham, we have made a start on something here, I don't know what but it is very important, I think, to both of us. Am I wrong?"
"You know you are the most important thing in my life." He told her, hope in his look.
"Me, or that?" she pointed to the bracelet, where it sat innocently on the table.
"You, and my responsibility to you because of it." He told her.
"Then please sit back down, you're hurting my neck." She said a bit abruptly, trying to get this thing back on a more practical and less emotional footing. Ian sat down suddenly, trying not to let his relief show on his face.
"Do you want me to stay for you or because of what I know?" He asked her, challenging her quietly, not really sure he wanted the answer, but it seemed a night for honesty.
"Right now, both, I think, I'm not sure, but I am willing to find out."
"Thank you, Sara, you give me hope, more than I deserve." He told her, smiling.
"Yeah, well, we'll see, won't we?" They sat together quietly, drinking now cold tea, each locked in their own thoughts. Trying not to stare, Ian glanced around the room, down at his empty cup and back over at Sara. So much he wanted to tell her, but he did not know what to say or how to say it. So many things she needed to know. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but she did not need to be burdened with that right now. They had come too far for him to throw it away for something as unimportant as his own feelings. Emotions are to be controlled, not to control, Irons voice echoed hollowly in the back of his mind. But that was then, Sara was not like that, she was real, emotional, elemental even. He pushed the whole thing back down into the back of his mind to concentrate on the now.
"Hey, Nottingham," Sara said lightly, trying to ease the tension. She cast about, looking for an easy subject.
"Hey, Sara," he answered, the playfulness in his voice belying the conflict in his feelings.
"What do you do for fun? Besides lurking, I mean?"
"Lurking? Watching your back is fun, Sara."
Sara laughed and took a playful swing at him, which he blocked easily, glad to see things relax between them. Maybe it would be all right after all. Sara considered the risk about mid-swing, but decided it was worth it. After all, he hadn't hurt her yet.
"I'm serious. What do you do to enjoy yourself?"
"I've never had a lot of time for fun. I suppose sparring, reading."
"You like to read?" she burst out and then was embarrassed by it.
"Yes, I like to read," he said, looking a little hurt.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. You're just very. active. It's hard for me to picture you sitting quietly, reading."
"The same could be said for you, Sara." He returned, gesturing pointedly to her bookshelves, stuffed to near bursting with books and technical manuals.
"Point made. Insufficient evidence."
"Oh, I'm a case now?" He smiled.
"Well, I am a detective," she said archly. "So, you like to read. What other guilty pleasures do you have?"
He ignored several things that came to mind. "Music. I used to like to listen to music. When I was young, my father played the piano. He was very good."
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."
"Which, that I like music, or that he played the piano?"
"Either, really. So, classical music, reading, and sparring. is that all? Oh, and following me. Not a very full life."
"It has kept me busy so far. Besides, I do have a job."
"So do I. You still need to get out more," she said, shaking her head.
"Are you offering?" he asked curiously.
"Yes, I think I am. Make a deal with you." Ian looked at her, surprise and pleasure fighting for control of his face. "What is that?" he asked.
"I'll show you how the other half lives, you help me with the Witchblade."
"I was going to do that anyway, Sara. There is no need.."
"Please, I want to." She cut in. "Besides, it could be fun. And it saves you following me."
"All right, whatever you wish."
Sara rolled her eyes at him. "And you have to stop saying things like that."
"Why, when it's how I feel?"
"Because. just don't, o.k.? This is going to be difficult enough, especially if you keep disappearing or looking at the floor every time I raise my voice. In case you haven't noticed, I have a temper."
"Yes, I have,"
"I go off on people without really thinking about it. If we are trying to put something together, some kind of friendship here, you have to promise me that you won't keep trying to run away." He looked at her, startled that she had seen the conflict that he had been trying so hard to hide.
"I will try, I don't know." He stopped and looked at her, not sure how to say what was on his mind, to tell her that the only thing that had kept him sitting there was the fact that he had no where to go and that he did not want to be alone right now.
"Or at least if you do, don't go too far?"
"Whatever you. all right," he said, thinking how hard this was going to be. She had no way of telling him that it reminded her too much of his attitude towards Irons. He did not need to be more uncomfortable, just when they were starting to get comfortable together.
"Now, it's late. We should probably get some sleep," she said, rising, trying to figure out what to do with him. She couldn't leave him on the couch, he was just too tall, he wouldn't fit with anything like comfort. She could take the couch, but she realized on second thought that he was too wrapped up in that whole chivalry thing to let her do so without it turning into a fight and she was just too tired for that right now. She took a deep breath. She took a deep breath. The safest and easiest place was in the bed, it was big enough, and with his over sensitivity to human contact it was not like she had to worry about him getting fresh. Not that she would necessarily.Whoa, girl, what are you thinking there, get your mind right, this is Nottingham, she reminded herself sharply. "O.K, Ian, you're going to have to sleep in the bed." She watched as he ducked his head, trying to hide his expression. She wondered what he was thinking, what expression he was hiding under the fall of his hair. She smiled a little at his discomfort, but since she didn't have a better plan she figured it would just have to do.
"But, Sara, I can't turn you out of your own bed again. I can sleep on the couch," he said, his voice catching a little.
"You didn't and you aren't. You can't sleep on the couch, you won't fit."
Ian looked stunned. "I thought it was a dream." His thoughts were completely shattered. He dimly recalled from deep in exhaustion Sara's voice, saying she would protect him. This could not be happening. Dream and nightmare collided in severe internal panic as Ian struggled to find an answer. "I can sleep on the floor, it would be inappropriate to." trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
"Look, my house, my rules. Besides, I don't want to trip over you in the middle of the night. I'm not exactly used to you being here, I don't want to have any problems if either of us wake up confused." She continued more smoothly, trying not to make him any more nervous. "Ian, we're both adults. Exhausted adults. Your virtue is perfectly safe with me. And I trust you to be a gentleman."
Ian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had cut off all his objections with that one statement. What could he possibly say to that? Trapped, he rose and followed her, resigned to a long sleepless night of abject heaven and hell.
"Left or right?" She broke into his thoughts, not giving him time to object.
"What? I'm sorry?"
"Do you want the left or the right side of the bed?" She was trying to treat the situation as casually as she could.
"Wherever you want me."
She raised an eyebrow, wondering if he were joking or not. "Fine, left," she told him, going into the bathroom and closing the door. Ian got up slowly and walked to the bed, in a daze. He sat down on the side and removed his shoes and socks. A night alone with Sara, his fondest desire and she had no idea of what she was asking. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind and reassert his control. As Sara returned from the bathroom and slipped beneath the sheets, she glanced at Ian. "Are you going to lay down? I promise, I don't bite."
Ian laid down on top of the bed, not even attempting to get under the blankets. Sara looked at him curiously, shrugged, and rolled over on her side, away from him. "'Night, Nottingham," she said, as she turned out the light.
"Good night, Sara," he said very quietly. Ian lay on his back in the dark for a long time, listening to Sara breathe, hearing her slowly fall asleep, her breath evening to a slow rhythm. He could feel the warmth, the presence of her through the blankets. He thought about getting out of the bed, of spending the night on couch or floor, but he knew she would be hurt, and was not sure that he could return before she woke up. Besides, he rationalized to himself; his movement might wake her up.
Part Two - A Little Light Dinner Conversation
Sara paid the deliveryman and took the boxes from him. She set them on the coffee table and lit some candles against the coming evening. Keep it calm and relaxed she thought, he is probably going to be embarrassed enough by last night. I don't think he has ever had someone to just talk to, tell secrets to. She was about to go after Ian when he appeared, walking into the living room with his vest and tie over his arm as if about to leave. He seemed just a little more relaxed, some of the tension was gone and he was more or less rested. "Hey, Nottingham, put those down and get some dinner, then we can talk." She ignored this obvious attempt to leave, determined that after all of that, he was not going anywhere without an explanation, without letting her in on what he wanted in the first place. Sara handed him a plate and pointed to the boxes, acting as if things were perfectly normal, as if last night's conversation had never happened.
"Certainly, Sara, whatever you wish." Some of his formality had returned and she was unsure how to take that. He sat down on the opposite side of the couch trying to act casually, as if this was an everyday occurrence, wishing he could just enjoy the moment of peace between them.
"You better take those off," Sara said, pointing to his gloves. He removed them, moving his ring back onto his hand. He took a slice of pizza and gave a cautious bite. His stomach took over from there. Three more pieces later Sara laughed. "Easy, Boy, you are going to make yourself sick. When was your last real meal?" She was enjoying the sight of his elegant if slightly rumpled figure sitting on her couch doing something so normal as eating pizza.
"Actually, I have been trying to remember myself." he told her, smiling a little shyly at her.
"The same time you got some sleep?" she asked.
"Probably."
'Then do me a favor and at least slow down." Ian nodded. It was nice to have her treat him like a person, not some kind of freak, especially after last night, after she knew so much about him. He relaxed a little bit more, just enjoying her company. She got up and went into the kitchen and his eyes followed her. She grabbed a couple of bottles of water and tossed one to him, he caught it and drank most of it in one swallow. She shrugged and threw him the other one, getting a new one for herself.
"Sara, I wanted to thank you for last night, for your help," he started, not sure what else to say.
"You needed help. I was here."
"I just... I told you things, things that."
"Ian, listen, what you said to me last night stays there, just between you and me. We both have secrets, some of them we share. I guess just now we are all we can trust." She turned back to her dinner trying to keep them both from embarrassment. This situation had gotten out of control and she was not sure how to react. She didn't want to embarrass him. hell, she wished she could forget some of what she had learned last night. It would be a lot easier. Ian was startled by her candor; she seemed to actually accept him. He wanted to reach out, tell her how much her words meant to him, but too many years of training held him back. He didn't know how. And always overall, the fear that she would suddenly change her mind, reject him. He couldn't let that happen now.
They sat and ate, letting the quiet settle in, each in their own thoughts. Sara finished her third slice of pizza, and looked up to catch his quick glance at the box. He had finished his, all of it, and was watching her eat. She smiled; well at least his appetite seems to be recovering. "Go for it." She told him.
"I'm sorry?" he asked.
"You're still hungry, have some of mine." He gave her a questioning look, and she nodded to reassure him. "Are you always this hungry?"
"Well, not in the last few days, but yes, usually." Sara shook her head.
"Amazing, you must have been hell to feed as a teenager."
"So I have been told." A quick flash of humor as they both ignored the brush with last night's conversation.
"Ian, how old are you?"
"I'm thirty. why do you ask?"
"Just another in the long list of things I don't know about you." "You have a list?" he asked, that rarely seen playful tone in his voice for just a moment. "Actually," he continued more slowly, "I didn't think you cared to know."
"Yeah, well, until last night I didn't. But I think I have changed my mind." She looked down, the conversation had gotten serious again and she was unsure what to say next. She phrased the sentence very carefully. "Ian. last night I found out a lot about your father and a lot about your upbringing, your memories. But even after all that I know very little about you. I just have pieces, but I think that I want to know more. I think that it is important somehow." Sara looked at him cautiously, afraid that after that he would bolt. He just sat there quietly for a moment looking down, gathering his thoughts.
"I would like that," he said softly.
Sara looked down and gathered the boxes and plates, filling the silence with activity.
"Can I help?" Ian asked.
"Don't worry, there's not much to do."
As Sara went into the kitchen, Ian stepped into the other room to wash his hands. They were both thinking very hard, trying to figure out what to say to each other now. In a brief moment everything had changed again and neither knew quite how to go on.
By the time Sara came back and sat down on the couch, Ian had returned. She noticed that he had put his gloves back on.
"Why?" she asked him, before she could stop herself.
"What?"
"Why do you still wear them?" It saddened her, enraged her to see him still trapped by his fathers' rules. But she had no way to explain it to him that he would understand.
"Because, Sara, I don't know how not to," he answered simply. "They have become a part of who I am."
"No. They are a part of who you were." She was fighting to control her temper, knowing that he was not the man she was furious with, and that he wouldn't understand. It frustrated the hell out of her, she had always had a soft spot for wounded children and kicked dogs, and Nottingham, well in his own way he was both. How could she possibly explain that what she wanted more than anything at this exact moment was to bring his father back from beyond the grave so that she could kill him deliberately this time? "Now, you decide who you are, who you want to be." She looked up at him. The tension had risen again, and she was almost sorry she had started this. Almost. She wondered if he would respond or if he would he duck.
"And who is that exactly?" he asked, half-pleading. "Irons wanted me as the perfect extension of his will, and you?" He looked her in the eyes. "What about you, Sara, you who are the only one left to me? You want me to cast off the habits of a lifetime to become. what? Who am I to you, Sara? What do you want me to be?" There was no malice, no anger in his words, although they shocked her deeply. "I made the decision and now I have no idea how to go about it." He looked at her, sad, frustrated, lost. all she could think about was comforting him, a strange enough thought in its own way. Slowly she held out her arms, wondering if he would leave, not real sure what to do if he accepted. She wondered how long it had been since anyone but Irons had even tried to touch him.
After years of rigid discipline it was hard to reach out. He was trying desperately to keep control. Slowly, awkwardly, he leaned forward into her arms. He was rigid, stiff.She held him gently, waiting for him to relax, afraid that he couldn't, wondering what to do if he tried to break away. She leaned closer, letting him rest his cheek against her hair. They sat like that for a long moment before he began to relax a little against her. He reached out, shaking a little, and put his arms around her, desperately craving the comfort she offered.
She shifted and looked up at him. "It is not up to me to decide that, it's up to you. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to push you. I wish I could understand, but I don't, and I can't explain it to you. No frame of reference. You are also asking me to accept a lot, and I am just as confused as you are. Nothing makes sense right now." He tightened his hold on her, afraid of his own reaction. He wanted to run, to stay. Kindness was shattering in its own way, when you had no experience, no blueprint for how to react to it. Trying as hard as he could not to ruin this-all that he had left to keep him in this life-he needed to quiet his mind and just enjoy this moment. the care she was showing him, the feel of her close to him. He forced himself to relax a little more, to accept anything that she offered.
Sara's mind was whirling like a carnival ride. She felt Ian relax against her and tried to figure out at exactly what point she had lost control of this situation. how she found herself holding the most confusing man she had ever met in her arms. Between life and death struggles, she either wanted to kill him, or run from him. Now she was just holding him as both their worlds fell apart and discovering that she actually cared for him. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his shoulder; surprised and pleased when he didn't flinch away. She had to admit, if only to herself, that it felt good to be this close to him. She wondered if he felt the same sense of safety, as if this were all very familiar somehow. After all he was someone who could help her with this thing, the Witchblade, which had taken over her life. Someone who could watch her back when no one else could and understand what she was going through. Everything hung on his decision, whatever that was. Had he come here originally to help her or to tell her she was on her own? The only thing she was sure of was that he was not here to avenge his father, to kill her. I'm sure he still feels the obligation that Irons instilled in him. If he makes the offer, should I accept? I won't be responsible for him. Overall, I think I would prefer it if he helps me because he really wants to.
She slipped her foot out from under her to ease her back and slid a little closer to him. "Ian." she said quietly. Her voice came from so close it startled him a little, but he did not let go, determined to hold on for as long as she would let him. "What was the decision?" She shifted in his arms so that she could look up at him, sure that he would break away from her, not sure she wanted him to. He raised his head and looked at her. So close, I could almost.He shut that thought down immediately.
"I'm sorry?" he asked, like someone waking up from a dream.
"You said you made a decision. What was it? Or do you want to tell me?"
"Two purposes, two desires," he said simply. "Irons is dead, you are not. I will stand by you, as much and as close as you will allow me. Help you as much as I can." He waited to see how she would react, half-expecting her usual sarcasm to emerge.
"Are you doing this for him or for me?" she asked.
"Both. and for myself." She smiled, accepting that as the best of all possible answers. Maybe there was some hope for him. Maybe he would be able to break out of the box he had been kept a more-or-less willing prisoner in for so long. She held him for a little while longer, then gave him a gentle squeeze and let go slowly.
"In that case we really need to talk." She put her hand on his arm reassuringly and he gave her a sweet, shy smile.
"I would stay close to you forever." Deadly, loyal, shy, sweet. God, I'm learning an awful lot about Ian Nottingham in a short time. A lot more than I ever thought I would want to know.
"Yes, but you have to go home some time, if nothing else for fresh clothes, maybe a shower."
"Actually I have a bag in the car." She blinked at him.
"You wha-?" realizing that she might have the wrong idea, he stopped her mid-word.
"Sara, I would never presume so much," he told her, a touch hurt. "After all that has happened, the house has become. uncomfortable. Right now I just can't stay there. I am going to stay at the office, or get a hotel room. I need to get away for a little while."
"So, basically, you ran away from home." He nodded. Sara closed her eyes, trying to get a handle on this newest twist. She thought about it for a moment, and without making a conscious decision, heard herself tell him to go get his bag. If anything, Ian was more stunned than she was. She sighed. "Ian, it's late, and we still have a lot to talk about. If you stay here, there is at least a 50/50 chance of us both getting some sleep." Her tone reassured him that the offer was sincere and fresh clothes sounded really good. He thanked her as he rose and went out.
Sara just sat on the couch. Unlike everything else at this exact moment, it was solid, real, normal, and uninclined to confuse her. She put a hand over her eyes for a moment and was intensely annoyed when the phone rang. She thought about letting the machine take it, but changed her mind. Ian would be back at any moment and they did not need more distractions. "Pezzini, this had better be good," she said abruptly.
"Easy, Partner, just me. How was the date?" Danny said, unable to resist teasing her a little.
"Still here, and since when do you call at 11:00 on a Saturday night-my night off-to inquire about my love life?" she returned acerbically.
"Since Lee reminded me that I was supposed to ask you over for tomorrow night and I forgot."
"O.k., good reason. Tell her thanks and I'll take a rain check, alright?"
"I'm sure that you can bring your new friend," he said suggestively.
"No, that's all right, but another time, o.k.?
"Sure, but I expect all the details on Monday."
"Yeah, and I expect the precinct to produce drinkable coffee," she told him as she heard Ian enter and lock the door. "I'll see you Monday, got to go. O.k.?"
"Sure. You want me to pick you up?"
"Fine, later." She hung up the phone and turned to Ian. "Would you like to clean up first and then talk or the other way around?" Ian looked down at his rumpled shirt with distaste, wondering how he possibly could have let her see him like this and not even noticed. He stopped, thinking a little ruefully how much like his father that thought was, a man who always believed in showing a perfect front to the world, impeccable dress as much armor as any knight's of old. Sara watched him, smiling inwardly. He actually forgot, she thought, registering his sudden discomfort. "You know where the shower is, we can talk afterward."
"Certainly," he said, suddenly itching to be clean. He took his bag and headed toward the bathroom. Sara rose as she heard the door close. Might as well get changed herself. She wandered towards the closet and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and the tee shirt that she usually slept in. Somewhere at the back of her mind it occurred to her that it might be nice to have something a little more.. She pushed the thought back to where it came from, a little confused. Down, Pezzini, he's only here to talk and besides.That was when she noticed the clean towels. on the wrong side of the door. She grabbed a couple and knocked, hoping to catch him before he got too far along.
"Hey, Ian, forgot the towels." He opened the door and took them from her, not even noticing her pole-axed look in his haste.
"Thank you," he said as he closed the door. Sara let her breath out slowly, wondering why she was only just now noticing exactly how handsome he could be. With his hair free and his shirt undone, he was not the least bit hard on the eyes. She changed and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Got to get a grip. I need to get out more. Oh, well, when in doubt make tea. She put on the kettle and sat down to wait for him.
Ian stepped into the hot shower and relaxed a little. Of all the sanctuary he could have found, he had never pictured Sara's apartment as his place to hide, maybe to heal a little. Why was she doing this? He tried to look for motives, but unlike his father, Sara was showing him that not everyone needed them.that the world was not as simple, as black and white, as it might appear. And he trusted her. It was hard to admit in some ways, even to himself. Happiness, pleasure, emotions long banished beneath duty and loyalty were resurfacing in force. It had been a long time. when had happiness ceased to matter, buried beneath doing a good job, pleasing his father? Perhaps it is time to rediscover what it meant. what it means.to be happy? He turned off the shower and stepped out.
When he returned, he was comfortably dressed in a black sweater and sweat pants, his hair loose, and his gloves and ring in their places. He sat down next to Sara a little self-consciously. She smiled encouragingly, but the smile froze at the sight of his gloves. She tried not to let her distaste show, but he saw and his gaze dropped. Slowly, without looking at her, he removed his ring and gloves, placing the gloves on the table between them and returning the ring to his hand. Sara thought for a moment, wondering how to respond to the gesture. Looking down, she caught sight of the 'blade on her wrist. She removed the bracelet and placed it on top of the gloves. Ian looked at her, surprised. "Now, it's just you and me," she told him. He flashed her one of his rare smiles.
"Put aside duty and obligation for a moment?" he asked.
"Something like that." They sat in silence until the whistle of the kettle startled them both. "Tea?" Sara asked, trying to act like this was normal, just a visit from a friend. Friend? At what point had Ian changed into a friend? But that he was, or at least that was part of it.
"Yes, thank you," he answered. While she busied herself in the kitchen, he glanced around the room. For the first time, he registered the familiarity of the pistol and harness on the end table on her side of the couch. It is mine. I was carrying it last night. how did I forgot it? That was a dangerous slip. he chided himself. He had registered its presence earlier, but this was the first time he had recognized it. or missed it, for that matter. He was becoming sloppy. And how did it end up on the table? "Sara." he asked uncomfortably as she returned and set the tea mugs down. "How." He pointed in the direction of the table. He took a second to phrase the question as she followed his gesture, recognizing a sudden change in his manner. She realized what he was trying to ask, but let him get the question out, giving her a few more moments to figure out what to say. "I don't remember disarming myself," he said finally. "How did you get it off of me?"
Sara considered and discarded several replies before settling for the absolute truth. "Ian, you were in a very. confused. frame of mind last night. You were grieving and exhausted and I was a little concerned about you. I couldn't let you go to sleep wearing it, and besides, I didn't want you waking up in a strange place armed." She shrugged. "It's the cop in me. Before I put you to bed, I took it off of you."
"That was.kind of you, Sara, although it was not necessarily the safest thing to do. I swear I would never have knowingly hurt you. You believe that don't you?" He gave her a pleading look.
"I was never afraid of that," she said, realizing as soon as the words were out that she really meant them. That shook her. Suddenly a flash of Ian, kneeling with a Katana held before him. Take the cause out of the man; there is no cause for a man. "But there was another possibility." She looked at him until guiltily, he lowered his eyes for a moment.
"I had thought about it. that's when I left the house." he admitted. "But I never would have done so in your house." He raised his eyes to find her looking back at him challengingly.
"No, you would have crawled off like a wounded wolf, and I wouldn't have found out until it crossed my desk. That actually bothers me."
"No, Sara, you would know." He pointed to the Witchblade.
"And that would be better. knowing and being unable to do anything about it?" she said sarcastically. "Besides, I can't always see the things I need to when I need to."
"I can show you, it's.a part of our connection. Besides, the time for that has passed anyway. I would not leave you now, not alone, with no one to help you, to protect you."
"I don't need your protection, although I appreciate the offer. What I do need is your help. Are you willing to do that? To help teach me to control this thing?"
"I came here last night to do just that, to offer you whatever I could, whatever you would take from me. I have lived with it all my life. My Father was obsessed with the Witchblade, with its power."
"Yeah, I got that part, but what do you mean about our connection?"
"When he first possessed the Witchblade, he tried to wield it himself. He could only keep it on a few moments, but in that time he bonded with it on some level. It burned the scar into his hand, and changed him. The only things he took from the encounter were the ability to see some of your visions, and a certain telepathic link. The ability to locate you, talk to you, he could even know what you feeling in some ways. I inherited those abilities. I am not sure whether that is just the contact or something to do with some of the things I underwent through his experiments that strengthened it. I am.I was connected to both of you," he saw the look of shock and anger flash across her face and hastened to explain. "I have not used it except to find you, to know that you were not in danger. It can be blocked. He taught me as a child how to block him out as he did to me. You can learn to do the same although I imagine we could still find each other. It is much stronger between us, especially now." he trailed off realizing that she was still trying to get her head around the initial information while he was spilling out words like a faucet, trying to get it all out before she changed directions again and got angry with him.
It was probably the longest single speech she had ever heard him make, barring the other night and he had not really been himself then. Irons and the Witchblade? That explained a lot. But the rest of this was enough to really make her head hurt. Sara had never been one to believe in all that mumbo jumbo, but now with the things that she had seen...it made sense in some ways. But she was not sure she wanted to believe, not sure she didn't either, certainly there were advantages.
"So that's how you've been able to find me, follow me without being seen. Pity it doesn't work on others."
"Not that I am aware." he said, a little disappointed that she went so quickly to the practical applications.
"And you're aware of my presence, even if you can't see me?" she asked.
"And you of mine, although you are not consciously aware of that. Not yet."
"You will show me?" She was trying to focus on too many things at once. She needed to get back to the information she needed but there seemed to always be more that she did not know. Just when she had picked up one piece, she discovered that it was in fact twenty more. "But not now," she said firmly, "Now we are going to get back to where we were," she said, trying to get things into perspective. "Look, Ian there is so much you have to tell me, and I know we can't do it all in one night, but I can't just keep getting side tracked. All of this is important, but I can't get my mind around it all at once."
"Everything is connected. But I understand why it is not easy. I have had a lifetime to accept what you have only begun to be aware of. I have been trained since my childhood for the moment that you would emerge and bond with the Witchblade.
"Did you know that it would be me?" she asked "That I would be chosen?"
"Yes, that is why I was there, at the museum that day."
"How long had you known?" Ian looked down, embarrassed by the admissions he knew he would now have to make, wishing he could lie to her or at least not admit everything, afraid that she would turn away from him if he did. "Ian, please, I need to know, and now." She reached out for him, sensing his conflict. "I know this is hard, for both of us. You have things to tell me, and I have to accept things about my life that I never wanted, never knew."
"You don't know.the things I have done for Mr. Irons, for my Father. It is not easy."
"Ian, just for tonight, it's just you and me, not a cop and a.whatever. Any crime you admit in connection with the Witchblade, I will ignore. This is more important and a lot of it no one else can know anyway, not that they would believe it if we told them."
"That is not what I am worried about Sara. I was not expected to be concerned about such things, about what others would think. But I am. I am worried about what you will think of me, what it will do to our.friendship?" He said, looking for a word to describe what was coming to be between them, less than what he wanted, more than he what dreamed.
"Don't worry about that, not now. I understand you've done things you are not anxious to tell me about. Look at me, I'm not proud of some of the things I've done since I got this thing. I killed your father, even though he." She stopped, the scene flashing through her mind as it had done frequently in the days that followed, the sight, sound and feel of the blade sinking in, sinking through. The words, always his voice, the words that she did and did not understand at the same time. She shook her head to clear it.
His turn to comfort her, he didn't know what to do. He reached out his hand to her, shaking a little. She saw him reach out and knowing what it took for him to make the gesture, she took it in hers. His hand was smooth, lacking the usual calluses and very strong although he held hers tentatively, almost as if he were afraid he would hurt her. He squeezed her hand gently, reassuring her. "I didn't mean." she began.
"It's over, we have no reason to relive it again, ever," he told her, just a hint of steel in the last word, giving her the out that she would not allow him. She was shocked that he could do this for her, and she wished she could give him that option, but she needed to know too badly. His hand felt good in hers, giving him as much comfort as she got.
"Now, let's get this over with. I really need to know." she said, pulling herself back together, but not releasing his hand.
"Mr. Irons has a book, a book of prophecy which foretold that the Witchblade would be taken up that day, so he put it on display at the museum, somewhere you would have access. He sent me to watch over it and you, to make sure that you.bonded." He took a moment and tried to get his thoughts and feelings in order, again. She distracted him and he needed to focus, now more than ever since she had allowed him the opportunity. He had thought a great deal about this conversation, what to say and how to say it. She wanted direct answers to direct questions, or thought she did. It was not how he was raised, Irons being the master of word games. He took a deep breath and continued. "After the explosion, we were not sure what you remembered, what you would be willing to accept. So he had me continue to watch and he tried to force a conflict. When you failed to take the bait at the Rialto, he was furious.
"The Rialto, what has that got to do with anything? It was a set up."
"It was a gift." Ian corrected gently. "Mr. Gallo had been trying to buy it for some time. Mr. Irons had me arrange for him to be there that day. You were supposed to kill him."
"God, why couldn't the man just send flowers? You have a twisted idea of gift giving, the two of you." She gave him a confused look. "Why did he want me to do that? I knew there was something wrong."
"To bond with the Witchblade, to lead you to him for the information he possessed, to control you and it through you. There are few blood heirs to the Witchblade, Sara. He believed that you were the one to be chosen." He ducked his head again, not really sure how to continue, what to tell her and how much. He wanted to tell her everything, to give it all to her, but some secrets were not his to tell. He looked up, she was still sitting there, watching him, holding his hand.
"Why me, Ian?"
"The WitchBlade chooses Sara, usually a blood heir, although not always. You come from that bloodline. It is your destiny."
"Destiny, I am getting a little tired of hearing about my destiny. My mother never heard of the thing. How could something like that be forgotten?" She asked a bit sharply. He considered carefully his answer, balancing her need to know with her impatience.
"She would not have. The Witchblade has been out of play for over 40 years. And for hundreds of years before that, it was in the possession of those who did not want it to choose a wielder unless they could control her."
"Who?"
"First, the Vatican who took it from Joan after her capture and only let it out upon occasion, with a woman handpicked by them to further their goals, then by Hitler, in trade for protection during the war. He was fascinated by objects of power, even ones he could not control. It was stolen from him by one of his staff as a gift for his mistress."
"And sometime after that Kenneth Irons got a hold of it," she asked trying to hurry the story along.
"Something like that. Ian answered quietly. Sara sensed there was more to the story than that but decided that was a story for another time. Besides, she realized, there was probably a lot more than she could get in one night, even if they talked until dawn, which was starting to look like a possibility.
"So, Irons tried to set me up to kill Gallo and got pissed when I didn't, then what?" She brought him back to the more recent past firmly.
"I.I wanted to bring you to him, let him see you. He sent me to retrieve it from you but." He looked down at her hand.
"And that is when you met me at my car." She realized that this was getting harder for him. She wondered if she should push him, decided she would do it anyway, and deal with the consequences later. "I thought you wanted me to go see him, that's what you asked me to do at any rate."
"I wanted him to see you, to release me from my order to retrieve it, to give you a chance to prove yourself."
"To prove what?" she asked, startled and a little annoyed, although she immediately tried to hide it. Ian tried to let go of her hand, but she held on tightly.
"That you are the true wielder and should not be. interfered with."
"So, you set me up too?" she said, with a cold calm.
"Sara, I was disturbed, confused. I did not know what to do when everything I had been taught began to conflict." He brought her hand closer to his chest, almost closing in on himself. "Don't you understand? I could not hurt you and I could not refuse his order. He wanted me to kill you or at least take your hand and I couldn't. All I wanted was for you to show him, or at least resist long enough for him to realize it on his own. I did not foresee what he would do, how far he would go." He looked up at her. "I could do nothing."
"I understand, now. But at the time I didn't. You took a lot on faith," she told him.
"I have a lot of faith, in you." He raised her hand and cautiously kissed it, trembling internally at his own boldness. Sara blinked in shock but was touched by both his words and actions, more than she really wanted to be, and a little embarrassed.
"OK. Thanks" she said confused, not really knowing what to say.
"Let me finish, please, I may never be able to do this again."
"Let's finish it then, Christina Wayles."
"She.My Father was.they had an arrangement," he said finally not able to look at Sara, distaste, disgust and something like embarrassment meeting in those few confused words.
"What kind of arrangement?" she asked cautiously.
"They were.they had. She." He gave up, trying to find a way to explain something that both shamed and repulsed him so deeply.
"What?" she said, frustrated and puzzled, trying to figure out what his was trying to say. What could they have possibly been doing that had Nottingham so tongue-tied? A thought struck her from left field and she tried to see where it fit in. Her eyes widened and she shook her head a little to clear it. "Lovers? Is that is? Was that how he was trying to control her?" She broke out. Ian ducked his head almost down to his chest. If she didn't know better she was swear Ian Nottingham was blushing. "That's what you were trying to say isn't it? That is what she meant by killing Gorda being a favor for a friend, another set up."
"I would not have chosen that word but, yes." His muffled voice came to her from where he was looking at the floor, wishing that she had not insisted on the whole story.
"Alright, but I am sure she wasn't the first, I mean Irons did not have the reputation for being a monk." She said not completely sure what was bothering him so much about the situation.
"But she was a Whore!" He said vehemently. Both is words and his anger shocked her. It was the first time she had seen him that mad, certainly the first time she had heard him swear. Cold anger from him did not surprise her but the heat in his voice did. Probably not the first time there either she thought to herself, would have thought he would have better taste though. "And he meant to use that to replace You!" His voice was quieter, but still angry. Suddenly his behavior at the warehouse became crystal clear, his orders, his duty plus his distaste for Christina must have made the situation practically unbearable.
"And so you tried to get yourself killed, or to get me to kill you." He started to say something but she held up her hand. :"Don't.." She reviewed the situation in her mind, putting the pieces together. "And what about Danny?" she asked her voice suddenly gone dangerously quiet. "Who's idea was it to bury my Partner alive?"
"Christina's, although Irons knew, approved." He told her, trying to keep his voice calm. Ian continued quickly his voice thick with urgency "He meant nothing to me but what he meant to you. If I had refused, someone else would have been found and I would not have been able to protect either of you. Your partner was supposed to die in the Rialto; we have all had the vision. But I knew you could save him given time." Sara sighed, frustration and anger fighting with the realization that yelling at him would only cause him to shut down and maybe lose the chance to learn more. She bit her lip to keep all the sharp comments inside.
"I know you didn't give the order. I knew that much in the church. I just wish you hadn't been involved at all." Sara was trying to put it all together in her head, here was a man who had just admitted to trying to kill her partner to save him?
"I told you, Sara, that I had done things in my Father's service that you can't forgive, and that I can't ask you to. Perhaps I should just go." Ian's world had gone completely black in the space of that one admission. Despair threatened to choke him as he got out the words that he was sure would severe their ties forever. She looked on as his expression changed. His shoulders slumped and as he started to rise she peered up at him. He looked as if his world had ended. She shook her head as a small voice in the back of her head whispered to her. He had done only what he thought was necessary. You owe him that much. This is important, the connection is important, for you, for him. She tried to ignore it but it wouldn't go away. The image of him with the katana, the things he had said, all spun around in her head. Christina, Irons, was it any wonder he was afraid to have a straight talk with her, especially considering some of what she had said before.
"Ian, wait." She said finally. He looked down at her a small spark of hope coming to life. "I.I understand that you did what you felt you had to do. It is hard for me to accept it, but since Danny survived, I think I can live with it. I think I have to."
"Are you sure? Maybe it would be easier." He left it open-ended.
"Yes, it would be easier, but I'm not sure that it would be right. Damn it, Nottingham, we have made a start on something here, I don't know what but it is very important, I think, to both of us. Am I wrong?"
"You know you are the most important thing in my life." He told her, hope in his look.
"Me, or that?" she pointed to the bracelet, where it sat innocently on the table.
"You, and my responsibility to you because of it." He told her.
"Then please sit back down, you're hurting my neck." She said a bit abruptly, trying to get this thing back on a more practical and less emotional footing. Ian sat down suddenly, trying not to let his relief show on his face.
"Do you want me to stay for you or because of what I know?" He asked her, challenging her quietly, not really sure he wanted the answer, but it seemed a night for honesty.
"Right now, both, I think, I'm not sure, but I am willing to find out."
"Thank you, Sara, you give me hope, more than I deserve." He told her, smiling.
"Yeah, well, we'll see, won't we?" They sat together quietly, drinking now cold tea, each locked in their own thoughts. Trying not to stare, Ian glanced around the room, down at his empty cup and back over at Sara. So much he wanted to tell her, but he did not know what to say or how to say it. So many things she needed to know. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but she did not need to be burdened with that right now. They had come too far for him to throw it away for something as unimportant as his own feelings. Emotions are to be controlled, not to control, Irons voice echoed hollowly in the back of his mind. But that was then, Sara was not like that, she was real, emotional, elemental even. He pushed the whole thing back down into the back of his mind to concentrate on the now.
"Hey, Nottingham," Sara said lightly, trying to ease the tension. She cast about, looking for an easy subject.
"Hey, Sara," he answered, the playfulness in his voice belying the conflict in his feelings.
"What do you do for fun? Besides lurking, I mean?"
"Lurking? Watching your back is fun, Sara."
Sara laughed and took a playful swing at him, which he blocked easily, glad to see things relax between them. Maybe it would be all right after all. Sara considered the risk about mid-swing, but decided it was worth it. After all, he hadn't hurt her yet.
"I'm serious. What do you do to enjoy yourself?"
"I've never had a lot of time for fun. I suppose sparring, reading."
"You like to read?" she burst out and then was embarrassed by it.
"Yes, I like to read," he said, looking a little hurt.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. You're just very. active. It's hard for me to picture you sitting quietly, reading."
"The same could be said for you, Sara." He returned, gesturing pointedly to her bookshelves, stuffed to near bursting with books and technical manuals.
"Point made. Insufficient evidence."
"Oh, I'm a case now?" He smiled.
"Well, I am a detective," she said archly. "So, you like to read. What other guilty pleasures do you have?"
He ignored several things that came to mind. "Music. I used to like to listen to music. When I was young, my father played the piano. He was very good."
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."
"Which, that I like music, or that he played the piano?"
"Either, really. So, classical music, reading, and sparring. is that all? Oh, and following me. Not a very full life."
"It has kept me busy so far. Besides, I do have a job."
"So do I. You still need to get out more," she said, shaking her head.
"Are you offering?" he asked curiously.
"Yes, I think I am. Make a deal with you." Ian looked at her, surprise and pleasure fighting for control of his face. "What is that?" he asked.
"I'll show you how the other half lives, you help me with the Witchblade."
"I was going to do that anyway, Sara. There is no need.."
"Please, I want to." She cut in. "Besides, it could be fun. And it saves you following me."
"All right, whatever you wish."
Sara rolled her eyes at him. "And you have to stop saying things like that."
"Why, when it's how I feel?"
"Because. just don't, o.k.? This is going to be difficult enough, especially if you keep disappearing or looking at the floor every time I raise my voice. In case you haven't noticed, I have a temper."
"Yes, I have,"
"I go off on people without really thinking about it. If we are trying to put something together, some kind of friendship here, you have to promise me that you won't keep trying to run away." He looked at her, startled that she had seen the conflict that he had been trying so hard to hide.
"I will try, I don't know." He stopped and looked at her, not sure how to say what was on his mind, to tell her that the only thing that had kept him sitting there was the fact that he had no where to go and that he did not want to be alone right now.
"Or at least if you do, don't go too far?"
"Whatever you. all right," he said, thinking how hard this was going to be. She had no way of telling him that it reminded her too much of his attitude towards Irons. He did not need to be more uncomfortable, just when they were starting to get comfortable together.
"Now, it's late. We should probably get some sleep," she said, rising, trying to figure out what to do with him. She couldn't leave him on the couch, he was just too tall, he wouldn't fit with anything like comfort. She could take the couch, but she realized on second thought that he was too wrapped up in that whole chivalry thing to let her do so without it turning into a fight and she was just too tired for that right now. She took a deep breath. She took a deep breath. The safest and easiest place was in the bed, it was big enough, and with his over sensitivity to human contact it was not like she had to worry about him getting fresh. Not that she would necessarily.Whoa, girl, what are you thinking there, get your mind right, this is Nottingham, she reminded herself sharply. "O.K, Ian, you're going to have to sleep in the bed." She watched as he ducked his head, trying to hide his expression. She wondered what he was thinking, what expression he was hiding under the fall of his hair. She smiled a little at his discomfort, but since she didn't have a better plan she figured it would just have to do.
"But, Sara, I can't turn you out of your own bed again. I can sleep on the couch," he said, his voice catching a little.
"You didn't and you aren't. You can't sleep on the couch, you won't fit."
Ian looked stunned. "I thought it was a dream." His thoughts were completely shattered. He dimly recalled from deep in exhaustion Sara's voice, saying she would protect him. This could not be happening. Dream and nightmare collided in severe internal panic as Ian struggled to find an answer. "I can sleep on the floor, it would be inappropriate to." trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
"Look, my house, my rules. Besides, I don't want to trip over you in the middle of the night. I'm not exactly used to you being here, I don't want to have any problems if either of us wake up confused." She continued more smoothly, trying not to make him any more nervous. "Ian, we're both adults. Exhausted adults. Your virtue is perfectly safe with me. And I trust you to be a gentleman."
Ian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had cut off all his objections with that one statement. What could he possibly say to that? Trapped, he rose and followed her, resigned to a long sleepless night of abject heaven and hell.
"Left or right?" She broke into his thoughts, not giving him time to object.
"What? I'm sorry?"
"Do you want the left or the right side of the bed?" She was trying to treat the situation as casually as she could.
"Wherever you want me."
She raised an eyebrow, wondering if he were joking or not. "Fine, left," she told him, going into the bathroom and closing the door. Ian got up slowly and walked to the bed, in a daze. He sat down on the side and removed his shoes and socks. A night alone with Sara, his fondest desire and she had no idea of what she was asking. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind and reassert his control. As Sara returned from the bathroom and slipped beneath the sheets, she glanced at Ian. "Are you going to lay down? I promise, I don't bite."
Ian laid down on top of the bed, not even attempting to get under the blankets. Sara looked at him curiously, shrugged, and rolled over on her side, away from him. "'Night, Nottingham," she said, as she turned out the light.
"Good night, Sara," he said very quietly. Ian lay on his back in the dark for a long time, listening to Sara breathe, hearing her slowly fall asleep, her breath evening to a slow rhythm. He could feel the warmth, the presence of her through the blankets. He thought about getting out of the bed, of spending the night on couch or floor, but he knew she would be hurt, and was not sure that he could return before she woke up. Besides, he rationalized to himself; his movement might wake her up.