Surpass Your Master - Witchblade Fan Fiction A { TEXT-DECORATION: none }

If you would like to receive notices when this story is updated, click here.

Surpass Your Master
Part Two: Direct Orders

As Kenneth Irons walked out to his limousine, he looked around once more for Ian. Sara had left alone, and Ian was now where to be found. If he did not go with her, he thought, then he as just issued his own death. Ian does not betray a direct order more than once. The cold made his bones ached and did nothing for his rising temper. Just as he reached out to open his car door, his cell phone rang. With a sigh that left an icy breath in the air, he reached into his jacket and flipped open his cell phone.

"I'm with her," the voice said. The phone went dead. The voice had been Ian's. Irons nodded and checked the caller id on his cell phone. The call had been made from Sara's apartment. With a nod, he closed his phone and got into car.

Sara didn't dream, her sleep was deep and dark. Unusual, since she had the Witchblade, her dreams had been riddled with arcane messages that she couldn't fully understand. Somewhere in the darkness, she heard a voice. It seemed familiar, but she wanted to sleep. It was so much easier to sleep…

"..Sara.." The voice came again, a little louder this time. Sara groaned, somewhere in unconscious's. She felt a presence on her shoulder and gasped, opening her eyes. She was awake. Light flooded her vision and she blinked tearfully. As her eyes adjusted to the light she knew she wasn't alone. Her head was raked with pain. Bringing a hand up to her forehead, she murmured something inaudible.

"Here, drink this. It will..help with the headache." Moving her hand, Sara turned her head slowly. Ian held out a steaming cup. Tired and feeling the effects of a horrible headache, she didn't ask questions, simply reached out and took the cup. Pushing herself up in bed—her own, she noticed—she leaned against the headboard and sipped the hot tea. Why.. is he here? I.. I don't remember anything after the roof. Ugh.. my head. Her thoughts were muddled and sluggish, so she gave up trying to concentrate, and finished the hot tea. When her head began to clear, she blinked at Ian and frowned.

"W-why.. " She began, with difficulty she started again, "..Why are you here?" Her voice was soft and raspy. Ian moved from the chair near her, to sit on the edge of her bed. His presence barely shifted the weight of the bed. Even when he was relaxed, he was deliberate and lethal. He was still dressed in his suit from earlier. Before answering, he reached down to the end of the bed and picked up a large towel.

"..Your leg, was injured.. I apologize." Handing her the towel, he raised from the bed and walked towards the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he continued. "I took care of the bullet wound.. You have.. been asleep for hours. I suggest you.. take.. a shower. I will explain more when you're…prepared." With that, he walked into the kitchen and disappeared from Sara's view. With a frustrated sigh, Sara pushed back the blankets, and rose from her bed, stiffly. She was still dressed in her dress, and felt grimy. Stumbling to the bathroom with her town, she stripped off her clothes and turned on the hot water.

Ian sat awkwardly in Sara's kitchen, staring out the window into the early morning sun. Snow fell lightly outside. He could hear the water pounding against the tile in Sara's bathroom, heard her shift as the sound of the water altered. Steam rolled out from beneath her bathroom door, disappearing like smoke in the hallway. He continued to watch outside, wondering what he was doing. His thoughts were interrupted as the phone rang. Ian watched the phone. The answering machine picked up.

"Hey, Pez, this is Gabriel.. I uh, didn't see you last night, you were supposed to stop by before your party. I guess you forgot, no big deal. Stop by later, if you want.. Talk to you later." Gabriel hung up.

Ian sighed, closing his eyes. Why.. I cannot do this. I must leave, but.. He wondered why he remained. Why he was still here, why he obeyed Iron's orders, if indirectly. Somewhere, a voice whispered. Because this is what you want. You want to be here. Ian clenched his fist. No.. I don't want this.. I don't want to hurt her.. The voice answered again. Or hurt yourself, you fool. Ian opened his eyes. He was right, he did want to be here. He felt safe here, like no where else he had ever been. He knew the powers of the Witchblade, knew that Sara would learn to wield it eventually. He knew she could not hurt him. He felt protected.. not quite so alone. Sara was as outcast as he. The water in Sara's bathroom continued to pour. The steam continued to roll. The snow continued to fall. Ian took his place in the world, and continued to be alone.

Sara stepped out of the shower, toweling the water off slowly. When she was nearly halfway dry, she pulled on her shirt and jeans, gingerly avoiding her wound. The wrap was still clean but she needed to bandage it again. No. Bandage it the first time.. Ian did this. With a frown, she tossed her wet towel over the shower rack and slipped out the shower door. Looking around the room, her fleeting hope that Ian had left was diminished when he walked out from the kitchen. Sara sighed.

Ian kept his gaze to the floor, his brief glimpse of Sara had shown him how her shirt and jeans clung slightly to her damp flesh. Iron's words echoed near the edge of his concentration. He ignored them. No.. he thought, staring at some non-exsistant argument that laid on the floor, I will not.. harm her. He heard Sara move slowly around her living room, as he stood in her kitchen doorway. He heard her sigh and flinched.

"Well?" Sara asked tiredely. Ian remained silent. Sara bit off a sharp retort at his silence, and went back to moving slowly on her injured leg.

"..I..can't bandage this by myself," She added, limping across her floor towards the kitchen. Towards Ian. "Would you give me a hand?" She asked, pushing against Ian's chest to move him back from the kitchen doorway. Ian breathed in sharply as her hand pressed against his chest, and moved out of her way quickly with a nod.

"I am here to serve, Sara," he replied, following her slowly into the kitchen. Sara limped painfully and sat down in a padded chair. Rolling up the leg of her jeans, she exposed the bullet wound. Ian held out his hand and opened it. In the black leather of his glove, a bullet sat, winking at Sara in the light of her kitchen. She craned her neck to see the underside of her upper leg, and noticed the wound had been cut. She groaned as a wave of pain hit her and she nearly fell from the chair. Swaying, she steadied herself on her kitchen table. Ian set the bullet down on the counter and knelt down near Sara. As Ian reached for Sara's leg, the Witchblade glowed. Ian stopped and lifted his gaze slightly to look up at her.

"..I cannot help you, if you do not wish it, Sara. The Witchblade.. will heal you. Let it know your wish." Ian drew back his hand and rocked on his heels, his gaze cast down to the floor again.

..This.. blade, would heal me? When all it's done so far was warn me of danger? Sara frowned, sweat dripped slowly down her temple, the pain made her weak. Anything is worth a try.. Without warning, the Witchblade flared into life and enveloped her arm. With a weak gasp, she stared at the Witchblade in confusion.

"How.. can this help? If it wants me to cut off my own leg, it can just forget it." Sara struggled against the Witchblade, trying to get it to turn back into her bracelet. The Witchblade didn't listen. Ian turned to look at Sara once again.

"You weild the Witchblade.. The blade does not weild you." His eyes drifted back to the floor as he stood up. With a sigh, Sara moved her other arm to brace herself against the table. Her leg burned. The cool air of her kitchen made it throb. Grinding her teeth, Sara concentrated on the pain. Damn you.. I didn't choose you.. I didn't want this.. forsaken thing! Take back the pain you've.. caused.. me.. blade. Her thoughts were slow and angry. The Witchblade remained silent. Slowly, the crimson stone radiated and bathed Sara and Ian in a bloody light. Sara felt her leg tighten and flex, crying out as the light disappeared.

When the room lost it's red overcast, Sara lay on the floor of her apartment. Ian knelt beside her, inches from touching her. The Witchblade was back on Sara's wrist. Murmuring a curse, she pushed herself up off the floor. Her overturned chair lay behind her. The pain was gone. Sara frowned and moved a hand tentavely to feel her gunshot wound. Only healthy flesh greeted her nervous fingers.

Want me to continue? Let me know.