Danger Zone
By Divamercury
Sorry that it's taken so long, but I was so focused on finishing Inferno that everything else came second. So, here's the next part of Danger Zone, extra long (or at least longer than usual) to apologize! Enjoy and REVIEW!
Chapter 4
In spite of Ian's protests, I helped him clean up the mess in the exercise room. I busied myself in sweeping up the tiny slivers and shards of the mirrors that had previously been on the walls. I also swept up pieces of plaster and drywall, which had come dislodged from the walls that were riddled with high caliber bullet holes. But other than the wall damage, the rest of the room was still in good shape. Ian had an excellent poker face and didn't show any emotion, but I knew that inside he was angry and upset that his sanctuary had been slightly compromised. And I knew he was furious with himself because I had almost been injured.
"So, what do we do now?" I asked. "Are we running?"
* * *
"No," I replied. "I believe that this is the safest place for us at the time. Irons will either think that we are dead or that we have run off somewhere, so staying put will probably be the best idea. Actually, he will know that you are still alive because of his link with the Witchblade. But he can't track you and pinpoint where you are." Like I can.'
"So we just stick around? Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Unless something proves me to be incorrect, then yes, I think it's a good plan. And, I want you to start carrying a weapon everywhere. I know you're used to doing that, but doing so here is no exception."
"But why bother when I have this thing?" she asked, holding up the arm with the Witchblade. "Don't get paranoid on me, Ian. I'm paranoid enough for the both of us." The discussion over from her point of view, she returned to her sweeping, and I went back to setting some of the equipment back up that had been knocked over in the scuffle.
I tried to keep my anger in check. Sara was an incredibly stubborn woman when she put her mind to it. She was bound and determined not to do a simple thing to keep herself safe. I would have to show her that self-defense was now even more important than it ever had been.
* * *
Ian was silent as we started repairing the exercise room. I could tell he was mad at me because I refused to carry a gun around in my own new sanctuary. It made no sense to me to do so. Oh, well. I'll let him pout if that's what he wants to do,' I thought as I swept some fragments of glass out of a corner of the room and into a dustpan.
It took me about another hour to finish sweeping up all the shards of the mirror in the room. Since both Ian and I tended to go around without shoes, I decided that it would be best if I was especially thorough. I didn't want to get a nasty surprise stuck in the bottom of my foot, and I was sure Ian didn't either.
When I had finally finished, I looked back at the large punching bag that miraculously (like most of the other equipment) had escaped harm from the rounds of gunfire. I hazarded a glance over my shoulder at Ian. He was still busy setting up the knocked-over equipment, so I turned my attention away from him and back to the punching bag.
Big mistake.
Before I could even throw a punch at the bag, I was pushed to the floor. Ian was the perpetrator, to my surprise. He straddled me, pinning both of my wrists to the floor with one hand and holding a gun to my forehead with the other. The Witchblade, too late, appeared over my right hand and forearm with the subtle swishing of metal that I had grown accustomed to.
"Ian! Are you crazy? What are you doing? Get off of me!" I shouted, struggling. He made no reply, just pressed the muzzle of the gun to my head a little more firmly.
* * *
The Witchblade appeared in what would have been too late to save its Wielder had she been in any real danger. The metal scraped across my palm as it appeared on her arm but did no damage to my flesh. My eyes locked with Sara's, mine daring her to fight me and hers smoldering with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something I couldn't identify precisely, most likely shock or terror. It pained me to do this to her, but I had to show her that no matter what she thought, to a trained warrior she was an easy target. She wasn't ten feet tall and bulletproof like she liked to think she was.
"What are you doing?" she repeated. "Were you that curious to see what it would feel like?" Her innuendo was weakened by her lack of confidence.
I removed the gun from her forehead and slipped it into my pants pocket for the time being. She relaxed almost imperceptibly, but enough that I noticed.
"I was merely illustrating how easily you could be taken down by someone with enough experience without the assistance of the Blade. I thought you trusted me. I swore I would never hurt you and I don't intend to go back on my word." I got up off of her and offered her my hand. She looked at it dubiously, her eyes belying her stoic expression and revealing her misgivings. Her eyes flickered up to my face, and I caught her gaze, trying to reassure her. She looked back at my hand and then grasped it firmly. I pulled her to her feet.
"I apologize for taking you by surprise," I said. I removed the gun from my pants pocket and pressed the handle into her hand. She wouldn't take it, but I urged her.
"Tonight's events have made it clear that you aren't completely safe anywhere. Please, Sara, for both our sakes, keep this with you."
* * *
He had me in a corner. The sad-puppy look was on his face again, and I couldn't resist that. It was his most powerful weapon with me; no gun or sword could rival it.
"All right," I said, surrendering and taking the offered gun. "I need to get out some frustration." I went back to the bag and threw rapid-fire punches, sending the bag swinging around everywhere. I was full of energy, but all of it was negative. Damn the Speakers. Damn Dante and his little club. Damn Irons for bringing both of them into the picture. Alternating on the bag I saw Irons's and Dante's faces and I relished hitting them. I only wished that I was really hitting them instead of just a bag.
Ian snapped me out of my daze. He grabbed the bag to still it and stopped me."Sara, calm down. You're hurting yourself."
I had been hitting the bag barehanded, and my knuckles were bleeding, the skin dry from the winter splitting especially easily. The bag was stained with my blood. The furor with which I was pummeling the bag and the anger at the imaginary faces and the fact that my life would be really screwed up for a while had made me ignore the pain, converting it into a dull numbness that was only barely there. But now that I had stopped bashing the bag, the feeling had come rushing back to my hands. I bit my lip to try to push back the stinging pain but failed.
* * *
"You must have had a lot of rage to get rid of, am I right?" I asked gently. She nodded, looking away. The thought of taking her in my arms crossed my mind but I thought better of it. Now wasn't the time, even thought she looked like she could use a little sympathy.
"It's late. We need to get some rest if we want to keep our strength up. And we need to, what with the Speakers after you."
She nodded again without saying a word. It was apparent that she was exhausted. Without any protest from her I led her out of the exercise room through her room and into her bathroom. She didn't even cry out while I cleaned up her hands. She snapped out of her reverie, finished fighting her demons, when we left the bathroom. She looked down at her hands and said, "Thanks, Ian."
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. I'll be fine. I'm just wiped."
"Then I will take my leave. Goodnight, Sara." I turned around and started toward the door.
"Goodnight," I heard as I stepped through the doorway. I went back.
"Remember I'm right next door if you need anything," I reminded her. She nodded and gave me a smile, faint with weariness but still genuine. I returned the smile and left her to her dreams, which would hopefully be peaceful. I just hoped that our adventures were over for the night.
