Again, thanks for all the wonderful reviews. This took a bit of doing to post since I couldn't log in for a bit. Fanfiction's daily back-ups and all that, only they don't tell you that if you go straight to the Witchblade section to log in from a bookmark, only if you go in to the main page. Hope you all are enjoying this, despite the lack of action. I was thinking Sara and Ian needed a real break, and a chance to get to know each other before falling into the sack in a tangle of sweaty limbs, but let me know if you're getting bored. At the end of this chapter, if you're curious about what caused Ian to fall out of bed, refer to "Ian Dreaming"…



They were nearly dry by the time they reached the house again. The sun would set in an hour or so, and Sara was getting hungry. Ian pressed more water on her and drained a large glass himself. Then they changed into different clothes. Sara put on a tank top of azure cotton with subtle shading patterns of leaves, and a printed skirt in the same blue and green color scheme. She had pulled her hair up so it was out of her face and fastened it back with a silver barrette. Ian came out of his room in a loose, deep red cotton shirt that looked like something out of a romance novel, but with buttons instead of lacings. He hadn't bothered to button it all the way up, and hints of his strong chest showed through the gap. The shirt was tucked into black pants, and he had tied a black scarf shot with silver threads around the waist like a belt. With his hair tumbling down around his face and the deep red of the shirt accenting the brown of his eyes, he was breathtaking. Sara looked him up and down, a smile growing on her lips.

"Ian, you look gorgeous," she said approvingly. He smiled back at her.

"Thank you, my lady," he responded. "You are resplendent this evening. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" He offered his hand, which she took.

"Where are we going?" They walked back out of the house arm in arm.

"The restaurant on the beach you saw. We will have a wonderful view of the sunset."

"You know, Ian," she mused, "you have a remarkable grasp of the romantic for a bodyguard."

"Waiting around while Irons is in meetings affords me ample time to read," he replied. "You would be amazed how easy it is to get a paperback into a suit coat's inside pocket."

"You're kidding," she laughed.

"Well, I have my pockets enlarged, but still. I take two books, one for each side, to keep things balanced." Ian shot a sideways glance at her. She was laughing.

"I'm not sure whether I should believe you or not."

"Remind me to show you sometime," he said, smiling back. He was joking, but he loved hearing her laugh, and he loved more being the cause of it. They walked into town down the cobbled streets, and Sara got a good look around this time. There seemed to be only about twelve blocks to the whole town, two on either side of the main street, running three blocks long. There were flowers of amazing colors and sizes growing in front of and within every yard, and most of the houses were painted bright colors. People were walking about, calling cheerfully to each other, stopping to chat in groups. Up the main street were the shops, all open to the evening air.

Sara noticed a painting of something that looked like the fabric softener bear with yellow, blue, and red circles below it, and the word "bimbo" in capital letters below it. She stared at it for a bit, trying to figure it out, then finally asked Ian.

"Bimbo means bread, Sara," he told her, smiling. "That's one of the best- selling brands. Something akin to our Wonder bread."

"You're kidding," she said. "All these years we've been calling our dumb blonds 'bread'?"

"In America it's slang, here it's food. Different culture."

When they reached the restaurant, Ian exchanged words with the young woman who seated them in a quick flurry of Spanish that Sara couldn't follow. The tables were set up directly on the beach, well up from the high tide line, and as Sara sat down the legs of her plastic chair sank into the sand a bit. Overhead there was a bamboo and palm frond construction that would effectively protect diners from the sun or rain. She learned that these constructions were very inexpensive and sturdy, and called palapas. An effectively made palapa would last years.

Ian translated the menu for Sara, and she decided to have shrimp with garlic. Ian ordered a spicy fish. Sara decided to try a Pacifico, and Ian ordered a Coca-cola. Their drinks were served in the bottles, no glasses. They enjoyed the breezes off the ocean as they watched the sun sink lower towards the horizon. Mariachis started to play softly, circulating through the tables, hoping the diners would buy a song. Many did, trading twenty pesos for a special song to sing along with or dance to. Sara watched them curiously until their food came.

"Before you start eating, Sara," Ian said, putting his words into action. "Take your slice of lime and rub it on your fork. The acidic juice from the lime lessens the chances of catching something from the wash water enormously." She watched him for a moment, then picked up her lime wedge and followed suit. Her shrimp were served over a bed of rice, with beans on the side. Ian's fish was served cleaned but otherwise whole, and spiced heavily. He scraped the meat downward from the gills off the bones and proceeded to eat. When he finished the one side he flipped the fish over and did the same to the other side.

As they ate the sun sank into the waves in a spectacular display of fiery color and hues of reds and purples and oranges she had thought were only achieved by special effects in Hollywood. She had only seen something like it at the movies before, and it was easily the most beautiful sunset she had ever witnessed. Ian spent most of the time watching her drinking it in, enjoying the combination of changing light and expression on her face. She caught him staring and he blinked and looked away quickly, blushing.

The night insects started to buzz, and the Mariachis came by to see if the handsome gringo couple would buy a song. Ian smiled and handed over a twenty peso coin and asked for something slow they could dance to. He took Sara's hand and drew her to her feet, and as the music started he pulled her into his arms. She wrapped one arm around his back and took his hand with the other, and they swayed together to the music. The smell of her hair, still warm from the sun and scented with salt from the ocean, drifted into his nostrils, and he breathed deep. Sara sighed and laid her head against his shoulder.

There was clapping and whistles of appreciation for them as the song ended, good natured and friendly approval from the locals. Ian handed Sara back to her seat, trying not to turn bright red. He was not used to being the center of attention, especially in so public a place, but it had been worth it. Sara's green eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, and he felt worthy of her company, felt he could truly make her happy, for the first time. He had never been sure if, in this life, he could rise to the challenge of being a partner to her, rather than guardian servant. His upbringing had not taught him the skills. All he had to guide him was the burning desire for her acceptance, and perhaps in time, her love, and the dreams he had of them together in other lives.

"Would you care to walk with me, my lady," he asked, signaling for the check. "We could explore the town a bit. See if we can find the zocolo."

"What's a zocolo," she asked as Ian counted out bills for their meal. He left a generous tip.

"It's like a town square. Every Saturday night the whole town gathers to listen to music and dance. Mariachis play, and people drink from coconuts and wear flowers. Every town has one."

"That sounds neat." He gave her a hand up from her seat and they walked out of the restaurant and back to the main cobbled street. Her fingers were warm on his arm as they walked up the main street and found what must be the zocolo. It was a circular area in the middle of town, with a raised area for a stage on one end and benches around the rim of the place where people would dance. There were flowers everywhere. Young couples strolled around, or sat on the benches, trading kisses and watching the stars. Soft calls of "Buenas noches" echoed through the town as friends and neighbors bid each other goodnight.

They headed back to the house together, and sat on the porch to enjoy the beautiful evening. Ian spent a few minutes composing and e-mailing a report to Irons, much doctored to hide the fact that he was doing more than observing the Wielder from a distance. Sara lay back in the lounge chair, staring up at the geckos that scurried across the stucco ceiling. The little lizards snapped up the bugs foolish enough to land near, scuttling across the white ceiling and walls with amazing speed in pursuit of their dinner. After Ian put away his laptop and came to sit in the chair next to hers she turned to watch the fireflies flitting through the bushes. The faint roar of the ocean could be heard as a constant background to the droning of the night insects. They sat companionably for a while, just relaxing in the warm night. Finally Sara stirred and pointed out into the night.

"I've never seen fireflies before," she commented. "I always thought they were orange or yellow. These are more like blue-white."

"Depends on the species," Ian said. Sara smiled, not surprised he would know something about them. A huge yawn took her by surprise, popping her jaw. Ian yawned too, unable to help himself.

"I'm beat from the flight," Sara said, climbing to her feet, and Ian rose with her. "I'm heading for bed." She headed inside to her bedroom, Ian locking the front door and shutting off the lights before heading to his. Sara paused at her bedroom door.

"Ian, thank you for all you've done. For arranging things, and for dinner, everything. My vacation would have been horrible without you." She walked over to him and gave him a quick hug, kissed his cheek. "I'm really glad you could come with me."

"The pleasure is mine, lady Sara," he replied, his face flaming red.

"Sleep well, Ian," she said.

"Sweet dreams, Sara," he replied. She smiled, feeling a bit shy, and went into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Ian settled in to his own room. He stripped off his clothes, then pulled on a pair of loose black sleep pants and headed to the bathroom. Checking to be sure Sara wasn't in there, he entered their shared bathroom, flipping on the light to brush his teeth and so forth, checking to be sure there was a supply of bottled water to use. The bathroom door to Sara's room wasn't completely closed, so he went over to close it so he wouldn't disturb her. He caught a glimpse of her sitting on her bed, her back to him as she brushed out her long chestnut hair. She was wearing a light white satin nightgown. Pulling back quickly, he closed the door as quietly as he could. Rushing through the rest of his nightly tasks, he retreated back to his room and slipped beneath the covers. A few minutes later he could hear Sara in the bathroom, then silence descended on the house as she climbed into bed and clicked off her light. The only sounds were the droning insects and the faint hum of the ceiling fans in each of their rooms. The sounds soothed Sara quickly into sleep, but Ian took much longer to slip into slumber, and when he finally did his dreams were far from restful.

Sara woke from a sound sleep, startled into wakefulness by something. It took her foggy brain a moment to register she had heard a thump come from Ian's room. It had been followed by soft cursing. She got up and padded barefoot out of her room to tap on Ian's door. He opened the door a moment later.

"Ian, are you alright," she asked, concerned. "I heard something…"

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Sara," he said, looking thoroughly sheepish. "I had a…um…disturbing dream, and rolled out of bed."

"Wanna talk about it?" she offered. "I know all about disturbing dreams," she said wryly, glancing pointedly at the Witchblade. He refused to meet her eyes, looking at her from under his eyebrows, his hair hiding his expression.

"No, thank you, Sara," he said softly. "Good night." And he retreated politely but quickly, closing the door carefully. Sara stared at the closed door for a minute, an astonished look on her face, then went back to her own room. The rest of the night passed without incident.