Disclaimer:

I don't own it, I don't pretend to own it, I intend no monetary gain off of this, and don't wish any kind of copyright infringement on Top Cow production or TNT or whomever.

In honour of the officers of the NYPD who served and protected their last on 9-11-01

Chapter Ten

Gabriel woke up quite happy and content, thank you very kindly. He was in his favourite and most appealing position: Sara's arms. Not in her arms, exactly, she had a tendency to sprawl, but she had one leg wrapped around him, both arms somewhere nearby, and her head was pillowed on his shoulder.

It was odd, really. She was such a private person. She always preserved that three feet of personal space. But not here. Not while she was sleeping. Even when she'd been too tired to cry her unconscious body drifted itself to him and wrapped up, like a blanket.

Not that he minded, he didn't think there was a red blooded man on the planet who would mind. The only downside was that parts of him were a little more 'awake' than others, a sad and unfortunate condition, that he suffered through half the time when she tugged him down to do his 'pillow duty'. Not that he minded it either.

She called him, nearing midnight, she'd only said his name into the receiver, but that was all he needed to hear. She had 'that' tone in her voice. The tone that said: I'm-scared-and-I'm-too-proud-to-say-it-but-could-you-come-over-anyhow. He didn't really want to argue with 'that' tone. She used it so infrequently. He was at her place in a heartbeat. 

He grunted and moved her…arm? Was that her arm? Yeah, her arm. Off of his wrist and winced as the blood began to flow back into the hand. Then he froze.

He wasn't the only man in her bedroom that morning.

Standing next to the window, as though he owned it, was Ian Nottingham. A very unhappy Ian Nottingham. One could even call it upset, if one was so inclined. The bad part here was that an upset Ian Nottingham usually led to someone's head breaking in. From the look the other man was giving him, Gabriel suspected his head had made the ready target list.

There wasn't much Gabriel could do about it, he was very effectively pinned down by Sara. Even if he hadn't been, he didn't delude himself be thinking that he could put up half a fight against an angry Nottingham.

They stared at each other, both wishing hellfire and damnation on their counterpart, until Ian took one giant step forwards.

"Good morning, Mr. Bowman." He said with a dry, humourless smile.

"Uh…hi,"

"Are you quite comfortable?"

"Uh, yeah, actually," Gabriel made a show of 'adjusting' Sara's arm. If he was going to die he might as well go out kicking. There was no way he could take him on mano-a-mano but there were other ways to hurt a man.

Unfortunately it worked. Ian growled, honest-to-God growled, and took another, more aggressive, step forwards. It looked as though he was going to pull something out of his Technicolor-Dream-Coat, but then the Witchblade, that annoying tin-pot piece of metal on Sara's wrist, decided to make her will known to the general population of Sara's bedroom.

It flew out, into the gauntlet form. The metal was unnaturally warm on Gabriel's chest. Someone was angry. Gabriel could almost fancy he heard her grumbling at having to wake up for this. The inset jewel flared, lighting the loft bedroom a dull orangey colour.

Ian stopped in his tracks, automatically dropping his head and moving to 'parade rest' at the apparition. He'd been trained by Irons to revere the Witchblade like nothing else. Her will was his, even if he disagreed with her actions. That went double for the Wielder; although he considered it his duty to try and 'counsel' her to what he believed was the most sensible course of action. Sensible for Ian Nottingham was not, however, the same 'sensible' for Sara Pezzini. They clashed.

Gabriel, on the other hand, had a healthy respect for the Witchblade's occasional 'moments', but didn't treat her like her words were the gospel truth. He could really care less what the Witchblade thought it wanted to do. Sara was the Wielder, she made her own decisions, and that was the way it was. Period. Resultantly, they got along. 

They both stared at the blade, getting the distinct impression that she wasn't all that happy with the confrontation at the moment. Ian started, and then growled again, glaring not at Gabriel but at the Witchblade. He had a strong suspicion that the 'blade was telling Ian off in no uncertain terms. Ian glared once more at Gabriel, promising retribution in many and various unpleasant ways, and then stalked off, back out the window and down the fire escape.

Thinking that the Witchblade had said her piece, Gabriel tried to shift out from under Sara and put a start to the day. They had a routine, he'd get up first, fix the coffee and whatever food he deemed necessary. She'd shower, and then they'd switch, him in the shower and her fetching the paper or checking the TV news for emergencies. It was all done silently, a habit formed from time spent closeted together while her apartment was out of commission. 

The Witchblade was not finished. Not yet. She snaked a tendril of metal out to snare his wrist, clamping down strongly. He looked at it, a little panicked, and then it took him under.

Thunk!! The cold metal of an axe ringing down on the headsman's stump – heads rolling loud cries "BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH"

A woman, dressed in rags, was carried out to the middle of the platform. It was Sara, or a woman who looked exactly like her. Gabriel tried to cry out, tired to move, tried to do something to prevent the incendiary light from reaching the stack of straw underneath her feet.

He was trapped, he looked at his surroundings, he was tied up, he was held, bound and gagged, forced to watch as the woman he loved, had made love to, had wanted by his side forever, was slowly put to torch.

His eyes blurred, he wanted to turn away, but couldn't pull his eyes away from the scene. He couldn't watch but he couldn't stop watching.

When they led him to the gallows to share his lover's fate, all he felt was relief that the agony was over.

He blinked back to earth, crying, tears running down his cheeks, well hell. He glared at the metal bracelet that was now holding him hostage while its Wielder slept peacefully on.

"I get it, Ok! I get the point!" he said angrily, out loud. The tendril let go of him, sliding back to its original form.

Gabriel tried to rub his wrist, but couldn't quite reach. That was freaky. If that was what Sara went through every time she had a vision he now understood a whole lot better how Wielders could go insane. It was like a vice was squeezing his head, mashing out all his brains and replacing them with the feelings and emotions of the nameless, faceless man who'd shared his lover's fate, too many years ago to count.

Sara stirred; it had been too much to hope for that she would sleep through the fanfare of the morning. She didn't wake up easily, her mind fighting the unconsciousness, until it finally prevailed and she opened her eyes.

"Hey"

"Mmmfffpphh" was her response, and she buried her head right back into his collar.  

   He shifted, now with her awake they could achieve a position where none of their respective body parts were deprived of life-giving blood. She snuffled and grunted and muttered and stretched but she eventually woke enough that she could sleepily smile at him.

His heart stopped when she gave him 'that' sleepy smile, the one that said 'thanks' and 'good morning' and 'it's a damn wonderful day to be alive' and everything else all at the same time.

She fiddled absently, with one of the buttons on his shirt. He hadn't bothered taking it off, just kicking off his shoes before crawling in under the pre-warmed blanket. She was frowning now, not a good sign, it meant she had something important on her mind, something unpleasantly important. That was another expression of hers that he was all too familiar with.

"What's wrong?" he asked, breaking the code of silence that they usually spent the morning observing.

"Huh? ... Wrong? No, well, not really wrong per se, just…" she trailed off, absently poking his buttons in the buttonhole one way and through backwards on the opposite side, "You don't…mind this do you?"

He could feel his jaw going agape. Him? Mind? How the hell could she think that? After all the nights she'd called him back into his bedroom to be with her, tucked in under his ear, just in the right hollow between his neck and shoulder. It was perfection. Why the hell would he mind?

"Gabriel?" she asked, sounding a little more insistent and worried.

"Mind!" he spluttered, "How the hell did you come up with that? What…? I…" he spluttered, trying to find words to express himself. It wasn't working too well; he could see Sara's withdrawal almost immediately. Desperate, he did the only thing his shorted-out mind could fathom. 

He kissed her.

She froze, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck. Then something incredible happened. She kissed him back. Slowly, at first, then more and more insistently until they were locked in a heated embrace. Gasping he was the first to break it up, wondering how the hell this ever could happen to him.

Apparently Sara was wondering the same thing; she pulled off of his chest with something akin to shock, breathing heavily.

Hate to leave it here, but I busted up my hand working out and won't be able to type for about a week. Sorry guys, I'll work on it, I promise. Review Please: I wrote 1,696 words, I think a few back aren't unwarranted.