It had been a very long day. Sara had spent it trying unsuccessfully to lose herself in her work. It hadn't helped that she had sensed Ian at the crime scene, his presence an excruciating reminder of things to come. Not even the Witchblade's visions had distracted her entirely from her anxious anticipation. Though she had somehow known for a lifetime that this evening's conversation was inevitable, she still didn't have a clue about how to begin it.
As she trudged up the tenement's stairs she debated whether or not to change clothes before he came. It wasn't as if she was trying to impress him, she told herself, but she was still covered in a day's worth of street grime and office grunge. There was even a coffee stain on her shirt. On reflection, she decided that the stain had probably been there for a while. She wasn't sure if she had any other clean clothes. It turned out to be a moot point. As she approached her apartment she saw a dark figure leaning against the wall near her door. He straightened when she drew closer and shrugged at her skeptical expression.
"You said to use the big, wooden, rectangular thing," he said innocently.
She shook her head and dug for her keys. It occurred to her that Ian could probably pick the lock in less time than it took her to find them. When she finally got the door open it occurred to her that he already had. There was a large black coat folded neatly across the back of her sofa and the smell of freshly brewed coffee was drifting out of her kitchen. She looked back at him suspiciously as he followed her inside.
"You were late," he explained, as if it were a perfectly reasonable justification. "I could go back out and knock if you'd like."
His offer sounded so sincere that she was tempted to take him up on it just to see if he'd go. Maybe she could change clothes after all. The coffee smelled good though and she grinned at him instead.
"Sit," she told him, pointing to a kitchen chair. Note to self, she thought as he dropped immediately into the seat. Remarkable similarities aside, the man is not a puppy. "No, don't sit," she tried to correct herself but knew at once that she'd gotten it wrong again. He rose just as promptly with such a look of utter confusion that she had to laugh. "No, don't… I mean…" She sighed and tried one more time. "Please have a seat, Ian."
His expression cleared as he understood her invitation for what it was. He gave her a small, rare smile and sat down slowly. She took the coffee pot from its cradle and poured two mugs. As she stirred a single teaspoonful of sugar into his coffee she was struck once again by the increasingly familiar actions of another's memory. She set his mug down in front of him and took the seat across the table.
They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. It was one thing to feel comfortable with him in her kitchen, she thought, but it wasn't really accomplishing the task of the evening. She set her coffee back on the table and leaned on her elbows.
"We need to sort out a few things," she said finally. He nodded in agreement, his expression a mixture of hope and fear as he set down his own mug. Sara had difficulty keeping track of her thoughts as she met his expectant gaze. "I've missed you," she blurted suddenly. Ian looked startled by her declaration, then one corner of his mouth slowly turned upward.
"Subtlety has not always been one of your more widely recognized characteristics."
"Wise guy," she scolded affectionately and reached across the table to thump his arm. "The least you could do is return the sentiment."
"Always," he assured her, eyes warm with unguarded emotion.
It would be far too easy, Sara knew, to let this devolve into simple flirtation. She had been attracted to men like Ian long before the Witchblade had tumbled into her life this time around. She could almost pretend that he was just another "nocturnal self-destructive bad boy", as Danny called them, who had wormed his way into her heart. But he wasn't, and she couldn't, and there were issues that they had to address before this went any further. She leaned back in her chair, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug to keep them occupied. Ian's expression sobered as he sensed the shift in her mood.
"You've been with Irons your whole life, haven't you?" she asked. She hated the way his head dropped at the question but plunged on doggedly. She wished desperately that she didn't have to, angry that Irons had made it necessary. "I need to know, Ian. When push comes to shove… are you going to be able to choose between us?"
"He has had my loyalty for three decades," Ian said softly. "You have had it for millennia. Do you truly need to ask?"
"I'm sorry," she replied just as quietly. "But this time, yeah. I think I do." She hated doing this, but she couldn't afford to invest anything else in this relationship without being certain. "We may still be the same people, but you know as well as I do that we're always shaped by our environments. All those years with Irons have changed you. He's tried to make you into something you're not and it's left scars. You can see that, can't you?"
"Yes." His voice was nearly inaudible.
"Then you understand why I have to ask. When the time comes… will you be able to choose?"
He lifted his head to meet her gaze. There was a clarity in his eyes that heartened her. "If you help me," he said simply.
As she trudged up the tenement's stairs she debated whether or not to change clothes before he came. It wasn't as if she was trying to impress him, she told herself, but she was still covered in a day's worth of street grime and office grunge. There was even a coffee stain on her shirt. On reflection, she decided that the stain had probably been there for a while. She wasn't sure if she had any other clean clothes. It turned out to be a moot point. As she approached her apartment she saw a dark figure leaning against the wall near her door. He straightened when she drew closer and shrugged at her skeptical expression.
"You said to use the big, wooden, rectangular thing," he said innocently.
She shook her head and dug for her keys. It occurred to her that Ian could probably pick the lock in less time than it took her to find them. When she finally got the door open it occurred to her that he already had. There was a large black coat folded neatly across the back of her sofa and the smell of freshly brewed coffee was drifting out of her kitchen. She looked back at him suspiciously as he followed her inside.
"You were late," he explained, as if it were a perfectly reasonable justification. "I could go back out and knock if you'd like."
His offer sounded so sincere that she was tempted to take him up on it just to see if he'd go. Maybe she could change clothes after all. The coffee smelled good though and she grinned at him instead.
"Sit," she told him, pointing to a kitchen chair. Note to self, she thought as he dropped immediately into the seat. Remarkable similarities aside, the man is not a puppy. "No, don't sit," she tried to correct herself but knew at once that she'd gotten it wrong again. He rose just as promptly with such a look of utter confusion that she had to laugh. "No, don't… I mean…" She sighed and tried one more time. "Please have a seat, Ian."
His expression cleared as he understood her invitation for what it was. He gave her a small, rare smile and sat down slowly. She took the coffee pot from its cradle and poured two mugs. As she stirred a single teaspoonful of sugar into his coffee she was struck once again by the increasingly familiar actions of another's memory. She set his mug down in front of him and took the seat across the table.
They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. It was one thing to feel comfortable with him in her kitchen, she thought, but it wasn't really accomplishing the task of the evening. She set her coffee back on the table and leaned on her elbows.
"We need to sort out a few things," she said finally. He nodded in agreement, his expression a mixture of hope and fear as he set down his own mug. Sara had difficulty keeping track of her thoughts as she met his expectant gaze. "I've missed you," she blurted suddenly. Ian looked startled by her declaration, then one corner of his mouth slowly turned upward.
"Subtlety has not always been one of your more widely recognized characteristics."
"Wise guy," she scolded affectionately and reached across the table to thump his arm. "The least you could do is return the sentiment."
"Always," he assured her, eyes warm with unguarded emotion.
It would be far too easy, Sara knew, to let this devolve into simple flirtation. She had been attracted to men like Ian long before the Witchblade had tumbled into her life this time around. She could almost pretend that he was just another "nocturnal self-destructive bad boy", as Danny called them, who had wormed his way into her heart. But he wasn't, and she couldn't, and there were issues that they had to address before this went any further. She leaned back in her chair, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug to keep them occupied. Ian's expression sobered as he sensed the shift in her mood.
"You've been with Irons your whole life, haven't you?" she asked. She hated the way his head dropped at the question but plunged on doggedly. She wished desperately that she didn't have to, angry that Irons had made it necessary. "I need to know, Ian. When push comes to shove… are you going to be able to choose between us?"
"He has had my loyalty for three decades," Ian said softly. "You have had it for millennia. Do you truly need to ask?"
"I'm sorry," she replied just as quietly. "But this time, yeah. I think I do." She hated doing this, but she couldn't afford to invest anything else in this relationship without being certain. "We may still be the same people, but you know as well as I do that we're always shaped by our environments. All those years with Irons have changed you. He's tried to make you into something you're not and it's left scars. You can see that, can't you?"
"Yes." His voice was nearly inaudible.
"Then you understand why I have to ask. When the time comes… will you be able to choose?"
He lifted his head to meet her gaze. There was a clarity in his eyes that heartened her. "If you help me," he said simply.