A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this small bit put together. There have been tons of distractions, and it ain't easy to concentrate when your grandmother who can't hear so well blasts the tv while you're trying to write. It's not her fault, and I'm not complaining, but boy will I be happy when we're done with the remodeling downstairs and I can move my computer. Trying to work in the kitchen just isn't conducive to good writing. Please visit the Witchblade Fan Fiction Index, especially if you are a writer. I'm gathering links to everyone's fiction pages in one place, so they will be easy to find. http://home.attbi.com/~witchblade1

When the three of them had finally finished installing all of the new blinds, Ian and Sara talked Gabriel into staying for dinner. He agreed more out of curiosity than anything, wanting to know if what Sara said about Ian being a great cook was true or not. Ian was in the kitchen doing magical things with olive oil, chicken and asparagus. Sara tidied up a bit and set the table, chatting with Gabriel as she did so. She left Ian mostly alone to concentrate on his cooking, because he was very nervous, wanting everything to be perfect for his very first real guest.

Gabriel had to admit that Ian was a superb cook, swearing he had missed his calling by becoming an assassin. They joked and teased good-naturedly all throughout the meal and dessert. When Ian started doing the dishes, Gabriel confessed he had to get back to his shop and check his messages. Sara walked him to the door.

"He's alright, Chief," he told her. "I admit you had me worried there at first."

"I'll bet," she replied with a grin.

"Yeah, well, you seem to know what you're doing, and he really does love you. Just be careful, okay?"

"Always," she assured him, giving him a hug, then shutting the door behind him as he left. Sara went back into the kitchen to help Ian with the cleaning up.

"So, did I pass inspection," Ian asked good-naturedly, up to his elbows in steaming soapy water.

"Yes, you did, as if you didn't know," she replied with a grin.

"I will admit I don't always understand people," Ian confessed. Sara picked up a towel and started drying and putting away dishes so there would be room in the drainer for the pots and pans.

"What do you mean, Ian," she asked.

"When I first got back and Gabriel was here, when we headed down to the car he did the protective friend routine and asked me what was going on. I looked him in the eye and told him exactly how I feel about you. By the time the elevator got to the lobby and we ran into Agent McCarty there, Gabriel was defending me."

"That surprised you," Sara guessed.

"I did not expect young Gabriel to let go of his mistrust of me so easily."

"He's a really smart kid, Ian," Sara reminded him. "And he knows how to trust his instincts."

"Perhaps he just trusts you," Ian said.

"Could be," she said.

"I have to report to Mr. Irons tonight, Sara. Will you be alright here alone?"

"Sure," she replied. "I'll leave all the blinds closed and maybe take a bath."

"Hm, why don't you watch some tv, and wait til I'm back so I can take a bath with you," Ian suggested with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"I think that's a great idea," Sara replied, grinning.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said. "I am under the impression it's a routine report, but Mr. Irons may want something else. I'll let you know if I'll be delayed."

"Just be careful, love," Sara urged. "I have the faintest nagging feeling that his agreement came too easily."

"I believe he feels he got the better end of the bargain," Ian said. "He gave up very little for your promise of cooperation, and that promise is invaluable to him."

"Yeah, you're probably right," she sighed. "I just still have this feeling that something isn't right."

"Sara," Ian said, taking her hands and looking deeply into her eyes. "I believe in you. I trust your instincts. I will be careful, and keep my eyes open, and when I get back we'll talk more about it, see if we can pinpoint why you are uneasy." Sara stepped into his arms and held him tightly, taking comfort from his strength.

"Thank you, Ian," she murmured against his chest. "There's a lot about the Witchblade that still confuses me, makes me uneasy. It's you that gets me through it."

"Anything for you, my Lady," he replied, stroking her hair. "But now I have to go."

"I know," she said. She walked him to the door. He slung his coat around his shoulders with a flourish, giving her an impish grin and a fierce kiss, then stalked off down the hallway as she shut, locked, and barred the door behind him.

When she turned back around Danny was sitting on her couch. Sara's face lit up in a smile.

"Hey, Danny," she said. "Where have you been lately? I haven't seen you since Mexico."

"You haven't needed me, Sara," he replied. "And I thought you could use a little privacy."

"C'mon, Danny, you know I'll always need you. Though I do appreciate the privacy."

"Your life is coming together, Sara," he said. "You're learning to embrace your destiny as the Wielder, and have accepted your Knight Protector. You've found your balance, and you're learning to control the Witchblade. But your greatest battles are still ahead of you."

"Yeah, I don't expect to live happily ever after. None of the others did." She sat on the couch next to Danny, wishing she could touch him, slug him on the arm like she used to, hug him, anything.

"Who told you that, Sara," Danny asked.

"Irons did," she replied after a moment's thought.

"And has he always been truthful?"

"Come to think of it, he does tend to twist the truth to suit him." Sara thought for a minute. "But Joan and the others didn't deny it."

"Because for them it was true. But you haven't met, or even heard of, every Wielder."

"What are you saying, Danny?"

"The fate of the Wielder is not necessarily the same every time. It's largely up to you, in the end."

"You mean, I control my destiny?" Sara stared at him. "But the Witchblade controls everything in my life now, drawing to me what it needs," she said, echoing Dominique Boucher.

"Who's to say you can't pull the strings too," Danny asked.

Sara glanced down at the Witchblade on her wrist, and when she looked up again, Danny was gone. She sat a long time in thought before turning the tv on.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Ian silently stepped into the room where his master, his father, waited. Irons was immaculate as always, not a speck of dust on his charcoal-gray Italian silk suit. The wolfhounds at his feet raised their heads and thumped their tails in greeting. Irons set his wine glass down and moved an ebony chess piece across the board, his rook capturing a pawn, before looking up to where Ian stood patiently, waiting for acknowledgement. Irons studied the young man for many minutes as Ian simply stood with head bowed and hands clasped before him, waiting.

"So how are things with our fair Sara tonight," Irons asked at last, turning his gaze to the fire burning in the huge fireplace.

"She is well," Ian said. "Her wound gives her no more than minor discomfort, and is healing quickly."

"No doubt aided by the Witchblade," Irons replied. Ian nodded.

"Her control of it seems to be growing," Ian observed. "It seems the time off from the stresses of her job has given her the opportunity to explore the bond she has with the Witchblade and learn much."

"Indeed," Irons murmured. "And have you been learning much, young Nottingham?"

"I am learning many things, Sir," Ian replied. "I am learning how to cook," he announced with a ghost of a smile. Irons shot him a startled look, as much for the hint of humor in his voice as the confession.

"She isn't turning you into her domestic servant, is she Ian?" Irons was amused.

"No, Sir," Ian replied. "It is self defense. Sara cannot cook well at all, and the more we go out the more opportunities for her enemies to attack her."

"You have reported in the past she does tend towards pizza and Chinese take- out." Irons grimaced. "A steady diet of that would ruin your health."

"Yes, Sir," Ian said, hiding a smile.

"Would you like lessons with my cook, Ian," Irons impulsively offered. He noted with satisfaction the eager glint in Ian's eye.

"I would appreciate that very much, Sir," Ian said.

"I will see to the arrangements, then," Irons said.

"May I still use the gym and the pool, Sir," Ian asked hesitantly. He had no idea how much access he was still allowed to the manor now that he had moved out.

"Of course," Irons replied, feigning surprise at the question. "This is still your home, Ian. Even if you choose to live elsewhere. If I thought Sara would accept, I would invite her to come live with us, but we both know she is far too independent a creature for that. But do feel free to bring her around. Just let me know ahead of time if you wish to stay for dinner."

"Thank you, Sir," Ian said, deeply touched by the gesture.

"As a matter of fact, why don't you bring her around Saturday night. I still need you to handle security for that party I'm throwing, but there's no reason Sara couldn't come too. After all, she's a police officer. A little more security never hurts."

"Thank you, Sir, I'll ask her." Ian wasn't sure what to think of the offer, but he would love to spend the evening with Sara by his side. Irons' parties tended to be deadly dull.

"You can use the opportunity to buy her a new gown," Irons suggested. "She may not have anything appropriate for such an occasion."

"That is likely so, Sir," Ian said.

"Is there anything else I need to know, Ian," Irons asked.

"Yes, Sir," Ian replied. "Sara is still being threatened by the White Bulls. When she got home from the hospital there were several messages on her answering machine. One of them was a death threat from another Bull, saying she hadn't gotten all of them and she would pay."

"Indeed," Irons replied, thinking for a minute. "The Bulls have outlived their usefulness to me, Ian. Do whatever it takes to find and eliminate the threat to Sara."

"I understand, Sir. I'll take care of it immediately."

"Good. Thank you, Ian," Irons said kindly, but it was obviously a dismissal. Ian inclined his head respectfully and slipped out as silently as he had come.

Irons brooded as he stared into the flames, swirling his wine idly in the glass. He was sure he still had Ian's loyalty, but it didn't hurt to reinforce it. He would do as much as he could persuade the boy to be here, with or without Sara, and he would use that time, that proximity, to bind Ian even tighter to him. Perhaps he could still bind the Wielder to him as well through Ian. He would have to work carefully, but he was a patient man. He was confident he would be in control of everything again in time.