A/N: Hi all.  Sorry I haven't posted in a while.  Let's just say that there are worse things than doing 2 sets of taxes, one for me and one for grama.  Life has not been kind lately, and without my beloved boyfriend I would have gone stark raving mad.  I'm getting my feet back under me, tho, and I hope you like what I came up with after my long absence.  Please R/R and let me know what you think.

Gathering Storm: Chapter 12

Ian watched, barely suppressing a sigh, as the last man left.  He had been in meeting after meeting today, dealing with ambitious idiots who thought they could walk all over him.  Irons had kept him in the shadows for so long they had come to ignore him, these powerful men and women of business, and they thought him of little consequence as a result.  It had taken quite a bit of persuading and threatening to convince them he was not just a force to be reckoned with, but THE force to be reckoned with.  There would still be attempts to wrest control of the vast and various resources of Irons' empire from him, Ian knew, but for the most part the transition had gone smoothly.  He would deal with the individuals who continued to cause trouble when they made their moves.  For now he had done all he could.

After a quick word to his secretary, Ian headed out of the office and down the hall to his private gym.  He was taut as a bowstring, and the tension needed to be worked out.  The intellectual games were stimulating to him, but they created energy that needed a physical outlet.  After a quick change into a t-shirt and sweats he started with a warm-up of martial arts katas.  The smooth movements flowed from one position to the next, slowly increasing in speed but never losing their precision.  After he was sufficiently warmed up he turned to the heavy bag, grinning as he laid into the thick leather with a ferocity that mimicked Sara's workouts.  He pummeled the bag until his knuckles ached, then turned to free weights, and after that the treadmill, running until he was exhausted and glistening with sweat.

Ian wiped down the machine and tidied up the room before passing through the door at the other end from the hallway.  A small but well-stocked bathroom awaited his needs.  He showered leisurely, enjoying the feel of the steaming hot water running through his hair and over his chest, arms, and back.  When he was clean and dry again he pulled his hair back into its ponytail and dressed again in his suit, musing that a shopping trip was definitely in order.  He had a store of what Sara would call his "stalker outfits" here, but he would need extra business clothes here as well.  Making a mental note to call Rachel at the boutique and have several new outfits sent over, he finished messing with his hair and headed down the hall and out of the building.  He made his way to Sara's apartment as quickly as traffic allowed, eager to see her, and find out what she had learned about Irons' killer.

As he drove through traffic his thoughts turned to his former employer and the only father he had ever had.  His chest tightened and his eyes began to sting.  Their relationship had been abnormal to say the least.  Irons had been viciously cruel, controlling, and ruthless with Ian, but the older man had also had a fondness for the boy he raised, a pride in his creation, and affection for the one person who was always there by his side.  Ian found he missed those times when Irons would smile in approval of Ian's quick grasp of a situation or a job well executed, figuratively or literally, whichever the situation called for.  He missed the moments of intimacy when Irons would share his thoughts with Ian or ask Ian's opinion on something.  And he would treasure forever the moment when Irons had finally said he was proud of him.

Vaguely surprised, Ian realized thoughts of his father didn't cause him the tearing pain they had the night before when he had broken down and sobbed in Sara's arms, or this morning when he had awakened.  He wondered if that was normal.  The sorrow and sense of loss were still there, but they were something he could think past, not the debilitating waves they had been. He wondered if it was because he had Sara now, or perhaps he had accepted that it was indeed time, as Irons had said in his letter.  He was very grateful he had Sara to help him though this, because without her love he feared he would have gone insane.

Ian was very introspective when he got to the apartment.  Sara was already there, fixing dinner, which in this case meant spooning Chinese food out of the little white boxes and onto plates.  She sensed his mood before he opened the door and simply gave him a strong hug.  He held onto her for a minute like a man drowning, then kissed her sweetly and they went in to eat.

"Did you find out anything about the killer," Ian asked around a mouthful of Hunan beef.

"I did," she replied.  "Hold on," she said, slipping out of her chair to grab a file folder.  She had killed time waiting for him to come home by typing her findings up report-style, adding the picture Royce had printed up earlier and his notes on the case as well.  He scanned her findings quickly, memorizing everything, then thought for a minute.  Sara gave him time, using his distraction as an opportunity to snag the last two fried prawns for herself.

"I know this man," Ian said after a moment.  "The incident that got him fired was something Dante had put him up to."

"He was a White Bull," Sara asked, though she had already guessed it.  Ian nodded.

"You noted here that Ms. Po found he had cancer, that he was dying from it," he said.  "It's likely someone paid his widow a large amount of money to do this job.  Follow the money, find the culprit."

"Yeah," Sara agreed.  "But the question is why.  I mean, coming after you I could see, especially after all the damage you did, but this guy was definitely after Irons."

"Perhaps they thought I was under orders, and if they eliminated Irons I would stop coming after them, since they failed to take me out directly.  I'll ask him before I kill him, whoever it is."

"Ian, I'm still a cop," she reminded him.  "Don't tell me things like that.  I had to give the same information to my Captain or he could have me up on Obstruction of Justice charges."

"Of course, love," he replied.  "I understand.  Have you decided whether you will continue to be a police detective or not?"

"No," she sighed.  "I want to talk to you about that, but it can wait.  I'm pretty mixed up about it.  More time may help.  What were you up to all day?"

"Meetings," he spat with disgust.  She grinned at his tone.  "Long meetings with obtuse people.  You have no idea how hard it was not to bash their heads into the table.  They desperately needed sense knocked into them."

"After dealing with Dante I have a pretty good idea," Sara replied.  His lips quirked up into a smile.

"Perhaps you do," he conceded.  "I swear each and every one of those people challenged my authority and my ideas.  They thought I was nothing more than an ignorant bodyguard."

"I bet you surprised the hell out of them," she said.

"I wish you could have been by my side," he said wistfully.

"You didn't need me there losing my temper," she pointed out.  "And I would have been little help on the business side of things.  I got more done working on the murder case."

"I know," he sighed.  "I still wish you had been there."

"You'll have to start teaching me about all this business stuff sometime soon," she said.  "Otherwise I won't know how to manage my half of everything."

"Speaking of your half," Ian said, pulling out his wallet.  "The attorney dropped these by today."  He handed her a stack of cards.

"What are these for," she asked, looking at the various credit and check cards with her name on them.  Ian pointed to each in turn as he explained.

"That one accesses your new personal checking account," he tapped the check card.  "Those three are for different accounts from different corporate holdings around the world. And the last one is your general credit card."

"Wow," she said, staring at all the different sources of money.  "How much do I have," she asked.

"Well, most of your net worth is in the company holdings, stocks, real estate, corporate assets, so your cash holdings are considerably less than the billions you are worth," Ian explained.  "You have no limit on the credit card, technically, but I'd say you have access to at least two million in cash at any point in time."

"Two million?!" Sara spluttered.

"At least.  You should feel free to purchase anything you like," Ian kept going, enjoying her utter shock.  "Your account will only continue to grow as quarterly dividends are deposited.  I highly doubt you will be able to spend it all."

"God, Ian, this is so much to absorb."  She shook her head, staring at the plastic in her hands.  "I've always been a cop, and you know the only rich cop is a dirty cop.  I'm not used to this."

"It's alright, my lady," he said, taking her hands in his.  "You have plenty of time to get used to it.  One more thing, the funeral is Saturday.  We are both expected to attend, and then host the wake afterward at the mansion."

"What do we need to do for that," she asked, not relishing another gathering so soon.

"Mr. Irons gave his attorney instructions for the funeral service and so forth, so there is nothing we need do there but attend.  For the rest of it, the staff at the manor have been given instructions already and the caterers have been called.  Everything is arranged, and all we have to do is preside over the occasion."

"All we have to do, hm?" Sara grimaced.  "That's like saying all we have to do is swim through a tank of hungry sharks."  She frowned and he chuckled.

"The worst of it is there will be reporters at the funeral service, though they will be barred from the premises of the manor.  They will all want to interview us, as the heirs to Mr. Irons' extensive personal and business holdings."

"I don't want to talk to them," Sara muttered.

"I agree that the funeral is not the time to speak to the press, but eventually we will have to at least make a statement.  The stories they will concoct in the absence of our statements will eventually become pretty wild."

"What do you suggest, then, Ian," she asked.

"I suggest we say nothing until we can arrange for an exclusive interview with one of the VCN reporters.  We will be able to get a list of questions beforehand so we can decide how best to answer them without betraying the Witchblade or anything else we don't want to explain."

"Okay," she agreed, then sighed.  "Ian, I don't know if I'm ready for all of this.  I'm just a cop, for God's sake."

"Sara, my love, you were never 'just a cop', you know that."  He took her hands in his across the small table.  "You are the strongest woman I have ever known.  You can do anything.  And I will be right by your side."

"Oh, Ian," she replied, a suspicion of tears in her eyes.  "You are the strong one.  Here you are dealing with the loss of your father, taking over the businesses, arranging everything for the funeral and wake, and figuring out how to deal with the press, and somehow you still manage to be strong for me too.  And here I am being selfish worrying about myself when I should be the one being strong for you for a change.  I guess I've come to rely so much on your support I forget you may need supporting too from time to time."

"Just knowing I will not be doing any of this alone is the best support you could give me, my love," Ian said, wiping away her guilty tears.  "And truth be told, I am not as troubled by Mr. Irons' death as I thought I would be."

"How do you mean," she asked.

"I think it was mostly what he said in his letter to me, knowing he was going to die, that his part in the Witchblade's schemes was over, that makes it easier to accept.  There is still loss and sorrow, but not the tearing grief there was at first.  Perhaps knowing he accepted his death made it easier for me to accept as well.  And I think knowing the reason why helps too.  Most people don't get any answers."

"I've seen that all too often in my work," Sara said, nodding.  "There are always so many questions without answers, and we just hope every case that we can answer some of them, bring a measure of peace to those left behind."

"Do you love your work, Sara," Ian asked, very seriously.  Sara considered carefully for a while.

"I think it's more that I have a passion for it," she replied, feeling her way along as she went, examining it as she never had before.  "I've just always known I would be a cop like my dad, and I'm good at it.  For most of my life it has been the focus of my life, who I am.  But something went out of it after Joe retired, and Dante came in.  I'm just not sure if it's something I want to keep doing, now that I don't have to.  I've watched too many people die."

"But?" Ian prompted, knowing there was more.

"But I'm scared, Ian," she said.  "It's all I know how to be, all I have ever been.  Being a Detective is a large part of who I am, and to give that up scares the hell out of me."

"But Sara," Ian said, shaking his head.  "You have always been more than the Detective.   You have been a friend, a daughter, a lover, a partner, and you have become the Wielder.  You will become a wife, and possibly a mother, you have become an heiress to a multi-billion dollar fortune and a very powerful person in the business world.  You are all these things and more.  You cannot change what is.  But you do have the option of deciding whether you will continue to be a Detective along with all these other things, or if you will allow that part of your life to close and concentrate your energy on all the other things that you are."

"It sounds like you want me to quit my job," Sara said, almost accusingly.

"What I want is for you to be happy with your decision," Ian said.  "I am playing Devil's Advocate here, and taking the opposite position that you did.  I will admit I would very much like you to be free to be by my side, sharing the responsibilities of running our businesses, but I do not want you to quit your job if it will make you unhappy."

"I'm still not sure, Ian," she said.  "I'm not even used to the fact I never need to wait for another paycheck to buy groceries again."

"As I said, you have time," he reassured her.  "Nothing needs to be decided now.  Perhaps you can have your Captain extend your leave of absence.  You will have to ask him to in any case, because you were scheduled to return to duty the day of the funeral."

"Damn, that's right," she noted.

"Sara," Ian said, capturing her eyes with his.  "You know I will support whatever you decide to do."

"I know, Ian," she smiled.  "You have no idea how much that means to me."

"Why don't you show me," he asked with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrows.  She laughed and let him lead her to the bedroom, where they took turns showing each other most of the night.