A/N:  Yes, I know I use creative grammar, so don't flame me about it.  You can flame me about anything else you feel like though.  It just means you read the story.  Also, I prefer to 'forget' about the episode about how Ian was related to Emily Bronte, I had the idea for the story long before the episode and have just continued on with it.  By the way, this is a work in progress, the updates won't be regular because I prefer quality over quantity.  *Rolls her eyes* Actually, I got a back case of writers block at ch. 3.  so…

All standard disclaimers apply.  I just like to put the characters in highly unlikely situations. 

Ch 1.         Unstable

            Another stack of papers flopped onto her desk, making what had to be one of the most hated sounds of her career.  Sara Pezzinni sighed heavily, almost wishing it were all over.  To be honest though, she wanted to be gone.  Her day wasn't getting any better; it certainly had been one of the worst days of her life.  Maria's death hadn't even seemed as bad as her current temperament.  At first she felt a stab of guilt for Maria's death, but she shrugged it off.  She didn't need guilt right now.

            "Another one for ya," Sara didn't even glance up at rookie Jake McCartey, she knew he'd have that goofy grin plastered on his face.  Right now even the smile in his voice was enough to nearly set her on edge. 

            "Uh," was the only response that she could manage when she looked at desk which was already piled high; this was no way to make a living.  With another noise of disgust the green eyed woman set to work, trying desperately to ignore the growing unease that came with every file she looked upon.  Apparently it wasn't bothering either Danny or Jake, so Sara tried to ignore the gory photos that littered her workspace.  Case after case went by before she felt entirely suffocated.  "I've, um, got to go, I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?"

            Sara practically belted out of her chair in haste to get out of the office.  "What's the matter, Pez, had some bad food at lunch?"

            "Yeah, I think that's what it is.  Something about that Thai didn't taste right.  I'm going to take the afternoon off."  Sara was thankful for Danny's reprieve, plus she was sick to her stomach, those pictures had assured her of that.  Her partner and the resident rookie merely nodded and went back to work as she left.  It seemed like she might just escape from the precinct when Burgess loomed in front of her.

            "Going somewhere, Pezinni?  Dante told you about leaving early, something might happen."  Somehow that sounded like it was a fact that Dante had it out for her.

            Sara affected a look of non-chalance and leaned against a filing cabinet.  "Are you trying to tell me something, Burgess?  If you are, I suggest you tell me, or I'm leaving."

            Somehow Tommy Burgess didn't seem surprised at her reaction, in fact he smiled.  "It's a dangerous world out there, detective.  We wouldn't want you to take a curve too quick would we?"

            Sara was just about to shove him out of the way when someone grabbed her arm.  "Now, now, detective, there is no use in getting upset when someone gives you good advice.  Advice that you better take."  The hand tightened on her arm, almost enough to bruise, "Remember your place, Pezinni, or I'll be forced to remember mine."

            Okay, now that was it, forget the fact that she was about to jump down her bosses throat; he was a total bastard. 

            "Remember my place, huh? Don't even try that one on me, Dante.  I'm not taking the crap; if you were smart, which you obviously aren't, you would leave me the hell alone."  Her voice dropped a few decibels.  "If I wanted, I could kick your ass from her to Seattle, I'm tired of your shit.  Don't push me too far, or you will regret it for the rest of your miserable life."  Sara smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.  As she turned on her heal to leave she heard Dante mutter, but ignored it.  Until, that is, he brought her father into it.

            "Don't worry, Pezinni, you'll go down just like your coward of a dad, except even he faced it.  You'll just end up begging for it like a moaning wh-" he didn't get to say anything else because of Sara's punch that left him on the floor.  The pain in the brunette's knuckles was grounding, but extremely satisfying.  That along with the blood blossoming on her captain's face. 

            "He may be dead, but leave my dad outta it,"  She didn't even give him a chance to answer as she left, totally oblivious to the many stares that followed her form out the door.  Sara smirked as she left the building to get on her Buell.  That punch had made her feel extremely happy and just to spite Dante and his men, Sara recklessly rode to her apartment.  As an after thought the woman realized just how illegal most of that had been, but, amazingly, she didn't care.  Sara had told them not to push her, besides, no one had succeeded in killing her.

            When she got into her apartment, Sara dropped her jacket on the floor and put her helmet on the table.  While getting the bottle of beer out of the fridge Sara smiled, "So, Nottingham, how long have you been in my apartment?  I can just shoot you now and just say you were a burglar that tried to kill me when I caught you in the act."

            She felt rather than saw Iron's personal assassin's amusement at her ability to sense him, apparently she had utilized the Witchblade's many talents.  Sara just took a drink from the bottle and waited for Ian to speak up.  It proved to be a long time.  "I have a message for you."

            "Oh, how sweet, the assassin's gonna relay a summons from his master like a good little slave!  Abso-freakin'-lutely great.  What is it this time?"

            Nottingham looked at her from underneath his lashes as he answered, "My employer wishes for you to be his guest for dinner."

            Sara couldn't believe this:  it was the fourth offer to go and dine with the man this week.  She was tempted just so that she could tell him off.  "Listen, you can tell Irons to take his offers and shove them up his ass.  I'm tired of his lame attempts to seduce me."

            Through the connection that the Protector and Wielder shared, Ian could feel Sara's roiling emotions; she was a veritable bomb waiting to explode.  He quickly retracted his mind before she noticed any intrusions on her thoughts.  "Should I tell him that you will be unable to attend?"

            Sara slammed her beer down and stalked across the room to the dark man.  "No, you can tell him to stop sending lackeys to do his dirty work.  You can tell him to never invite me over again and you can tell him that he damn well needs to keep the fuck out of my life, and you too."  Sara brandished her wrist at Ian.  They both knew that the Witchblade would not work against him, what was she playing at?

            "You know what, I'm tired of this!  What do I have to do to keep you out of my life?"  Sara began to laugh hysterically and Ian suddenly knew what she was about to do:  Sara was going to use the Witchblade to commit suicide. 

She was insane.

            "Sara," Nottingham cautioned in hopes of calming her.

            "Don't call me that, I never gave you permission!"  Sara screamed and brought her now gauntleted arm down to chest level.  Ian slowly moved toward the Wielder as if he would a wary animal.  She noticed it, "Stop it now!  Come any closer and I will, I swear it!"

            He didn't give her the chance and vaulted across the room to subdue her.  The Protector nearly lost composure from shock when the Witchblade actually drew on him.  If that was the case, then Sara Pezinni, Bladewielder, had truly gone insane and was lost.  "Sara, stop."

            "No!" was her only answer and he was forced to draw his katana in order to keep from being skewered.  Sara became predatory and lunged immediately, a stroke punctuating every word.  "Go on, kill me, I know you can.  You were made to fight, Ian.  Kill me!"  The shock to his system was great when he realized that she had called him by his first name.  Sara got in a good swipe at his chest and smiled.  She liked this game.  "Are you losing it, Ian?" 

            The Witchblade retracted so that it was only a dagger, so Ian sheathed his own blade and stood with his head down.  "Ah, Ian, this is no fun, you're supposed to fight back."  He ignored the husky tone of her voice, true, it was extremely difficult since she had been the object of his dreams for a long time.  "Ian, you're supposed…"  he felt one of her hands on his back and a blade against his stomach, "to fight back."  The blade cut across his skin and through the sweater.  Sara like inflicting pain on him.  He had never thought for her to be a member of the S & M community, but somehow, it was fitting.

            "Ian," he felt cooler air on his abdomen, then another line of fire, he had enough of her foreplay.  He brought his head down to hers and fiercely kissed her.  Even Ian Nottingham only had so much reserve.  She had been waiting for it anyway, he knew and so he demanded entrance to her mouth with his tongue.  Sara opened her lips to welcome him in, but battled his tongue as soon as it entered.  She didn't wish to let him win.  Ian pulled back long enough to shrug off his duster before the now passion enthralled woman pulled his face down to hers with a fistful of black curls.  This was fast becoming dangerous ground.

            With a groan, Sara backed up against a wall all the while battling with Ian's tongue for the dominance of the kiss.  Slowly, she brought her hands to his back and Nottingham noticed with relief that the Witchblade had completely withdrawn.  His relief was replaced by pure, un-adulterated pleasure when Sara ground her hips against him, making him moan long and low into her lips.  Ian could feel the smile on Sara's face at causing a reaction.  She was being a bitch on purpose.  "You bet I am, baby."

            "Just shut up, detective."

            "Oh, fuck you," Sara said while still kissing him, though now she had progressed to nibbling on his ear lobe.

            "I believe that is what you're trying to do, Sara."

            She fastened her legs around his waist in one fluid moment and ripped his collar to give her access to his throat and neck.  "I never told you that you cold use my name."

            "No, you didn't."  He shoved her against the wall and was satisfied with the very feminine squeak she let out.  He was tempted to follow through with the current chain of events, but would be far happier to leave her where she was.  Ian dropped her from her perch upon him and turned to leave, trying desperately to quell his raging hard-on.

            Sara grabbed the front of his now ripped sweater and pulled, effectively ridding him of it.  "You're not leaving yet.  You started this, messenger boy, you're going to finish it."  Ian grunted in response when he was pushed down onto the cold tile floor and his now bare torso was teased by a roving mouth.  He gasped when Sara licked the cuts she had made earlier, the pleasurable pain merely made him decide to forget about his earlier plan.  "Come on, Nottingham, are we gonna do this or are you chickenin' out on me?"

            For an answer Ian helped her out of her long sleeved shirt and unhooked her bra, sliding it off her body.  The man on the floor devoured Sara's flesh with his eyes before reaching to her again to rid her of her jeans.  He was pleased when he discovered that she was wearing no panties underneath her tight clothing.  Sara looked suddenly very annoyed with him though, "You're still wearing clothes, we need to fix that."

            He felt her get off him only to feel Sara's talented hands taking off the cargo pants that currently encased him.  After pulling them off of her soon to be lover, Sara gasped.  It seemed like both of them had known what was going to happen. 

He was commando underneath all of that black.

When Ian tried to remove his gloves Sara stayed his hand, "Leave 'em on."  Sara looked at his weeping cock, evidence that he was enjoying her. "I want you in me now, and I know you can't wait either."  To make a point, she brushed her index finger over his tip and watched the twitch with passionate amusement.  "See?"

Oh, he saw indeed, he saw when she brought that treacherous finger to her mouth and suck on it.  Nottingham didn't care that the floor was uncomfortable and cold, he wanted her then and there.  Before Sara even took her finger out of her mouth, he lifted her up above his throbbing member.  The green-eyed goddess above him took the hint and positioned herself, then impaled with a cry upon him.  Both let out a deep-throated moan as they became a sweaty jumble on the hard floor and set pace with each other.  As they arched for better friction, Ian his her sweetest of spots and Sara rode him quicker.  He couldn't help but notice how primitively beautiful she looked:  a lustful war-goddess coupling with her damned follower and warrior.  They were both damned now, though, he managed to think through his passion-clouded mind, she was insane.  A few more strokes and Ian felt her walls quiver around him until she screamed out her orgasm with him coming into her barely seconds later.

Sara rolled off onto the floor next to him and grabbed Ian's coat from beside her to cover both of them.  Nottingham was amazed that the woman had attempted to commit suicide, then fucked on her apartment floor and was now snuggling up to his side about to sleep.  She was unstable.  There went the wonderful afterglow.  If she were to live much longer, the Protector would have to be more watchful, it wasn't just enemies that could kill the Wielder, Sara might try to be rid of herself.  Ian would watch her, but for now he would sleep with her on the floor until before dawn.  Her comfort to him would end, he would enjoy what little of it he could manage.