*waves*  hi Lady Kate!  :-D  Don't worry about the email, I didn't really check it over most of the summer, but with school only a few weeks away I should be getting back onto some schedule.  As for similarities between ian and ares...well, there are a few.  They're both quite dangerous, and have a tendency to obsess on one woman...but ian is---gods, what is he?  He's not as dominating.  He's not exactly subservient this go-round, but he doesn't take a lot of initiative, at least when it comes to his relationship with Sara.  He does walk that same 'is he foe/is he friend' line.  And his battle skills are inhuman.  I can go on for hours, you know, but I think some people are wanting to get on with the story.  Sorry!  I'll shut up now!  *sheepish smile*  (btw, anybody else familiar with Xena that wants to add to the list of similarities/contrasts---feel free.  I know there are more, but I don't want to make this note longer than the chapter ;-).

hmm, this little story was well-received.  And here I thought it was one of the stupidest things I had ever put to paper (aside from LTCFAB).  it gives me all kinds of warm-fuzzies to know that some people like it, and even want me to continue O_O so here's the next chapter, dedicated to each and every person that reviewed and made it impossible for me not to keep going.  Thanks!  ^_^

Part One: So Happy Together

Chapter Two:

No Matter How They Toss the Dice, It Has to Be

Once in her apartment, surrounded by her things, Sara laid out her plan for Ian, in all its clever and strategic glory.  "I'm going to the bar just long enough to appease Jake, then we're going to figure out how to get out of this mess."

"I can take care of him for you," Ian repeated, a glint in his dark eyes that said he already knew how, too.

"No.  Now come along, we have to find some way to disguise you so Jake doesn't get suspicious..."  I'll never live this down.

Ian followed her around her apartment.  Mainly because the Witchblade still held him to her every move and he couldn't do much else.  He did pout the entire time.  He just didn't understand why she wouldn't let him kill Detective McCartey.  He knew she found him to be quite a nuisance.  He was not worthy of the Wielder.  And besides, he would betray her.  Ian glanced up in time to catch Sara staring at him, her green eyes seeming to measure out some idea.

"We could cut your hair," she provided absently.

Ian's free hand flew almost protectively to his ebony-brown mane.  "No!" he bit off quickly before the thought had any chance to solidify into action.  Though, truth be told, If Sara became insistent...he wouldn't stop her.

Sara shook her head and pulled him towards her bedroom.  "You're right, I'd kind of need both hands for that."  She glanced back at him, flashing one of her rare smiles that actually penetrated the usual shield that was her eyes.  "If I had known I was going to have company tonight I would have straightened the place up some."  She seemed to think that was funny, and Ian didn't ask why.  Maybe it was funny; maybe it was just her.  He had noticed that she had a tendency to laugh at things that others simply did not understand.  Himself included.

Getting to her knees was a delicate dance she was likely never to forget.  Too swift or far and she risked dragging him down with her, too slow and she had to fight for balance.  Once right, Sara dug through her closet with one hand, ignoring the black presence of Ian practically towering over her. 

After shoving aside a few plain boxes Sara emerged with her prize...what Ian could only guess was a yellowing mop sans handle.  She looked it over appreciatively, coaxing some of the tangles free with her fingers.

"I went to a Halloween dance at school when I was thirteen.  It was a costume party, and my first date, but I got so upset because nobody recognized who I was."  She turned eyes that were just a little distant up to him, presenting him with the wig in a gesture that was oddly reminiscent of countless marriage proposals.

Unsure of what his response was supposed to be, Ian just stared at her.

"I was Jeannie," she continued as if it explained everything.  "From 'I Dream of Jeannie'...?"

Ian just shrugged, having no clue what it was she was speaking about.

"Come on now!  It's a freakin' classic!"

Ian shook his head.

"Oh god, what is wrong with you people?!" She pushed to her feet with a huff, practically falling into him with the swiftness of her agitation.  Ian grasped her elbow to keep her steady but she wrenched her arm free, backing up that step or two that the Witchblade allowed.  Distance, distance...

Without further comment she reached up and slapped the blonde wig on his head.  Of course, it didn't quite sit right on top of his curls, and the escaped tresses kind of defeated the purpose, but she wasn't through yet.

Pulling the wig off, she said, "You need to do something with your hair.  Put it up maybe."

Ian really wasn't looking forward to putting that blonde thing on his head, but it was what Sara wanted.  Sigh.  He still thought killing Detective McCartey would solve the problem.  Solve all kinds of problems.

Pulling his hair back was a chore, seeing as he needed two hands.  After several failed attempts, Sara took pity and sat him on the edge of her not-so-neat bed.  It still took some maneuvering, but she quickly figured out how to use both her hands.  Mostly.

Combing her fingers through his hair to loosen the curls up some seemed to excite the Witchblade, and when one deep brown coil fell over her wrist the sentient bracelet gave out a happy little pulse.  Sara paused to stare at the red swirling eye incredulously.  I can't believe you're turned on by touching his hair!  You are a twisted little piece of work!

Ian, at the moment, would have given out his own happy little pulse if he could.  Her strong fingers in his hair being, perhaps, the most sexual stimulation he had ever received in his entire life.  Sara hummed on obliviously, had she been able to see his face she might have rethought the casualness with which she touched him.

"Rubber band," she snapped her fingers near his ear, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.  He sheepishly handed the rubber band up to her, knowing it was over and half-thankful for it.  He had swiftly been on a road to great and consuming embarrassment.

Sara stepped around him, twisting her wrist within the Witchblade to a more comfortable angle.  Tilting his head up with a finger crooked under his chin, she then took the wig from his hand and set it delicately over his hair.  A few adjustments and she just wasn't satisfied.  She grabbed a baseball cap and still didn't like the results, but decided there wasn't much else to do.

She pulled him up, left the bedroom again with him trailing behind like a kicked puppy.  He knew that he liked the touch of her hands.  He knew that he did not like the scratchy wig and baseball cap.  They were so not his style.  But for one the other must be.  He would wear them and be content with it all for that too short moment.

Sunglasses.  She tossed them back and he caught them expertly in one hand, mostly because he only had one hand with which to do so.  Ian put the nondescript glasses on without complaint.  Certainly she knew it was dark outside and just didn't care.  It was of no consequence to his heightened vision anyway.

"I wish..." Sara turned just in time to witness Ian stumble over the coffee table.  She moved into his path and braced him against her until he was steady.  As soon as she was sure of his feet she snatched the glasses back.  "The glasses can wait.  Now, as I was saying...I wish there was something we could do about your clothes."  She fingered the edge of his black shirt, while Ian tried not to breathe too much.  "You got a shirt on under this one?"

He nodded.

"Take this one off then."  Sara struggled not to think too hard about the fact that she was ordering Ian Nottingham to disrobe, even partially, for her.  It was too odd.

"What about the coat?" he asked, surprising himself with his own voice.  He had spoke so little since he had stepped into her private world. 

She pursed her lips at this new dilemma, then said, "I could cut it off..."  At the absolute horror that filled his eyes, she continued, "Right then, I guess the clothes can stay.  Sheesh, it's not like you can't buy a hundred more with all that money that Iron's left you."  It was at that time Sara realized that Ian was somewhat of a mother's dream:  tall, handsome, old-fashioned, protective, and most importantly---LOADED.  Hmm, good thing I don't know who my real mother is, she thought, casting the idea aside.

Stepping back to survey her work, Sara realized there wasn't much else she could do with him.  Except...

"Take off the gloves."

Ian stared at her.

"Come on, Nottingham!  I swear I won't try to swipe a fingerprint or something!"

He continued to stare at her, then very finely removed the first.  The second took more of a struggle seeing as the Witchblade was wrapped around it.  And Sara's own hand kept getting in the way.  His fingers brushed hers once or thrice, and each time he paused, took a breath.  Finally, he had a small bundle of black leather that he promptly shoved into a coat pocket, and two very pale hands.  His ring joined the gloves.

Sara felt the tension in him running through her wrist, and up, up until it coiled into her spine and awakened an answering tension.  She didn't know what his problem was, but whatever it was---she chose to ignore it and fetched her phone once again.

¤ ¤ ¤

The Buell being out of the question, for obvious reasons, forced Sara to call a cab.  She didn't like cabs.  She didn't like placing her life in the hands of someone she did not know.  Even if it was their job.  Especially because it was their job. 

Upon heading out Sara had finally realized that it was dark and that the sunglasses would be a little suspicious.  She looked at them, at Nottingham, then slowly held them out.  He took them wordlessly and slipped them on, much to Sara's disappointment.  She had hoped he would refuse, or at least point out the absurdity.  She was beginning to have very weird thoughts about how much influence she had over him, and how much he willingly gave her.

Ian opened the door for her, which she did not like at all.  But it seemed to set him more at ease so she let it go.  All she needed was a twitchy assassin on her heels.

"You ever thought of dying your hair blonde, Nottingham?" she asked teasingly as she tried to slide into the cab.  It was no easy task, but she managed to get all the way across the seat without jerking on his hand too much. 

Ian closed the door, then turned to her with his big black sunglasses.  "No, Sara, I have not."  She didn't need to see his eyes to know that he was not happy.

"That's probably best," she replied, "It's so not your colour."  She gave the driver directions and the cab slowly pulled away.  Once the vehicle was in motion she turned back to Ian and said, "Okay, tonight you're my date.  First date, so don't get all touchy-feely.  Um...some rules...don't be all creepy, don't kill Jake, DO stare down any jerks that try to hit on me, don't kill Jake for trying to hit on me, don't kill Jake, don't kill Jake, don't kill Jake.  Oh!  And don't kill anybody else.  Are we clear?"

"Can I...incapacitate him?"

"NO!  God, this is going to be a long night."

Ian couldn't agree more, especially since she took all the fun out of seeing Detective McCartey.  Her fingers brushed his again, causing relaxing muscles to tense-up with unexpected sensation.  Once upon a time that didn't exist he had told her that they could be inseparable, now that it was a reality...he felt as if he were drowning, and finally able to draw breath---all at once.  It wasn't exactly pleasant.  It made him feel helpless and small, but also elated.

"So...what colour is mine," he asked hesitantly.

Sara glanced at him sideways to see if he was joking, but the face he presented her was shockingly sincere.  "Well...I dunno."  She tried to picture him in all sorts of colours and styles, but it all flew by in a flash, slipping through her grasp and fading right back into the colour he always wore.  And then there was one, distinct and very solid in her head.  And my god, did he look marvelous!

"White," she said, "You'd look good in white."

...

Was he blushing?  She couldn't help the grin that curved over her mouth.  She had made Nottingham blush...and it felt good.  Too good.  She snapped her head around with a frown.  Don't start that.  Don't go there.  Don't you dare go there!  Sara stared at the scenery as it passed by, let it fill her mind with nothing.  Nothing was so much safer.

The rest of the trip passed in silence.  Ian recognized the bar as the one Sara always went to.  But his attention was quickly riveted back to her as she struggled in attempt to reach her right pocket with her left hand.  Ian knew this was where she kept her wallet.  The driver looked on with confusion, and just a little impatience.

Ian reached into his own pocket, "I can get it, Sar---"

"No!  ME!  I'll pay!" making it clear she would fight him if he so much as pulled a dollar out of his pocket.  She glared at him as if he had been going for a gun.  He didn't understand why his movement to pay had excited such a reaction from her, but he didn't question it.  Having heard his lady's wishes, he took them to heart and relaxed his hand away from his wallet.

"Damn it!  Damn it!  Damn it!"  Sara squirmed in her seat.  Stupid car.  Stupid jeans.  Stupid Witchblade!

"Perhaps if we got out?" Ian offered quietly.

Sara glared at him a moment, then waved her left hand, pantomiming that he proceed with said suggestion.  Ian slowly slid out under the driver's careful observance, then turned to help her.  She sat within the car and stared at him, trying to convey something with her eyes that he just couldn't understand.  With a quiet sigh she allowed him to take her hand, pulling it free as soon as she was standing.  It was definitely easier to get to her money when vertical. 

Paying the driver, she put her wallet in her coat pocket and turned to regard her companion.  She wrapped her fingers around his, pulled both their sleeves down to cover the Witchblade as much as possible, then took a deep breath.

"Let's get this over with."

TBC...