Must say, haven't seen beyond "Hierophant", and I barely remember that one as it is.  I know very little about what happens later, and most of that I learned by accident.  Although I want to see, the pre-mature canceling of the series has saddened me to the point that I haven't worked too hard on acquiring the rest of the episodes.  Not to mention I haven't seen reruns anywhere.  So, Ian in this series is based on first season and up until "Nailed" of the second season.  You might even see a blending of the two from time to time, though unintentional.

I promise, things will pick up as the story progresses. ^_^

Reviews are much appreciated!  Thanks!

Part Two: Rules of Engagement

Chapter Five:

Call Me Beside You if You Dare

Out of a blinding desert dust storm / Tell an oasis out of air / Sound of a tambourine inviting / Call me beside you if you dare

~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton (Abridged)

¤ ¤ ¤

How much make-up should one wear on a blind date?  Sara surveyed her creation in the bathroom mirror and wrinkled her nose.  She had applied just a touch of mascara and a smear of bright red lipstick to compliment her dress.  Yes, dress.  A crimson number that did not leave much to the imagination.  Sara was not, nor had she ever really been, particularly self-conscious of her body, but staring at the new woman before her made her wonder if she were being too aggressive for a first date.  Okay, going for attainable, but not easy.  Sexy, but not trashy.  Feminine, but strong.  God, how I hate walking this line.

Sara picked up the lipstick canister again.  Raised it.  Lowered it.  Raised it, almost bringing it to her already blood-red mouth, then threw it in one harsh line back to the counter.  Enough was enough.  It wasn't like her to be so indecisive.  Take one little date with a complete stranger and turn my already spinning world on its ear.  Of course, this whole night was going to be nothing like her.  She had made a conscious decision to try and crawl out of her shell and into the bright, blinding sun.  And she was going to enjoy that blindness, even if it killed her.

Besides, she had already started the ball rolling when she called that twenty-four hour dating service.  She still wasn't sure what had possessed her to do such a lame thing, but she couldn't stop it now.  Well, she could, but that would just be cowardly.  A little dinner at a cozy restaurant, what could it hurt?  Sara tried not to think too hard about that one.

I don't even know why I bother.  Sara glanced down to the tranquil Witchblade and numbly realized it matched her ensemble.  Just a pretty red stone.  You're not a part of this, she thought at it fervently.  I am meeting someone tonight who doesn't give a shit about you.  Who doesn't want me or hate me because of you.  If he likes me, great.  But you know what?  Even if he doesn't that, too, will be great.  Because he will hate me for me.

Her cel rang.

"What," she snapped out, not liking how she had jumped at the intrusion.  If it was Jake then she would just have to apologize later.  If it was Danny, she wouldn't need to.

There wasn't even hesitation, just a neutrally pleasant, "Hello, Sara."

"Why, hello, Nottingham," she replied mockingly sweet, then. "What do you want?"

"You..."

"Wha---"

"...to meet me.  I have some information that may be relevant to the Witchblade, and you as its Wielder."

"Sorry, no can do.  Sara, the Wielder, cannot be reached tonight.  Just me, Sara, the mild-mannered detective."

"Then I appeal to Sara, the mild-mannered detective.  Though I think 'mild' is stretching it a bit."

She chose to ignore that, still not comfortable with his recent attempts at flirting with her.  Though she had to admit, if only to herself, that he was improving.  Practice makes perfect and all that jazz.  "Sorry, Nottingham, that Sara is on her way out, too."

"Drinking with Detective McCarty again?  Keep it up, Ms. Pezzini, and you will become a card-carrying alcoholic."

"If you must know, Mr. Nottingham, I have a date tonight."  And she could say it now and it not be a lie.  It felt so much better to be honest.

"A date?" he asked quietly, and she could almost hear the slight puzzled frown in his voice.  She was actually surprised he didn't already know about it.  He seemed to pride himself on knowing everything ahead of her.

"Well, yeah.  It isn't such an uncommon thing, you know.  Hey Nottingham, maybe you should give it a try sometime.  I bet a good old-fashioned roll in the hay would do you a world of good."  No, I don't.

"A...roll in the hay?" Ian asked, not understanding why rolling in any type of grass would be beneficial to him.

"Uh, yeah, it's a euphemism for sex," Sara raised an eyebrow to the phone, knowing that he couldn't see it.  Then again, maybe he can, she thought in a not so unusual burst of paranoia.  In an almost nonchalant manner Sara went about her apartment, checking all the windows and doors.

Just being near Sara was teaching Ian so many new and varied things, things that his father had never thought important enough for him to know.  He would never have guessed that sex and rolling in hay would reach the same conclusion.  Then he began to wonder if hay was a preference of his Lady's, and if he should look into purchasing some in order to please her...pleasing her was, after all, what he desired most...

"Nottingham?  Nottingham!  I know you're there; I can hear you breathing," which she recognized as an oddity.  The man could very well sneak up on her while walking over egg-shells.

Ian heard Sara, but she wasn't quite making sense yet.  He was just beginning to understand and appreciate the many uses of hay.  Allergies be damned!

"Anyway, Nottingham, I'm leaving.  Call me later and I'll tell you all about my date."  The sentence was shaped innocently as a request, but it came out more like a threat.  With that she hung up before he could respond, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt about it.  Must be cracking...

Sara picked up the dress' matching purse and glared at it as if it were one of the most offensive things in the universe.  But it was necessary since the cut and shape of the dress made pockets nothing more than wishful thinking.  The cel went into the purse, nestled nicely in between her wallet and her gun.

¤ ¤ ¤

As with any particularly good restaurant there was an excessive line of well-dressed people waiting to get in, most of them holding small contraptions or huddling around someone with one.  Sara sighed and hoped that Jack, for that was the name of her mystery date, was already seated and she wouldn't be left to join the constantly shifting throng.

Pushing her way through the crowd of couples and families took away some of her growing annoyance, and filled her with a small sliver of the same exultation she got from her bike, distance from herself and the world even as she hurtled through it.  She even accepted the crowd's pushing back as part of the sensation, though she liked it less and less.  It wasn't the Witchblade, but her own over-active imagination that showed her how easy it would be to rip the gun from her purse and brandish it like a madwoman until everyone cleared her a nice little path.  Though the Witchblade was not exactly averse to the idea.  With a toss of her head and a deep filling breath, Sara finally emerged from the sea of pressing bodies as if breaking the surface of water.

The Hostess glanced at her with a nearly perfect impression of tedium, smoothed a well-manicured hand over the register, and barked out, "Name.  Party."

Sara stared at her and tried to recall Jack's last name.  The Hostess stared at her and said, "Name.  Party."

"Hmm...Whitechappel.  Jack Whitechappel!" Sara cried triumphantly.  The Hostess glanced at her lingeringly before turning back to her list of names.

Someone grasped her elbow.  Sara spun around, instantly reaching for empty air where her weapon would normally be.  The little man before her was apologizing profusely, practically bowing.  She relaxed her hand away from her imaginary gun, and realized it was perhaps the third time that day where her first response was to draw.  It did not bode well.

She watched the man's mouth move and realized he was speaking.

"What?"

"I said, if you will follow me, Madame, your table is this way..."

Regarding him with a raised eyebrow, Sara supposed he had heard her words to the Hostess and recognized the name.  She nodded, watching the relieved light fill his beady blue eyes.

He turned and she followed, wove where he wove, and did not fail to notice the veiled hostility in some of those she left near the door.  She was happy her date was thoughtful enough to arrive early and get them a table.  Okay, last second...Sara quickly checked her person to make sure all was in order, adjusted her purse strap, and ran her fingers through her hair.  She was nervous and she hated it.  Her escort stopped before a small two-seater nestled in a not-so-crowded corner.  She quickly glanced past him, trying to catch a glimpse of her mystery date before he saw her, though she knew he had the advantage.

Unfortunately, her date was flipping through the menu and all she could see were two strong hands, and a ring...

"Nottingham," she gasped, feeling all the tension of meeting her stranger-date unfurl, and a new one take its place.  Ian had the grace to look sheepish as he folded the menu on the table and stood up.  And glowed.  Sara just about swayed on her heels at the picture he presented her.  White, tailor-made linen, with just an edge of black and gold trim, his dark hair carefully combed back into a stylish twist.  She stared at him and realized with a dull shock...that she had been correct in the colour she had chosen for him.  He did look marvelous!

TBC...