Disclaimer: Witchblade does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.
Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.
Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.
Rating: PG-13
Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.
Pairing(s): Ian/Sara
Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.
***** ***** *****Title: Before Dawn
Author: Adrianna AEternalis
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com
Chapter 1: Alleyway
She was trapped in the alleyway with no fire escapes within reach. Greasy men cornered her with a variety of weapons; she saw flashes of light off handheld knives and the dull glints of reflections on gun muzzles.
The only thing keeping her alive was the suspended Witchblade in sword form and the pseudo-armor that hugged her body. The men had been prepared for a fight but not for the full fury of the Witchblade or its Wielder.
As they tried to improvise, they neglected to watch the mouth of the alleyway. Sara saw her road to freedom mere seconds before it was filled by her stalker in black who appeared as a silhouette against the fiery sky of the setting sun.
Sara's attackers saw Ian too late to stop his momentum. He was an imposing sight - wielding his own choice weapon of the sword - with the deadly knowledge of swift kills. Deadly accurate, he turned and sliced and swiveled and jabbed his way into the crowd of attackers.
With their attention diverted, Sara let loose with a scream and launched herself into the men with renewed vigor. Just as she reached her rescuer, she felt the whoosh of air that told her to duck; the thrown knife found a second unexpected target in Ian's shoulder.
He went down on one knee as the pain lacerated his concentration. Sara saw the tide of the fight turn for the worse as her attackers regrouped with this minor victory. Ian staggered to his feet when Sara flung herself to his side, close enough now for him to clearly hear the venom in her voice over the growls and grunts.
"Ian, listen to me. If you let them kick my ass, I'm going to kick yours the first chance I get. Got it?"
She felt his muscles shift as he switched his sword to his left hand and straightened to his full height. He glanced at Sara and she was spellbound to muteness from the unnatural glow of his eyes. Then, he reached for her with his injured arm and substituted their positions in time to block the next blow.
Sara gave herself a small shake and returned her attention to the fray. Her first priority would be to survive; the next two would be to examine why she did not question Ian's appearance or the relief she felt with him at her side. Maybe, then, she would find the energy to wonder why Ian's eyes aroused such a complex mixture of questions and emotions in that split second.
*****Finally, Sara's alleyway attackers either lay in agony at their feet or had fled for safety. She was exhausted so she simply watched as Ian slowly moved through the men and questioned those still alive. Another day, another alleyway, she may have questioned his interrogation skills, but not tonight. Tonight, it felt revitalizing to have somebody in her corner - somebody physically solid.
He slit one attacker's radial artery and the man slowly bled out as he divulged information to Ian. He snapped the last man's neck in annoyance before returning to Sara's side. She roused herself enough to gingerly remove the knife protruding from his shoulder; she knew she should not - they really should find some discreet medical attention, but she gave control to Ian the moment she collapsed against the wall. If he wanted the knife removed, well, then, that was what she would do.
Ian nodded his thanks when he turned to face her, kneeling before her seated form. Her knees were drawn up and her head fell limply to them. Gentle hands supported her head for his brief examination. Sara did not see the concern overshadowing pain; her eyes were closed.
Satisfied with seeing only fatigue, Ian said one uncertain word. "Sara?"
She heard the concern in a voice that reminded her of warmed honey. Sara acknowledged Ian by opening her eyes; she blinked his face into focus and promptly closed her eyes again. Her mind was so perilously close to information overload.
"Sara? We need to leave."
She tried; she really did. In the end, it was Ian's strength that lifted her to her feet and waited those long agonizing moments for the Witchblade to retract into its dormant bracelet form. He supported most of her weight as they staggered to his waiting Ducati. They sped through the relatively quiet streets of New York City at night.
*****Speed and the cold night roused Sara from her post-adrenaline stupor. Slowly, she took notice as Ian wound his way from the site of her attack to the familiar streets near her apartment. He drove past her street and building at random intervals obviously looking for any traps nearby it. When he finally slowed the motorcycle down, Sara suddenly felt Ian's nearness through the warmth of his body and the unmistakable tangy smell of blood.
She swung herself off the motorcycle first and voluntarily looked into Ian's surprised eyes. Forestalling his immediate reaction to leave, Sara grabbed his keys from the ignition.
A small smile of thanks went a long way and Ian mimicked her practiced movement of sliding off the motorcycle. Sara took a deep breath and issued Ian's first invitation into her home.
"C'mon, Ian; I know you have amazing regenerative powers, but all cuts need to be clean. It's the least I can do. You did bail me out back there."
"It was an honor -" Whatever else Ian was going to say was lost as he turned away and cautiously led the way upstairs.
© RK 13.Jan.2004
