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 2: Explanations
They sighed simultaneously in relief at the stale air of Sara's apartment. A subtle layer of dust coated everything and protested in spiraling clouds as they disturbed it when they walked through the apartment.
Long tense moments ticked by as each checked the apartment for bugs and hidden cameras. They looked towards the other at the instant of wary satisfaction and Sara pointed to the bed while she entered the bathroom.
Ian had his overcoat and sweater removed but Sara knew his t-shirt remained in spite of modesty. A sheen of sweat covered his face and the pulse point at his neck raced. Regenerative powers he may have but immunity to pain he did not; he also need time and rest.
Sara grabbed a pair of scissors on her way to Ian and contemplated him for a full moment. He made no objection, accepting her assessment so she kneel-walked on the bed until she was behind him. The cold bite of metal was expected but shocking from the sudden straightening of Ian's spine. The t-shirt fell away save the swatch sticking to the knife cut.
"Water."
Sara jumped from the first word spoken since they came indoors. "What?"
"Use water to peel the material away so it doesn't take the clot with it when you pull it away."
Well, that made sense; Sara used his good shoulder to help her off the bed. She did not miss the shudder that flowed through his body or the way his eyes rolled gradually shut. Again, choosing not to examine in favor of doing, Sara retrieved the water.
*****He was lying on his stomach, using a pillow to prop himself to a slightly elevated position when Sara finished her shower. His eyes were closed and breathing rate even, but Sara knew he was not asleep. There was a soft prodding in a portion of her mind. Sara glared irritably at Ian.
"Stop that. You already know I'm right here."
Ian's lips upturned into his typical smile of amusement. She laughed out loud herself and joined him on the bed, bringing a towel to dry her hair.
To both their surprise, it was Sara who began the conversation.
"Where have you been, Ian? It's been at least a week since I've felt you do that."
His eyes opened; Sara could not ignore the magnetism of his hazel-streaked brown eyes. In them, Sara read his pleasure at her first open acknowledgement of their newly developed psychic connection. She also saw his desire to evolve that connection from the occasional one sided him-to-her to a two sided occasional him-to-her-to-him version. However, he respected her pace even though it could have saved Sara the trouble of having to ever ask that particular question.
He answered her aloud since she started that way.
"I've been detained by a number of obligations since you killed Irons. I did not receive a strong warning from the Witchblade until tonight. As soon as I knew, I came. I am sorry I did not come sooner, Sara."
"I suppose I deserve that. After all, you have to deal with the consequences of Irons's death - as a family member would, don't you? Settling his accounts and so forth."
"I still should have been at your side." Nothing Sara could do or say would brush away Ian's inwardly directed guilt.
She smiled grimly. "Even you cannot be in two places at once. We took care of that remember?"
He mirrored her expression before asking, "So, what now?"
"I was kind of hoping you'd have an idea."
He paused, then answered, "I can only tell you what I have discovered."
She nodded in acceptance. "It's more than what I have now."
So Ian tentatively touched his mind to hers and directed her to watch. The memory unfolded like a movie, fading from black to full color as it opened to an Ian dressed for a day of corporate business. Suit and tie to match were donned to aid the illusion of a son in mourning but strong and ruthless enough to run his father's empire.
He sat at a desk, which Sara nearly did not recognize; she had always been on the other side. Piles of files dotted the surface and she felt his determination to absorb everything. Though he had been trained in everything from tae kwon do to languages and cultures to business matters, he rarely had the need to exercise business skills until recently.
Ian closed the current folder and reached for the next - and lingered. Sara read along with him as he discovered just how far spread the White Bulls were, and just how high the dirt went.
His voice was quiet in her mind. "Do you know what happens to a chicken with its head cut off?"
"It runs around like a cow with mad cow disease."
"Precisely."
"Those men in the alleyway - they were mercenaries, weren't they?"
"Hired by the White Bulls in revenge for killing the man who created their organization and kept them well funded."
"When'd you come across this? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" There was no mistaking the sensation of Sara's betrayal.
The memory continued and Ian was ripped from his shock by the insistent call of the Witchblade's male counterpart - the heavy blue ring comfortably encircling his finger. Without a glance to the cluttered desk, Ian rushed to the adjoining bathroom while systematically divesting himself of the suit. Waiting for him was the comfortable attire of black: sweater, overcoat, and boots.
A careful jump out the bathroom window was only the start of an anxious journey to Sara's side.
© RK 13.Jan.2004
