A/N: Sorry this installment has taken so bloody long. I've not been sleeping well, due to stress, and am having a hard time concentrating lately. Also my grama, who I take care of, has needed more attention and it is difficult to get time uninterrupted to get anything written that isn't utter drivel. My sincerest apologies to all, and I hope this is worth the wait.
When Ian awoke the next morning it was to a pounding head and a strange taste in his mouth. For a moment he couldn't understand the condition he was in, but the moment he sat up and spied his new sapphire blue shirt in a puddle on his floor the memory of last night came rushing back, and he winced. There would be hell to pay today, with both Irons and Sara, he realized, and the thought nearly set him to pulling the covers up over his head and going back to sleep. Only knowing things would be worse if he tried to avoid the consequences of his actions forced him out of bed and into motion.
He took a hot shower and dressed in his habitual black clothing, then touched up his shaving job from the day before. He would decide later whether to let his beard grow back or to continue to shave. Satisfied with his grooming he headed to the kitchen for something to eat. His stomach was in knots over the coming confrontations, and his meal was tasteless in his mouth, but he forced something down knowing his body would need the fuel. Knowing Irons would be in his study at this hour, Ian put his dishes in the sink and went to face the music.
Knocking briefly on the study door, then letting himself silently in, Ian waited with his head down for Irons to acknowledge him. After several minutes Irons finally put down the document he was reading and looked consideringly at Ian for several very uncomfortable minutes. Ian mentally braced himself for one of Irons' famous tirades, convinced his employer was furious with him. Finally, Irons sighed and gestured to a seat in front of the desk.
"Sit down, Ian," Irons urged. "I am not angry with you." Ian glanced up quickly at that, startled and wondering if it were true. He saw nothing in the ice-blue eyes but weariness.
"Yes, sir," Ian said as he moved gracefully to take the indicated seat.
"So, tell me in detail what happened yesterday, how you ended up drugged, and what happened after you left the manor last night." Irons sat back, steepling his fingers and waiting. Ian took a deep breath and told him, in enough detail to satisfy him, everything that had happened. Irons listened impassively, then sat silently for a time after Ian finished his account, thinking on all that he had heard. Ian was certain that if Irons hadn't been angry before he would be now after hearing about his interaction with the Wielder. It was contrary to all of Irons' plans of controlling her to have her interested in anyone but Irons, and Ian was to blame.
"Ian," Irons said finally. "Do you think I work you too hard?" Ian was caught off guard by the question.
"No, sir," Ian said simply.
"Perhaps I should give you more personal time," Irons said musingly. "The blade too often sharpened wears down and becomes thin. And you are more than a weapon, Ian, you are also a man. You have always served me well, and I owe you more consideration than I have been showing you. It is easy to forget you have needs when you never complain, my son."
"I have nothing to complain about," Ian insisted, but Irons shook his head.
"You made it very clear yesterday that you do, Ian."
"The drug…" Ian began.
"Only freed you from your self-restraint to say what you wouldn't dare otherwise," Irons interrupted. "You are a good and faithful servant, Ian, and I do not reward you as I should."
Ian bowed his head, silent, for he did not know what to say.
"Go to Sara, Ian," Irons urged with some humor. "I am sure you are dreading her response to your actions yesterday as much as you were dreading mine."
Ian glanced sharply up at Irons, nodded, and rose, retreating quickly. He paused in the gardens long enough to select and clip one perfect white rosebud, then made his way to the precinct. Having overslept, he had missed Sara's morning routine at her apartment, and was eager to catch up with her while dreading it at the same time.
When he took his usual post and finally caught sight of Sara she seemed to be in a good mood. She was pouring another cup of coffee and ribbing Jake about something. The blond detective looked particularly put-upon this morning, even though his eyes held humor at Sara's teasing. Ian hoped he would not shatter Sara's good mood, all too rare this early in the day, by his appearance as he made his way through the precinct and up to the floor where Sara's office was. Ian waited until Jake sauntered off to check on something, then approached the door to Sara's office, fighting to hide his reluctance.
"Hey Sara," he said softly, leaning against her door frame and holding the rose before him. She glanced up, startled to find him there. Her eyes reflected surprise, but as yet no anger, and Ian dared let himself hope just a little.
"Hey Ian," Sara returned, cocking an eyebrow at him, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she fell into their usual morning conversational ritual.
"Had any dreams lately," he asked intently.
"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied.
"I hope they were good dreams," Ian replied, holding out the rose to her and daring to take a single step into the room. Sara accepted the gift. "I wish to speak with you, please, Sara," Ian asked.
"Sure," she replied, glancing around her desk. "Just let me get some water for this." Finding nothing more suitable, she grabbed her coffee mug and hurried out of the room. When she returned mere moments later the rose was in the mug with fresh water. She placed it carefully on her desk, scribbled Jake a quick note so he wouldn't come looking for her, and led Ian down to the level of the precinct where Vicki worked. They found a quiet spot where they wouldn't be disturbed, and Sara leaned against one cool tiled wall, waiting for Ian to begin. He seemed nervous, fidgeting in a way that was completely out of character for him.
"I wanted to tell you something about last night," Ian said, "But I am unsure how to begin."
"It's okay, Ian," Sara said, reaching out and laying her hand on his arm in reassurance. "Just tell me."
"I was watching over you at the warehouse," Ian began. "Up on one of the walkways. When the man with the automatic weapon fired up the wall I ducked down and avoided being shot, but the crate above me was not so fortunate. It contained a drug that spilled down on me in quantity, and I could not avoid breathing it in. It had the effect of eroding my discipline and prompting me to act in ways I otherwise would not have."
"So that's what it was," Sara murmured, something clicking into place in her mind. At Ian's puzzled look, she explained. "Last night when you found me playing pool I noticed something not quite right about your eyes, but I never would have suspected drugs. In any case, halfway through the evening the glassy look was gone so I didn't worry too much about it. The drug had probably worn off by then."
"Worn off?" Ian looked a little stunned. He had been so focused on Sara he would not have necessarily noticed when the drug wore off. Did that mean that at least part of the evening his actions were his own and not influenced by chemicals? The implications of that swirled in his head, confusing him and shaking him to the core. He did not know he could act like that on his own.
"In any case, I had a wonderful time, Ian," Sara continued. "I'm hoping you don't need to be drugged for us to do it again."
"I…uh…" Ian stumbled. Again? She'd like to do it again? "I would like that very much," he replied, dragging his wits back under control. He took her hand, greatly daring, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. Sara grinned and stepped forward, pushing him backward with her body until she had him pinned against the wall, and kissed him the same way they had kissed the night before. When she pulled back Ian's head was spinning. She ran one light fingertip over his bare jawline, sending a thrill up Ian's spine.
"I like you without the beard," she said. While Ian was still fighting to get himself back under control and his mind working again, Sara smiled wickedly at him, as if aware how easily she threw him into mental and physical chaos, and turned to saunter back upstairs to her office.
Ian remained still for several moments, resting his head back against the cool tile of the wall, until a greatly amused yet slightly envious voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You're in for a wild ride," Vicki observed. Before he could muster a response Vicki turned back to the morgue and left him alone in the hall.