~*~
"I'm sorry Mr. Nottingham but it will be another hour and a half before the elevator operates. We are working as quickly as we can, Sir." But all the guard heard was the hollow sound emitted from the other end of the line.
"So what's the word, Nottingham?" Sara questioned.
"Another hour and a half" He calmly informed Sara.
They had grown into a comfortable silence but Ian did not want to ruin it by saying anything that may upset Sara. And so he stood there at parade rest, head slightly bowed as he waited for Sara's reaction to the news. All Ian was able to hear was her mumbled curses but nothing that had been addressed to him personally. With a sigh of relief he started to relax. His head still remained lowered but he had leaned back against the wall and hands clasped in front of him.
Sara had wanted to voice her frustration but looking up from her corner Sara eyed Nottingham's rigid posture. She knew it would have been useless to take her anger out on him. She had to remind herself they were both stuck here together. A deep groan escaped her throat instead of the foul curses she had wanted to say. With a hiss of its own the blade began to warm up on Sara's wrist. Finally having the opportunity to thrust its wielder into the vision it had been denied earlier that day.
Flashes of events passed before Sara's eyes. Each image had been a painful reminder of the past few months. The deaths of her best friend, her partner, and then later her lover. She was unsure why the blade decided to replay these images but it did and it refused to let her go. The indistinguishable voices she heard when she had taken Nottingham's hand that night had returned to plague her mind. Sara tried desperately to pull herself from the cruel visions, but with each conscious tug from Sara the blade tightened the hold it had on her.
Ian looked up from his bowed head sensing the activity of the blade. He could see the angry swirl of the dark crimson stone glowing brightly on Sara's wrist. Ian tried to concentrate what the blade could be showing Sara at that moment. But the blade tended to lock him out of the visions when it rarely concerned him. He was unsure the kind of visions the blade subjected Sara to. But he knew from the intense and extreme emotions emitting from Sara that now course through his own body the blade was not holding back. Could it be that the Witchblade was trying to show Sara their unique connection to each other? Nonetheless it was up to Sara to accept what the blade was showing her.
Ian's mind reluctantly returned to the night of the Irish massacre and days past. He was unable to help his lady save her lover. Watching her sprawled against a man he knew in the end would have betrayed her like he had done lifetimes ago as it was told in the legend of Cathain. The end result had been dire, for Sara it had appeared she had lost her true love. Yet Ian could not help but mourn her loss. Because at the same time he was mourning his own.
'Everything is connected and nothing is as it seems' words that had been embedded into Ian as far as he could remember.
Ian had ripped the blade off the limp wrist of the Irish pretender, Fiona. At that exact moment, as he held the blade in his hand, it began to speak to him as he gazed deeply into the swirling stone.
"All that had been forgotten shall been remembered. All that had been erased shall be restored. With past mistakes mended, all that should have been will be. "
The voice of the blade ran through Ian's mind as he made his way over to Sara's prone form, gently replacing the blade back on her wrist. He knelt beside her out of respect and honor for her loss but something inside compelled him to do the unthinkable. He reached down and dipped his finger into the blood that had flowed from her wound. Without a second thought he licked the bitter liquid. The faint and familiar taste lingered on his tongue. Then with his ring he had cut his other finger, drawing blood, and tasting his own. He stared out in bewilderment from his discovery. Slowly he started to understand what the blade was telling him.
The once suppress memories that Irons had tried so hard to control, through mind altering drugs from the Black Dragon projects to the tortures punishments he endured his entire life, had flooded Ian's mind. Leaving him in a state of confusion, fear, and acceptance. Nonetheless, it was more of a curse rather then a privilege to have the memories of past lives returned to him. Not only was it a constant reminder of his failures but also along with it the love he carried through out time. It only added to the intensity of his already existing feelings he has for Sara.
Ian snapped out of his trance, returning his attention back to Sara. She was still huddled in the corner, trapped in the vision. It was obvious the Witchblade was refusing to let her go. His traitorous legs began to move towards her. He knew in his mind this was not the right thing to do. There was no doubt Irons still sat in his office, observing them through the security cameras. But in his heart Ian longed to be by his lady's side to aid her by any means possible. Yet he also knew by touching her in anyway with the blade still active could cause them both to be thrust into a vision the blade choose to show.
Ian recalled the last time they had touched. Her reaction that night in the interrogation room was still painfully embedded into his mind. He had gone to her willingly; hoping that the voices he had heard would soon help her open her eyes to him. To show her he was a man to trust, a man she could love back. To show her that he was the man that has been there from the beginning and will continue to be there for her in the end and beyond. But she rejected both Ian and the blade when she tore her hand out of his, breaking the connection. Ian sat there crushed feeling his hopes slip away. If the blade was unable to show her then all chances for them to become inseparable as they once were had been broken, lost.
Ian made his way towards Sara and knelt in front of her, hands on his thighs as he sat back on his heels. Watching the emotions play across her facial features. Her eyebrows furrowed together, her eyes glazed with tears, and lips slightly parted. He was still unsure of what the blade had been showing her. Then the look of loss played across her face. Her chest began to rise and fall from her labored breathing. His hands hovered just above her face, trembling from the strain of holding back but at the same time ready to give in.
"Forgive me Sara," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Ian took in a shaky breath. He opened eyes, now focused, as he exhaled and finally framed Sara's face in his strong hands.
~*~
Irons had spent the past half hour watching the two through the security camera. Nothing interesting had happened until the familiar glow of the Witchblade caught his attention. The warm feeling coursed up his arm from the brand on his right hand. To his disappointment the blade chose to block him out of the vision, leaving him guessing what it could be showing Sara. He continued to watch, at the same time rubbing the back of his right hand.
Sensing that nothing else was going to happen Irons grabbed his coat and cane. But just as he was about to leave he spied the monitor once again. Staring angrily as he watched Ian make his way towards Sara. Without a second thought Irons rushed to the elevators.
Irons stood in the middle of the elevator car. Impatiently he glared at the flashing green digits the numbers changing with each passing floor. He had grown agitated as the image of Ian knelling in front of Sara, ready to touch her with his bare hands; played over in his mind. Irons grip had tighten on the handle of the cane at the thought of his servant's disobedience.
The loud clank of the wooden cane as it dropped echoed, bouncing off the elevator walls. Without warning the interlocking circles that adorned the back of his right hand began to intensify in heat. With his free hand Irons grabbed the wrist of his right hand. Watching as his fingers curling from the pain. The outline of the circles was traced in blood. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and above his upper lip.
The pain and heat were becoming too severe to handle. Causing him to stubble backwards against the elevator wall. Grateful for the support since his strength was slowly waning from the excruciating pain. With each labored breath Irons could feel his body and mind gradually slip into the depths of oblivion. The sudden stop of the elevator caused Irons to loose his balance, landing him hard on the floor. With heavy lidded eyes he looked up at the flashing digit: 11th floor. The combination of his weakened state and the severe pain finally caused Irons to pass out.
~*~
"I'm sorry Mr. Nottingham but it will be another hour and a half before the elevator operates. We are working as quickly as we can, Sir." But all the guard heard was the hollow sound emitted from the other end of the line.
"So what's the word, Nottingham?" Sara questioned.
"Another hour and a half" He calmly informed Sara.
They had grown into a comfortable silence but Ian did not want to ruin it by saying anything that may upset Sara. And so he stood there at parade rest, head slightly bowed as he waited for Sara's reaction to the news. All Ian was able to hear was her mumbled curses but nothing that had been addressed to him personally. With a sigh of relief he started to relax. His head still remained lowered but he had leaned back against the wall and hands clasped in front of him.
Sara had wanted to voice her frustration but looking up from her corner Sara eyed Nottingham's rigid posture. She knew it would have been useless to take her anger out on him. She had to remind herself they were both stuck here together. A deep groan escaped her throat instead of the foul curses she had wanted to say. With a hiss of its own the blade began to warm up on Sara's wrist. Finally having the opportunity to thrust its wielder into the vision it had been denied earlier that day.
Flashes of events passed before Sara's eyes. Each image had been a painful reminder of the past few months. The deaths of her best friend, her partner, and then later her lover. She was unsure why the blade decided to replay these images but it did and it refused to let her go. The indistinguishable voices she heard when she had taken Nottingham's hand that night had returned to plague her mind. Sara tried desperately to pull herself from the cruel visions, but with each conscious tug from Sara the blade tightened the hold it had on her.
Ian looked up from his bowed head sensing the activity of the blade. He could see the angry swirl of the dark crimson stone glowing brightly on Sara's wrist. Ian tried to concentrate what the blade could be showing Sara at that moment. But the blade tended to lock him out of the visions when it rarely concerned him. He was unsure the kind of visions the blade subjected Sara to. But he knew from the intense and extreme emotions emitting from Sara that now course through his own body the blade was not holding back. Could it be that the Witchblade was trying to show Sara their unique connection to each other? Nonetheless it was up to Sara to accept what the blade was showing her.
Ian's mind reluctantly returned to the night of the Irish massacre and days past. He was unable to help his lady save her lover. Watching her sprawled against a man he knew in the end would have betrayed her like he had done lifetimes ago as it was told in the legend of Cathain. The end result had been dire, for Sara it had appeared she had lost her true love. Yet Ian could not help but mourn her loss. Because at the same time he was mourning his own.
'Everything is connected and nothing is as it seems' words that had been embedded into Ian as far as he could remember.
Ian had ripped the blade off the limp wrist of the Irish pretender, Fiona. At that exact moment, as he held the blade in his hand, it began to speak to him as he gazed deeply into the swirling stone.
"All that had been forgotten shall been remembered. All that had been erased shall be restored. With past mistakes mended, all that should have been will be. "
The voice of the blade ran through Ian's mind as he made his way over to Sara's prone form, gently replacing the blade back on her wrist. He knelt beside her out of respect and honor for her loss but something inside compelled him to do the unthinkable. He reached down and dipped his finger into the blood that had flowed from her wound. Without a second thought he licked the bitter liquid. The faint and familiar taste lingered on his tongue. Then with his ring he had cut his other finger, drawing blood, and tasting his own. He stared out in bewilderment from his discovery. Slowly he started to understand what the blade was telling him.
The once suppress memories that Irons had tried so hard to control, through mind altering drugs from the Black Dragon projects to the tortures punishments he endured his entire life, had flooded Ian's mind. Leaving him in a state of confusion, fear, and acceptance. Nonetheless, it was more of a curse rather then a privilege to have the memories of past lives returned to him. Not only was it a constant reminder of his failures but also along with it the love he carried through out time. It only added to the intensity of his already existing feelings he has for Sara.
Ian snapped out of his trance, returning his attention back to Sara. She was still huddled in the corner, trapped in the vision. It was obvious the Witchblade was refusing to let her go. His traitorous legs began to move towards her. He knew in his mind this was not the right thing to do. There was no doubt Irons still sat in his office, observing them through the security cameras. But in his heart Ian longed to be by his lady's side to aid her by any means possible. Yet he also knew by touching her in anyway with the blade still active could cause them both to be thrust into a vision the blade choose to show.
Ian recalled the last time they had touched. Her reaction that night in the interrogation room was still painfully embedded into his mind. He had gone to her willingly; hoping that the voices he had heard would soon help her open her eyes to him. To show her he was a man to trust, a man she could love back. To show her that he was the man that has been there from the beginning and will continue to be there for her in the end and beyond. But she rejected both Ian and the blade when she tore her hand out of his, breaking the connection. Ian sat there crushed feeling his hopes slip away. If the blade was unable to show her then all chances for them to become inseparable as they once were had been broken, lost.
Ian made his way towards Sara and knelt in front of her, hands on his thighs as he sat back on his heels. Watching the emotions play across her facial features. Her eyebrows furrowed together, her eyes glazed with tears, and lips slightly parted. He was still unsure of what the blade had been showing her. Then the look of loss played across her face. Her chest began to rise and fall from her labored breathing. His hands hovered just above her face, trembling from the strain of holding back but at the same time ready to give in.
"Forgive me Sara," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Ian took in a shaky breath. He opened eyes, now focused, as he exhaled and finally framed Sara's face in his strong hands.
~*~
Irons had spent the past half hour watching the two through the security camera. Nothing interesting had happened until the familiar glow of the Witchblade caught his attention. The warm feeling coursed up his arm from the brand on his right hand. To his disappointment the blade chose to block him out of the vision, leaving him guessing what it could be showing Sara. He continued to watch, at the same time rubbing the back of his right hand.
Sensing that nothing else was going to happen Irons grabbed his coat and cane. But just as he was about to leave he spied the monitor once again. Staring angrily as he watched Ian make his way towards Sara. Without a second thought Irons rushed to the elevators.
Irons stood in the middle of the elevator car. Impatiently he glared at the flashing green digits the numbers changing with each passing floor. He had grown agitated as the image of Ian knelling in front of Sara, ready to touch her with his bare hands; played over in his mind. Irons grip had tighten on the handle of the cane at the thought of his servant's disobedience.
The loud clank of the wooden cane as it dropped echoed, bouncing off the elevator walls. Without warning the interlocking circles that adorned the back of his right hand began to intensify in heat. With his free hand Irons grabbed the wrist of his right hand. Watching as his fingers curling from the pain. The outline of the circles was traced in blood. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and above his upper lip.
The pain and heat were becoming too severe to handle. Causing him to stubble backwards against the elevator wall. Grateful for the support since his strength was slowly waning from the excruciating pain. With each labored breath Irons could feel his body and mind gradually slip into the depths of oblivion. The sudden stop of the elevator caused Irons to loose his balance, landing him hard on the floor. With heavy lidded eyes he looked up at the flashing digit: 11th floor. The combination of his weakened state and the severe pain finally caused Irons to pass out.
~*~