A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just having a lot of fun with them. Enjoy!
Author's note: WARNING: This chapter contains sexual situations and explicit language. You've been warned, so please don't report me to ff.net! Also, I apologize to my faithful readers for the long wait between chapters. Lately, real life has had the nerve to keep intruding on the creative process! And now, without further ado . . .
Chapter 57.
By tacit agreement, Ian Nottingham and Sara Pezzini put aside thoughts of the looming confrontation with Kenneth Irons and concentrated on enjoying each other. This time around, their lovemaking was a leisurely, drawn-out affair, as if they had all the time in the world to strengthen their bond instead of just hours.
Sara was pleased to discover that not only was Ian an extremely considerate lover, he was also an adventurous one. It was as though a dam had burst inside of him, releasing years of pent-up need and allowing a deeply sensual side of his personality to blossom in the warm, nourishing light of her love. Nearly two decades of conditioning to ignore his sex drive and hold himself inviolate evaporated like mist on a hot summer day, and secure in her welcoming embrace, he was at last able to give free rein to his sensuality. Eschewing the traditional missionary position for a slightly more inventive one, he worshipped Sara with his body, bringing her to the pinnacle of ecstasy with exquisite thoroughness, not once, but twice, before attaining his own release and breathlessly collapsing on top of her, his energy temporarily depleted and every muscle in his big body relaxed.
As their breathing slowly returned to normal, Sara threaded her fingers through Ian's sweat-soaked curls and gently massaged his scalp. She found that she enjoyed these fleeting moments when both of them were at their most vulnerable, when they were simply a man and a woman in love rather than Protector and Wielder. It never ceased to amaze her that her slender frame could bear his considerable weight, even though she knew she was far stronger than she looked. She also found it refreshing that Ian held absolutely nothing back from her, despite years of repressive training to the contrary. His unabashed enjoyment of the act of lovemaking in turn freed her to shed her habitual reserve, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she relinquished complete control of her body to another person, allowing him to bring her to never-before-experienced heights of pleasure.
For his part, Ian still found it hard to believe that the woman he loved returned his affection. It thrilled him that Sara seemed more than willing to allow him to take some erotic liberties in bed. Here, there were no barriers between them, whether physical or emotional. Her complete trust in him at once filled him with tenderness and a burning desire to give her more pleasure than she had ever known. She communicated her likes and dislikes to him with subtle movements and facial expressions, and he stored away this knowledge like a dragon hoarding treasure. As his familiarity with her lithe body grew, so did his confidence in his own sexual prowess. He loved to watch her face as she climaxed, to hear her cries of ecstasy, and to feel her body shiver and clench against and around his. It had become a matter of pride for him to bring her to release more than once before he allowed himself to climax, and such was his control over his body that he nearly always succeeded in this objective. In Sara's arms, Ian was a man made whole, and it reinforced his determination to break the ties that bound him to his father/master so that he could truly put his past behind him and forge a future with her.
When Ian made an effort to move to one side of her a few moments later, Sara tightened the muscles of her legs, which were wrapped around his narrow hips, keeping him where he was.
"I am too heavy," he protested, raising his head to look down at her.
"No, you're not," she denied. "At least, not yet."
"My sweet Sara," he breathed, lifting a hand to trace the bold line of her dark eyebrows. "Making love with you just keeps getting better and better, if that is possible."
"And just think, we haven't even tried more than a couple of the positions on those kinky bronze doors I noticed at the estate," she grinned.
"Ah, yes, the infamous Kama Sutra," he murmured, smiling crookedly. "When I was growing up, I would study those doors whenever I got the chance. Even though I was too young at first to understand what was being depicted, I intuitively sensed it was something I should commit to memory."
"Is that so? And here I thought you were just being creative!" Sara teased him.
Color flooded his cheeks, and he lowered his eyes bashfully. "I am glad you liked it," he whispered.
"More like loved it, Cowboy. Feel free to demonstrate something else from your repertoire the next time around."
"Your wish is my command, my Lady."
"Okay, I'm starting to have trouble breathing," Sara wheezed, giving him a little shove. "You can get off me now."
Ian moved to one side of her, drawing her with him, so that their union remained intact.
"Why do you call me 'Cowboy'?" he asked curiously, smoothing damp hair back from her flushed and perspiring face.
Sara shrugged one slender shoulder. "Dunno."
"Do I remind you of a cowboy?"
"Nope. Does it bother you? 'Cause I could come up with something else."
"For instance?"
"Snookums, or maybe Babycakes," she replied, keeping her face straight with an effort.
Ian grimaced. "Cowboy is fine."
"He sure is!" Sara grinned, pressing her lips to his, only to break off the kiss with a chuckle a moment later.
"What?" Ian smiled, amused by her obvious amusement.
"I just remembered something funny you said the first time we made love," she told him. "You asked if it bothered me that you're not circumcised."
"What is so funny about that?"
"What would you have done if I'd said yes?"
He blinked. "Good question. I have absolutely no idea."
"What made you think it would bother me in the first place?"
Now Ian shrugged one shoulder self-consciously. "When I was in the Special Forces, several of my fellow brothers-in-arms made fun of the fact that I was uncircumcised. They claimed women did not like it. In fact, Hector Mobius and I were the only ones who were not circumcised. However, nobody dared to tease him about it," he told her.
"Why not?"
"Because Moby was Top Dragon, the biggest, strongest, and smartest among us. Plus, even back then, he had a sense of dignity about him that all of us instinctively respected."
"How old were you when you joined the Special Forces, Ian?"
"Twenty-one. All of us were roughly the same age, but everyone claimed to have had a lot of sexual experience -- except for me, of course. 'Virgin' was practically stamped on my forehead," he said wryly, his hand drawing lazy circles on her bare skin.
"I'll bet that made you the butt of a lot of jokes, too."
"Yes. Moby deflected the worst of it. He took me under his wing, even though I was awkward and antisocial, having never had a friend before. Moby told me to ignore what the others said, confiding in me that none of his girlfriends had ever objected to him being uncircumcised. But I never forgot what the other Dragons claimed was true. So, when you appeared taken aback by the sight of me that first time, I immediately assumed that was the reason."
"I was just stunned by the size of your, um, equipment. It's quite impressive," Sara grinned, wiggling her hips a little.
"And becoming more so as we speak!" Ian groaned. "How can this be? I thought I was spent."
"I guess you better think again," she purred. "Saddle up, Cowboy!"
****
Much later, Sara awoke to find herself alone in bed. The garage apartment was dark and silent, and when she reached over to where Ian had lain, there was not even a hint of warmth, indicating that he'd been gone for some time. But she sensed that he was nearby. Raising her head, she glanced at the glowing bedside clock and saw that it was a few minutes before 5:00 p.m. A faint scraping sound from outside caught her attention. After indulging in a good, long stretch, she flung off the covers, got up, and padded naked over to the bedroom window that overlooked the driveway. Peering through the curtains, she spied Ian and Joey shoveling the driveway by the light of the motion-sensitive floodlights located above the entrance to the two-car garage. Ian immediately glanced up toward the window.
*Did you have a good nap, my love?* he sent.
*Yeah, I slept like a log. I didn't even hear you get up and get dressed to go out,* she told him.
*So, I take it you don't remember me telling you I was going outside to help shovel the driveway?* Ian said dryly.
*Did you really? What did I say when you told me that?*
*"Have fun, Honey Bear," and then you pulled the covers up over your head.*
*'Honey Bear!?!' That right there should've clued you in to the fact that I wasn't exactly conscious,* Sara chuckled. *I'm gonna take a quick shower, and then I'll come help you guys shovel.*
*Okay, but I'm fairly certain your nephew will abandon us as soon as you show up. He's not enjoying this task at all, if his nonstop grumbling is any indication. In fact, he's already attempted to get out of doing it twice, first by starting to build a snowman, and then by attacking me with snowballs. After his father came outside and yelled at him, he grudgingly returned to shoveling,* Ian told her. *Actually, the second time he yelled at both of us. Naturally, I was forced to defend myself against Joseph's unprovoked attack, and Robert was forced to intervene in the interest of progress.*
Sara laughed as she headed into the bathroom. *Naturally. It's okay if Joey bails. He shouldn't have to do extra work on our behalf anyway.*
*I'm not sure your brother would agree. I think he'll be relieved to see us -- correction, me -- depart tomorrow,* Ian said wistfully.
*Give him time, Ian,* she told him, turning on the shower. *He'll warm up to you again.*
*The sound of he and your nephew shoveling is what awakened me. I decided to get dressed and offer to help, completely forgetting that I'm still supposed to be helpless because of my shoulder. Robert didn't forget. Now I'm pretty sure he thinks I've been faking the severity of my injuries.*
*Oops!* Sara said, chagrined for him. *I guess we'll have to explain to him that you heal really, really fast.*
*I attempted to do just that, but Robert just handed me his shovel and went inside.*
*Well, he can't be too freaked out if he yelled at you for goofing off,* Sara pointed out, getting beneath the warm spray.
*True. I just wish . . .*
*Go on," Sara prompted gently.
*I just wish I was someone you could be proud of,* Ian said plaintively.
*Oh, baby, I am proud of you,* Sara instantly responded. *I'm proud of the way you stood up to Irons and helped me out. That took a hell of a lot of courage. Plus, I'm convinced that Joey wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for you, and when I tell Robbie that, he'll get over himself real fast.*
*Please, Sara, don't try to make it seem like I'm some kind of hero. All I did was help you think things through. You did most of the work apprehending the Medina brothers yourself.*
*So not true. You were the one who persuaded Alonzo Brown to help us -- and without resorting to more violence, I might add. And let's not forget how you infiltrated Angel's new drug den and put Detective Tommy Fuller back in touch with his unit, most likely saving his life in the process. Plus, you were the one who came up with the idea of getting Gabriel to help us warn Joey about the danger he was in. All while you were half out of your mind with fever!* Sara pointed out. *That's pretty heroic stuff, Nottingham.*
*Then how come I don't feel like a hero?* he murmured.
*Maybe because you've been made to feel worthless for most of your life?* she suggested. *Good only for killing people who obviously believed they had a damned good reason for trying to murder your heartless bastard of a father in the first place.*
*That still doesn't change the fact that I assassinated them,* Ian pointed out. *That's not something the son of a retired cop can easily forgive or forget.*
*But that's all in the past now, my love. You're my Protector, and that's how you'll be remembered by those who matter,* Sara maintained. *You fight for the good guys now. And pretty soon you'll have a son of your own, and you'll make him proud of you, too.*
*Thank you for believing in me, Sara,* Ian said, his "voice" tight with emotion. *I guess it's high time I started believing in myself, hunh?*
*Amen to that,* Sara smiled. *I'll be out in five minutes.*
*Take your time. There's still plenty of driveway to shovel,* he said.
*Ask Joey if Robbie is still making lasagna for dinner,* she bade him as she toweled herself off.
*Hungry again already?* Amusement colored his tone. *Why am I not surprised?*
*What did I tell you about making fun of my appetite?* Sara warned him.
*Right.* There was a brief pause. *Good news: Dinner is still on.*
*Oh, goody!*
*Um, Sara,* Ian said hesitantly, *do you really think I'll be welcome at your brother's table?*
*No way am I missing out on Robbie's lasagna, Nottingham, so you're just gonna have to deal with his pissy attitude,* Sara said firmly, rummaging through a pillowcase of freshly laundered clothes for a pair of clean underwear.
*I was thinking maybe we could get the food to go and eat it here. That way the two of us could have a nice quiet dinner on our last night together for who knows how long,* he said persuasively.
*Hmmm, that's a very tempting idea,* she mused. *But Robbie is too polite to suggest such a thing and I'll be damned if I will. I'm not ashamed of your past, Ian, and you shouldn't be either. If you start acting like you are, it'll just snowball, and you and Robbie will never come to an understanding.*
*But I am ashamed, Sara,* Ian admitted. *And your brother has every right to disapprove of me.*
*He disapproves of your past actions, Ian, not you. There's a big difference,* she pointed out, pulling on and tying her boots. *Once he gets to know you better -- the real you -- he'll come around. I promise.*
Nottingham heaved a mental sigh. *Very well.*
*Ready or not, here I come!* Sara said, zipping up her coat and putting on her gloves and hat.
Outside, it was a clear, cold night. Sara glanced skyward, searching for signs of the next snowstorm that Ian had mentioned was supposedly headed their way, but there was nary a cloud in sight, just a faint dusting of stars.
*Beware, Sara!* Ian sent. *Joey hears you coming, and he's got ammunition ready.*
*Thanks for the warning!* Sara said. *I think I'll use this opportunity to put on a little demonstration.*
As she rounded the corner of the garage, three icy missiles flew toward her supposedly unsuspecting person in rapid succession. In an eye- blink, Sara willed the Witchblade into gauntlet form and casually used it deflect the snowballs away from her.
"Wow!" her nephew gaped. "That was awesome! Does it come with a bottle opener, too?"
"Yeah," Sara laughed, "but no shovel. Got an extra one?"
"Wait a sec, are my eyes playing tricks on me, or is that red stone really glowing?" Joey breathed, eyes wide.
"Yep. It's checking you out," she replied, noticing that the gauntlet's blood-red "eye" did indeed appear to be regarding the youth curiously.
The teenager held up gloved hands defensively. "I'm a friend, Oh Mighty Witchblade. I was just fooling around. I wouldn't even think of hurting your wielder. Especially, with her muscle around," he said, glancing at Ian with a sly grin.
"Sara's muscle, eh? Funny how that did not stop you from attacking me earlier," Ian remarked.
The boy shrugged. "You were fair game back then. But now that Sara's here, you're in Protector mode. Even I know better than to mess with you now," he explained.
"Smart boy," Sara observed. "Why don't you take a break, kiddo? Tell your dad that I've taken over your snow shoveling duties until dinner is ready."
To her and Ian's surprise, Joey shook his head. "Spell Ian for a while. He's been flexing his shoulder like it's starting to bother him."
"I am fine," Ian swiftly denied, mentally kicking himself for forgetting just how observant the teenager was.
"You would say that," Sara frowned, studying her Protector critically for signs of discomfort but finding none.
He stiffened indignantly as she approached him. "I said I am fine," he repeated.
"Let's just let the Witchblade be the judge of that, shall we?" She raised her armor-clad right hand and gently laid it on his left shoulder. The contact amplified her link with him, allowing her to clearly sense how his labors had irritated the muscles in his damaged shoulder.
"Just some minor discomfort. Nothing I cannot handle," Ian said gruffly, not bothering to hide his irritation at her unwanted solicitousness.
"Hit the showers, Nottingham," Sara said, her expression brooking no argument. "That's an order."
Without another word, he handed his shovel to her and stalked off toward the stairs to the garage apartment.
"What?" Sara demanded as she noticed that Joey was shaking his head in disapproval.
"Somebody's pissed off," he observed.
"He'll get over it," she shrugged. "Thanks for the heads up."
"No problem. My dad tried to warn him that he shouldn't be doing this kind of work so soon, but Ian insisted he was well enough to help out."
"The way Ian tells it, your father wouldn't listen to him when he tried to explain about how fast he heals. Now Ian's convinced your dad believes he was faking the severity of his injuries," Sara said, flinging her first shovelful of snow aside.
"Oh really? And when did you get the chance to discuss this with Ian?" Joey asked, eying her askance.
"Uh, well," Sara mumbled, cursing herself for her carelessness, "you see, it's like this--"
"You guys can communicate telepathically, can't you?" her nephew interrupted her. "That is beyond cool!"
Sara stared at him. "Why am I not surprised you figured it out so fast?" she murmured. "What, aside from my little blunder, gave it away?" She couldn't help but wonder if she and Ian had a prayer of keeping their telepathic ability from Irons if a 16-year-old kid had figured it out so easily.
"Well, about 20 minutes ago, I noticed Ian look up toward the apartment's bedroom window. I couldn't see you standing there, but he got this look on his face that said he knew you were awake. I watched his expression out the corner of my eye, and it quickly became pretty obvious that either he was having one hell of a conversation with himself, or he was talking to you silently. He warned you about my sneak attack, didn't he?" Joey inquired.
"Yeah, he did. Listen, Joey," Sara said earnestly, "we'd prefer it if you kept this to yourself."
"Why? So my mom and dad won't figure out that you guys cheated at cards last night?"
Sara felt her face grow red. "Um, there's that, but, more importantly, don't you think they have enough to chew on right now? It'll be our little secret, okay?"
The teenager shrugged. "Whatever. But don't you think you're being a little overprotective with Ian?" he surprised her by saying.
"Hey, you're the one who pointed out that he might be overdoing it!" she protested.
"I only suggested that you spell him for a while, but you sent him to the showers like he was a pitcher who'd run out of gas and you were his manager. It's like you don't trust him to know his own limits."
"Um, aren't you forgetting that your own dad, who just so happens to be an expert when it comes to injuries like his, advised Ian not to do any shoveling?"
"Yeah, but Dad doesn't know how fast Ian heals. Ian was right about him not giving him the chance to explain. He's still weirded out by what Ian told us, plus he was annoyed Ian ignored his advice and insisted on helping out." Joey shrugged. "Dad can be kind of touchy about that sort of thing."
Sara snorted. "Hello? I grew up with him, remember? Anyway, I was only looking out for Ian's best interests," she said, controlling her irritation at having to explain herself.
"Yeah, but you treated him like he's a child. And it wasn't the first time. I felt bad for the guy when you were all like 'don't even think about taking a ride down that hill, mister!' when I invited you guys to go sledding," Joey said, making her squirm as he uncannily imitated her autocratic tone. "And before that, you dictated how long he could stay in the snowball fight -- right after he started totally thrashing you, I might add."
"Okay, okay, so maybe I am a little overprotective of him," Sara exclaimed defensively. "I just don't want him to have a setback. He may end up having to fight a bunch of bad guys tomorrow, and he can't do that with a bum wing."
Ian's disgruntled voice suddenly sounded inside her head. *I'm not a child, Sara, and I would appreciate it if you didn't treat me like one.*
*What!?!* Sara responded, startled.
*Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about,* Ian growled. *Yes, my shoulder was bothering me, but you could have trusted me to know when I'd had enough. I am an adult, you know. I know my limits.*
"He's chewing you out, isn't he?" Joey said, noticing the distracted and chagrined look on his aunt's face.
"Right again," she confirmed shortly. *Are you done, Nottingham?*
*Uh, yeah,* he muttered, "I believe I am. I just had to get that off my chest.*
*Well, I apologize for treating you like a child,* Sara said, sensing his surprise at her contrite response. *You're right; I should have let you be the judge of when you'd had enough. In my own defense, I can only say it was the Witchblade's fault! Darn thing makes me beyond overprotective of my Protector!*
Ian's amusement vibrated along their bond. *Is that so? Well, I guess It was only looking out for Its own best interests. A Protector with a bad shoulder wouldn't be much good at doing his job.*
*True. I'll make you a deal; I'll dial back the overprotectiveness if you keep it real by occasionally reminding me that you're a big boy and can take care of yourself.*
*Deal. I'll admit that the first couple of times this tendency showed itself, I was touched by your concern. But this last time, not so much.*
*Again, I plead innocent due to temporary Witchblade insanity. How's the shoulder? Forget I asked that!* Sara added quickly.
Ian's psychic chuckle caressed her mind. *It's fine. A little sore. Nothing a hot shower won't fix. Or maybe an icepack. I forget which is better for muscle strain: heat or cold. Could you ask your brother which treatment he suggests I try?* Ian requested.
*Like most people, there's nothing Robbie likes better than saying "I told you so." Why don't you go ask him yourself? I can practically guarantee that will help you get back in his good graces.*
Now Ian's sigh gusted along their telepathic connection. *Very well.*
*Oh, by the way, Joey figured out that we can communicate telepathically. It seems someone's facial expressions gave him away while we were talking earlier.*
*Oops! I'll have to remember that when we confront my father.*
*I'll say.*
Ian descended the stairs, and Sara turned to watch him head toward the main house, but first he detoured to where she stood. Bending his head, he pressed his warm lips to her chilled ones.
"Wish me luck, my love," he whispered, and turning, headed toward the house.
*Good luck!* she sent.
"Awww, you guys kissed and made up," Joey said, smirking. "How'd that crow taste?"
"Shut up, Mr. Smart Alec!" Sara growled, flinging a shovelful of snow at him.
"Oh, no, you did not just start with me!" her nephew yelled, nimbly dodging it.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, Joey, I'm sorry," she tried to placate him with as he scooped up a heaping mound of the icy white stuff on his own shovel and began to advance on her. "Ian, help!" she cried.
"Sorry. You're on your own," he said, not even bothering to look back.
"Some Protector you are!" she called, miffed, and then shrieked as Joey flung the snow at her head, nearly scoring a direct hit.
"Goddammit!" Robert Siri growled, flinging open the side door to the house just as Ian reached it. "How many times do I have to tell him to quit fooling around!" He flinched as he came face to face with the tall former assassin. "Oh, it's you."
"Yes. I have come to ask your advice," Ian told him.
"Hold on a sec. JOEY!" he bellowed. "QUIT FOOLING AROUND!!!"
"Aunt Sara started it!" the boy said sulkily.
"I don't care! Get back to work!"
"Yeah, get back to work!" Sara smirked, holding a shovelful of snow at the ready just in case.
"You better pray you finish your side of the driveway before I finish mine," Ian overheard her nephew mutter as he resumed shoveling.
"Come on in, Ian," Robert said, stepping back from the doorway.
Ian entered the coatroom, automatically wiping his boots on the mat in front of the door. A delicious scent permeated the house, and he felt his mouth water.
"Something smells great," Ian commented.
"What was it you wanted to ask me about?" Robert said, ignoring his remark.
"My shoulder is really starting to bother me, but I cannot remember whether heat or cold is better for treating muscle strain," Ian told him.
"I find that hard to believe, especially since you admitted earlier that this wasn't your first dislocation," the older man said coldly.
"Be that as it may, it is the truth," Ian replied. "I have dislocated my left shoulder four times, and my right shoulder three times. The first time was the worst. I fell out of a tree when I was about your daughter's age, dislocating my left shoulder. The genetic enhancements that have been done to me had yet to kick in, so my recovery time was the normal six to eight weeks. After that, I did not suffer a dislocation until I was your son's age. I displeased my father, and as punishment, he dislocated both my shoulders and fractured both my arms. By this time, my recuperative powers had taken hold. I completely recovered within a month. My recovery would have been much faster, except my father forbid the doctors to set the fractures or relocate the joints for several days. In fact, both my arms had to be re-broken so that the bones could be set properly.
"I suffered a dislocation of both shoulders for the second time during a training mission while in the Special Forces. My parachute failed to deploy properly, and I was forced to break my fall with a tree. In addition to the dislocated shoulders, I suffered a broken pelvis, a fractured femur, and internal injuries. This time, I made a full recovery within three weeks. I dislocated my right shoulder for the third time during hand-to-hand combat with six assassins that had been sent to kill my father. However, I was able to immediately pop the joint back in and continue fighting. Recovery time in that instance was less than two weeks. That was six years ago.
"This last time, I was blown off the roof of a six-story warehouse by a stinger missile, falling nearly five stories before I managed to grab hold of the last rung of a metal ladder that was attached to the side of the building. That is when I dislocated my left shoulder. My left clavicle may have been fractured when I was forced to do a shoulder roll after my right leg, which had been grazed by a bullet, gave out upon landing, but it could have happened when I was thrown against the rooftop parapet by the force of the explosion, or perhaps when I slammed into the side of the building after I grabbed hold of the ladder. That, I am fairly certain, is when I fractured two ribs and cracked three more. Sara was kind enough to relocate my shoulder joint, but as we were fleeing both the Russian commandos my father arranged to have ambush me and the members of the joint narcotics/DEA task force who were also on the scene because of the drug bust that took place across the street, she was unable to do so for almost half an hour."
Robert Siri's face blanched as the litany of injuries went on and on. His dark eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and horror in his pale face at what he was hearing. Ian's penetrating hazel gaze never left his, not even for an instant, and his matter-of-fact tone never changed. He could have been discussing the weather or the best way to prepare marinara sauce.
"Granted, you might find it odd that I can recall precisely how and when I was injured each time but not the best method for treating muscle strains," Ian continued. "In my defense, I can only say that the injuries themselves and the circumstances in which I received them are much more memorable than the treatment that followed."
"Actually, that makes perfect sense," Robert said faintly.
"So, should I treat the strain with heat or cold?" Ian prompted quietly.
"C-cold. L-let me f-fix up an icepack for you," Robert stammered nervously.
"Thank you, but I can prepare one myself."
"It's no bother at all."
Ian remained in the coat room while his host filled a zip-lock bag with ice cubes.
"Leave it on for at least half an hour or as long as you can stand it. That should keep the swelling down," the older man said, handing the bag to him. "Do you have any ace bandages with you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Use them to hold the pack in place," he told him.
"Will do. Thanks for the advice, Robert." Ian turned to go.
"Oh, Ian!"
Nottingham turned back inquiringly.
"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour."
"Thank you again, Robert. For everything," Ian said.
"Any time."
Ian felt the other man's eyes on him as he headed back toward the garage apartment.
*So, how'd it go?* Sara asked, pausing in her shoveling as she spotted Ian returning. *You guys talked for quite a while.*
*I did most of the talking. I'm mildly ashamed to say I played the sympathy card by sharing my long and storied history of shoulder dislocations with your brother,* Ian admitted. *I'm pretty sure I shocked the hell out of him, too.*
*Um, forgive me if I don't ever ask you to share that same info with me,* Sara said wryly. *When it comes to that part of your past, I get the distinct feeling ignorance is bliss.*
*You would be right,* Ian murmured. *Well, I'm going to take a shower and then apply ice to my shoulder.* He held up the icepack. *See? Robert even made up an icepack for me.*
*What'd I tell you? You're in like Flint, Nottingham,* Sara grinned.
*Not quite, but it's a start. Oh, you'll be thrilled to know that he told me dinner should be ready in half an hour.*
*Yay! I can practically taste Robbie's lasagna already! And we should be nearly done shoveling by then, too. As an added bonus, I'm getting a really good workout!*
*I'm glad you're enjoying it. How on earth did you get Joseph to stop complaining?* Ian asked, noticing that the boy was grimly but industriously clearing his side of the driveway.
*Easy. He's determined to finish his side first so he can be free to try and pelt the crap outta me with snowballs without fear of interruption. Little does he know that I'm gonna hightail it outta here within 20 minutes whether or not I'm done with my side! Oh, and thanks for coming to my rescue before,* Sara said.
*I heard Joseph. You started it. Sometimes, you just have to reap what you snow,* he smirked, taking the steps to the apartment two at a time. *Get it? Reap what you 'snow.'*
*You're a real comedian, Nottingham, you know that?*
*I try. Meet you at the main house in half an hour?*
*See you there, my love.*
More to come. Thanks ever so much for all of your always encouraging feedback. Please find it in your hearts to keep it coming!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just having a lot of fun with them. Enjoy!
Author's note: WARNING: This chapter contains sexual situations and explicit language. You've been warned, so please don't report me to ff.net! Also, I apologize to my faithful readers for the long wait between chapters. Lately, real life has had the nerve to keep intruding on the creative process! And now, without further ado . . .
Chapter 57.
By tacit agreement, Ian Nottingham and Sara Pezzini put aside thoughts of the looming confrontation with Kenneth Irons and concentrated on enjoying each other. This time around, their lovemaking was a leisurely, drawn-out affair, as if they had all the time in the world to strengthen their bond instead of just hours.
Sara was pleased to discover that not only was Ian an extremely considerate lover, he was also an adventurous one. It was as though a dam had burst inside of him, releasing years of pent-up need and allowing a deeply sensual side of his personality to blossom in the warm, nourishing light of her love. Nearly two decades of conditioning to ignore his sex drive and hold himself inviolate evaporated like mist on a hot summer day, and secure in her welcoming embrace, he was at last able to give free rein to his sensuality. Eschewing the traditional missionary position for a slightly more inventive one, he worshipped Sara with his body, bringing her to the pinnacle of ecstasy with exquisite thoroughness, not once, but twice, before attaining his own release and breathlessly collapsing on top of her, his energy temporarily depleted and every muscle in his big body relaxed.
As their breathing slowly returned to normal, Sara threaded her fingers through Ian's sweat-soaked curls and gently massaged his scalp. She found that she enjoyed these fleeting moments when both of them were at their most vulnerable, when they were simply a man and a woman in love rather than Protector and Wielder. It never ceased to amaze her that her slender frame could bear his considerable weight, even though she knew she was far stronger than she looked. She also found it refreshing that Ian held absolutely nothing back from her, despite years of repressive training to the contrary. His unabashed enjoyment of the act of lovemaking in turn freed her to shed her habitual reserve, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she relinquished complete control of her body to another person, allowing him to bring her to never-before-experienced heights of pleasure.
For his part, Ian still found it hard to believe that the woman he loved returned his affection. It thrilled him that Sara seemed more than willing to allow him to take some erotic liberties in bed. Here, there were no barriers between them, whether physical or emotional. Her complete trust in him at once filled him with tenderness and a burning desire to give her more pleasure than she had ever known. She communicated her likes and dislikes to him with subtle movements and facial expressions, and he stored away this knowledge like a dragon hoarding treasure. As his familiarity with her lithe body grew, so did his confidence in his own sexual prowess. He loved to watch her face as she climaxed, to hear her cries of ecstasy, and to feel her body shiver and clench against and around his. It had become a matter of pride for him to bring her to release more than once before he allowed himself to climax, and such was his control over his body that he nearly always succeeded in this objective. In Sara's arms, Ian was a man made whole, and it reinforced his determination to break the ties that bound him to his father/master so that he could truly put his past behind him and forge a future with her.
When Ian made an effort to move to one side of her a few moments later, Sara tightened the muscles of her legs, which were wrapped around his narrow hips, keeping him where he was.
"I am too heavy," he protested, raising his head to look down at her.
"No, you're not," she denied. "At least, not yet."
"My sweet Sara," he breathed, lifting a hand to trace the bold line of her dark eyebrows. "Making love with you just keeps getting better and better, if that is possible."
"And just think, we haven't even tried more than a couple of the positions on those kinky bronze doors I noticed at the estate," she grinned.
"Ah, yes, the infamous Kama Sutra," he murmured, smiling crookedly. "When I was growing up, I would study those doors whenever I got the chance. Even though I was too young at first to understand what was being depicted, I intuitively sensed it was something I should commit to memory."
"Is that so? And here I thought you were just being creative!" Sara teased him.
Color flooded his cheeks, and he lowered his eyes bashfully. "I am glad you liked it," he whispered.
"More like loved it, Cowboy. Feel free to demonstrate something else from your repertoire the next time around."
"Your wish is my command, my Lady."
"Okay, I'm starting to have trouble breathing," Sara wheezed, giving him a little shove. "You can get off me now."
Ian moved to one side of her, drawing her with him, so that their union remained intact.
"Why do you call me 'Cowboy'?" he asked curiously, smoothing damp hair back from her flushed and perspiring face.
Sara shrugged one slender shoulder. "Dunno."
"Do I remind you of a cowboy?"
"Nope. Does it bother you? 'Cause I could come up with something else."
"For instance?"
"Snookums, or maybe Babycakes," she replied, keeping her face straight with an effort.
Ian grimaced. "Cowboy is fine."
"He sure is!" Sara grinned, pressing her lips to his, only to break off the kiss with a chuckle a moment later.
"What?" Ian smiled, amused by her obvious amusement.
"I just remembered something funny you said the first time we made love," she told him. "You asked if it bothered me that you're not circumcised."
"What is so funny about that?"
"What would you have done if I'd said yes?"
He blinked. "Good question. I have absolutely no idea."
"What made you think it would bother me in the first place?"
Now Ian shrugged one shoulder self-consciously. "When I was in the Special Forces, several of my fellow brothers-in-arms made fun of the fact that I was uncircumcised. They claimed women did not like it. In fact, Hector Mobius and I were the only ones who were not circumcised. However, nobody dared to tease him about it," he told her.
"Why not?"
"Because Moby was Top Dragon, the biggest, strongest, and smartest among us. Plus, even back then, he had a sense of dignity about him that all of us instinctively respected."
"How old were you when you joined the Special Forces, Ian?"
"Twenty-one. All of us were roughly the same age, but everyone claimed to have had a lot of sexual experience -- except for me, of course. 'Virgin' was practically stamped on my forehead," he said wryly, his hand drawing lazy circles on her bare skin.
"I'll bet that made you the butt of a lot of jokes, too."
"Yes. Moby deflected the worst of it. He took me under his wing, even though I was awkward and antisocial, having never had a friend before. Moby told me to ignore what the others said, confiding in me that none of his girlfriends had ever objected to him being uncircumcised. But I never forgot what the other Dragons claimed was true. So, when you appeared taken aback by the sight of me that first time, I immediately assumed that was the reason."
"I was just stunned by the size of your, um, equipment. It's quite impressive," Sara grinned, wiggling her hips a little.
"And becoming more so as we speak!" Ian groaned. "How can this be? I thought I was spent."
"I guess you better think again," she purred. "Saddle up, Cowboy!"
****
Much later, Sara awoke to find herself alone in bed. The garage apartment was dark and silent, and when she reached over to where Ian had lain, there was not even a hint of warmth, indicating that he'd been gone for some time. But she sensed that he was nearby. Raising her head, she glanced at the glowing bedside clock and saw that it was a few minutes before 5:00 p.m. A faint scraping sound from outside caught her attention. After indulging in a good, long stretch, she flung off the covers, got up, and padded naked over to the bedroom window that overlooked the driveway. Peering through the curtains, she spied Ian and Joey shoveling the driveway by the light of the motion-sensitive floodlights located above the entrance to the two-car garage. Ian immediately glanced up toward the window.
*Did you have a good nap, my love?* he sent.
*Yeah, I slept like a log. I didn't even hear you get up and get dressed to go out,* she told him.
*So, I take it you don't remember me telling you I was going outside to help shovel the driveway?* Ian said dryly.
*Did you really? What did I say when you told me that?*
*"Have fun, Honey Bear," and then you pulled the covers up over your head.*
*'Honey Bear!?!' That right there should've clued you in to the fact that I wasn't exactly conscious,* Sara chuckled. *I'm gonna take a quick shower, and then I'll come help you guys shovel.*
*Okay, but I'm fairly certain your nephew will abandon us as soon as you show up. He's not enjoying this task at all, if his nonstop grumbling is any indication. In fact, he's already attempted to get out of doing it twice, first by starting to build a snowman, and then by attacking me with snowballs. After his father came outside and yelled at him, he grudgingly returned to shoveling,* Ian told her. *Actually, the second time he yelled at both of us. Naturally, I was forced to defend myself against Joseph's unprovoked attack, and Robert was forced to intervene in the interest of progress.*
Sara laughed as she headed into the bathroom. *Naturally. It's okay if Joey bails. He shouldn't have to do extra work on our behalf anyway.*
*I'm not sure your brother would agree. I think he'll be relieved to see us -- correction, me -- depart tomorrow,* Ian said wistfully.
*Give him time, Ian,* she told him, turning on the shower. *He'll warm up to you again.*
*The sound of he and your nephew shoveling is what awakened me. I decided to get dressed and offer to help, completely forgetting that I'm still supposed to be helpless because of my shoulder. Robert didn't forget. Now I'm pretty sure he thinks I've been faking the severity of my injuries.*
*Oops!* Sara said, chagrined for him. *I guess we'll have to explain to him that you heal really, really fast.*
*I attempted to do just that, but Robert just handed me his shovel and went inside.*
*Well, he can't be too freaked out if he yelled at you for goofing off,* Sara pointed out, getting beneath the warm spray.
*True. I just wish . . .*
*Go on," Sara prompted gently.
*I just wish I was someone you could be proud of,* Ian said plaintively.
*Oh, baby, I am proud of you,* Sara instantly responded. *I'm proud of the way you stood up to Irons and helped me out. That took a hell of a lot of courage. Plus, I'm convinced that Joey wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for you, and when I tell Robbie that, he'll get over himself real fast.*
*Please, Sara, don't try to make it seem like I'm some kind of hero. All I did was help you think things through. You did most of the work apprehending the Medina brothers yourself.*
*So not true. You were the one who persuaded Alonzo Brown to help us -- and without resorting to more violence, I might add. And let's not forget how you infiltrated Angel's new drug den and put Detective Tommy Fuller back in touch with his unit, most likely saving his life in the process. Plus, you were the one who came up with the idea of getting Gabriel to help us warn Joey about the danger he was in. All while you were half out of your mind with fever!* Sara pointed out. *That's pretty heroic stuff, Nottingham.*
*Then how come I don't feel like a hero?* he murmured.
*Maybe because you've been made to feel worthless for most of your life?* she suggested. *Good only for killing people who obviously believed they had a damned good reason for trying to murder your heartless bastard of a father in the first place.*
*That still doesn't change the fact that I assassinated them,* Ian pointed out. *That's not something the son of a retired cop can easily forgive or forget.*
*But that's all in the past now, my love. You're my Protector, and that's how you'll be remembered by those who matter,* Sara maintained. *You fight for the good guys now. And pretty soon you'll have a son of your own, and you'll make him proud of you, too.*
*Thank you for believing in me, Sara,* Ian said, his "voice" tight with emotion. *I guess it's high time I started believing in myself, hunh?*
*Amen to that,* Sara smiled. *I'll be out in five minutes.*
*Take your time. There's still plenty of driveway to shovel,* he said.
*Ask Joey if Robbie is still making lasagna for dinner,* she bade him as she toweled herself off.
*Hungry again already?* Amusement colored his tone. *Why am I not surprised?*
*What did I tell you about making fun of my appetite?* Sara warned him.
*Right.* There was a brief pause. *Good news: Dinner is still on.*
*Oh, goody!*
*Um, Sara,* Ian said hesitantly, *do you really think I'll be welcome at your brother's table?*
*No way am I missing out on Robbie's lasagna, Nottingham, so you're just gonna have to deal with his pissy attitude,* Sara said firmly, rummaging through a pillowcase of freshly laundered clothes for a pair of clean underwear.
*I was thinking maybe we could get the food to go and eat it here. That way the two of us could have a nice quiet dinner on our last night together for who knows how long,* he said persuasively.
*Hmmm, that's a very tempting idea,* she mused. *But Robbie is too polite to suggest such a thing and I'll be damned if I will. I'm not ashamed of your past, Ian, and you shouldn't be either. If you start acting like you are, it'll just snowball, and you and Robbie will never come to an understanding.*
*But I am ashamed, Sara,* Ian admitted. *And your brother has every right to disapprove of me.*
*He disapproves of your past actions, Ian, not you. There's a big difference,* she pointed out, pulling on and tying her boots. *Once he gets to know you better -- the real you -- he'll come around. I promise.*
Nottingham heaved a mental sigh. *Very well.*
*Ready or not, here I come!* Sara said, zipping up her coat and putting on her gloves and hat.
Outside, it was a clear, cold night. Sara glanced skyward, searching for signs of the next snowstorm that Ian had mentioned was supposedly headed their way, but there was nary a cloud in sight, just a faint dusting of stars.
*Beware, Sara!* Ian sent. *Joey hears you coming, and he's got ammunition ready.*
*Thanks for the warning!* Sara said. *I think I'll use this opportunity to put on a little demonstration.*
As she rounded the corner of the garage, three icy missiles flew toward her supposedly unsuspecting person in rapid succession. In an eye- blink, Sara willed the Witchblade into gauntlet form and casually used it deflect the snowballs away from her.
"Wow!" her nephew gaped. "That was awesome! Does it come with a bottle opener, too?"
"Yeah," Sara laughed, "but no shovel. Got an extra one?"
"Wait a sec, are my eyes playing tricks on me, or is that red stone really glowing?" Joey breathed, eyes wide.
"Yep. It's checking you out," she replied, noticing that the gauntlet's blood-red "eye" did indeed appear to be regarding the youth curiously.
The teenager held up gloved hands defensively. "I'm a friend, Oh Mighty Witchblade. I was just fooling around. I wouldn't even think of hurting your wielder. Especially, with her muscle around," he said, glancing at Ian with a sly grin.
"Sara's muscle, eh? Funny how that did not stop you from attacking me earlier," Ian remarked.
The boy shrugged. "You were fair game back then. But now that Sara's here, you're in Protector mode. Even I know better than to mess with you now," he explained.
"Smart boy," Sara observed. "Why don't you take a break, kiddo? Tell your dad that I've taken over your snow shoveling duties until dinner is ready."
To her and Ian's surprise, Joey shook his head. "Spell Ian for a while. He's been flexing his shoulder like it's starting to bother him."
"I am fine," Ian swiftly denied, mentally kicking himself for forgetting just how observant the teenager was.
"You would say that," Sara frowned, studying her Protector critically for signs of discomfort but finding none.
He stiffened indignantly as she approached him. "I said I am fine," he repeated.
"Let's just let the Witchblade be the judge of that, shall we?" She raised her armor-clad right hand and gently laid it on his left shoulder. The contact amplified her link with him, allowing her to clearly sense how his labors had irritated the muscles in his damaged shoulder.
"Just some minor discomfort. Nothing I cannot handle," Ian said gruffly, not bothering to hide his irritation at her unwanted solicitousness.
"Hit the showers, Nottingham," Sara said, her expression brooking no argument. "That's an order."
Without another word, he handed his shovel to her and stalked off toward the stairs to the garage apartment.
"What?" Sara demanded as she noticed that Joey was shaking his head in disapproval.
"Somebody's pissed off," he observed.
"He'll get over it," she shrugged. "Thanks for the heads up."
"No problem. My dad tried to warn him that he shouldn't be doing this kind of work so soon, but Ian insisted he was well enough to help out."
"The way Ian tells it, your father wouldn't listen to him when he tried to explain about how fast he heals. Now Ian's convinced your dad believes he was faking the severity of his injuries," Sara said, flinging her first shovelful of snow aside.
"Oh really? And when did you get the chance to discuss this with Ian?" Joey asked, eying her askance.
"Uh, well," Sara mumbled, cursing herself for her carelessness, "you see, it's like this--"
"You guys can communicate telepathically, can't you?" her nephew interrupted her. "That is beyond cool!"
Sara stared at him. "Why am I not surprised you figured it out so fast?" she murmured. "What, aside from my little blunder, gave it away?" She couldn't help but wonder if she and Ian had a prayer of keeping their telepathic ability from Irons if a 16-year-old kid had figured it out so easily.
"Well, about 20 minutes ago, I noticed Ian look up toward the apartment's bedroom window. I couldn't see you standing there, but he got this look on his face that said he knew you were awake. I watched his expression out the corner of my eye, and it quickly became pretty obvious that either he was having one hell of a conversation with himself, or he was talking to you silently. He warned you about my sneak attack, didn't he?" Joey inquired.
"Yeah, he did. Listen, Joey," Sara said earnestly, "we'd prefer it if you kept this to yourself."
"Why? So my mom and dad won't figure out that you guys cheated at cards last night?"
Sara felt her face grow red. "Um, there's that, but, more importantly, don't you think they have enough to chew on right now? It'll be our little secret, okay?"
The teenager shrugged. "Whatever. But don't you think you're being a little overprotective with Ian?" he surprised her by saying.
"Hey, you're the one who pointed out that he might be overdoing it!" she protested.
"I only suggested that you spell him for a while, but you sent him to the showers like he was a pitcher who'd run out of gas and you were his manager. It's like you don't trust him to know his own limits."
"Um, aren't you forgetting that your own dad, who just so happens to be an expert when it comes to injuries like his, advised Ian not to do any shoveling?"
"Yeah, but Dad doesn't know how fast Ian heals. Ian was right about him not giving him the chance to explain. He's still weirded out by what Ian told us, plus he was annoyed Ian ignored his advice and insisted on helping out." Joey shrugged. "Dad can be kind of touchy about that sort of thing."
Sara snorted. "Hello? I grew up with him, remember? Anyway, I was only looking out for Ian's best interests," she said, controlling her irritation at having to explain herself.
"Yeah, but you treated him like he's a child. And it wasn't the first time. I felt bad for the guy when you were all like 'don't even think about taking a ride down that hill, mister!' when I invited you guys to go sledding," Joey said, making her squirm as he uncannily imitated her autocratic tone. "And before that, you dictated how long he could stay in the snowball fight -- right after he started totally thrashing you, I might add."
"Okay, okay, so maybe I am a little overprotective of him," Sara exclaimed defensively. "I just don't want him to have a setback. He may end up having to fight a bunch of bad guys tomorrow, and he can't do that with a bum wing."
Ian's disgruntled voice suddenly sounded inside her head. *I'm not a child, Sara, and I would appreciate it if you didn't treat me like one.*
*What!?!* Sara responded, startled.
*Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about,* Ian growled. *Yes, my shoulder was bothering me, but you could have trusted me to know when I'd had enough. I am an adult, you know. I know my limits.*
"He's chewing you out, isn't he?" Joey said, noticing the distracted and chagrined look on his aunt's face.
"Right again," she confirmed shortly. *Are you done, Nottingham?*
*Uh, yeah,* he muttered, "I believe I am. I just had to get that off my chest.*
*Well, I apologize for treating you like a child,* Sara said, sensing his surprise at her contrite response. *You're right; I should have let you be the judge of when you'd had enough. In my own defense, I can only say it was the Witchblade's fault! Darn thing makes me beyond overprotective of my Protector!*
Ian's amusement vibrated along their bond. *Is that so? Well, I guess It was only looking out for Its own best interests. A Protector with a bad shoulder wouldn't be much good at doing his job.*
*True. I'll make you a deal; I'll dial back the overprotectiveness if you keep it real by occasionally reminding me that you're a big boy and can take care of yourself.*
*Deal. I'll admit that the first couple of times this tendency showed itself, I was touched by your concern. But this last time, not so much.*
*Again, I plead innocent due to temporary Witchblade insanity. How's the shoulder? Forget I asked that!* Sara added quickly.
Ian's psychic chuckle caressed her mind. *It's fine. A little sore. Nothing a hot shower won't fix. Or maybe an icepack. I forget which is better for muscle strain: heat or cold. Could you ask your brother which treatment he suggests I try?* Ian requested.
*Like most people, there's nothing Robbie likes better than saying "I told you so." Why don't you go ask him yourself? I can practically guarantee that will help you get back in his good graces.*
Now Ian's sigh gusted along their telepathic connection. *Very well.*
*Oh, by the way, Joey figured out that we can communicate telepathically. It seems someone's facial expressions gave him away while we were talking earlier.*
*Oops! I'll have to remember that when we confront my father.*
*I'll say.*
Ian descended the stairs, and Sara turned to watch him head toward the main house, but first he detoured to where she stood. Bending his head, he pressed his warm lips to her chilled ones.
"Wish me luck, my love," he whispered, and turning, headed toward the house.
*Good luck!* she sent.
"Awww, you guys kissed and made up," Joey said, smirking. "How'd that crow taste?"
"Shut up, Mr. Smart Alec!" Sara growled, flinging a shovelful of snow at him.
"Oh, no, you did not just start with me!" her nephew yelled, nimbly dodging it.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, Joey, I'm sorry," she tried to placate him with as he scooped up a heaping mound of the icy white stuff on his own shovel and began to advance on her. "Ian, help!" she cried.
"Sorry. You're on your own," he said, not even bothering to look back.
"Some Protector you are!" she called, miffed, and then shrieked as Joey flung the snow at her head, nearly scoring a direct hit.
"Goddammit!" Robert Siri growled, flinging open the side door to the house just as Ian reached it. "How many times do I have to tell him to quit fooling around!" He flinched as he came face to face with the tall former assassin. "Oh, it's you."
"Yes. I have come to ask your advice," Ian told him.
"Hold on a sec. JOEY!" he bellowed. "QUIT FOOLING AROUND!!!"
"Aunt Sara started it!" the boy said sulkily.
"I don't care! Get back to work!"
"Yeah, get back to work!" Sara smirked, holding a shovelful of snow at the ready just in case.
"You better pray you finish your side of the driveway before I finish mine," Ian overheard her nephew mutter as he resumed shoveling.
"Come on in, Ian," Robert said, stepping back from the doorway.
Ian entered the coatroom, automatically wiping his boots on the mat in front of the door. A delicious scent permeated the house, and he felt his mouth water.
"Something smells great," Ian commented.
"What was it you wanted to ask me about?" Robert said, ignoring his remark.
"My shoulder is really starting to bother me, but I cannot remember whether heat or cold is better for treating muscle strain," Ian told him.
"I find that hard to believe, especially since you admitted earlier that this wasn't your first dislocation," the older man said coldly.
"Be that as it may, it is the truth," Ian replied. "I have dislocated my left shoulder four times, and my right shoulder three times. The first time was the worst. I fell out of a tree when I was about your daughter's age, dislocating my left shoulder. The genetic enhancements that have been done to me had yet to kick in, so my recovery time was the normal six to eight weeks. After that, I did not suffer a dislocation until I was your son's age. I displeased my father, and as punishment, he dislocated both my shoulders and fractured both my arms. By this time, my recuperative powers had taken hold. I completely recovered within a month. My recovery would have been much faster, except my father forbid the doctors to set the fractures or relocate the joints for several days. In fact, both my arms had to be re-broken so that the bones could be set properly.
"I suffered a dislocation of both shoulders for the second time during a training mission while in the Special Forces. My parachute failed to deploy properly, and I was forced to break my fall with a tree. In addition to the dislocated shoulders, I suffered a broken pelvis, a fractured femur, and internal injuries. This time, I made a full recovery within three weeks. I dislocated my right shoulder for the third time during hand-to-hand combat with six assassins that had been sent to kill my father. However, I was able to immediately pop the joint back in and continue fighting. Recovery time in that instance was less than two weeks. That was six years ago.
"This last time, I was blown off the roof of a six-story warehouse by a stinger missile, falling nearly five stories before I managed to grab hold of the last rung of a metal ladder that was attached to the side of the building. That is when I dislocated my left shoulder. My left clavicle may have been fractured when I was forced to do a shoulder roll after my right leg, which had been grazed by a bullet, gave out upon landing, but it could have happened when I was thrown against the rooftop parapet by the force of the explosion, or perhaps when I slammed into the side of the building after I grabbed hold of the ladder. That, I am fairly certain, is when I fractured two ribs and cracked three more. Sara was kind enough to relocate my shoulder joint, but as we were fleeing both the Russian commandos my father arranged to have ambush me and the members of the joint narcotics/DEA task force who were also on the scene because of the drug bust that took place across the street, she was unable to do so for almost half an hour."
Robert Siri's face blanched as the litany of injuries went on and on. His dark eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and horror in his pale face at what he was hearing. Ian's penetrating hazel gaze never left his, not even for an instant, and his matter-of-fact tone never changed. He could have been discussing the weather or the best way to prepare marinara sauce.
"Granted, you might find it odd that I can recall precisely how and when I was injured each time but not the best method for treating muscle strains," Ian continued. "In my defense, I can only say that the injuries themselves and the circumstances in which I received them are much more memorable than the treatment that followed."
"Actually, that makes perfect sense," Robert said faintly.
"So, should I treat the strain with heat or cold?" Ian prompted quietly.
"C-cold. L-let me f-fix up an icepack for you," Robert stammered nervously.
"Thank you, but I can prepare one myself."
"It's no bother at all."
Ian remained in the coat room while his host filled a zip-lock bag with ice cubes.
"Leave it on for at least half an hour or as long as you can stand it. That should keep the swelling down," the older man said, handing the bag to him. "Do you have any ace bandages with you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Use them to hold the pack in place," he told him.
"Will do. Thanks for the advice, Robert." Ian turned to go.
"Oh, Ian!"
Nottingham turned back inquiringly.
"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour."
"Thank you again, Robert. For everything," Ian said.
"Any time."
Ian felt the other man's eyes on him as he headed back toward the garage apartment.
*So, how'd it go?* Sara asked, pausing in her shoveling as she spotted Ian returning. *You guys talked for quite a while.*
*I did most of the talking. I'm mildly ashamed to say I played the sympathy card by sharing my long and storied history of shoulder dislocations with your brother,* Ian admitted. *I'm pretty sure I shocked the hell out of him, too.*
*Um, forgive me if I don't ever ask you to share that same info with me,* Sara said wryly. *When it comes to that part of your past, I get the distinct feeling ignorance is bliss.*
*You would be right,* Ian murmured. *Well, I'm going to take a shower and then apply ice to my shoulder.* He held up the icepack. *See? Robert even made up an icepack for me.*
*What'd I tell you? You're in like Flint, Nottingham,* Sara grinned.
*Not quite, but it's a start. Oh, you'll be thrilled to know that he told me dinner should be ready in half an hour.*
*Yay! I can practically taste Robbie's lasagna already! And we should be nearly done shoveling by then, too. As an added bonus, I'm getting a really good workout!*
*I'm glad you're enjoying it. How on earth did you get Joseph to stop complaining?* Ian asked, noticing that the boy was grimly but industriously clearing his side of the driveway.
*Easy. He's determined to finish his side first so he can be free to try and pelt the crap outta me with snowballs without fear of interruption. Little does he know that I'm gonna hightail it outta here within 20 minutes whether or not I'm done with my side! Oh, and thanks for coming to my rescue before,* Sara said.
*I heard Joseph. You started it. Sometimes, you just have to reap what you snow,* he smirked, taking the steps to the apartment two at a time. *Get it? Reap what you 'snow.'*
*You're a real comedian, Nottingham, you know that?*
*I try. Meet you at the main house in half an hour?*
*See you there, my love.*
More to come. Thanks ever so much for all of your always encouraging feedback. Please find it in your hearts to keep it coming!