Author's Note: Once again, I must apologize for the unforgivably long amount of time between posting chapters. I've been struggling with both real life and a touch of writer's block. I've also been watching the first season of "Witchblade" for the first time. I now realize just how much my story deviates from the show. Oh well. If you didn't know it before now, this story is definitely set in an alternate universe. Also, I apologize in advance for any typos. In my rush to post this long overdue chapter, I only gave it a cursory proofread/edit. Anyway, for your enjoyment (hopefully), here FINALLY is Chapter 65.

Disclaimer: Same old, same old

Chapter 65.

I am not afraid to be your lady
I am not afraid to be your whore
I am not afraid to be your future
I am not afraid to be your soil
In which you plant your seed
Flowers, they sprout from me
My fragrance in the breeze
You must nurture me please

From "I'm Not Afraid" by Jill Scott and Omari Shabazz

As he rode the subway back to Sara's neighborhood, Ian began feeling very ill. His brain started to feel like it was trying to hammer its way out of his skull, his stomach started churning, and he felt enervated and vaguely depressed. The bright fluorescent lights of the too warm subway car and the piercing metallic screech of the brakes exacerbated the pain in his head. With shaking hands, he fumbled for his sunglasses and the earplugs he'd used earlier. This helped a little bit, but he didn't understand what was happening to him, and his rapidly deteriorating condition concerned him greatly. Little did he know he was crashing from both his contact high and his sugar high with a vengeance. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Sara and escape into blissful sleep for a few hours.

By the time the train pulled into his station, Ian's headache had escalated into a full-blown migraine and the enormous amount of snack food he'd unwisely consumed was threatening to come back up. The bitingly cold air that greeted him as he exited the station was like a godsend, soothing his throbbing head and settling his queasy stomach. Out of habit, he performed a cursory reconnaissance of the vicinity before entering Sara's building and trudging up the stairs on leaden legs.

The door to her loft opened just before he reached the landing.

"Hey, baby," Sara greeted him. Barefoot and clad in an old pair of sweatpants and an equally ancient sleeveless t-shirt, she looked wonderful.

"Hey," Ian murmured, enveloping her in a bear hug and inhaling her delightful fragrance.

Sara pulled back and eyed his pale, sweaty face. "You okay? You don't look so good."

"I feel awful," he admitted. "Would it be all right if I lay down for a while?"

"Sure. Here, let me take your coat and weapons harness." She helped him out of his overcoat and deftly unbuckled and removed the harness, hanging them on the coat rack.

Ian made a beeline for her bedroom and sat on the side of the bed to remove his boots, but when he bent over to untie them, the pounding in his head increased twofold, and he straightened with a soft groan.

"Let me," Sara said, kneeling at his feet and swiftly unlacing and pulling off his boots. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"Just after leaving Gabriel's," he said. "I think it was something I ate."

"The PB&Js?" She reached up and put a blessedly cool hand on his aching forehead. "You're a little warm," she murmured, worriedly recalling his recent bout with fever.

"I think it may have been the snacks I consumed," Ian told her, pulling his sweater and long-sleeved t-shirt over his head and tossing them aside. He unbuckled his belt and took off his pants and long johns, carelessly leaving them in a heap on the floor.

"What did Gabriel feed you?"

"Blue corn chips, barbecue potato chips, salsa, French onion and Ranch dip," he paused, squinting down at her, "humus, stoned-wheat crackers, Cheese Doodles, and two bowls of Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby ice cream."

Sara's eyebrows shot up. "No wonder! What on earth possessed you to eat all of that junk?"

He avoided her gaze, shrugging. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that what you're suffering from is the after-effects of sugar overload. Let me guess: your stomach is upset, you've got a headache, and you feel tired and a little depressed. Am I right?"

"Yes," Ian confirmed. He lay down, biting back another groan as his stomach lurched unpleasantly and he tasted bile at the back of his throat. "Could you please make me a cup of peppermint tea, Sara?"

"Coming right up," she said, rising. She hesitated, then picked up a small plastic garbage pail and handed it to him. "Here, hold onto this. Just in case."

"Thank you." Sunk in nauseated misery, Ian lay there with his eyes closed, clutching the garbage pail to his chest, although he was grimly determined not to put it to use. Vomiting in his beloved's presence was one habit he refused to get into.

Sara returned a few minutes later with a cold compress, which she placed on his forehead. It felt heavenly.

"Poor baby," Sara soothed, sitting beside him and rubbing his roiling belly gently. "Do you think you could sleep for a little while?" she asked him. "I guarantee you'll feel better when you wake up."

"I would feel better right away if you lay down with me," Ian murmured. He winced as the kettle started to shrill, the sound aggravating his migraine.

"You got it. Just let me get your tea." She jumped up and hurried into the kitchen.

A minute later, she came back with a steaming mug of the fragrant tea, which she sat on the night table. "Here, sit up and let me rearrange the pillows so you can lean against them while you sip your tea," she said, removing the now-warm compress.

Ian complied, relinquishing the garbage pail, which Sara put next to the bed. Truth be told, he no longer wanted the tea; he just wanted Sara beside him. However, he knew he'd feel better if he drank it, so he picked up the mug. "Thank you for preparing it for me, my love," he said after taking a few sips.

"You're welcome."

Picking up his discarded clothing, Sara went around to the other side of the bed. She shook out and neatly folded his trousers and long johns and then turned his heavy, cable-knit sweater and thermal long-sleeved t-shirt right-side out, surreptitiously sniffing the outermost garment. Her sensitive nose detected a faint but unmistakable odor.

'Ahhh,' she thought. 'That explains the snack food binge. Looks like I'm gonna have to have a little talk with Gabriel about corrupting my man.'

She blinked in bemusement. 'My man!?!'

Yes, Sara acknowledged, unconsciously nodding her head, that was precisely how she'd come to think of Ian Nottingham in the space of one long, very event-filled week. And what a man. Even though it was obvious he wasn't feeling his best at the moment, his masculine beauty mesmerized her. She could barely keep her hands off him.

Her cheeks grew warm as she recalled how she'd practically attacked him in the SUV earlier. Not that he'd seemed to mind. His eagerness to please her and willingness to try new things was really quite refreshing. All of her previous lovers had been far more experienced than she, so it was gratifying to be the teacher for once. Very gratifying. When it came to lovemaking, Ian Nottingham was an extremely apt and willing student.

'That body of his oughta be illegal, like a highly addictive drug,' she thought wryly, eyeing his impressive physique. Clad only in a black, sleeveless t-shirt and black briefs that left little to the imagination, he looked mighty tempting -- if you overlooked his pale, clammy skin and glazed, pain-darkened eyes, that was.

Ian put the empty mug back on the night stand and turned toward Sara. "I am going to try to sleep now," he told her, dislodging the pile of pillows at his back and laying his throbbing head on one.

"Okay," Sara murmured, glad that he'd failed to notice the lustful look on her face. She set his clothes on top of her dresser. "Do you want a blanket over you?"

He shook his head, pulling the elastic hair band from his hair. "No. I just want you next to me."

Sara lay down facing him, threading her fingers into his thick, dark curls and gently massaging his scalp and the base of his skull.

"Mmmm. That feels good," Ian sighed, as, like magic, the pain in his head receded. "But you are still too far away from me."

Smiling, Sara snuggled closer to him. "Better?"

"Much."

Within minutes, his breathing slowed and deepened, and his big body became slack with sleep.

Sara lay there hoping that he would sleep through the night, or at the very least until the anticipated snowstorm really got going, so that he would be forced to stay with her instead of returning to Kenneth Irons. Having seen the physical evidence of his so-called father's cruelty on Ian's back, she could not shake the conviction that the egomaniacal billionaire would punish him for abandoning him to be with her. Ian had promised her that he wouldn't let him beat him again, but Sara was very afraid Irons would find a way to render him helpless, perhaps by exposing him to the disabling strobe lights, meaning Ian would have no choice but to submit to whatever punishment Irons saw fit to inflict on him.

As if sensing her unease, Ian flung an arm around her, gathering her even closer to him.

"Irons will not hurt him, Sara."

Sara started at the eerily familiar husky voice, and looked over to see Elizabeth Bronte standing in the bedroom doorway. Only then did she notice that the Witchblade's carnelian stone was glowing brightly.

"How can you be so sure of that?" she asked her, briefly wondering why she hadn't had the slightest inkling a vision was coming on.

Elizabeth reached up to pat her elegant coif with a white-gloved hand. She held her wide-brimmed hat in the other hand. "Because he doesn't dare risk alienating you even more than he already has. He is depending on Ian's love for him to insure that he obtains a regular supply of your blood, but he knows that if he harms Ian, he'll never get another drop from you. By the way, that was quite some performance the two of you put on for his benefit this morning. You have succeeded where countless others have failed: in outmaneuvering Kenneth Irons. Enjoy this victory while it lasts, Sara, but be forewarned that this is only the first of many skirmishes in a long battle fraught with danger," her spirit guide said.

"Tell me something I don't know," Sara snorted. "Like why the hell does the Witchblade want Kenny to stay in the picture?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that. But I can tell you that all will be revealed in time."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Figures. Can you at least tell me if I'm pregnant?"

Elizabeth laughed. "You're an impatient one, aren't you? That, too, will be revealed in due time. As you well know, now is not an opportune time to be starting a family. You have much to learn about wielding the Witchblade, Sara, and your life and that of your Protector may very well depend on your becoming proficient at it. Would it really be a tragedy if you were to discover that you haven't conceived?"

"Maybe not," Sara reluctantly conceded, "but it was kinda devious of the Witchblade to show us those visions of our future offspring. You know, until recently, I never considered myself the maternal type, but now I can honestly say that except for finding and putting away the bastard who murdered my father, I've never wanted anything as much as I want to hold those babies in my arms. It's freaking me out a little how bad I want it."

"Isn't it enough to know that perhaps one day you will?"

"I guess it'll have to be," Sara sighed. "Thanks for telling me that I don't have to worry about Irons hurting Ian. I can hardly bear the thought of him leaving here tonight to go back to the estate, but it'll be a lot easier to let him go now that I know he won't be beaten half to death when he gets there."

"I'm glad I could put your mind at rest in that regard. You must put on a brave face for your Protector, Sara, or else the pain of parting company with you will weigh even more heavily on him than it already does. Your bond has grown remarkably strong in just a few days, but this separation will test it -- and so will Kenneth Irons."

"No kidding? You know, you're really good at stating the obvious," Sara snipped, then immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. After all, you wouldn't be here if I didn't need your advice, would you?" She looked at the sleeping man beside her, her expression softening. "It's just that I'm really, really dreading this separation. I mean, when Ian's here, love and devotion practically radiates from him, but when we're apart, all of these doubts and fears start to creep back in. Besides, I wouldn't put it past Irons to try and brainwash him into turning his back on me."

"Oh, you can be certain that he will try to poison Ian's mind against you," Elizabeth told her, graciously ignoring Sara's insolence. "But you have at your disposal a most powerful weapon with which to combat this: your telepathic connection. The swiftness with which you and he formed this connection is astonishing. In the history of the Witchblade, very few Wielders and their Protectors have mastered this ability as quickly as you and Ian have. In fact, Kenneth is counting on the fact that you both still lack this talent. He mistakenly believes that the enmity you formerly showed Ian has made it impossible for you to trust him enough to open your mind to him. Demonstrating this powerful ability to Irons will deal him quite a blow, and will go a long way toward convincing him that your bond is indeed very strong,"

"But not enough to keep him from testing it, hunh?"

"I'm afraid not." She put on her hat. "It is simply not in his nature to give up without a fight. And, unfortunately, you were right in your assertion that he will never stop trying to regain control of the Witchblade. It has become his reason for living."

"Yeah, and the way things are going, my kids -- and maybe even their kids -- are going to be dealing with dear old Grandpa Irons, too. He's like the freaking undead!" Sara said in exasperation.

"That's an insult to self-respecting vampires everywhere," Elizabeth said, amusement coloring her tone. "Now rest, Sara," she bade her. "You're going to need it."

Suddenly, it felt as if lead weights were attached to Sara's eyelids. "Don't mind if I do," she yawned. "Catch you later."

"Goodbye, Wielder." Elizabeth Bronte's voice faded to a whisper. "Sweet dreams."

Ian woke feeling refreshed. The headache, queasiness, and lethargy were gone. A glance at the bedside clock informed him that it was 18:30, meaning he'd slept for more than three hours. Sara snored softly beside him, her slender body spooning with his. He noted that his left arm was draped possessively around her, and that his hand had once again managed to work its way beneath her t-shirt to cup her right breast. No matter what position they fell asleep in, they always ended up like this, Ian mused, like two halves forming a whole.

"I love you, Sara Pezzini," he whispered in her ear.

A smile appeared on her face, but her eyes remained closed as she murmured, "I love you, too, Ian Nottingham."

"I have to leave soon," Ian said.

"I know," she replied, still without opening her eyes, but her slim body tensed.

"You know I do not want to leave you."

"Yes, I do." She sighed, finally opening her stunning green eyes. "It's snowing."

Ian followed her gaze out into the living room and saw that she was right. Like a swarm of moths helplessly drawn to the dim light of the floor lamp near the window, large, fluffy flakes swirled against the windowpanes. Presently, the snow was coming down lightly, but from the eerie pink glow of the night sky, he could tell that the city was in for another substantial snowfall.

Sara heaved a forlorn sigh, which wrung Ian's heart but also had the effect of drawing his attention to the warm, pliant flesh cradled in the palm of his left hand as her bosom rose and fell with the deep breath. Somehow, he managed to resist the temptation to caress her. Inevitably, one thing would lead to another, and he seriously doubted that he'd be able to leave her if they made love again.

Breaking physical contact with Sara and getting out of her bed was perhaps the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. Tears pricked his eyes, and he was grateful that his hair hid them from her as he crossed the room to the dresser where his clothes sat.

"Contact me as soon as you reach the estate, so I know you got there safely," Sara said, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest to hide the fact that she'd started trembling uncontrollably. "And I went you to check in with me frequently. Like, every hour."

"I will," Ian told her, dressing quickly. Lingering would only prolong the pain of their parting, he told himself grimly.

"Here's your hair band." Sara held it up, keeping her hand steady with an effort.

"Thank you," Ian said, surreptitiously dashing the tears from his cheeks before turning around. He took the elastic band from her. "I just need to use the bathroom, and then I am off."

"My hairbrush is in the medicine cabinet, if you need it."

'All I need is you,' Ian thought, noticing with a pang how sad and vulnerable she looked even though it was obvious she was trying to be stoic for his benefit. It made him love her even more, if that was possible. Out loud, he said, "Thank you, my love," and then escaped into the privacy of the bathroom before he lost his composure entirely.

Sara wilted as soon as the bathroom door closed behind Ian. "Oh, Witchy, I don't think I have the strength to let him go," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I know I'm supposed to act brave, but it hurts so much!" But the red stone remained dark and inert.

Unable to bear sitting in the bed they'd so recently shared any longer, she jumped up and padded barefoot into the kitchen. 'Don't let him see you cry, Pezzini,' she reprimanded herself. Turning on the kitchen faucet, she splashed cold water on her face and then patted it dry with a dish towel. When Ian came out of her bedroom a few minutes later, she'd managed to pull herself together.

He strode over to the coat rack and took down his weapons harness, putting it and then his overcoat, hat, scarf, and gloves on with quick, economical movements. Only then did he look at her.

"Good-bye, Sara," he said, his voice and face emotionless.

A rush of hurt filled her at his callousness, and she took two angry steps toward him. But then she saw his eyes.

"Oh, Ian!" Sara breathed, flinging herself into his open arms and hugging him tightly, pressing her face against his shoulder so that she couldn't see the terrible, naked pain in his beautiful eyes.

"My love, my sweet, sweet love," he whispered, raising a gloved hand to tenderly stroke her gleaming chestnut hair and back.

This was almost her undoing.

With a monumental effort, she pulled away and turned her back on him, breathing harshly. "Go now while I can still let you," she rasped, throat burning, fists clenched at her side.

When she turned around again, he was gone.

Blinded by tears, Sara staggered over to the couch and collapsed onto it, sobs wracking her slender body.

Beloved?

Yes? The spark of warmth that was his telepathic presence in her mind miraculously began melting the ice that had gripped her soul.

I am only a thought away. Never forget that.

I'll try not to, my love. But, please, hurry back to me as fast as you can! This woman cannot exist on thought alone! she sent, hoping her desperation wasn't being communicated to him.

I will return to you as soon as I can, he promised. You have my word on that.

You better! Now, concentrate on driving safely. I'll speak to you again when you reach Scarsdale.

Very well.

And just like that, Sara's world was not quite so desolate. Picking up the remote control from the coffee table, she turned on the TV, more because the sound made her feel a little less lonely than because she wanted to watch something. And even though she really didn't feel like eating anything, she warmed up her leftover Thai food and forced herself to eat a little of it. Her stomach was in knots, and Sara knew she would not be able to relax until she'd heard from Ian again, and had been reassured by him that Irons hadn't had him shot on sight.

More to come. Thanks to everybody, both old friends and new, who left me feedback. I read every one with pleasure, and look forward to more. Good news: the next chapter is already half-written (at least in my head), so the wait for the next installment shouldn't be as painfully long. Thanks again for your words of encouragement, dragongrrl.

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