Cold Comfort

Still feeling raw and somewhat rebellious after her conversation with Joe Siri, Sara palmed the pills the night nurse brought her. She had done it while the older woman was checking her chart. Since she had been a relatively (for a cop that is) good patient, they didn't watch to make sure she took her meds, but there was no reason to push her luck.

Honestly the only reason Pez had behaved was because she wanted out of the hospital. She hated being dependent on other people, hated feeling out of control, and hated the way she felt suspended, as if this place were some kind of limbo. The world was continuing beyond the pale green walls of this little room, she could feel it, but she couldn't affect it.

Worst of all, she had had enough of her own company.

Sara needed to talk, and Ian struck her as a good listener. He was certainly quiet enough. Thanks to the sleeping pills the nurses kept feeding her, she had slept through his visits thus far, but she knew he had been there. There was a trace of scent she had come to identify as his, a blend of sandalwood, musk, and gun oil that clung to the chair closest to her bed.

Pez had been disappointed that Nottingham never visited during the day, but suspected that he still feared Irons reaction, should he find out about their budding relationship. She didn't blame him for that, given their history. Kenneth was certainly not going to be encouraging. Actually, he was most likely to go ballistic, even though he had no right to be. Sara had done nothing to make the arrogant blonde think she would ever have anything to do with him.

The first night Nottingham had left a single white tea rose on her pillow. There was no note, but Sara didn't need one. The smell had reminded her of Valentine's Day, and Ian's surprising performance. Under the impetus of the tea rose, she had dreamed about that wonderful afternoon. The only thing different in her dream was the ending. It had been deliciously naughty, and Sara could only hope that she hadn't talked in her sleep.

Sara turned the tv down to a low hum, just enough to drown out the intermittent sounds of her neighbors and the nurses in the hall, and closed her eyes. Ian probably wouldn't be here for a few hours, so she decided to nap.

It seemed to Sara that she had just closed her eyes when there was a swirl of cool night air across the room. Even with all the flowers and antiseptic scents in the room she caught a trace of sandalwood and musk. Without opening her eyes, Sara smiled, "Nice of you to drop in."

"Nice of you to be awake." Nottingham closed the window behind him. "Have they finally taken you off the sleeping pills, or did you palm them?"

"Guilty as charged," Sara opened her eyes and tilted her head on the pillow so she could look at him. "It's not like I need them anyway. I'm doing much better. Unless I do something stupid and smack my forearm, it's mostly a dull ache now."

"I am pleased that you are healing. I was... concerned." Ian barely kept himself from saying that he had been more afraid than he'd ever been in his life.

What he had seen when he had broken into her apartment was the stuff of nightmares. The blood, her blood, had been a dark and obscenely glistening cascade that spilled out around her. She was bound and dying and he could not get to her in time, could not save her. Nottingham had failed, and Sara would pay the price for his lack of vigilance.

That she had not was a continual source of relief and joy. Ian did not know what he would do if Lady Sara had died. Most likely he would have followed her in death, living only long enough to avenge her. Not that he was going to tell Pezzini that either. She would not take it well at all.

The depth of his commitment to her still frightened Sara, although Ian hoped that would change. He had to remind himself that it was changing. She was not drawing away from him as she had before. Nor had she threatened to shoot him for breaking and entering. Surely that must mean that things were looking up?

"Concerned huh? Well don't lose any more sleep over it. It will take more than an oversized snake with bad hair to take me down." Sara gave Ian a little half-smile, knowing very well just how close to dying she had been. She owed Nottingham as much as she owed Danny for her life.

"That oversized snake is the least of your worries." Ian sat down in his usual chair, not wanting to seem like he was looming over her as he imparted his information, "Irons has decided to move ahead with a plan that had been put aside, and he's decided you are perfect for it."

"Me? Why, dare I ask?" Sara narrowed her eyes as she glared at Ian

"Please do not shoot the messenger. Irons is coming to visit you tomorrow. I don't know what he will propose exactly, but what he really wants is for you to..." Ian found he couldn't say it. His mouth hung open, the damn words heavy on his tongue, but he could not force them past his lips.

"To?" Sara prompted, mentally bracing herself. If Nottingham was having a hard time saying it, it must be pretty bad.

"Promise me you won't scream." Ian paused and looked at her, realizing her most likely reaction.

Sara looked startled, but then nodded.

"He wants you to bear his offspring." Ian winced, having a pretty good idea how she'd take it.

Pezzini's eyes glowed a virulent green as her hot temper momentarily got the best of her. Nottingham shot one hand out to cover her mouth as Sara drew in a reflexive breath to swear loudly and violently. She went ahead and vented against the leather barrier of his glove, her shock and anger safely reduced to muffled curses. Ian thought he caught the word broodmare among the more common invectives and raised an eyebrow in surprise.

When she had herself back under control, Sara reached up with her good arm and tapped the back of the hand resting over her mouth. When he pulled back she said, "Sorry about that."

"I can certainly understand. I was not pleased when I heard it myself." Nottingham looked anywhere but at Sara, not wanting her to see the roil of fury that washed over him. The thought of her with another, especially the man who he regarded as a father, made him insanely jealous. He was overjoyed to hear she was not excited about the prospect either.

"Why me? Why now? I don't have the Witchblade any more, remember?" Sara had thought Irons interest in her was secondary to the weapon she had worn.

"Ah, but the qualities you had to possess in order to wield the Witchblade are still within you. If I had to guess, I'd say he's trying to breed the next wielder, to have her loyal to him as only a daughter can be." Ian knew all about the way such a loyalty could be used, from close personal experience.

"That would be a pretty good trick, since I would bet the Witchblade is safety tucked away in an evidence locker by now, probably labeled as personal effects of Carmelita Boucher. I don't think it will see the light of day for years, and good riddance." Sara said emphatically. The Gauntlet had caused her enough trouble. Let it rot.

"Please Sara, the security around your Evidence Room is laughable. I could get in there as easily as I do the mansion, perhaps easier. If that is where the Witchblade is, Irons can get it at any time." Nottingham shrugged, trying for nonchalance, suddenly very aware of the weight of the Witchblade in his coat pocket. Now did not seem like the time to tell her he had it. She was clearly unprepared to deal with it, and he knew if he tried he would only push her further from accepting the Gauntlet's return to her wrist.

"I just bet he can." Sara narrowed her eyes as an ugly thought occurred to her. "He's part of it isn't he?"

"Mr. Irons is part of many things, which 'it' are you referring to?" Nottingham leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under his weight.

"The corruption inside the department. Somehow he's tied in to all of that isn't he?"

Sara pinned the shifting assassin with a penetrating glare.

"Oh Sara, that has been around since long before he came to New York, and exists in any city you would care to name, to one degree or another. Irons may have taken advantage of a situation that he found already in existence, but any connection would be tenuous at best."

"Oh yeah?" Pezzini's voice was patently unbelieving.

"Quite frankly, as a man in the upper echelon of society he is above dealing with the police." Sara flushed and opened her mouth, clearly not liking Ian's phrasing, but he rolled right on over whatever she was about to say.

"Please don't be insulted. I am telling you the truth. The chain of command is long but absolute. As long as the Chief of Police is within his sphere of influence, he has no need to mingle with his inferiors." Ian knew this would be hard for Sara to accept, but that didn't make it less true.

"So now I'm inferior?" Pezzini asked hotly.

"From a political standpoint, yes. Why cultivate you when a higher authority can override anything you do? If you had not been destined to wield the Witchblade, Irons would never have arranged for the two of you to meet." Nottingham said, his voice completely neutral in an attempt to explain without offering any more offense.

"Then why has Irons been by to visit me twice since I lost the Witchblade? If he has just now decided to restart this mysterious plan of his, what were the earlier visits about?" Sara pointed out, the detective in her unable to let an inconsistency rest.

"This is Irons we are talking about. He operates on so many levels and has a very long vision. When I was a boy he used to always tell me to consider the consequences of my every action. 'A man cannot touch the petals of a rose without affecting the farthest star,' was his favorite admonishment. Perhaps he wished to be on better terms with you in case the Witchblade returned to your wrist. Or he was looking ahead to a time when you would be more of a political asset, and was working to assure your loyalty now. After all, you have the potential to go far. If you would ever learn to compromise, you might even make Chief some day."

"I'm not sure I would want that. It... doesn't seem to be what I thought it was." Sara found herself thinking of her conversation with Joe Siri.

"Nothing ever is." Ian touched her hand in gentle support, his eyes dark with understanding.

"You can say that again." Sara's lip curled up ruefully.

"Nothing ever..." Ian began, only to be cut off by an exasperated Pezzini.

"It's a figure of speech, Nottingham."

"I was trying to for humor. I have been told I need to 'lighten up', I believe the phrase was." Ian shrugged, disappointed that his foray into humor had not met with success.

"Who told you that?" Sara arched a brow. She couldn't see that bit of advice coming from Irons.

"Dr. Immo's assistant, Ms. Schneikert, actually. She told me I was a nice boy, but I needed to let my hair down and try wearing something other than black." A faint grin crossed his face as he remembered the thin blonde lecturing him.

"Is that why you wore the white shirt? If it is, I owe her a big thank you. That outfit was hot." Sara gave him a look of very feminine appreciation.

"No, I was dressed as the male tango dancers in Argentina were." Ian dropped his gaze, as he blushed, not sure how to take the compliment.

"If you always plan to dress the part, I am going to have to plan for a luau. You'd look pretty darn good in a lavalava." Pez gave him a speculative look, mentally dressing him in nothing but a cotton wrap around his waist.

Uncomfortable at the direction the discussion appeared to be heading, Nottingham tried to get the conversation back on track. "And what do you imagine Irons is going to do when he finds out that we're dating?"

"He's going to have to face up to reality sometime. I am no man's toy. Irons can't just move me around as he sees fit, or convince me to fall in with some grand scheme. There's no way I'm going to play broodmare just so he can get his hooks into the next Wielder." Sara practically spat the word 'broodmare', contempt heavy in her voice.

"It might not be as cold blooded as that though." Ian had to pause for the loud snort of disbelief that came from the brunette sprawled in the hospital bed, "No really. It could just be because you remind him so much of Elizabeth. When the dynastic urge struck, how could you not be his first choice? You two are identical in appearance, and are supposed to be her reincarnation. Perhaps he believes you will come to love him as she did."

"Oh that is so not happening. I only date longhaired, tattooed, bad boys." Sara raised a brow at Ian, knowing he technically fit all three categories.

"I rather doubt Irons will settle for being told he's not your type. Be very, very careful Sara. What Irons wants, he gets. He won't care what has to happen to get it either." Nottingham leaned forward, trying to impress upon her the very seriousness of the situation.

"Are you just going to stand by and let him?" Sara raised a brow, asking a version of the question that had been bothering her ever since she had asked him out. It wasn't quite as rude as, whose side are you on, his or mine?

"I do not know." Ian said softly, his hazel eyes haunted.

Sara closed her eyes, oddly disappointed by his answer. For Christ's sake, they'd gone out a grand total of once. Why did she expect him to go against his very powerful employer for her? When she opened them again, Ian was gone; the rush of cold air telling her Nottingham had taken his normal route.

This leaving in the middle of a conversation was starting to really piss her off.

A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews!