20: 45 Ian
He was running.
That's what the servants called it . Running. They pretended there was nothing unusual about it. As if it was a part of his normal routine. They weren't really wrong. It had become part of his routine, which was never normal to begin with anyway.
But while it was an accurate description of what he was doing, it really wasn't. It wasn't running.
It was penance. Verging on punishment.
It was excorcism.
But he did run.
He ran until his breath etched like acid in his chest, til he ached.
He ran over rooftops, jumped, whirled, kicked, dropped and ran to the edge of his endurance and then some. Sometimes he took the katana. Sometimes he went out walking in the bad parts of town. But word had gotten around. Good news travels fast, creepy news travels faster. Nobody bothered him much lately. And he hadn't even caused any permanent damage to the ones that had dared. Cowards all, ready to pounce on those perceived to be weaker, but not willing to take on a worthy opponent.
So he ran, he ran until he became a blur of pain and violence.
(Run, breathe, turn, jump, kick, breathe, run, run faster than the thoughts like hounds snapping at your heels, run, breathe, pain can be a sanctuary, kick, hit, breathe, from agony, run, jump, breathe, run,…)
Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it all went quiet inside and he could forget the twin loyalties that kept dividing him. For a while he could be just Ian. When it worked.
Today it did not.
He 'd have to return to the mansion but not just yet.
He'd wait for the tremors to subside and the trickles of blood to stop (weaving the intricate patterns of the katana while you're nearly falling down from exhaustion and dizziness is not always a bloodless exercise).
So here he was, outside her window, perched on this spot on the fire escape, and it felt like he'd sat here countless times before. In dreams that weren't quite dreams.
Apparently common sense was not only not a reliable guide to understanding the universe, but also not a reliable guide to understanding Ian Nottingham.
No real surprise there. Not for her at least, he assumed, she had made it very obvious she thought him completely devoid of common sense, or even humanity. Lapdog, freak, crazy, creepy, mr. Irons' boyfriend, psycho Galahad, vampire, the list was long and creative but never kind. Except on rare occasions, when his name sounded soft on her voice.
In dreams that were just that, dreams.
She wasn't home.
Staying wasn't really a decision he made, it just seemed like he belonged there.
With the chill in the night sky, like the ghost of rain, Ian waited.
20: 00Sara
Sara Pezzini returned from the hospital with an intense desire to cause something or someone serious damage. That or cry herself numb.
She parked the bike, and went up to the loft with just a little more noise than necessary and slammed the door behind her with a hell of a lot more noise than necessary. She took the bracelet from her wrist and considered throwing its inactive and innocent looking ass out the window. It wouldn't do any good of course, it would just return. Bitch. And even if it didn't, if it took its freakvisions elsewhere and chose someone else, someone with more 'confusion tolerance', she wasn't sure she wanted that. She'd started to rely on its guidance. And that pissed her off as much as anything else.
Sighing she put it back on and checked the kitchen for food. Nothing much there, she wouldn't be able to eat right now anyway. She'd go for a work out, try to get rid of some of the tension that made her feel tired and wired at the same time, pick something up on the way back.
She hit the gym with more than her usual energy, effectively scattering the remaining visitors, who suddenly found incredibly interesting things to do that were conveniently elsewhere. For lack of a willing victim she started hitting the punching bag.
"Hey Pez". Danny. She hadn't noticed him coming in. "How are things at the hospital?"
"They suck."
"No change huh?"
"Nope"
Danny didn't push.
"So, you up for a round with someone who actually hits back?"
Sara raised an eyebrow. "You're brave, everyone else started running for the hills as soon as I came in."
"I'll take that as a yes." And with that Danny started circling her. Sara gave a quick right which he dodged easily. "C'mon Pez, float like a butterfly you do, how 'bout stinging like a bee?" he teased. She put a bit more speed and power in the next one. He blocked and hit her on the shoulder, almost playfully. "You're hitting like girl!" Damn, was he trying to piss her off? "Danny, don't." Danny didn't listen, getting in little hits left and right and looking like he was having a ball, "Getting slow, Pez, something on your mind?" Right that's it, the man is asking for pain! All the frustration and anger came flooding in and she put it all into her fighting. Danny's relief at finally getting her to let go was rather short lived. A furious Pez was something to be reckoned with, even with his martial arts background.
Danny was good, and he was pushing her to give it everything she had. She suddenly realised he had her backing up. She instictively went for the sly rap, the diversion move going for the ribs, which, if he tried to block her, would leave her opponent's head wide open for the real hit. The one Jake used on Conchobar. The one that probably did the most damage. She tried to stop in mid-swing and succeeded somewhat. She needn't have bothered though, Danny knew her, he'd seen it coming and moved to block it in time. Sara backed off.
"It's a good move, Pez." "Yeah, real good to put someone in a coma. Can't wait to use that one on my partner!" she spat at him.
"It wasn't your fault, Pez. Conchobar shouldn't have been fighting, he was already hurt."
"I shouldn't 've called it off, Danny. He'd be arrested with the rest of 'em but at least, at least he'd be conscious! Hell, if I hadn't shown Jake the sly rap …" Frustration and helplessness surged through her and she hit the wall. And suddenly the emotional burnout that had been lurking, waiting for an opening, finally hit. She leaned against the wall and slid down til she sat huddled on the floor. Danny thought she looked defeated and small. She was beating herself up over this way too much! He sat down next to her. "You were just looking out for Jake. And Conchobar would still be in a coma. He wanted the pagan and wouldn't have stopped." He could see her wrestling with that information. Holding on to the blame, to the idea that she could control things. Because if she screwed up then maybe next time she could find a way to not lose anyone else. If she tried just a little harder. "I know, it's just…" Danny cut her off "He made his own choices, Sara, you're not responsible for what happened. You have to believe that!"
"So what, shit happens?" she asked, with a hint of humour returning to her voice. Danny sighed. "Something like that yeah. Look if you need some time off, Jake and I can handle things.." She didn't let him finish, looking down she said "No, I need to keep busy, be here, you know, in case he… wakes up." She looked at him with her best 'everything will be fine'-face. Danny took a good look at his partner. He wasn't completely satisfied, but he knew this was as far as he was gonna get with her tonight. Sara wasn't very open with her feelings. He'd already been lucky to get her to say some of the things that bothered her. But there was more to it, something she wasn't sharing. He knew she had secrets, real secrets, not just the 'come-too-close-and-I'll-take-your-head-of' type of secrets. She'd started spacing out, having hunches that were impossibly correct, but she had asked him to trust her and that he did. "Alright," he nodded, "just take care, okay? Now how about we get cleaned up and get outta here?" "Good thinking"
They got up with a variety of grunts and painful faces and a couple of fresh bruises to show for their efforts. Just before she disappeared into the locker room she turned "Hey Danny?" "Yeah?" "'Something on your mind?' Low blow, partner." But she smiled as she said it. Albeit a little shaky.
He gave her an apologetic grin. She was right, it had been a little low, after all he had a good idea of what was on her mind, but at least she'd gotten some of the anger out without alienating everyone in the precinct.
Sara's smile faded the minute he was out of sight. Maybe Danny was right and the coma wasn't her fault but she wasn't so sure that the not-waking-up part wasn't. The sight of him in the bed, scratches and bruises beginning to heal, the machines blipping and beeping in their own little world, and she was praying, practically begging for him to wake up. But he didn't. After a few days she wasn't so sure anymore that in a coma was better than dead. The longer they're out…. A few days more and the fear of losing him all over again tore through her like debris in a hurricane. She tried using the witchblade but it remained dormant. The damn thing seemed to have it in for Conchobar! Killing him last time, not healing him this time. She resented it for not helping and she resented it for sticking with the damn radio silence!
Jake was waiting for her when she was done showering and dressing. Her blond, blue-eyed, all american, rookie partner was just putting his jacket on. "Wanna go get something to eat?" He asked. "Sorry Jake, I just wanna go home, get an early night." "You gotta eat, Pez." Just then Danny, also showered and changed, walked up to them. She turned to him and said "So what, you and the rookie taking turns mothering me now?" Jake gave her the innocent-blond-hurt look, "Hey we're just looking out for ya." "Yeah well, I appreciate it, but you can rest your eyes tonight, okay?" He looked like he was about to object but thought better of it. "See you guys."
Jake and Danny watched her leave. "She doesn't look so great, Danny." "I know." "It's still about the Conchobar thing, isn't it?" Danny nodded. Jake shook his head "Man, what is up with that? it's not like she put him in a coma! I mean she doesn't even know him, not really. But the way she's taking this, she's acting like he's her soul mate or something" "They both did." Danny said, pensive. Jake gave him a look. "Well you gotta admit, I mean she's been acting strange for a while now, but this, this is just weird!" "I'm not arguing with you there, man." Danny said. He gave Jake a slap on the back "I don't understand it, I'm just hoping she'll work it out sometime soon." "You and me both, man."
Ian snapped out of his drowsiness when she opened the door. The way she moved drew his attention like a scream. She was in pain. As she took of her jacket and t-shirt and tossed them on the couch he narrowed his eyes. There were fresh bruises on her. She had been in danger and he hadn't been there! Then the wet hair and sports bag registered and he relaxed again. She'd been at the gym, probably sparring with her partner. If he were to venture a guess, said partner would probably also have a few bruises. Seems like she tried to excorcise her demons much the same way he did. He smiled at that. Of course she would die rather than admit they had anything in common. He leaned his head wearily against the wall as he half heard, half saw her going through the motions of take out and beer, and wondered what he was doing there. Father didn't need him watching her anymore. Father didn't seem to need anything from Ian anymore. She had formed her connection to the blade, she didn't need him to protect her anymore. She certainly didn't want it. So why was he here, tormenting himself? He sighed. He needed to be here. It was a need he didn't understand but Ian had learned to trust his instincts, so he stayed.
She looked tired, haunted, and she was magnificent. He knew her by heart: pale sking, long dark brown hair and green eyes, movements strong and honest, without guile. She was like the arrow he took for her. Straight, unbending, without the promise of comfort she was nestled in his heart. Like she belonged there, was fused there, unmoved by reason or prayer. All his training and conditioning were no more than the layers of clothing the arrow had pierced. And like the arrow, she was killing him.
(…This beast that rends me in the sight of all
This love, this longing, this oblivious thing
That has me under as the last leaves fall…)
He gave a little mirthless laugh. Unlike the poet's infatuation this would not be gone by spring. He held out no hopes for that.
She had settled on the couch, head back, eyes closed. This close to her he could feel her distress, her guilt. They mirrored his own. He shifted so he couldn't see her. But he could hear her, the small intimate sounds of an evening alone with the darkness.
After a few hours of nothing happening but a soft drizzle he was about to ignore his instincts and return to the mansion. The light haze of rain had succeeded, by sheer persistence, in making his clothes uncomfortably damp He was wet and cold and his muscles were protesting loudly after the strain he put them through. He got up and took a last look inside when there was a knock on the door.
23: 11 Gabriel
Sara looked up at the door, tired and not in the mood for visitors.
"Pez, you in there? It's me." Gabriel. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to decide whether or not to let him in. He knocked again "C'mon Sara, I know you're home, the light's on." She supposed she had to talk to him at some point so, swearing softly, she went to open the door. He stood there, looking a bit rumpled and very young. Sleeves too long, black hair all over the place, big brown eyes. Suddenly, for no reason she remembered what Nottingham had said about him. Beautiful eyes. Come to think of it, she agreed. Hell must be freezing over. "Hey Gabe, what's up?"
"Nothing really, I just wanted to see how you were doing, you know, with the whole Cyberfaust investigation and ah...stuff".
She gestured for him to come in. "Drink?" "Uh, no, thanks. I'm good"
She went back to her spot on the couch and watched him move around the appartment a little nervously. He seemed to feel her looking at him, because he turned and gave her a smile. It came out a little forced. "Sooooooooooo. How's work? Any weird murders lately?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows at him, not the topic she'd been fearing. "Actually no, it's pretty quiet. No cases with 'witchblade –wielder only' stamped all over them. Even the blade has been behaving itself. I could get used to this." she said with emphasis. Yeah right. The blade wasn't behaving, it was ignoring her! Thinking about it made her uncomfortable again. "How about the investigation about Irons' death?" He seemed to be expecting an answer from the floor. She replied with forced optimism. "Well, Irons' return obviously put a very elegant stop to that nasty rumour. Irons' himself would probably appreciate the irony in that." The thought made her smirk. Gabriel did not laugh, he felt, what was it, annoyed. He started walking around again. "So, they're not investigating any further?" His restlessness began to rub off on her. She got up and went into the kitchen to make some tea. "Well there are still a lot of questions." "But they don't think you had anything to do with it?"Gabe insisted. "Jake says I'm off the hook. He got pretty chummy with them. Apparently they spoke to Nottingham and he, uhm, seemed to have convinced them I had nothing to do with it." She said it like she couldn't believe it. "He did?" Gabe stood very still. He finally looked at her, with a scowl. "That was nice of him." It sounded like a sneer. "Especially given his... affections for mr. Irons." The pause gave the statement an innuendo she didn't like. Sara was starting to get annoyed. She didn't understand why Gabe acted like this. He was supposed to be glad she wasn't under suspicion anymore. And the last thing on her mind was Irons and his assassin right now.
Ian was puzzled. He sensed something important was happening but couldn't pinpoint it. Gabriel Bowman was her friend, he'd been over before, why would this be significant? He pondered the question while the scene unfolded inside. They seemed different with each other. Awkward. He noticed Gabriel's anger when Sara mentioned him. While he had no illusions about the amount of affection young mr. Bowman held for him, it was odd that his helping Sara bothered him.
Sara tried a diversion. "Jake said the feds seemed to think maybe Nottingham was a likely suspect." Gabriel looked almost cynically amused as he replied "Ian Nottingham harm Irons? Not very likely." It suddenly made him look older. "Yeah well, Jake seemed to think it had more to do with the attitude and the black dragon thing, than anything real they have." Of course, she knew there was nothing to have on him. For once he had been just an innocent bystander. Now there was a world of irony for ya. But she didn't say that to Gabriel, the less he knew, the better for his sanity she figured. "That and he probably intimidated the shit out of 'em." she said wryly. "True, the man is capable of intimidating Jabba the Hut" Gabe quipped, more like his old self. He chose a spot on the couch and sat down. He took a deep breath and finally came to the reason he was here. "Sooo, no trouble at work, off the hook with the feds. I guess, that's why I haven't been seeing you around lately then?" He tried to sound lighthearted, but failed. "Look Gabe, I'm sorry, I just, I have a lot on my mind." Nice going, Sara, give him the old 'it's not you, it's me' next, she scolded herself. He sounded very young again: "So when you kissed me..?" he let the question trail off.
Ian wondered how many times and in how many different ways his world could shatter. He turned away from the window and retreated deeper in the shadows. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. At least it did explain the awkwardness between them.
Inside Sara suddenly evinced a keen interest in watching water boil. In all honesty, he had kissed her when she was tied up! But she couldn't deny she kissed him back. It had been fear and stress and grief over Conchobar. And she really didn't wanna say that to him. But she had to say something.
"Gabe, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I was just, scared and with everything going on...with Conchobar...I just ..." She was at a loss for words. Not something that happened very often and not something she enjoyed. "Sara please" For a fleeting moment, she felt a chill down her spine at those words. His tone seemed familiar, but the thought came and went too fast to leave anything but a feeling of unease. Annoyed she tried to shake it. "It's ok, like I said you 're not of this world. I just thought you might be, you know, angry or something. So, we're good?" He gave her an expectant smile.
"Sure Gabe, we're good" she was relieved. "And I was going to come by, actually. I wanted to ask you something. About the blade." He seemed pleased with that if the big smile was anything to go on. He really was just like a big kid sometimes, glad to be in with the secrets. She couldn't help but laugh in return.
Ian hurt. Body and soul. He wanted to leave. He knew he was not worthy of her but he didn't want to be here on the outside looking in anymore, didn't want to see how other people found their places in her life. He got up to leave again, but suddenly the witchblade seemed to grab hold of him and he froze. He looked at Sara and Gabe again, mending their friendship. Sara had put her hand, the one with the blade, briefly on Bowman's. The blade was agitated, swirling and seemed to want Sara's attention. But Sara gave no indication she'd noticed. Gabriel on the other hand obviously had and he seemed amused. But he didn't tell Sara. Suddenly he looked at the fire escape window as if he knew Ian was there. Quickly and quietly Ian withdrew. He knew there was no way Gabriel could have seen or heard him. He flowed into the shadows as easily as if he were one, even tired and upset. But somehow the boy had known he was there. The blade had known of course.
But Sara had not.
Night, Ian
He sat in Father's room.
His mind made a little note of that : Father, not His Master now. Just Father.
He'd showered and changed, it would not do to appear before Father improperly attired. There was a fire going in the hearth, it was the only source of light in the room but he saw all he needed. And perhaps more than he wanted. He sat on the floor beside the bed, warm and dry now and unspeakably tired. Father looked exactly the same as always, silver hair, neatly trimmed, face smooth and young and patrician. Another picture he knew by heart.
"Mr. Bowman seems to have developed a... a sensitivity to the blade he did not have before. Lady Sara's connection to the blade seems hindered. The blade wanted me to see this." Ian reported. There was no reply of course. Ian had not expected any. Father did not move, father did not speak, father did nothing now. He had not even punished Ian. Sometimes Ian thought this silence was his punishment. For failing him. Twice. For loving Lady Sara, for daring to dream she might one day look at him, maybe even touch him, without anger or fear or disgust.
Ian did not know what had happened between Sara and mr. Irons that night at Talismaniac. Whatever had happened, did so on a different plane. Of that he was sure. And Father had been ...hurt. By Sara. While Ian had allowed himself to be distracted by the blond pretender.
He watched the shadows playing on father's face, wondering if he would ever speak to him again.
Taking his right glove off, he reached out and touched father's cheek with his bare hand. It was a reverent, hesitant gesture. An intimacy that, had mr. Irons been fully aware, he would not even have dared think of. The sensation of skin under his naked fingertips was overwhelming. It was electricity dancing. Father's skin was warm and smooth but a slight stubble had formed. He gently caressed the skin up to the temple. He could feel the life in the vein under his fingers, in every cell, but father was not here. The absence of the living man's spirit was palpable, like an open wound.
Ian laid his head next to father's and closed his eyes.
The fire was dying in the hearth. The shadows grew deep and dark and he slipped into sleep like grace.
The night was black and the gardens full of a creeping threat. He was running as fast as he could. He must get to the house before the door closed! But the house seemed to slip away from him. And the door slammed shut. He dropped to his knees, out of breath. With his hands pressed to the window he watched. She was standing there, lost, long red hair like a shower of flame. A shadow moved behind her but she didn't see it! His heart almost stopped and he shouted a warning but she didn't hear him, didn't see him. She felt the figure behind her and turned. Sara smiled and kissed the shadowy figure. Outside he was pounding on the window but there was no sound. He had to warn her! Save her! The shadowy figure inside turned her with her back to himself. She was naked. He looked straight at Ian, but he couldn't make out a face, as he cupped her breasts with his hands, slightly pinching the nipples. He lowered his head and lightly nipped her neck. She let her head fall back on his shoulder and closed her eyes while his left hand slowly slid down her body, over her hips, her belly, between her legs. Caught between fear and jealousy Ian saw the witchblade flare, change shapes but Sara just smiled and held it back. Sara opened her eyes as her shadow lover entered her. She screamed but instead of sound crows came out. Ian watched helplessly as the man's face changed from shadow to Gabriel to Irons and back to shadow while he thrust into her, gripping that lush red hair.
The window shattered and Ian was standing in the library with glass falling all around him. He was alone. The book on the table was open but as he looked at the pages, the words seemed to melt away.
He was being watched, by something leering, grinning, something lurking in the dark around him, but he couldn't see it, couldn't fight it. He rifled through the books, with a rapidly increasing sense of urgency but all the pages were blank. He looked around and saw Gabriel Bowman lying on the ground with the witchblade through his throat.
Ian woke with a start, heart pounding. The horror and urgency of the dream still vivid in his mind. He glanced at father but he had not stirred. Ian quietly withdrew to his own room. This was no ordinary nightmare. He knew those very well. Something was very wrong.
Across town Gabriel Bowman smiled in his sleep while Sara lay awake, trying not to think about Conchobar.
12:00, Ian, Sara, Gabriel
It was midday when Sara arrived at Talismaniac, but the morning fog hadn't lifted and the light seemed murky and grey, like her mood. She parked the bike and took her helmet off when her cell rang. She fished it out of her jacket. "Pezzini, go." "Hello Sara, had any dreams lately?" Great, just what she needed to ruin her day. "What do you want, Nottingham?" Patience was not a commodity in ample supply when it came to him. Just then she was startled by a couple of crows landing on a lamp post.
"In ancient Ulster the people believed the war goddess Morrigan changed into a crow and roamed the battlefields. Have you ever seen a murder of crows descend on a battlefield, Sara?" She whipped around when his answer didn't come from the phone but was spoken softly in her ear. Her hands shot up to push him away from her. At the moment of contact the blade flared to life and a series of images suddenlly assaulted her mind: crows and corpses, Gabriel turning around, smiling, a quick succession of scenes with a girl with long red hair and Nottingham, the girl falling, more crows and the taste of blood in her mouth. Damn it! She refused to space out with Irons' assassin standing right there! She tried to fight it and used her tried and true method : plain and simple anger. "Just great, daddy's back and you revert back to speaking in riddles? Or were you just bored and thought 'hey, it's been a while since I've stalked anyone'!"
The blade's visions stopped as abruptly as they started and Sara relaxed a little.
He stood there the way she remembered him, tall, black hair with a few lighter strands held tight in a ponytail and that strange mixture of arrogance, subservience and contained violence like a halo around him.
Heignored her anger.
"Tell me, how is mr. Bowman doing lately?" he asked, looking at the ground. Sara was bewildered by the sudden mention of Gabriel. "He's fine. And if you leave him alone he'll stay that way." She said aggressively.
He laughed a cynical little laugh "Trust me, his well being is of interest to me." Sara raised her eyebrows and felt herself grow tense again. Nottingham's interest was not a reassuring thing. "Really? and why is that?" she demanded. He looked up at the crows. "I like his ...loyalty."Nottingham tilted his head down and gave her that upwards and sideways glance, that made him seem shy "His passion."
"So what makes you the expert on passion?" she scoffed "You're a stone cold killer!". Immediately she knew she shouldn't have said it. (I love you, Sara. In unguarded moments.)
He dipped his head again and smiled his half smile, the one that was just so damn infuriating because it hinted at secrets and knowledge she had no idea of , and it seemed to say she was predictable and, god help her, cute! Like a child or a pet, ignorant but you love it anyway.
Ian tried not to flinch at her words and hid his feelings behind the smile.
"Odi et amo, Sara." As he looked up at her face, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Excrucior."
What the? "Fantastic," she said, forcefully dragging her desire to punch him back in line "now we're speaking in tongues as well."
He was looking over her shoulder. She looked back and saw Gabe had come out and was walking towards them. When Nottingham made a move as if to go to Gabriel, Sara's hand shot out and she grabbed him. He stood very still and looked at her "Are we enemies now, Sara?" Embarassed she let him go (we are not enemies yet, the use of force between us is inappropriate) How was it that Irons lapdog could make her feel like a peasant? "Everything ok, Sara?" Gabriel asked with a wary expression on his face. "Yeah, fine. Prince of darkness here was just expressing his concern for our welfare" She said with a forced smile. Gabriel threw a pensive look at Nottingham. Nottingham stared right back with that intimidating air he had with most people that weren't Sara, or Irons. Gabriel smiled a controled smile. "Isn't that nice of him."
The crows on the lamppost suddenly flew up and made a low swooping dive over their heads with a raucous cry that startled them. Sara and Gabe looked up to see them disappear over the roof of Talismaniac. When they looked back Nottingham had managed his vanishing-into-thin-air trick again. "Man I wish he'd stop doing that" Sara sighed. "Hey Gabe, what's odi et amo excrucior mean?" Gabe gave a sardonic smile "It means tread carefully because you tread on his dreams." Sara gave him a confused look. "Catullus, Roman poet, I hate her and I love her. I am tortured." Gabe clarified.
Sara was decidedly uncomfortable. "Right. Let's just uh, let's just get on with things ok?" Gabriel gestured for her to go first.
"Sure, fine, let's go in, I found some things already, but there's not that much to go on." "Well, let's see what you got."
Talking they went back inside.
Ian hadn't gone far. In fact he'd stayed close enough to hear Bowman's little jibe at his expense. He had a lot to think about. Sara's connection to the blade was apparently still incomplete, she'd had some sort of vision just now when he spoke of the Morrigan, but she seemed not a bit alarmed by Bowman's behaviour. Bowman had acted very strangely, for one thing he hadn't shown any fear of him, not even a slight nervousness. He had even managed that insolent 'isn't that nice'. Ian knew the effect he had on people when he wanted to intimidate. In the past Gabriel Bowman had shown all signs of that effect, though credit was due for his loyalty to Sara despite his fear. And then that mocking comment on his dreams. Gabriel Bowman might be many things, but he had never been cruel or sarcastic. Not like father.
12 : 30, Sara, Jake, Danny
When Sara arrived at the scene, Danny and Jake were already there. She'd gotten the call while she was still at Gabe's and left him to continue the research. She looked around, the crime scene guys were doing their thing, Jake sat squatted by something in the back of the room and Danny was talking to a young woman by the window. Jake turned to her and gave her an short update "Niamh O'Neil, beaten and stabbed with this knife." he showed her the bagged knife "Whoever did it tried to set the place on fire." Sara looked around, the place looked like a small hurricane had payed it a visit. She couldn't see the body completely, it was half hidden by a screen. She went over to where it was lying. She was lying on her left side. She noticed the torn sleeves, bruises and scrapes on her hands. "looks like she put up a fight" she said. Jake nodded. Sara positioned herself so she could look at the girl's face. She went cold inside when she recognized her. Long thick red hair, slightly curled. Her eyes were closed but she knew they were grey, she'd seen them in her vision earlier that day. The blade had tried to tell her something about this girl, she closed her eyes and wrestled down the feeling that she failed her. She gently touched the beautiful hair, hoping for something from the blade but nothing came, not a shimmer, not a swirl.
Danny had come over and was sharing the info he got from the girl at the window. Sara seemed to listen from a great distance. The victim was a wiccan, psychic and massage therapist, tarot cards, oils and candles and stuff like that. Jake was rummaging through the mess on the floor with a pen and said something about that explaining the literature on the wall. Danny sighed "Yeah, looks like some religious fanatic took offense." He looked at Sara, she was doing it again, spacing out. He touched her shoulder, she gave him that startled-but-trying-not-to-show-it reaction. "Huh?" she managed. Danny pointed at the wall "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" he quoted. Sara felt exposed somehow. She pulled her sleeve over her bracelet while Danny continued "Jake and I were saying it looks like a religious fanatic" Sara looked at the girl again with the sickening feeling that this was one of those wielder-only-cases she joked about yesterday.
"You ok, Pez?" Danny asked quietly. She gave him a not quite genuine smile. "Yeah, it's just, she doesn't really look like most psychics working the tourists." He looked down at the girl, jeans and t-shirt, long centered black cardigan, no noticeable make-up, no nail polish, no pompous jewelry, just a small silver pendant with a green stone in the center. He had to agree. Sara cleared her throat. "So do we have anything useful?" "The fire hasn't spread very far, so it probably happened just before she was found. The upstairs neighbour said some guy ran into her a few houses back, looking, and I quote, strange." He said it with a grimace. Most witnesses found something strange about a possible suspect when thinking back. He continued "She thought he was coming from her house but can't be 100 sure." Jake shrugged "It could've been just a client who walked in and freaked out when he saw the mess." Danny stood up "We don't know if he has anything to do with it but we're checking it out, she'll be talking to a sketch artist soon."
One of the lab guys walked up and handed Jake an appointment book and cell phone. "Last appointment?" Sara and Danny asked in unison. Jake looked through the appointments "It just says Ian, at 10 am, no last name." Sara remembered her vision, Nottingham and this girl, the girl was laughing and Ian held the pendant round her neck in one gloved hand. She heard Danny inquire about the phone, last call out was about 11 :30 am, Ian again, they were checking the number. "It's Nottingham" Sara said. Her partners looked at her. "I, uh, saw them together once, I remember now." Danny gave her a strange look while Jake went over to talk to the neighbour. When he came back he wistled "Pezzini is right again, she knew Ian Nottingham, he was here today. But she doesn't believe he did it. She said they were friends." Danny gave him a sceptical look "What kind of friends?" "Just friends apparently, nothing else.Of course friends have killed friends before" Jake said, almost hopefully. "We don't have a motive" Danny reminded him "Irons' bodyguard doesn't strike me as a religious man." "Could be a diversion" Jake countered. "OK," Sara said "we can stand here and guess but let's just see if we can get a decent portrait of our runaway guy and pay mr. Nottingham a visit."
14 : 00 Sara, Jake, Ian
Having been informed by one of the servants that mr. Nottingham was out, and no one knew where, but that he would be at the Vorshlag offices that afternoon, Sara and Jake decided to go talk to him.
Sara had wanted to come alone so she could talk freely but Jake insisted and she really didn't have a plausible reason to go alone. They asked for Nottingham at the reception and were shown into a waiting room by a very efficient-looking receptionist who seemed to lack any human reaction. Sara couldn't help thinking that she was probably deactivated and stored somewhere in the building at night. She did nothing to lessen Sara's dislike for this place. Sara remembered the building from the other time, when Danny was dead, and none of the memories were warm or fuzzy. Then again, neither was the building.
After a while the receptionist showed them into an office and informed them that mr. Nottingham would be with them shortly. "So" Jake said, "First they don't know where he is, now they make us wait. Do you get the feeling they're trying to make a point?" "Such as we're insignificant nobodies bothering an important man?" She asked with a grin "I wouldn't have thought you were susceptible to that kind of thing, Jake." "Well, I just think it's a little odd. I mean the man is Irons' conditioned bodyguard, not much higher then a slave I would've imagined. Not to mention Irons disappeared from under his nose. That can't have improved people's opinion of him." "Would you tell him that to his face, Jake?" "Good point." Jake conceded.
They were both startled when they heard the voice behind them say "Detectives, how may I help you?" It was cultured, soft and slightly amused. For a moment Sara expected to see Irons standing there, but it was Nottingham. They hadn't heard him coming. Both detectives studied him as he closed the door and went to sit down in the chair behind the desk. He was dressed all in black as usual, black gloves and combat shoes. Sara noticed that his turtleneck sweater fit rather snugly around his chest. He looked different though, sure of himself, commanding. Shocked she realised that he actually looked like he knew what he was doing in the corporate world. She always saw him as a killing machine, though she knew his IQ was off the charts. Now she realised he was probably able to run this place without Irons. Still, he didn't fit in this grey, shiny, modern building, not like Irons had with his impeccable, expensive grey suits, silver hair, blue eyes. Irons was a collage of steely grey tints, cold as this building, and his name. "What brings two homicide detectives here?" Nottingham asked. Sara thought he looked kinda smug, like he knew he'd surprised her. It annoyed her and that made her question a little more aggressive than she had planned. "Do you know a Niamh O'Neil?" He raised an eyebrow and said "Yes." No more. "Care to tell us what your relationship with her is?" Jake prodded. Nottingham shifted his gaze to Jake and regarded him coolly. "She is a friend." "Just friends, so you never saw her professionally?" Sara asked. "I did not say that." he stated calmly. "So you did see her professionally." Sara stated. "Sometimes" Jesus, this is like pulling teeth, Sara thought. She tried again "Care to elaborate?" "Care to tell me what this is about?" he countered. Sara and Jake looked at each other. Sara nodded to Jake to tell him. She watched Nottingham as Jake informed him that Niamh O'Neil was found murdered. He did not move, his expression did not change but she got the distinct impression he was shocked. And angry. Jake finished and Sara continued "So, I'll ask again, care to elaborate?" Nottingham silently moved to the window. Jake gave Sara an incomprehending look. Sara was a little puzzled herself but she was certain this was the first he heard of the victim's death. Nottingham turned from the window. "Niamh was a friend, she was also my massage therapist. I saw her this morning. No doubt that is the reason you are here." "Was there anything different about her behaviour?" Sara asked. "There was not. She called my cell about an hour ago, but I was unable to take the call. She left no message and she didn't call back." "Why didn't you call her back?" Jake asked "Are your friends' calls not important enough or did you already know she was dead?" Jake really did not like this guy. His reaction to the news, if it was news, was downright cold!"Where were you between 12:30 and 14pm, we called by the mansion. Nobody knew where you were." Nottingham looked out the window again. "I was ...investigating." It was obviously not something he wanted to talk about but Jake persisted. Sara had to hand it to him, the rookie liked to play tough cop. "Really. Would that be the kind of exercise that leaves a young woman with a knife in her chest?" Nottingham livened up enough to glare at Jake "Why would I kill her, detective? Not only was she my massage therapist, she was my friend." Sara went to stand in front of him, right inside his personal space. "I don't know" she said. "You don't have much of a social life do you?" She said scathingly and she saw him narrow his eyes "She was a massage therapist, things can get pretty heated, with all that touching and sliding. Maybe you wanted more and she didn't, maybe you got angry, things got out of hand." She looked him straight in the eye. He actually laughed at her! "A nice theory, Sara, pity you don't believe it yourself." he leaned over and spoke in her ear "and I don't have to force women to my bed."
His voice was soft and low and his breath on her neck sent a shiver down her spine. It pissed her off. Since when had he become this confident about the attraction he held for women anyway? She'd never noticed that before. Of course the whole tall, dark and deadly thing didn't work for her and any woman with an ounce of common sense should run screaming from him, but she had eyes. She forced her thoughts out of Nottingham's bedroom and tried to focus on the case. She was here on official business dammit! If she was honest she had to admit her theory was very thin. In her vision Niamh had not been afraid of Nottingham and even with his fixation on her he had never tried anything, never tried to touch her, in fact he had asked permission to hold her hand once. He was right, she didn't believe it herself. Jake, however, felt it wasn't a bad theory "Nobody saw her between the time you left and the time she was found. Besides, why would you go to some two-bit psychic for a massage. I'm betting you can afford a real one, if it was really your muscles you were worried about." Ian smiled at the not so subtle attempt to rile him up til he betrayed himself. Did this rookie really think he was so easily pushed over the edge of his restraint? He noticed Sara was a bit distracted after his little comment about women and his bed. He answered Jake "You are mistaken, in both matters. As for the massage, she was the real thing. Touch is a skill, detective, an art. He focused on Sara again forcing her to look at him. "When applied with focus and intent, with inspiration, touch can bring ecstacy" he paused and looked at Jake "or agony." Sara noticed Jake was far from amused.
Ian shifted his gaze back to Sara "Niamh was an expert at what she did, she had an intuition you cannot buy. As do you." He looked pointedly at the blade on Sara's wrist. Slightly embarrassed she stuffed her hands into her pockets and tried to ignore the feeling of failure surfacing again.
Nottingham turned to Jake again. "As for the other matter, her killer did." Jake didn't want to let go "That's what I said." Nottingham smiled and suddenly exploded in a blur of movement. Before they could react he had retrieved a sword and moved toward Jake, twirling the sword around in a complex pattern so fast they could hardly see it. When he stopped the point of the sword was positioned just before Jake's crotch. He gave a little feral smile and said "Believe me, detective, if I wanted her dead, you would be going about your business without the slightest suspicion of foul play." It should have sounded arrogant, but they had seen his file. Hell, they'd seen him move with that impossible speed, just now. They both knew he was right and the lost-his-temper-theory, really didn't seem to hold water, even for Jake, pissed off and freaked out as he was. Nottingham was probably conditioned to drop dead if he ever lost his temper, Jake thought sourly.
Sara felt this was a good time to intervene, before the testosterone competition got out of hand. She somehow sensed that Nottingham wasn't really threatening Jake. He was letting off steam, converting anger and shock- and grief maybe?- into movement. Something she could relate to. But Jake would most likely not see it that way. "Put the sword down Nottingham." She made it sound as commanding as she could. Ian made a mock bow and said "Of course, Sara. Anything to please you." He lowered the sword and brushed past her. The blade suddenly flared to life, sending her short flashes she couldn't really make out. As Nottingham moved away and the contact between them was broken, the vision disappeared.
She told Jake to show him the picture they got from the sketch artist. Ian frowned. He knew this man, he'd seen him before, but not at Niamh's. Then he had it. "This is one of mr. Irons' ex-employees at one of our subsidiaries." Sara and Jake looked at each other. Something to go on. They gathered what information they could about him with the help of the formidable secretary, who placed a series of short calls.
Nottinghman saw them out. When they left he leaned over and said something to Sara. "What was that about?" Jake wanted to know. He was still pissed off , maybe more so because Sara wasn't. "He said we should find her killer. Before he did."
She didn't say he had also said she should pay closer attention to the witchblade. She knew he was right, but he didn't know how right he was. If she had been paying closer attention maybe Niamh, his friend, wouldn't be dead. She felt like she had taken something from him again. And this time it could have been avoided. She wondered if he felt the same way.
Ian saw them leave. He seemed to have skipped the denial phase. He had no trouble believing Niamh was really dead. He'd seen it in his dream. He just hadn't realised it, had focused only on Sara. McCartey was right, he could have had any professional physical therapist he wanted. Mr Irons would have paid them enough to work exclusively for him. In fact there were such people on his staff. But Ian had an independent streak. And he had found Niamh's little shop on one of his wanderings through the city. He'd gone in on a whim, expecting to find a tourist trap. But she had been different, she noticed he was different almost immediately. But she hadn't been afraid. She'd given him a massage. When she saw his scars, she didn't remark on them, she didn't ignore them either. She had checked if they hurt, or felt ticklish or numb. He remembered her touch, no fear, no disgust. Even knowing he wasn't normal. She had revealed an ache in his soul, a loneliness he hadn't even known was there. She had felt his distress, though she couldn't see the tears in his eyes. She had laid her hands on him like a blessing. He went back regularly after that. He got to like her, and was as off guard with her as was possible for him. She had nothing to do with the blade or mr. Irons and she liked him back. He had made a friend! He had been so proud, so happy.
But now he wasn't so sure it had nothing to do with the blade. His dream and Sara's involvement said otherwise.
Maybe father knew what was the blade's involvement in this case.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window.
Niamh was dead.
He should have protected her.
When he found her killer he would share his pain.
Before he died.
14 : 30 Ian, Irons
The music was playing loudly at Talismaniac, as usual. Except this time it was classical. Ian made his way through the collection of antiques and oddities to the little office in the back. Gabriel stood with his back to the door. Ian slipped inside, silently and apparently unnoticed. He took up his customary stance by the door, legs apart, hands behind his back, head bowed, and waited.
Gabriel spoke without moving. "I thought you might be paying me a visit sooner or later. I had thought it would be sooner though." Ian made no reply, he could hardly excuse himself by claiming distress due to emotional attachment! "Then again, I suppose you were preocuppied with taking care of me, or rather my body." Gabriel turned around and smiled mr. Irons' cold smile. Ian wondered how he could have missed it for so long. Father's spirit was not in his own body, it was here, in Gabriel's. Though how this was possible he didn't know. "If that is the case I suppose a certain degree of ... leniency is in order, after all it was because of your loyalty to me." Ian hid his wariness by bowing his head even lower. Leniency was not what mr. Irons was known for. "It would appear there was a slight oversight in your training. Something we will have to rectify. In the future, Ian, remember that nothing should distract you from your duty, not love, not lust, not loyalty!" Mr. Irons tone was gentle, almost caring and Ian knew the correcting of his training would be unpleasant. And yet, somehow it was a relief. Mr. Irons had returned. He would have to do penance for his failures of course, but he would be needed again. Not just a discarded weapon.
"You may speak, Ian."
"How is this possible?"
Irons was pleased, Ian did not try to make excuses. He knew punishment was coming and accepted it. He deigned to answer, after all it was important that Ian understood not only the blade but also his master better, if he was to continue to be useful.
Ian watched his master's thoughts flit over young Gabriel's face and new he had succeeded in pleasing his master for the time being. Mr. Irons would like to tell him how he managed the impossible and perhaps his punishment would be delayed somewhat.
"The blade weaves a web, Ian. Some are caught in its web only for a moment, or a lifetime, others for several lifetimes. The wielder is caught forever. As wielder of the blade, no matter how short, I am a part of that web, so it would seem is young mr. Bowman. The blade cannot kill me, Sara severed my connection to this world through my body, she did not sever my connection to the blade, nor mr. Bowman's."
"And Gabriel?"
Irons gave Ian a sharp look. Was there a note of criticism in his voice, of sympathy for the boy? He had developed a few too many attachments in his absence. No matter, he would be cured of that soon enough. As soon as he realised that loss was the inevitable result.
"He is still in here, but getting weaker. Soon he will be no more than a memory, even to himself." He moved behind his servant and saw to his delight that he tensed ever so slightly. "Just think Ian," he almost purred, "the wielder does not suspect her friend to be anything other than he should be. She will not be hostile, but thankful for my help. In the end, she will see we belong together. We can be a family. You may serve us both, there will be no conflict. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
Ian felt shattered. Flashes of his nightmare went through his mind while his master spoke. Sara screaming while his master entered her. The mixture of horror and jealousy he'd felt in the dream rose up in his chest, and he had to force it down. Yes, he had longed for peace between them, but not like this. He wasn't sure how he would survive seeing his lady in his master's arms. Nor seeing her betrayed like this, she cared for Gabriel.
"She doesn't fully confide in mr Bowman, she has her partners and Conchobar."
"They are insignificant, her partners know nothing of the blade and she will not tell them, for fear of their safety." Irons took a sacrificial knife in hand and held it up to the light, as if studying it. "As for Conchobar, who can say? He's in a coma, things do not bode well for him, wouldn't you say?" He said in an almost offhanded manner and smiled. "Meanwhile you will refrain from speaking to our lovely detective, Ian. You did excellent when you inquired after Gabriel this morning. It worried her, she'll be staying close just to make sure he's safe. This can only help our plans." Your plan, Ian thought. But he said "That could prove difficult." Irons raised an eyebrow, demanding an explanation. "She is investigating a case, and came to the house. She may want to talk to me again. She will be suspicious if I refuse." "What is this case ?" Ian was careful to keep his head down and his voice even. Mr. Irons' tone was just a touch too nonchalant. "I knew the victim." "I see, a friend of yours? You have become careless with the people around you, Ian. That's not how I taught you."
Ian gritted his teeth but did not move or allow his feelings to show. He had thought mr. Irons hadn't known about Niamh. He had been wrong, and obviously he hadn't approved. It was a lesson quickly learnt: if mr. Irons didn't approve of something, he would have to give it up.He had been a fool to believe he could delay his punishment. It had started before he even realised it. He found her killer. And there was nothing he could do.
Irons enjoyed the self control Ian was excercising in order not to betray his feelings. Yes, he had done well with this one. There were still a few rough edges, but they could be polished. He had already begun by showing him the greatest illusion of all : freedom from his master. Even in so small a matter as one friend. Truth be told, he hadn't really cared about his servant's little friend. A small degree of imagined freedom made him more effective. But the blade had been reaching out for mediators with its wielder, and this woman had been one of the ones who were receptive. And while Sara would never listen to Ian, she might have listened to her.
"Very well, speak to her if she comes to you. Though I doubt you would be able to tell her anything helpful." Irons said dismissively. Ian bowed and turned to leave. "Oh Ian," his master's voice froze him in his tracks. "I would be very unhappy, if she were to find out from you what happened to mr. Bowman." There was no threat in his tone, no emphasis. Ian needed neither.
17 : 00 Sara, Ian
Sara just knew this was a witchblade thing.
And now, after a long day of talking with witnesses, family and friends of their suspect, their suspect was still at large. And getting ready to kill again.
But the blade wasn't playing.
She needed to talk to Nottingham.
She walked behind the servant with a considerable amount of trepidation. The long walk to wherever Nottingham was hiding did nothing to increase her confidence. What was it with rich people anyway that they couldn't be bothered to open their own doors? Her mind flashed back to that other time, when she'd paid Conchobar a professional visit. He'd opened the door half naked and half asleep and completely beddable. If that was even a word. The contrast with this, servants, security camera's, long halls and expensive furniture,couldn't be greater. Not to mention the person she was visiting. Tall, dark and how-art-thou-dangerous-let-me-count-the-ways. And he had no reason to like her. Not anymore. Well, at least he hadn't given the order to 'escort her off the grounds' the moment she rang the bell. That had to mean something, right?
Yeah right, maybe it just meant he wanted the chance to kick her ass in person, the woman who 'orphaned him'. Twice. The woman who had failed to save his friend. Suddenly the servant leading her touched her arm and gestured towards the library doors. Great, she spaced out. He left her standing there, hesitating to go in.
Why should I blame her that she filled my days
with misery, or that she would of late
have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
or hurled the little streets upon the great,
had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
that nobleness made simple as a fire,
with beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
that is not natural in an age like this,
being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
The words came floating through the air, softly, velvety. For a moment she stood mesmerised. She wondered who it was that sounded so… wistful, and why was he spouting poetry to Nottingham of all people. Curiosity got the better of hesitation and she went in. The sight greeting her sent her mind reeling back to that other time. Nottingham stood in front of the fire, head bowed, hands behind his back, dark hair falling over his face, obscuring his expression. Irons sat in a comfortable high-backed chair in front of him, eyes closed, hands on the armrests, dressed to the nines as always. He seemed poised to smile and say something condescending and cruel. Something utterly Irons. Nottingham looked up, spoke, snapping her out of the flashback. "Detective Pezzini, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" He moved from behind Iron's chair and she could see that there was only one hand behind his back, he was holding a book in the other. Irons remained immobile in his chair. Sara needed a moment to collect herself "That was you? Reading poetry to Irons?" It came out a little more shocked and incredulous than she had intended. But she certainly kept seeing new aspects of him lately! Nottingham carefully closed the book and put it on a coffee table. Without looking at her he said "Father always enjoyed my reading to him. On those rare occasions when he was ill" He looked pensive and tired. "He can hear you?" It was out before she realised that it probably wasn't the greatest idea to draw his attention to his 'father's ' condition. After all, she was the one responsible for it.
"I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss mr. Irons' health, detective Pezzini." he stated coolly. Detective Pezzini, not Sara, he wasn't going to make this easy on her. He moved closer to her, right into her personal space, mimicking what she had done earlier that day. She felt the urge to back up a few steps but stubbornly held her ground. "I need your help."
He didn't seemed surprised. "And how may I be of assistance?" Wow, she hadn't realised how many degrees of distant there could be. She thought he had been distant before, but this made her earlier conversation with him seem like a lovefest! Maybe she shouldn't be having this conversation with Irons in the room as a constant reminder of why he shouldn't help her. "Look, Ian," Good one Sara, go for the first name. "could we maybe do this somewhere else?" She made a half-harted gesture towards Irons. He showed no sign that the use of his christian name -was he even a christian?- had any effect. "Does father's presence disturb you? Why? Do you not enjoy you handiwork?" He really wasn't going to make this easy on her. The repeated use of 'father' was obviously meant as a reminder of what she took from him. Well, could she really blame him? When she found out who was responsible for her dad's murder, she was gonna tear them limb from limb. Compared to that his reaction was very restrained.
She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket and took a deep breath "It's about Niamh's killer. His wife told us that he claimed Irons was his friend, and may have put him up to it." Nottingham managed to give an impression of absolute violence without moving a muscle. He raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed look at Irons, to illustrate the absolute idiocy of such a claim, but he didn't speak. Right. She forced herself to go on "We think he will kill again." He walked away from her, gently moved Irons' arm as if afraid to hurt him, and sat down on the armrest, head slightly down. He looked up at her through his lashes. "Why come to me? Why would a stone cold killer help?" he actually sneered! His new position made it impossible for her to look at him without seeing Irons. This was even harder than she thought it was going to be. "I need help with the witchblade." He merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on, yeah he really had that silence thing down. "It will not…help me. It hasn't spoken to me since..." She stopped, closed her eyes to fight back the tears that were threatening to break through at the thought of Conchobar in his coma. Damn it Pezzini! Keep it together here, you have a murder to stop! She blew out her breath with an angry puff "I don't know why, there is no reason!" Still no visible reaction. Damn, she had hoped he would react to wielder-in-distress at least. That was his training wasn't it? When he finally spoke, she looked up and found he'd moved away from Irons and stood near the window. Thank heaven for small mercies. He spoke softly and there was a strain to his voice "Reason, like common sense, is not the best way to approach the witchblade, Sara. You know this. What happened?" She looked at the floor, it was bad enough she had to ask him for help with the blade, but this was too personal. "I tried to heal Conchobar, but it." She stopped. She might as well face it. "I failed. I don't know why. It healed you, but not him. Since then it won't speak to me anymore." She raised her head again and looked him in the eye. She almost spit the words out "Except when I touch you." She stood defiantly, as if to say 'Go on, laugh at me'.
Ian looked at her and didn't laugh. She stood straight and rigid, eyes shining with tears she refused to cry. More from anger than anything else he supposed. How she hated to fail.
(with beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
that is not natural in an age like this,
being high and solitary and most stern)
Strong, willful, passionate, cruel, wanting to keep control, just like father.
But unlike father loyal, true, vulnerable.
How could he not love her?
This woman who had killed his father. Twice. This woman who had scorned and mocked his feelings, his existence, more often than he cared to remember. Cruel Sara. If he helped her, she would save the next victim, she would also wake up her Irish rogue. Something father would not appreciate. Not to mention his own feelings about that.
But the demand she made on the core of his being screamed and raged through his blood. It was the essence of his training, his raison d'etre. And she knew it. So like his master, using him, his training, his loyalty. Even his feelings, she called him Ian, something he had hoped for for a long time. And now she had done so. To manipulate him.
Why should he not hate her?
Still, it took courage to come here and ask him for help, knowing he might well refuse her, reject her as his master would've done. He could refuse her. He should refuse her, his master wanted him to. Helping her would only add to his punishment.
But this was his wielder,
(Why should I blame her that she filled my days
with misery,)
his Lady Sara,
(with a mind
that nobleness made simple as a fire)
and he would do anything to please her.
As the silence continued it seemed to Sara he had turned to stone while she watched. She started to lose the little bit of hope she had coming here. Maybe she finally pushed him to far. He wasn't gonna help her, why would he? He could probably find the killer on his own and do whatever to the guy. She needed his help but he didn't need hers.
"Very well." He said it so softly, she almost hadn't heard him. She looked at him with disbelief, he was gonna help her! "Why!" she blurted out. He gave her a wry smile, at least she hadn't taken his help for granted. "I mean, great!" Sara hastily continued, not wanting to risk his reconsidering. He rang for a servant and ordered the man to take Irons for his excercises. Seeing her give him a weird look he explained "to prevent muscle atrofy." From the way the man looked at the clock she assumed this was not his regular time but she was relieved to see Irons disappear. Nottingham stared after the disappearing Irons and said "She was my friend, and her friendship was given freely. Death does not change that." "Uhm, yeah" Sara answered, somewhat bewildered.
He turned towards her and waited. "I brought something of hers, a silver pendant, it may help." She said while taking something out of her pocket. "It's white gold." Ian said softly. Sara shrugged. She really didn't care about that at a time like this. She swallowed nervously and said "I'm going to have to touch you."
Ian made no move towards her. She didn't really want to touch him. It was obvious in every movement. She approached him as if he were a rattlesnake.
Sara took a deep breath, Nottingham wasn't very forthcoming. She couldn't picture him as enjoying anyone's touch, with the gloves and everything, but at least he would allow it. She tried to decide where to touch him and decided on his wrist. Definitely not too personal. With the pendant in her left hand she reached out and touched him with her right. Instantly the blade started to swirl and showed her a quick succession of scenes between Nottingham and the dead girl. It lingered a little on a scene where Nottingham put the pendant around her neck, it was a gift, both were smiling and there was that easiness you get between friends. Then suddenly the scene changed to this afternoon and the breath was knocked out of her when she shared Nottingham's feelings when he heard about Niamh's death. She yanked her hand away from him. This was too much information! She didn't want to know this! Immediately the blade shut down.
Alarmed Ian moved towards her but she stumbled backwards as if he were poison. "Sara? Are you alright?" For the first time she noticed pain in his eyes, damn, she hadn't meant to do that. She collected her wits and tried a small smile. "Fine, fine, I just, it just showed me you and, and her." Ian looked down, caught between wanting her to see him as more than a killing machine and the urge to hide the depth of his affection for Niamh. He tried to believe she would not mock him with it, as mr. Irons certainly would. As he already had.
Sara cursed. The blade wasn't giving her anything useful.
Ian thought he knew what was going on. Sara was very emotional. She had always been passionate and reacted for a great deal on instinct but this was different. Conchobar's coma probably triggered feelings of a few lifetimes of losing him, and she was lashing out. The blade was reacting to Sara's feelings, trying to counterbalance. Trying to reason with her! Interesting. He hadn't thought the blade susceptible to reason. But Sara wasn't listening.
"Sara, calm down!" he said sternly. She shot him a surprised look. Now he was giving her orders? Who the hell did he think he was! She started to say something to put him back in his place but he grabbed her arm and marched her to a chair near a small desk, where he sat her forcefully down. She was too dumbfounded to react and didn't even struggle all that much. Good, she was, for once in her life, going to listen to him, if it killed him! "Sara, do you know why most pretenders fail?" She was starting to recover from the shock "I don't need a history lesson, Nottingham, I need answers and if you..." He stopped her cold by saying "You came here for help, will you let me help you or would you rather fail because of your pride?" She was shocked into silence again. This was so not what she was used to from him. He was usually full of confidence in her. Overconfident even. Jeez, if even he thought she was going to fail... "Alright," she snapped angrily "tell me why they fail." "They fail because they cannot control their emotions. As a result they try to control the blade, in order to control everything else. The blade cannot be controlled, you can work with it and sometimes it will even work for you, but it accepts no master." "Are you telling me it's rebelling! Like some teenager!" He sighed. "It's trying to tell you something about your desires. You are fighting a battle that has already been lost, centuries ago. Sara, how do you react when people try to force you into something?" Okay, he knew damn well how she reacted, she got pissed off and did the opposite... wait a minute. She lowered her head into her hands and resisted the urge to slap herself. She did exactly that, didn't she? Treated it like a tool. And that after it had spoken to her. "Okay, so what do I do now? I still need to find this killer." With a hint of humour in his voice he said "You could try asking nicely." She glowered at him but what the hell, she had nothing to lose. "I'm gonna need something to focus on, I don't think the pendant is the right thing." she thought out loud.
Ian hesitated for a moment, but he had gone this far against mr. Irons' wishes. He could go a little further. He started up the laptop that was sitting on the desk and showed her an email. Sara looked, it was a mail from the victim, sent probably moments before her death. "Why didn't you show us this before?" she asked sharply. "Withholding evidence is.." He interrupted her. "We had server problems and the mail was delayed. I only saw it this afternoon. Do you really want to start a debate?" Right, he hadn't snapped out of bossiness-mode yet. It killed her to admit it but he was right, this was not the time. She focused on the mail again. It was mostly pictures of tarot cards and meant absolutely nothing to her. She took a deep breath and asked the blade for help. Politely. The blade flared to life again and gave off a distinctly relieved and happy feel, even a little smug. Okay, allright, no need to rub it in! Then the vision kicked in and she saw the cards come to life, the magician called down lightning that struck the tower. The tower crumbled and a king and priestess fell down to their death. When she looked at the priestess itwas Niamh. She looked at the king. It was Conchobar, . And the magician smiled at her with Gabriel's face, then changed into Irons. The blade released her with a lingering feeling of urgency. Wide-eyed she stared at Nottingham. "He's gonna kill Conchobar!" she stammered, then shot up out of the chair and raced out the door.
Ian watched her go, not knowing whether to hope that she would make it in time or not. Either option brought pain.
He walked over to the fire.
He sighed. If she made it in time, father would be very displeased. But he could not see her hurt. That's why he helped her, wasn't it?
He was unable to sit still.
Maybe he should follow her. Just in case she needed help. And at the very least mr. Irons would want a report.
The servants saw him go, shook their heads and told each other mr. Nottingham was running again.
23: 00 PM, Sara, Irons, Ian
Gabriel's phone rang late in the evening. Irons saw it was Sara's mobile and smiled. When he answered it was a very tearful Sara, she was at the hospital. She wanted him to come over, Conchobar died. He promised to be there as fast as he could. Well, things were going very well. The Irishman was no longer there to interfere. And Sara came to him for comfort.
He arrived at the hospital and was told detective Pezzini was still in Conchobar's room. No doubt saying goodbye, he smirked to himself. As he walked in the room he felt something was wrong but couldn't say what it was immediately. Sara was standing by the door, arms crossed. Then suddenly he realised the machines were still beeping! "Sara?" he said hesitantly. She reached out and closed the door. "Hello Kenneth." It was the coldest her voice had ever sounded to him. She knew! He tried to stall and play innocent. "What ? What's going on, I thought Conchobar..." "Oh he's fine, well, alive at least. I got here just in time. Next time you should get a professional, Irons. After all, you do have a resident assassin, seems a pity to let all that talent go to waste." Irons narrowed his eyes "How did you find out?" "A little bracelet told me."
"So now you're going to arrest me? You have no proof that Gabriel has anything to do with this? And I'm sure you don't want to kill him." It was the patronizing tone she knew all too well.
She pushed herself away from the wall and moved closer to him. "True, no proof that will hold up in court. We have the killer, he'll be judged insane and that's that. But you see, Kenneth" the blade changed into the gauntlet and she hit him across the face. He stumbled against the bed and fell. He couldn't believe it! She wouldn't hurt Gabriel! "I don't react well to people trying to kill Conchobar. You really pissed me off, this time!" She grabbed him by the throat and pulled him up. "Ian!" he couldn't manage more than a whisper. Sara looked up and saw Ian standing there. For a moment they stood looking at each other. "I cannot allow you to hurt him, Sara." "Do you think you can stop me? Think again, pal! He tried to kill Conchobar! He destroyed Gabe!" her eyes were spitting fire, promising hell on earth. "And you! You knew!" He looked at his master in Gabriel's body. The command in his eyes was clear: Kill her!
He bowed his head. "No." Irons was furious, but Sara's grip on his throat made it impossible to express his feelings verbally. But his eyes were as eloquent as Sara's had been. Sara was oblivious to the silent communication between them and was a little bewildered "No, what?" Ian avoided his master's eyes. "Gabriel is not destroyed, he is still in there." "Why should I believe you? You're just trying to save his ass." She looked at him with scorn in her eyes. He should be used to this by now, but it still felt like something was tearing at his heart with its claws, slowly. "Ask the blade, Sara." he said.
She hesitated just for a moment and the blade took over. Ian saw it happen. Her eyes glazed over and her grip on mr. Irons got a little weaker. She whispered Gabe's name and closed her eyes. Then the vision was over and she focused on Ian again. He searched her eyes for a clue of what she would do. He was ready to move against her if need be, but gods let it not be necessary!
She turned away from him and pushed mr. Irons against the wall, but the rage had left her, he could see it in the way the tension left her body. She raised her hand with the gauntlet to his head and pressed it against his brow. The blade flared red and Gabriel's face contorted into a soundless scream. Ian reached for them but had to shield his eyes from the light. When it died down Sara sat on the floor, cradling an unconscious Gabriel in her lap, gently caressing his hair. "What have you done?" Ian asked in awe. She didn't look at him. "I brought them back home." she said softly. "Go home Nottingham, he'll be waiting for you." "Gabriel?" he asked. Her eyes never left Gabriel's face. "He'll be fine now. He'll be fine."
Ian waited for a moment but she ignored him. He left her there, gently stroking Gabe's hair. On his way out he alerted a nurse that someone had fainted in the room. He walked out of the hospital and slowly made his way back to the mansion. Unsure if he wanted to find out what she had meant.
Night, Sara, Ian
It was late. And the only thing that changed was the hour. Light was coming from the hall, she'd sat for hours and hadn't bothered to turn on the light in the room. A few stray whisps of her hair moved in the soft breeze coming from the open window. Her eyes had started burning some time ago but she didn't want to leave. She'd been here for the last three nights, and there had been no change. And now she knew she couldn't force the change, not without risking too much.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. It wasn't hope she was holding onto. At this point she didn't know what to hope for. Maybe she was just holding on to something that was constant. Some constancy in this world where change was the only constant. Even her friends were not always her friends. And that quite literally, she thought grimly. Nottingham had tried to warn her, that day at Talismaniac. She should maybe talk to him about being less cryptic. Again, she thought dryly.
Night is my sister, and how deep in love,
How drowned in love and weedily washed ashore,
There to be fretted by the drag and shove
At the tide's edge, I lie - these things and more:
Whose arm alone between me and the sand,
Whose voice alone, whose pitiful breath brought near,
Could thaw these nostrils and unlock this hand,
She could advise you, should you care to hear.
Small chance, however, in a storm so black,
A man will leave his friendly fire and snug
For a drowned woman's sake, and bring her back
To drip and scatter shells upon the rug.
No one but Night, with tears on her dark face,
Watches beside me in this windy place.
His voice drifted into the room, softly, languidly. The words seemed to come from her mind, wrap around the objects in the room, linger a little and disappear like smoke. She rolled her head to relieve some of the stiffness. "You do have a way with words, Nottingham."
She didn't sound hostile but Ian remained on the window sill anyway. Unsure if she was going to tolerate his presence here. "How did you get there, we're on the fourth floor." Making conversation now? He was surprised, but pleasantly so. "I also have a way with walls." he offered. Sara smiled at how he managed to sound hesitant and confident at the same time.
Her smile encouraged him enough to come inside.
The movement caused the light to shine in his eyes for a moment. Eyes of honey and brandy. He brought new scents into the room, she closed her eyes and tried to identify them. Something like snow and spices.
He went to stand at the foot of the bed. He moved like a cat. A cat of black and gold, she thought aimlessly, silently and fluently. She sighed, she was too tired.
"Why are you here, Nottingham?" He looked at her sharply, but she hadn't moved, hadn't spoken in anger. She seemed to genuinely want to know. He looked at the floor. Truth was he didn't really know himself. He countered with a question of his own "Why have you not woken him?" She considered not answering, decided it was futile. She moved closer to the bed and trailed a finger over the unconscious man's arm. "If I did it would drag him back into the blade's web, make him vulnerable in ways he can't understand." Ian looked at her.
(...With a mind that nobleness made simple as a fire...)
He forced himself to remind her of the other option "You could explain it to him, train him.Cathain did." She dropped her hand and stood up, hands stuffed in her pockets. "No, this is not his fight anymore. This is not a storybook, Nottingham. Not the once and future king. The world has changed. I don't know how we're supposed to restore sanity to this world. But I'm pretty sure it's not gonna happen by crowning Conchobar king. Not this time." She looked up at him with a twisted smile. "No matter how much I want it.He was right, the blade cuts you off from normal things."
He bowed his head, not wanting to let her see how proud he was of her, she would not take it as a compliment.
They were silent for a while, listening to the sounds of the night, the beeping of the machines and Conchobars slow breathing. Sara felt they were sounds of a world that no longer belonged to her. Sitting here with Nottingham like phantoms in the dark, for a moment she felt like she was indeed drowned, a ghost, insubstantial. She shivered.
Nottingham seemed to sense her mood. He reached over and touched her hand. She looked down at the gloves he always wore. "Do you ever take them off?" She startled them both with the question, she hadn't meant to speak out loud. He gave her an amused smile. "Of course. I do not bathe or sleep with them." For some reason the image of Nottingham sleeping was something she wanted to see. She tried to ignore the thoughts about him bathing. "Why do you wear them?"
He took his hand away and glanced away from her, this was not a topic he wanted to discuss now. Not while she was talking to him like this, like friends, or at least not enemies. "Nottingham?" He decided to give her the obvious reason "In my line of work, one does not wish to leave fingerprints." and moving a little away from her, he waited for her to recoil, disgusted with the assassin he was. But that would be better than to point out to her yet again that he was hardly a normal human. That heightened abilities came at a price. And mr. Irons had insisted he pay it.
Sara didn't recoil, she was finally starting to understand this man. His loyalties were confusing, but he had helped her when he didn't have to. When it was in his best interest not to. She was pretty sure his answer was a way to push her away from something more painful. Probably something to do with Irons. Instead of pushing it she said "How is Irons doing?" His head shot up. Hah, she managed to surprise him! He gave her an extremely wry smile. "He is not well", such sadness in his voice, "but there is hope he will recover enough to speak." Sadness and something else, a touch of fear it seemed. "And Gabriel?" he asked. She smiled. "Kid's like a rubber ball, bounces back real fast." She felt Niamh's pendant in her pocket, she hadn't returned it. She held it out to him. "I thought maybe you wanted this. To remember her by." She said in answer to his questioning look. He didn't take it. "Your colleagues will wonder where it got to." "Don't worry about that" she shrugged. He looked at it as if she held his soul in her hands. But he still didn't take it. "I don't need it to remember her. Besides, mr. Irons would not permit me to keep it." She still didn't understand how he could say things like that. But she accepted it. She put it back in her pocket.
"I take it he won't be pleased with what you did?" He looked back at the floor. "No" it was barely a whisper, and he turned to go.
Suddenly the witchblade kicked in. It showed her a variety of scenes with Irons being not pleased with Ian. She grabbed his arm and looked at him incredulously "Why do you stay there!" She wanted to shout, "Why do you" she almost couldn't say the word "love him! He's a bastard!" She flinched from the pain in his eyes. "We do not love our parents for the sum of their virtues and the absence of faults, Sara. I love you both, without reason, without choice."
She came a little closer, and it seemed to Ian she was burning, green eyes ablaze and focused on his. The sheer pressure of her full attention kept him still, transfixed. The blade was flashing a deep red. She took her hand away from his arm and put it on his heart. Ian stopped breathing. This was probably the scariest and sweetest moment in his whole life. His lady Sara touched him of her own free will! He prayed to whatever gods there were, lest it turned out to be a dream. She spoke with urgency in her voice. "This won't end. Irons will continue his efforts to control the blade. The blade won't let anything get in its way and I will not submit to his control. You can only be the balance for so long, Ian. In the end, you will have to choose."
She called him Ian! The fire in her suddenly died. Ian caught her before she fell. "How long have you not slept?" he demanded sharply. But there was no answer.
Night, Ian
He was running again.
Only this time it was not excorcism. This time he was running for joy, for hope.
Sara had touched him! She had called him Ian!
He had taken her home, she was too tired, even the wielder needed her rest.
But she had talked to him like he was a real person, touched him, really touched him, called him Ian!
He treasured the memory of it, like a little warm, shining thing in his chest.
As he returned home to check on father, he sobered.
He knew she was right. In the end, he would have to choose.
And he dreaded that day.
Poems:
No second Troy – W.B. Yeats
This beast that rends me in the sight of all – Edna St. Vincent Millay
Night is my sister and how deep in love – Edna St. Vincent Millay