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Date Posted: 01:43:40 08/03/03 Sun
Author: Vekhadre
Subject: Noli Me Tangere (Ch. 14)
In reply to: Vekhadre 's message, "Noli Me Tangere (continued)" on 01:29:55 08/03/03 Sun

Infrequent naughty language.

Sorry this one took a while. Houseguests. Family. Folks who don't know I do this--and they aren't gonna find out, either. ;) Too personal. Besides, they never saw the show. What a loss!

Hope you sweet people like. *hugs* Can't tell you how happy it makes me that you're enjoying the story along with me.
Vek

-----------------

"I could hate you for that. You've taken so much already." Silhouetted by moonlight, the falling snowflakes drew faint tracks of shadow down Ian's face.

The day she'd lost her own dad had been the worst day of her life. Obviously there'd been a world of difference between Jim Pezzini and Kenneth Irons, but... "You loved him. I'm sorry."

He lifted his head, and his eyes were warm again: startled, haunted, but yearning to believe. And Jesus, but Ian Nottingham was a beautiful man.

// "Not in any shape to think about a relationship," // quoted a mocking voice in her head. Sounded like Irons.

// Shut up, // she thought. Aloud, she said, "I'm taking you up on that offer to help me fall asleep," and led the way to the bedroom. Crouched next to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Pulled out the sweats he'd worn the last time he'd slept over. Held them out to Ian, who'd stopped in the doorway.

No way he could reach them without coming into the bedroom. He didn't budge. "I'll sleep later," he told her. "You should rest."

"We could both do with some rest, I think," she said dryly, and nodded at the window. "I don't usually get the drop on you like that. Take the night off for once."

"That would be," he paused, and finished, "unwise."

To hell with being wise. "Please. I need to pretend there's no Witchblade tonight. No secrets, no mystical mumbo jumbo. No one getting hurt."

He stood there a little while longer, then stepped into the room and took the sweats from her.

***

By the time he returned, clad in borrowed garments, Sara had climbed back under the bedcovers. As he drew near, she patted the mattress in front of her.

He had removed one of his gloves in order to fulfill her request, but while he watched, she yawned and blinked up at him. Selfishly, his heart sank. "I see you won't be requiring my assistance after all."

Her hand shot up, and a jolt of reaction went through him. Managing to halt his reflexive response, he remained motionless and waited for the blow to land. Instead, however, she grasped the sweatshirt he was wearing. Tugged at it. "I may be feeling sleepier, but that doesn't mean I don't want whatever you were offering. Get over here."

Minutes later, hardly able to believe it, he was half-reclining on top of the bedcovers next to her. Drawing his bare fingers through the warm silk of her hair. Sara lay on her side, facing him. The ghost of a smile on her lips. His heart was too full: it ached, laboring feebly to hold back the floodtide of emotion.

"Mmm." Her throaty sound of pleasure did nothing for his composure. "Where'd you pick this up? Most people get caught on the tangles and yank it. Hardly a soothing experience."

He shrugged. "One learns by doing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You're telling me you've never done this before?"

// In a thousand dreams. // "Never," he confirmed.

"Well, you're good at it. I haven't felt this relaxed in a while." From the look on her face, she was thinking of the immortal. Since his demise, Sara hadn't let anyone new into her life. In fact, this--right now--was the closest she'd gotten to anyone recently. The thought gave him a troubling jealous pleasure.

He extricated his hand from her hair. The comfort she had given him earlier came to mind. Quietly he said, "You loved him. I--"

"You didn't kill him," she interrupted. Wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Concerned, he pulled the bedclothes up to cover her more adequately. She threw them off and rolled in the direction of the window, away from him. "Stop it." Her voice was brittle. "Stop taking care of me."

Concern transmuted to comprehension, compassion, determination. "Not even death could force me from your side," he said, and pulled her into a rough embrace.

As he'd anticipated, she began to struggle, but he trapped her arms within the circle of his own and held on. She twisted futilely in his grip and panted, "Let go."

"Never." Neither a threat nor a vow. Simply a statement of fact.

At that, she started fighting him in earnest. Mindless. Feral. He could not restrain her adequately in their current position, and so pushed her onto her stomach. Locked away a surge of anguished regret. He had thought to offer her kindness. Apparently that was beyond his ability. So be it. He steeled himself, twisted her arms behind her, and dug a knee into her back.

One emerald eye glittered up at him in blind, deadly rage. Metal scraped over wood, and he glanced up. The Witchblade had slid a few inches toward the edge of the nightstand.

He would not relent. This wound had been left to fester far too long. It had to be lanced, no matter her maddened grief. Bending over her, he spoke bluntly. "Despite the love he bore you, Cartaphilus could not face the prospect of eternal life. And that was his choice to make, not yours. Your friends, unlike him, are not immortal, but they, too, must make their own choices."

Beneath him, she continued to strain for freedom. Another scraping sound. The Witchblade thumped onto the bed.

"I have already made mine." He reached out, and the bracelet nestled into his palm as if it had been waiting for him.

At last she broke her silence. "No." Close to a sob. "I don't want any of this."

Sorrow tightened his own throat. "I know," he said. Tenderly, implacably, he guided the bracelet over her wrist, where it settled into place and--

Returned to its peaceful slumber.

It had decided to spare him. For now.

***

No warning. One minute she was furious. The next, she was crying. Gut-wrenching spasms of grief. Tearing things loose inside her. Ian rolled to one side and pulled her close. Her face against his shoulder. After a while, she felt a hand start to stroke her back. So damned gentle.

"You. Have to go," she heard herself say finally, and clutched at his shirt like a fool.

He didn't bother to answer.

Stubborn bastard. Fine. She'd spell it out for him. "You talked about choices. People I care about only get two: out the door, or in a box."

The hand stroking her went still. "I believe there's a third option."

"And what option would that be?" she asked, half bitter, half desperate.

Without hesitation he said, "Command me. Allow me to lighten the burden you bear."

More tears spilled down her face and soaked into the worn cotton of his sweatshirt. "I want that," she admitted haltingly. So tired. "I want that so much. But--"

"You know something of what I am. You've seen the information Irons permitted to become public knowledge." He wiped the wetness from her face. The leather of his glove was rough against her cheek. "There's no need to be concerned."

There was plenty of need. He'd already died for her once in this lifetime, although she'd brought him back. On the other hand, maybe once was enough. Maybe whatever wanted him dead was satisfied.

If anything did happen to him, she liked to think that she'd know. That she'd be conveniently nearby, and she could use the blade to heal him. Truth was, though, she never knew where he'd show up next. He was the mind reader; she was just a cop. As for healing, she had a weird feeling the bracelet would get pissed if she started taking it for granted. Been wearing it long enough now that she paid attention to weird feelings.

She argued with herself muzzily while his heart beat a steady rhythm beneath her palm. Shouldn't even be considering it.

// He might be right. And he understands. //

// He deserves a normal life. //

// He doesn't want a normal life. //

// He doesn't know what he wants. //

// He knows exactly what he wants. And so do you. //

The alarm clock went off, and she sat up, startled. Alone in the bedroom. Radio blaring. Bracelet back around her wrist. A miniature card lay on the nightstand. She rubbed at her eyes, turned the alarm off, and picked up the card. Spiky black handwriting. All it said was, // Thank you. //

He'd bought a card for that? Two words? She shook her head in bemusement. "Welcome," she told the little rectangle of vellum, then felt silly. Dropped it into the trash and got out of bed.

Stopped in the bedroom doorway, went back, and fished the card from the basket. // Acting like a teenager with a crush, Pezzini. // Still, she put the card back on the nightstand. Might've let her fingers brush over the words before she went back to her morning routine.

***

Danny had changed back into his civvies and was almost finished emptying his desk by the time they finally let her go. Three straight hours of being alternately grilled and lectured. They hadn't even managed to find her gun; she was going to have to fill out the paperwork to get issued a new one. // Figures. If I don't do it, it doesn't get done. // She stood in the doorway of her office and fumed at the injustice of it all.

"Ease up on the high beams, Pez. You're gonna burn a hole in the back of my shirt." He scooped more files from his desk, dropped them into the box. Didn't turn around.

She shut the door and walked past him to her desk. Tossed her cap and shield onto the blotter. "It doesn't have to go down like this. I can call in a few favors. We're the best team in the precinct, and they know it."

"We used to be the best team," he corrected. "Now we're--" Breaking off, he waved a dismissive hand.

"What?" she demanded.

He met her eyes steadily. "You've heard it all before. You won't tell me what's going on. So I've stopped asking questions, and I've been taking leaps of faith. What that turns out to mean is... you charge into a situation, and I back you up, even when I have no idea what you're doing. Which has been happening a lot."

She gaped at him. Had it really gotten that bad?

"The balance we had is gone, and we've been crossing the line for a while now." He didn't sound angry. Just tired. "Frankly I'm surprised it took them this long to notice."

The fight drained out of her, and she sat down hard in her chair. The whole morning, she'd been thinking it was Danny and her against the system. Now she found out he was--relieved. When she stopped to consider it, he had every right to be relieved. // Look at what happened to Vicky. Think what could've happened to him. //

Faintly sick, she looked down at her desk and swallowed. Fumbled for something to say. "Well, I won't hand my partner over to just anybody." she said gruffly. "What do we know about Orlinsky anyway?"

"What do we know about McCartey?" he countered.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Ever since the JFK weirdness, Danny had made it plain he didn't entirely trust Jake. She had no patience with it. The rookie was solid. So he'd run interference for her by playing buddies with the feds. Whatever worked.

She sighed. "Come on, Danny. It's been two years already. Could you please bury the hatchet? Throw me a bone here."

He gave her the special Danny-frown that meant, // Fine, but this isn't over. // "Orlinsky's from Special Cases. Been with 'em the last thirteen years. Good record. Married. Daughter in college. Son in med school."

Picture of a good cop. "But no Homicide experience," she said, feeling contrary. "Could've at least put you with someone who knew the ropes."

"Then the cap would've had to break up two long-term partnerships," he pointed out. "Besides, somebody has to train the new guys. Might as well be us."

Okay, that was annoyingly reasonable. She gave him an exasperated look.

Unexpectedly, he smiled at her. "I'm gonna miss that. I bet glares from Orlinsky won't have that special Pez twinkle."

"And here I thought you'd miss my insouciant charm," she said dryly.

His eyebrows went up. "Oh, that too, of course. Not to mention our polysyllabic jousting matches. You sesquipedalian fiend."

"Ow. I think I broke something, listening to that." She made a show of rubbing at her temples. "Admit it: you looked that second one up. You've just been waiting for the chance to use it."

He leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs. "Would I do that? Anyway, I've never heard you use _insouciant_ before."

"I use it all the time. I use it ten times before breakfast." It was getting really hard to keep a straight face.

"I hate to break it to you," he said, not sounding a bit reluctant, "but your vocabulary isn't that extensive before, say, ten-thirty or eleven a.m. It boils down to about two words: _coffee_ and _now_." A thoughtful look. "Maybe two and a half. You do make this cute growly sound every so often."

"Devious bastard."

"Lying bitch."

They grinned stupidly at each other across the desks. If switching partners was what it took to bring things back to normal like this, then yeah, she'd do it. Had to be safer for him, anyway. "Fine," she said, and stood up. "Lemme give you a hand with that stuff."

He stood up too, but refused to hand over the box. "I'm not hiking to the ends of the earth, you know," he said. "I'm only two doors down."

"Far enough," she said with regret, and opened the door for him.

With a knowing snicker, he clapped her on the arm. "You won't think so in a few weeks. I guarantee it." When she looked blank, he added, "May the first? We're supposed to be caught up on the reports?" Before she could react, he ducked out of the office.

She leaned into the hallway. "Hey," she protested, "I was denying and repressing that just fine, thanks."

***

// He was stretched out in the garden beneath a gnarled oak tree. Here and there, the tree's roots emerged from the ground in twisted knots. It took time for an oak to reach such a stature. Trees had a great deal of time. Centuries after he himself was dust, it would live on. //

// His suit wasn't really appropriate for the warm day. He didn't know why he'd chosen to wear it. Habit, perhaps. Dismissing the thought, he considered the long-stemmed white rose in his hands. It would wither if he didn't take it inside the house soon and put it into water. First, though, he needed to--yes, of course. He plucked the leaves from it, one by one. //

// A short distance away, pale feet came into view and began to approach through the grass. He hadn't known he was waiting until then. Hurriedly he pulled himself upright and tore the last leaves from the stem. The thorns easily pierced the leather of his gloves and sank into his flesh. He smiled to feel their sting. //

// In a strangely clumsy movement, she tripped over one of the tree's roots. Fell to her hands and knees before him. Made no attempt to rise. Instead, she looked at him--looked *through* him--and he realized she was blind. Closing her eyes, she sat back on her heels. A teardrop of blood trickled down her face. Others soon followed. //

// Even in her misery, she was heartbreakingly beautiful. His pockets were empty, so he held out the rose and used its snowy petals to brush her tears away. At the light touch, she gasped and lifted a hand to capture his. Her sleeve slid down and bared the Witchblade. The delicate white cotton of her robes was embroidered with ivy and roses. //

// She blinked at him over their joined hands, the bloodstained rose suspended between them. Her gaze moved over his features in obvious confusion and not a little fear. Somehow her vision had been restored. "What've you done?" she whispered. //

// Could he have been responsible for this? As he thought it, another impossibility occurred: a newly born leaf appeared and unfurled from the denuded stem. //

// Behind him, he heard the oak groan, and he wrenched free of her hold. Turned around in time to see a ragged hole open between the tree and the earth. Slowly it grew larger, a silent black scream from the maw of some enraged beast. Then the tree dropped away from him with a terrible ripping sound. Back, back it fell, flinging clumps of soil into the air. Instinctively he rose to his knees, dropped the rose, and spread his arms, intent on shielding her from the violence of the tree's passage. //

// The impact shook the ground. Fragments of debris pattered down for a few seconds. He dropped his arms. The daylight was overly bright; it soaked into the dark suit, which became oppressively hot and clung to his skin stickily. Perhaps it would be best, after all, to change into more comfortable clothing. //

// The oak's abrupt demise bewildered him until he put a hand to the toppled giant. Its roots were dry and withered, easily crumbling at a touch. There was no telling how long the tree had been dead. A tree that had been standing here in the middle of the garden for longer than he'd been alive. A tree whose strength and stately majesty he had grown to love. //

// Sadly--guiltily--he bid it a quick, wordless farewell and turned back to verify that she was unharmed. Her gossamer scarf had come loose. The breeze lifted it into the air and bore it away. Her dark hair, freed of its restraint, spilled over her shoulders. And her eyes were liquid with compassion. //

// She held out her arms. //

He woke and tightened his grip on the pillow he held. Tried to recapture the dream. Failed. Did not weep.

***

Despite the ruthlessly cold shower he'd taken, he could not escape the lingering sensation of unreality. Last night she had fallen asleep while he'd watched over her. While he'd held her, stunned, nearly paralyzed under the precious weight of her trust. It had been very difficult to leave.

Selecting a shirt, he donned it and began buttoning it up. Glanced at the time. It was five o'clock, too early for her workday to be finished. He wondered if the card had pleased her. He'd considered purchasing a flower for her as well, but everything in the florist's shop had seemed open to misinterpretation.

In the dream, he had intended to offer her a white rose. Fittingly enough, however, its purity had been spoiled by blood. Her blood. White roses with red-flecked petals were said, in the language of flowers, to represent unity. How absurd his dreams were becoming, bereft of her presence.

His cell phone rang. He glanced at the incoming number, but it was being blocked. With a mental shrug, he answered it. "Yes."

"Dinner?"

It was Sara. Automatically he checked the time again, mind whirling. Two minutes past five. "You are inviting me to join you?"

"Thought we could talk things over. I know a great place by the beach." Before he could answer, a male voice spoke in the background. She sighed. "One sec." Then, somewhat muffled, "Shut up!" Addressing him again: "Sorry. You do like seafood, right?"

"Yes."

"Great. Uh, when can I pick you up?"

Heat washed over him. Ride with her on the bike in his current state? Not feasible. "What's the name of the restaurant? I'll meet you there."

***

She shrugged on her jacket and picked up her helmet. "I'm outta here."

"What if we get a case?" Jake protested.

"Call me." Rethinking that, she added, "Of course, if you call me for anything less than a case, I'll have to hurt you."

"Be careful, Pez." Worried sea-blue eyes. "He's dangerous."

"Aren't we all?" she said flippantly, and slapped him on the back. "Ease up, rookie."

He gave her a strange, unhappy little smile. "I've been working here almost three years now. When do I get to stop being the rookie? Is there a secret handshake or something?"

"Of course not. I didn't mean it like that." When she looked up at him in dismay, she was relieved to see his normal bland and easygoing smile already settling back into place.

Lifting his hands in the air, he said, "My bad." He scooped up his own jacket and keys. "Guess I'm the one who should be heading home. I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Makes me unfit to be around."

She gave a grateful laugh and led the way out of the office. "That's okay. I don't think my bed came with a good side. Too bad I cut the tags off the mattress. Otherwise, I'd ask for my money back."

"Let me make it up to you," he offered easily. "Lunch tomorrow? We can inaugurate our new partnership."

"Al's?" she asked, just to test him.

"Of course." He got to the door first and opened it for her.

"You got yourself a deal." She went to the Buell, strapped on the helmet, and started the engine. Pulled out into traffic. Didn't look back. Tried to convince herself he wasn't standing there, looking down the street after her, long past the point she'd gone out of sight.

***

Sara met him in front of the restaurant as planned. Rather than go inside, though, she insisted they leave their footwear behind and go for a walk along the beach. Fortunately, last night's snowfall notwithstanding, the weather was unusually mild.

"It's so clear," she said, as if echoing his thoughts. "Sunset should be gorgeous."

In light of today's events, her calm seemed out of place. Sara valued a direct approach in such matters, so he asked, "How did the inquiry go?"

"They reassigned Danny and me to other partners." A wry, self-mocking grimace. "Might actually have been the right thing to do."

"And your new partner is?" he prompted; she would expect him to ask.

"Jake."

He clasped his hands behind his back and managed a nod. How he hated the frequency with which she called McCartey by his first name.

They walked for a while longer. Passed a young boy who was digging furiously in the sand at the water's edge. Shoring up a barrier against the waves that had begun to encroach. Behind the dissolving obstruction was an elaborate sandcastle.

"Anyway, I've been thinking," she announced. "About what you said. Was it true? You really that good?"

"Better than you know."

Suddenly fierce, she stopped and whirled to confront him. "We do this, you're in it for the long run. No looking for an excuse to fall on your sword."

"Agreed," he said, purposefully vague. Protecting her would not be an excuse. It would be a perfectly valid reason. Such semantic dissimulation would not have pleased her, had she known of it. However, she did not have to know.

***

// I've been taking leaps of faith. //

"All right." Shit, what had she said? Her heart pounded in fear. She wanted to touch him. Reassure herself he'd be okay. "Tell me again how strong you are," she demanded, trying to make a joke of it, trying not to panic.

"Strong enough."

Unable to keep her distance anymore, she reached out and used his coat lapels to yank him close. "Tell me I won't lose you," she said, the words safely muffled against his shoulder.

"You won't." His voice was hoarse. There was no way she could mistake the tension thrumming through his body. The hard, throbbing heat pressed between them. He might not be sure about loving her, but he definitely wanted her.

And she couldn't avoid the truth this time: she wanted him, too. Wanted him desperately. Her whole body was tingling, aching, heavy with need.

With an effort she let go of his coat and backed off, breathing hard. His face was white, and he wouldn't look at her. Hands still clasped behind him.

She cleared her throat. "Sorry. That was stupid."

The line of his jaw hardened. "I don't want your pity."

Now there was a good question. "What *do* you want?" she asked.

"More than you can give," he said starkly.

"I'll decide what I can or can't give." She shoved her hands in her pockets and added more quietly, "You just--stay alive. That's all I ask. Gimme time to get used to the idea of painting a target on your back." // I want you, // she thought. // But more than that, I want you to live. //

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