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Date Posted: 07:48:54 12/16/02 Mon
Author: Slally
Subject: "Breathing Space" - Chapter 52A (PG)
In reply to: Slally 's message, ""Breathing Space"" on 07:38:17 12/16/02 Mon

Sara woke in the middle of the night sensing that something was wrong. She immediately reached beside her for Ian. He was gone but the place where he'd been was still warm. The room was getting cold though, the fire having burned down to smoldering embers. Sara stood and wrapped the throw around her. She padded barefoot to the kitchen, wincing when her feet touched the freezing wood of the floor. He wasn't there. That left the bedroom, the bathroom, or outside. She checked the bedroom next. It was empty. The bathroom door was shut but that was normal. They usually left it shut. She pressed her ear against the door but could hear no sound within. She carefully tried the knob. It didn't appear to be locked.

"Okay," she thought, "If he's sitting there attending to business, the worst that I'll do is embarrass us both." The strong unease that she'd felt upon waking washed over her again. That made her decision. Sara turned the knob and opened the door. The light was off but there was enough moonlight coming in the window to see that Ian was sitting on the floor. He was still naked. His knees were pulled up tight to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. His head was down on his bent knees, his face obscured by his long, loose hair. He wasn't making a sound that she could hear and he hadn't moved to acknowledge her presence. "What the hell is this?" she thought. She moved a step closer and saw that he was shivering.

"Ian?" she said, dropping down beside him. Instead of looking at her, he turned his face away. "Do you need to get in here?" he asked, voice muffled, "Just give me a minute and I'll get out." She put her hand on his bare, shaking shoulder. He was cold. "What the hell are you doing sitting naked on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night?" she asked. Just before he dropped his head again, the moonlight hit his face for an instant and she saw that he'd been crying. He started to rise, still turned away from her but she pressed against his shoulder, exerting pressure to hold him in place. Sara shifted a little so that she could pull him against her under the throw. His skin was icy and when his body touched hers, she shivered too.

She put her arms around him and pulled his head down to her shoulder. Her suspicions were confirmed when she felt his wet cheek against her skin. He didn't melt into her the way that he usually did. He was stiff and awkward in her embrace, as if he was trying to hold himself apart from her without being obvious about it. Something was definitely wrong here. He was acting very strange – even for Ian. "Okay, maybe if I can get him talking," she thought. "Did you have a nightmare?" she asked him. She thought that he shook his head. "Was that a 'No'?" she asked. He cleared his throat. "No," he said, his voice barely audible. Sara sighed, frustrated. "Are we going to play twenty questions?" she asked a little crossly, "Or are you going to tell me what's wrong."

"Can we go back into the other room?" he asked, "I'm cold." She pushed back his hair, but he kept his face averted. "Well then why the hell are you sitting in here naked on the tile?" she asked. "I didn't want to wake you," he said softly, still not looking at her. She decided to let that go and answer his request. "Sure, we can go back to the other room," she said, "Why don't you build the fire back up while I make us some tea? Then, you can tell me what's going on with you." "I'd rather just go back to sleep," he responded, so quiet she could barely hear him, "I'm alright now." "Not a chance, ace," she said firmly, "When I find you sitting on the bathroom floor crying at three-thirty in the morning, you're going to tell me why. Nobody's going back to sleep until that happens."

Ian slipped out from under the throw and went back to the living room. He moved directly to the chair to get his sweatpants. He pulled them back on and knelt by the fireplace to add more logs to the dying fire. All of this with his face turned away and in silence. She followed him, pulling the throw more tightly around her against the chill. Sara made a quick stop in the bedroom to grab her robe and put socks on her feet before she continued to the kitchen to make their tea. On the way, she tossed the throw back on to the sofa. She sat at the kitchen table while she waited for the water to boil, her mind roiling with questions. He'd been just fine a few hours ago, she thought, kidding with her about ladder gymnastics, now he was practically catatonic.

When she carried their mugs of tea back into the other room, she found him huddled in a corner of the sofa, wrapped in the throw. His face was turned toward the fire and he seemed engrossed in the dancing flames. She offered him the mug but he didn't respond and when she said his name, he jumped, startled. Ian took the mug from her, holding it in both of his hands to warm them. He still hadn't looked at her. He took a big gulp of tea and shut his eyes. He was still shivering a little. "Can I get under there with you?" she asked, indicating the throw. He shrugged and opened his arm a little, glancing up at her once, quickly, before turning his face back toward the fire.

Sara frowned as she sat beside him on the sofa. She deliberately cuddled up tight against his suddenly unyielding body, forcing him to open his arm wider to accommodate her. At least he's getting warmer, she thought, leaning her head against his bare shoulder. His skin had lost that clammy chill it had in the bathroom. She took a deep breath and dove in. "Okay, Ian," she said, "You already said that it wasn't a nightmare. So, what happened to turn you into this cheery delight at four o'clock in the morning?" "I'm sorry that I've annoyed you," he began, still speaking so softly that she could barely hear him, "I tried not to wake you…" "Stop," she said, holding up a hand and interrupting him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the defensive. I'm not annoyed. I'm concerned. Just tell me what happened to you, baby."

He made a little noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. He still wouldn't look at her so she couldn't confirm that suspicion. She slid her arm tighter around him and pulled him closer. "I can see that this is really hurting you," Sara said, her voice gentle, "Talk to me, baby. Tell me what it is." "I had a vision," he said. She waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she thought, "He's going to make me pry every bit of this out of him." She stifled a sigh and asked, "You were already awake?" She saw an almost imperceptible nod. "I woke up cold," he said, "And saw that the fire was almost out. I was getting up to build the fire back up when it hit me."

"Was it about my dream?" she asked, dreading his answer. "Your dream?" he said, finally turning to her, looking confused. Then, the reference seemed to click and he added, "No. I don't think so – at least, not directly." She saw that she'd been right. Tears were rolling slowly down his cheeks. She didn't think that he was even aware of them. She reached out a hand to touch his wet cheek and he quickly turned away. She felt herself losing patience again and fought to rein it in. She knew if he sensed that from her, he'd just retreat further. She was getting ready to gently prod him when he suddenly said, "You left me." The agony in his voice was so visceral that she winced.

Sara blinked. She cut off her immediate reaction of "This again?" Whatever this was – vision, delusion, or paranoia – it was ripping him to pieces and it had to be addressed. Just telling him that he was nuts and that she wasn't going to leave him simply wouldn't work this time. It would be like trying to put a bandaid on an amputation. She decided to try a different tack. "Do you often have visions?" she asked, "Aren't they usually linked to the Witchblade?" His shoulder lifted a fraction. "Not often and not always from the Witchblade," he replied, "Some come from my ring I think." "Well," she said logically, trying to pull him back a bit from the strong emotions, "When the Witchblade sends me a vision there's usually a reason for it. What was the purpose in showing you this?"

He dropped his head to rest on the back of the sofa, face still turned away from her. "To warn me or prepare me, maybe. I don't know," he said, his voice tired. "So that you could do what?" she asked, "Stop me?" "No," he said, pain in every word, "It was too late for that. You were already gone. You were finished with me. It was over." She felt a little twist in her own gut now and she realized that she was starting to take this seriously too. "Why did I leave?" she asked. There was a long silence and she thought that he wasn't going to answer. Then, he turned back to look at her and said, "I don't know. You were gone and I didn't know the reason. I don't – didn't – know what I'd done wrong. You just left me – without telling me why, without giving me a chance to explain or change."

She wanted to wipe away the tears, to hold him and pet him and tell him that everything would be all right, but she didn't think that he'd let her do that right now. Something else occurred to her. "Was the Convergence over?" she asked. He frowned, obviously not understanding why it mattered. "I don't know," he said. "It must have been," she continued, "I wouldn't leave before and we need to be together to make it work. That would mean that we both survived it and saved the world. That's good." He turned away again and mumbled, "If this is my future, I'd rather have died fighting with honor." She decided to let that go to point out, "On the other hand, maybe the whole vision is a crock of shit and someone is playing you."

His head swung back sharply. She had his full attention now. "What do you mean?" he asked. She reached out to push back his hair and then to brush away the tears still on his cheeks. He caught her hand and held it. "Sara?" he said. She stroked his hand with one finger while she spoke to try and calm him a little. "Remember Lazar said that we could expect different kinds of attacks from different directions. Back at the loft, X popped in a couple of times and tried to make me jealous. We figured that the point of that was to create dissension between us and to keep us off balance. It was a good ploy because losing people that I love is one of my hot spots." He was watching her intently, desperate for an alternative to the future that his vision had given him.

"Nobody has bothered us since we came to the cabin," she continued, "What if this 'vision' of yours is just a new form of attack and it wasn't sent to you by your ring or whatever, but by your old boss' bitch?" He narrowed his eyes and asked, "You're suggesting that X might have planted the vision in my head?" She shrugged. "Why not? Irons knows we're together. Being the manipulator that he is, he also knows how you'd react to this kind of vision. He'd know just how much it would bother you. Maybe it would even distract you enough that you become less dangerous to our enemies. Right?" He shut his eyes and said softly, "God, Sara, I want to believe that. I couldn't live if I lost you now. Just the thought of it hurts so much that I'd do anything to stop the pain."

Thinking that he might accept her touch now, Sara tentatively reached out to pull him into her arms. He was ready and willing. He clung to her like a drowning man gripping a life preserver. She held him tight and stroked his hair. "I know that I can tell you I won't leave you until I'm blue in the face, Ian," she whispered against his neck, "I also know that they're just words. I don't know how to take this fear away from you." "I know," he said, voice muffled against her chest, "I know that I'm too dependent on you, that I love you too much. Maybe that will change over time – if we have it – I don't know. I just know that I don't want to live without you now." She felt a chill run though her. "You mean that literally, don't you," she said, appalled. There was a long pause before he softly replied, "Yes. I mean it literally."

She pulled back a little and raised his chin with her hand to look into his eyes. "That's a hell of a responsibility to put on me," she said, "I don't want to hold your life in my hands, Ian." He pulled back now too and looked directly into her eyes, not making any excuses for the way that he felt. "I'm sorry," he replied. "That's it?" she asked. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm saying this badly," he said, frustrated by his inability to make her understand, "I'm not trying to blackmail you into staying with me. I know that you're not responsible for me, for my feelings or actions. You told me I could say anything to you and that you would understand, but I guess there are things that I should keep to myself. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Well," she thought, "That certainly backfired. He's right. I did tell him to talk to me, that he could tell me anything. God, this relationship business is hard." She was silent for a moment, thinking, then she said aloud, "No, my bad, baby. You're absolutely right. I did say that to you last night, and I certainly meant it at the time. I still mean it. I don't want you to hold things back from me – especially when they're eating you up the way this is. I'm sorry." She studied his face. He looked exhausted, like he'd just been pulled through an emotional wringer – which, of course, he had. She reached out to gently stroke his cheek. He shut his eyes and leaned into her hand. "If this is a new game that the enemy is playing with us," she said, "It's a damn effective one."

To satisfy her curiosity, she had to ask, "In the vision, how did you know that I'd left you if I was already gone? I could have gone away for lots of other reasons." He dropped his head, his face hidden by waves of hair. "I knew because of the way that I felt. You didn't want me any more," he said, voice tight, "And, you gave back your ring. You'd left it for me." She pulled his rigid body close again. She pushed back his hair, feeling fresh tears when her hand brushed his cheek. She tried a smile. "That alone should tell you that the vision was wrong," she said, trying to ease his pain, "You'd have to cut off my finger to get this ring away from me." Ian just made a little sound against her neck.

She kneaded the tight muscles of his back slowly and felt him loosen up a tiny bit. His arms were around her again, his head resting on her shoulder. "Want some more tea?" she asked. "No thanks," he murmured. "Do you think you could go back to sleep now?" she asked. "Yeah," he said softly, "I'm sorry to be such a baby. I'm sorry I bothered you. I just can't…," He stopped quickly, his voice starting to choke up again. "Shhh," she said soothingly, running one hand up into his hair to rub the back of his head. He tightened his arms around her. "I love you so much," he whispered desperately. "I know, baby, I know," Sara whispered back, "Please don't get yourself all worked up again. Try to let it go tonight. I promise you that I'll be here in your arms in the morning. We can talk more then because we're going to have to find a way to come to terms with this. It's hurting you too much and it makes us too vulnerable to our enemies. Okay?" "Okay," he answered softly.

Sara gently eased away from him and dropped back down to the featherbed. She looked up at him, alone and miserable now on the sofa, and held out her arms. Ian came into her waiting arms, bringing the throw with him. Wanting to feel all of him against her, she arched back to pull off her robe and toss it to the chair. "Do you need those pants?" she asked. He shook his head and pulled off the sweatpants, throwing them on the chair with her robe. She stretched out and wrapped him in her arms, tight against her, tucking the throw snug around them both. "Do you feel any better?" she asked, "Are you going to be able to sleep?" "This isn't going to get better, Sara, until I know where that vision came from – and that may not be possible," he replied, "But, yeah, I think I can sleep now. I did warn you that I was no bargain." "I know you did, honey," she agreed, "And I still think that the good far outweighs the bad in being with you."

He nestled himself close against her, a ragged sigh escaping his lips. She kept petting him until she heard his breathing even and slow into an exhausted sleep; only then did she allow herself to nod off too. When she woke, full sunlight was streaming into the cabin. Ian was still asleep, molded against her side. Even asleep, he looked worn out. There were large, dark circles under his eyes and the few lines on his face seemed more pronounced. As she watched him, she saw his eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids and a soft, agonized moan rose from his throat. She enfolded him closer in her embrace and stroked his back until she felt his tense muscles relax and heard his breathing even out again. "I want to let him sleep as long as he can," she thought, "He's so stressed out. God, I hope he's able to handle this better in the morning light. That fatalism of his is frightening."

When she was fairly certain that Ian had slipped back into more restful sleep, Sara very carefully extricated herself from him and left their nest. She made herself a pot of coffee, trying to be as quiet as possible. As she got the bread out of the refrigerator to make toast, she realized that they'd soon have to replenish key items in their food supply. "We can do that today after our training," she thought, "That will keep his mind occupied for a while. Maybe we can even go out to dinner when we're done. I don't want him to have time on his hands to start brooding about the damn vision." By the time she'd finished her toast, Sara heard Ian running water in the bathroom. She put the kettle on to boil so that he could have his tea. A few minutes later, he came into the kitchen, once again dressed in sweats.

As he passed her to turn off the steaming kettle, he leaned down to brush a sweet kiss against her lips. Sara smiled and thought, "That's better," even if he does look like hell. "Want some toast?" she asked, "I saved the last two pieces of bread for you." He shook his head and said, "Not hungry, thanks." He made his tea and sat down across from her. "Are we running low on food?" he asked. "Yeah," she replied, running her finger along his hand where it rested beside his mug, "Bread, milk, lettuce, fruit, some other stuff. So, I guess I get to see 'town' today, huh?" He shrugged. "If you want to come with me," he said, "There's not much to see. It's more of a general store than a supermarket. You can drive from one side of town to the other before you can blink."

"Oh," she said, disappointed, "I thought maybe we could go out for dinner after we finished the food shopping. I guess that's out." His fingers linked with hers while he sipped his tea and thought about that. "Not necessarily," he said, "I think there's some kind of lodge or inn over by the highway entrance. I'm sure that they've got a restaurant. I don't know how good it is though." "I don't care," she said, "I'm getting cabin fever." Then, she snorted a throaty laugh, realizing what she'd said. "It'll do us good to get away from all this doom and gloom crap for an evening," she continued, "What do you say, Nottingham? Be my date?" "Always," he responded, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it.

She decided that she couldn't postpone the question any longer. "Are you okay?" she asked. Ian let go of her hand and dropped his head. "No," he said, "I'm just not thinking about it because I'm afraid that I'll lose it again. That vision was too real, Sara." "So we'll see what Lazar thinks when he gets here," she said. His head came up and color flooded his cheeks. "Do we have to tell him about what I did last night?" he asked. "Not the details," she replied, "Just that you were upset, but he'll know that anyway as soon as he gets within five feet of you." "Why?" he asked. "Because you're broadcasting distress like a beacon, baby," she said, "I could feel it as soon as we started talking about this again." He dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, voice muffled, "I've really tried to let it go. I can't."

Sara didn't know what to do for him. How do you take away the fear of something that hasn't happened? She could tell that he was in pain and she didn't know how to make it better. That was tying her in knots too. She got up and went to him, forcing him to sit up so that she could climb onto his lap. She put her arms around him and he responded by pulling her close against his body. She leaned down to kiss him and this time his response was to passionately press his lips hard against hers and force his tongue into her startled mouth. Sara kissed him back until they were both gasping for breath. Filling her fingers with his hair, she dragged back his head to look in his eyes. "What's going on?" she asked, panting.

Wide, glazed golden eyes met troubled green eyes. "Teach me how to please you," he begged breathlessly, "Teach me how to make you want me." Sara cursed, pushing out of his arms and distancing herself from him across the small kitchen. She stood still with her back to him, trying to regain her temper. She didn't succeed. She turned back to face him, glaring. "Damn it, Ian," she exploded, "Do you think that I've been lying to you? I've told you I love you. I do want you. I'm wearing your ring. What more do I have to do to convince you? Why won't you believe me? I'll tell you something though. You keep up this crap and you will push me away from you." She watched as he flinched back from her anger, his eyes filling with tears before he dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Yeah," she agreed, "Right now, you certainly are." She stomped off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Ian cradled his head in his arms on the kitchen table, not moving for a long time. The sounds of Sara taking a shower carried to where he was hunched over but he still didn't move. Finally, he raised his head with a long sigh to encounter Lazar staring at him from across the table. Ian jumped and let out an explosive gasp. After his hammering heart had begun to return to its normal rhythm, Ian said, "I didn't hear you arrive, Sir." "It is a good thing that I was not an agent of the enemy, isn't it, Protector," Lazar replied, "Since you were too lost in your own misery and self-pity to be aware of my presence."

Ian ran a shaking hand through his hair, unable to meet Lazar's eyes. "Sara's angry," he said quietly, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so afraid that I'll lose her and, if I don't stop acting this way, I could make her leave me all by myself. Please help me." "Part of the fault for this lies with me," Lazar said, "I should have tried harder to find a way to get you away from Kenneth when you were still a child. Although the Witchblade saw fit to heal you in many ways, you have been severely damaged emotionally and I do not know whether you can find your way past that damage or not. If you can, it is a trail that you must blaze yourself. Neither Sara nor I can show you the way." Ian shook his head, looking lost and confused. Lazar studied him, eyes filled with pity, "It may not be possible, Ian," he said, "Perhaps there is just too much self-loathing and too many insecurities for you to overcome. Perhaps this love that you share with the Wielder was doomed to fail from the beginning. Perhaps there is just too much past to allow there to be a future."

Ian's hands balled into fists on the table. "No," he said, determination in his voice, "I'll do whatever I have to do to make it work. I'm not going to lose Sara now that I finally have her." Lazar inclined his head. "Then that is where you need to put your focus, is it not?" he asked, "One thing more. Doesn't the Wielder deserve a mate that matches her strength and independence with his own?" Ian nodded. "Yes, she does," he agreed. "Then begin to build a life for yourself that is independent of the Wielder," Lazar said, "Do not put the responsibility for your life in Sara's hands. Guide it with your own hands. Accept that life can go on even when you believe that you have lost everything that makes it worth living. There are always surprises."

Ian's mouth set. Life without Sara was still something that he was unwilling to face. Lazar just nodded. "Change takes time," he said, "For now, take the first steps on a different path and be open to what you find there. Is that acceptable, Protector?" Ian met the Watcher's eyes directly. "Yes," he replied, "That's acceptable." "Good," Lazar said, "You had best go now and mend your relationship with the Wielder. There's still time. We can work with the crystals tomorrow. Good luck." Ian blinked and Lazar was gone. He heard Sara come out of the bathroom and head into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Ian winced. This wasn't going to be easy.

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