Who Could Wish for Anything More? -- Witchblade Karma

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Date Posted: 08:43:51 10/07/04 Thu
Author: moondreamer
Subject: Who Could Wish for Anything More?
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "Who Could Wish for Anything More - PG-13" on 08:42:12 10/07/04 Thu

(to avoid taking up space - I'll just post all chapters together)

Disclaimer: All theirs, not mine. Never have been, never will be.

�Dammit!�

Sara cursed as the sharp blade of the razor bit into the soft skin of her ankle and the telltale bit of crimson began to ooze from the cut. That was the second time.

She really, really, really hated shaving her legs. Somehow, it didn�t matter what she tried, she always, always, ended up hitting a vein or three which usually left her bathroom looking like a crime scene.

She picked up the can of foaming gel and scowled down at it. Hmmm, for the cleanest, closest shave with no irritation. Based on her current level of irritation it was yet another obvious example of false advertising. She�d tried different brands, different razors; double blades, triple blades, easy-glide strips, it made no difference.

Vicki had tried to tell her she was just too impatient for a razor and suggested waxing. Sara shuddered as she remembered how that experiment in feminine grooming had gone awry. She�d tried apologizing to the Aesthetician but still avoided the store. At least the lawsuit had been dropped.

Besides, Sara Magdalena Pezzini was just too stubborn to give up. Every 10-year-old girl she had ever known had mastered leg-shaving 101 with ease. She refused to believe it was beyond her. Sara tilted her head, surveying her leg and without knowing it, her tongue protruded slightly from between her teeth.

She hitched up the threadbare towel wrapped around her torso before it could continue its downward slide and tried again. Ok, deep breaths. Slow down. Use smooth, gentle strokes. Follow the curve of the leg and�

�Dammit!�

Sara winced in pain and teetered briefly on her right leg, the other one stretched out on her bathroom sink looking like a sacrificial offering. She leaned forward to try to wipe the small, steam covered mirror with one hand and then dropped the razor on the floor as she grabbed for her slipping towel instead. Somehow in the process she managed to avoid knocking over the cheap plastic shelving that was stuck up over the toilet. There just wasn�t enough room in here.

Was this an indication of how the evening was going to go? How did she ever let herself get talked into this? A date. A bona fide date. A date on Valentine�s day no less. And it was a date with�him.

Sara looked into the mirror, not really seeing her curler wrapped head. Maybe she could still get out of it? Cold? Flu? Extreme gastro-intestinal upset?

Was she really that desperate for a little romance? That willing for a little light flirtation? Somehow he wasn�t quite the man she thought of when she pictured herself at a romantic dinner. Why, oh why did she say yes?

Because, the tiny voice in her head mocked. You were bored and lonely and feeling blue. And, she ruefully acknowledged, because she didn�t want to spend yet another Valentine�s Day alone, the unfortunate recipient of those �sympathy looks� from the guys at the station.

She could still hear the smooth voice of her would-be matchmaker who had set the evening up telling her how inexperienced and painfully shy her date really was. Not that she had really seen too many signs of that, but you never knew, right?

Such a tale that persuasive voice had woven, playing on her sympathies, making her feel like she was doing a real public service helping out here. At least it beat the usual feeling that they were sorry for her and trying to help her out in her poor, dateless state.

And it hadn�t hurt being able to tell all the guys at the station that yes; she DID have a date for the evening, thank you very much! Even if it did mean that she had to shave her legs and attempt various other grooming procedures that she hadn�t gotten around to in ages.

Gritting her teeth, Sara wobbled down to the floor, her left leg still extended out over the sink as she fumbled blindly for the razor. She�d better hurry. She had a lot more getting ready to do.

~~~

Ian Christian Nottingham grimaced as he looked into the steam-covered mirror. He was attempting to trim his beard and no manner what kind of facial contortions he attempted there was one spot he just couldn�t get to with the razor.

The palatial bathroom was warm and humid as a result of his shower. The black and gold marble tile reflected him from all angles as he stood in front of the sink dressed only in a plush black towel slung low on his slender hips.

He tried again; tilting his head to left and letting his tongue protrude slightly through his teeth as he tried to get the spot under his jawbone. He tossed his wet, shoulder length hair back out of his way impatiently.

He wasn�t quite sure how this had come about. While his responsibilities had necessitated him being comfortable in most social settings he was unsure of the evening ahead. A date. A Valentine�s date. With�her. How did he ever allow himself to be talked into this?

Was he that desperate to experience one on one interaction with a female? Did he really want to put aside the long years of his father�s teachings and learn this basic skill? Yet, if he didn�t, wouldn�t his hidden hopes of a relationship with The Wielder continue to only be a boyish fantasy?

As if in answer to his question, the door opened with a rush of cooler air that raised the tiny hairs on the back on his neck.

�Ah, Ian. Not quite ready yet?�

Kenneth Irons stood in the doorway smiling. �You have a big evening ahead of you, my boy. How do you feel?�

�Unsure. Confused.� Ian dropped the razor and looked down at his long and rather elegant bare toes. �Sir, why am I doing this?�

�Not only is it a favor to me but think of it as another part of your training. I�ve taken pains to express your lack of experience to your date and she is agreeable to help widen your skills. I trust you will find the evening most educational.�

Ian didn�t respond. He was not quite sure what was expected of him.

Kenneth just sighed. �Don�t be such a slow top, boy. Finish getting ready and then go pickup your date. It�s really only the females that may be fashionably late.�

�Yes, Sir.� Ian turned away and walked past him into the bedroom where a dark suit was laid out in readiness.

�I made sure they put some flowers in the limousine for you. It wouldn�t do to show up without them on this of all days. Valentine�s Day is only once a year.�

�Thank you, Sir.�

�Now, don�t be so nervous, Ian. After all, she is just a woman in the end. Just remember what I�ve taught you and you�ll be fine.�

Apparently feeling he had done his required duty, Kenneth walked off and Ian took a deep breath. He had faced many dangers in his life. How bad could this be?

~~~

When her doorbell rang Sara was putting the finishing touches on her lipstick. She moved her head from side to side and examined herself in the mirror. Earrings? Check. Makeup? Check. Hair? Well, as much as she hated curlers she had to admit the tousled result was rather attractive.

�Just a minute.� She bellowed loudly as she turned away from the mirror, swaying for a moment in her unaccustomed heels as she picked up her purse.

She debated leaving her Glock at home. She was, after all wearing The Witchblade, and this was after all, a Valentines Day date. But old habits die-hard. She chuckled as she thought of that old advertisement, �Don�t leave home without it.�

She took a deep breath and pulled the heart shaped bodice of her deep red dress up a little higher. On her way to the door she glanced out the window and saw the limousine waiting down at the street. That was nice. It didn�t matter who he was related to or worked for, in the end; he was just a man. How bad could the rest be?

~~~

Bad. That was all she could say. This was worse than bad. The evening so far had been a total unmitigated disaster. It was going to go down in history as the worst Valentines Day she had ever had. It was absolutely unbelievable.

The limousine had been nice; there had even been some flowers for her. She had thought that was really a sweet gesture. It had been a while since anyone had given her flowers.

The restaurant was definitely upscale, as was the clientele. The food was pretty damn good too. She just couldn�t get an opportunity to concentrate on it. And goodness knows much didn�t get between her and her food.

So far, the big minus in the evening had been her date. Painfully shy? Inexperienced? Her left foot! This guy was a predator. She couldn�t believe it was the same guy she had met and spent a little time with before.

In addition to having 16 hands that all refused to behave once the limousine doors shut behind them, he just wouldn�t shut up � or take no for an answer.

She thought it might be better out on the dance floor but that only seemed to inspire him to new heights of crassness. Only by stepping on his foot repeatedly with the spike of her heel had she managed to get him to sit down and stop rubbing that� that� anyway, to stop rubbing up against her.

Oh my god, was this night never going to end? What was it about this day that always made her think she was cursed? Sara looked down at her plate in dismay while he poured her another glass of champagne.

If he told her one more time how much this all cost she was just going to scream, she didn�t care who he was related to or what sins this favor was repaying. And if he tried to run his toes up her skirt under the table once again she was whacking them off with the Witchblade. She had had enough!

She glanced miserably around the restaurant, searching for some method of escape and then her eyes widened in shock as she saw the man sitting across the room at another table. Oh my God! Was that really�?

Her sudden recognition was cut short as she was pulled to her feet by her date once again.

�Ready to dance, baby?�

�No, I�m really��

Ignoring her protests she was dragged out on to the dance floor and her date plastered himself up against her once again.

Sara gritted her teeth and started counting to ten.

~~~

Ian tried to nonchalantly scoot his chair back away from the table in an effort to avoid his date�s wandering toes. The chef had really outdone himself but every time Ian tried to enjoy his meal her toes somehow become entangled in his lap or the cuff of his pants leg. He found it most disconcerting.

But then again, the whole evening had been disconcerting. From the moment he had picked her up Ian wondered just what bizarre wonderland he had wandered into. Perhaps this was just an elaborate joke by Mr. Irons?

His date was an attractive blonde, but she had obviously been drinking and almost fell out of her extremely low-cut dress as she struggled into her wrap.

Once in the limousine she had developed a fixation with Ian�s ear and continually giggled as she tried to stick her tongue in it. As drunk as she was she usually missed and ended up hitting his eye instead.

When he attempted to dissuade her from that odd behavior he discovered her hands had a strange tendency to wander as well. It made him most uncomfortable.

His attempts at conversation went unnoticed. Her shrill giggles overriding his soft voice and actually managing at times to hurt his ears. He was afraid she would hurt herself on some of his concealed weapons and was pathetically grateful when at last they reached the restaurant and could leave the confines of the limousine.

But the evening continued it�s downward spiral in Ian�s opinion. After spending the majority of his life trying to stay out of the limelight he was in agony with his date�s loud and obnoxious behavior. He would far rather face the fiercest enemy in battle than deal with what was rapidly becoming to him an exceptionally painful experience. Where was the romance? Where was the sweetness?

Suddenly his date pushed her chair away from the table and stood. Good manners dictated Ian rise as well, and as he did so she leaned forward. He turned his head away from the rush of alcoholic fumes that rushed off her.

�Dance with me, baby.� She demanded as she swayed unsteadily on her feet and started out to the dance floor leaving Ian with no choice but to follow.

Ian attempted to hold her a respectable distance away but she just looped her arms around his neck and collapsed against him like a sack of potatoes. His dance teacher would have been most horrified. On the other hand she did quiet down, or had she passed out?

As he pushed her limp form around the dance floor he found himself watching several other couples. They seemed happy, swaying gently to the music, sharing small, secret smiles. Ian looked down at this date and sighed.

Then his gaze was caught by the discreet struggles of a woman who appeared unhappy with her partner. He was attractive in a beefy, rather florid way. She had deep, chestnut hair that should have clashed with her red, beaded dress but somehow didn�t.

Suddenly her green eyes opened and stared directly into his. It was Sara! The Wielder. And she was furious. Ian had plenty of personal experience with that look in her eyes. He could see the Witchblade glow a sullen, dark angry red and it seemed to morph slightly. Pulsing back and forth as it attempted to manifest in response to the Wielder�s inner agitation.

Alarmed at the thought of what would happen should she fail to control the blade, Ian maneuvered his partner over to their section of the dance floor and tapped on her date�s shoulder.

�May I cut in?� He enquired politely before shoving his date into the man�s arms and bowing slightly before Sara.

She was silent as she moved into his arms. They closed around her lightly and she was held a circumspect distance away from his muscular form. Her forehead fell forward against his shoulder.

�Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.� She mumbled in gratitude. �I�m sorry for every bad thing I�ve ever said to you.�

�My lady?� Ian responded in surprise.

�You�re my hero, Ian. You saved me and you�ve just spared the life of that miserable slob. If he groped me one more time��

�May I enquire who the gentleman is?�

�That is no gentleman. That is Captain Dante�s nephew, Mark. I�ll be dammed if I ever do the Captain a favor again. The guy was an octopus.�

Sara sighed in relief and began to relax for the first time that whole miserable evening.

�I�m sorry to ruin your Valentine�s date. If you want to just dance me over to the nearest exit I�ll disappear.�

�I would not be a gentleman if I left you to your own devices.� Ian reproached her slightly. �And�uh�I�m wasn�t exactly enjoying my evening either.�

Sara and Ian both looked over and saw that their dates were busily engaged in apparent tonsil tickling.

�Eww.� Sara shuddered. �Who is she?�

�She is the daughter of Mr. Irons CFO. Her engagement was just broken and as a favor to her father, Mr. Irons asked me to take her out.�

�Is this going to cause you any trouble, Ian?�

�My instructions were to make sure she had a good time. As she certainly appears to be enjoying herself I would have to say I am following them to the letter.�

Ian and Sara continued to move slowly to the music. A comfortable silence fell between them.

�You�re a pretty good dancer, Ian.�

�As are you.� Ian paused for a moment, gathered up his courage and then continued. �You look exceptionally lovely this evening, Sara.�

�Thanks.� Sara leaned back slightly, and gave him a quick once-over glance. �You are looking pretty spiffy yourself.�

�Ian�� Sara began.

�Yes, Sara?�

�Do you think they even know they�ve switched partners?�

�Do you think they even care?�

Sara began to laugh. �No, not really. I just wish I could have finished my dinner. I�m starving.�

With a small gesture of his hand Ian caught the attention of one of the staff and arranged to them seated at another table and his date�s wrap and bag sent over to Dante�s nephew�s table.

Fresh meals were ordered and Ian presented Sara with a fresh glass of wine as they regarded each other over the candlelit table. She was amazed at how swiftly and competently he had handled everything. Somehow he had even managed to come up with some fresh flowers for her.

�Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine my evening would turn out like this.� Sara laughed heartily as she stroked the soft petals of the bouquet.

Ian looked down, suddenly downcast as his enjoyment of her company drained away at her words. �I�m sorry it�s not to your liking, Sara. Would you like me to take you home instead?�

She reached across the table and caught his hand in hers. �No, silly. You�ve taken a terrible night for me and turned it all around. This, this is turning out to be just perfect.

Good food, good company and flowers. I couldn�t wish for a more romantic Valentines Day.�

Ian looked up slowly, his eyes caught and held by the warmth in hers as he turned his palm under her grasp and let his thumb stroke the top of her hand.

�Happy Valentines Day, Sara.�

�Happy Valentines Day, Ian.�

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