Chapters 1-3 -- Witchblade Karma

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Date Posted: 12:46:08 06/03/02 Mon
Author: moondreamer
Subject: Chapters 1-3
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "Deepest Wish - for the archive" on 12:41:27 06/03/02 Mon

Title: Deepest Wish
Author: moondreamer (moon_dreamer66@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13 (some language/sexuality)
Spoilers: really none � au/relating to season 1
Pairing: Ian/Sara
Summary: It�s Sara�s birthday and she feels alone. What can Ian do to help?

DISCLAIMER: The Witchblade, the movie, the series, the comics and all the characters all belong to Top Cow Productions, Warner Bros., TNT & whoever else has their hand in the cookie jar. Obviously, not me. These are only my fantasies based on their characters that I hope others will enjoy.

AUTHOR NOTE: What can I say � I�m an addict and I am running out of new stories to read. Maybe if I share my fantasies others will share more of theirs. Please let me know what you think � I�m a big virgin here.

DEEPEST WISH
By Moondreamer

The alarm rang with loud, insistent buzzing. Sara stirred slowly in her bed, the sheets and covers were a tangled mass wrapped around her hips. A strong indication of yet another restless night. Her usual, it seemed, since she had been�gifted� by the presence of the Witchblade. She turned over onto her side slowly, realizing as she did so that she had been lying with the pillow clutched over her head. She let out a brief snort, subconsciously hiding? If so, from what? The dreams bestowed upon her mind courtesy of the Witchblade, or those of her own unsettled hopes and fears? Both sets of dreams were equally confusing. A merging haze of blood and darkness, flesh and sweat, kisses and caresses that always left her wondering when and where? Or even more importantly, who?

Reaching out she gave the alarm clock a thump. It hiccupped in mid alarm and then was silent.

�Man, oh Man,� Sara sighed. �Another night like that and I will look everyone of my years.�

She rolled onto her back, clutching the pillow to her stomach and breasts as she stared at the ceiling. Here it was, another birthday. She tried to hold back her emotions � but the tears welled up in her green eyes despite her efforts. How could she begin to compare this day with previous birthdays � and yet, how hard not to. Her father was gone, Danny was gone, well, ok, maybe he would show up in his ghostly form � but it just wasn�t the same. It seemed that everyone she cared about, everyone she loved and had formed her life around were gone. Leaving her alone and staggering under the burdens that remained.

�Great, Pezzini.� She muttered to herself. �Spend your birthday having a pity party in bed - alone.�

She raised her head slightly � sniffing the air as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee reached her senses. Strike that, she thought, alone except for her very own private stalker. Grateful for the rush of indignant emotion that swept through her, setting aside the sadness she felt, she threw the pillow to one side and leapt out of her bed. Hurring into her kitchen area.

�God Damn it, Nottingham! Why do you keep doing this?�

. Ian was sitting on a stool at her kitchen counter. He wore his usual black wool overcoat over black jeans and black shirt, combat boots and black leather gloves. His hair however, was not pulled back in it�s usual club at the back of this head. It swung freely around his face, the curls brushing his cheeks as he turned to face her. She paused for a moment, caught by the sheen of the dark curls in the light that came through the window. The very window he illegally entered, she reminded herself. Stop looking at his hair. But, man, oh man. She had always found that a man with long hair gave her that funny tickle in the pit of her stomach. This is �Nottingham� she told herself fiercely. Focus on that fact alone. Stop wondering about the breadth of his shoulders or the softness of his beard on her skin. She paused for a moment, as a wisp of last nights dreams floated across her consciousness. Dreaming about Nottingham?

�Good Morning Sara.�

Ian replied to her greeting. He looked up at her briefly with his intense brown eyes, and then quickly looked back down. Why did he keep tormenting himself like this? He knew that her sleeping attire was skimpy at best. Yet morning, after morning he kept coming back, just for these few brief glimpses of her firm, lithe form. This morning she wore a plain white men�s undershirt and a pair of high cut black briefs. The fabric of the shirt pulled slightly across her firm breasts, he could almost distinguish the color of her areolas through the material. He looked away again, quickly before she could catch him staring. The image of her seemed to remain, etched as if by laser on his retinas. The sight of her warm and tousled from her nighttime slumber was worth any torment.

He stood up and went over to the coffee maker. Pouring her a cup of the life giving fluid he handed it to her with his usual quiet grace.

�Why do I keep doing what? Sara.�

He moved back to his perch on the stool and awaited her reply. He gave her his trademark head down, eyes up glance. But, this time he looked to the side of her � trying not to stare at her lush flesh that seemed to glow with a inner hue all its own. He had tried one time to recreate the color of her flesh using paints and canvas but found he fell drastically short of the real thing. He wasn�t very successful it seemed, on bringing the essence of his dreams into reality.

Sara sputtered �Keep showing up in my apartment when I know the windows, and the doors are locked.�

She looked down at the streaming cup in her hand

�It�s called breaking and entering, pal.�

Her voice lost some of its edge as she took a cautious sip of the coffee he had handed her. Perfect, absolutely perfect. Like everything else she had seen this man do.

�Just what I need, a perfect killer who makes perfect coffee.�

Her toes curled against the cold kitchen floor.

�You have to stop coming in here whenever you feel like it.�

Even as she said it, she wondered for a brief moment what she would do if he took her seriously. How about that, Sara, she mocked herself silently. Are you really so lonely that even your stalker is good company?

Ian just smiled slightly as he replied, �I can�t do that Sara. How could I make you coffee in the morning if I stay away.�

He found himself relaxing a bit more; he was never sure how she would respond to his visits. He always found her reaction in the first few moments would set the tone..

�I appreciate the compliment though. I know how particular you are about your coffee. Sit down and have breakfast, Sara,.�

She shivered slightly as he said her name in that way he had. That subtle, almost singing way in which he pronounced the two simple syllables.

� I brought some of the raspberry cheese danish you enjoy so much.�

He made room at the counter, pushing a plate towards her as he spoke.

Sara, looked at him, as he sat there, gloved hands folded together. She looked at the cup of coffee in her hand, Three quarter�s gone she noticed, and she looked at the plate of danish he had moved towards her. And she heard her stomach growl. She gave up the unequal contest.

�Why do I try.� She muttered. � Like everything else in my life since this damn Witchblade appeared. Why do I think I can control anything, including who breaks into my apartment.�

She sat down slowly, crossing one golden limb over the other as she took her place beside him. She tried not to feel the warmth that radiated off him, but the warmth, like his unique scent seemed to wrap tendrils of peace around her.

�At least you are smart enough to throw food and coffee my way.�

She grumped the comment out around what seemed almost half of the most delectable danish she had eaten in years. I am such a food whore she thought in dark amusement. She swallowed hastily, amazed as a smile as bright and unconstrained as the morning sun crossed over Ian�s normally deadpan face. Oh my god, am I in trouble, she thought to herself, feeling the slow uncurling of desire deep within. The man is drop-dead gorgeous.

�A stalker I may be, in your opinion, Sara.� Ian laughed. �Stupid, however, I am not.�

It amazed him that he was able to joke about her opinion of him. An item, that so often, caused him hurt. He reached over and refilled her almost empty cup and continued to look near her direction. Sara, stirred, made slightly uncomfortable by the intensity of his gaze. She could feel her nipples tighten against her will and chafe against the fabric of her t-shirt.

�Well, Nottingham, are you just going to watch or are you going to join me?�

She immediately moved her gaze down to her cup. Her words seemed to hang in the air in front of her, bringing to mind visions she didn�t want to share.

Ian paused for a moment. Her words seem to hang in the air in front of him. Conjuring up images and visions he had no strength against. He took a deep breath. �I believe I will join you, Sara.� In his heart the words took on a deeper meaning. He dared to glance upwards at his goddess, strange how pink tinged her face was. Surely she wasn�t experiencing the same confusion over her words he was. His glance swept down her form, lingering on the small toes curled against the cold.

�You are cold, Sara.� He exclaimed. Grateful to break the strange uneasy silence that had fallen over them he reached behind and removed his overcoat. Placing it about her shoulders he smiled at the result. The only part of Sara he could see at the moment was the top of her head. Everything else, including her fingertips, was covered by the long coat that swept down to the floor.

Sara inhaled deeply as the weight of the overcoat settled on her shoulders. It was hard to describe the emotions that swept over her. Such warmth, such peace, feelings of contentment she hadn�t felt in eons seemed to wrap her and hold her securely. The scent that rose from his overcoat seemed to make her head spin.

�Er..thanks, Nottingham.� She muttered as she reached for her coffee again.

�It is my understanding that today is your birthday, Sara.� Ian could feel the stiff formality of his words, but didn�t know how to change them. �What will you do today?�

�Today?� Sara replied, his words brought back the turmoil she had almost managed to forget. �Ignore it and have a day like any other day. Trust me, Nottingham, this birthday is one I just want to forget.� He could hear the pain the lay beneath the harsh words and his heart ached for her.

�All I can think about is my dad, and how much I miss him.� Sara continued. �All I can do is compare this with what would be happening if my dad were still alive.� She paused, then continued slowly, in surprise. �He used to do the same thing you are doing now, make me coffee, feed me my favorite foods, and then he would ask me one question. One simple question�� Her words trailed off as she gazed into the past.

Ian dared to reach a gloved hand out to her hand that lay palm up on the counter. It seemed to be the only way he could connect to her and try to absorb her pain. The tingle he felt as he covered her palm with his gave him the courage to continue.

�What question is that, Sara?� He asked quietly as he tightened his fingers around her hand.

Sara could almost feel the presence of her father in the kitchen. She could almost see him moving around, fixing, arranging, and never being still. �The question�.My father would always, on my birthdays, ask one question. Sara, he would say, what is your deepest unspoken wish today? He always told me I had to answer truthfully � that of all days, this is the one to be true to myself.�

Ian took a deep breath and looked up slowly, his grip tightened even further on her hand. She could feel the intensity in his gaze. �Sara,� He began quietly. �What is your deepest unspoken wish today?�

CHAPTER 2

Ian�s words echoed in Sara�s mind. She heard his deep voice once again. Watched as his sensual lips shaped the words.

�Sara, what is your deepest unspoken wish?�.

Her mind swirled. Visions of her and Ian entwined on black satin sheets. Her hands -caught above her, held passionately in one of his. His hair, that gorgeous, curly, satiny hair brushing over her belly as he inched his way down her body.

The Witchblade glowed, adding it�s own visions to hers. Time after time, century after century it showed her a pornographic collage of women who looked like her and men who looked like Ian. She already knew the scent of his body � now The Witchblade gave her knowledge. The knowledge of how he tasted in her mouth. The salty tang of his sweat, the deep, rich flavor of his mouth. The sound of his voice as he moaned her name in passion. The warm, smooth feel of his skin beneath her hands.

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared into his eyes, those deep gorgeous eyes, as if mesmerized. She looked deep with them and saw�What? She fumbled for words to describe the longing and the love he exposed to her in that glance. She could feel the gentle strength, the hope in his hand that held hers and her lips trembled.

�Ian...I...I...� Her voice was hoarse, barely audible, even to herself.

Suddenly, other visions filled her mind. Her father, shot down in the alley. Maria, used and dead and forgotten. And Danny. Oh, god, the agony of watching as Gallo pumped the bullet into Danny. Holding him in her arms as he breathed his last agonized breath. Watching as the life light faded from his eyes. And then, the agony of watching as Fiona stabbed John with The Witchblade. Feeling as if her own life ended in that one swift stroke.

Her eyes closed in denial. She didn�t want to feel. The pain of these emotions ripped through her like a blade. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched Ian�s hand one final time before she pulled her hand free.

�You mean besides having my life back. Have my father back. Having Maria and Danny and John back. Having back everything and everyone that I have loved�and lost?� Her voice was harsh as she suddenly stood and walked towards the kitchen sink. His coat fell to the floor as her back turned to Ian in denial of that, which she wouldn�t, couldn�t voice � even to herself. �To have a few lousy hours of life without all of this.� She waved her arms in the air in front of her. �This knowledge, this anger. Dante, Irons, The Witchblade�� Her fists slammed down on the counter in frustration. Her voice trailed off as her anger drained out of her as suddenly as it had come upon her.

Ian stood up silently. His hopes, which had risen so high, crumbled to nothing by her words.

�As you wish my lady. So be it.� His voice was solemn and quiet.

He reached a trembling, black gloved hand towards her and then let it fall to his side. Picking up his coat he crushed it in his hands as he raised it to his face. He inhaled deeply of her fragrance and then swiftly turned and exited out the window he had entered such a short time ago.

Sara clutched at the edge of the sink as she heard him leave. Her legs didn�t seem to want to support her and she swayed slightly. She released her death grip on the sink and tried to turn around.

�Ian�.� She called, only to see the emptiness of her loft, echoing the emptiness in her heart and in her life.

She walked back to the kitchen table and sat down slowly. Her head bowed over the cup of coffee in silence.

�You never used to be a coward, Pez.�

Sara�s head jerked up to see Danny, sitting across from her where Ian had been a short time before.

�Danny�what��Sara stammered in surprise.

�I showed up to wish you a happy birthday. But now I don�t know what to say. That wasn�t the Pez I knew talking.� He looked at her with compassion. His gentle eyes liquid with unspoken emotion.

�Well, I don�t know how to break it to you kiddo, but the Pez you knew has been through the ringer a bit lately.� Sara felt the defensiveness in her bitter reply.

Danny smiled sadly. �That doesn�t mean you should be afraid to live, Sara. Afraid to love.�

�Love, come on Danny!� Sara, exclaimed in exasperation. �We are talking about a conversation I was having with Nottingham for Christ�s sake!�

�No Sara, we were talking about the truth. The truth deep within you. Remember what your father said; remember what you told Ian. On this, of all days you should be true to yourself.�

He reached out a ghostly hand and brushed it over her cheek. She closed her eyes, wishing once again that she could feel the comfort in his touch.

�I know you are scared, Pez. I understand. But, more now than ever, you need to be strong, you need to live. You need to love. He needs you.�

�He?� Sara questioned.

�Ian, Sara.� Danny replied. �He needs you, and you, you need him. Ignore all the rest of what�s going on. The two of you have been building towards something. Something new and beautiful. Don�t let your fear spoil that. Don�t let Irons spoil that. Don�t let Irons win.�

�Irons? Danny, what are you talking about? Win? Win what?� Sara raised her hands to her head. If the events of this morning didn�t bring on a major headache she didn�t know what would.

�All right, I�ll admit I am� attracted to Notting�to Ian. But where can that lead? I�m a cop. He�s a killer.�

�Are you so sure you two are so different?� Danny looked at her solemly.�Is what we do..what we did so different.�

Sara bent her head again and stared deep within the coffee cup, looking for answers to questions she didn�t want to face.

�Danny..� She looked up in time to see Danny fading from her vision.

�Happy Birthday, Pez.� He whispered as he disappeared.

Sara stood slowly. She moved into the bathroom knowing she had to start getting ready for work. She turned on the shower and looked at her image in the steam-clouded mirror. She stood under the hot spray. Raising her face to the stream she let it wash the tears off her face.

Ian crouched out on Sara�s fire escape. That was as far as he had made it before the coldness in his soul made him collapse in despair. He clutched at himself, rocking slowly back and forth. He had been so sure, that this time he had reached her. This time she had understood all that he had to give. Yet, once again, she had turned her back on him. Rejected all that he was.

Was Irons right? Was he such that Sara couldn�t ever love him in return? It had taken Ian so long to understand what these strange thoughts and feelings he had for Sara were. Only through his reading had he been able to put a name to his new experiences. Only with time had he been able to overcome Irons� programming that he was worthless and unlovable to even attempt to reach out to his Lady Sara.

Thinking of his books, his readings of the great writers of the centuries gave Ian pause. Slowly he stood, one thought ringing through his mind. After all, it was said. �Faint heart, never won fair lady.� And wasn�t his Lady Sara the fairest of them all?

CHAPTER 3

Sara pulled and parked her motorcycle outside her apartment with a sigh. Yep, just like she thought when she woke up this morning, it had been a bitch of a day. She straddled the bike a few moments more. She really didn�t want to face going up to her empty loft. She really didn�t want to face herself up there all alone.

She had managed to get through most of the day by just ignoring everything and everyone. Even Jake, the rookie with the silly hair hadn�t been able to break through her self-imposed isolation. But then, there was no way he could know of the ongoing, bitter arguments going on inside Sara�s head. Arguments she kept having with herself. �I�m definitely losing it.� She thought to herself.

All day her mind had kept repeating her morning conversations with both Ian and Danny. She smiled with a wry twist of her full mouth. Yes, he was definitely Ian now. She had to acknowledge that she had tried to keep him emotionally distant. The use of his last name, the constant disdain. If, as Danny requested, she had to be truthful with herself she had been afraid. Afraid he would get too close. Afraid that she would have to watch him die, like everyone else had already. Afraid to care, to begin to feel again.

The hardest part to face up to was the shame she felt. Shame at the hurt she had caused Ian today, and almost every other day that she had known him. How hard it was to face the realization that her external cruelty had been a token attempt at self-protection. A futile effort at best. Yet, how could she not help but doubt herself? Given her track record with the men who managed to spark her interest she didn�t feel she was the best judge of a man�s character when it came to romance. Yet Ian had never, in the time since she had met him and Irons given her cause to doubt him. Everytime she had needed him, he had been there for her. With no thanks, no recognition from her for his efforts. Whether at Irons instigation or not, Ian had been more of a man to her than any other. What had Irons called Ian? ��a Poet Warrior?� More like a knight in one of the fairy stories she hid from her father as a girl.

Still, a warrior was a good description for Ian. That, if she was honest, was also part of her fear. She wouldn�t be able to control, or bend him to her wishes. Even with his professed desire to please her there was a core of steel in the man that wouldn�t let her ride roughshod over him as she had most other men she knew. It would have to be a relationship of equals. A relationship she had never had. Sara took her helmet off and shook her hair out.

What was she doing continuing all of this? Relationship? What relationship? Ian was Irons� man; no matter how much he pushed her buttons. And after this morning, after the way she had flamed out at him, she didn�t think she would see him again for quite a while. Better to just carry on as before. Just her, and her new friend, The Witchblade. �Alone at last � just the two of us.� She muttered as she finally got off the bike. She tried not to imagine that this would be her life from now on.

Swinging her motorcycle helmet in her right hand Sara unlocked her door and started to climb the stairs to her loft. She paused on the 3rd step up, setting her helmet carefully down on the stair she pulled her Glock and moved into a creeping sideways stance a little higher up the stairwell. A strange glow was coming from what she could see of the loft. Reaching the top she stopped in shock.

Candles, balloons and flowers, too many to count, were arranged all around her loft. Some were in the windows, some on the floor, more around the bed and open area. All colors, all scents. She could distinguish tulips, lilies, roses, flowers she didn�t even know the name of. Sara�s head spun from the gentle assault on her senses.

�What the hell is all this?� Sara exclaimed as she moved further into the room, only to stop again at the sight before her.

There was Ian, kneeling in an all too familiar manner in the middle of the candles. One arm crossed on his front bended knee, one arm was behind his back. His hair, Oh God, she thought, that gorgeous curling mass was hanging loose around his face. He was wearing some type of black silk shirt with matching pants. The flowing material clung lovingly to his smooth muscles. Allowing her a glimpse of the power she had only sensed before within him.

�My Lady,� he greeted her. His heart caught in his chest as he waited for her reaction. How would she respond to him this time? He had spent hours preparing for the evening. Trying to make everything �perfect�. He had perused several of his books, searching for ideas of how to woo his Lady. He had even spent some time reading romance novels at the library. All in a determined effort to find the key that would unlock his fair Sara�s heart. Irons would be infuriated at the way he neglected his duties today, but Ian determined he would willingly pay the price later.

Sara lowered the Glock and looked around her apartment. It appeared so different, so changed. As if it had been transmuted into an enchanted place out of time. Her harsh concrete walls, the cluttered mess of her daily life seemed to have disappeared. �Ian�� she stammered. �What is this?�

�You deepest unspoken wish, Sara. As you told me this morning.� He stood slowly, crossing the room towards her. �I am offering you a few hours of respite from your life. No anger, no worries, no Dante or Irons. No pain�no fear.� He whispered the last words in a deep husky voice. The words wrapped around her like the perfumed incense from the candles.

He came closer towards her. Near enough for her to feel the heat from his body once again, yet far enough away from her to leave her feeling as if she could still, somehow, escape his spell.

He reached his hand out and pulled the Glock from her nerveless fingers. As he crossed over to place it on the counter Sara put her hand over her month. Hard for her to believe but she felt a bad case of the giggles. She had looked down and saw Ian�s bare feet. Toes, who would have thought it, Ian Nottingham had toes! Sexy toes, at that.

He turned back towards her and raised his brow in a questioning glance. �Are you all right, Lady Sara?� He enquired.

�Toes!� Sara exclaimed around the hand she had clamped over her face. �You have toes!� She couldn�t hold back the laughter any longer. Ian Nottingham, badass, had sexy toes. She threw her head back and laughed. Feeling the joy of finding him here waiting for her once again. The joy of knowing that for the next few hours, for whatever else he offered her, she would not be alone. He was giving her another chance. Almost against her wishes she felt herself come alive again.

Ian looked indignant for a moment; laughter was not the response he had been trying to invoke. And yet, was it not better than anger? �I am just a man, Sara. A man, much like any other. Most men have toes.�

Sara caught her breath as she heard the implications behind his words. A man, just like any other. The Witchblade hummed as it caught the swirl of thoughts in Sara�s head. Approval? Sara thought briefly.

�Well, you are off to a good start making me laugh. God, it feels so long since I�ve had anything to laugh at.�

She crossed the room slowly, heading for the couch. Ian reached out and touched her arm with his ungloved hand. She felt the caress of the calluses on his hand and turned to face him.

�Not yet, my Lady. Your bath awaits.� Ian guided her into the bathroom.

It too had been changed into something magical. Flowers and candles covered most of the open surfaces. As a silly, yet endearing touch a group of balloons had been tied to the spigot. They bobbed gently in welcome.

�Ian�� Sara began to speak, only to stop as he placed his fingers gently against her lips.

�Sara, shhh�� He hushed her gently. �Let me give you this time. Let me try to make your wishes on your birthday come true.�

Sara closed her eyes as he slowly rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. She could feel her senses begin to reel once again.

�Sara, trust me�� Ian murmured into her ear. �Let go and just trust me for these next few hours.�

�Ian�� Sara began again. �How can I?� It was a plea from her heart, from her innermost soul, a cry for him to help her.

�Because Sara, it is what you want.�

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Replies:

Deepest Wish - Chapter 4-5 (end) -- moondreamer, 12:47:43 06/03/02 Mon

Does it need it? -- Dracaeakire, 20:46:51 12/28/02 Sat

This story is still great. I've only read it a hundred times. -- Tanya, 05:20:32 01/08/03 Wed