Instinct - Chapter One -- Witchblade Karma

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Date Posted: 11:54:57 05/22/02 Wed
Author: moondreamer
Subject: Instinct - Chapter One
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "Instinct" on 11:51:56 05/22/02 Wed

Author: Moondreamer (moon_dreamer66@yahoo.com)

Rating: PG-13 (language, some nudity)

Spoilers: really none � AU/relating to Season 1
yet not relating to any of my
previous attempts at Ian/Sara worship.

Pairing: Ian/Sara

Summary: Once again - I don�t really have one yet. They just take over my brain and refuse to leave me alone until I put what they want on paper.

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.

(This is a little tidbit for those of us who couldn�t go to the Convention this weekend. We all want what we cannot have!)

Instincts

Chapter 1

Sara woke suddenly, not sure what in the dark night had managed to bring her to full consciousness. She lay there quietly, tangled in her warm nest of covers. One hand on the automatic she kept under her pillow, listening to the silence in the still evening. There! There it was again. A faint sound, barely audible; without the amplification of The Witchblade Sara doubted she would have heard anything at all. Looking down at The Witchblade, Sara was surprised to see it calmly glowing. There was no indication or warning of danger. What, or who could have awoken her?

Throwing back the covers Sara stepped carefully from her warm bed. She tried not to flinch as her bare toes touched the coolness of the floor. Damn! She thought briefly. I�ve got to get a new rug. Bringing her mind quickly back to the situation at hand she moved into a sideways stance as she crept soundlessly from her bed towards her kitchen area; her weapon held carefully in front of her in a basic tactical stance.

The lights from the outside world shone fitfully through her un-curtained windows. Casting light and dark pools of mystery before her. Sara paused, listening carefully again. There didn�t appear to be anything overtly wrong from what she could see in the dim lighting. There was the usual jumble of books and papers scattered around. Her limited amount of furniture loomed before her, the faint light lending it a surreal and almost fantastical appearance. Everything seemed as it should. But, somehow she couldn�t erase the tingle on the back of her spine, the strange sense of something, or someone calling to her.

Feeling her immediate surroundings secure Sara continued her creeping surveillance around her living area. She tried to extend her senses outward, searching for any disturbance in her immediate area. At one time she might have thought that silly, but years of training even before The Witchblade became a part of her life, had taught her not to discount the intangible. As her mentor had told her when she was a rookie, �A good cop is 10% knowledge and training and 90% instinct.� Sara allowed her instincts to continue leading her around her loft.

She hesitated as she approached the kitchen area. The lights seemed dimmer in this area, seemingly swallowed by the darkness. She moved carefully, slowly, quietly. Then she saw it. The kitchen window was slightly ajar, the coolness of the night pouring in through the opening; raising goose bumps on Sara�s exposed flesh. Below the window there was a large dark shape on the floor. It was a large mass, rather shapeless, almost indistinguishable against the floor. She moved closer � trying to determine any distinct feature that would allow her to give a name to the shape. Unbidden, Kenneth Irons� voice filled her head. �To name is to know, to know is to control, Sara.�

Sara looked again at the bracelet on her wrist. Surely, if this shapeless mass was of any real danger to her The Witchblade would indicate that. But, once again, the glowing surface was calm and serene. Placing her gun on the counter Sara leaned down to examine the shape more closely. �Here goes nothing.� She muttered even as she reached her hands towards the unknown shape.

Warmth, that was her first impression when she touched the shape. Extreme warmth and a firm, yet yielding hardness. Suddenly Sara realized that it was a man lying there on her floor. Not just any man. Ian! Moving quickly now Sara ran her hands over his body, moving his coat out of the way and feeling for anything that would indicate injury. He moaned slightly as her hands touched him through his clothing, but otherwise didn�t stir. Not sensing any real injury on Ian�s body she looked out the window - nothing out there that she could see. What would Ian Nottingham be doing passed out on her kitchen floor? Daring to risk exposure Sara stood and turned on her kitchen light for the first time.

The shadows chased away by the glare of the overhead light, Sara again knelt by Ian�s side. She finished removing his coat and then gently moved the dark knit cap off his head. His long, curling locks sprang free. They brushed softly, caressingly by her fingers as they fell alongside his pale face. She could still see no outward sign of injury, there was no blood and no bones appeared to be broken. But his eyes stayed closed as she continued to examine him.

�Ian,� Sara said urgently, �can you hear me?� She continued running her hands over his form, looking for something, anything that would explain his unconscious presence on her floor. He was so hot! She couldn�t remember ever feeling such heat off another person. His skin seemed to practically burn her when over her hands touched his flesh. �Ian!� She said again. Looking for some sign of awareness. He lay there at first unmoving, then as she watched anxiously, his parched looking lips seemed to move slightly. She bent down closer to him. So close she could feel the soft perfume of his breath touch her cheek.

�Sara�� He murmured. �Sara��

�Ian!� She replied. Her hands were now holding on to his broad shoulders. The heat that poured off him caused a prickle of sweat to appear on her upper lip. She stared at his face, entranced despite her worry. Seen this close, he seemed so young, almost fragile. She could see the fine tracing of the veins on the side of his forehead, the long, sweeping eyelashes that hid his eyes from her gaze. His beard was coming in, a faint, dusky shadow along the angled planes of his face. His lips moved restlessly, their firm lines relaxed for once.

She used a slightly shaking hand to smooth the tendrils of hair off his face. She didn�t know what to do. There was nothing she could find that would explain what was wrong with him, or how he came to be here. She could only wonder at the strength of will that had driven him, almost mindlessly, here to her arms.

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Replies:

Ooooo....you've peaked not only my interest but my curiosity too!! -- Spin, 15:14:49 05/22/02 Wed