Breathing Space

A Plea: If you read this tale and you like it, please leave me a review. Hearing from my readers is pretty much what keeps me writing - I don't do well in a vacuum. Leave me a word or two and I will be everlastingly grateful. Thanks.

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Ian Nottingham tore up the stairs in Sara Pezzini's building leaping three at a time. When her open front door came into his field of vision, he stopped cold and slipped up the remaining stairs soundlessly. He pressed his body next to the open doorframe and slipped a mirror from the pocket of his long, black coat. The angled mirror revealed four men arranged in a tight circle around Sara with guns drawn. Another two men held her arms tight against her body. Ian decided that the most efficient way to eliminate them would be to attack as they took Sara through the front door. They couldn't all come through the door together, so he'd be able to take out a couple of them on the landing before the others even realized that they were under attack. He just hoped that Sara would be able to hold her own until he could get to her side.

Ian slid the mirror back into his pocket as the intruders started to move toward the door. He waited until two of the men were out the door and the second man through had just started to turn in his direction. With blinding speed, Ian pulled the nearest man into a quick embrace and snapped his neck. Then, shifting into a quick turn, he slammed the heel of his hand upward into the nose of the other man who dropped as if he'd been struck by lightning.

Ian was through the door and among the remaining four men before they even realized that he'd just killed their companions. From the corner of this eye, he saw Sara use his diversion to free herself from her captors and activate the Witchblade. She blocked a bullet that had been fired at Ian and slammed her gloved fist into the man that had fired the gun. He collapsed to the floor unconscious. Ian and Sara fought side by side. As Ian was dispatching the last man standing, he felt a burning sensation in his back and realized that he'd been cut. There was a seventh man in the room that he hadn't seen. Before he could turn, Sara morphed the Witchblade into a sword and ran through Ian's attacker.

It was suddenly very quiet. Sara moved to look at Ian's back, saying, "Are you okay? He got you, didn't he?" Here, let me see." Ian moved out of her reach and said, "I'm fine. We have to get out of here. There will be others." Sara looked around at the bodies scattered across the floor of her loft and asked, "Who are they? What do they want?" Ian's eyes kept moving between the fire escape beyond the window and the front door. "Mr. Irons can explain all this to you. I'm to take you to him," Ian replied as he reached for Sara's arm.

Sara backed out of his reach and set her mostubstubbornly. "Not a chance, pal. I'm not going anywhere near Irons." Ian frowned and shook his head, "You can't stay here, Sara. I can't protect you from the numbers that they can send after you. We're wasting time. I have to get you out of here." Sara crossed her arms across her chest and her voice dropped down a notch, "Well, if you're so hot to get me out of here, Nottingham, you better come up with an alternative pretty quick – because I'm not going to go to Irons and that's final."

Ian sighed. He'd seen that look on Sara's face before and short of knocking her out, he knew that she wasn't going to let him follow the orders that his Master had given him. "Alright. There's another place that I can take you where I know you'll be safe – at least for a while. Will you go with me?" Ian asked. Sara glanced again at the scattered bodies, "Doesn't look like I have a lot of choice," she replied.

Ian and Sara made their way cautiously down the front stairs to the street where Ian's car was parked. Before they went through the front door, Ian turned to her, "They'll have set men to watch all the entrances. We'll need to move fast. Just stay close to me. They want to take you alive so they'll be careful. That's to our advantage." Sara replied, "You just watch out for yourself cause I bet they have no problems with shooting you. Where's the car?" Ian moved in front of her, "Down halblocblock and to the left. It's a black jeep. Ready?" Sara pulled out her gun and clicked off the safety, "Yeah. Let's do it," she said.

They dashed out of the building and almost made it to the car before all hell broke loose. Bullets started chipping the pavement at Ian's feet and Sara crouched to fire and hit the shooter. Another man charged at Ian from the left. He broke the assailant's neck and opened the doordoor in one fluid motion. Sara dived into the passenger seat and yelled, "Go," as Ian turned the ignition key and floored the gas pedal.

As the sun went down, Ian and Sara were on the Connecticut Turnpike in a dark blue SUV. They'd switched cars three times to evade their pursuers. She could tell by the released tension in Ian's posture that he knew that they were no longer being followed. This was the only way she knew because Nottingham hadn't said a word for more than an hour.

Sara leaned backed against the passenger side door and studied his profile. She hadn't seen him since he'd dragged the limp form of Kenneth Irons out of Gabriel's studio more than a month before. She thought of the surprising stab of jealousy she'd felt when he'd protected Aras outside the fight club. She suddenly remembered the mixed determination and resignation that she'd seen in his eyes as he'd grabbed the Witchblade wielded by Lucrezia. Sara cleared her throat and Ian glanced at her, startled. She'd obviously pulled him back from some deep thoughts of his own.

"So, Ian. Where exactly are you taking me?" Sara asked. "To a cabin that I have in the woods," he replied. "And how long before Irons shows up e toe to claim me?" she asked. "Irons doesn't know about the cabin," Ian said. Sara arched one eyebrow. "Really," she said, sarcasm creeping into her voice, "A place you've kept secret from Daddy? I find that hard to believe." Ian sounded tired, "Believe what you want, Sara. You will anyway. You might as well try to get some sleep. We still have a long drive ahead of us." And with that, she could almost feel him withdraw from her – back to that place where thouthoughts had been lost when she had disturbed them. Sara shrugged. If he was going to turn her over to Irons, she'd have to deal with that when it happened. She might as well take his advice and get some sleep. She could see that she'd get no more answers from him right now and the fight had drained her.

The bouncing of the car on a rough dirt track woke Sara from an uneasy slumber. She sat up quickly, feeling very disoriented. It was pitch black and she had nse nse of being surrounded by trees, enclosed in a thick stand of forest. "Where are we?" she said. It was so dark that she could barely see Ian. "Almost there," he responded softly. It occurred to her that he really sounded done in. She tried to get a better look at his face but it was too dark in the the car. "Are you okay?" Sara asked. "Fine," he murmured. Before she could question him further, he pulled the SUV to a stop and she realized that a darker shape was looming ahead of them in the general blackness. Ian turned off the ignition.

Sara got out of the car and squinted ahead of her into the darkness. She'd cautiously started toward what she assumed was the cabin when she realized that Ian was still sitting inside the car. Sara sighed and inched her way around to the driver's side of the car. He still hadn't moved. Sara leaned toward the open window and said impatiently, "What's the problem, Nottingham?" No answer. She opened the driver's door and he still didn't move. Sara touched his shoulder and said, "Ian?" She caught him as he fell forward against the steering wheel. As she reached down to move him upright, hand and skimmed his back and felt the warm stickiness there. "Oh, Shit," Sara breathed. She'd completely forgotten about the knife wound that he'd taken during the fight. Even in the dim light, she could see that the seat behind him was soaked. He'd lost a lot of blood.

Sara gently shook his shoulder again and said his name. Ian raised his head and shook it briefly as if to clear it. His eyes refocused on hers and he said, "Sara?" as if he'd suddenly discovered she was there. Sara smiled at him and said, "There you are. Can you make it to the cabin?" He look a bit confused and said, "Of course I can make it to the cabin." He moved out of the car and stumbled once but quickly caught himself on the side of the car. Sara stayed close behind him to catch him if he fell, but he made it to the cabin door on his own. Ian fumbled with a piece of wood about halfway up the cabin wall beside the door and magically produced a key. He unlocked the door and stood back to let Sara pass by him into the cabin.

Ian shut the door and flipped a switch. A table lamp came on and low light filled the living room where they stood. Sara gave herself a tour of the small cabin - kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. "Hmmm, one bedroom," she thought. When she returned to the living room, Ian was kneeling on a large Indian rug in front of the fireplace lighting the wood that was already arranged there.

She glanced at him and went back to the bathroom to see whether she could find a first aid kit there. She found one in the cabinet under the sink. When she came back again, Ian was still sitting on the rug looking a bit dazed but a good fire was blazing in the fireplace. Sara dropped the kit on the rug and started to tug at the arm of his coat. Ian pulled back his arm, "What are you doing?" "Stand up and take off the coat," she said. Ian stood up and took off his coat. Sara pitched it onto the nearest chair. "Okay," she said, "Now sit back down on the rug and take off the sweater so that I can clean hat hat cut." Ian hesitated. He dropped his head and unconsciously adopted the stance that she hated. "Sara, I don't…," he started. Sara cut off his protest, "If that wound gets infected, what am I going to do stuck out here alone with you? Let me take care of it. I promise not to take unfair advantage of you in your weakened state," she added drily.

Ian's head shot up and color filled his pale cheeks. Sara looked at him curiously, "What?" she said. "Nothing," he muttered, as he sank back down on the rug in front of the fire. Ian stiffly pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it onto the chair with his coat. Sara's breath caught in her throat as the firelight etched the taut muscles of his chest and back. This was the most of Ian that she'd ever seen. He always hid himself behind all those layers of clothing. "My god," she thought, "He's beautiful." Ian turned his head to look up at her. "Sara?" he said. Sara realized that she'd been staring. Now she was embarrassed. She cleared her throat. "Hang on," she said, "I need to go get some water and towels."

When she came back with the supplies, Ian was staring dreamily into the fire. His hair had come loose from the band that had been holding it back. It hung around his face in soft waves. Sara felt a little quiver deep in her belly. She blinked and forced her mind to focus on the task at hand. "Get a grip, Sara," she thought to herself, "This is Nottingham – what are you thinking? Clean up his cut and get him to tell you what those guys were doing at your place. Forget about the way that he looks sitting there half naked in the firelight." It almost worked.

Sara positioned herself on the rug behind Ian. She dipped a towel in the basin of warm water she'd brought from the kitchen and gently cleaned a lot of dried and fresh blood from the wound. Ian didn't move a muscle. "And there are an awful lot of them," Sara thought. When she'd cleaned the area around the cut as best she could, Sara took a good look at it and was startled. "Ian, this cut is really deep. It looks like it needs stitches. I don't think it will close by itself," she said. "It will be closed by morning," he assured her, "Just pour some peroxide in it to clean it out." Sara winced att tht the thought of doing what he said. "That would hurt like hell," she replied, "I'd have to peel you off the ceiling." She heard his soft, bitter laugh. "Hardly. Please just go ahead and disinfect it. Then put a piece of gauze over it and we can move on. We need to talk about the men at your loft." Sara disinfected and covered the wound. "The bastard was right," she thought as she put the bloody towels in the trash, "He didn't even flinch."

When Sara came back to the living room, Ian was putting more wood on the fire. He'd found a black t-shirt somewhere in the cabin and had put it on. Sara tried to ignore the disappointment she felt. She sat on the rug across from him, close to the fire. "Okay," she said, "Let's have it. Who are they and what do they want with me?" "I don't know the whole story," he replied, "That's why we should have gone to Mr. Irons." Sara glared at him, "Okay, so how about you tell me what you do know. You can do that without checking with your Master, can't you?"

Ian shut his eyes briefly and sighed. "They're a splinter sect of the group that you fought with over the Kennedy tape," he said, "Someone saw the film that was taken when you were captured and they decided that they want and and the Witchblade now. That's all I know." "But Irons knows more about this?" she asked. "Most certainly," Ian assured her, "He was concerned enough to send me after you as soon as he got the warning." Sara smirked, "Yeah, your boss is a real humanitarian. He just doesn't want anyone else to get their hands on the Witchblade before he can find a new way to try for it again himself. So, what happens now?" "Nothing," he responded, "We stay here for a few days until Mr. Irons can neutralize the situation. We can’t call anyone – by now, they'll have tapped any number that they think we'd call. They'd trace it back to us and we'd be under siege again. You should be safe here."

Sara looked troubled, "Danny's going to go nuts when all those bodies turn up at my place and I'm nowhere to be found." Ian said, "Actually, the bodies were probably gone soon after we were. But I imagine your partner is still going to be upset wondering where you are. I'm sorry, Sara. It just can't be helped." She nodded and then looked at him more closely, "You look about ready to drop." He absently rubbed a hand across his eyes, "I haven't been sleeping very well lately." Sara grinned and said, "Must be that guilty conscience." Ian dropped his hand and squinted across at her in the firelight. Now she was really curious, "What?" she said. "Nothing," he said again, "You should get some sleep. The fire is the cabin's only source of heat but there are plenty of quilts on the bed. You shoul war warm enough."

Sara's imagination brushed right past her better judgment and chose that moment to replay the firelight on Ian's bare chest. She cleared her throat again. "Uh…where are you going to sleep?" "I'll be fine here by the fire," he said. "That bed's pretty big and you're hurt. We could share it." Sara heard the words coming out of her mouth but she couldn't believe that she'd said them. Ian's head came up sharply and he looked at her directly, searching her eyes. Apparently, he didn't find what he was looking for there because his head dropped back down and he said softly, "That's probably not a good idea." Sara shrugged, both relieved and disappointed, "Suit yourself. See you in the morning then." In the bedroom, Sara stripped down to her t-shirt and panties. Before she got into bed and pulled up all those lovely quilts, Sara quietly opened the bedroom door just enough so that she could see Ian curled up on the rug in front of the fire like a big, beautiful cat. She was still watching him when she drifted off to sleep.

Sara stretched, buried her face in the pillow, and inhaled deeply. The scent was clean, spicy, and very male. She realized she was aroused. Sara opened her eyes. It was morning. She looked through the ope in in the door. Ian was gone from the rug by the fire. Sara sniffed the pillow again. "Jeez," she thought to herself, "I've been inhaling essence of Nottingham all night." She stretched and realized again that she was really worked up. Sara punched the pillow and thought, ay, ay, Sara, this has just got to stop. Get a hold of yourself. First Gabriel and now Nottingham. You need to send that itch of yours to be with your heart at the hospital." That train of thought came to an abrupt halt when she smelled fresh coffee.

"I'll shower later," she thought, "Need some of that coffee now." Sara dressed quickly and, after a quick stop at the bathroom to clean up a little, made her way to the kitchen. She stopped just short of the doorway because she wanted to take a good look before he noticed her there. Ian was sitting at the small kitchen table. He'd pulled out a second chair and his long legs were stretched across it and crossed at the ankles. He was wearing a pair of tight, faded blue jeans with a torn knee and the black t-shirt that he'd had on last night. His hands and feet were bare. His hair was pulled back from his face in the ponytail again, accentuating the sculptured lines of his face. He was really engrossed in the book that he was reading. A mug of coffee was on the table by his relaxed right hand. Sara's thoughts spiraled back into forbidden territory, "Wow," she thought, "He really does look…fine."

Sara cleared her throat, moving into the kitchen doorway. Ian turned to her and smiled. Her stomach did a tiny ssaulsault, "Oh my," she thought, but she said, "Well, you look fine this morning. Do I smell coffee?" He rose gracefully from the chair and moved to the coffeemaker on the counter. "From this angle, the view's even better," Sara thou "I "I just made a fresh pot. Would you like a cup?" he asked. Sara realized that she was staring again but she couldn't seem to make herself stop. Ian turned, looked at her for a moment, and then frowned, "What's the matter?" Sara shook her head to clear it and said, "You just look so normal. I mean, torn jeans," Sara gestured toward the floor where he was standing, "Feet…with toes." Now he looked annoyed, "As opposed to what? Cloven hooves?" Sara laughed weakly, "Sorry. I think I really must need that cup of coffee."

Ian poured coffee into the mug he had waiting for her by the coffeemaker. He put it on the table and sat back down. Sara sat in the chair across from him and picked up the steaming mug in both hands. The coffee smelled wonderful. She took a big gulp and yelped at the same moment that Ian said, "Watch out. It's…hot." Sara put down the mug and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up quickly, embarrassed again, and just caught the grin that Ian immediately smothered. Now she was annoyed, "What' fun funny?" For one fleeting moment, his heart all all right there in those big, tawny eyes. "You're really not a morning person, are you, Sara?" he said. And, then, his eyes dropped back down, shielded by those impossibly long eyelashes. "What was that?" she thought, "What did I just see?"

Sara raised the mug again to sip the hot coffee more carefully. She glanced at the book lying on the table. "What are you reading?" she asked. Ian pushed the hardbound book across the table to her. When Sara looked at the title, her face lit up, "Oh, 'The Count of Monte Cristo.' I read that when I was a kid. I loved it." He pulled the book back across the table and kept it cupped in his hands, "I first read it as a child too. It's become a kind of therapy for me now, I guess. I read it to escape whenever I'm having…problems." His voice trailed off and he glanced at Sara, uncomfortable, suddenly thinking that maybe d sad said too much. But Sara didn't want to go there either, "How's your back?" she asked. "Much better," he responded, "The cut's closed, I think." Sara frowned, the corner of her mouth quirking skeptically, "Right. Well, you better let me take a look at it anyway. I should clean it again and change the bandage." "Okay. Where do you want me?" he asked. Sara smiled ruefully, recalling her reaction to his pillow earlier that morning. She said, "Let's go over by the fire where it's warm."

Once again, Sara gathered the warm water, fresh towels, and medical supplies. She took them over to Ian where he was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire. She knelt behind him and said, "Shirt." Ian pulled off the t-shirt and threw it on the floor. Just glancing at his back as she opened bottles and boxes, Sara asked, "Where's the bandage?" "It came off in the shower this morning," he replied. She wet a towel and turned to take a good look at the wound before cleaning it. Her mouth dropped open in shock. Although the cut still looked red, raw, and nasty, the two sides that had gaped open last night had healed back together. "That's impossible," she said. Ian just smiled.

She cleaned the cut with warm water, dried the area, and spread some antiseptic salve she found in the first aid kit over the whole area. The skin on Ian's back was warm and smooth as silk except for the fairly regular punctuation of various scars. Sara kept stroking his back long after the ointment was ed ied in, running her hand around slowly in wider and wider circles. She suddenly became aware that Ian's breathing had changed and that he was leaning back into her hand where it touched him. Sara pulled her hand away as if it had been burnt. He almost lost his balance and put a hand down on the rug to catch himself. He turned his head to her and she saw that his eyes were glazed. Regaining his balance, he reached a hand out to her and said, "Sara, please…," in a breathless, shaky voice that turned her stomach to mush.

Big red danger signs flashed behind her eyes and, ridiculously, Sara heard the voice of Will Robinson's robot from "Lost in Space" saying, "Danger, danger, danger, danger," over and over inside her head. She quickly got up from the rug, leaving the medical supplies scattered. She glanced at him once before turning away and heading toward the bathroom, "I really need to get my shower now," she said, "I'm feeling all dirty." Sara's steps faltered and she immediately winced at her poor choice of words. She looked back at him over her shoulder but his head was down and his hair had come loose again. It was blocking his face from her view and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. She sighed and thought, "I'm sorry, Ian. I really didn't mean that the way that it sounded." But she didn't say anything as she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

Showered and dressed in a clean pair of Nottingham's sweats with the pant legs rolled up, Sara made her way back into the living room. He'd cleaned up the medical supplies. She went cautiously into the kitchen to see whether there was any coffee left. The kitchen was empty but there was still some fresh coffee in the pot. Sara poured herself another mugful. Ian wasn't in the cabin.

At loose ends, Sara started to explore her surroundings. The night before she'd been too tired and concerned about Ian to take much of a look around. She immediately noticed that the far wall of the living room was floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were crammed with books. She wandered over and started reading titles. His taste was all over the place – fiction, science, anthropology, mythology. She came back to the sofa that flanked one side of the fireplace. She'd found no radio, television, or telephone - nothing to provide a connection with the outside world. Of course, she and Ian both had their cell phones.

She'd just settled on the sofa with her coffee when the cabin door opened and Ian came in carrying an armload of wood for the fire. Sara watched him as he put the wood in a box beside the fireplace, pulling out some small logs and freshening the fire. "His face is closed up tight again," she thought. Ian shrugged out of his hooded jacket and gloves, and disappeared into the kitchen. He hadn't once looked at her or said a thing. Sara scrunched down deeper into the sofa. "Shit," she thought.

"Do you want some breakfast?" he called to her from the kitchen. Sara was so relieved that he was talking to her and that they wouldn't have to spend the next couple of days together in strained silence that she almost flew off the sofa and bounded into the kitchen, smiling, "Sure. I can help. What can I do?" One corner of Ian's mouth lifted in a tiny smile, "Sara, I've watched you long enough to know that the kitchen is not where you shine." "Hey," she said defensively, "I can cook if I have to." This time the smile reached his eyes, "You don't have to. Just sit at the table and keep me company while I do it. There isn't a whole lot here and I can't chance going to town for more groceries. I don't keep things like eggs – they'd go bad. How about a grilled cheese sandwich?" Sara smiled back at him, "Yeah. Grilled cheese sounds good."

Sara found that she was enjoying Ian's company. "When's he's like this, talking like a normal person and not spouting cryptic crap, just doing stuff instead of carrying out Iron's agenda, he's really easy to be around," she thought. Watching him move about the kitchen, she suddenly realized that he wasn't wearing the jeans any more. He'd changed into a pair of black sweatpants. She was just about to mention it when it occurred to her why he'd had to change his pants. "Nope," she thought, "I don't want to dwell on that one right now. I'll k abk about that later."

They ate their grilled cheese at the kitchen table, talking companionably of this and that. Then, did the few dishes from breakfast with Sara washing, and Ian drying and putting away. As she handed Ian the last dish, Sara turned to him and said, "You know this is crazy. I'm here because I'm running for my life to protect the Witchblade from some evil government conspiracy and what I really feel is like I'm on holiday." Ian took the dish out of her hand and said, "Sometimes you just need some breathing space and you don't even know it. Want to take a walk in the woods with me?" "Yeah," Sara replied.

wal walked through the woods around the cabin for a couple of hours, neither one of them saying much. The leaves on the trees were blazing with fall colors and there was that sharp nip in the air that always made Sara think of the taste of a tart apple. Ian hadn't worn his gloves. He gave Sara his hand to help her over a log and then didn't let go again. As they walked back to the cabindingding hands, the Witchblade on Sara's wrist suddenly pulsed a deep sensual red, startling them both. Sara felt its heat move from her wrist, up her arm, and then straight down the front of her to settle into a deeply erotic sensation in a very private place. She glanced at Ian and could tell by his stunned expression that the Witchblade had decided to share its game with him too. Sara gently pulled her hand from his and covered by pushing her hair behind her ear. Ian cleared his throat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. They didn't speak for the rest of the walk to to the cabin, each lost in their own thoughts.

When they got back to the cabin, Ian built the fire back up and Sara settled on the sofa to take a nap by the fire. Ian curled up in the chair across from her with his book. Sometime during the afternoon as she dozed, she felt him cover her with the afghan that was draped across the back of the sofa and very gently brush a stray lock of hair back from her face. Sara smiled in her sleep and settled back into the very pleasant dream that she was having.

"SaraSaraSara opened her eyes to see Ian kneeling beside the sofa, stroking her hair back from her forehead. His hair was loose around his face and the firelight was doing amazing things to his eyes. Still caught up in the aftermath of a very pleasant dream, Sara slipped one hand out from under the afghan and slid it behind Ian's neck, her fingers curling into his thick, silky hair. She pulled him down until their lips met. She vaguely heard his startled gasp of surprise, before his lips parted in response to her searching ton

When their tongues touched for the first time, selt elt like an electrical charge had been shot through her body. Where their bodies met, she felt Ian shiver and knew he was feeling it too. Sara was awake now, but she couldn't stop what was happening between them even if she wanted to – and she didn't. Somehow, now, both her hands were full of his hair as she desperately held his head to hers. Ian was half on the sofa, his body covering hers, and half still on the floor. His left arm was under her back, pulling her close against him and his right arm had moved to behind her neck. The kiss kept getting deeper and deeper, and Sara felt like she was drowning in him. Finally, they both had to breathe or asphyxiate, and they separated with an explosive gasp.

Sara tried vainly to stop panting as she pushed the afghan off of her. It was just too hot. She heard a soft, amused, and very sexy chuckle. She tried to refocus her eyes and look at Ian. He was leaning back on his arms on the floor beside the sofa. His hair was tousled, his cheeks were flushed a deep red, and he was still trying to catch his breath. But, yes, the laugh was coming from him. He looked at her with eyes full of love and amusement, and said, "I just came in to tell you that dinner was almost ready." Sara wavered for a moment but found that she couldn't help herself, her low, throaty laugh joined in. She felt her cheeks flame hot with embarrassment, "Well, it better be damned good to follow that." He grinned, "Not even close. Besides, I'm not really very hungry any more." At that moment, Sara's stomach growled audibly. He laughed again, "But I guess you are." He stood and held out his hand to Sara, "Come on and eat. If it hasn't burned, it should be ready." Sara took his hand and he easily pulled her up from the sofa. They walked to the kitchen holding hands.

A good portion of the stir fry that Ian had made for dinner had been burned, but enough was left that they didn't go hungry. As they once again did the dishes together, Sara asked, "When will you call Irons to see if it's all clear?" She saw something that might have been hurt appear briefly in his expressive eyes. He turned away from her to put the dishes back in the cabinet and replied, "The day after tomorrow." She thought, "So soon." But she said, "He's really going to be pissed at you for not bringing me to him, isn't he?" As he closed the cabinet, she saw the tension come back into his shoulders as if he were bracing for a slap, "Yes." She decided to change the subject, "So, what's on the agenda now?" she said. He turned back to her and asked, "Do you know how to play Scrabble?"

They set up the board on the rug in front of the fire. They'd been playing for about an hour when she realized that all of Ian's words followed the same theme: "assassin," "marauder," "decapitate," and the real killer of the bunch, "exsanguinate." "You're doing that on purpose," she said. He looked at her, the picture of innocence, "Doing what?" he asked. "Never mind," she said, "You win. Time for bed." He nodded and began packing up the game.

Sara swallowed hard. Here it was. The moment of truth had arrived. She knew that she couldn't kid herself any more after that kiss. She wanted Ian Nottingham. She wanted him big time. She just didn't want to deal with the consequences afterwards. And there were definitely consequences. There was Conchobar lying in a coma at St. Joan's Hospital. Why couldn't she just have Ian while she was here with him in this timeless bubble away from the rest of the world? Then, when she had to go back and rejoin the real world, she could just pretend that it had never happened. Everything would be just the way that it had been before they'd left. She wondered whether Ian would go for that.

Before she could chicken out, Sara said, "Ian, I want you in bed with me tonight." Across the room, she heard the Scrabble set that he'd just picked up clatter to the floor and all the pieces go rolling.