Breathing Space

When Vicki and Moby got back to the cabin, the bedroom door was still shut and, as far as they could tell, Ian and Sara were still sleeping. After hanging up their coats and putting away the gun, Moby set about building the fire back up to a cheery blaze. In the kitchen, Vicki pulled the ingredients for their dinner out of the refrigerator and lined them up on the small kitchen table. When Mobius returned to the kitchen, Vicki was sitting at the kitchen table industriously chopping onions for the meatballs and pasta sauce, tears running down her cheeks. Moby solemnly dug into the pocket of his sweatpants and handed her a clean handkerchief. Vicki put down her knife and took the offered hanky, giving him a watery smile.

"Wow," Vicki said, "I haven't had this good a cry since I saw 'Titanic.'" Moby looked confused. "That was the vessel that was felled by an ice berg was it not?" he asked. "It was," she answered, "But I'm talking about a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet." "Oh," Moby said, obviously at a loss, "Perhaps it is among those in the other room. We could watch it again and you might allow me to comfort you in your sorrow." "Perhaps," she replied, "Although we all might want to find some lighter entertainment." She offered to return the now slightly damp handkerchief and he held up his hand to indicate that she should keep it. Vicki tucked it into her pocket – just in case.

They continued to prepare dinner making companionable small talk. Once the meatballs and the sauce were simmering, they sat at the table with mugs of tea. After a few moments of silence, Mobius cleared his throat and Vicki lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I have wanted to ask, Po," he said, "Are you in any way encumbered?" Vicki's brows knitted. "Encumbered?" she asked. "Have you made a commitment? Are you pledged to anyone?" he asked. She smiled at his formal language and replied, "No. No encumbrances. How about you?" He smiled back, looking both relieved and happy. "No," he responded, "I am also unencumbered." Vicki nodded, still smiling. "That's cool," she replied. "Very cool," Moby agreed. And that made her laugh.

In the bedroom, Ian's eyes fluttered open and he breathed in Sara's scent. His face was buried in the heavy mass of her fragrant hair. He inhaled deeply, making a soft sound in the back of his throat that was somewhere between a moan and a purr. Before his brain could even begin to form coherent thoughts, his blood rushed south to stir him into arousal. Still half asleep, his lips twitched in wry self-deprecation. His body's response to Sara had become a force unto itself, something beyond his control.

For so many years, Ian had ruthlessly molded himself into a weapon, shaping and training each muscle and sinew to respond to his slightest direction. Now, in the span of a couple of months, his body had turned traitor. If Sara's finger grazed his thigh, his muscles jumped. If Sara's tongue licked his nipple, his heart raced. If Sara's lips brushed his, his breathing quickened. If Sara even looked at him in a certain way, he got hard. He wasn't sure when he'd abdicated his previously impressive self-control. He did know, however, that he'd lost it and that it now belonged to Sara – as every other part of him did. God help him if she ever stopped wanting him, he thought. It was a thought he quickly abandoned, because that long night of the soul didn't bear pondering.

Ian could tell by the sound of her breathing that Sara was still asleep. He raised his head to check the clock on the nightstand. In the full dark of the room, the luminous dial read 7:45. They'd been sleeping almost four hours. He very carefully eased his numb arm from beneath her and rolled on to his back. Stretching like a big cat, Ian knew that he felt a lot better. His headache was gone and he was rested, deliciously relaxed. He arched again pushing his legs down toward the foot of the bed and raising his arms in a languid, sensuous pull of his long body. He also realized that he wanted to be touched, petted. He wanted to feel Sara's hands on his body. He wanted it badly. That thought brought him from partially to fully erect with stunning speed.

Ian rolled back on his side, molding his overheated froo Sao Sara's back. He slid one hand down her hip, before trailing fingers slowly across her stomach. She made a little sound just as those fingers slipped lower to brush through her downy hair and insinuate themselves into the warm folds beneath. Sara sighed, pushing her body back against his. Hearing the soft gasp behind her and feeling his stroking fingers falter, she turned her head to whisper, "Hi there, you. That was a nice way to wake up." Warm lips brushed against her cheek and trailed tiny kisses downward to the side of her neck. "How's your head?" he asked. "Much better. Yours feels just fine," she replied amused, very aware of the throbbing hardness pressing insistently against her bottom.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ian asked, "Do you want me to stop?" Sara strained her body back against his again and was rewarded with a low moan. "I'm good," she replied, "But I'll be even better if you go back to what you were doing with your fingers." His erection pushed inside the crack between her cheeks as he leaned forward to slide two fingers into her while he resumed stroking her with the pad of his thumb. She grasped his arm where is rested across her stomach, digging in with her nails. As he continued to caress her, Sara felt the familiar sweet pressure start to build within her and she began to make the husky noises that he loved in the back of her throat.

Needing more, Ian pulled his hand away from her long enough to rub her arousal over his erection to lubricate it. He immediately moved his hand back to her, increasing the strength and speed of his strokes. Now, at the same time, he rubbed his slick shaft up and down between the cheeks of her bottom. Sara, loving this new feel of him against her, tightened her cheeks around him and almost made him lose control. He let out a little cry against her ear and she felt a tiny shudder run through him. A moment later, he had regained focufocus and was thrusting harder against her back.

As they both moved toward their approaching climax, Sara snaked her arm behind her to catch his neck and pull his head forward. Turning her face, she offered her mouth to Ian and he plundered it. Rough with the building passion, he nipped and licked her lips, forcing his tongue aggressively between them. Sara responded in kind, biting the side of his lower lip hard enough to draw a little blood, and battering her tongue against his. A few seconds later, Sara's body went rigid as an orgasm swept through her. Within another few seconds, she felt liquid heat shoot up her back as Ian came against hereir eir cries were muffled in each other's mouths where their lips were still locked together.

Afterwards, Ian hugged her gently against him, his arm now draped around her waist. "I got you all wet," he whispered, "Hang on. I'll get the towel." He reached over to the bedside table, where they now kept a fresh hand towel for just such situations. Pulling back a little, he wiped her back and bottom dry. When he was done, he tossed the towel back on the table. Sara rolled over to face him. She reached up to touch his lip. "Damn," she said, "I got you again. I didn't even realize that I did that." He caught her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "It's nothing," he replied. Sara shook her head. "Your lip is going to be swollen tomorrow," she said. He let his hot tongue slide slowly across her hand before he murmured, "Don't worry about it."

When Sara looked into his eyes, she saw that they were that rich dark amber that made her think of smoldering embers. With his tousled hair, swollen lips, and sleepy glowing eyes, Ian looked like an escapee from an erotic fantasy. On a hunch, she ran her other hand down his warm, muscled body to his groin. He was hard again. As her fingers closed around him, his hips pushed up off the mattress and his head dropped back. He let out a low, hoarse groan. "What's going on?" she asked, "You're really worked up tonight. Does this have something to do with all that energy shooting through us this afternoon?"

"I don't know," he said softly, voice strained, "Do you think you might do more than just hold me like that?" Sara grinned. "Maybe," she teased, "What'll you give me if I do?" "What do you want?" he asked urgently. She considered that. "Think fast," he begged. "How about a backrub?" she asked. "Done," he replied succinctly. Still grinning, she slid down his body and gave him a quick kiss and a long lick. He was wet with her arousal from what they'd just done. She found that surprisingly exciting. He pushed the fingers of one hand into her hair. His other hand gripped the sheets into a tight ball. His body was drawn tight as a bowstring, with all the muscles in sharp, sweaty relief. She could actually feel the sexual tension thrumming through him.

Sara glanced up at his face. Ian's eyes were shut now and he had an intense look on his face, as if he was holding himself together by a thread. She was suddenly worried about him. "Baby, are you okay?" she asked. "Please, Sara," he whispered tensely. She patted his hard thigh and leaned back down to run her tongue strongly along the pulsing vein on the back of his rigid shaft. Ian hissed softly and a tremor ran through him. Giving in to his obvious need, Sara got into a serious rhythm of stroking him with her hand while she sucked the sensitive head of his erection. Losing his battle to keep control, Ian's hips pushed up off the bed even as he struggled to stay still. His breathing was ragged and his head began thrashing from side to side on the pillow.

Seconds later, Ian's whole body arched up off the mattress and he cried out her name as he came very hard into the towel that Sara had again quickly grabbed off the nightstand. Sara pitched the now sopping towel into the laundry basket. When she turned back, she saw that he'd managed to roll on to his side and that he was watching her from hooded eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked. He snorted, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips to kiss it lightly. "Thank you," he said, still a little breathless, "I'm sorry I got a little manic." Sulleulled her hand from his to push back the wet curls that were hanging across his forehead. "That's alright," she replied, "As long as you intend to keep your part of the bargain." "Do you want it now or later?" he asked. Her eyebrow almost touched her hairline. His lips twitched. "The backrub, Sara," he clarified.

Sara smiled. "Just checking," she said, "Later. I've just realized that I'm really, really hungry." As if to punctuate her statement, her stomach growled loudly. Ian laughed. "I wonder if our cabin mates have made dinner," he said, "If not, I can throw something together quickly." Sara reached over to click on the table lamp. "The operative word in that sentence is 'quickly'," she said. She slipped out of bed and moved to the chair, shivering. Sara started to put the clothes back on that she'd earlier tossed on the chair. When she found Ian's sweatshirt at the bottom of the pile, she threw it over to him. "Where are my pants?" he asked. Sara turned to him, now dressed and brushing her hair into place. "What?" she asked. "My pants?" he countered.

She looked blank for a moment and then remembered. "I seem to recall kicking them under the bed," she replied. "Under the bed?" he repeated, leaning down to look. There they were – in a wrinkled ball. He raised his head to look at her. "Don't ask, ace," she said, "You might want to just get some clean jeans out of the drawer." He got out of bed and went to the bureau. She turned to admire his naked shivering form. "Some nice tight ones," she added, ogling his firm bottom. He turned his head to see what prompted that remark and, when he saw the look on her face, he blushed. She shook her head. "How can that make you blush after what I just did to you in bed?" she asked.

He shrugged, quickly pulling clean briefs, a pair of old jeans, and a royal blue sweater out of the drawer. When he came back to sit on the edge of the bed to dress, Sara scooted next to him. She tried to study his face but he averted it. He managed to pull on the briefs and to get the jeans halfway up his legs before Sara caught his arm, stopping him. "Seriously, Ian, are you okay?" she asked, concerned by his silence. He turned his head now to look at her. " I'm fine," he replied, "Still a little disoriented maybe, but basically fine. Can I finish dressing now? It's chilly in here." She released his arm, a little taken aback by his abrupt reply. "Sure," she said, "Dress away. I'll be in the other room." She got up and left him alone, closing the door behind her.

Ian finished pulling on and fastening his jeans, then slipped the sweater over his head. He sat still on the bed for a moment, head down. He raised his head and said aloud to no one in particular, "Great job, Nottingham. Now you've managed to piss her off." He sighed deeply, slipped his feet into a pair of moccasins, and followed Sara into the living room.

Vicki was just finishing setting the little table, which had once again been moved over to the fireplace for their dinner. Sara was pouring red wine. Vicki turned to Ian, smiling. "How you doing, Captain," she asked, "Has everything fallen back into place in that head of yours?" Before Ian could reply, Sara said, "Don't even ask, Vick, because he'll just tell you that he's 'fine.' And, in fact, he probably is back to normal since he's annoying again." Ian glanced at Sara, then smiled sheepishly at Vicki. "The jackhammers in my head have stopped. Thank you for asking," he replied, "And apparently I'm back to the annoying ass that I normally am." Sara stopped pouring wine to look at him. "Shit," she said, "It's no fun when you do it to yourself." Their eyes met and they both smiled at her double entendre. Vicki cleared her throat, suddenly feeling like she was intruding. "I'll go get the salad and bread," she said, beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Alone in the living room, Sara opened her arms to him and said, "C'mere, annoying ass." Ian crossed to her and pulled her into his arms. She ran her hands up his chest to wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned down to skim his lips across hers, his warm hands resting on either side of her waist. "Did we just have a fight?" she asked. "If we did," he whispered back, sucking her ear lobe, "It was probably my fault and I apologize." She pushed her fingers into his silky curls, stroking them. She sighed as his mouth moved to her neck, kissing and licking. "You've really gotten good at this," she said. "What?" he asked, voice muffled against her throat. "Handling me," she responded. She heard a soft, sexy chuckle, felt it vibrate against her neck. "There's nothing that I'd rather do than handle you," he murmured.

"Soup's on," Vicki said a little too loud as she came out of the kitchen to put a large bowl of salad on the table. Ian raised his head from Sara's neck and Sara stepped back, putting a little distance between them. As Vicki turned back to the kitchen to get the bread, Mobius came into the room with a large bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese. When Vicki came back with the bread, they all settled down around the table to eat dinner. In spite of the difficult events of the afternoon, it was a pleasant meal and there were many compliments to the chefs. As they leaned back from the table, plates clean, Moby asked, "Coffee?" Sara and Vicki both raised their hands. Moby turned to Ian and asked, "Would you like some herb tea, my brother?" Ian replied, "Yes, please. Do you want some help?" Moby shook his head, stood fluidly, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"So, what did you two get up to while we were asleep?" Sara asked. The color rose in Vicki's cheeks and Sara smirked. She was totally unprepared when Vicki said, "Mobius taught me how to shoot." \un?\un?" Sara asked, nonplussed. "No – a rocket launcher," Vicki replied sarcastically, "Of course, a gun." "Shame," Ian interjected, "We could probably use a rocket launcher considering what we'll be up against." Both women turned to look at him and he began to study his fingernails intently. Sara turned back to Vicki. "Did you manage to hit a target?" she asked. Vicki nodded. "I managed to hit both the targets I was aiming for," she said. Sara grinned. "Well, it's about time," she said. Vicki grinned back at her. Ian had the feeling that he was missing some subtext in their conversation but he didn't know what it was.

Moby returned carrying a tray with the coffee and tea. As they were drinking, Ian said to Moby, "I thought you didn't want Vicki handling a gun." Vicki's eyes narrowed dangerously. Before she could speak, Sara gently kicked her under the table. "Po made an excellent point that had eluded me," Moby replied, "She will be safer if she is capable of defending herself." Ian nodded. "Makes sense," he said, "How did she do?" "Quite well," Moby said. Vicki frowned, annoyed. "Hey, guys. I'm right here," she said, "You can ask me, Ian." Ian turned to Vicki and asked, "How did you do?" "I was great," she replied. "And so modest too," Sara added. Vicki grinned. "That's me," she agreed.

Sara started gathering dishes and said, "Since you did the dinner, Ian and I should clean up." Vicki and Moby exchanged a quick glance. Vicki took the collected dishes from her hands and said, "It was really no trouble. We enjoyed doing it. You two really took a beating this afternoon. Why don't you let us clean up tonight?" Sara looked guilty. "Are you sure?" she asked. Vicki nodded. "Absolutely," she said, "In fact, if you're still feeling tired, you should probably make it an early night. It wouldn't hurt to get some extra rest before you put yourself through that ordeal again tomorrow." Sara stretched a little and said, "Now that you mention it, my back muscles are still kind of sore. It probably would be wise to get some more sack time." She turned to Ian and grinned impishly. He flexed his fingers.

Moby and Vicki exchanged another glance, unsure of what exactly was transpiring between the other couple. Ian stood and caught Vicki's hand, kissing it. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner," he said. "Oh, well," she said, flustered, "It was mostly Mobius. I just did the salad and meatballs." Ian grinned at his friend and said, "I'll spare your hand. Thank you." Moby inclined his head. "Rest well," he said. Ian held out his hand to Sara and easily pulled her to her feet. They went back to the bedroom holding hands. Just before shutting the door, Sara stuck out her head to say, "Goodnight." Vicki smirked at her. "Night, Pez," she replied, "We'll be in the kitchen running water and clattering dishes so you probably don't have to worry about making noise for a while." Sara gave her the finger just before the door pulled shut. Vicki laughed.

Vicki stood at the kitchen sink elbow deep in suds. Moby stood beside her, dishtowel at the ready. She had frozen, sudsy plate in one hand and sponge in the other. Her eyes were far away. "Po?" Moby questioned. She blinked rapidly a timetimes. "I really hope that they both make it through this okay," she said softly, "I've never seen Sara as happy with anyone as she is with Ian. I want to see them get married and I want to become cranky Aunt Vicki to their kids." Mobius smiled. "Lady Sara is all that Ian has ever longed for – even before he actually saw her for the first time. She was the distant light that ever kept him from falling into despair," he replied, "I, too, am gratified that he is finally able to share a life with his lady."

Vicki went back to scrubbing dishes and said, "As long as it all doesn't end a few days from now. Things didn't look too good for our side out there this afternoon." "It was their first connection with the orb," Moby said soothingly, "Their control will improve." "How can you be so sure?" she asked, handing him a clean dish to dry. "Because it must," he said simply. "You sound like Lazar," she said, handing him another dish. He took it, inclining his head. "Thank you, Po," he replied, "That is a very great compliment." "Who is Lazar anyway?" she asked. "That is not a simple question," he responded, "Ask it of Ian tomorrow. He is steeped in the Witchblade lore."

Finishing up, Vicki let the soapy water out of the sink. As she wiped her hands dry, Moby put the last dish back in the cupboard. "I must go get more wood to refresh the fire for the night," he said. Vicki nodded. "Hurry back," she said, watching him put on his jacket. He smiled at the look he thought he saw in her eyes and decided that he would certainly do just that.

When Sara shut the bedroom door and turned around, she saw that Ian had moved to the one small window and was staring out. She could see tension in his shoulders. Sara frowned. "Ian?" she said. He didn't move a muscle. "Ian," she said, a little louder this time. He jumped as the sound of her voice finally penetrated, startled. "What's wrong?" she asked. He turned just his head, his eyes gleaming in the dark room. "There's more to what you feel for me than liking the way that I look, isn't there, Sara?" he asked softly, "More than wanting me in bed." Her frowned deepened. "What the hell brought this on?" she thought. "Not really," she said flippantly, "You know that you're just a pretty sex toy to me. Right?"

He turned toward her so quickly that he almost lost his balance. The golden eyes looked huge in the moonlight spilling through the window. She went to him and touched his arm. It was shaking. "Hey, hey, ace," she said, "Settle down. Okay? I was just pulling your chain." She winced, realizing that was a poor choice of words. "How can you ask me that?" she continued, "Of course there's more to what I feel for you than just the physical." He studied her face intently in the dim light. "Are you sure?" he asked. He was starting to piss her off again. "What is with him tonight?" she thought. "Are you suggesting that I don't know how I really feel, Ian?" she asked, an edge creeping into her voice. He shrugged and turned back to stare out the window.

"That first time we were together," Ian continued, "You just wanted sex with me. You didn't want any emotional ties to bind you to me after we got out of bed." She walked around to his side so that she could see his face. It was closed, unreadable. "That first time, if you remember, we never made it to a bed," she said, smiling. He didn't answer, unresponsive to her teasing. She sighed. "I don't think I really knew what I wanted from you when we began," she said, "Yes, you turned me on physically. But even before we got back to the city, I knew that something more had happened between us than a passing romp in the hay. I knew that I cared about you – but I was still in denial. Even then, I wisely knew that being with you wasn't going to be easy. And here you are proving me right again." Ian dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he said.

She slid her hand up under his sweater to rub his warm back soothingly. "Baby, you've been a bit weird ever since you woke up this evening," she said, "Want to tell me what's going on with you? Did the jolt of power we took this afternoon short circuit something in that Machiavellian brain of yours or what?" He turned to her, giving a poor attempt at a smile. "Nerves maybe," he said, "I woke up with all these strange thoughts bouncing around in my head." "Like?" she asked. He shrugged again, apparently not wanting to venture any further down the tangled path of their relationship right now. "Why don't I give you that backrub now," he suggested. "You're changing the subject," she accused. "Yes, I am," he agreed, "Do you want your backrub?" Sara frowned, frustrated. She knew that look on his face. She'd get no more out of him right now. Sara gave in, defeated but determined to try to get to the bottom of his angst later. "Alright," she said.

Without another word to him, Sara peeled off her wrinkled sweats and underwear, and dropped them into the laundry basket. Shivering, she quickly went back to the bed and got under the covers. Ian took more time, removing his barely worn clothes, folding them neatly, and returning them to the bureau drawer. On impulse, he pulled a pair of clean black silk pajama pants from the drawer and slipped them on before returning to the bed. Sara took one look at the pajama bottoms and lifted an eyebrow. Ian blushed and said softly, "I'm cold." Sara's eyebrow stayed where it was. "Uh huh," she said.

Ian sat on the side of the bed and waited. Sara stared up at him. He broke first. "You need to turn over," he said. "Ian…," she started. "Enough, Sara," he said softly, "Please. Let it go." Hesitating briefly, she sighed and rolled over to lie on her stomach, resting her head on bent arms. She felt him move over on the bed to kneel next to her, the cool silk of his pajamas brushing against her hip. He touched her shoulder, pushing the tawny fall of her hair aside. His long, clever fingers started with her neck, massaging the tight muscles there using deep, skillful strokes. Sara couldn't help it. She turned to liquid under his magic fingers. She'd forgotten just how good Ian was at this. By the time he'd worked his way down her back to her waist, Sara was a puddle of molten lust waiting to erupt.

Except that she couldn't. She couldn't because she didn't want him to think that all she wanted was to jump his bones. Except that she did want to jump his bones – and all those muscles covering them – in the worst way. As his hands began to knead the small of her back, Sara took a deep breath and pictured herself standing under an icy shower. She was damned if she'd be the one to initiate sex between them now. If he wanted it, he was going to have to beg for it. "Oh, shit," she thought as he began to caress the taut muscles of her cheeks, "I hope he wants it enough to ask for it. God, that feels so good."

A few moments later, Ian gave Sara's bottom a gentle pat to signify that he was finished. Then, he slipped under the covers by her side and stretched out on his back. Sara stayed still, lying where he'd left her, waiting to see what he was going to do next. After several minutes had passed and nothing more had happened, she was forced to conclude that what he was going to do next was go to sleep. Now, she was both really annoyed and really aroused. "Okay," she thought, "I'll take care of this the way I did before I had Ian. Screw him." She quickly pushed away the image that thought engendered. She rolled on her side with her back to him. Shutting her eyes, she slipped her hand down her body and slowly began to stroke herself.

When Ian heard Sara's breathing quicken, he pulled himself out of the sleepy drowse that he'd been dropping into. Listening intently to the familiar sounds coming from the other side of the bed, he asked, "What are you doing?" "What you didn't care to do," she responded panting. Ian squirmed beside her. The sounds that she was making were exciting him and his body was responding. "I never said that," he objected. She let out a little cry and he moaned along with her, aching for her. "Sara," he said, reaching out to touch her hip. She pulled away from him and the bed started to seriously rock with her fevered strokes. "No," she managed to gasp. Ian rolled over to face her and gently pushed her onto her back. "Sara, please. I'm sorry," he said urgently. But Sara was oblivious. At that moment, her body arched up off the mattress and she cried out as she climaxed.

Lying quietly, Sara smiled into the dark. She was deliciously spent, sated. Conversely, she could now feel Ian coiled like a serpent ready to strike beside her. She sighed softly and said with languid ease, "Goodnight, Ian." Still smiling, she shut her eyes and curled on her side in her usual sleeping position. She felt his tentative fingers, light as a feather, slide from her shoulder to her breast where they seductively teased a nipple. "Don't even," she said with finality. The questing fingers froze and then withdrew. "Sara?" he whispered, voice strained, "I'm sorry." "Fine," she replied, "Go to sleep." She heard him sigh deeply before he stretched out on his back again beside her. As she drifted off, Sara could hear him still trying to get his ragged breathing under control.

When Mobius opened the cabin door, his arms filled with firewood, the kitchen was dark. He came into the living room to find Vicki finishing setting up the featherbed by the fireplace. Moby carefully circumvented the makeshift bed to stack wood in the box by the fireplace. His back to her, he added several logs to the dwindling flames, restoring the fire to a roaring blaze. Turning, he stood tall, silhouetted by firelight. "You should not have moved the table by yourself, Po," he admonished her, "It's too heavy." Vicki's lips turned up in her quirky smile. "I'm not as fragile as I look," she said. "Still," he said, glancing at the sofa. She had not yet arranged the throw and pillows as she usually did for sleeping. He pondered that for a moment and felt some faint stirrings of excitement that he immediately attempted to quell.

"Well," Vicki said, fidgeting nervously, "I guess I'll go get ready for bed. It's likely to be another long day tomorrow." "Assuredly so," Moby agreed. She dug in her overnight bag until she found her pajamas. Carrying them and her toothbrush, Vicki went into the bathroom. Doing a deep breathing exercise to calm himself, Moby stripped down to boxers and a tee shirt. He turned off the lights and slipped under the comforter on the featherbed. Lying there quietly and replaying the kiss that afternoon, Mobius realized that he was trembling. He was well into another series of deep breathing exercises when Vicki finally came out of the bathroom clad in the flannel bunny pajamas. He watched her cross the room and sit on the sofa, the sound of his heart beating wildly in his ears.

"Umm, I was wondering," Vicki said hesitantly, "Do you think I might sleep down there with you tonight? I'm not propositioning you or anything. I just think it would be a lot warmer and that I'd get a better night's sleep." Moby cleared his throat. "I would be most delighted to share the featherbed with you, Po," he replied a little hoarsely. He rolled on his side and turned back the quilt, inviting her to join him. Vicki dropped down to the spot he offered, turning on her side with her back to him. She left a small, decorous space between them. Mobius pulled the quilt up over her, tucking it in around her. In the process, he managed to pull her small form back to rest tightly against his body. They both stayed still, unmoving, hyperaware of the closeness of the other.

Awake, they were held in check by their inhibitions. In sleep, they were less cautious. Perhaps an hour later, Vicki suddenly woke to find that she was now facing Moby with her leg wedged between his and her arm draped around his neck. Her head rested against his muscled chest. She could feel his warm, even breath against her hair. One of his long arms was twined tightly around her waist. They were so close it would have been hard to slip a sigh between them. Vicki froze, aware of every nuance of the warm male pressed against her. She knew that, if she moved, she'd likely wake him. "Don't want to do that," she thought a bit wildly. "He's so big and hard," her mind added. Those words suddenly reverberated in her head and she barely stifled a mad urge to giggle.

The quality of the breath ruffling her hair changed slightly and Vicki tilted back her head. Luminous rich chocolate eyes stared back at her. "Oh, god. He's awake," she thought, panic and passion fighting for control over her. Vicki shifted her leg a little and, as she watched, saw his eyes darken and heat. She only had a moment to think that "big and hard" was by way of being a premonition, before his lips pressed firmly against hers. A hazy red flared behind her eyes and, of its own volition, her tongue found its way into his mouth. As their tongues played tag, she felt his large, warm hand slide up the bare skin of her back under her pajama top. With a will of its own, her body strained against his until his desire also became very obvious to her.

Vicki suddenly felt out of control and all of her old, tried and true warning signals kicked in. Her mind began to repeat the mantra – "too fast, too fast, too fast" – even as she pulled back from Moby's intoxicating kiss. Her head dropped to his shoulder and she struggled to catch her breath. Mobius, sensing her hesitation, slipped his hand out from under her pajama top to rest back on her flannel-covered hip. He shut his eyes and fought desperately to regain control of his highly aroused body. He didn't want to scare her. "I'm sorry," Vicki mumbled into the hot skin of his neck, "I think that I need to slow down a little here."

When he felt able to speak, Moby whispered, "No apology is required, Po. You can have all the time in the world. I will be waiting yet." Charmed by his sweetness, Vicki lifted her head to look in his eyes. "Will you?" she asked. He nodded, caught and held by the light in her eyes. She let out a shaky breath and moved back from him a bit, putting a safe distance between them. "Maybe we could just cuddle a little tonight," she suggested. "Of course," he answered, giving her some space. She sighed and shut her eyes again, soon falling back to sleep in the safe circle of his arms. It took Moby a bit longer.

As he came awake, the first sensation that penetrated Ian's consciousness was cold. He was freezing. Groggy, he glanced toward the window to see whether it was open. No. It was still shut, but something about it seemed wrong. It seemed higher on the wall or the slant of moonlight pouring through the glass seemed wrong or…He gasped softly as Sara's warm hand slipped inside the silk pajama bottoms to grasp him firmly. The cold receded as she pulled the blankets closer around them. The blanket felt rougher than he remembered. He started to raise his head to look at it; then curiosity fled as Sara began to stroke him. "Who gives a damn about the blanket?" he thought, "She's touching me again. She's not mad at me any more."

Ian turned toward her, lifting his hips to push the pajama bottoms down and kick them off. "Don't stop," he begged breathlessly. "Don't worry," she red, sd, smiling. He didn't remember Sara's lips being so red. He wondered when she had put on lipstick. Ian leaned down to lick her nipple with his tongue and she arched her body against him, hissing. He tweaked her other nipple between his fingers, teasing it to hard arousal. She put her free hand behind his neck and raised his lips to hers, kissing him passionately. Her tongue pushed past his, delving into his mouth so deeply he thought she might brush his throat with it.

Ian pulled away a little, startled and needing air. She drew him back, kissing him again and taking his hand to lead it down her to rest in the wet folds below. Knowing what Sara liked, he began caressing her, only to have her cover his hand with hers and change the rhythm. He did what she wanted. He'd do anything to please her. Ian moaned deeply as she began stroking him so hard and fast that it was almost painful. It was also incredibly exciting. His body started to arch and she sensed that he was wavering on the edge of control. Sara pushed him on his back and straddled his hips, leaning forward to guide him inside her. She rode him roughly, with abandon, and he pushed himself up into her with each of her deep plunges onto him. Their coupling became frenzied, intense and wild. It kept spiraling up to burst in a shattering climax that made Ian scream her name, and left him limp and trembling beneath her.

Ian ran his hand slowly up her damp back to push his fingers through her hair. Her body still lay draped on top of his. He breathed in deeply and whispered, "I love you, Sara." "Do you?" she asked, lifting her head from his chest. His eyes flew open. Golden eyes met eyes that were midnight blue. For one moment, then another, everything stopped. Ian's mind refused to process what his eyes were telling him was true. The woman that he was holding, the woman that he was still buried deep within, was X, not . He. He screamed, "No," and pushed her from him so strongly that they parted with a wet smacking noise and she was flung to the other side of the shed. She righted herself and sat there watching him with unmitigated glee, laughing softly.

Ian dragged himself back against a rough wall, part of his mind registering that he was in the shed behind the cabin. He pulled his discarded pajama pants in front of him in a pathetic attempt to cover himself. His whole body shivered uncontrollably before hened ned to the side and got violently sick in the dirt. He kept heaving until there was nothing left inside him but agonized denial. X, tucking her silk shirt back into her leather pants, looked down at him and wrinkled her nose slightly in disgust. Ian raised his head to look at her, his face white as parchment. "How?" he rasped. She shrugged one elegant shoulder. "Your mind's very malleable, Ian," she said, "It was a simple thing to get you out here. You never woke. When you did, I used a simple glamour to make you think you were in bed with your precious Sara. It was easy. I never broke a sweat." He shut his eyes and moaned softly. X grinned and added, "At least not from the illusion. You're a wonderful fuck, Ian. Just like I knew you'd be."

Suddenly, X lifted her head and seemed to be listening to something. She shifted her gaze back to Ian, lying in a broken heap on the dirt at her feet. "Well," she said with great good humor, "I hate to fuck and run but duty calls. Have to go." A moment later, she was gone and he was alone. Ian was shaking so hard now that his teeth were chattering. Moving like an old man, he managed to get to his feet and pull the filthy pajama pants back on. He was still wet with her juices. That made his stomach cramp tight and he bent over again but there was nothing left inside him. Ian slid back down to the floor of the shed, drew his knees tight against his chest, and put his head in his hands.

Vicki wasn't sure what had woken her the second time. But, once she was awake, she realized that she needed to use the bathroom. She'd managed to disentangle herself from Moby without waking him. Now, coming back out of the bathroom, she was aware that her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. The fire had burned down low, leaving little ambient light. She headed toward the featherbed. Just as she was about to climb back in, Vicki heard Sara calling her. The weird thing was that it wasn't coming from the bedroom – from where she thought Sara had been. Sara's voice seemed to be coming from right outside the front door. "What the hell is she doing outside in the middle of the night?" Vicki thought.

There it was again. And now, it sounded like Sara was calling for help. Drawn by the urgent need of her friend, Vicki immediately headed to the front door, opened it, and stepped out into the darkness. A moment later, she knew that Sara was probably still asleep in the bedroom and that she was in big trouble. Directly before her and to each side of her, advanced a nasty, scaly demon thing like the one Sara had killed climbing up the tree. Red eyes glowed in the inky blackness and they were making soft hissing noises as they closed in. Vicki carefully reached behind her to find the doorknob, trying to fight the panic bubbling up within her and not to make any sudden moves. Her fingers closed around the doorknob and she readied to fling herself back inside, slamming the door behind her. She mentally counted to three and pushed backwards, twisting the knob. Nothing happened. "Oh, Shit," she thought.

Relief suddenly flooded through Vicki as a tall, dark-haired woman came walking casually around tide ide of the cabin. "If nothing else," Vicki thought, "She'll split their attention and maybe I'll have enough time to call for help." Her relief was short-lived. As the woman approached Vicki, she raised one languid hand to stop the demons in their tracks. It was a gesture of command. The demons stopped advancing and dropped to a crouch, snuffling the ground and softly hissing. Vicki figured that anyone who could control those loathsome creatures would probably be no friend of hers.

Vicki's mind started to run in circles. "Please, god, please god," a little voice prayed in her head, "Don't do this to me now. Not when I've just found someone good and strong who wants me too. Don't do this to me now." She blinked her eyes rapidly and started to shake. "Who are you?" Vicki asked the woman, stalling for time. The beautiful woman smiled back at Vicki, her eyes shining with malice. "I'm the angel of death, little girl," she replied. Then, she lifted her hand and the crouching demons leaped high into the air. Vicki screamed.

Vicki instinctively ducked away from the shower of flying glass as the window to her right exploded outward. Mobius hit the ground rolling, body tucked in a tight ball, before finding his feet. In the gentle hands that had so recently caressed her body, he hefted the Lance of Longinus. Moving so fast he blurred, Moby plunged the Lance into the demon advancing from the right. He then swung the Lance in a great arc, the dead demon still impaled on its point, toward the feral creature approaching Vicki head on. The side of the Lance hit the hideous horned head of the beast so hard that the crack of its breaking skull echoed from the surrounding trees.

Vicki's eyes were glued to Mobius. She had forgotten the horror still moving toward her from the left. Just as one of its razor-sharp claws slit open a long, shallow gash in Vicki's forearm, a flash of black hurtled around the left side of the cabin to slam into the remaining beast. A feral growl came from Ian as he pinned the creature to the ground. With stunning efficiency, Ian viciously twisted the head of the creature until its neck snapped.

Ian raised his head with a snarl. Golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight, he stood slowly. Like a panther stalking dinner, he began moving toward the tall woman who was trying to reach the cover of the trees. She glanced behind her and came to a decision. The distance was too great. She'd never make it before he was on her. X stopped and held her ground, ready to face Ian now on a different battlefield. Moby started to come to his friend's aid but Ian's soft voice stopped him. "She's mine," he hissed. Moby nodded and went to Vicki's side instead, his arms slipping around her as the two tall antagonists began to circle each other.

Vicki jumped, sensing movement behind her. Sara had just come tumbling through the front door, which was no longer barred due to X's distraction. She looked around her wildly trying to take everything in and figure out what was going on. Her eyes slid from the dead demons, to Moby and Vicki, to Ian playing cat and mouse with X in the turnaround. Fiy, hy, her eyes returned to Vicki and she said, "Shit, Vick. You're bleeding." She ducked back into the cabin, quickly returning with towels from the kitchen. Her eyes locked on Ian, Sara tore the towels into strips. Still watching Ian, she firmly bound up Vicki's damaged armstaustaunch the bleeding.

Sara had seen Ian do his katas and she'd seen him kill. She knew his moves. A frisson of disquiet shivered through her because the Ian she now saw tracking his prey was a stranger. She knew Ian the warrior. He was pure ice, calm and controlled. He was the embodiment of lethal skill, not a tool of bloodlust. Yet now, through her bond with him, Sara felt the man prowling the darkness before her crave blood. He wanted to rip and rend and tear. And when there was nothing left but bloody pieces, he wanted to grind them under spike-tipped boots. This Ian yearned to bathe in his victim's blood under sanguine moonbeams. Sara shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold night air. "What the hell is wrong with him?" she wondered, confused.

Sara's morbid reflections abruptly ended because the battle had begun. Unnerved by Ian's silent stalking, X snaked out a hand to gouge three narrow gashes into his cheek. Ian smiled as if thanking her, backed out of her reach, and resumed his patient vigil. A look of fear briefly twisted X's patrician features before she regained her composure. Her eyes flicked toward Sara. "Too bad you don't fight as well as you fuck, Ian," X taunted, smirking, "If you did, this would already be over and you'd have won." Ian suddenly pivoted with dizzying speed to pull X against him. He twisted her right arm behind her until a sharp crack sounded like a pistol shot in the darkness. X screamed in agony. Ian just as quickly released her to slip out of range again. The whole thing seemed to happen in a second.

X cradled her broken right arm against her, panting in pain. Ian moved continuously, circling her. She kept turning to face him, trying to keep him in sight, clearly unnerved. Her face glistened with sweat. "Don't," she begged softly. Ian smiled coldly. The side of his foot shot out to connect with her left kneecap. It snapped with a crisp dry sound – like a twig breaking. X screamed again and fell to her right knee. He was playing with her. She groaned and dropped lower, from her knee to her hip. X sat in the dirt, obviously finished. But Ian was still moving, circling closer to her all the time like death's inevitability.

Vicki touched Sara's arm. "Sara, make it stop," she pleaded. Sara shook her head to clear it. She'd been enced,ced, mesmerized by Ian's calculated destruction of his enemy. Now, her common sense and innate humanity prevailed. Vicki was right. X was beaten. This had to be stopped. Sara started to move toward them. She stopped at the midpoint of the turnaround, the strangeness she sensed in Ian holding her back. He was still slowly circling X who lay at his feet. "Ian," Sara said. He stopped. His eyes lifted and met hers. Sara's breath left her in an audible gasp. She knew those beautiful golden, long-lashed eyes. But she wasn't sure she knew the man looking out at her from behind them.

Sara told herself that she was being fanciful. This was the man she loved, the man that she was going to marry when this hell was past them. "Get a grip, Sara," she thought, "It's Ian." "Let it go, Ian," she said softly, reasonably, "She's beaten. She can't hurt us anymore. I'll see that she's put away for a long, long time." Sara started to move clo to to secure the perp, but Ian said, "Stop." His voice was soft, flat. Sara didn't even think about not doing as he asked. She froze where she was. She swallowed hard and tried again. "Ian, honey," she said, pitching her voice low, "You've won. She's helpless. Please, baby, let me lock her up in the shed and turn her over to the authorities in the morning." In that same toneless voice, Ian said, "No." Then, he calmly reached down and broke X's neck. She crumpled flat on the ground in a boneless heap.

Both Sara andki ski screamed, "No," but it was too late. The woman was dead in an instant. Ian stood still looking down at her. Then, not turning left or right, he walked past Sara, past Moby and Vicki, and disappeared into the cabin. Once inside, Ian went directly to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stripped off the filthy silk pajama pants and threw them in the trash. Turning the shower on full, he stood under the hard spray of nearly scalding water and started to brutallrub rub himself.

For another few moments after Ian went into the cabin, nobody moved. Then, Vicki shifted her body – obviously in pain – and Moby took charge. "Lady Sara," he called to the stunned woman still rooted above the motionless body in the middle of the turnaround, "If you will see to Po's wound, I will clean up this mess." Sara nodded mutely and began walking back toward her friend. Sara helped Vicki into the kitchen as Moby began collecting bodies for burial. Vicki sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. "What's wrong with Ian?" she asked, voice strained. Sara squeezed Vicki's shoulder. "I don't know, Vick," she replied.

"Where's your medical bag?" Sara asked. Vicki's eyes had slipped shut. She was really starting to feel rotten. Her arm felt like it was on fire. At the same time, it was getting harder to think clearly. "Vick?" Sara repeated. "Uhh," Vicki stalled, trying to remember, "In the bathroom, I think – in cabicabinet under the sink." "Shit," Sara thought, "Ian's in the bathroom." She'd heard the shower running as soon as she'd come in the cabin. She wasn't ready to face him yet. She needed some time to think about what had just happened and his part in it. Sara ran her hand roughly through her hair. There was no help for it. She needed that medical bag.

Sara went to the bathroom door and listened. The shower had finally stopped running. Now, she couldn't hear a sound on the other side of the door. She cleared her throat nervously and knocked lightly on the door. "Ian?" she called, "Could you please get me Vicki's medical bag? It's in the cabinet under the sink." She still heard no movement beyond the closed door and she wondered if he'd even heard her. Sara was getting ready to knock again when the door opened a fraction and his hand emerged holding Vicki's medical bag. The skin on his hand looked red and raw. Sara frowned. She reached out to gently touch a scraped, bleeding patch near his knuckle. Ian dropped the bag, pulling back his hand as if it had been burned. The door closed with a sharp click. A second later she heard the lock fall back into place.

Sara fought the urge to ask him whether he was okay. She knew what he'd tell her. Although her instincts screamed at her that Ian was in pain and that she should help him, Sara's first prioritght ght now had to be Vicki. And, if she was honest with herself, Sara had to admit that she was a little afraid of Ian at the moment. The strangeness that she sensed in him scared her. It was going to be a very longht. ht.

Back in the kitchen, Sara found Vicki slumped over the table. She quickly knelt beside her friend, lifting her head and lightly slapping her face. "Hey, Vick, Vick," Sara kept saying, over and over, the slightest edge of panic starting to permeate her voice. After an endless minute or two, Vicki's eyes fluttered open. "Hey, there you are," Sara said, relieved, "What's going on with you, Po? I bandaged your arm. It just looked like a bad cut – painful, I know, but not really serious. What's with the swooning here? Are you trying to get my sympathy or something?" Vicki blinked furiously and looked at Sara, confused. "I don't know what happened," she said, faintly, "I'm feeling really funny, Pez. Something is way off here."

Sara pulled the other kitchen chair around the table so that she could sit next to Vicki. She started unwrapping the towel strips that she'd tied around Vicki's arm. When she exposed the cut in the light of the kitchen, Sara could see that the area all around it had now darkened to a deep, unhealthy-looking purple and her whole lower arm was swollen. The cut itself seemed enflamed. Sara touched the unbroken skin next to the gash. It was hot and tight. Vicki moaned in pain. "Something is not right here, Vick," Sara agreed, "It looks like it's gotten much worse since I last looked at it."

Vicki licked dry lips. "Could you please get me some water, Pez?" she asked, "I think I'm running a bit of a fever." Sara swung around to pull a water bottle out of the refrigerator. She handed it to Vicki and then touched her forehead. Vicki was burning hot. Sara was now starting to worry big time. "Jesus," she said, "You're really hot." Vicki took a swig of water and started to cough. She managed to get the hacking spasm under control but it obviously weakened her even more. Her eyes dropped shut again and she said softly, "I'd love to lie down for a while but I don't think that I can make it to the sofa."

Sara came to a sudden decision. She needed help. She patted her friend on the back and said, "Hang on, Vick. Help is on the way." Sara went to get Ian. When she entered the living room, she saw that the bathroom door was now open and the bedroom door was shut. Taking a deep breath, Sara crossed the room and knocked lightly on the bedroom door. "Ian," she called, "I'm coming in." Unlike the bathroom, the bedroom door had no lock. When she opened the door, she saw him standing at the window staring out – he was in the same position as when she'd first entered the bedroom so many hours ago now, when he'd asked her whether she just wanted him for sex. He was fully dressed in black sweats. He even had on socks and running shoes. She frowned. Ian never wore shoes in the cabin. He always went barefoot.

Wringing her hands, Sara said, "Baby, I know that you're hurting. I know something awful happened to you even if I don't know what it is. I want to help you – and I will. But, right now, I need you. There's shinghing really wrong with Vicki and I need your help." He turned his head and his eyes widened slightly. For a moment, she wondered if he'd even heard her. Then, he said softly, "Where is she?" "In the kitchen," Sara replied, "Are you coming?" He nodded. Sara headed back toward the kitchen, almost at a run. She could feel fol following close behind her. When they got there, Ian dropped to his knees beside Vicki, whose head had again slumped to the kitchen table.

With gentle hands, Ian lifted Vicki's head. She was unconscious. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand and frowned. Ian gently laid Vicki's head back on the table. He carefully lifted her arm to study the livid wound. "This isn't good," he said softly. Sara nodded, still wringing her hands. "That's what I thought," she replied. He looked up at Sara from where he still knelt beside Vicki. "I think the wound is poisoned and I think the toxin is spreading pretty rapidly through her system," he said, "I'm going to put her on the bed where she'll be more comfortable. Is that okay with you?" "Of course," Sara said.

Ian picked Vicki up and carried her into the bedroom. He eased her on the bed and pulled the quilts up around her. He turned back to Sara. "Where's Moby?" he asked. "Burying the bodies," Sara replied. Ian nodded. "What can we do for her?" Sara asked. Ian shook his head. Although he was pretty sure that she was oblivious, Ian didn't want Vicki to overhear their conversation. He took Sara's elbow in his hand and led her into the living room, pulling the bedroom door ajar behind him. "We can try to make her comfortable," Ian said, "Cool, wet cloths for the fever and the infected arm."

Ian pushed a hand through his hair, dislodging a few strands from his tight ponytail. "As far as the poison goes," he continued, "Even if we could get her to a hospital in time, the chance that they'd have an antitoxin for demon venom is beyond remote." Sara's eyes started to fill with tears and she blinked them back. "What if we brought in one of the dead demons – so that they could take some its blood. Maybe they could figure out how to counteract the poison," she said hopefully. Ian smiled sadly. "How much time do you think all that might take?" he asked. The tears spilled over now and rolled slowly down her cheeks. "Too much," she whispered. He nodded, reaching out a hesitant hand to caress her cheek and wipe away tears.

The cabin door opened and Mobius came in looking dirty and tired. He froze just inside the doorway, studying their faces. Then, he glanced around the cabin. An uncharacteristic look of p bri briefly flitted across his strong face. "What is it?" he asked, his deep voice hushed, "Where's Po?" Sara sank to the sofa, putting her head in her hands. Ian walked over to his friend and led him into the kitchen. Sara could hear their soft voices and knew that Ian was telling Moby what had happened to Vicki. In a few minutes, Moby came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of water and some towels. He disappeared into the bedroom.

Ian came out of the kitchen and sat beside Sara on the sofa. "I think we have one chance," he said. Sara lifted her head and turned toward him, sudden hope in her eyes. "What?" she asked. He took a deep breath and said, "The Witchblade." Watching her carefully, Ian saw the hope fade from her emerald eyes as quickly as it had been born there. "Why should It help Vicki?" Sara asked, "It heals you for Its own reasons – becayou\you're the Protector, because It has the hots for you, because of who knows why. It has no stake in healing Vick. Why should It?" Ian shrugged. "Maybe just because we ask It to," he said, "It's the only chance we've got here. It's worth a try, don't you think?"

Sara's lips curved in a bitter smile. "Yeah," she said, "You're right, of course. I really burned my fucking bridges, didn't I? I wasn't exactly cordial to It when last we met. Remember?" Ian'es ses suddenly looked haunted. "Yes, very well," he said. She took a deep breath. "So, how should I do this?" she asked, "Should I just go back in the bedroom, take hold of Vicki's arm, and will it to heal her?" The corner of his mouth turned up. "I don't think It will just respond to that, do you?" he asked.

Sara's shoulders slumped. "No, I guess not," she replied, "I need to go back to Witchblade Land, don't I?" Ian nodded. "I think that's the only way that you're going to get Its undivided attention to state your case," he agreed. "Crap," she said with feeling. "Do you want me to come with you?" heed. ed. Sara was both surprised and humbled by his offer. "You'd do that?" she asked. Ian didn't look particularly happy about it, but he did look determined. "Yes," he said. She reached out to touch his ruddy cheek, briefly wondering why it looked so red. His other cheek still bore the deep scratches that X had given him. "I love you," she said softly.

A kaleidoscope of emotions shifted through his golden eyes – surprise, hope, guilt, shame, regret – before they dropped again, veiled by the thick lashes. "Do you want me to go with you?" he repeated. "I'd be very grateful if you did," Sara said, "I don't want to do this alone." Ian nodded and took a deep breath. "We'd better get started then," he said, "I don't think that Vicki has a lot of time." She studied him. "What do we do?" she askedSameSame thing we did last time," he replied, "When we asked It to heal me. We use our connection and we ask It for an audience." Sara gave him a brave smile and reached out to take his hand. "Okay, ace," she said, "Let's go begging."

Ian went into the bedroom to tell Moby the plan. When he came back out, shutting the door quietly behind him, Sara asked, "How's Vicki doing?" Ian looked grim. "Not good," he replied, "Steadily losing ground. If we're going to do this, we need to do it now." Sara nodded. Ian went over to put another log on the fire. The cabin was getting cold again and they didn't need that additional distraction while they made their attempt. When Ian rose from his crouch before the fireplace, he stood still for a moment, gazing into the rising flames.

Sara moved to him and tentatively touched his arm. Ian turned back to her sharply, startled by her touch. She stared into his troubled golden eyes. "Ian," she said, kno know that this isn't going to be easy for you – dealing with the Witchblade again so soon. I just want you to know how grateful I am that you're willing to do it." He shrugged. "I'll manage," he said, "The important thing right now is Vicki." "Yeah, of course," Sara agreed, "But when we get back, when Vicki is okay, then we need to talk." He blinked once before turning away from her againra sra smiled ruefully. She could almost see the wall of resistance beinisedised. Sara lifted her hand to very gently caress his scratched cheek, turning his face back toward her in the process.

"Listen to me for just a moment, my darling," she said, her voice so soft that he had to strain closer to hear. She had his full attention now. "I know that something awful happened between you and that bitch X. I don't know what it was, but I can sense its aftershocks in you. I don't want to force you to talk about it or make you feel worse than you already do. I just want to hold you close and try to help you get through it. If you love me as much as you say you do, you'll let me do that for you. I need to help you this time. Okay?"

His golden eyes went wide and then got shiny. A single tear escaped the thick lashes and rolled down his cheek. Ian moved close to Sara, putting his arms around her and resting his face against the top of her head. She put her arms around him as well and held him tight, gently rubbing his back. "I love you, Ian," she whispered, "Very much." "I love you too," he whispered back. She could feel the raw emotions that were bouncing around inside him, threatening to overwhelm him. It was with a visible effort that he finally managed to get himself back under control.

Ian cleared his throat and said, "We should start." Sara nodded. She gave him one more quick, tight hug and then stepped away from him. They moved to the clear area at the center of the room, where they sat cross-legged facing each other. She smiled at him encouragingly and Ian pulled Excalibur from the pocket of his sweatpants. He slipped the ring of power back on his right hand and extended that hand to Sara. She met his eyes and stretched her right hand toward him. Ian grasped her wrist with his fingers, bringing Excalibur and the Witchblade into direct contact. As always, for the first few moments nothing happened, making them wonder whether this time they would fail. Then, the world around them began to fade and they felt the familiar vertigo that signaled a dimensional shift.

When Sara opened her eyes, she was in that place that she'd sarcastically dubbed "Witchblade Land." She quickly turned her head. Yes, there he was. Ian stood beside her, looking as disoriented as she felt. She held out her hand to him, needing to feel a physical connection with him. Apparently, Ian needed it too bec he he immediately grasped her hand tightly in his. He gave her one of his rare, full wattage smiles to signal his encouragement. Sara's lips lifted weakly in return. The soft, modulated laugh startled them both, making them swing their heads to the front simultaneously.

Sara but not Sara, Witchblade Sara, gracefully descended the steps of the dais that held that throne-like chair that was so reminiscent of the one that Irons owned. As Witchblade Sara moved toward Ian, the real Sara felt his hand tense in hers. "Hello again, my beautiful Protector," It said, gazing deeply into his golden eyes. Ian dropped his head in a gesture of respect and, perhaps a bit of fear. "Hello, my Lady," he said softly. It stretched out one long finger to raise his chin so that It could again look into his eyes.

The air around them began to shift and crackle. The sense of malice pouring off the Witchblade was suddenly palpable in the still, smoky air. Its head swung around toward Sara. Startled emerald eyes met their menacing reflection. "Who has dared to trifle with my Protector in this way," It roared. Sara snorted at the irony. "Although Ian and I haven't discussed the nature of the 'trifling' yet," she said, "The perpetrator is dead – so you can untwist your knickers. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't already know about this through your connection to Ian."

"A great deal is occurring right now because of the impending Convergence," It said, a bit petulantly, "Even goddesses cannot be everywhere. Who killed her?" "I did," Ian replied. The Witchblade gave a slow, bloodthirsty smile and pushed Its fingers through Ian's thick hair to cup the back of his skull. His eyes squeezed shut and his hold on Sara's hand became painful. The Witchblade pulled and replayed the images of X's demise from Ian's mind. After a few moments, It released him with a disgusted snort. "You were much too merciful, Protector," It growled throatily, "You should have disemboweled her, ripped off her sex and shoved it down her throat." Ian's lips curved in a dry smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've been trained not to make a mess," he said.

Sara cleared her throat. The Witchblade moved awrom rom Ian. It returned to stand directly in front of her. "So, you've come to ask me for another healing," It said, waving a languid hand, "I will gladly take this pain away from the Protector." Sara and Ian bsaidsaid, "No," in unison. An expression of surprise flitted across the face that was so much like Sara's own. "You did not come to me for a healing?" It asked, confused. "Yes, we did," Sara replied, "But it's not Ian that we've come to ask you to help." Its eyes narrowed. "Very well," It replied, "I'm listening." Sara took a deep breath. She then recounted the attack that had occurred earlier that evening, explaining Vicki's injury and her currenspersperate condition.

"And you have come here to ask me to make this woman well again?" It asked, obviously already knowing the answer to that question. Sara saw no point in responding, but Ian replied, "Yes. Please." The Witchblade turned toward him and sighed. "This is not a simple thing that you ask of me," It said. "Why not?" he asked, "You've healed me several times now – for which I'm very grateful." "That is different," It said. Ian shook his head. "I don't see how," he countered with that stubborn look that Sara knew so well. She couldn't help but smirk. "Let's see how the Witchblade likes dealing with Ian when he's in this frame of mind," she thought.

"Not that I have to justify my actions to you, Protector," It said, an edge creeping into Its voice, "But you are blood of my blood. You and the Wielder are connected to me through a primal link. That fact affords me some freedom in the actions that I take concerning you. This would not be the case with a stranger." Sara shut her eyes and dropped her head. "So, are you saying that you can't heal Vicki?" she asked, miserable. Ian gently squeezed her hand, also waiting tensely for the Witchblade's answer. "No," It replied, "I did not say that. I can heal this woman through you, Wielder. In this case, however, there will be a price for performing such a deed." "You would demand a price to heal an innocent?" Ian asked, outrage tingeing his voice.

The Witchblade smiled at the bristling Ian. "No one is truly innocent," It replied, "You should know that better than anyone. And it is not I who would demand the price for this deed, my self-righteous Protector." Ian blushed and dropped his head. "If not you, then who demands a price," Sara asked. "It is the system of balance and checks, the Powers That Be, the Man Behind the Curtain. Give it what name you will – there is a higher power and it is the way of things," the Witcde sde said. "Is this that whole duality thing again – good and evil, dark and light, action and reaction?" Sara asked. Witchblade Sara shrugged. "That is, perhaps, another way to look at it," It said, "The point is that, if you ask me to take this action, it will be contingent on the completion of another action." "Tit for tat," Sara said.

"Okay," Sara continued, "What's the price to heal Vicki?" "I will no longer freely be able tal yal you or the Protector as I have in the past," It said, "From this point on, if I do, there will also be a cost." "Fine," Sara said quickly, "I agree to those terms." "Not so fast," Witchblade Sara countered, "Think about what you are doing, Wielder. Think about the repercussions of this action you are so eager to take. The Convergence is nigh and there have been warnings." "I can't let Vicki die," Sara said. The Witchblade stepped back to face Ian. "This also concerns you, Protector. Counsel her. Do not allow her to hastily make a foolish choice that she will rue." Ian shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "But I agree with Sara. We must save the life of our friend if we can."

"Once this course is set in motion," Witchblade Sara said ominously, "It cannot be undone. Again, I ask you to think of what you want me to do. Examine it from all sides. Consider all of the consequences of your actions." Sara stared at the face that was a mirror of her own for a moment before she turned to Ian. "Are you okay with me making this decision for both of us, baby?" Sara asked. Ian nodded. "Yes," he said, "I'm fine with it." Sara nodded back, her expression set and determined. "Then, we humbly ask you to heal our friend, Vicki Po," Sara said formally.

The Witchblade sighed, resigned. "Done," It said, "It shall be as you have requested. Return to your friend and touch her with the gauntlet. She shall be healed. Anow tow that, from this point on, I can no longer heal either you or the Protector without the payment of a deed of equal price – without, as you said, 'tit for tat.'" Sara inclined her head at the deity that was her double. "Thank you," she said. Ian stepped forward to kneel before the Witchblade and to take Its hand in his. He pressed his lips reverently to Its fingers. "Thank you, my Lady," he whispered. It turned Its hand to stroke his cheek. "I fear that you thank me too soon," It said, then turned Its head toward Sara, "Go now. Your friend is running out of time."

As the mists around them started to swirl, Ian heard Witchblade Sara's voice in his head. "I am sorry for what you have suffered, my Protector," It whispered, "And I can no longer take away your pain as I would wish. I will, however, ease one of the fears that I sense within you. Although the filth that abused you was warped, she was not diseased in any way. She did not leave you with any taint that you could pass along to the Wielder. Does that ease your mind a bit, my Defender?" A wave of relief and gratitude washed through Ian. He hadn't realized until that moment just how deep that fear had already drd dod down inside him. "Yes, it does," he whispered back, "Thank you, my Lady."

After another disorienting shift and nauseating bout of vertigo, they found themselves back in the main room of the cabin. Once again, they were sitting cross-legged across from each other on the floor. Sara shook her head to clear it. She suddenly went rigid and said, "Vicki." She pushed herself off the cabin floor and stalked across the room to the bedroom door. She pushed open the door without knocking and moved past Moby, who was sitting on the near side of the bed. He'd been blocking her view of her friend. Although she could see for herself that Vicki was in a bad way, Sara asked him, "How's she doing?" "She is dying," he softly replied. His voice was uncharacteristically hushed and thick. When she glanced at him, Sara saw the tears that were rog ung unchecked down his cheeks.

Sara reached out and squeezed the big man's shoulder. "It's going to be okay," she told him. Moby looked at her as if she was crazy. Then, he must have seen something in her eyes, because his own desperate chocolate eyes searched them deeply looking for answers. Sara turned her head and called, "Ian."appeappeared in the doorway, sized up the situation quickly, and nodded. "Come with me, my brother," he said to Moby, "The Wielder needs room to work and you look like you could use a cup of tea." Mobius shook his head. "I cannot leave Po now," he said, voice ragged, "She is failing so quickly." Ian moved to his friend's side. He took Moby's arm, practically lifting him up from the bed and guiding him toward the doorway. "Everything is going to be fine," Ian told him soothingly, "Trust me, Moby. Everything will be fine." Ian led him from the room, all the while talking to him softly, and shut the door behind them.

Now that Sara was alone with Vicki, she was able to take a good look at her friend. Sara's eyes welled up with tears that spilled over, rolling down her face. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a soft sob. Vicki looked ghastly. Her left arm was grotesquely swollen with deep, livid blue-black streaks of poison marring a mottled red and white background. The visible track of the demon's venom had reached her shoulder and was winding its insidious way down her chest toward her heart. Vicki's face was an awful pasty white with flushed red cheeks that signaled the fever raging through her. Her dry, cracked lips were slightly parted to emit harsh, painful gasps for air. She was quite obviously, as Moby had said, dying.

Aloud, Sara said, "Okay, Pezzini. Get a hold of yourself. Vicki needs your strength, not this weak sister act you're pulling. Let's get this show on the road." Sara sat up straighter, gathering her strength. She turned and put her back to the headboard of the bed, sitting directly next to Vicki. Sara placed her right hand on Vicki's ravaged left arm and willed the Witchblade to activate. Again, there was that awful, pregnant pause. This time, Sara did not allow herself to doubt – too much was at stake. Instead, she shut her eyes and forced herself to believe that the Witchblade fully intended to kees pas part of their bargain. In another moment, she heard that familiar, telltale snicking sound. When she opened her eyes and looked down, the gauntlet covered her right forearm.

Now grasping Vicki's poisoned arm in her gauntleted hand, Sara willed the Witchblade to heal her friend. She felt sudden warmth in her hand and light began to emanate from the gauntlet. The brilliant golden glow poured out to cover Vicki's hand and move up her arm to her shoulder and chest. It spread until it suffused the entire area where the poison raged through Vicki's still body. Sara watched open-mouthed as the unhealthy colors in Vicki's infected shoulder and arm slowly receded, to be replaced by normal, healthy skin tones. Simultaneously, the awful swelling gradually began to drop until Vicki's arm was once again its regular shape. Within a half hour, although she still hadn't moved from the deep slumber that seemed to hold her, Vicki appeared to be her regular self again.

Sara was still holding Vicki's arm with the Witchblade gauntlet when Vicki's eyes shot open and she sat straight up on the bed, letting out an explosive gasp. Sara caught her friend and held her, watching her carefully to see what was going on. There was another sharp snick as the Witchblade gauntlet retracted back into its quiescent bracelet form. Vicki clutched Sara's arm with both of her hands – both of them normal size again – and turned to look into her face. Her face lit up with a smile of pure wonder. "I thought that I was dead," Vicki said. Sara felt tears rolling down her face again. "I'm turning into a regular mushpot," she thought sniffling.

Aloud, Sara said, "Are you kidding? You're too mean to die." Vicki's smile quirked into her trademark lopsided grin. "I guess that means that you're immortal, huh?" she shot back. Sara gave a great, shaky sigh and shut her eyes. "Oh thank god, Vick," she said, breathlessly, "You scared the hell out of me. Don't ever do that again, okay?" Vicki pulled Sara into her arms and hugged her tightly. "You brought me back, Pez," she said, "How in the hell did you pull that off?" Sara pulled out of the embrace to study Vicki more closely. "I made a deal with another sort of devil," she replied, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Vicki flexed her left arm gingerly. "A bit stiff and really tired," Vicki said, "But, other than that, I feel fine." "Man," Sara said, "You scared us all to death." She immediately winced, realizing that was a poor choice of words. "Speaking of which," Vicki said, "I have a vague memory of Mobius holding me in his arms and crooning to me in that deep, soft voice of his. Did I dream that?" Sara bolted upright. "Oh shit. Moby," she said, "He and Ian don't know yet that you're okay. He was really desperate. Ian took him out of the room so that I could work on you with the Witchblade. I'll go get him."

"Wait," Vicki called. Sara froze with her hand on the doorknob. "Have you got a comb in here?" Vicki asked, "I must look like the Wreck of the Hesperus." Sara laughed as she went to get her comb off the bureau. Handing it to Vicki, she said, "I really don't think he's going to give a shit if your hair is a little messy, Vick." Vicki frowned. "Probably not," she replied, combing out snarls, "But I care." "Ready?" Sara asked, back at the door. This time, Vicki nodded. "Ready," she said.

Sara opened the bedroom door. Any lingering animosity that she might have felt for Moby because of his aborted attempt to kill her dissolved in that moment. He was sitting on the sofa, head in his hands, obviously in misery. Ian sat next to his friend, one arm protectively around his heaving shoulders. She couldn't hear what Ian was saying, but he was leaning in, offering whatever comfort he could to the grieving giant. She doubted that Moby heard a word of it. "Hey," Sara called. Both men's heads came up like a shot. "You can come back in now," she said.

Moby almost knocked Ian over in his rush to get up off the sofa. As he swept toward her, Sara gently caught his arm, smiling. Sara watched as the fear was edged out of Moby's eyes by wonder when he saw her smile. He turned his head and his eyes lit on Vicki, healthy again and sitting up in bed grinning at him. A glorious smile illumined his handsome face as Moby stopped in the doorway facing Sara. He took her right hand in his and reverently lowered his lips to touch the swirling red stone of the Witchblade. She heard him murmur, "Thank you, my Lady." When he raised his head, his eyes were filled with awe. Sara squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable under his worshipful gaze. She nodded toward Vicki and said to him, "Go to her." He obeyed her immediately and Sara moved into the living room, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

Sara sat on the sofa next to Ian. "How is she?" he asked. Sara smiled wearily and reached out to wrap her fingers around his. "Good," she replied, adding, "God, I'm tired. This night has been endless." He glanced at the window. It was just starting to get light outside. "It's almost over," he said softly. Sara turned her head to study his shuttered golden eyes. "There's a lot there that he's trying to hide," she thought, "But I think that we're both too tired to deal with it right now." He leaned back into the sofa and, very tentatively, pulled her into his embrace. "Why don't you try to get a little rest now?" Ian asked, "A few hours sleep anyway. Lazar will be back this morning and we'll have to succeed with the orb today or we're truly fucked."

Sara smiled at his use of one of her favorite obscenities, knowing that he'd done it to distract her. "You win, ace," she said, settling herself comfortably into his arms, "Where's the throw? I'm a little cold." She felt Ian's hard body shift beneath her and then she felt him pull the soft fleece throw over them, tucking it around her. She snuggled tighter against the long, warm length of him, shutting her eyes. He shifted a little too, getting more comfortable. She stretched her arm across him, hugging him gently. "Are you okay?" she whispered sleepily, "Are you going to be able to sleep?" She felt his lips against her hair. "Yeah. I think so," he whispered back, "Just keep holding onto me. Okay?" "I've got you, baby," she assured him, "I'm not letting go."

Mobius stopped a foot short of the bed and stood perfectly still, looking down at her. Vicki looked back up at him. "It's going to be kind of hard for me to reach you if you stay all the way over there," she said, "Are you going to force me to come to you? It m be be difficult. I've been sick, you know." Her name came from him on a long, expelled sigh, like a moan, "Poooooo," as he dropped to his knees beside the bed. His big head fell on her outstretched hand and she felt his warm lips touch her palm like a benediction. She could see his shoulders shaking. His voice was so soft and deep that she almost wasn't sure that she'd heard him outside her own mind. "I saw your death," he whispered.

Vicki smiled. She couldn't help it. She was awfully glad to be here. "Yeah. Well, you know what they say," she replied slyly, "The reports were greatly exaggerated." She lifted her other hand to rub the smooth globe of the back of his shaveull.ull. Beneath her hands, she felt as well as saw the strong shudder that went through him. The palm where his hidden face still rested grew wet with his tears. Vicki felt a tiny quiver of awe deep within her that her near loss had brought this strong man to his present lack of composure. In the next instant, she felt guilty that she was finding his vulnerability llinlling. "C'mon, Vick," she chastised herself mentally, "The appropriate response here is comfort, not excitement."

She slipped her fingers under his chin and lifted his face to study him critically. "You look like hell," she decided. His full lips twitched and the rich chocolate eyes regained a touch of mirth. "That is appropriate," he rumbled softly, "Because you have taken me there and back this night." Her dark eyes widened as her fingertips traced the tears still damp on his cheeks with wonder. "I'm sorry that I scared you so badly," she whispered, "Forgive me?" Now, he did smile as he pulled her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss. "I will do so only if you promise never to frighten me like that again, Po," he said, "I will not lose you." She felt another little tremor shiver through the pit of her stomach, but it didn't show in the lopsided grin that spread across her face. "You say that now," she challenged him only partly in jest, "But give me another month and you'll probably be looking for ways to get rid of me yourself." Moby met her eyes squarely and replied, "No. I will not."

His certainty took her breath away. Things had suddenly become dead serious, no pun intended. What had been a flirtation, certainly a strontractraction, had without warning escalated into something else. Vicki's eyes dropped from his in confusion. "Whoa. What's happening here? Am I ready for this?" she asked herself. Moby cleared his throat and Vicki looked back at him again. "It is my turn to ask your forgiveness, Po," he said, "I suspect that I have now frightened you with rdorrdor. You have just returned from death's door. This is a new journey that we do not need to embark upon right now. You require rest and care. Let us put our attention in that direction. Will that be acceptable?"

Vicki nodded, grateful for the space that he offered her. So much had happened to all of them over the last couple of weeks. She needed some time to think. Emotionally, they were all balancing on the edge of a razor sharp blade until the Convergence came and, hopefully, went. In this rarefied atmosphere, who could tell what was real and what was a product of the heightened circumstances in which they all found themselves. It wasn't a good time to make life-altering decisions. But in the back of her mind, an insidious little voice snickered and snidely remarked, "Right, Vick. You keep feeding yourself that rationalizing drivel. Now that it's offered, you're scared shitless of making this kind of commitment because it opens you up to getting hurt. You're just a sniveling coward. Admit it."

Moby had been watching the stunning play of emotions across Vicki's mobile face. He hadn't a clue what was going on in that clever brain of hers. He desperately hoped that his precipitous acknowledgement of his feelings for her had not ruined their growing relationship. "Po?" he said hesitantly. Vicki's eyes refocused and she shook her head ruefully. "Sorry," she said, "I guess I'm still a bit spacey." "No apology is necessary," he replied, "I should probably give you some peace so that you can rest now. You have been through aat oat ordeal." Grabbing at the change of topic, Vicki agreed, "I am a little tired. Maybe a couple of hours sleep? Then, I need your help with something." Moby formally inclined his head. "I am yours to command," he replied.

That statement made Vicki's fertile brain skitter back off in directions that she was trying hard to avoid. Shookhook her head a little to clear it. "I want to go back into the city today. I need to put in a couple of hours in my lab. Do you think you could take me there and bring me back?" she asked. Moby looked at her for a moment before he replied. "I can most assuredly take you there," he said, "But I think that you should give some careful thought as to the wisdom of coming back." Vicki's mouth drew into a stubborn line. "Of course I'm coming back," she said, "If you're not willing to make it a round trip, then I'll find another way." Mobius held up a hand in defeat. He had already become familiar with the look that was now on Vicki's face.

"It will be as you wish," he agreed, "What do you seek to accomplish in your laboratory?" "My blood now has traces of both the demon's venom and whatever the Witchblade used to neutralize it," Vicki said, "I want to use it to create an antitoxin. If I can do that, then I can inject you guys and, if one of you gets scratched by a demon during the Convergence, you'll be okay." Mobius shook his head, beaming at her. He lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. "You are as wise as you are beautiful," he stated. Vicki ducked her head, blushing charmingly.

She cleared her throat. "So, you'll wake me in a couple of hours then and we can head into the city? I know it's pushing it but I want to be back here again before midnight. It looked to me like that woman Ian killed was directing the demons, so maybe they won't just come back onir oir own. But, if they do, we need to be ready." Moby let go of her hand, which he still held. "Sleep now, Po," he said, "I will take care of everything else. I will wake you in two hours." He rose from the bed and went out the door, closing it softly behind him. "He moves like a tiger," she thought, already half asleep, "So graceful for such a big man." And then she was lost to her dreams.

On his way to the kitchen to make tea, Mobius stopped to study the pair twined together in sleep on the sofa. They fitted together like each had been made with the other in mind. Moby sighed deeply. He was worried about his friend. He had known Ian for a long time and they had been through some very difficult times together. He sensed that what Ian was going through now and what he had yet to experience was worse than any of those hard times they had shared. And is bes because of his love for her, the Wielder. Moby fervently hoped that Ian's love wasn't goto bto be the death of him. That love had already caused him to be raped, although Moby knew that Ian still did not regard what had been done to him in that light. The reverence in which he held the Witchblade and Its connection with Sara would not allow him to see it that way.

And there was that element in the mix as well – the Witchblade and Ian's role as Its Protector. Perhaps it was more than just Ian's love for Sara that was shaping him; perhaps his destiny also drove his actions. As they were all engulfed in events of cataclysmic proportions, the myth and the man became one. Moby ran a hand across his tired eyes. It was all becoming more than his feeble brain could handle, he thought. He just knew that he was worried. More and more lately, he had the sense that an express train was speeding toward them and that they were tied to the tracks. In another few days, it would be over, one wr anr another. He wondered who would still be standing.

With another deep sigh, Moby headed into the kitchen. He filled the kettle with water and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for it to boil. Running a shaking hand over his shaved pate, he shut his eyes. He was bone tired. He was going to have to dig deep to do as Po wished, getting her into the city and back in the span of a few hours. If he had his druthers, he'd sleep for the next eight hours or so. The desire to sch och out on the featherbed and just let go of everything was so strong that it was a physical ache.

The whistle of the kettle brought him awake with a jolt. He dived to move the kettle and turn off the heat before the noise woke Ian and Sara in the next room. Moby sat still for a moment, blinking the sleep from his eyes and listening for stirrings in the silence. Nothing – the silence of the cabin was unbroken. Relieved that he hadn't woken them, Moby quietly fixed his tea. He managed to take two or three good sips of tea before his eyes drooped shut, head dropped to the table, and he fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Lazar hated it when the shock value of his sudden appearance was wasted as it was now. No one had jumped when he'd materialized in his favorite chair because everyone appeared to be asleep. He frowned. Why were they all still asleep at eleven o'clock in the morning? Across from him on the sofa, the Wielder and Protector were wrapped around each other to create a single f scu sculpture of skin and muscle. Sound asleep, it was difficult to determine where one of them ended and the other began beneath the black, fleece throw that casually covered them. Lazar decided that he'd check on the whereabouts of the other two before waking them.

Looking in the kitchen first, Lazar found Mobius still seated at the kitchen table, also asleep. His big, shining head was turned sideways and cradled on his folded arms. His slow, even breath whistled through slightly parted lips. A half-filled mug sat before him. Lazar leaned down to sniff it – herb tea, he decided – most certainly cold by now. He studied the sleeping warrior and snorted. "Another deadly and ever-vigilant Black Dragon bred to protect the Wielder and the Gate," he thought. "And where's the little, sharp-tongued doctor?" his ruminations continued.

Lazar made his way to the bedroom and carefully opened the door. Vicki slept curled on her side in the bed, snoring softly. He frowned. Her face was very pale and large, dark circles shadowed her eyes. She looked like she'd been pulled through the proverbial wringer. "What in the name of all that is holy transpired here last night?" he wondered. Looking like a large malicious elf, Lazar smiled to himself, relishing the chaos he was about to create. He stepped back into the living room and pulled the the bedroom door with a resounding bang. All hell broke loose.

The sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen, followed by a deep melodious curse. An explosive gasp emerged from behind the closed bedroom door, followed by a string of inventive, highly original expletives. A brief feminine yelp issued from beneath the fleece throw on the sofa, right before the tangled forms of the Wielder and Protector tumbled from the sofa to the floor. Lazar moved closer to the sofa so that he could fully enjoy what he had wrought. Ian lay on his back on the floor beside the sofa. He raised his head and blinked his eyes, groggy and disoriented. Sara lay on top of him, her head resting on his chest. Now, she lifted and turned it to gaze up at Lazar. Fiery green eyes narrowed and lips thinned, she rasped, "Thanks for the gentle wake up call." She was still not fully awake, but she was already really annoyed with him.

Lazar turned and sm to to see Mobius standing in the kitchen doorway, blinking rapidly. He studied Lazar blearily as he tried to size up the situation before him. He held the shards of his mug, still dripping cold tea, in his big hands. Now, to put the icing on his cake, the bedroom door was flung open to reveal Vicki swaying there and squinting, wrapped tightly in Sara's ratty old bathrobe. "What the fuck is going on now?" she delicately demanded. "That is exactly what I would like to know," Lazar replied, surveying his handiwork.

Sara rolled off of Ian, sat up, and blew the hair off of her face. Free of her weight, Ian finally sat up as well, still looking confused about what he was doing on the floor. Sara stood and held out her hand to Ian, who took it and also rose from the floor. "What time is it?" she asked. "Just past eleven," Lazar said, "Did something occur last night?" Vicki laughed at the massive understatement. Lazar cocked an eyebrow at her. "Apparently so," he said, "Might someone tell me about it?" Suddenly remembering her plans for the day, Vicki said, "Oh shit." She leaned around Lazar to look at Moby, still standing in the kitchen doorway holding the remnants of his mug. "I'll be ready to go in half an hour," she said to him. He nodded.

"Go where?" Sara asked her. "Mobius is going to take me to my lab," Vicki replied, "I think I can come up with an antitoxin for the demon venom fairly quickly using a sample of my blood. I'm probably immune to it now but this will protect the rest of you. I want to get a move on so we can be back yet tonight." Sara studied her friend. "That's a great idea," she said, "But it might be best if you just send it back with Moby. Maybe you should…" And that was as far as she got. Vicki compressed lipslips into a hard line. "I'm coming back, Pez," she said, "That's not open for discussion." Sara sighed. She knew that she didn't have a chance in hell of winning this one. "Okay," she acquiesced. Vicki grinned. "Cool," she said, turning back into the bedroom and closing the door.

Sara swung back to Ian as he ran a hand over her shoulder and down her arm. "Coffee?" he asked. She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, baby," she said. Ian headed into the kitchen. Moby dropped his fractured mug in the trash, grabbed his bag from the living room, and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Left alone together in the living room, Sara and Lazar studied each other warily. Lazar returned to his chair andntednted to the sofa. "Sit, Wielder," he said. When she hesitated, he added, "Please." Sara stifled a sigh and sat across from the Watcher. "Now, please," he said, "Tell me what happened here last night."

Sara gave him a condensed version of the events of the previous night, hitting the high points. When she finished, Lazar was silent for a long while, stg ing into the fire. He looked infinitely sad. "Ian again," he murmured. Sara briefly shut her eyes, then said, "Yes. Ian again. We haven't talked about it yet. Of course, he doesn't really want to talk about it – he can't keep it bottled up though. I don't really know what that bitch did to him but it was bad." Lazar turned his head to meet her eyes. "I would think that it would be obvious to you," he said softly, "She wanted him. The only way that he would ever go near her is if he thought that she was you. With her paranormal abilities, a glamour would be child's play for her." Sara shut her eyes again. "Yeah," she said, voice tight, "I guess I did know. Maybe I just thought that, if I didn't admit it to myself, I could pretend that I was wrong."

Lazar sighed deeply. "You will need to be very careful when you broach this with Ian," he advised Sara, "His sexuality is so new and fragile. He is still very naïve in so many . He. He must be beginning to believe that Kenneth was right – that his sexuality makes him too vulnerable." "You think that he'll just close down? Not want to be touched at all again?" she asked. Now, the old man met her eyes directly. "And if he did?" Lazar asked. Sara stared right back at him. "If he did, we'd work through it together," she said, "Ian is not some play toy to me. I'm in for the long haul." Lazar gave her a genuine smile, his watery blue eyes warm. "Then, I will cease to worry about our Protector," he said, "He is in good hands. Just be wary to curb your natural impatience, remembering how easily you could damage him further. The boy has been damaged enough." Sara bit her lip and nodded.

Lazar turned his face back toward the fire. The warmth did nothing to drive away the chill that had settled within him. He suddenly looked very old. "Now, to the other matter," he said. "What other matter?" Sara asked. "Tit for tat," he replied. She dropped her head. "I should have known that was coming back to bite me on the ass," she thought, wanting to run away from everything. "Tell me again exactly what the Witchblade said to you," he demanded. At that moment, Ian returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with a coffeepot, mugs, cream, and sugar. He put the tray on the floor between the sofa and chair and sat on the sofa next to Sara. She saw her reprieve. "Ian's better with that exact wording stuff," she said to Lazar as she dove for coffee, "Why don't I let him tell you."

"Tell what?" Ian asked. "All the deal crap for healing Vicki," Sara replied, pouring a full mug of steaming coffee, "Lazar wants to know exactly what the Witchblade said." "Oh," Ian replied, helping himself to some coffee too, "I'm not sure that I can remember the exact wording. A lot was going on last night, some of it's kind of hazy." Lazar frowned, frustrated. "Apparently, this is something else that neither one of them wants to think about too deeply," he decided. Well, that was too bad. The repercussions from this action could be disastrous for all of them. He needed to know exactly what they had done in the, albeit noble, effort to save their friend.

Three heads raised as Mobius came from the bathroom fully dressed. A moment later, Vicki emerged from the bedroom, also ready to go. "Another reprieve," thought Sara gratefully. Beside her, she heard Ian's soft sigh of relief at the interruption. Vicki grinned at them, grabbing her coat. "Okay, gang. We're off," she said, "Can we bring you anything from the city?" Sara made a face. "How about some good Chinese food?" she asked. "We're probably going to be back really late," Vicki cautioned. Sara shrugged. "That's okay," she said, "I can always heat it up tomorrow if I don't eat it tonight." Vicki nodded. "I'll try, Pez," she replied, "No promises though. I don't know how long I'll need to work in the lab before I get this right." Sara held up her hand. "No promises," she agreed.

Following the flurry of Moby and Vicki leaving, there were a few moments of silence while everyone studiously sipped coffee. Then, Lazar picked up again where he'd left off. "Alright, Protector," he said, turning to Ian, "Suppose you simply tell me what you can remember – hazy though it be – about what was required to heal Dr. Po." Ian cleared his throat and glanced quickly at Sara, who gave an infinitesimal shrug of her shoulders. "The Witchblade said that the price for healing Vicki was that it could no longer freely heal Sara and I," Ian related, "Should it be asked to heal one of us in the future, there would be an equal cost for the action." "Did It seem comfortable with your acceptance of this condition?" Lazar asked. Ian and Sara exchanged another quick glance. "It did warn us to think abthe the consequences," Ian said very softly, "I believe that It mentioned the Convergence and warnings."

Lazar sighed and said, "As I feared." Sara burst out, frustrated, "Damn it, what were we supposed to do? Let Vicki die? She got hurt because she's caught up in our fight, because of us." "And that is precisely why she should not have been here," he replied. "But her dreams," Sara said stubbornly, "Don't they mean that she's supposed to be here?" "Do you know the origin of those dreams, Wielder?" Lazar asked, "Because I do not. Suppose they were yet another manipulation of our recently departed enemy." Sara frowned. "You mean X?" she asked, feeling Ian stiffen beside her. "Precisely," Lazar responded.

"Shit," Sara said with feeling, "Should I call her at the lab and try to convince her to stay away? I don't think she'll listen but I could try." Lazar shrugged. "The damage is done," he said, "And there is an argument for having a doctor close – particularly if she is able to develop this antitoxin as she intends." Sara chewed on a nail. "So, you're worried about the price that will be asked to make things right if one of us gets hurt during the Convergence. Is that it?" she asked. He nodded and pointed out, "As you should be." Sara studied the enigmatic older man. "How bad could it be?" she asked, "We're the good guys, aren't we? If we save the world, shouldn't these fucking Powers That Be cut us a little slack?" A small smile just raised the corners of Lazar's lips. "Ah, I see," he replied, "You are expecting life to be fair."

Sara shut her eyes and expelled a soft breath. "Point taken," she said, "Jeez, I'm a homicide detective in New York City, for god's sake. You would think that I'd have learned by now that nothing is fair, wouldn't you? Are we really screwed?" Lazar shrugged again. "I have no idea," he said, "But my instincts tell me that another door has been opened. I am not sure that any of us will want to face what may lie beyond it." "It's done," Ian said, "And we could have done it no differently." He'd been so quiet that the sound of his voice caused both of them to turn to him immediately. "What's the point of worrying about it?" he continued, "We can only be so careful when we're fighting to preserve the future. We'll deal with the cost of our bargain if we have to. Yes?"

Sara turned to Ian and smiled. She rubbed the back of her hand against the clean lines of his bearded jaw and then leaned over to kiss him softly on the lips. He shut his eyes and kissed her back. When he opened his eyes again and she studied them, she could see the jumble of emotions still roiling just below the surface. At the moment, he had them carefully under control but sometime soon they had to be dealt with or she felt sure that a meltdown was immanent. "Yes," she said, linking her fingers through his, "You're absolutely right. We'll deal with it when we hto.\to." Lazar nodded, letting it go. "So be it," he said.

Lazar decided that a change of subject might be wise. "How are you feeling?" he asked them, "Have you recovered fully from the effects of your attempt to use the orb yesterday?" Sara ran a hand through her hair. "God, that seems like a year ago," she said, "Yeah, I'm actually feeling pretty good now that I've had some sleep and some coffee." Sara looked at Ian and asked, "How are you feeling, baby?" "I'm fine," he answered. She couldn't hide the smile. "Surprise, surprise," she thought. "What?" he asked. The smile got broader. "It's just that you could be at death's door and you'd still tell me that you were 'fine'," she said, "I don't know why I even ask." He shrugged and turned his head to stare moodily into the fire. Sara frowned and worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

Lazar, watching the interplay between them, thought, "Our enemies may have lost onetheitheir key players last night, but they also left quite a bit of damage in their wake." He cleared his throat. Ian and Sara both looked at him again. "We must make another attempt to activate the orb today," he said, "Are you ready?" Sara's stomach growled loudly and both men smiled. "Sorry," she said, "But I haven't eaten since dinner last night. If I don't get some soup or something in me, I'm going to drop. Can we grab a quick lunch before we make another try?" "Of course," Lazar said benevolently, "Go. Eat. I'll just wait here for you to finish."

While Lazar sat by the fire, Ian made a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches and Sara heated a can of tomato soup. They ate quickly, aware that their mentor was waiting for them impatiently in the next room. Stomachs filled, they grabbed their coats and went outside. It was a clear, sunny day. The air was crisp and cold. While Lazar and Sara waited, Ian got the orb from the spot where he had hidden it. They were about to walk to the clearing when Sara cried, "Wait a minute." She disappeared back into the cabin and returned a moment later carrying the lance in her left hand. "We shouldn't just leave it lying on the mantle, should we?" she asked. Lazar inclined his head to her. "I am obviously distracted," he said, "You are correct, Wielder. One does not leave objects of power lying around unprotected."

When they reached the clear Ian Ian put the orb in the cleared spot on the ground where it had rested the day before. The whole area for several feet around it was scorched. Then, he and Sara once again took their positions in the Triumverate – parallel to each other with Sara facing the far side of the clearing and Ian facing back toward the cabin. From his position on the large rock at the side of the clearing, Lazar directed, "Remember the feel of the power that came to you yesterday. Prepare yourself for it. Do not let it master you. Grasp it strongly. Shape it. Join your minds and see the Gate. Make that Gate real. Are you ready?" Sara and Ian turned their heads to look into each other's eyes. "I love you, ace," she thought at him. The golden eyes widened a little and he smiled. "I love you, Sara," she heard him softly respond in her mind.

"When you have built the Gate, steady yourselves," Lazar instructed, "Keep it in place for as long as you are able." Ian turned to Lazar and nodded as he pulled Excalibur from his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he slipped the ring of power onto his finger. As had happened the day before, electricity crackled through the suddenly heavy air and the orb began to glow. It moved off the ground to hang suspended on its shining tripod. The Witchblade's sharp metallic snick immediately followed and Sara's right arm was now sheathed in the gauntlet.

The expected light show followed, with sparks and flickers of lightning striking on a path that rapidly opened between the orb and the linked objects of power. With a blinding flash, the connection was made and, this time, Sara and Ian held their ground – their bodies bending and shaking against the onslaught of raw power like willows in a windstorm. For an instant, Sara felt a touch of blind panic as the electricity ran along her nerves like millions of little mouse feet. Then, Ian's calm presence gently rested itself against those frayed nerves, soothing and steadying them.

In her head, she heard his soft voice, "We control the power of the orb, Wielder. We have to shape the Gate. I need your help. I'm not strong enough to do it myself." Sara reached out to touch his mind, replying, "I'm here." Working together, they shifted the pure energy into a slab of white, hot power that stretched out about ten feet long and twelve feet high. Then, they held it there. Once they had the Wall stabilized, Lazar began barraging them with a steady stream of comments and directions that Sara found both distracting and annoying. Keeping her focus gripped tightly on holding the Wall, she finally yelled at the old man perched on the rock, "Could you just shut up for a while? You're driving me nuts and it's getting hard to concentrate here."

Lazar smiled. "That is precisely the point, Wielder," he replied, "The Enemy will not simply sit quietly and wait while you build and hold the Wall against Him. He will attack you – both psychologically and physically. You will not have the luxury of giving your undivided attention to holding the Wall. Do you understand?" Sara sighed loudly. "Yes. I understand," she replied impatiently. She felt Ian brush against her mind like a warm caress. She took a deep breath and chuckled ruefully as she got her temper back under control. Sara sent her own soft stroke back to Ian. "Is that better, 'Protector'?" she whispered sensuously in his head, a thought wrapped in a languid lick. She could feel his affirmative response, couched in a lovely little mental shiver.

The more time passed, the harder it became to hold the Wall. It was particularly difficult for Sara, who was less adept than Ian at maintng png prolonged periods of concentration. Although Sara fell prey to it first, inevitably both of their minds started first to drift and then to wander. Lazar saw the outer perimeter of the Wall begi shi shimmer and crackle. He settled in to wait for the impending collapse without remorse. He was actually quite pleased that they'd been able to hold the configuration for this long on their first successful attempt.

The edges of the Wall started to fray as Sara's mind wandered to the night when she'd taught Ian the wonders of penny candy. As her memory plied her with visions of Ian covered in sweet purple powder, she felt a twinge of arousal and some of the blood left her brain to spread its warmth lower. Lost in those pleasant memories, Sara was totally unprepared for the sharp stab of distress that suddenly pierced her wandering thoughts. Snapped back by her connection to Ian, a series of images and sensations began flashing strobelike within her.

Still caught in the afterglow of sex, she stared into deep blue eyes instead of her own verdant green and felt numbing shock. Racked by agonizing spasms of self-loathing, she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor of the shed. Curled into a fetal ball, wracked by shame, revulsion, and guilt, she wanted to hide, to become one with the rest of the dirt under her feet. The Wall collapsed. Sara stood still, her body rigid, stunned by the picture show that Ian had unwittingly played for her. To her right, Ian sank to his knees, covering his face with his hands. He made an awful sound deep in his throat, like an animal in mortal pain.

That sound brought Sara's head around to see Ian huddled in misery. Her heart broke as she realized that he had managed to twist things around so that he was blaming himself for what had happened. Behind her, she heard Lazar say softly, "Go to him, Wielder. Heal him if you can. We need his strength and this has damaged him. If anyone can put him back together, it is you." He touched her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "I leave him in your gentle hands," he continued, "Be patient. I know that you will not fail us." When she turned her head to answer him, Lazar had already disappeared.

In a few steps, Sara had covered the distance to where Ian knelt crumpled in the dirt. She sank down beside him and reached out to pull him into her arms. For a moment or two, he fought her embrace, his body stiff and unyielding to her touch. Then, his need for her overcame his resistance and he clung to her, burying his face in her thick hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered raggedlhe she stroked his back soothingly and said, "For what? You're not to blame here. I won't let you blame yourself for this, Ian. You've done nothing wrong." She felt his head shake against her shoulder. "I should have known. I shouldn't have let it happen," he said.

"That train of thought is just wrong in so many ways that I can't let you keep it," she replied, "You're a man with a lot of special abilities, baby, but you are just a man. And, you're not even up to full speed at the moment. You took a hell of a jolt of raw energy yesterday and last night you were still feeling the effects of those pain pills Vicki gave us. Add to that, the fact that the bitch had an arsenal of really formidable paranormal powers." She heard him sigh. "I feel soiled," he said. "I know you do," she said, "I've seen some of what you did to yourself trying to scrub it away." "It didn't work," he whispered, "I don't think I'll ever feel clean enough for you again."

Sara put her hand under his chin and tried to turn his face to hers. He resisted. "Ian, look at me," she said. Very reluctantly, smoky golden eyes met clear green. The direct look lasted only a second before he veiled his gaze through the heavy dark lashes. "I love you. And I want to be with you tonight," she said, "Even if it's only just to hold you in my arms. Any more is up to you because I won't force anything. But, in my eyes, you're spotless." He shivered a little in her arms but stayed silent. "Can we get up off the ground and go back to the cabin now?" she asked. Just noticing, he asked, "Where's Lazar?" "I guess that we did okay with the Wall today," Sara answered, "He could see that we had some stuff to work out between us. He split so that we could get on with it. Shall we?" Ian stood and held out a hand to help Sara up. They walked back to the cabin side by side, close but not tong. ng.

They had made surprisingly good time driving into the city. Thrust back into the hustling turmoil of the metropolis, Vicki felt a startling loss of equilibrium. The throngs of people, the ceaseless movement of them made her dizzy. Just when had the weird microcosm of the cabin and its environs turned into her real world, she wondered. How had the solid practicality of this city she'd known her whole life become ephemeral and unreal? Looking out the window of the car, Vickn a n a hand roughly through her hair, leaving endearing, spiky clumps in its wake. "Jeez, Vick," she told herself, "Get a grip."

Vicki glanced at the big, taciturn man sitting to her left. He navigated the car through the killer midday traffic the same way that he hurtled through plate glass to kill demons with his bare hands. He and Ian, two of a kind, she thought – adaptable, flexible, unflappable. The perfect men for two raging schizoids like she and Sara. Perfect, that is, if you ignored the fact that they were conditioned, chemically-altered assassins who calmly lived with one foot in a world of shapeshifting jewelry, superpowered villains, and immanent Armageddon. She tweaked her tortured hair again. Her lips twitched in that quirky grin. "And what the fuck is reality anyway?" she thought, "Like Lily Tomlin says, it's only a collective hunch."

She felt the scrutiny of those big brown eyes before his velvet growl could startle her from her reverie. "Are you well, Po?" he asked. "Struggling with a bit of culture shock," she replied, "But, other than that, I'm managing. How are you?" She heard the soft rumble that was Moby's laugh. "Understanding how you are feeling," he replied, "In the blink of Fate's eye, we four have become a world unto ourselves, have we not? The Master appears to instruct us from time to time and, but for that, we are self-contained, an ecosystem unto ourselves. It is this world that seems the illusion." Vicki snorted, a bit unsettled at how closely his thoughts had matched hers. "It's disorienting," she decided. "Indeed," he agreed.

They drove the remaining few blocks to the precinct in silence, each caught up in their own tangled musings. When they pulled into the parking lot, Moby left the car running. Vicki turned to him, raising a quizzical eyebrow. He smiled, wondering if she had picked up this technique from the Wielder. "I will leave you here, Po," he said, "There are some things that I must do." She frowned, instantly suspicious that everyone was still trying to get rid of her for her own good. "What things?" she asked. He sighed, deciding that it did no harm to humor her. "I wish to stop by my apartment to water my plants," he said, "Ian asked me to check the loft to insure that all is well and to procure some specific shampoo that the Wielder has been missing. There are also some purchases that I wisto mto make."

"You have plants?" Vicki asked, charmed by the image of the fierce warrior wielding a watering can and pinching dead leaves. Moby nodded. "I do," he said. She still didn't move. He took her small hand in both his large ones. "Po," he said, "I give you my solemn word that I will come back for you. Alth I a I am ambivalent as to the wisdom of your desire, I know that you feel you must be part of the Convergence. I will honor your wishes." Convinced, Vicki squeezed his hands in acknowledgement of his pledge. Instinctively, she knew that both Black Dragons were driven by honor and that he'd be as good as his word.

Reaching for the door handle, Vicki said, "Okay. I'll see you later." She'd shut the car door and was starting to walk away when she heard him call to her. She turbackback and bent to look in the window. "What?" she asked. "Is there anything that you would like me to obtain for you as I shop?" Moby asked. Vicki thought for a moment and then a happy smile lit her face. "Yeah," she said, "Chocolate." Mobius studied the face that was becoming very dear to him and smiled back, "You shall have it," he replied. Vicki waved and turned away again, heading toward the precinct door. Moby watched until she had disappeared from his sight. Only then did he drive away.

Vicki headed straight for her basement lab. She felt a curious desire not to see anyone, a strong reluctance against having to interact with anyone from the regular life that she'd left only a couple of weeks before. It was a feeling that she decided not to question. It came from her gut and it was strong, so she went with it. Unfortunately, her friends and co-workers in the lab weren't tuned in to her desire for anonymity and, as soon as she opened the door, they were on her. "Why was she back from vacation early?" "Where had she gone?" "Had she met anyone interesting?" That one made her snicker. She thought of clawed demons and Black Dragons, realizing again just how skewed her reality had become. She answered their questions as best she could, trying to massage the truth rather than lie outright. Vicki had a strong aversion to telling lies, no matter how justified they might be.

When the excitement died down, they allowed her to retreat to her tiny office. She made one more foray into the lab to gather her microscope and theer eer equipment that she'd need. That done, she settled in to get to work. She'd been working for about an hour, utterly engrossed in what she was doing, when she felt eyes on her. She looked up startled, to meet the intense regard of Danny Woo. She hadn't even heard the door. Vicki's eyes closed briefly. She'd seen Danny work a suspect. He was like a terrier with a bone. "Shit," she thought, sighing, "I make a lousy conspirator. Please don't let him back me into a corner." He continued to study her silently for a while. Uncharacteristically, Vicki kept her mouth shut.

Vicki didn't need to ask how he'd known she was in the lab. She knew all about the precinct grapevine. Finally, Danny said, "You look like hell." Vicki's lips twisted into a grin. "Nice to see you too, Detective," she said. "How is she?" he asked. He didn't need to say who. They both knew who he was asking about. "She's okay," Vicki replied, "Shedealdealing. She's a lot stronger than I ever realized." Danny nodded. "Damn straight," he said. It was obviously something that he'd known all along.

Twerewere silent for a couple of minutes before he asked, "Can I help?" Vicki nodded. "Absolutely," she said, "Keep that family of yours out of the line of fire and keep them safe." He nodded back, understanding exactly what she was telling him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking troubled. "Tell her to watch her back. Okay?" he asked,ou bou be careful too. We can't afford to lose either of you." "I will," Vicki agreed. He was almost out the door when he turned back to say softly, "Hey Vick?" She raised her head, eyes clouded. Her mind was already enmeshed in the chemistry before her. "Yeah?" she asked. "Tell her I love her," he said. Vicki's eyes softened. "I will, Danny," she said. He waved a hand and was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Alone again, Vicki plunged back into her search. She'd made good headway toward identifying the elements to create an antitoxin, but there was still a of wof work ahead of her. By late afternoon, she was almost there. That's when she sensed that she was being watched again. She lifted her head, rubbing tired eyes. Jake McCarty watched her from behind the glass pane in the closed door. Vicki sighed. "Swell," she thought, "Just fucking swell." He took her attention as invitation and opened the door. "Hey, Doc,re yre you been keeping yourself?" he asked her. Vicki's smile was strained. "Here and there," she replied vaguely, waving a hand, "Been on vacation." His eyes narrowed. "Uh huh," he said, "I called your place – a lot – got no answer." "What did you want?" she asked, trying to deflect him. "To know what prompted the sudden vacation," he said.

"Oh, well, you know," Vicki fudged, "A bunch of stuff." "Where you been?" Jake asked. "Visiting friends," she replied – which wasn't exactly a lie. "Out of town?" he wanted to know. "Uh huh," she said, "Not that it isn't nice to see you, Jake. But I'm kind of busy right now." "What are you doing?" he asked. "Crap," Vicki thought, shutting her eyes. When she opened her eyes, her salvation was looming behind him. Her welcoming smile was genuine. "Hi," she said to Mobius, towering behind Jake in the doorway, "I'll just be a little longer." "Take your time, Po," he growled softly.
e jue jumped, swiveling in the narrow doorway to look up and up at the much bigger man directly behind him. His blue china doll eyes went wide. Caught offguard, he asked, "Who the hell are you?" An unmistakable air of menace glinted in the narrowed chocolate eyes that regarded him dismissively. Moby didn't move forward but Jake stepped back. "Why would you need to know that?" Moby countered in a deep, silken purr. Vicki stood so quickly that her pen clattered to the floor. The sudden air of impending mayhem was palpable in the tiny room. "He doesn't," Vicki said, stepping around Jake to put a small hand on Moby's hard chest. She had carefully inserted herself between them. "In fact," she continued, "Detective McCarty was just leaving. Weren't you, Jake? It was lovely to see you. We'll catch up when I get back. Okay?"

Jake blinked rapidly several times, feeling compelled to exert his masculinity at the same time that he was scared shitless. The conflict locked him in place for a moment before his fear sensibly overrode his machismo. "Yeah, sure. Okay," he said, backing up enough to put a safe distance between himself and the muscled mountain in the coroner's doorway. "Later," he added. He walked away a few steps more before he turned back. Inclining his head at Moby, Jake said, "Nice to meet you," in snide tones. Moby smiled, contempt glittering in his bright eyes. "And I, you," he replied cordiallyke tke turned and beat it the hell out of there.

Vicki's breath left her in a great whoosh. "Jeez, you guys," she said, "Next someone was going to ask for the measuring tape." Stooping to pick up the fallen pen and return it to her desk, Moby looked confused. As he righted himself, her remark jelled in his mind and he laughed out loud. "Not at all," he said, eyes twinkling, "An older method of measurement would require your hand – and arm – that would be my preference." Vicki's mouth quirked into a rakish grin. "Did you just make a joke?" she asked. He shrugged, eyes still laughing. "Forgive me?" he asked. She nodded. "Of course," she agreed, "But now you've got me intrigued." He smiled broadly and touched one finger to her bottom lip. "A touch of curiosity is both natural and healthy," he replied. Dark eyes locked on darker and the temperature in the close room rose by several degrees.

Then, Vicki nervously cleared her throat and the moment passed. In an effort to cool himself down, Moby changed the subject, "How does your research progress?" he asked. Digging her fingers through her hair, Vicki returned to the chair behind her desk. "Pretty well," she replied, "I've isolated the basic components that I need. Now, I just have to pull the antitoxen together. Before I inoculate each of you, I want to do a scratch test just to be sure that you don't have a reaction. If we get past that with flying colors, I think this will do the trick. The demons will just be nasty, not nasty and fatal."

Mobius sat down in the chair in front of her desk and warmed her again with his eyes. "Beautiful women are exciting," he purred, "But beautiful and intelligent women are intoxicating." Vicki grinned. "Yeah, well, before my radiance makes you tipsy," she said mockingly, "Do you think you could bring me another beaker from the lab?" He stood and turned toward the door, saying, "I am yours…" Vicki snorted, eying him fondly. "To command," she finished, "Yeah, yeah. I know. A little power is a dangerous thing. You better be careful how much of yours you relinquish to me." He turned his head to tell her that he would trust her with his life, but Vicki was already back at work, using her highly rational science to brew demon bane.

The walk back to the cabin had been a silent one. In the fading light of the clearing, both Ian and Sara had been forced to confront some of their own demons. Those demons might not have scales and poisoned claws but they were just as deadly as those that did. Sara was struggling. Not only wasn't she sure how to help Ian get past what had happened to him, she was terrified of making things worse. She knew that sensitivity wasn't her strong suit. Ian, on the other hand, was oversensitive. He was adept at finding the smallest negative nuance in her words or her body language and u it it to lacerate himself anew.

Sara was quite sure that deep inside him, Ian still listened to Irons' unceasing litany of his worthlessness. In the world and with the people around him, Ian clearly recognized words and actions that reinforced the picture of himself that he had been insidiously trained to see. So, when something bad happened, it was somehow always his fault. When he was hurt, he must have somehow brought it on himself, he must have earned the pain. It was only pleasure, joy, love that caught him unawares. And if he let himself take those wonderful gifts, then the agony that inevitably followed would be that much worse – and justified, always justified – not because he had necessarily done anything to merit it, but because of what he, intrinsically, was. Misery, after all, was his just desserts for being Ian. No other rationale was required.

Entering the cabin, Sara sighed. "Start simple," she told herself. She turned to Ian. "Vicki and Moby will be eating in town," she said, "Why don't we have a special dinner tonight – just the two of us?" Ian studied her warily for a moment. "Alright," he ad, \d, "What would you like?" She fought back the double entendre that immediately sprang to her lips. He didn't need to be dealing with sexual wordplay at the moment. "How about that great chicken stir fry that you make?" she asked, "I can do a salad." He nodded, looking a bit more comfortable. This was solid ground, not the quicksand that he'd been afraid she'd lead him toward. "I'm going to get a shower and change," she said, "Why don't you start dinner? Then, you probably want to clean up too." "Sure," he agreed, already moving to the kitchen. "So far, so good," she thought.

Feeling much better now that she was clean, Sara stood in the bedroom debating whether to put on the emerald green silk caftan that she held in her hands. She didn't want Ian to feel pressured that she was trying to seduce him. She tilted her head to the side to consider that. "Is that what I'm going to do?" she asked herself. She shook her head. "Damned if I know," she thought, amused, "We're both venturing into uncharted territory here. I don't want to scare him." "Shit," she said out loud. She could stand here immobilized, second guessing herself all night or she could just get to it. She slipped the caftan over her head. It rested next to her naked body like a slithery second skin. She pulled her clean, fragrant hair into a thick ponytail, high up on her head. She smiled. "Dressed for success," she thought, and headed toward the kitchen.

Ian was standing at the stove stirring the contents of a wok, his back to her. It smelled heavenly. She moved close behind him and very carefully slipped her arms around his waist. His body immediately stiffened against her, then slowly relaxed. Sara took a deep, steadying breath. fir first reaction to her touch had thrown her. "That smells great," she said, "I just realized how hungry I am." He put the spoon on the stove and turned to face her, casually stepping back out of her embrace. Thick-lashed amber eyes glowed, studying her. "You look beautiful," he said. "Thanks," she returned lightly, "I felt like wearing something 'girly' tonight. Go get your shower. I'll watch the food."

After giving her one more appreciative look, headheaded for the bathroom, stripping as he went. Turning the heat low, Sara kept one eye on the stir fry so that it wouldn't burn while she made the salad. When she finished that, she opened a bottle of Chardonnay and set the kitchen table. Since it was only the two of them again, they could eat out there tonight. She got a couple of candles from the living room and set them in the center of the table, lighting them. "What the hell," she thought, "So we'll have a bit of ambience. It's not a seduction unless I can't keep my hands off of him. And I can."

Sara looked up to see Ian standing in the doorway, drying his clean, shiny hair with a towel and wearing the red, silk pajamas. Her breath caught in her throat. He glanced down at himself and said apologetically, "All of the black ones are in the laundry. This is the only pair that's clean." She realized that her mouth was open and shut it with an abrupt snap. "Dear god," she thought a little frantically, "Why does he have to be so beautiful? Lord, he smells so good." Sara swallowed hard and asked, "Wine?" He put the damp towel over the back of the kitchen chair and said, "Please." She poured the wine, hands shaking slightly, and handed him a glass. "Thanks," he said. She studiee fie fine, dark hair on his chest, visible through the unbuttoned pajama top. "Sure," she replied.

"What?" Ian asked, caught in her stare like a rabbit in headlights. Sara pulled her attention away from his muscled chest. "Nothing," she dissembled, "I was just thinking that we look like Christmas – red and green." That made him smile. "Why don't you sit down while I warm up the food," he said. "Okay," she agreed, sitting down and steadily sipping her wine for fortification. When he turned to dish up the food, he noticed her empty wine glass and frowned. "Is something wrong?" he asked. "No. Why?" she innocently answered. He studied her a little more carefully before he asked, "More wine?" "Yes, please," she said. He refilled her glass before he sat down.

"The candles are nice," Ian said, "You're not usually the romantic type though. What brought this on?" "Don't know," Sara responded, "Just felt like candlelight. We haven't been alone together in a while. I've missed it." He dropped his eyes from hers, shyly, "Me too," he said. The conversation waned while they gave their attention to the stir fry and salad. After a w, Sa, Sara noticed that his glass was empty. She leaned over to refill it. When she put the bottle down and looked up, she found sharp golden eyes watching her curiously. "Sorry," she said, "I should have asked first. Did you want more wine?" He nodded. "It's fine," he said, "Thanks."

When they'd finished, Ian took her empty plate and, putting it with his, headed for the sink. Sara gathered up the silverware and came to stand beside him. "I can get this," he said, filling the sink with suds. "Why don't we do them together?" she asked, dropping the utensils in the sudsy water. "Sure," he replied, sneaking a peak at her from beneath his thick lashes. He was picking up some strange vibes but couldn't figure out what was going on. They did the dishes as they used to with him washing and her drying and putting away. They were soon done.

"Want to watch a movie?" Sara asked, "You can pick." "I can?" he said,ow aow about 'Gone With the Wind'?" Sara made a face. "What?" he asked. "It's just that Scarlett is such a doofus," she said, "What woman in her right mind would pass up Rhett Butler for Ashley Wilkes?" Ian smiled. "She's a bit misguided," he agreed. Sara snorted. "She's fucking nuts," she corrected him. Now, he laughed. "That's better," she thought. They went into the living room. Ian brought the half full wine bottle and Sara carried their glasses. He put the bottle on the table, then moved to the fireplace and bent to freshen the flames, which were burning low. Sara put down the glasses before pulling out the featherbed. When he stood and turned, she was just getting ready to spread it on the floor between the sofa and chair. In the firelight, she saw his body stiffen slightly.

Sara took a deep breath. "Warning signal," she thought, "Need to be careful here." Aloud she said, "Here. Help me spread this out, will you, baby?" He did, touching it gingerly. Then, he stood still, watching her carefully. Sara sat down with her back against the sofa facing the T.V. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, "Bring on that crazy, wacky Scarlett." She actually saw some of the tension leave him. Ian dug around in the DVDs by the television, loaded the movie, and then came over to sit beside her. His shoulder just touched hers. The movie started. She glanced at his finely drawn profile and nd hid him. "Want some popcorn?" she whispered. "Sara," he said, appalled, "We just finished dinner." She made a rude soundI'lI'll make some during the intermission. Okay?" he asked. "Spoil sport," she said. "Watch the movie," he replied.

Sometime around the burning of Atlanta, Sara leaned over to rest her head on Ian's shoulder and he slipped his arm around her. In another few seconds, she'd snuggled closer so that their bodies were molded to each other, her left to his rigShe She stopped when she felt him tense a little, heard his breathing quicken slightly. He soon relaxed again though, caught up in the movie. Sara had started to drowse when the "Intermission" banner and music filled the screen. "Still want popcorn?" he asked, drawing her back from an incipient dream. Sara blinked and sat up. "Sure. Bring it on," she said, "I'll pause the movie."

While Ian was making popcorn, Sara poured out the rest of the wine, returning the now empty bottle to the table. In a few minutes, the odor of buttered popcorn filled the cabin. He came back with a large bowl of the fragrant stuff, which he put on the floor beside her before settling back down in his former position. She handed him a full glass of wine. Taking the glass, he said, "Popcorn and Chardonnay. We're both going to have nightmares tonight." She watched his eyes darken to deep r asr as a subtext to what he'd said flitted through his mind. "Open up," she requested, pressing a couple pieces of popcorn to his lips. Her goal had been to distract him. She succeeded. He took the kernels in his mouth, briefly running his hot tongue over her fingers. Sara shivered at the sensation, aching for him. Her mind obligingly showed her a picture of the other things that that hot tongue of his could do.

With some difficulty, Sara got her raging libido under control and concentrated on finishing her wine. She put down her empty glass, reached for the remote, and missed. Dimly, she realized that she was more than a little tipsy. "Ready for the movie?" she asked. "Uh huh," Ian replied, amused. He'd noticed that she was a bit unsteady. He snagged the remote and handed it to her. She frowned. She thought that she'd already picked that sucker up. She managed to press the right button and the Civil War saga resumed. Sara grabbed another fistful of popcorn and said, "I think I'll just stretch out for awhile." "Good idea," he responded. She laid down on the featherbed, resting her head on his hard thigh. He began to absently stroke her hair. Sara shut her eyes.

Sara knew that she must have dozed off because when she woke Rhett was stalking up the winding staircase like a predator, Scarlett in his arms. She turned her head a little to look up at Ian. His jungle-cat eyes were fixed on her, wide and hungry. Sara's breath caught in her throat. She was held in that gaze like a mosquito in amber. "Oh, please," she thought. He shifted her off his leg and eased her over, flat on the featherbed. Then, he stretched out next to her. Like magnets, they rolled on their sides to face each other. She gently stroked his bearded jaw with one finger. He shut his eyes and hesitantly rested one hand on her waist, drawing her closer to him.

When his lips touched hers, it was with none of the confidence that he'd gradually developed in their relationship. It was a soft, questioning caress – very unsure and a little fearful. Her response was equally soft but quite sure and full of her love for him. Very, very slowly, his tentative foray became an exploration of her lips. His hand moved from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her still closer. Sara fought a battle with her own impatience. She wanted him so badly she felt like that wall of fire that Scarlett and Rhett drove through escaping the Yankees. She felt his tongue slide over her bottom lip and she moaned desperately, her body arching against his. He immediately drew back just a touch.

Sara got control of herself again, forcing herself to stay passive in his embrace. It was hard – as hard as the desire he obviously felt for her now pressing against her hip. "Patience, Pezzini," she counseled herself, gritting mental teeth. The realization suddenly hit her that she'd almost always been the aggressor in their lovemaking. She supposed that was because of Ian's inexperience. He'd always deferred to her, letting her take the lead. The only exception that she could remember was right after the Witchblade had removed his conditioning and he was relearning how to control his emotions and desires. That night when Mrs. Miller had come pounding on their door to find out whether they were killing each other, Ian had become spectacularly dominant. The memory made her shiver. She'd bitten his lip so hard that he'd borne her mark for a week afterward.

Ian's kisses slowly became more passionate. His tongue had now found its way between her lips and was questing inside her mouth as if reclaiming lost territory. Although Sara's tongue met his with equal passion, she was careful not to take control. She let him explore at this own pace, have his way. She could feel the passion start to catch him up. His body was now straining hard against hers and a tiny moan escaped him. The DVD had reached its end unnoticed and turned itself off. Sara slowly ran her hand under his pajama top and up his warm, muscled back. She lightly dragged her fingernails from the base of his neck down to the band of his pajama bottoms, letting it rest there. Ian shuddered but didn't pull back.

Still kissing her deeply, Ian rolled Sara onto her back and moved half over her, pushing his leg between hers. Their mouths finally separated, both of them panting raggedly. Sara stared up into wide, smoky amber eyes, dark now with desire. The look on his face melted her completely. "I want you so badly," she whispered, but didn't make a move toward him. Her admission pushed him around a corner. Those smoky golden eyes ignited and Ian breathed her name like a prayer before dropping his head to plant hot, soft kisses from her ear to her collarbone. Sara pushed her fingers through his thick, silky hair, still damp from his shower. His lips stopped when they encountered the silk neckline of the caftan.

Still stroking his hair, Sara thought, "The moment of truth has arrived. Do we get naked or not?" He buried his face between chinchin and shoulder, kissing and licking her neck, while his hand slid across the silk to her breast. He rubbed and tweaked her through the thin silk until Sara was squirming on the featherbed. The combination of slippery silk and warm, clever fingers were driving her crazy. After he shifted to the other breast, Sara bes beside herself. "Ian, please," she gasped. When she felt his hands move to the hem of the caftan and begin to push it up and off her, Sara breathed a silent prayer of thanks to every deity she could remember, including the Witchblade. She quickly shifted her body to make it easier for him to remove the silken barrier. He finally pulled it over her head and tossed it on Lazar's chair. The movement also snagged the scrunchy holding her ponytail in place, yanking it out so that waves of honey brown hair cascaded over her shoulders.

Ian made a soft sound in his throat and buried his face in her tumbled hair, inhaling deeply. Sara molded herself to him, sliding her arms around him inside the pajama top that he was still wearing. She wanted to feel his bare skin against hers. Apparently, he was ready for that too because he pulled back a little to shrug off the pajama top. He didn't yet make a move to touch the bottoms though. Sara sighed, ing ing out his mouth again. His response was immediate and eager. He returned her kiss hungrily, pushing his tongue past her lips to play inside her mouth. At the same time, his hand slipped slowly down her chest and stomach, leaving feather light caresses in its wake. It settled between her thighs where he began to stroke her.

Sara knew she was in trouble. She forced her hands away from those damned pajama bottoms for the second time because she wanted nothing more than to drag them off of him. "Give yourself something else to do," she thought wildly. She started to nibble on his bottom lip, careful to keep it light. One of her hands was still deep in his hair, holding his face to hers. She set the other hand to massaging the taut muscles of his back, again careful to keep all action above the line of demarcation, the waistband of his pants. She cried out when he started rubbing her harder and faster. "It's not fair," she thought petulantly, "He can do this to me but I can't do it to him." And then all thoughts skittered away because she felt a killer orgasm ticking like a time bomb inside her; the explosion inching closer.

Sara let out a yelp, bright lights going off like fireworks behind her closed eyes. Her nails dug into his scalp and back. Her body arched up in a bow off the featherbed and then fell back limp. "Lordy," she gasped, with feeling. She realized that he was watching her, golden eyes glittering in the firelight, enjoying the pleasure that he'd just given her. "I want to make you feel like that, Ian," she whispered, "Will you let me?" He stared into her eyes for another minute and then lifted up off the featherbed, pushing the pajama bottoms down and kicking them off with his feet. "I'm yours," he whispered, "Just take it easy. I'm a little sore from the way I scrubbed myself down last night."

Now that she could get a good look at him, even in the dim light she could see that he was red and raw. Her heart clenched at what he'd done to himself trying to get "clean." "Oh baby," she said softly, pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. She bent down to plant a soft kiss on his chest. "Maybe I better not," she said, "I don't want to hurt you." And now, of course, with perfect Nottingham perversity, he waraidraid that she wouldn't touch him. He took her hand in his and drew it down along the pleasure trail of soft hair that arrowed downward from his navel. "No, please," he said, "I'm fine." She snorted and, he, realizing what he'd just said, laughed with her. "Really. I am," he said, pressing her fingers around him and starting to move them in an easy rhythm.

Sara let him guide her in what was comfortable for him, until the sensations that she was creating overwhelmed him and he let her hand go on alone. Stretching out, he slid his arms around her and rested his head against her chest. As she kept caressing him, his breathing got increasingly ragged and his body started to tremble. She studied his strained expression and asked, worried, "Are you okay? I'm not hurting you, am I?" Ian lifted his head and opened his eyes. "Believe me. You're not hurting me," he said, with that little catch in his voice that she loved, "It feels wonderful. Please don't stop." In another few moments, his body curved tight around her hand as he cried out softly and came.

Sara rubbed her wet hand surreptitiously against the featherbed. "Where's our handy bedside towel when it's needed?" she teased. "Give me a minute," Ian said, still breathing hard, "I'll get it." "What did you do with the popcorn?" she asked, "Beautiful lovemaking always gives me the munchies." She felt his eyes on her again and turning, found herself once again caught in his golden regard. "Do you really feel that way?" he asked. She stared back at him for a moment, then countered, "What? Hungry?" He shook his head. "No," he said, "That we're beautiful together." She ran her knuckles lightly across his high cheekbone. He shut his eyes at her touch. "Yes," she replied, "I do. Don't you?" He nodded. "But I didn't know that you did," he said, handing her the half empty bowl of popcorn.

While Ian was getting a clean towel from the bathroom, Sara polished off the rest of the popcorn. When he got back to the featherbed, she said, "Before you lie down again, could you get me a bottle of water?" He dropped the towel and said, "Sure. Hand me the rest of that stuff and I'll dump it in the kitchen while I'm there." He took the empty bowl, bottle, and glasses to the kitchen and returned with bottles of water for them both. Once he'd settled back down on the featherbed and Sara had had her fill of water, she reached out to stroke his thigh. This time, he didn't pull back at all when she touched him.

When he lowered his head after taking a long drink of water, Ian put his hand around hers where it rested on his thigh. Looking into her eyes, he said, "I'm going to be alright, Sara. Don't worry about me." She studied his clear, golden eyes before asking, "Is that just another way of telling me that you're fine?" He smiled. "No," he said, "As long as I have you and I know you love me, I think I can get through this. You've got more important things than me to worry about right now." She lifted her hand to catch the back of his neck, pulling him close for a soft kiss. "No, I don't, Ian," she said, "You're right at the top of my list."

Ian looked overwhelmed for a moment and then dropped his head, murmuring, "I've never been at the top of anyone's list before. It feels kind of strange." Sara dug her fingers through his soft hair, rubbing the back of his neck. "Strange good or strange bad?" she asked. He raised his head and her heart turned over at the look on his face. "Very strange good," he whispered. A second later, they were locked together in a torrid kiss with neither being conscious that the other had even moved. Still glued to Ian, Sara gave a little cry and managed to climb on to his lap, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around him.

Half empty water bottles rolled across the featherbed as Ian wrapped his arms tightly around Sara and rolled her over on her back. Now on top of her with her legs still wrapped around him, Ian shifted his hips slightly and smoothly entered her. Through the entire process, their lips had never parted, but now they had to come up for air. Sara nuzzled against his neck, licking that sensitive spot under his chin, as he started to move inside her. "Oh god, baby," she whispered, "That's so good. But are you sure you want this?" Ian moaned softly, responding to the sensations caused by her tongue. "Do I seem reluctant?" he asked, "If I do, I must be doing something wrong."

Sara shifted her tongue to his ear, arching against him. "Smart ass," she breathed lovingly, "You're doing just fine and you know it." "Fine?" he whispered. "Okay, okay," she corrected, "You feel amazing. Could you do that thing where you…?" Ian shifted again subtly and suddenly stroked deeper inside her, touching off an explosive chain reaction in both of them. "That?" he gasped.

When Sara was able to speak again, she sighed, "Wow. That's it. Do it again." He did. This time, when she recovered, Sara giggled. "Maybe you could just keep doing that," she suggested, "Until we turn into limp puddles of pleasure. What do you think?" In the fey firelight, she could see him smile. "It sounds like something that would be fun to try but that I wouldn't want to clean up," he said, amused. She kissed him deeply, then whispered in his ear, "You do the fun part and I'll do any cleanup." "Deal," he said, pulling out of her. The disappointment was obvious on her face until he added, "Roll over. I think I can make itn ben better."

Sara thought that, if it were possible, she'd like to freeze this moment in time so that she could remember it when things started to fall apart again – which, of course, was inevitable. What was that poem by Keats, she wondered sleepily, the one about the center not holding? "I bet Ian knows," she thought, "I'll have to ask him – tomorrow." Now, she was too contented to worry about it. She snuggled closer to his warm nakedness. "I love the feel of him," she thought as his arms tightened around her, pulling her even nearer. After they'd pushed the pleasure envelope to the point where they had, in fact, simultaneously exploded, they had laid wrapped around each other in limp satiety. Ian had somehow summoned the strength to pull the fleece throw down from the sofa and over them.

Sara pushed her face into the loose waves of silky hair that fell around his face. She sniffed – Eucalyptus, sex, Ian. "Are you awake?" she mumbled. There was a long pause. "No," he whispered back. She smiled, sliding her hand down from his chest to rest on his slender hip. "I guess there's no point in reminding you how much I love you then, is there?" she asked. "No point at all," he agreed, his voice warm and loving, "And, since I'm asleep, I can't tell you how much I love you too. But, I'm sure that you already know that. Right?" "Right," she whispered, "Goodnight, baby." "Goodnight, love," he replied.

When Moby and Vicki opened the cabin door at 1:30 in the morning, laden with antitoxen and Chinese carryout, all was quiet. After dumping several large containers on the kitchen table, they cautiously ventured into the living room. The fire had burned low but there was enough light to see Sara and Ian wrapped tightly together under the throw, sleeping soundly. Although decorum was maintained by grace of their positions, it was obvious that they were naked under there. The red silk pajama bottoms crumpled at the foot of the sofa and the green garment draped across the chair were merely redundant.

Vicki cleared her throat, oddly thinking, "Merry Christmas." Aloud she whispered, "I guess Sara doesn't really need that Moo Shu Pork tonight. I'll just go put the food in the refrigerator." Moby followed, handing her the cartons of Chinese to put away. "Hand me the antitoxin," she whispered to him, "We should keep that cold as well." He did. "You're being awfully quiet," she said softly, "Is something wrong?" He shrugged. "I was in a quandary," Moby replied, "as to the sleeping arrangements. It would be wrong to wake them. It would be awkward and perhaps a physical impossibility to sleep on the sofa."

Vicki's eyes widened. "I guess that leaves the bedroom," she said. Moby shrugged again. She smiled and said, "Hey, we're adults. We can share the bed for the night without problems. Right?" Moby didn't look as confident. "Truly," he replied doubtfully. In her head, another litany had begun: "Oh lord, Oh lord, Oh lord. Just sleep together? What am I – nuts?" Turning, Vicki tiptoed across the living room and gingerly opened the bedroom door. Mobius was right behind her.

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, Vicki's head raised, nostrils flaring. It smelled like a sick room. When Moby turned on the light, he quickly discerned the reason for the look on her face. She turned to him and their eyes met. "Clean sheets," she said, even as he was turning toward the bureau. He found a single remaining set of clean sheets in the bottom drawer. They made up the bed together. Vicki dropped the dirty sheets by the door. She needed to get that smell out of the room – it was bringing back very bad memories. She'd drop the sheets in the washer when she went to the bathroom to change into her pajamas, she decided.

Before grabbing the pajamas from her overnight bag, stashed in a corner of the room, Vicki turned back to study the bed they'd just made. She felt rather than saw Mobius poised behind her. The side that he'd made up was perfect, sharp and crisp with military corners. The side that she'd made up was lumpy and haphazard with the linens tucked in any which way. "Doesn't that just say it all," she thought, "Too different to ever work out." From behind her, Moby immediately turned that thought on its ear. "Do you see, Po," he d sod softly, "How your strengths complement my weaknesses and mine, yours?"

Vicki felt his warm breath drift down to the back of her neck and she shivered. "Are you cold?" Moby asked with immediate concern. She rubbed her arms briskly. "A little," she replied, glancing up at him, "I just need to get into my jammies and under the covers." "You must be nearing exhaustion," he observed, "Last night, you touched death and all this day, you strove to build your proof against it. You need sleep this night. You must have a care lest you push your endurance too far." Vicki replied with a wan smile. "You're right," she said, "I'm bushed. You must be tired too." He nodded.

Vicki went to her bag and dug around until she found the second pair of pajamas that she'd brought with her. The bunny pajamas had gone in the pile with the soiled sheets for the washer. The clean pajamas were also flannel but had leaping frogs on them. Throwing Moby a quick grin over her shoulder, Vicki hefted the dirty laundry in one arm and the clean pjs in the other. "Be back in a little while," she said to him, slipping quietly into the living room. Vicki tiptoed to the kitchen and put the dirty laundry in the washer for the morning. On her way back across the living room, she stopped to study the sleeping pair twined on the featherbed in the firelight. Honey and chocolate brown hair tousled together, her sleekly muscled arm draped across the etched muscles of his chest. They made a beautiful couple. Vicki stood still for a moment admi the the picture, before she slipped into the bathroom to get changed.

Face washed, teeth brushed, resplendent in her froggy flannels, Vicki lightly knocked on the bedroom door. She didn't want to just barge in on him if he was getting changed. Hearing his soft, "Come in, Po," Vicki slipped back into the bedroom. Mobius had stripped down to tee shirt and shorts. He was carefully folding the rest of his clothes into a pile on the chair. Vicki shot one quick glance at allse gse gleaming muscles before dropping her eyes in embarrassment. Moby, on the other hand, didn't seem the least bit shy about his semi-clad state.

Turning back to the bed, Moby gave a quick second look to Vicki's frog-filled attire. He continued on toward the door, a wide smile on his strong face. He had opened the door, heading toward the bathroom, when he stuck his head back in. "There is something for you under your pillow, Po," he said softly. Then, he was gone, shutting the door after him with a quiet click. For a moment, Vicki stared at the closed door with wide eyes. With a grin, she turned and dove onto the bed, digging under the pillow. Her hand encountered something hard and square – a box. She pulled it out and had to stifle her whoop of pleasure. It was a pound box of Godiva truffles.

As she tore off the lid, Vicki remembered Moby asking her if he could pick her up anything when he went shopping that morning and her wistful throwaway line to him: "Chocolate." "Wow," she thought gleefully stuffing a whole sumptuous truffle in her mouth, "This is chocolate alright. This is the mother lode." She had one more truffle before she shut the box and put it on the bedside table. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed licking her fingers when Moby returned. As soon as he saw the smear of chocolate on her smiling lips, he returned the smile. "Thank you so much," she said as he shut the door. "You are most welcome," he replied, "You are very easy to please." Vicki dropped her eyes, still licking her fingers. "Not always," she said.

Vicki looked back at Moby in time to see his eyes darken at her response and to catch the deep, shaky breath that he took. She felt a nervous little hitch in her own stomach. It was time for bed. Vicki worked her way under the quilts as Moby made his way around to the other side of the bed and turned out the light. She felt him lift the quilts and slip into the bed, the mattress sagging under his weight. Vicki could feel the heat of his body next to hers. To her oversensitive nerve endings, he felt like a human blast furnace.

Surprisingly though, now that Vicki was horizontal and warm under the quilts, extreme exhaustion rapidly claimed her. In spite of Moby's tempting presence and her own nervousness, Vicki found herself yawning hugely. Her eyelids drooped and in about a minute and a half, she'd fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. Moby wasn't as fortunate. He too was exhausted, not having slept in almost 48 hours, but that Black Dragon stamina kept his brain alert and his motor running. Stretched out on his back, close to Vicki but not touching her, he was very aware that they were sharing a bed. When one flannel-clad arm casually flung itself across his stomach as Vicki shifted in her sleep, Moby groaned out loud. It was a long time before he finally fell asleep.

In the small hours of the morning, the cabin seemed preternaturally quiet after the recent unrest. That image was deceiving. While on the surface all was still, the center was once again starting to break apart. Ian shifted in his sleep, struggling on the featherbed by the fire. Pulling away from Sara's embrace, he moaned softly, fighting against an invisible adversary. In another few moments, he stopped squirming to curve his body into a tight fetal position, as if he were trying to make himself a smaller target. Beneath long-lashed lids, his eyes moved jerkily back and forth. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, drawing crescents of blood. His breathing became unsteady.

Ian sat straight up in the flame-lit darkness, his breath leaving him in a soft, tearing gasp. He stayed still, stunned, for a few seconds. He looked around him, trying to remember where and when he was. In the cabin with Sara, he told himself, still two days away from the Convergence. He shivered, suddenly cold. His eyes moved to his Wielder, sleeping peacefully wrapped in the throw. Ian shut his eyes, the shaking now out of control. "Oh god, Sara," he thought, "You are going to leave me." The nightmare that he'd just had mirrored the vision that he'd had before – the one that had made him curl into a ball on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night.

Ian had gotten himself past his earlier vision by clinging to the hope that Sara had given him. It was a device used against him by their enemies. A nasty gimmick that X had thrown at him to bring him to his knees. The weapon had worked wonderfully well, making him almost catatonic with dread and driving a wedge between he and Sara. He had only been able to let it go because he allowed himself to believe that it was a lie. Now, that lifeline had disappeared. X was dead. She wasn't the author of his dream. And the dream had matched the vision too closely in every detail to be a coincidence.

Shivering violently, Ian dragged himself up off the floor to get the fire going again. But the resurgent flames did nothing to alleviate the bone deep chill making him shake. He crossed the room to dig through bags until he found one of the other throws and his old moccasins. He shoved his feet into the slippers and wrapped the throw around him. Still shivering, he made his way to the kitchen to brew some tea. Ian put the kettle on to boil and got out a mug. He tried to distract himself from the horrors running through his mind by making a production of filling the little tea ball with loose tea. That done, he sat at the table, pulling the throw around him, waiting for the water to boil. Ian shivered again – hard. "Maybe I'll never feel warm again," he thought despondently, shutting his eyes.

The hot tears that had been at the back of his eyes since he woke from the nightmare suddenly pushed free, slipping past his closed lids and rolling down his cheeks. Ian dropped his head down to the table, resting on bent arms, and gave in to the pain. "Get it all out before anyone wakes up," he thought, "Because you have to keep this crap to yourself. No one needs this from you right now." After a few moments, the kettle began to hiss and he moved quickly to turn off the heat. With shaking hands, he made his tea. While it steeped, he roughly brushed the tears from his face. He pressed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes. "Even if she doesn't want you as a lover anymore," he thought, "You'll always be her Protector, that won't change."

But the thought of never holding Sara again, of never being intimate with her again – not just making love to her, but simply sharing a bed with her – was more than Ian could stand. A soft sob wrenched him and he lost it again. He carefully set down the mug of tea before he spilled it all over the table. He rested his aching head back on his folded arms and stayed that way for a long time. Finally, lifting his head, he examined the terrible emptiness that had already found a home inside him. Until Sara had let him in, Ian had always been alone. But now he knew the difference and he couldn't go back. He didn't want to be alone again.

That certainty prompted Ian to make two promises to himself. He knew that Sara would not leave him before the Convergence. With that understanding, Ian first promised himself that he would savor every moment with Sara from now until the Convergence with every fiber of his being. And, second, he promised himself that, should the opportunity present itself, he would die with honor fighting their enemies rather than face the slow death of an existence without Sara after the Convergence was over. His decisions made, Ian sipped his tea and began to knit his frayed emotions together so that he could present a calm face to his love and his friends when they woke.

Night terrors were also stalking Vicki Po. In her dreams, she was reliving the horror of the demons attacking her outside the cabin and the agony of the poison slowly claiming her body. Locked inside those visions, she whimpered softly, twisting and turning on the sweat-soaked sheets beneath her. Vicki's discomfort drew Moby from a deep sleep. Awake now, he blinked in the inky darkness, trying to discern what had brought him back to full consciousness. When Vicki made another soft sound of distress, he immediately turned over on his side to see what was wrong. Finding her thrashing about in the throes of a nightmare, Moby hesitantly grasped her shoulder and gently shook it to wake her.

Vicki's eyes flew open and she clutched her left arm, sure that it would be grotesquely swollen and enflamed. Then, she saw Moby's concerned face hovering above her, bathed in a shaft of moonlight, and blessed reality returned. His big, warm hand still rested lightly on her shoulder. Needing more tangible evidence that her ordeal was over, Vicki launched herself against Moby, wrapping her arms around the indisputable solidity of him. She both felt and heard his soft rumble of comfort as he pulled her close. "Shh, Po," he whispered, "The demons are destroyed and you are safe. Only I am here, and I only wish to cherish you." Because she was still shaking, Mobius pushed himself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. He lifted Vicki up on his lap and rocked her in his arms as if she was a little girl.

Vicki, though, was no little girl and this new proximity to Moby prompted desires in her that went beyond the need for comfort. Her head resting on his hard shoulder, her arms draped around his neck, she found herself thinking, "He must have taken a quick shower. He smells so good – Sandlewood." She nuzzled her face against his neck, breathing in the clean, exotic odor of him. Without even thinking of what she was doing, Vicki flicked out her tongue to lick the side his neck, just under his ear. Her action and the resulting sensations that it created caught Moby completely offguard. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt the small shudder that rippled through him before he regained control.

Vicki decided that she wanted him out of control. She licked him again. Moby squirmed beneath her, attempting to shift her from his lap back to the bed beside him. She tightened her grip on him, thinking, "Not on your life, buster." "Po," he said softly, a note of warning in his deep voice. Vicki raised her head from his shoulder to look at him directly. There was enough moonlight to clearly illuminate the intention in her eyes and the question in his. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice gone husky with desire. She nodded and then leaned forward to press her lips to his. His response was still uncertain but, as she persisted, his lips softened and opened under hers.

Free of barriers, Vicki's tongue darted into his hot mouth to find his. When their tongues tangled and stroked each other, Moby's resistance crumbled completely and passion took over. He groaned and his arms tightened around her. Never breaking the fevered kiss, Vicki shifted her body on his lap so that she could straddle him. Then, she pushed forward against him so that she could get even closer. That move brought her into intimate contact with the startling evidence of his obvious desire for her.

Vicki couldn't quite believe what she felt. She rocked her hips again to confirm the heft of the hardness beneath her. Moby moaned and moved his hands to her waist to still her movement. In a typically bizarre train of thought, Vicki found her mind replaying the scene in "Young Frankenstein" where Madelyn Kahn, thrilled with her discovery of Frankenstein's endowments, bursts into a stirring rendition of "Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life, at last I've found you." Vicki fought to stifle the frenzied giggle that threatened to break free.

Needing air, they finally broke the long kiss, both of them panting. Vicki stared at him wide-eyed. She felt like molten fire was thrumming through her veins. Moby's eyes, on the other hand, lookedost ost sleepy, languorous with the slow, simmering ache he had felt for her for so long. When she opened her mouth to nervously babble something, he reached out a finger to touch her lips, silencing her. While she watched his face, his hands dropped back to her waist and slipped up under her flannel pajama top. Her small breasts disappeared under each of his large hands, their nipples straining against his hard, callused palms. His thumbs began to stroke the sensitive nubs aickiicki's head fell back with a soft sigh.

Vicki's hands moved forward to grip his shoulders while her breathing deepened. She felt his fingers leave her breasts and she lifted her head, disappointed. Then, she realized that he had needed those fingers to unbutton her pajama top. That perked her right up again. When he had the buttons undone, Moby gently pushed the flannel top off her shoulders. Under his heated gaze, the color rose in Vicki's cheeks. "You're staring," she whispered. "You are a goddess, Po," he responded. She gasped as he leaned forward to reverently kiss her right breast, his soft, warm lips sending an arrow of heat straight to her core. That sensation was immediately surpassed when the searing wet heat of his tongue teased her nipple. "Oh lordy," she breathed.

Vicki shut her eyes and dug her nails into his shoulders as his mouth suckled her right breast and his hard thumb teased her left breast. Just when Vicki thought she might lose her mind if he kept going for another minute, he stopped. She opened her eyes, puffing as if she'd run a mile, to look into his dark, glowing gaze. She felt his warm fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of her pajama pants. She suddenly realized that he was waiting for her permission to continue. The corner of her mouth twitched. "You stop now and you're dead meat, Mobius," she said. Moby grinned. "Ah, then," he replied, "For the sake of self-preservation alone, it seems that I am compelled to continue your seduction, Po."

Vicki swung her leg back across his lap so that he could slide the flannel jammies down and off her. The leaping frogs tumbled to the floor where they lay, leering up at the lovers. "Can I undress you now?" she asked. "If you wish," Moby said, a slight catch in his deep voice. Vicki grinned. "I wish," she replied. Kneeling beside him, Vicki snagged the hem of his tee shirt and drew it up over his finely muscled chest. He raised his arms so that she could pull it over his head. When she had it off of him, Vicki dropped it to the floor atop the nosy frogs, blocking their view. A soft sound escaped him as she lightly dragged her fingernails from the base of his neck down to the waistband of his shorts and back again.

His skin was heated silk under her fingers. Like Ian, Moby's body was marked with a patchwork of scars. Vicki ran her fingers over his chest and hard, flat stomach, stopping here and there to trace the raised welt of an old wound. He stayed still under her examination, trembling slightly at her touch. Her fingers kept returning to skim the waist of his shorts. She finally took a deep breath and gave them a downward tug. Moby obligingly lifted his hips off the bed and the shorts slid lower until they were blocked by his substantial erection. Vicki slipped her hand under the elastic to free him and came into contact with the object of her curiosity. As she slid her hand down the long, full length of him, Moby hissed softly and wriggled out of the shorts, pushing them past his hips, down his legs, and off his feet.

Vicki was entranced. "You're beautiful," she whispered, still holding him and looking up into his eyes. He looked uncomfortable. It was plain that he didn't think of himself that way. Moby tried a smile. "You will turn my head with such talk, Po," he said. She smiled back, amused by his double entendre. She leaned down to kiss him gently, darting out her tongue. He gasped and the recipient of her ministrations jumped in her hand. He sat up, leaning forward to catch her under the arms. He pulled her up to the top of the bed and rolled her over on to her back. She started to reach for him but he caught her arm and gently pushed it back, saying, "Just lie still and give me the privilege of pleasuring you."

Mobius leaned over her, pressing soft hot kisses from her ear, down her neck, and across her chest. Vicki closed her eyes and sighed, giving herself over to the feeling. He again left a hot, tingling path across her breasts but this time didn't linger there. His burning mouth trailed kisses down her stomach to her navel, where his tongue dipped in and out again and again until she shuddered with need. She felt his warm hand stroke over her hip and then down across her thigh, gently kneading the muscle. He drew his hand slowly up her leg, his fingers like a whisper on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

By the time his fingers parted her hot, wet folds to give free rein to his talented tongue, Vicki was barely able to restrain herself. Her hands were gripping the sheets and her hips were twisting and pushing up off the bed. Moby moved his strong hands up to rest one on each of her hips to still her thrashing. Then, he gave his attention to using that very long and agile tongue to "pleasure" her. Although hardly a courtesan, Vicki was no virgin. She had had her fair share of lovers: some miserable, most merely pedestrian, a few memorable. None of them had prepared her for Mobius. He was giving her sensations that she hadn't known her body was capable of experiencing. If her mind had been capable of rational thought, she would have been stunned by these revelations.

At the moment, all of Vicki was centered on the ecstasy that was rapidly approaching. As the undertow overtook her, Vicki's hands left the linens to travel downward until they gripped Moby's warm, smooth skull to hold him to her. Simultaneously, her pelvis thrust up to meet his face and her head arched backward into the pillows as a colossal orgasm tore through her. She let out a piercing cry that she immediately tried to muffle by turning her face into the pillows – too little, too late.

They both froze, turning their heads toward the other room. Vicki had just enough presence of mind left, as waves of pleasure still lapped against her, to recognize the irony of her situation. The shoe, as it were, was now on the other foot. In the future, she wouldn't be so quick to tease Sara about her lusty lovemaking with Ian. But the silence beyond their door held. In the fitful light, she saw Moby's head turn from poised listening back to study her. She stroked her fingers lingeringly across his smooth pate and then gave his ear a little tug to urge him back up the bed and into her arms. He was quick to comply.

Vicki rolled against him, her hand resting against his smooth, hard chest. His gentle arms cradled her close. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, feeling a bit chagrined. "Sorry about the noise," she whispered. She felt more than heard his soft chuckle. "Do not apologior vor voicing your pleasure, Po. It was most gratifying." Vicki couldn't hold back her own giggle. "For both of us then, I guess," she agreed. In the moonlight, she surreptitiously studied the strong lines of his handsome face. "How about you?" she asked curiously, "Do you tend to be vocal in your lovemaking, like Ian?" He was quiet for a moment before he answered. "Ian is very new to the ways of love," he replied, "He has not yet learned to hide his emotions. He does not have the defenses that are built on the foundations of past experience." "And you do?" she persisted. She heard his sigh in the dark. "Alas, yes," he replied, "I do. In many ways, I envy Ian his innocence. In other ways, I fear for him greatly."

Vicki leaned forward to kiss the flat, male nipple closest to her, flicking her tongue around it briefly. She felt a muscle quiver under her lips. "Have you had a lotexpeexperience?" she asked. She heard the amusement in his deep voice. "Enough to know what comes next," he replied, then sobering quickly added, "I believe that this is the awkward moment when I need to ask about using protection." "I'm a doctor, remember?" she replied, "Awkward beats dead any day of the week. I appreciate your concern. As for me, I'm disease free and on birth control." "I am also 'disease free,' as you put it," Moby said, "But I will be glad to use protection if we can find it and if you wish it." Vicki studied him in the fey light. "No," she replied, "I trust you. You've already saved my life once. I don't believe that you'd put it in jeopardy."

Vicki resumed suckling the small treasure under her lips in earnest. She felt his hand slide up her back. His fingers nestled in her hair and sensually stroked her scalp. It felt delicious. As she began using teeth as well as tongue, she heard his breathing quicken. drewdrew her hand down his body to check things out. She wasn't surprised to find him fully aroused. As her fingers stroked up and down the rigid length of him, she was both startled and excited to find that her hand was too small to close around him.

Feeling a strange mixture of full throttle lust and trepidation, Vicki pushed herself up to straddle Mobius. She settled herself high on his stomach with her hands braced on his sturdy shoulders. His eyes shimmering with desire and er eer emotions, Moby cupped her face in his large hands and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a long, passionate kiss. When they parted, breathless, he whispered, "Whatever happens now is yours to choose, Po. If you waiver and wish to cease, you must tell me. There is time and I would not wish to coerce you, or worse yet, harm you in any way." Vicki smiled, appreciating the out that he was offering her, but also suddenly certain that she didn't want to take it. She nodded to let him know that she understood.

Vicki ran her hand along one of his high cheekbones and he turned his face to place a soft kiss on her palm. "I keep wondering whether this thing between us is happening because of the incredible situation that we're in," she whispered, "Emotions are running high. Will we feel the same way once the Convergence has passed?" He looked at her for a long moment before he replied, "I can, of course, only speak for my own feelings in what has grown betwes. Fs. For me, this is not a passing fancy, Po. The Convergence brought us together and gave me the gift of your company. But I know with certainty that what I feel for you comes from you and not the events that have transpired. Those feelings will not change when we find ourselves in another setting."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked. Moby shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It is my nature," he replied, "There are certain things that are absolute to me, that brook no doubt. What I feel for you is one of those things." She rubbed his cheek again and, this time, he caught her hand in his, stilling it. "We've known each other such a short time," she pointed out. "The passing of time is irrelevant," he said, "I knew you the moment I saw you for the first time." Vicki shook her head. "I'm a woman of science, Mobius," she responded, "That Black Dragon speak sounds pretty but I have a hard time getting my head around it." He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "Then do not try," he said, "Let your soul hear my words rather than your mind."

Moby's other hand had moved down her body to begin slowly caressing her. Vicki shut her eyes as irresistible sensations started to rule her again. "Maybe I should just shut up and let us communicate another way," she said breathlessly. His smile grew wider. "As you wish," he whispered, his hands moving to her hips. Vicki took a deep br and and eased herself back, grasping him as best she could and guiding him to her. When their bodies first began to join, Vicki didn't think it was going to work. He was just so big. But he was also very patient and her body gradually accommodated to his size. Before she could marvel at the miracles of nature, he was deep within her. Once they started to move, she had other miracles to ponder – like the way that he made her feel.

Vicki could immediately sense that Moby was unuse occ occupying the passive position in lovemaking. As soon as he could tell that she was comfortable with him, he held her tightly to him and rolled them over so that he was on top. He balanced the weight of his body on his elbows and legs, so that he wouldn't be too heavy for her. Although Vicki was usually sensitive to control issues, in this instance, she didn't mind because the sheer power of the man and the pleasure that he was bringing her were intoxicating. So, she just wrapped her arms and legs around that long, muscled body and let herself feel.

Even before he slipped his hand between them to skillfully stroke her, Vicki was being swept toward a climax, the likes of which she had never experienced before. The tides of passion that were now flowing through her straining body were so strong that she briefly wondered whether the power of her building orgasm might actually hurt her. A second later, she decided that she would gladly embrace any pain that sweet. A second after that, she stopped thinking entirely. Then, she was gripped by an orgasm so strong that her cry was probably heard out on the access road. Immediately after, Moby let out a soft, explosive gasp as he came too.

In the living room, Sara sat straight up on the featherbed, the Witchblade already morphed into a gauntlet over her hand. She looked around wildly trying to find the source of the danger that had pulled her out of a sound sleep. Someone had screamed. Had the demons returned? If so, why did it seem so quiet now? Nothing was moving anywhere. She stared at her right hand and the Witchblade returned to its bracelet form. "Shit," she thought sourly, "It must have been a dream. And where the hell is Ian?" She touched his side of the bed – not even warm. She was about to yell for him when she realized that Vicki and Mobius must now be in the bedroom. As that thought sunk in, Sara began to smile suddenly understanding who had "screamed" and why.

Still smiling, Sara struggled to her feet, pulling the fleece throw tight around her, and made her way to the kitchen. Ian was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea. He was also bundled up in one of the ubiquitous fleece throws, she noticed. In the early morning light, Sara thought he looked a bit pale. "Hey, Nottingham," she said, ruffling his hair, "Trouble sleeping?" "Hey, Sara," he replied, pushing his head against her stroking hand, "No. Just woke up early." She moved over to the counter and was just reaching for the coffeepot when she realized that none was brewed. That was so unlike him that she turned back to study him more carefully. He was staring into his tea as if the answers to all the mysteries of lwerewere floating there.

"Hey," she said again. Ian raised his head to look at her. When he saw where she was standing, he realized that he hadn't made her coffee. He stood so quickly that his feet got tangled in the throw and he would have fallen if Sara hadn't reached out to grab him. She held on to his upper arms to steady him while he gripped the counter with one hand and the throw, which had started to fall off, with the other. "Take it easy," she said. She studied his face for a moment before asking, "Are you okay?" He managed a weak smile. "Other than being clumsy as an ox," he said, "And obviously forgetful. I'm fine. I'm sorry I don't have your coffee ready. I'll make it right now."

As Ian tried to move past her, still awkwardly dragging the throw, Sara held on to one of his arms and said, "It's okay, baby. You're not required to have coffee waiting for me. At the moment, I'd rather have a kiss." He turned back to her and slid his arms around her. But the throw got away from him again and he started to grab for it when Sara whispered, "Let it go, ace." He did. Sara opened her throw to let him in and, when he moved against her, she wrapped it around them both. She smiled up at him, molding her body to his and draping her arms around his neck. "Mmm. That's much better, don't you think?" she asked.

Ian's lips twitched. "Definitely better with both of us under here," he agreed, pulling her closer. "Where's my kiss?" Sara wanted to know. He leaned down to outline her lips with his hot tongue before pushing it between them. She gave back as good as she got. When they finally separated, both were breathing hard and the second throw was on the floor at their feet. Sara glanced down and raised the Pezzini eyebrow. "Hmm," she observed, "Looks like a bed." Ian's eyes widened and the color rose in his cheeks. "We can't," he said, shocked, "one one could come." Sara grinned. "That's the point, ace," she responded.

The blush deepened as he envisioned their discovery. "You know what I mean," Ian said, starting to pull back. Sara slid her hand down between them to stroke him. He made a soft sound and stopped moving away. In fact, he leaned in closer. "That's not fair," he whispered raggedly. She gazed up at him seductively from beneath her eyelashes. "I could do this better if you'd stretch out on those throws down there," she suggested. "Not a chance," he gasped, shutting his eyes. Sara smiled and ran her nails slowly up the length of his erection. Ian arched his body against her. "Oh god," he moaned softly. A moment later, he added, "Stop a minute. Let me lay down."

Ian crouched and shaped the two throws into a nest of sorts between the kitchen table and the wall of cabinets and appliances. When he was finished, he stretched his long body out on the makeshift bed, mumbling, "I can't believe that I'm doing this." Sara tried to hide a smile as she said, "Well, if you'd rather not…" He looked up at her, startled, and said, "Get down here, Sara. You started this." Sara quickly dropped down beside him, putting a finger to his lips. "Hush," she whispered, "Or we really will have company and it would be such a shame to stop now." He kissed the finger that was against his lips, then drew it into his mouth to suck it. She looked into eyes that had darkened to rich, deep amber.

As soon as Sara settled herself, Ian leaned over to press a trail of warmses ses from her neck to her breast. She sighed and reached down to caress him again. When she touched him, he made that little sound that she loved and jumped in her hand. She laughed, delighted. "Well, hello," she said. He lifted his head, shaking it. "You'd have that effect on me even if I was a week dead," he said. "Let's not test that one," she replied. With her free hand, shew hiw his face to hers to kiss him again. When they came back up for air, Ian nuzzled his face into her neck and whispered, "I love you so." Picking up a strange tone in his voice, Sara caught his chin and turned his face to look in his eyes. But he just blinked rapidly and then smiled at her.

Before she could question him, Sara felt those incredible fingers of his start to tease her. As Ian had intended, a wave of pleasure pushed all other thought from her mind and she opened herself to him, straining back against the kitchen floor. He kept going until Sara couldn't stand another moment without him inside her. She took him by surprise when she pushed him over on his back aountounted him, knocking the breath out of him. Sara linked her fingers though Ian's and drew his hands up over his head, holding them down against the floor. Then, she leaned forward and angled her body until they were in the right position and pushed down on him hard so that he filled her.

They stayed that way for a long moment, poised, looking into each other's eyes. Through that strange communion that existed between them, they started moving together at the same moment and in perfect harmony. Sara clenched herself around him, inside and out, and pushed harder. Ian made a sound like a soft sob and shut his eyes. Every touch now seemed to echo with its future loss. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, concerned. He was able to smile at the irony of the question. He opened his eyes again to look up at her. "Don't be foolish," he thought, "She's here with you now." Aloud, he whispered, "You can hurt me like that some more if you want." Sara grinned and increased the pace.

Ian pulled one hand away from hers to slip it down between them so that he could caress her. Sara rested her freed hand on his muscled chest, digging in her nails at the additional pleasure he had just unleashed. "God, baby," she gasped, " fee feels so good. You have such talented fingers." Eager to please, he stroked her harder. Sara clamped down on him even tighter and the friction between them became almost unbearable. A desperate little moan was torn from him and he gas "S "Sara, I can't…" She thought that smoke was probably rising from between them. "I know, me too," she gasped in answer.

A moment later, they exploded in orgasm simultaneously; clinging to each other like their union was the only reality in a chaotic universe. They did not manage to do it quietly, however. In the aftermath, they curled together in a messy, hot tangle of limp limbs and damp throws. That's when they heard the bedroom door open and Vicki call, "Is everything alright? Where are you guys?" Sara felt Ian tense beneath her, his earlier fear realized. "Oh shit," she murmured against his sweaty chest.

Ian was squirming desperately beneath her, grabbing for cover wherever he could find it. Sara pressed a restraining hand hard against his chest and said, "Stop." In the next breath, she called out, "We're in the kitchen, Vick. But give us a minute. Okay?" She heard amusement creep into Vicki's voice as she replied, "Sure thing, Pez. I'll just stoke up the fire a bit. How's that?" "Give it a good long stoke, Vick," Sara replied. They heard a soft giggle, followed by the sound of tongs turning crackling logs. Sara felt Ian relax slightly. She looked down into wide golden eyes. "Calm again?" she asked him, her hand still pressing against him. He swallowed nervously and nodded.

Sara shook her head as she gently disengaged herself from Ian. "As shy as he is about showing that body of his," she thought, "You'd think he was Quasimodo instead of Adonis." As soon as he was able to move, Ian wrapped himself up again in one of the damp throws and retreated to the kitchen chair where he'd been sitting when she found him. Sara reached down to gather up the remaining throw. She studied him as she draped it around her. Although the color was still high in his cheeks, he seemed to be settling back down. His breathing had returned tomal mal and his hands were cupped around his now ice-cold tea.

"You okay?" Sara asked softly. Ian lifted his head to look at her. She frowned. His eyes held an odd mixture of embarrassment and pain. "Could you get my pajamas for me?" he asked. "Sure," she replied, "If you make me a pot of coffee." He immediately began to get up but Sara stepped forward to keep him in the chair with a hand to his bare shoulder. She lifted the hand to brush back some hair that had fallen across his forehead. "Don't try it dragging around that throw, ace," she said, "Or you'll wind up back down on the floor." He nodded.

Sara frowned and sat on his lap. Ian shifted in the seat, startled. Sara looked full into his face and Ian dropped his head quickly. Her frown deepened and she took his chin in her hand, raising his head to look in his eyes. "What's wrong, Ian?" she asked. As she watched, his eyes went carefully blank, blocking the emotions that she was sure she'd seen there. "Nothing," he said, "I'm fine." She sighed at his standard retort, digging her fingers deep into his thick silky hair, still damp from their exertions, and shaking. He winced delicately. "Why did I think you'd tell me?" she asked rhetorically.

From the living room, Vicki called, "I have the fire stoked into submission. If I don't get some coffee soon, I'm going to be mean as a snake. Can I come out there now?" "NO," Ian and Sara said in unison. "Sheesh," Vicki complained. Sara got up off of Ian's lap and pulled the throw around her tightly. "Keep a lid on it, Doctor," she said crossly, heading toward the living room, "I'm coming." As Sara approached her, Vicki studied her getup with a bemused expression. "Interesting attire," Vicki observed as Sara gathered up her discarded caftan and Ian's pajamas. Sara cast her a jaundiced eye. "Don't start with me, Po," she growled. Vicki smiled. "I see that someone else is mean as a snake this morning," she observed, "Didn't you get your coffee either?"

They heard a soft snort of laughter from the kitchen. Sara straightened up, eyes narrowing. "Hey there, pal," she called to Ian, "You're supposed to support me. Remember?" Vicki and Sara looked at each other in surprise when they heard his soft retort: "I do, in most positions." Vicki laughed delightedly. "Well, well, well," she said, "Sweet Ian has developed a bite." "Yeah. Who knew?" Sara responded, forced to grin. "It's just a good thing that you make excellent coffee, ace," she called to him, "Or that smart mouth might force me to send you packing." It suddenly got quiet in the kitchen.

Sara shrugged before turning back to Vicki. "Give Mr. Coffee a couple of minutes to get decent and start it brewing. Okay?" she said to her friend, while shifting Ian's wrinkled pajamas to her other hand. Vicki eyed the red silk pajamas. "Can I help?" she asked. Sara smiled. "From the sound of things," she said pointedly, raising an eyebrow, "I'd say that you already had your hands full. Literally." Vicki turned scarlet and sat down on the sofa. "I'll just wait here," she said, subdued, "Let me know when the coffee's ready." Sara smirked. "Absolutely," she agreed, walking back to the kitchen.

Sara dropped the crumpled red silk pajamas on the table next to his mug of cold tea. "Do you want me to turn my back?" she asked a little sarcastically. Ian glanced quickly up at her, then dropped his eyes a and and started to get dressed. "Guess not," she answered herself, letting the throw fall to the floor and dropping the green, silk caftan over her head. He finished pulling the pajama bottoms up over his narrow hips and then bent to gather and fold the discarded throws. He stopped suddenly and leaned down to sniff one of the throws gingerly. Sara watched him and smiled. "Yeah," she said, "I'd guess that they both better go in the washer."

Ian nodded and started to move toward the washer. Sara caught his arm and took the throws from him. "I'll do the wash," she said, "You make coffee before Vicki and I turn rabid." That finally drew a tiny smile from him. "I'll get right to it," he replied. Ian set about making both a pot and a carafe of coffee while Sara started the first of several loads of laundry. In a few minutes, Ian called out, "Coffee's ready." A grumpy, "Thank god," issued from the living room, immediately followed by Vicki, resplendent in her frog pajamas. As soon as Ian set eyes on her, he grinned widely.

Intent on getting her coffee, Vicki was edging past Ian to get to the pot before she noticed the look on his face. "What?" she asked, staring down at herself. Her eyes shifted up and down Ian in his red silk pajamas, pants riding low and top unbuttoned. She smiled and said, "Hey, we're not all made for red silk. Some of us are frog on flannel." Ian's grin faltered. He wasn't sure whether he'd just been complimented or censured. Sara, turning back from getting the wash going, took her first good look at Vicki's apparel. "Jesus, Vick," she said, "What is it with you and small woodland creatures? Mobius either has the libido of a satyr or he's pretty kinky if that getup finally brought him around."

"Okay, okay," Vicki said, taking a big sip of fresh coffee, "Leave my frogs alone. Here," she added, handing Sara a mug of coffee, "Drink and desist." Sara took the mug and sipped deeply. She let out a contented sigh. "Good," she said. Vicki took another drink, also let out a contented sigh, and said, "You have the greatest of all gifts, Pez – a man that can make good coffee." "Amen," Sara said, casting an appreciative eye at Ian who was again sitting at the kitchen table, "And it's only the second-best thing that he does." Ian looked confused until he saw the gleam in her eye, then his cheeks colored again. He cleared his throat and stood, saying, "I'm going to go get a shower now." With that, he quickly disappeared into the living room.

The ladies smiled at each other and sat in the now vacant kitchen chairs. They drank their coffee silently for a moment, then Sara asked, "Where's yours?" "Still asleep," Vicki replied. Sara smirked. "You must have tired him out," she needled. "Yeah," Vicki jabbed back, "Well, at least we used a bed." "The only bed," Sara pointed out. "There is that," Vicki conceded. They drank some more coffee. Sara couldn't stand it any longer. "So, how was it?" she asked. Vicki closed her eyes and smiled dreamily. "Un-fucking-believable," she replied. "I figured," Sara said, nodding sagely, "Those quiet ones are always the killers – like Ian. No pun intended." "None taken," Vicki replied, "More coffee?" "Please," Sara said.

Vicki went to the coffeemaker, poured refills, then turned back to smirk at Sara. "Do we need to disinfect these counters before we fix food on them again?" she asked. Sara raised a haughty brow. "Give me some credit," she said, "We stayed on the floor." Putting a brimming mug in front of Sara, Vicki said, "Sounds uncomfortable." Sara drank more coffee before she replied, "If it was, I didn't notice." Vicki sat back down and they shared another companionable silence before Sara casually asked, "So, is this serious?" Vicki frowned, considering the question carefully. "Yeah, I think it is," she finally answered, "It's absurd really, isn't it – me and this guy that looks like a sexy Mr. Clean and talks like an escapee from Masterpiece Theatre? But, yeah, I think he might be a real keeper." Sara smiled at her. "Cool," she said. Vicki's mind drifted back to the previous night and she found herself grinning at Sara like an idiot.

"Oh, speaking of good things," Vicki suddenly remembered, "There's Chinese food in the refrigerator for you." Sara squealed and launched herself at the appliance. A second later, Ian appeared in the kitchen doorway dressed in a black silk robe, looking disheveled. His hair was wet and he had a towel in his hand. Wide-eyed, he asked Sara, "What's wrong?" She stood before the open refrigerator looking sheepish, a carton of Chinese food in each hand. "Umm," she mumbled, "Vicki brought me lots of really good Chinese food from the city." Ian shook his head. "You scared me to death," he said, "I thought a demon surely had you in its clutches." Sara hung her head, contrite. "Sorry, baby," she apologized.

When she didn't return the containers to the refrigerator, Ian said, "You're not planning on having that for breakfast, are you?" Sara frowned. "Why not?" she asked. "Because I imagine that Vicki brought it as a meal for everyone and I suspect that most people might not enjoy having Moo Shu Pork for breakfast," he replied. "Then there's obviously something wrong with them," Sara observed. Ian held his ground and said, "Sara." She sighed dramatically and said, "Okay, okay. I'll put it back until dinner. Happy?" He smiled at her and nodded.

"So what's for breakfast then?" Sara wanted to know, returning the cartons to the refrigerator. "How about omelets?" Ian suggested, "Moby's up now and I think between us we can manage to satisfy you." Vicki gave a snort of laughter and wiggled a suggestive eyebrow. "Sounds good to me," she purred. Ian smiled at her, completely oblivious to the innuendo. "Oh hell," Sara said, charmed by his innocence, "It sounds good to me too. Bring on the omelets." Ian cleared his throat and said, "Uh, we might make better progress if you left the kitchen to us." Sara held up her hands. "You'll get no argument from me on that one, ace," she said, reaching over to grab the still full carafe of coffee. "C'mon, Vick," she added, "Let's retire to the living room and let the gentlemen cook." "Right behind you, Pez," Vicki said.

As Vicki and Sara left the kitchen, they passed Moby coming in. Sara continued on, but Vicki and Moby stopped, facing each other. "Good morning, Po," he said, reaching out to capture her hand in his. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them softly. "Morning, Mobius," Vicki replied warmly. From the living room, Sara murmured, "Oh, please," her voice dripping annoyance. Vicki grinned ruefully. "The Scourge of the Universe is a little testy this morning," she told Moby. "Coffee?" he asked. "Delayed but now in hand," she replied. "Food?" he asked. "That's your department," Vicki said, "Ian's waiting for you in the kitchen." Moby nodded, smiling, and released her hand.

They had breakfast on the little table by the fireplace. Replete with omelets, bacon, toast, and yet more coffee and tea, they'd settled into a conversation of what had to be accomplished in the short time remaining to them. Vicki wanted to test everyone to ensure that they weren't allergic to the antitoxin that she'd created. If they hadn't had a reaction by the following morning, the day of the Convergence, she'd give them each an inoculation that would protect them from demon venom. "Of course, its effectiveness hasn't really been field tested," Vicki said. Sara shrugged. "Who cares," she replied, cutting to the chase as usual, "It beats the hell out of the alternative."

While Sara and Vicki did the breakfast dishes, Ian and Moby feinted against each other with their swords. Now clad only in the loose black pants they both favored for their workouts, their exposed chest and back muscles were soon gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. The cleanup took an inordinately long time to complete, because the women kept stopping to sneak peaks at the spectacle in the living room. After her third detour to the doorway, Sara hissed at Vicki, "Damn it, get back here, Vick. At this rate, we'll be cleaning up these dishes until dinner." Vicki sighed, reluctantly abandoning her observation post. "Sorry, Pez," she replied, "They're just so exciting to watch." Sara had to agree. "I agree with you," she said, "Why don't we get this crap finished, so we can sit by the fire and watch them. What do you say?" "Deal," Vicki said.

Unfortunately, just as Vicki and Sara came into the living room having finally finished the dishes, Ian and Moby were bowing to each other, their session done. Sara frowned and turned to her friend, "Well," she said, "As usual, our timing is impeccable." Vicki grimaced. "Just figures, doesn't it?" she replied, "Guess I'll go take a shower if no one else needs to get in there right now." "Okay with me," Sara said, "I'm going to beat the punching bag for a while. I'll get my shower after that." Vicki turned to Mobius, who was pulling on clothes to go outside. "Venturing out?" she asked. "The firewood is dwindling again," he replied, "It is best to replenish it before doing so becomes a necessity."

Vicki nodded. "I have a favor to ask you," she said. "You may ask anything of me, Po," he replied. "Would you give me another shooting lesson this morning?" she asked, "I want to be ready to help out tomorrow." "Left to me, I would keep you from the danger. Yet, I know that this desire will fall upon deaf ears," Moby said, "Since such is the case, I will do what I can to sharpen your skill." Vicki smiled and said, "Thanks." Moby inclined his head and left the cabin to chop wood. Vicki disappeared into the bathroom to take her shower. When Sara came out of the bedroom clad in sweats to spar with the punching bag, she found Ian alone in the living room, sitting on the sofa staring into the dying flames.

Sara stopped and watched Ian for a moment, struck by the intensity of his introspection. Without consciously thinking about what she was doing, she stretched out to touch his thoughts, to find out what was bothering him. When she made the connection, she got more than she bargained for. She shut her eyes and swayed on her feet, suddenly assaulted by the dark turmoil of fear, misery, and betrayal she had stumbled upon. That emotional devil's brew rapidly gave way to stunned shock when Ian mentally collided with her. Appalled by what she'd done, Sara immediately pulled back from the connection, physically taking a step back as well. Green eyes flew open to meet the furious golden gaze of her lover. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

Sara's hands rose to her mouth. Her eyes were still widened in shocked surprise – both at what she had inadvertently done and at what she had found in doing it. "Oh god," she whispered, "I'm sorry, Ian. I didn't mean it. It just sort of happened." Ian's eyes had darkened to deep amber and narrowed dangerously. From five feet away, she could feel the raw anger radiating from him. He uncoiled from the sofa like a snake preparing to strike and, for the first time in a long while, Sara was reminded just how large and lethal Ian was. "I see," he said, his tone hard and unfamiliar, "Your mind just kind of tripped and you suddenly found yourself listening to my private thoughts. Is that it?" She swallowed hard while she tried to find the words to explain what had just happened between them.

Sara held out her hands to him in a gesture of supplication. "Baby, I swear," she said, "It was an accident. I didn't even know that I could do that." She watched the simmering rage in his eyes change to bland indifference as he shuttered them to hide his feelings. "Right," he replied coldly, "Perhaps the accident was letting me know that you were there. I hope you got a good look because it won't happen again." "Ian, please," she said, stricken. He moved toward her and she flinched back. But he walked past her to go into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Sara went to the sofa on wobbly legs, dropping into a miserable heap in the corner by the fire – where Ian had been sitting. She pushed her hand through her hair and said, "Shit," softly and with feeling. She tried to dissect what had just happened with Ian but found that her thoughts were a tangled muddle.

Vicki came out of the bathroom on a cloud of steam and automatically headed toward the closed bedroom door. "No," Sara said sharply. Vicki came to a dead stop and turned her head toward Sara, one eyebrow raised. "Ian's in there," Sara said, "And this wouldn't be a good time to just walk in on him." Vicki went to the sofa, plopping down across from Sara and studying her curiously. "What's wrong?" she asked. Sara again nervously tugged at her hair before she said, "I fucked up big time, Vick." Vicki's lips twitched. "What did you do?" she asked. Sara dropped her head and mumbled, "I sort of almost read Ian's mind."

"What?" Vicki asked, "You mean like 'I'm thinking of a number between one and ten' kind of stuff?" Sara shook her head. "No," she replied, "I mean like without his knowing I was doing it – at least, until he caught me." "You d't,'t," Vicki said, a little shocked. Sara nodded. "I didn't mean to," she said, raising her head to meet Vicki's eyes, "I was worried about him and I wanted to know what was wrong. He'll never tell me. It happened before I realized what I was doing." Vicki cast a wary glance at the closed bedroom door. "I bet he's pissed," she said softly. Sara followed her gaze. "You could say that," she replied dryly. As if in response to their regard, the bedroom door opened and Ian emerged, dressed in jeans, sweater, and boots.

Sara immediately stood and took a step toward him saying, "Ian…" But he kept moving toward the cabin door, holding up a restraining hand. Reaching for his leather bomber jacket, Ian said, "I'm going for a walk." As he opened the cabin door, Moby was just returning, his arms full of firewood. Ian held the door open for Moby to pass through. Moby turned back to say, "Thank you, my brother." But he was talking to empty air. Ian had already slipped out, closing the door behind him. Mobius frowned and then turned toward the two women, sensing undercurrents that he didn't understand. His questioning eyes met Vicki's and she gave him a tiny shake of the head – to which he responded with an equally tiny nod. He continued to the fireplace where he arranged the fresh firewood in its storage bin and dropped a fresh log on to the flagging fire.

By the time Moby had straightened from that task, Sara had moved to her punching bag on the other side of the living room. She finished lacing her gloves and began beating the bag with a vengeance. The sound of rapid, hard punches resounded in the large room, making further conversation difficult. Vicki leaned toward Moby, who was frowning as he watched Sara beat the hell out of the punching bag. "Give me a few minutes to get dressed," Vicki said, "And we can go out to the clearing to do some shooting. Okay?" He just nodded, a worried frown still on his face. Vicki squeezed his arm and leaned in closer to whisper, "It will be okay." She was rewarded when the frown was replaced by one of his devastating smiles.

As Vicki headed to the bedroom to change, Moby turned toward the kitchen to get a cup of tea and wait for her there. His instincts were telling him to give the Wielder a wide berth right now. Moby brewed his tea and then sat at the kitchen table mulling over the vibrations that he had picked up. Something was wrong between the Wielder and her Protector. In truth, he had to admit that he was feeling more than whatever new conflict had arisen between Ian and Sara. The air was fairly crackling now with the tension of the impending Convergence. He was certain that they all must feel – whether overtly or subliminally – the great evil that was slowly slinking closer, its hot, dank breath stirring the hair on the back of their necks. Putting down his tea, Moby gave his head a rueful shake, telling himself that he was becoming fanciful.

At that moment, Vicki appeared in the kitchen doorway, freshly scrubbed and in clean sweats. Moby's morose musings were overcome by sudden joy at the mere sight of her. His loving smile was infectious and Vicki found her own lips curving to return a wide smile even as she thought, "Why are we standing here grinning at each other like loons? All is obviously not well in paradise." He reached out one large hand to gently brush a damp curl back off her forehead. Her smiled broadened as she thought, "Oh hell, I'm too happy today to worry about it. I'll leave the angst to Ian and Sara, and just enjoy this thing I've found – whatever it is – while I can." Aloud, she asked, "Ready?" He nodded and said, "Lead on, Po." Moby grabbed her raincoat from the coat rack and held it for her while she slipped it on. Leaving Vicki standing by the door, he carefully skirted around Sara to pull the gun that Vicki had used before from Ian's leather weapons bag. When they left the cabin, Sara was still single-mindedly wreaking havoc on the hapless punching bag.

Moby and Vicki walked to the clearing holding hands. It was a cold day, bright and clear. This time, they went tnd and a target at the far side of the clearing, knowing that Ian had probably continued along the path from the cabin to head down toward the stream. They didn't want to be sending stray bullets close to any paths that he might be using. When they'd selected a couple of likely trees as targets and Vicki was in position, Mobius handed her the gun and asked, "What is the first thing that you must do?" Like the apt pupil she was, Vicki replied, "Take off the safety." He nodded and she flicked off the safety, firmly graspine gue gun in her small hand. "Remember…," he began. "The recoil," she finished his sentence. His soft laugh bubbled up from deep in his throat. "Are you quite sure that you require my presence here, Po?" he asked. Vicki turned her head over her shoulder to look up at him where he loomed behind her. Their eyes met and sparked. "Quite sure," she replied.

Moby's voice was husky when he said, "Aim for the center of that bole on the large tree straight ahead." Vicki nodded, raising the gun and squinting at her target. In spite of her anticipation, the recoil was stronger than she remembered and Vicki was flung against the mass of warm muscle at her back. When she didn't move immediately, she felt him lean down to place a soft kiss on the top of her head. Vicki could hear the amusement in his voice. "This weapon obviously has a truly devastating recoil, Po," he said, "Are you able to continue or do you require my help to steady your aim?" She allowed herself one more moment to enjoy the sensation of his warm body pressed close to hers before she got down to work. "You're not going to be able to steady my aim tomorrow," she replied, "You're going to be too busy wielding the Lance and protecting Ian and Sara."

Vicki felt him draw back. She stumbled a little, suddenly bereft of his support. She sighed, thinking, "I guess we can never get very far away from it now that it's so close. Jeez, all I want to do is to be alone with him to explore what we've just found, but that's kind of hard to do when you're poised at the edge of an abyss." She frowned in determination and admonished herself, "C'mon, Vick. Focus. The way that you shoot this friggin' gun could save someone's life tomorrow." When she took her next shot, Vicki's body stayed rock steady and she hit the tree if not the target. "Well done," Moby rumbled. Vicki snorted. "If the tree was a demon," she said, "It would be getting ready to pounce." "The tree will keep its distance, Po," he soothed, "Try again and remember to sight down the barrel."

Vicki did as he advised. This time, she hit the bole of the tree. She turned back to him, grinning with satisfaction. Moby put two long fingers on the barrel of the gun and tilted it down toward the ground. Vicki suddenly realized that she'd been pointing the weapon at his midsection. She flushed. "Sorry," she said, "I wonder whether I'll ever get used to handling one of these things." "My fervent hope would be that you never do,\ res responded softly, "If I had my druthers, you would be safe in your laboratory bent over your beloved microscope. That is where you belong." She smiled a little tentatively. "I'll be back there soon," she agreed.

There was a moment of silence between them before Vicki added, "And what happens then?" It had just popped out. Vicki bit her lip and worried it. She had promised herself that she wasn't going to press him for any commitments. Moby frowned and asked, "With what?" She looked up into his face and replied, "Us." He didn't reply. Instead, he put those great hands on her shoulders, turning her back to face the target. She lifted the gun again. Before she could aim and fire, she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck as he said, "That is when our life together can truly begin, Po." Grinning like an maniac, Vicki pulled the trigger and hit the tree bole dead center.