Disclaimer: Ian having Excalibur (it's part of the Witchblade) is taken from the comic books.
Warning: still unbeta-ed, with a fluffy ending
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He is ashamed, shocked and furious, feels pity for his first clone, is dismayed by what the second, the Black Dragon, has done, but nothing compares to the horror and jealousy the memories of his third bring.
Still his rage cannot reign free, evaporates as soon as it is born because SHE takes precedence avove all else.
He wakes up from his stasis, with her grieving cries echoing in his mind, calling for him.
“Sara.” he breathes. Her name is laced with concern, empathy, need, love and protectiveness.
Blindly he reaches out for her, but his hands only encounter the glass walls of his prison. It doesn’t matter. He is a man with only one goal in his mind and nothing can hold him (back) now. The dragon ring on his right hand anticipates his next move and envelops his fist in a protective, metal glove before its bearer punches through the chamber that is no longer unbreakable.
A moment later the dark-haired man is out, shaking the pieces of glass from his hair and clothes. Finally he is free. But his two clones aren’t. He steps up to their stasis chambers and lays his hands against the glass, noticing that the Black Dragon’s head is reattached.
“Thank you, my brothers.” he says.
He’ll return to free them later. His first priority is Sara.
Always.
He runs upstairs, following the link he’s always had with her, and soon finds his beheaded third clone and her in Iron’s den.
She’s asleep.
Ian, gently and slowly, lifts her into his arms, not wanting to disturb her because he knows she needs this. This healing sleep against grief and exhaustion, as well as the comfort of his embrace and love.
He carries her to his quarters. Not surprisingly, they’re locked up, but it is no obstacle for the dragon ring and the Witchblade. They work in tandem, emitting an energy blast that lets the wielder and her real protector in. He thanks both objects of power with a nod of reverence while he gently lowers his precious cargo onto his bed. Surprisingly, it looks freshly made, no wrinkles, no dust. He reminds himself to thank the maid later.
First things first.
He turns to his drawers and pulls out shorts and a t-shirt. He takes off the rest of Sara’s clothes, trying hard to ignore her naked form, before he dresses her in his. It is no small feat, the desire to look upon her naked beauty, what is rightfully his, is overwhelming. Still he resists. There will be time later to drink her in and worship what has been denied since their last lifetime. She doesn’t need his lust right now. She needs his comfort.
He kisses her forehead, then lays down behind her and pulls her closer into the safety of his arms. She molds to his length, unconsciously, mirroring moves from pasts long buried in oblivion. He smiles in ackowledgment, with Excalibur upon her Witchblade, he starts telling and reminding her what has happened in past lifetimes and in this, when they first met and what happened after. The entwined objects of power provide the pictures to his words.
***
Ian had been following Sara for a few nights now, keeping her and her friend Maria safe from harm when they snuck out at night to have some fun. He’d never approached them, but Marias’s challenge tonight drew him in like a protector to his wielder, even though Sara was not in the possession of the Witchblade (yet).
“Kiss the next guy that comes around the corner!”
“Eww! With my luck, it’ll be an old, smelly pervert.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “Chicken!”
Sara was many things, but not that. Still…
“And if it’s a girl?”
“You’re stalling, you coward!” Her friend laughed at her.
“I’m not!” Sara retorted, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Stalling? Or a coward?” Maria taunted.
Ian grinned in his hiding place.
“Neither. But you have to swear you won’t make me go on a double date ever again.” Sara bargained.
“Deal.”
“What if nobody shows up?” Sara asked after a few seconds, which felt like an eternity to her. “How long do we wait?”
“Are you stalling again?”
“No, I just don’t want to freeze my ass off.”
“Well, I guess you better make it a hot kiss then.”
“Ha ha ha. Very funny, Buzani.” Sara turned back to peek around the corner, but collided with a tall, lanky figure shrouded in black.
“Whoops. Sorry.” she apologized and looked up into his face.
She couldn’t see much in the dim light of a faraway streetlamp, except his shoulder-longish, curly hair framing his face and partially obscuring his big - and what she assumed - dark eyes. He looked cute, yet not fully grown into his almost adult face. Maybe this wouldn’t be chore after all.
Drawing a deep breath, Sara rose on to her tiptoes while reaching for his rollneck to draw him down to her level. Angling her head a little, she closed her eyes and put a kiss on his mouth. Her lips collided with soft, plump flesh. Stunned, she breathed an ‘ohh!’, and her lower lip ghosted over his, planting it safely in her mouth. Out of reflex she sucked on it, savoring the taste of mint and lime.
She wanted more, so much more.
Stepping closer, she pressed herself against him and he gasped into her, momentarily stunned and unprepared. She was delighted, felt feminine and embolded enough to show him what she liked in a kiss. So she let go of his lip and plunged her tongue into his mouth, touching his, tempting him to play.
He couldn’t resist and let her lead, but followed eagerly. Forgetting his inexperience, he pulled her closer in need, smashing her breasts against his chest. Another new experience, another pleasant shock, shooting right down between his legs.And she felt him coming to life against her stomach.
She gasped and pulled away.
“I’m sorry.” they said in unison, breathing heavily.
Then she sprinted back around the corner to meet her friend and flee in embarrassment, leaving him standing there, starstruck, eyes shining with pleasure and the first stirrings of love, whispering her name in reverence.
***
Then the scene switches to a room she is all too familiar with.
Teen Ian stood with his back to the fireplace, arms behind him while Irons sat enthroned in his wooden chair in front of him.
King and servant.
She doesn’t like the pictures she sees.
“Where have you been?”
“Around.” the boy answered defiantly.
Irons grimaced.
***
The scene changes again, yet Ian is the same.
He hung in chains - bolted probably somewhere in the ceiling - arms stretched above his head. Irons held a black whip which looked smeared with dark liquid.
Blood.
“Who is the wielder?”
Ian didn’t answer.
The older man walked behind him. Ian’s back was almost flayed, but the Iron man didn’t care and made the leather collide with tender flesh again. The boy hissed in agony, but let out no other sound.
“Where is she?” Irons repeated the question again and again.
And still young Ian never revealed anything.
***
Times moves again.
Ian is a little older, taller and shadows of a beard mark his cheeks and jaw. Late teens, she thinks, but it’s not important.
The young man stood in front of a glass case which held the Witchblade prisoner.
The weapon was in its glove form, muttering unintelligble things. But Ian seemed to understand it and shook his head in protest, panick filling his eyes.
The blade didn’t care and jumped out of its glass confinement to wrap itself around the boy’s right hand. He froze, cocked his head as if listening, but for all intents and purposes he looked spaced out.
Excalibur, he mouthed.
Suddenly the Witchblade flung itself back into the case, repairing the damge that would’ve incriminated it.
Ian fell unconscious to the floor just as Irons rushed in through the door and to his side. He shook the boy a few times, but when he didn’t respond, he called for Immo. And while he was waiting for the doctor, he noticed a ring on Ian’s right hand he’d never seen before.
A dragon with two blue stones as eyes. The same color of gems he’d seen on the Witchblade. He looked to the case. It was unbroken, but the big red stone seemed to be watching.
“What have you done?” Irons whispered horrified while turning back to his protégé. He wasn’t sure who he had adressed the question to.
***
Another jump and Sara finds herself watching the proceedings in Immo’s lab.
The same Ian is strapped to a gurney, still blissfully out.
“The ring?” Irons demanded.
“It cannot be removed.” Immo held an X-Ray against the light, pointing to tendrils of the ring embedded in Ian’s skin and bones.
“Then cut off his finger!” Irons replied coldly.
The doctor was not fazed. “The skin on his hand is invulnerable.”
Irons grimaced, his displeasure mounting.
***
The secene changes so quickly it doesn’t seem like much time has passed.
Ian was sealed into a human sized glass container. It stood upright and looked like a cryo-chamber from sci-fi movies.
Knowing Irons, it’s probably excactly what it seems.
The man himself turned to Immo. “Wake number one and two. One will become my bodyguard. Prepare two for the Black Dragon project.”
***
The dreamvision and time shift again.
Ian looks like she knows him right now, but she’s knows it’s clone number one, standing in front of the infamous fireplace.
“Bring me the Witchblade.” Irons ordered from aside. “Don’t fail this time.”
Ian looked to the left, seemingly piercing Irons with his eyes. “No!” he said determinedly.
And it’s clear he’s denied the order and ignored the rebuke for more failure.
“Very well.” Irons said and came towards him, a syringe in his hands. Ian stepped back in defence.
“Ian!” Kenneth called and a second version of Nottingham appeared.
“Hold him!” Irons ordered.
In one swift move the first Ian is trapped, betrayal written across his features. Kenneth didn’t care. He quickly stuck the needle into Ian’s neck, releasing the tranquilizer right into the blood stream. And it didn’t take long for him to lose consciousness and sack in his brother’s arms.
“Bring him to Immo.” were Iron’s words before he left the room.
The remaining Ian hefted the unconscious man over his shoulders.
And for the first time Sara sees the Black Dragon tattoo.
***
Another change in scenery.
The Black Dragon entered Immo’s lab and put the Ian he had carried into a cryo-chamber right next to the orginal Ian with the dragon ring.
“You can go now, Ian.” Immo asked him not too subtly. And as he did as he was told his eyes swept over the cryo-chambers. There were four of them, but only one was unoccupied.
***
Time changes, the place doesn’t and there are still three chambers occupied.
But there is a slight change.
The Black Dragon was confined again, an ugly, bloodcrusted scar marring his smooth neck. Next to him, clone number one slept, but the original Ian right beside him opens his eyes.
“Sara.” he whispered and punched through the glass, never caring about the blood escaping the skin of his arm.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to. The skin absorbed the red liquid as the wounds healed immediately. He turned to the other chambers, containing his clones, and laid his hands against each surface.
“Thank you, my brothers.”
He’ll come for them later.
He turned around, running upstairs, found Sara and the headless clone. She slept, but he didn’t care. He picked her up and brought her to his rooms, trying hard not to notice that she was half naked. He striped off the rest of her clothes before dressing her in a long t-shirt and a pair of fresh boxers and tucked her in to his bed carefully, reverently. Then lay down beside her, spooning against her body.
They visions have arrived in the present and plunge back into the past, into other lives, suddenly coming in quick sucsession.
Different versions of Ian kneeling in front of different Saras, pledging their sword, Excalibur and undying devotion to her. Each Sara accepted, and most of them sealed the pledge by making love to their protectors, their guardians.
It is the way it’s meant to be.
And Irons had tried to twist it.
As Sara realizes this, a weight is lifted off her shoulder. Her attraction to Ian, her need of him is no sickness.
They belong together.
Their connection is sacred.
Immortal.
And her relief finally releases her from the visions. She wakes to the sight of her Witchblade and his Excalibur entwined, the tendrils of both objects of power wrapped around their hands.
The gems are glowing happily, sparkling red and blue.
Sara smiles.
And so does the original Ian.
Her Ian.
The End
Or not. I might write a smutty epilogue for Sara and the real Ian. After all Sara got to have sex with evilIan, so she deserves some sweet lovingmaking with the original. And no doubt about it the real Ian deserves it, too.