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Nottingham sighed as the doorbell tolled. He made his way down the stairs skipping steps sprinting lightly as the bell rang again. When he made to the door and opened it he started back. To stare at the thin woman that stood before him. She was dressed in a black dress with a large brimmed white hat with a thin black band. Hanging around her body like an enormous sheet of snow hung her white rabbit pelt coat. The woman looked as though she were ready for a photo shoot. “Ms. Boucher!” he exclaimed.

The woman smiled. She extended a hand as Ian let her in. Reluctantly he took it but made no movement to kiss her hand. He just held it and gently shook it, waiting for her to release his. It stung somehow, even though they were both were wearing gloves. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. Panic and confusion seared through him.

“Ian Nottingham, you have grow into quite a handsome man. Are you a lady killer or just an assassin?” she gave him a coy smile, her eyes glassy and not giving anything like a snake.

“Did Mr. Irons ask for your attendance?” He asked suspicion evident in his voice. It would be like her if she just appeared out of now where but she seemed as though she were prepared. Ian was ready for a midday fight it would help him work out a few things on his mind.

“Why yes, he called in a favor.” She said handing him her coat. Nottingham hung it up with a sneer rising on his mouth that he had to hide. “I’m suppose to refine an officer and make her into a duchess,” Dominique said as she removed her long black gloves. Her assistant, a man in a pastel green coat and plum pants followed behind with a clipboard in hand. “Where is Kenneth now?”

“I shall lead you to him,” he said his voice low. As the walked his thoughts were all alive. ‘Dominique Boucher is going to teach Sara how to act? Is he crazy? There isn’t going to be a very big chance that they will get along. And not only that but if…’ Nottingham saw the red eye of the Witchblade in his minds eye. ‘Oh God.’

Irons was enjoying a glass of wine when Ian brought the guests into the study. “Ah, Dominique a pleasure to see you again,” he said as he took her hand and kissed it. “Ian could you please go and get Sara.”

Nottingham nodded eager to get out of the room.

***

“Sara?” Ian said to the closed door. From the way he said it, he could have mistaken himself for a lunatic. He needed to try and calm down.

“Yeah?”

“Please let me in. I need to talk to you its important.”

“Yeah sure, it’s unlocked.”

Nottingham came in to find Sara brushing her hair in front of a wide oval mirror by the exit. It was wet and it hung down longer then usual in brown strands of silky locks. She was in a black bra with a little bit of lace around the bottom hem and hip hugger jeans. The entire expanse of her stomach and neck were seen in the mirror. At once Ian looked at the floor fearing a staring session with her abs that would anger her. “You need to be careful around Ms. Boucher,” he said his voice urgent.

“What?” She turned to him rather then the mirror.

“I don’t think I’m at liberty to explain but please trust me and be careful… I’m here to take you to meet her in the study,” he said head still downward.

“Okay I just need to get a shirt on.” By now Sara noticed that he wasn’t looking at her because of that. She gave a low laugh, “What you don’t think it supports?”

“No, I mean yes…I-I mean…er…not that I looked…I mean I did but…it was for a moment and…” Ian muttered and stammered not knowing how on earth he could properly answer that let alone admit that he liked the way she looked without a shirt on.

“I’m kidding, don’t work yourself up. You just might explode,” she said with a smile. When Nottingham looked up she was in a cropped giants shirt that gave about an inch of her stomach to view.

“Did you hear me, Sara? This is serious.” Nottingham injected finding his seriousness and clinging to it.

“Yes I did, beware of Dominique Boucher…right I heard you.”

Ian sighed, “good.”

“I really don’t understand why you are so high strung sometimes, Nottingham. Is this woman a neurotic or something? Obsessive compulsive?”

“I’m often one to wonder…” Ian answered as they made their way down the hall.

***
       
“So do you like her, Kenneth?” Dominique asked seated in the leather chair opposite Irons. Her assistant was given a stool, he didn’t seem to be responsive of the obvious favor. In fact he was trapped in his own little world.

“What?” Irons retorted as he gave her a glass of wine.

“The wielder. The girl you want me to transform, do you like her?”

Kenneth gave one of his sideways sly smiles, “Like is such a relative word. One likes what one wants, one does not necessarily like what one needs. One simply likes because one can…. It hardly defines anything. There are many emotions close to love…and love itself means thousands of things.”

“You hate her then?” She murmured insidiously with a smile.

“I hate very few people Dominique, and I don’t care to waste my time hating her. Sara Pezzini is a different breed of person. A sort of emotions that are so uneasily determined that once you do, it really is no ones business. I brought you here because I knew you just want to be in the same room with the Witchblade regardless of your pride and expenses. You’d give it all up for it if you had the chance.”

“I-I won’t be threatened!” Dominique huffed.

“Who’s threatening, my dear? I’m stating the obvious.”

“We never discussed what I would get in return…”

“Ah…that…I nearly forgot. You get your money and a chance to prepare the wielder for greatness,” Kenneth supplied.

“But what about the blade?”

“What of it? It isn’t yours.”

Dominique gave a small laugh behind her palm, “We’ll see about that.” Ian stepped in with Sara behind. “Ah, so this must be Ms. Pezzini,” she said with a wax smile. It stopped for a moment when instead of taking Sara’s outstretched hand in greeting.

Sara got a chill, it ran from her right wrist to her spine where it sprinted from vertebrae to vertebrae. Her eyes shot to Ian whose gaze met hers from bent head. She had the sneaking suspicion that the woman might just come and bite her neck and have her bleed to death. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Boucher.”

“Like wise, Ms. Pezzini…may I call you Sara?” she asked now circling her.

“S-sure.”

“No. A yes will do fine. When answering a question it is neither: sure, yeah, uh-huh, nope or uh-uh or anything of that sort. Yes or no are your answers. Is that clear.”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now if you would just relax and stand there while Stuart Frou my assistant takes a few notes on what we need to fix up.”

“Wait a second, fix up? Okay I may not be Ms. America but fix up? I’m not that bad,” Sara said absolutely indignant.

“Urban beauty and en vogue fashion standards are two different things, we need to have you make the transition," Dominique answered. “Stuart?”

The man in the pastel suit stood up, pen and paper ready, “Yes, Madam?”

“Hair needs to be cut or colored, skin tone worked to one shade, make-up a thousand times over and again we need make-up, eyebrows shaped, plucked and thinned, we need to work on a diet-”

“Diet! What the hell?” Sara exclaimed.

Ms. Boucher ignored her this time but sent Sara a look, “As I was saying: diet, conversational manners, proper body toning, we need to get into skirts and dresses. Oh remind me to get a hold of Ralph and Chanel… clothing will be a later issue I know… We need waxing fully body, posture, walking with and without heels, finger and toenails are a must and we need to get a hold of a skin specialist. And hmmm….I think that is all I can think of off the top of my head.”

“Are you sure?” Sara asked now crossing her arms.

“Yes,” she put her hand out to Mr. Frou who placed a phone in it. “After I make a few phone calls we’ll begin.”

“Wonderful!” Sara answered with fake enthusiasm. While Dominique was distracted she rounded on Kenneth who quietly became a part of the back round. “Do you think this is funny? Is this some kind of joke? If it is I won’t stand for it.”

“Joke, oh no Sara this isn’t a joke although this is most amusing…”

Sara gave him a growl and ran a hand through her still wet hair. “You did this on purpose! You picked this-this woman for a reason…”

“In a way yes but don’t flatter yourself, Detective. Dominique owes me many favors. And of those favors I have yet to call any of them in, but today is a rainy day and I’m simply using my resources to help with your undercover mission. Madam Boucher was more then happy to comply. You could say she is familiar with the Witchblade and is one for keeping secrets. I think she is the perfect candidate for you,” Kenneth said as he drank from his wine goblet.

“No, you think you can just-!” Sara began but Irons reached out and tucked a hair behind her ear.

At the feel of his skin against hers Sara was swept into a vision. …A woman, tall and blond, like Dominique Boucher without so many years on her face looking lovingly into a glass case with a gauntlet inside. Her long red fingernails glimmering as her hands splayed over the case…a large thick body of a snake entwining a person wrapping around an arm… the snake became solid a metal… the metal shrank and morphed into a bracelet… Sara saw the red stone of the Witchblade accent the same colored fingernails…

When she came back from the weird brink of nothingness, Sara gasped. So that was why. “Holy-”

“Please hold your tongue, Sara. I have a feeling that your more colorful language won’t be heard as often any more… Pity. It does lighten the mood.”

Sara could see that there really wasn’t any reason for her to be speaking to him, he wasn’t going to be any help now. She backed away, biting her tongue and nodding her head slightly. ‘Great. Just wonderful… How the hell do I get into things like this?’ Her cell phone chirped in her pocket, Sara answered it on the second ring, gladly welcoming another distraction.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Pezzini, this is Mr. Welsh-”

“Oh yeah, hi…”

“I came to the Lynbrook to give you some information but your room was obliterated. I thought that you were killed.”

“Oh, no Mr. Welsh it takes more then that….” Sara laughed. “Yeah yesterday Mr. Nottingham and I had to check out early. Right now were residing at Kenneth Irons mansion.”

“Is there any way I could get in contact with Mr. Irons?”

“Yes actually he’s right here,” Sara said. She put a hand over the receiver. “Mr. Irons, the personal assistant to the Duke of Steerpike would like to talk to you. Don’t make me want to run you through,” she said handing him her cell and giving a gesture to the Witchblade that gave a little glow for effect.

“Sara?” Dominique called from the other side of the room. Sara came forward to her trying not to notice the disgust that rose in her face as she watched Sara’s every step. “We won’t be starting today. So expect to be ready early tomorrow. Right now I have to leave, I have a photo shoot to survey,” she began turning tail without saying good bye to the host when she paused, “Oh and Sara.”

“Yes?” she begrudgingly answered.

Dominique took her hand and with the other patted their joined hands, “don’t eat anything that is high in carbohydrates or any red meat. I will give you a call,” all the while she was gently patting Sara’s hand the movement disturbed her and she wanted to break contact but the woman’s grip was fierce. Ms. Boucher wouldn’t allow Sara to be polite about pulling away.

“I will,” Sara answered wrenching her self away. The Witchblade hissed and swirled, prepping itself for any danger. But Dominique retreated with Ian following and Stuart Frou bringing up the rear.

***

“What do you think of her Ian?” Dominique asked as she retrieved her coat and gloves.

“Mr. Irons will be in contact.”

“Beautiful, isn’t she? A lot like Elizabeth…but you wouldn’t know… I think that Kenneth will have a fine time with her seeing as he is one to like both sexes on occasion…” As soon as the words left her mouth Nottingham had somehow produced a knife from his sweater sleeve and placed it at a main artery of Dominique’s neck. Mr. Frou took a step back and dropped his clipboard, cell phone and perhaps a load in his pants.

“Speaking of one person badly is a horrible act, speaking of two wielders is a crime that I think deserves severe punishment,” he said his voice like gravel. “You have no right what so ever to judge. Mr. Irons would love to hear you make such comments in person….”

“You-you can’t kill me… Kenneth wouldn’t allow it…” she gasped and squirmed under Ian’s tight grip.

“I often wonder… I’ve never asked. Do you wish me to find out so we can continue this conversation?” Nottingham asked pulling away, the knife disappeared.

        “I-I will be back tomorrow,” was all she could manage before she all but ran out, Mr. Frou without feeling he needed to cover his dignity peeled after her. Ian slammed the door behind.

~~~I'm back in school...so updates will be mostly on the weekends....

Sara was in a room swirling with masked faces; it was so strange and surreal to see adult people walking about in a full out dress-up party. Every false face was fixed in a permanent grin. Mechanically, as though they were wind up dolls, clowns, angels, kings, beasts, faeries, ghosts and long dead characters whirled about her in circles with herself at the center. Sara felt herself smile. It was great fun to be a stranger among strangers… But lurking around the edges of the enormous ballroom a danger. She saw it, acknowledged it and then as the dance progressed, she forgot about it. Wrapped up in the entire fray.

A man dressed in gray with whiskers, round ears and a tail asked if she would dance. Sara smiled and declined as she enjoyed dancing alone. She was having a good time. The music slowed. The people began to couple off. Sara realized that she was the only person without a partner.

And then he came…

Out of the mist and whirling covered faces, dressed in gray and silver he seemingly appeared. His face was covered with a long snout and curled horns above elegant ears, his guise a ram. She couldn’t see any of his skin and she could hardly make out his eyes. They were dark and fixed on her. He didn’t utter a word but took her hand and lead her away to an area where they could dance. The man held her close to his strong body. Sara noticed that she was actually wearing a dress, it was white and it flowed around, gauzy and lightweight with endless small light layers that swayed as they danced.

The clock struck eleven and Sara reached toward the mask to see his face. His costume changed from the silver gray to dark endless black in seconds. He turned out to be a wolf. The wolf looked at his hands, then to her and reached out for a moment. Sara drew back and the Witchblade flared into life. A warning to the man that he didn’t heed as he stepped forward arms outstretched as though to embrace her. Dark eyes pleading beneath the black mask.

Next to her the gray mouse appeared. It transformed into a great huge bear. The bear’s face was stuck in a terrifying grin. It swung its heavy paws with claws ready to slash. Sara backed up to turn back to the wolf. She was trapped. And as if it wasn’t bad enough… that’s when the ballroom transformed into a forest. The other party guests scattered with the blowing of the wind, being only leaves. The blade flared like a firecracker and the leaves caught on fire.

“Sara! Wake up this instant!” A voice yelled. Sara sat up, disoriented. She was in the study, as usual for her beautification lessons. Dominique stood in front of her, her eyes hard and cold. Apparently she had fallen asleep, “Not getting enough sleep these days?”

“Ys because I haven’t been able to stop the growling in my stomach.”

“Excuses are not becoming of a lady.” Sara sighed and clenched her teeth imagining the Witchblade using her as a pincushion. “As I was saying the waltz is a very important dance…”

“Wait a second, no one said anything about dancing…”

Dominique laughed, “It is an essential part of European parties. And it said on the paper that Lady Judith’s family came from a line of dancers.”

“No fu-”

“Sara! Stop that, you’re being unruly. There is no reason what so ever for you to be misbehaving you have been doing rather nicely up until yesterday.”

“Yesterday was when I started to be starving and tired.” Sara stood up. Ian on the other side of the room, reading as usual, looked up from his book interested. “You know what Ms. Boucher maybe I’ll do just fine being unruly. Seeing as I’m only a stand in for the real thing…”

“Your inconsiderate nature is something that needs to be changed, Detective Pezzini. I shall return shortly, I suggest you think of a proper way to apologize to me when we resume the lessons. That is if I feel like it…” Sara looked away as Dominique’s high-heeled shoes click-clacked away like horse hooves. She stood up when she could no longer hear her footsteps. On an easel Ms. Boucher placed posters of dance footsteps. Sara crossed her arms and looked at them.

“Does the Lady Sara have a problem with dancing?” Nottingham asked coming forward from behind.

“You wouldn’t get it…”

“Try me, Sara.”

“Well…I took dance lessons when I was twelve. I took tap, jazz, ballet… all the girly dance classes that all the other girls took in between karate and judo.”

Ian stepped up so that he stood beside her. “That seems like an out of character movement for you.”

“It was…” Sara answered with a short hallow laugh.

“Why did you take them then?”

“My dad asked me to. He told me that my mom liked to dance. He probably didn’t mean for me to do it just because he asked. But I did it so that maybe he wouldn’t worry about me fitting in…”

“Is there any sort of valiant gesture you have yet to have performed, Sara?”

“Stop teasing me, Ian. I’m not in the mood,” she said flat out. Sara moved to walk away when Nottingham took her hand and paced it on his shoulder. He then took her other hand, holding her into the waltz position. “Please Nottingham. I don’t want to dance.”

“I think you can. I know you can,” Nottingham said, determined stepping back and pulling her with him. “A wise man once said that life is a dance… If that is true then you should know a lot about dancing and not, Sara.” She tried to fight his steps but Ian manipulated his steps into following hers, letting her lead. “Life and the waltz both have three steps: birth, life, death over and over again. Spring, summer, winter…morning, noon, night. Always three important steps before completing…”

“Knock it off,” Sara returned annoyed, trying to pull back. “Just let me go.”

“I won’t…”

“You’re going to tick me off…” She warned.

“That isn’t anything new, Sara.” Nottingham answered holding her tighter. “You are always angry with me one way or another, what’s one more thing for you to be mad about?”

Sara swallowed, her green eyes glowing with a mixture of past sorrows and mild frustration, she stopped fighting and let him lead, “you don’t know what you’re talking about, Nottingham.”

“Maybe I don’t,” he said, “maybe I do. Either way I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me…” Ian looked up for a moment over Sara’s head. Above on the second floor of the library Kenneth looked down on him, a smile spreading across his face before he stepped back to evade Sara’s sights. For a moment, Nottingham held her close and then finally let her go. “I shall return shortly,” he said eyes to the floor.

***

Kenneth met Ian half way in the hall. Before he even spoke Nottingham stopped looking at the tile floor knowing who was behind him. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to run away just to escape right now, to run from Sara and her all to trusting heart, Irons and his conspiring plots to capture and control the Witchblade and to get away from his own guilty pursuits. The farther this farce went the more he was falling in love with Sara and the more it hurt to fool her. What would happen when the two of them came down to dinner one night with Kenneth smiling over them? Surely Sara would know that it would be a trick.

“Ian what were are you going? I was very pleased with the array you put on. Why quit when you are ahead? Her defenses against you are rapidly eroding.”

“I-I can’t do it like this… She’ll find out,” Nottingham answered not turning to look into the eyes of his master. “And besides, she isn’t responding.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, is that what you call not responding?” Kenneth said motioning to the entrance to the study. Ian walked over to view what Irons saw. Inside Sara stood, swaying in a three step motion, she was waltzing on her own paying close attention to the mapped out steps. Kenneth came up behind him and placed two hands on his shoulders. “Just look at that! This is better then I could have dreamed.”

“What will she say when you gladly accept a relationship between us?” Nottingham whispered his voice thick with emotion.

Kenneth Irons took his question as one said in fear. “Then tell her that it is a secret and I will pretend that I don’t know.”

“It isn’t that easy…”

“Love isn’t an easy thing, Ian. They say it is all consuming, all-powerful: a source of madness and chaos,” Kenneth answered leaving him in the hall. “But you are one that is made of more resilient material. Strength, power, knowledge and cunning are your tools. I greatly hope there will be a longer interval of time before you come and ask for help again.”

Nottingham had a gun in his pocket, he could feel its weight shift as he turned to watch Kenneth leave. He took it out, his fingers wrapping around the butt. It would be easy now to put it into use. He had enough bullets to end it both ways… but was it what was to be done? Was he to be the criminal and judge in one sitting? No… that’s not the way it would go. He turned to watch Sara dancing on her own. How dare he? What would she think? What would she say? What would she do?

“Sara will you ever now how much of a savior you are to me?” Nottingham asked in the silence of his mind. “For every time I lift a gun or think of an attack I wonder how much higher or lower that would put me in your eyes. The lives, they don’t matter any more. My life doesn’t seem to really matter that much any more. It’s bland and blank in comparison to you and your vibrancy… I know that this game is eating me from the inside out but to be close to you, to know you… will there ever be a chance like this ever? It always comes to that thought… I am an assassin…. You are a saint… Is there any dimension or reality that the two could ever be lovers? Maybe only in a lie we can work together. The thought of having you with anyone else makes me want to kill myself. For my life, I’ll keep this up… But I know that doubt and guilt will be heavy on my shoulders every time you smile at me…”

“Ian?”

Nottingham swung around, gun in hand raised right in the nose of Dominique. He knew that the action wasn’t necessary yet the feeling that she had intruded on his thoughts as well as his personal space was not a sort of felony he was willing to let off as well as humiliating Sara once more. Her hands were full of folders and books. She mutely took a gulp and stared into the barrel of the gun. “I’m going to teach her to dance and to speak. Any word of my wishes or actions to Irons, you won’t have a face to put make-up on.”

***

When Ian stepped into the room with Dominique quaking behind. She stopped at the threshold to see Sara dancing on her own, not perfectly but the fact that she was getting the central movements and position right in mere minutes was astounding. “How?” she gasped.

Sara noticed Ms. Boucher and regarded her with a glare while Nottingham stepped into the gaps in her position to lead. At the touch of him she felt a sort of charge. The Witchblade quietly warmed on her wrist, sending a current of heat into her veins. The way she fit against him and the way she naturally followed his steps was strange as well as fascinating. They had never danced with one another before let alone even touched except by accident, until Ian became her official bodyguard.

‘Strange,’ she thought, ‘I should be wary, I should be afraid… but the question is why? Okay, Nottingham does work intimately with Kenneth Irons. How intimately? I don’t know. Hell he could kill me with a few quick touches here and there. But then again, he gives me no reason to be that fearful of him. He has saved my life more then once in the past two weeks. So far I haven’t had a good reason to draw a gun on him… but then again killers never strike until they are most confidant that you are not expecting it. God, sometime it would be a lot easier to find and date people if I wasn’t a cop…’

Sara looked into Ian’s face as he turned her. Silence, serious brown eyes met hers. “You’re trying to lead again, Detective,” he said softly.

Sara gave him a small grin “I often do that. It’s a habit.”

“You’re better on your feet then you think. You keep on trying to make us do simpler steps. Take a chance, I’m sure you would do well.”

“Sorry Fred Estaire, Ginger Rogers isn’t ready to hit the big time yet,” returned trying to break his sudden fall of solemnity. He was just so rigid. Sara was rewarded with a short shallow grin, it reminded her of when they met at the museum, it didn’t loosen him up much but it was beginning to.

He leaned close so that Dominique, who had been watching and pointing out problems occasionally, couldn’t see his mouth as he whispered in her ear, “When she is gone we can work on your speaking.”

Sara put her cheek against his while Nottingham was facing Dominique, “What is wrong with the way I speak? I’ve been lost for over twenty years… It’s not like I’ll talk like Julie Andrews or something. I can do a mean impression of Sean Connery.”

“It isn’t a big problem… we just need to tweak it a bit…”

“Hmmm…. I have a feeling you know a lot about tweaking, Nottingham.”

She was rewarded with a smile, but there was something sad behind it as it faded.

Would this man, Ian Nottingham ever mean to plot against her, Sara Pezzini? That was the major question, the huge conundrum that nestled its way between them. Ian knew the answer and strove to manipulate it. Sara was one left to wonder in fear and confusion.

“You are a fast learner,” he said as they took a break from all of the poetry and speeches Nottingham dug out of his personal library. “You actually developed a faint accent in a few hours. If you keep practicing it would be convincing enough.”

“Thanks,” Sara answered closing up a book of Yeats. “You can do a nice British accent yourself.”

Ian sat down on his stomach across the floor, not looking at Sara who sat across the couch they had both occupied earlier. “I lived in London briefly...that’s where I was born.”

“Wow that must have been great,” Sara said looking down on him.

“I suppose it was, all I remember were the large buildings and the fog that was so thick you could get lost in it. Mr. Irons adopted me at Saint Lourdes Children’s Home I suppose I was about four.”

“That’s pretty amazing that Irons took you in.”

“Yes it was, I often think that he was just pitying me. We lived around Oxford for at least six years. Vorshlog Industries main office was there in the seventies until it was relocated to the states. Sometimes Mr. Irons is called back to the old office for negations, we never we go I get back my accent.”

“Did you ever think that there might be records of who ever put you up for adoption?”

“Yes, I was left at the door step with an ID bracelet that the person who left me there was kind enough to give. It had a name and blood type but no address. And there are dozens of scattered families by the name of Nottinghams in England and the entire whole of Europe. One can never search them all.”

“I’m sorry, that must suck.”

Ian sighed and shook his head as he sat up, stretching like a cat. “That maybe so, but,” he pointed a finger, “you may not say that, dear lady. Ne’re is there so foul a woman as one with profanity tainted lips.”

“Suck isn’t a dirty word, it’s just a dirty analogy. But if Mr. Nottingham thinks that it’s a bad word, you want to know what I say to that?”

“Yes but not if it has any crude four letter words.”

“It doesn’t. So you can just kiss my-”

“I don’t think it is very traditional for a woman to request kisses. But it is modern, one should comply I suppose as long as you say please.”

Sara looked up at him, questioning. Her eyebrow raised up considerably. She didn’t know how to call this or even know how to respond. Nottingham picked up a book and Sara caught a grin on his face. “Are you picking up on me, Nottingham?” she asked, she found her voice had become soft and not at all as strong as she wanted it to be.

“Excuse me, what was that?” he returned looking at her, brown eyes gleaming.

“Er…Nothing. I’m tired… Don’t you have a clock in this room?”

“Of course,” Ian answered as he moved to the bookshelf, “It’s half past eleven, I’m afraid I’ve kept you here to long.”

“Now I’ll have to sue for imprisonment,” she grinned.

“Doesn’t the prisoner have to be unwilling?” He caught her again, second time this night. Nottingham was on fire. He just wanted her to be aware of what was going on between them. He had to make her see.

Sara stood up, and picked up her heels from the floor and placed them back on her feet. Dominique had insisted that she wear them as often as possible so that she would get use to being in them all the time. Ian found it unnecessary and allowed her to remove them in his personal session. “Good Night, Nottingham,” she said walking out, “see you in the morning.”

“Good Night,” he called after her, watching her careful steps and listening to them sound and holding his breath until he heard her door close. A small victory, a very small victory but everything starts small, Nottingham decided as he began to stack the books of poetry. When he was done he found himself feeling idle. There wasn’t any way he was going to be sleeping now or even thinking of sleeping.

***

By the third ring, Sara was sure it wasn’t Nottingham. He may be strange but he wouldn’t try and wake her up at this hour, after all he was only across the hall. The most she would worry about is him sneaking into her room. The cell rang a forth time as she fumbled with the buttons in the dark. “Hello?”

“Pez…” Danny’s voice breathed on the line.

“Danny…” she gasped, sitting up. “Hi.” The rest was silence. He did call and she didn’t know what to say. Sara had a feeling he didn’t either.

“How are you holding up?” he asked his voice low and whispering.

“Uh. Good. I’ve got a lot of things to work on…” She wanted more then anything to tell Danny, her partner, everything but there was an uncomfortable rift that settled between them. She could feel it. The utter tension. “How about you? How are things?”

“Could be better. We’re in counseling,” he didn’t say Jen’s name.

‘Maybe she was there, listening. Or maybe she’s sleeping with him on the phone at their bedside. Danny making a midnight call, damn…he feels guilty. That’s why he hasn’t called in days. I’m a temptation or at least he feels so bad that he’s treating me like one. Jesus Christ, Danny why are you calling me in secrecy like this is some sort of dirty hotline? Why did it end up like this?’

“Oh… That’s-that’s great. You guys need to do that.” ‘Duh, Pezzini they were on the brink of separation…’

“I gave Jake your cell number. He’s worried about you.”

“Did-did you tell him about my special project?” Sara asked. This stiffness was awful. It was like they were strangers again. All those years together working, stressing, sweating, laughing, teasing, and weeping gone, erased away like writing on sand. It all happened so fast.

“No. I didn’t.”

Sara nodded, and swallowed trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. “Danny, I’m-I’m really, very sorry.”

“Me too, Sara.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, partner-” she began trying to sound optimistic. Her voice sounded strangled with tears…not at all like she wanted to appear.

She heard her partner sigh, and the line fuzzed over for a moment, he must have rattled the phone line. “Danny, when I come back… Will things be the same?”

“I don’t know, Pez.”

“Right.”

“I’ll call you sometime.”

‘Yeah in about three or four days, Danny.’ “Sure.”

As the drone of the dead line hummed in her ear Sara came to the conclusion that she was yet again left to be on her own. Whether or not Danny meant for her to be hurt was anyone’s guess by now. Initially he didn’t mean to but now he was hurting too. Did he mean to force it elsewhere?

Again it was anyone’s guess. In the darkness of her room, Sara fell backward on to the large bed into the pillows. She forced her eyes shut and began to think of other things. Happy thoughts… that was all she could do. She was too tired to exercise and too prideful to walk across the hall to Nottingham’s door and surrender to the strong embrace that acted as a brick wall to sorrow like at the hotel.

***

Nottingham wandered down the stairs like a ghost, soundless and unnoticed as the help quietly went about their own business trying to get the bulk of their work done before dawn. They ignored him as he ignored them, that is how things went along was when the schedule was tight. Lately Mr. Irons had been impatient with many of them since Sara came to occupy his home. Everything had to be thoroughly washed and polished. His personal chambers were cleaned until perfection as usual but more attention had to be paid to even the smallest of details. The servants and Nottingham shared the same annoyance and pain that Irons inflicted. Ian was glad that they treated him as one of them, rather then just another boss.

This night he made it a point not to bother the staff except there was one member he felt he had to consult. Ian sped up his steps hoping to catch Mrs. Lennox before she carpooled home. He caught her coming out of the kitchen. Her face was red with exertion her black dress sleeves were rolled up past her elbows. A smile broke across her face as Nottingham approached before he could utter a word she good-naturedly twittered like a bird, “Why hello, Dear! What are you doing up at this hour? You better not be having to go out tonight, not with another bit of snow fall! And dear me, your other coats are being washed, goodness and if I had known! I’m so dreadfully sorry-”

Ian shook his head and couldn’t help him self from grinning, “It’s nothing like that-”

“Oh!” she said her smile widening, “Don’t tell me, let me guess!” Nottingham followed her into the dining hall as Mrs. Lennox stopped here and there to instruct her fellow workers. “By the mood you’re in I’d say that you are just completely radiating happiness. I haven’t seen you like this since you got home from that concert…”

“I came to ask you for some advice-”

“Now, now. I’m not done guessing,” she said jokingly. “It has to do with Sara.”

“Yes!” Ian answered almost too loudly. The maid carrying flowers behind him in a vase stopped and as giggling. He turned to her, his cheeks a bit red as he looked to the floor.

The young maid looked at Mrs. Lennox who took a flower from the vase and shooed the girl on her way. “It makes me so happy to see you like this, you are often too gloomy for anyone’s taste. Its about time you’ve fallen in love,” she said as she handed Ian the white rose. “Just don’t let all those little doubts that come with the love ruin things. Lord knows that happens.”

“Actually I wanted to ask you what I should do to let her know…”

“She doesn’t?” Mrs. Lennox asked incredulously.

“Well she does but… I don’t think she is sure. Sara’s been hurt many times.”

“In that case, I don’t think she deserves any old sort of gift. Think of something really nice that she would enjoy. I know that you don’t have many resources but I advice you arrange it yourself. Master Irons maybe the master of the household but… Well frankly dear I wish I could say what I want too but these walls have ears that are all too keen. I think the first thing you should do is to tell her. How to do it? I’ll leave that part up to you. You always have a vivid imagination.”

***

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a partner… Some times I feel like my only friend. It’s the city I live in, the City of Angels. Lonely as I am together we cry…” Sara sang to herself as she pumped her legs in circles on the exercise bike. Ms. Boucher made it clear that if she wanted to do any sort of exercise it must be to slim her body not to create more muscle. Swimming, jogging and biking were the only things she was allowed to do. Instead of using the large CD player, she decided to have her own private session of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It was starting to give her a headache (or was it the fact that her stomach was completely empty?).

Nottingham came in as she the little mile meter began to turn from six to seven miles. She took of her headphones, “Hey,” she greeted her voice breathy and exhausted sweat glistened on her forehead.

“You haven’t eaten breakfast yet, Sara,” he said.

“Yeah, well…I’m not really hungry,” she answered talking a gulp of water from the little cup holder by the handles of the bike.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Ian softly sighed and tried a different approach, “Is there something bothering you?”

“N-yes,” Sara muttered as she turned off the bike and slowly got off. “Danny called.”

“Oh… May I ask what he said?”

“Nothing… that’s the problem,” Sara stretched and set her player on the bench. “But I don’t want to think about that, I’m pretty sure Dominique will be making this day a lot better then that.”

“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about, I’ve got some good news and I have some bad news,” Nottingham said. “Which would you like to hear first?”

“The bad news then the good news.”

“The bad news is that when Dominique gets here we are all going to look for a wardrobe worthy of a well to do lady and following that she wants a photo shoot of you so that she can put that in her portfolio.”

“Goodie,” Sara cringed. “I can’t wait. What is the good news?”

“The good news is that Mademoiselle Boucher is at a fashion show and the latter isn’t going to happen for three days.”

Sara dropped the water bottle she was retrieving from the exercise bike and whirled around, “Are you $%#^ing me?”

“Not at all,” Ian returned with a grin on the corners of his mouth. “What on earth do you suppose we are to do in that time?”

Sara grinned as she picked up the bottle “I have a feeling you had something to do with this…”

“I can neither confirm or deny that statement,” he said slyly. “But I know that there are some wonderful breakfast foods cooking right now in the kitchen… and none of them have tofu or greens…”

At his words Sara could smell the pleasant scent of buttered pancakes, orange juice and syrup wafting about the house. She went over to Ian, and wrapped him in a firm bear hug. “You have no idea how wonderful you are right now.”

She hadn’t ever really thought about hugging Nottingham. Hell she never thought she’d have any reason to… except for today. It just happened. Sara tried to rationalize her reasoning. She hugged Jake from time to time, she hugged Danny… and that one kid with the relics, Gabriel. Why should she have a reason to hug Nottingham? But this felt different. Maybe it was because Nottingham was an assassin who she started to see in a new light. Maybe it was the fact that she was half-starved and utterly lonely. Maybe because she was actually grateful. Whatever it was it was impulsive and gave both of them a very interesting situation.

Sara could reach her arms around his middle. It wasn’t as wide as she thought. He was taller then she thought. Her head reached perhaps the bottom of where his shoulder started. Ian made her seem so small and delicate in comparison, perhaps even before she went on Dominique’s stupid diet plan. Underneath Nottingham’s black sweater she could feel the muscles of his chest and arms contract. He wasn’t pumped like the Rock but he sure felt like one. And the way he returned her hug was gentle carefully, almost timidly pressing her against him.

Surprised and not expecting this sort of reaction to a few pulled strings Nottingham was without words as Sara’s head leaned against his chest. This should have been wrong. He should have felt very guilty but he didn’t so much as to tell her the truth. “Perhaps another time,” Nottingham thought. For the moment he allowed himself to return her embrace feeling what it was like again to hold her close. To really hear and feel her breathing against his.

“Oh, jeeze sorry. I’m all sweaty and nasty.”

“It’s alright, Sara. Let’s go eat.”