Disclaimer and Notes: Witchblade characters and concepts belong to Top Cow. Panzer/Davis owns the Highlander characters and concepts. Never been mine, never will be, but wow, what fun to play in those sandboxes... Takes place sometime before the end of first season Witchblade. Thanks to Kris (mindlessraven) and Shrewreader for the beta.
Written for the crossovers100 LiveJournal community challenge, prompt #58: Dinner. This completely stands alone from anything else I've ever written.
3356 words. Rated "M" for mature.
Lovers in a Dangerous Time
By Raine Wynd
Sara was just about to leave a deli when she bumped into the man coming in. She caught a flash of brown leather jacket, the impression of a rangy build, and then the Witchblade decided to go HDTV on her and add its two cents. She saw a flash of swords, the shine of crystal as champagne was poured, smelled blood as it spilled onto pavement from a body she couldn't see, heard a female voice whisper a combination to a safe over a headset— and then the Witchblade brought Sara abruptly back to the present.
"Are you okay? Sorry I bumped into you," the man apologized as his hands rested on her shoulders in a gesture meant to steady her.
Sara blinked and focused in on him. Once she had, she did a double take. "Nick?" She couldn't believe her eyes. "Nick Wolfe? What are you doing back in the city?"
He grinned and gently maneuvered her out of the doorway so that they no longer blocked it. Then he hugged her, an embrace she was quick to return, and equally unwilling to end. "Good to see you, too, Sara. You still working homicide?"
"Yeah, 18th Precinct, as always. You still with Torago? I can't believe you moved to that town after training here. Especially after all that time I spent with you, making sure you weren't going to be some lame-ass rookie."
"Hey, you did good, and I appreciated the training. Torago's a good city, and I like it," Nick said defensively. "Besides, I'm not a New Yorker like you."
"Thank God," Sara said, smiling. Now that they weren't blocking the doorway, Sara took advantage of their position to examine him more closely. As she had years before, she marveled at his rugged handsomeness, and felt desire shiver through her. "You look good," she told him. "It's been what, a couple of years?"
"Something like that," Nick confirmed. He glanced at his watch, and his easy-going expression tightened momentarily. "Listen, it was great to see you, but I really have to get going. Are you free for dinner tonight? We could catch up."
"Sure," Sara said easily. "Where are you staying at?"
"Why don't we just meet up at Mama Vito's? It's still there, right?"
"Of course — you think Mama Vito would be chased off the block by anything?"
Nick laughed. "Not hardly, no. She still treating everyone like they're family?"
"Absolutely," Sara agreed, grinning.
"See you at seven," Nick bid her, then headed away from the store.
****
"Hey, Jake," Sara announced as she walked into her office, "guess who I ran into just now."
"If it's the Stay-Puf Marshmallow Man, I don't want to know." Jake barely glanced up from the screen as he poured through a database looking for information.
Sara grinned. "And here I thought you wanted his autograph."
"Nah, that's the Pillsbury Dough Boy." Jake pushed his chair back from the desk and stretched. "So, who'd you run into?"
"An old friend, guy Danny and I trained as part of a special program. Got some good people, some new ideas, but funding was cut, and suddenly it wasn't happening anymore. Nick was top of the class."
"So what's he doing now?"
Sara started to shrug, and then paused as she rewound her conversation with Nick. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "he was with the Torago PD. Now I'm not sure." She pulled open a drawer on her desk and pulled out a battered Rolodex. Flipping through the tabs, she found the number she was looking for, then picked up the phone and dialed.
"Yes, this is Detective Sara Pezzini of the NYPD. I'd like to talk to Detective Nick Wolfe," she told the woman who answered.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but that's not possible," the woman replied. "He's no longer with the force."
"I see. Can you tell me how long it's been?"
"Well, considering they hired me to replace him, I'd say almost three years. Why do you ask?"
"I'm an old friend. I just came across something of his I have and hoped I could get it back to him," Sara lied easily.
"Oh. Well, sorry, I can't help you there." The woman's voice suddenly developed a hostile edge, and Sara suddenly had the flash of Nick, in handcuffs and behind bars. "Hey, listen, if you want some free advice, I'd stay away from him. He's trouble."
"Thanks," Sara said, and hung up. Ignoring Jake's quizzical look, she turned to her computer and brought up one of the databases she sometimes used to cross-reference criminals. Some part of her hoped the Witchblade's insight was wrong. Some part of her was equally unsurprised and more than a little saddened to find that Nick was listed as wanted in connection with a murder.
"Sara? Everything okay?" Jake asked.
She sighed and looked at him. "No," she answered bluntly, "but I'll handle it. Thanks."
Jake started to pry further, but she cut him off with a look.
He wasn't deterred. "So what did this old friend of yours do?"
"Something I didn't think he would," Sara told him. "And no, you're not asking me any more about it. Ready to go ask the suspect in the attack on a rabid accountant some questions?"
"Yeah," Jake acknowledged. "Here's hoping he's willing to talk to us."
****
At six fifty-five, Sara pulled into a parking space in front of Mama Vito's next to a late-model Harley roadster and turned off her motorcycle, dismounting as she did so. She pulled off her helmet and secured it to the bike before unzipping her jacket to allow herself access to her gun. She didn't need the sixth sense that came packaged with the Witchblade to know that unexpected trouble was never far away.
The scent of garlic and pasta and cheese assaulted her as soon as she walked through the door, and she saw Nick was already seated at a booth towards the back of the room, near the kitchen. She waved off the hostess's offer to be seated, and quickly made her way across the small restaurant to Nick.
He rose to hug her. "Long day?"
For a moment, Sara indulged herself in the contact. "Something like that," she told him, stepping back and taking a seat in the booth. "You remember how it is: paperwork, phones, and never enough information to close a case as quickly as anyone would like. Who did you kill, Nick?"
Nick's smile dimmed. Just at that moment, their waitress arrived to take their orders, and drop off a basket of breadsticks and marinara sauce. Having memorized the menu years ago, neither Nick nor Sara needed to check the plastic-coated menu sheets, and their orders were quickly taken. Once the waitress was gone, Nick took a sip of his red wine. "I wondered if you were going to look me up." He sounded resigned. "It was self-defense."
Sara didn't want to believe him, and yet the Witchblade confirmed he wasn't lying. "So why didn't you turn yourself in?"
"And take my chances with the justice system? You've seen how it works, Sara. Go ahead, arrest me, take the glory."
"On what grounds?" she retorted. "You know as well as I do that you could tell me you're a serial killer and I'd still have to go find evidence enough to prove it in a court of law, prove that you weren't coerced into a confession, or some other bullshit. Not that you don't know that already." She shook her head. "No, thanks.
Nick half chuckled. "Yeah, no."
Sara reached for a breadstick. "Why the hell aren't you a cop anymore? Is living on the other side that good?"
He chuckled again, the sound bitter. "My captain wanted me to cover up why my partner was killed, offered me a promotion to keep it silent. He didn't want anyone knowing we had bad cops on the payroll."
Stunned, Sara could only stare. "What the hell? So you're doing what now? You were a great cop."
Nick shrugged carelessly. "For all the good it did me, yeah. I left the States and headed to Paris; ended up managing a club for a friend." He took a breadstick, dipped it into the sauce and bit into it.
From the way he held himself and his tone of voice, Sara knew the subject was closed. "So what brings you to New York?"
"A friend of mine offered me a job helping run his antique store." Nick smiled more readily now. "I got tired of bouncing drunks, watching old men wheel and deal while they treated the bar staff like shit, and dealing with French suppliers who all thought that I was too American to understand 'the way things were.' Baiseurs."
"So that's what happens when you can't be a cop anymore? Take on whatever a friend can help you find?" Sara tried to keep the censure out of her voice, but damn it, she'd believed in Nick.
Nick shrugged. "I never had half the chip on my shoulder you do. You've always wanted to prove something to a ghost. How are you doing, Sara?"
"I'm -" she started to say reflexively, but something in Nick's eyes made her stop. She took a deep breath. "Life has been weird lately. I get all the weird cases, the stuff that would make the X-Files seem like kindergarten."
"I saw on the news this morning there was a freak lightning storm up in Central Park last night. Some guy got beheaded, too. That one yours?"
"Yeah," Sara admitted. "Got no leads, nobody saw anything."
But he knows, the Witchblade whispered.
Sara glanced down at Nick's hands and abruptly saw them wielding a sword, blood splattering across the backs of his hands as he swung the sword in a death blow. "You were there," she accused him.
He didn't seem surprised. "You have a lovely antique bracelet, Sara," he said.
"Why does everyone know more about the Witchblade than I do?" she said, annoyed.
Nick half-shrugged. "I love a good legend? Besides, I looked you up, too, Sara. You're not the only one who goes to meet someone armed with information...or a backup weapon."
"That wasn't an accidental meeting this morning, then."
"There's nothing accidental in this life. Keith Tobyna raped prostitutes because he could. He chose that life. I chose to change his mind, permanently."
"I'm still a cop, Nick."
"You're not on the clock, Sara. And as far as I'm concerned, we're just two old friends having dinner, talking about things that could be."
Their food arrived, and Nick dug into his lasagna. After a moment's hesitation, hunger won out over disgust, and Sara took a bite of her own spaghetti con carne. Several minutes passed in silence before Sara decided she'd had enough, and pushed her plate off to one side.
"Why didn't you just come to me at the station if you were planning on running into me?"
"And try to do so in a way that would bypass all the security, all the videocameras, and any possible recognition from any of your coworkers when I'm wanted for questioning in a murder case?"
Forced to concede that point, Sara shook her head. "All right, there's that. But you could have called me."
Nick grinned. "And what, talk to you about stuff that's not supposed to be real? You'd have denied it in a heartbeat, you know that, and probably thought I was some whack-job calling you while high on something. Come on, Sara, if you're wearing that cursed thing, you know cops aren't inclined to believe in all that woo-woo stuff."
"Then why do you believe?"
"Let's just say that I had a death-defying experience, and leave it at that." He sighed and took another sip of wine. "I really missed talking to you, you know."
At that moment, the glass he held snapped. Red wine spilled across the table. The glass stem drove into Nick's hand and blood mixed with wine, and yet he reacted entirely too slowly for someone injured. The sudden sharp smell of ozone filled Sara's nostrils and she thought she saw blue lightning dance across Nick's hand before he turned it over and grabbed a napkin, calling, "Waitress, could we have some extra napkins?"
For the next several minutes, their table was a flurry of activity, and Sara and Nick waived off the offer of having their dinners replaced. Somehow, the cost of their dinner was compensated instead, and they walked out with Nick still clutching a blood-and-wine stained napkin while Sara assured the anxious manager that she'd make sure that he got to the nearest hospital for treatment.
Once the door shut behind them, Nick pulled Sara towards the corner of the parking lot, out of the light.
"Got a flashlight?" he asked her.
She pulled one off of her belt and flicked it on.
He dropped the napkin and revealed his palm. Under the light of the flashlight, Sara saw blue lightning knitting the wound closed, smoothing the skin. "You're not the only freak in the universe, Sara," he told her.
"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" She wanted to ask a million questions, but something held her to this one.
"No." He looked at her. "I wanted to kiss you when you were training me all those years ago. When I found out you were still on the force, I thought about that. That's why I looked you up, arranged it so I'd 'run' into you at the deli this morning. Finding out the other stuff..all I can say is that I wish it was anyone but you. This — " and here he caressed her wrist where the bracelet had merged into her flesh — "shouldn't be you."
"I didn't exactly get much choice," she told him, her voice suddenly tight in her throat. "It came to me, and I thought I was going to die. It saved me."
"And does it protect you when you're alone in the dark?"
The Witchblade pulsated where Nick's fingers touched it. For a moment, she saw them together, tangled in sheets, and the loneliness that was such a part of her life now threatened to overwhelm her. She swallowed past the pain and looked at Nick, shadowed in the semi-darkness.
"No," she said softly. She cleared her throat past the sudden surge of nervousness. "Not the way you could tonight." It sounded corny even to her ears, and she started to correct herself, opened her mouth to say something that sounded better, and found Nick's mouth pressed up against hers instead.
He kissed her gently, inquiringly. All she had to do was lean more into this kiss, lose herself in this moment, and she could forget he was someone on the wrong side of the law, someone who she shouldn't be kissing, someone she'd known but for a brief space in time so long ago, but oh.the feel of his mouth against hers, the way he held her without quite holding her, keeping his distance, waiting for her cue.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, breaking the contact. There were a thousand reasons to stop now, but she didn't listen to any of them. Nick looked dangerous and sexy and willing and interested, and those seemed like good enough reasons to keep on going. "My place?" she asked.
Nick nodded. "I'll follow you," he promised.
Somehow, Sara wasn't surprised that the Harley parked next to her bike was his. The rumble of his engine seemed to echo some primitive chord within her, and she was half-tempted to speed away, to lead him somewhere else, but she stayed the course. She wasn't going to wake up in the morning with regrets.
Nick seemed to be of the same mind, for when they finally reached her door, he kissed her gently and told her, "I won't be offended if you change your mind, Sara."
This time, she leaned into the kiss, deepened it, then pulled away just long enough to unlock her door. Quickly, she set her helmet down on the side table just inside the door, then grabbed Nick's helmet and put it down beside hers before tugging on his arm. Taking the hint, he stepped inside and shut the door behind them.
Sara wanted heat, wanted to lose herself in raw, quick, hard passion, and yet Nick seemed equally determined not to rush. He kissed her as if he had forever, as if she was the only woman he'd ever take to bed, heating her blood in slow fire. She kissed him back, too well aware how long it had been since she'd taken anyone to bed, and hungrier for his touch for having been without as a result. All she wanted was to feel, and he was making her feel desired, needed, warm, not alone.
He undressed her slowly even as her fingers tried to make short work of the shirt and jeans he wore. Kissed every inch of her flesh until she thought of nothing else but how much she craved more of his touch, forgot he was wearing clothes she wanted to remove. He sent her soaring, breathless, over her first orgasm, and as she lay there, panting, seeing stars, took the moment to undress himself.
"Oh, you're so beautiful, Sara," he whispered as he slid over, into her body, kissing the hollow of her throat. She arched, whimpering, heedless of anything other than she wanted, oh, this, him, so hard inside her. He began to thrust, gently at first, then more forcefully as she began to move with him. Pleasure built upon pleasure until she felt him peak inside her a heartbeat before she shuddered in her own release.
Spent, Sara lay there, breathing heavily. Nick held her close, seemingly reluctant to let go just yet. Minutes passed before he finally eased out and rose to his feet, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door. She heard the toilet flush a moment later, then the faucet run, before he stepped back out and knelt beside her.
He leaned in and kissed her, draping one arm casually around her. "Are you okay?"
Sara nodded and drew in a shuddering breath. "I think you blew my mind," she said, half-joking.
He grinned quickly. "Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear." He paused, his eyes searching her face. "Do you want me to stay?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but then the Witchblade chose then to show her the possible scene in the morning: the interrogation, the suspension, the lingering suspicion. She swallowed hard, knowing in this moment she was making a choice. Reaching for Nick's hands, she looked at him directly and said, "Best you didn't." She swallowed again, feeling the bittersweet ache of foreknowledge and regret, and added, "My partner will wake me up tomorrow, bring me coffee. He thinks — well, it doesn't matter what he thinks, just that I don't need— "
Nick kissed her, silencing her. "It's okay, Sara." He rose and dressed quickly, then left.
The click of her door seemed to echo in the darkness, and Sara knew she wasn't likely to see him again. Alone, she bowed her head and breathed in deep the smell of passion spent as she locked away the memory of how Nick seemed to cherish her, and ignored the Witchblade as it transformed into metallic, serpentine tentacles and wrapped itself around her as if in comfort.
It was a long time before she slept.
****
Finis 11.4.05 Comments always welcome.