No Coincidences
By Tiriel
PG-13, m/m, angst
Part Four of Illusion, an Ian/Jake Witchblade series.
Here I go, out on a limb, just begging for canon to come along and saw it right off the tree. Some people (Okay, fine, a lot of people) say I'm mean to my characters. I say the characters are mean to themselves and each other. I just tell the story. Don't shoot the messenger.
Disclaimer: They are *so* not mine that it isn't even funny. I'm not making any money, here or elsewhere, so don't sue.
Takes place after the eighth ep, "Thanatopsis" --Contains the promised prequel story. We're jumping ahead a little in time, but the gap will be filled in soon. Time isn't linear in the Witchblade universe anyway, right?
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No Coincidences
By Tiriel
It was over. Jake's relationship with Ian was over. Ian had made that crystal clear. Any hope Jake had held that their breakup wasn't real or permanent had been viciously shattered, first in the interrogation room and then at the stadium. Not that he'd had much hope after the things Ian had said to him right there in his own apartment. Jake sat on the edge of his bed, alone, replaying their entire history together over and over in his mind, searching for a mistake he'd made or a clue he'd missed. Searching for an answer. Wishing his injuries were worse. Wishing he had the luxury of taking four or five days off to recover like Sara had when her lover had died. And that was what had happened here. The Ian that Jake knew was dead. If he'd ever lived in the first place.
Jake's surfing career had provided the perfect cover. He traveled frequently, famous among those who lived for the beach, but not famous enough to attract the constant attention of the media or the scrutiny of anyone who might have an interest in what he was involved in. He was a courier for information, a glorified delivery boy. And on every trip he took, they sent along someone new. Usually it was someone fresh from a big assignment, someone the brass figured could use a tropical vacation as a reward. For now he was a joke, a lightweight, not seen as a real agent. He'd heard the word "dude" spoken in a mocking tone more times than he cared to count. And it was true that what he did wasn't particularly challenging work. But it was a foot in the door. He couldn't surf forever, and he wanted to be involved in something useful when he was done.
Being late for meetings didn't help his reputation. He rushed in, hoping the reason he was late didn't show on his face or in the stiffness of his walk. The first eyes his met when he entered the room were Ian's, and he almost laughed. There he was, the man he'd just spent one of the hottest nights of his life with. The man he'd thought he'd never see again.
"Jake," his supervisor said with just a hint of disapproval for the tardiness, "I'd like you to meet--"
"We've met," Ian interrupted.
Jake's eyes opened wide and his heart lurched. He'd been so caught up in his surprise that he hadn't even thought of the possibility that Ian's presence in the room might lead to his being outed and fired.
Ian continued, addressing himself to Jake. "A few years ago, in Paris. But I've forgotten your last name."
Paris. A message? Jake smiled with relief and pleasure. "Of course, Paris. Jake McCartey." He approached and offered his hand.
"Ian Nottingham," Ian said, with a nod of his head and a brief, firm handshake. His hair was pulled back neatly and he was wearing a plain grey suit and black gloves. The gloves seemed a little out of place indoors, but some of the black ops types Jake had met wore them out of habit.
The rest of the briefing was all the standard information. Ian's gaze was unnervingly calm and almost empty. It was almost like he wasn't the same man he'd been the night before. Jake paid more attention to what he was going to say to Ian when they were finally alone than to the information on the mission. Would it be all business, or could this be the start of something? All he knew was that Ian's presence on the other side of the conference table filled his head with images that had nothing to do with work. The briefing ended, and they left separately. Jake certainly wasn't going to say anything at the office. He went home alone and had to jerk off in the shower before he could even think clearly enough to pack for the trip.
It wasn't until two days later that he saw Ian again, although he had the near-constant feeling that he was being watched. A storm system had delayed the competition, so Jake was alone in his hotel room, bored and restless. Then he heard a knock at his door.
Ian was on the other side, holding an envelope. "Message for you, Mr. McCartey."
"Thank you," Jake said, then watched helplessly as Ian walked away. He closed the door with a sigh and opened the envelope.
Inside was a plain slip of paper with one word written on it in a neat, careful hand. "Roof." Jake grinned. He destroyed the note, waited a few minutes, and headed for the stairwell. He found the door to the roof unlocked and walked outside into the rain, delivering the opening line he'd spent two days deciding on. "So I guess I got lucky in Paris after all."
Ian appeared from around the corner, wearing a long black coat and a stocking cap. "This way," he said, leading Jake around the corner into a sheltered spot near the stairwell door.
"I said, I guess--" Jake began.
"I heard what you said. Do you have it yet?"
"No. He's stuck on another island. Damn storm has screwed everything up. And you surprised me. I thought you were an academic. I definitely didn't have you pegged for this. Your hair's too long, for one thing."
Ian stepped closer, his presence somehow turned menacing. "You don't know me at all."
Jake didn't back away. "Right, right, got it. It's cool. Our little secret. We'll always have Paris. I understand, I mean, for a minute I thought I was busted when you said we'd met. And I guess the hair is one of the luxuries of special assignment. I ought to know. Anyway, about the other night..."
Ian silenced him with a look. "I'll be in touch." Before Jake could protest, Ian had whirled around the corner and was gone.
Their next two meetings, first in the hotel laundry and then in a deserted alley nearby, were almost exactly the same. After that first time, Ian didn't knock, he simply slipped the notes quietly under Jake's door. His manner betrayed no emotion, like he was a cold, clinical observer in his own life. Or like he didn't have any emotions at all. But Jake had seen flashes of something else on that first night. He was convinced that there was a real person under all of Ian's cloak and dagger exterior, and he was determined to find that person. And not just because the man he'd met that night had been great in bed. It became a matter of principle.
The mission was a bust. The competition had been canceled entirely, and Jake's contact had never made it through the storm. The fourth note had just been slipped under his door, and he'd made no progress with Ian in the three times they'd spoken. This would probably be his last chance.
The note led him to another dark and deserted alley, this one farther from the hotel. It had just stopped raining. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time," Jake said, and then he felt the barrel of a gun poke into his back.
"Keep moving," hissed a voice that was definitely not Ian's.
"Hey, man, take whatever you want. Wallet, watch, I don't want any trouble."
The gun pushed in harder, and Jake walked further into the alley, an adrenaline sizzle vibrating through him. When they reached the farthest, darkest spot, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Now tell me everything."
"About what?" Not a mugging, then. This was work-related, and Jake realized for the first time that the person who'd been watching him this trip might not have been Ian.
"Don't play dumb, dude."
"God, I hate it when people do that." Jake started to turn, intending to punch the guy's lights out, gun or no gun. A sharp blow to the back of his head sent him falling forward. He hit the ground, stunned, but instead of the gunshot he expected, Jake heard the sounds of a scuffle. He got to his feet and stumbled toward the street. One knee was injured from his fall, how badly he couldn't tell, but it sent shooting pain up his leg with every step. In his haste, he tripped on an uneven spot of pavement and fell again.
He heard a cry of pain from behind him and then silence. Slowly, afraid of what he might see, he pushed himself up a little and turned his head. A dark figure was walking smoothly toward him. It was Ian. Jake let his body sag back down to the damp ground.
Strong, sure hands lifted him up to his feet, leaning his back against the wall for support. Ian's hands gently skimmed his body, checking for serious injury. Relief replaced adrenaline and his pain ceased to matter. Ian seemed genuinely concerned for him, the first real emotion he'd shown in days. Then Jake heard voices approaching and the sound of high heels on pavement.
"I don't know, sounded like it came from over here," said a woman's voice. "Somebody might need help."
"I don't see anything yet," replied her male companion. It seemed that a couple had heard his attacker's final cry and decided to check things out. Jake and Ian couldn't be found like this, with Jake injured and his attacker's body lying dead or unconscious nearby. There would be too many questions.
Jake was looking around for an escape route when Ian leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. He didn't have to fake the moan of pleasure that escaped his lips when Ian's mouth moved to his ear and his body pressed Jake's into the wall. He had been wanting this for days.
He heard a giggle from the entrance to the alley, then a stage-whispered, "Don't stare, leave them alone," and retreating footsteps.
"Are they gone?" Ian whispered into Jake's ear.
"I'm not sure," Jake lied. He turned his head and put a hand on Ian's cheek, bringing their mouths together in another kiss. For just a moment he thought he'd blown it, that Ian was about to pull away. Then he felt a shift in Ian's body and Ian kissed him back. They leaned against each other, hands pulling their lower bodies together, kissing and groping until Ian's leg bumped hard against Jake's knee, sending a fresh jolt of pain through him. He flinched.
Ian pulled back instantly, eyes shuttered. "Let's get you to somewhere that's safe. I have information for you."
Jake leaned on Ian's shoulder and limped out of the alley. Ian helped him into a dark-colored rental car and drove them to a hotel just a few blocks from Jake's.
Ian slipped a key into Jake's hand and said, "Wait a few minutes, then come up."
Jake did, wondering the whole time what he'd find when he walked into that room. The Ian he'd met at the club and seen in the alley, or the cold, sinister Ian he'd seen everywhere else?
"It's safe to talk here," Ian said when Jake closed the door. "Are you injured?"
"I'll live." Jake settled into a chair across from Ian. "Just some bad bruises, I think. What happened back there?"
"The mission was compromised. He killed the other courier, and would've killed you. It was a clumsy attempt, made by a member of a group of local criminals who thought you two were running drugs, moving into their territory. You shouldn't have any more trouble. I'll make sure of that."
Jake wasn't entirely convinced that Ian was telling him the whole truth, but he decided not to ask about that. "Is he dead?"
"Yes. I'll make all the necessary reports."
"Why are you so uptight all the time?" Jake said, then glanced away for a moment. He hadn't meant to let his thoughts come out so bluntly.
Ian looked back at him with stony silence.
He'd already opened the topic, so he decided to continue. "I mean, I've met tons of you big, bad, mysterious black ops types, and the Darth Vader act kind of comes with the job for some of you, especially the ones trained to kill. But that's not who you are, Ian. It's not who you were in the alley or on the night we met."
"You know nothing about me."
"I know what kind of sounds you make when you come. I know how you touched me in the alley. It's not a lot, but it's something."
"I can't get involved with anyone. I acted differently at the club because that's what it takes to get my needs met. The way I was that night has nothing to do with how I am. The 'Darth Vader act' doesn't work too well for attracting a sexual partner."
"Really? I think it's sexy as all hell." Jake stood and took a step toward Ian, letting one knee buckle under him. Ian's steadying hands were there to catch him, as he'd hoped they'd be. A cheap trick, yes, but he was certain that he was right. "I think you'd better take a look at my knee."
Ian looked at him with an unreadable expression. "Wrong knee," he said. "That's your left knee. It was your right that you bruised when you fell."
"I like you, Ian," Jake replied, unfazed by the discovery of his ploy. "I don't know why, but I do. Take off the gloves. Let your hair down." He put one hand on Ian's bare wrist, thumb rubbing the skin. Then he peeled back Ian's glove and moved his thumb down into the palm of Ian's hand, still rubbing gently. "A friend of mine owns a little house on the beach. It's not too far away, but it's isolated. Private. He's out of town, and I have a key. I was planning to spend a few days there before I leave. You could come with me. Forget about work for a while. You don't have to go out to a club to get your needs met. I'll do that for you."
The sound of Ian's breathing was his only response.
Jake pulled Ian closer, looking deep into his eyes. "We'll start with tonight. You can decide in the morning whether or not you want to come to the beach house with me. But I really want to kiss you right now. Can I kiss you?"
"Yes."
"God, that's a beautiful sound. Say it again."
"Yes," Ian said, and took off his other glove.
A few hours later, Jake woke up alone. He hadn't really expected Ian to still be there in the morning. He'd been sure that as soon as he was asleep, Ian's defenses would come back up and he'd put on his gloves and go. He'd been sure it would happen, but that didn't make it any less disappointing. The sex had been mind-blowing once again, but he found himself wanting more.
Jake returned to his hotel, checked out, and went to his friend's beach house for a few days of relaxation. He couldn't stop thinking about Ian. The dark and enigmatic exterior, the tantalizing glimpses he'd caught of the man inside. He was sitting on a rock, looking out at the ocean, when he heard a voice from behind him that made him jump.
"Jake."
"Jesus, you scared me. I didn't expect to see you again."
"People don't like me. They fear me. Some respect me. They don't like me. If you knew the things I've done, the things I'll do--"
"I don't need to."
"And I don't need charity."
"Have you taken a good look at yourself lately? You're a god. I don't need charity either. I have no trouble finding people to fuck. But I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met."
"What if I told you that I'm part of something important? That I have a destiny? Part of me wants to fight it, but I feel its pull in my life already."
"I'd say let me borrow you until your destiny needs you. It was a real concidence, us meeting at the club and then ending up working this trip together. It's a chance too good to pass up."
"There are no coincidences."
"There you are, then. Destiny. You can't argue with destiny."
They locked themselves away in the beach house and made love for days. They memorized each other's bodies, began to exchange small gifts of personal information. Jake felt addicted to the taste of Ian's skin. It was that glorious time in a new relationship when nothing else exists. And then it was time to leave.
Jake watched Ian dress that last morning, wondering again what would happen next.
Ian pulled Jake close and whispered into his ear, "Tell me again why you want me in your life."
"What, you've forgotten already?" Jake smiled.
"No," Ian said softly, "I remember perfectly. I just want you to repeat it. I want to hear the sound of your voice." Ian bent his head to kiss Jake's neck.
Jake ran his hands over Ian's back. "I want you in my life, Ian, because of the way you touch me. Because I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop thinking about you. Because I like you. And if you don't stop that, we're never going to get out of here."
Ian stepped back and looked at him intently. "You can't tell anyone that you even know me."
"I won't. How will--"
"I'll find you." And with that, Ian was gone.
Jake half-believed that Ian would vanish from his life completely, but he was wrong about that, too. A cryptic message here, a late-night phone call there, a voice from the shadows of his apartment when he was at home or from the shadows of his hotel room when he was traveling. Ian did find him, over and over again. Ian stayed in Jake's life, took off his gloves, and let down more and more of his defenses. He still kept plenty of secrets, but while they were in bed together, nothing else ever seemed to matter.
And then, one night, he said to Jake, "It seems that I'll be living in New York for an extended period of time. Come to New York."
So Jake had come to New York. It had worked, for a while. They both had secrets now. It had worked, up until a few days ago, when Ian had shown up, unannounced as usual, and ended it. But that was still too close to think about. Too new. And the mistake Jake had been searching for wasn't in the present anyway. It was in the past.
Alone in his bed, where they had spent so many of their stolen moments, uncried tears a dull ache in his eyes, Jake knew that his real mistake hadn't been a clue that he'd missed or a choice that he'd made. The mistake had been in his own mind. He'd let himself believe that Ian's darkness wasn't who he really was. He'd let himself believe that they had a chance. He had let himself believe that Ian loved him. And he had been wrong.
The End...for now...