Illusion
By Tiriel
PG-13, m/m, angst, violence
Part Five of Illusion, an Ian/Jake Witchblade series.
Even further out on the limb. But the show just keeps playing right into my hands. Some people (Okay, fine, a lot of people) say I'm mean to my characters. I say they're 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 but includes some events before and during the eighth ep, "Thanatopsis" --This is the morning after my story "No Coincidences." Time isn't linear in the Witchblade universe anyway, right?
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Illusion
By Tiriel
Jake got up early and took a long shower to soothe his aching muscles. As he toweled off, he looked down at his body. His bruises looked even worse, as they often do the next day. And these bruises had come from Ian, from their fight at the stadium. He had spent one full night with his sadness. Not enough time, but it was going to have to do. He needed his anger now. Things with Dante were at a crucial point, and if he did see Ian again, he'd need that anger to be able to defend himself. He had work to do, and grief had no place in it.
So Jake pressed his thumb hard against one of the ugliest bruises, wincing at the pain. In the few days since the end of their relationship, he hadn't let himself really think about it. But he needed his anger, and Ian had certainly given him enough reasons to be mad. So as he dressed, he took inventory of his injuries. The ones inside and the ones outside.
Sara's first day back at work after Conchobar's death was startlingly normal. She seemed happy, which was strange considering how torn up she'd been when Jake had last seen her. He didn't know what kind of magic cure she'd found for her broken heart, but it had worked. Jake's partner wasn't the only one feeling good. He'd finally made some tangible progress with Dante, and although he was nervous about taking the next step, he was excited, too. Months of work were finally beginning to pay off. The one thing missing from his day was Ian.
When Jake answered his door that evening and saw Ian on the other side, he smiled broadly. It wasn't like Ian to knock, but that didn't seem important at first.
"Hey," Jake said, "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
Ian stepped through the doorway, walking past Jake without a word.
Jake frowned. "What is it? Is something wrong?" He started to approach, but Ian held up a gloved hand.
The rush from his workout, almost enough to make him forget what had happened, drained out of him when he saw Ian sitting so casually in the bleachers.
"No, there's nothing wrong."
"What, then?"
He intended to ignore Ian's presence, but Ian didn't let that happen. He blocked Jake's way with his body. His words were cold. Jake felt a flash of anger and drew his gun.
"I've come to tell you that we're finished, Jake. You and I won't be seeing each other any more."
"What?"
"It's over. I should never have brought you here. Go back to California."
An aching wrist. Ian disarmed him, ripped the gun from his fingers.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, Jake. You were a great fuck, and now it's done."
A bruise on his forearm. Ian blocked the punch he threw.
Ian stood just a few feet away from Jake, but it was beginning to feel like miles of distance.
"Is it because I came to see him? You told me he'd alibi her, but I figured I should check it out in person. Is it because of that? Does he know?"
"If he knew, you would already be dead, at my hand, by his order. And I will kill you if you pursue me like a lovesick fool. You're not seeing the point here, Jake. I've grown tired of your weakness, your stupidity, your sincerity. We're through. How many ways do I have to say it?"
Bruises all down his left side. Ian punched him in the gut, then threw him down the steps.
Jake, suddenly unsteady on his feet, walked to the couch and sat down. "But I thought--"
"You were wrong. I can see that I'm going to have to spell it out for you. It was all a setup, from the very beginning. From the moment we met. I was looking for loyalty. A man on the outside with adequate resources and skills. Someone who would obey, do anything I needed without question. In short, I needed someone I could manipulate. That someone was you."
An abrasion on his face. He pulled himself to his feet, only to have Ian kick him, sending him tumbling down more of the steps.
"Bullshit. I don't believe you. I've offered my help a thousand times and you've hardly ever asked me to do anything. And I hit on you at the club that first night. It was a chance meeting, a one-night stand, and a coincidence that we wound up working together. I practically had to use a crowbar to get into your life. I made the first move."
"Did you? There are no coincidences, Jake. I've told you that before. You hit on me at the club because I put myself there. You pursued a relationship with me because I presented you with a challenge, and you loved a challenge. You offered to meet my needs, and I let you. You believed what I wanted you to believe. It amazed me how you fell for every cliché. You were even easier to play than I expected. I never cared for you. I was using you, but not for your resources or your skills. I discovered quite quickly that you had nothing to offer me but your body. So I decided to use that for a while."
Another bruise on his forearm and another abrasion on his face. Impossible to sort out the split lip, the bloodied nose, the bruise over his eye, the bruise on his cheek, all the blows to his face blending together. Another blocked punch, answered by a hard hit to his face.
"No." Jake pulled himself to his feet, shaking his head. "No."
Ian approached, slowly and deliberately, as his words flew in short sentences that hit like bullets. "Yes. It was all a lie. Every word. Every touch. Every kiss. Every time I fucked you. Every time I let you fuck me. Every single moment we shared. All a lie."
Another blow to his face. Angry words. Confusion. He'd thought that Ian knew. He'd always believed that Ian knew everything, especially after what he'd said during the interrogation. Another fall, this one knocking the wind out of him.
"No," Jake repeated. Ian's face was just inches away from his now. Close enough to kiss.
"Yes."
Then, softer, Jake asked, "Why?"
"Why tell you all this? Because you still love a challenge. If I didn't tell you everything, you'd cling to some sad, desperate hope of a reconciliation. That won't happen, and I can't risk that you'll get in my way when I have something important to do. There will be no reconciliation because there was never anything between us. There is nothing to reconcile. So go watch some cartoons. Nurse your pathetic broken heart. Cry like the weak creature you are. Then get out of New York. I am going to leave, and if we meet again, you will not escape unscathed. I leave you with this warning. You are on a path that will bring danger to more than just yourself, Jake McCartey, and if you continue on it, I will be forced to stop you. Have I made myself clear?"
More kicks to his face, another fall. Bruises all along his right side.
Jake couldn't answer. Couldn't speak around the lump in his throat. Couldn't keep his eyes open or else the tears would start.
The folding chair he'd picked up in self-defense was ripped easily from his grasp. More blows to his face. A textbook voice in his head reminded him that a high concentration of blows to the face suggested a personally motivated attack. He silently thanked the voice for the news flash, an odd spike of absurdity in his pain. It was all absurd, or would have been, if it hadn't been so real. He fell to his hands and knees. Tried to get up, but couldn't. Fell forward again.
Ian's voice, closer, an ominous hiss like a snake's. "Have I?"
Jake didn't open his eyes. He just nodded, mutely, his breath ragged, his heart beating double-time.
"Good. Then we're done."
Jake couldn't open his eyes. He listened to the sound of footsteps, then the door opening and closing.
Air blew past him as Ian almost kicked him, then seemed to change his mind. Hands that had touched him tenderly so many times before now pulled him roughly to his knees. He was beaten. The certainty that the scattered moments with Ian that he'd treasured these last six years had been illusion was more painful than any of his injuries. The bullet was slipped between his teeth. Vision hazy, he saw Ian draw back his fist. Jake was sure he was going to die, was truly afraid of Ian for the first time, but couldn't summon the will to beg for his life. Not that he thought it would matter if he did. He knew that Ian was going to kill him. Then Sara came. Even then, punch-drunk, blood running down his face, Jake had the presence of mind to hide the bullet. He'd thought that Ian knew him. He'd been wrong about that, too. Then Ian was gone. Sara had saved him, but in that one moment he wished she'd arrived a moment later.
He didn't open his eyes for a long time. When he did, he saw only his empty apartment. There was no trace that Ian had ever been there. There were no photographs, no gifts. The notes Ian had sent had been destroyed because of their need for secrecy. His sheets had already been washed after their last night together. There was no evidence. It was as if they had never been together at all.
Despite Ian's words, a small part of Jake did still hope for a reconciliation. That Ian, his Ian, would step out from the shadows of his apartment and tell him that it had been a mistake or a lie told to protect Jake from Irons. But Ian always got his message across, and he had left no room for doubt. Jake just wished they still had a chance, he didn't really believe it. They were finished. It was over, dead. And Ian, always one to do a job thoroughly, kept pounding nails into the coffin. The interrogation, where Ian, knowingly or not, walked the edge of blowing Jake's cover. Where Ian tauntingly invited Jake to join him in bed the next day. Where Ian took words used in private on their last beautiful morning at the beach house and twisted them, threw them in Jake's face, their delivery as accurate and deadly as that of the single bullet he'd fired from a sniper rifle to kill two men. "I remember perfectly. I just want you to repeat it..." The sudden flash of a moment of past intimacy betwen them superimposed onto the present--Jake's pain and anger, Ian's coldness and cruelty--was a twist of the knife. Jake lost his temper, the bad cop role suddenly feeling natural, easier to play than it had ever been before.
Having Dante be the bearer of bad news only made Jake hate the crooked captain more, even though he didn't believe it until he saw it. Ian and Sara holding hands, Ian speaking to her earnestly, with an expression on his face that Jake had never seen. Conchobar's body wasn't even cold, and Ian was already making his move. It all began to make sense. He'd just ignored the signs until now. It was all about Sara. Ian looked at her in a way he'd never looked at Jake. Ian loved her. And that meant that it was all true. The fight at the stadium was a confirmation of Jake's conclusion and the final death of that small part of him that had still held out hope, still believed Ian couldn't possibly have meant the things he'd said.
Ian had been literally inches away from killing Jake. But what he'd done was kill himself. The Ian Nottingham that had been in Jake's life, that Jake had loved, that man was dead.
There was one mark on Jake's body that he hadn't accounted for in his recollection of the fight. It was the only evidence he had of his relationship with Ian. He looked down at it, loathing it and loving it at the same time, knowing that when it was gone, the last trace of Ian's presence in his life would be gone with it. It was a small purplish mark on Jake's chest, already fading, that Ian had made with his mouth on their last night together.
Ian's body over his. Ian's mouth on his chest. Ian's whispered words against his skin. Ian's face flushed with passion. Ian's...
Jake pressed his thumb hard against one of the bruises on his forearm, pushing away the image with the pain. Ian loved Sara Pezzini. Ian had used him. Ian had lied to him. Ian had almost killed him, had meant to kill him. Ian had shown Jake no mercy. And to survive this, Jake had to be merciless, too.
The End...for now...