One-Shot: Witchblade/Criminal Minds: Protect or Serve (1/?): for xgirl2222
Title: Protect or Serve (1/?)
Author: PatriciaTepes (AKA Patricia de Lioncourt at fanfiction.net )
Rating: R
Warnings: child death-nothing graphically described, mentions of pedophilia-again, not graphically described, language, blood
Prompter:
xgirl2222
Disclaimer: I don't own Witchblade the Series or Criminal Minds. Witchblade belongs to Top Cow and TNT, while Criminal Minds belongs to CBS.
Summary: A series of linked murders happening in New York has called the attention of the Behavioral Analysis group to Sara Pezzini's precinct. However, imagine her horror and surprise when Ian Nottingham-Sara's current lover-is arrested under suspicious. Sara knows in her heart that Ian is not capable of these terrible things… but the visions the Witchblade are sending her isn't really helping her conviction.
Author's Notes: This is a very belated wishlist_ficstory. The prompter is noted above, and I hope she likes what I've done with this! I'd list the prompt, but it was deliciously chunky. The setting for this is S2 of Witchblade-with a dash of AU that will be addressed as the story continues. As for the CM setting… um, I'm about two seasons behind, so yeah… sometime before that. Also, this is so not going to be just a small ficlet. Consider this Part I
Protect or Serve
It started with the arrest. Well, if Sara had been honest with herself, it actually started with the string of horrific child murders that had been plaguing New York City-and had, thus, drawn the attention of Quantico's Behavioral Analysis group. But the shit really hitting the fan? Yeah, that had started with the arrest.
Since the death of Kenneth Irons, much had changed. Most important of those changes had been Ian. He was finally free of his mentor's-father, master, whatever Irons had actually been to him-influence. He had sought out Sara's help, not knowing quite what to do with himself, and Sara had given him probably the best piece of advice she had ever given anyone.
"Learn who you are, and then learn who you wanna be."
It had been some time after that visit, which had taken place on the fire escape outside Sara's apartment, before she saw Ian again. The Witchblade-the mystical weapon Irons had so coveted-had not changed much. It still aided her, as well as annoyed her, at intervals it deemed as necessary. When Ian had sought her out again, he had been a much different man.
Still dressed in his usual black, it was now a smart business suit instead of covert ops clothing. And he had knocked on her front door. He said that he came to offer his thanks for her advice, and to offer his friendship, at the very least. He knew that there was still much she did not understand about the Witchblade, and he would be more than willing to guide her as best as any man could hope. Irons had told him much-not everything. At that point, the Witchblade had been sending her dreams of a past she could have had no hope of having ever lived, and she didn't know why. Ian had helped her discover that. And, in the end, Sara had managed to catch a murderer, thanks to the visions. And that moment, that exact moment, when she had dragged the cuffed man in… the moment she had saved his next victim's life… Ian had been there, just in the background. Their eyes had met. And that's when they had grown close. Months later, after some trial and error with not only the Witchblade, but their relationship as well, that's when she had taken to his bed.
It was very old fashioned, like something out of a historical documentary or something, to think of sleeping with him that way. But it seemed fitting. She trusted him now, more than she had ever before. But now… right now, her mouth hung open, her eyes glaring into the distance of the station, watching as two of the Behavioral Analysis team that had arrived pulled Ian along with his hands cuffed behind his back.
"Wait!" Sara yelled, crossing the room at the speed of light.
"It'll be all right, Sara," Ian assured her before Morgan-the better physically built of the team-pulled him into the interrogation room.
The door closed, and Sara strode forward, every intention of following after. But a pair of arms wrapped about her waist, pulling her into an interrogation room farther up the hall.
"In here," commanded Aaron Hotchner-Hotch, as most called him-as he pointed into the room.
Sara marched in like she was marching to war, and Hotch entered the room behind her, shutting the door. He motioned to the chair across the bolted, metal table. Sara threw herself into it, glaring up at the agent.
"What the hell is going on, Hotch? Three weeks. Three weeks we've been working together on this case… and you go and arrest him without even mentioning it to me?"
Hotch held up his hands, gesturing for her to calm herself.
"Detective Pezzini, please. There was a reason this wasn't mentioned to you. And that's why you're in here right now," he reasoned.
Sara sighed, shaking her head. "What are you talking about?"
Hotch took the seat across the table from her, clasping his hands on the cool surface. His gaze was averted, lost in thought, before he finally nodded once. He locked eyes with her.
"Answer this as a detective," he said.
Sara rolled her eyes. "Shouldn't be too damn difficult."
"Detective, this is serious."
She nodded. "Fine. What is that you want me to answer, Special Agent?"
"Do you believe that you should be working this case?"
Sara leaned forward. "Come again?"
"Ian was arrested under suspicion of murder. You've seen the evidence we have."
"Nothing to hold him on."
"True," Hotch admitted. "But enough to hold him for a night or two without officially booking him. He's been at every scene of every one of these crimes. He's had some sort of connected to each child. He's known details that we couldn't."
"Circumstantial."
"Yes, I know. But you're telling me that you don't find this the least bit suspicious? You're too involved. You have a personal connecting to the man who might very well be our killer. I believe that you're blinded, and I think you ought to remove yourself from this case as such."
Dumbstruck, Sara only stared at him, her green eyes wide. He sighed, standing and moving to the one way mirror.
"He doesn't fit your profile," Sara said.
Hotch turned, brow arched. "What do you mean?"
She leaned back in her chair, holding up both hands. "Okay, I'm saying this as me, as Sara, not as Detective Pezzini, but feel free to take it into account."
Hotch crossed his arms, waiting for her to continue. Sara averted her eyes, taking in a deep breath.
"You said that the man we were looking for was a pedophile with a strong tendency for sexual sadism, right? Well, Agent... I'm telling you… that's not Ian."
"You're saying that you have, indeed, had intercourse with this man?"
Sara pursed her lips. "Yeah. And you said, as a part of your profile, that this particular severity of pedophilia wouldn't even think about an adult as a sexual partner. Hotch… Ian's done more than think about it with me."
The federal agent stared at her, seeming to digest her words. Finally, he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
"Sara, we're still gonna hold him for at least tonight. Because even if he didn't do it, he knows something more than what he's leading on. But… I'll take what you've told me to the rest of the team. I think you ought to head home."
There was a moment when Sara didn't move. She just sat there and stared up at the agent. But… she had done all she could do. The cop in her knew that Hotch had ever right to hold Ian, even though her heart told her he had nothing to do with this horrific crimes. She stood, slowly. Without another word, she strode out of the room and up the hall. She only paused when she had reached the open door to the viewing side of the room they had Ian in. Morgan and the boy genius, Reid, were standing there, discussing all the things they thought Ian might know. She had half a mind to march in there and tell them where the hell to get off. But Hotch's words came back to her. Maybe he was right. Right now, in her sleep-deprived state-because, Hell, it was nearly one in the morning and she had been awake since six the previous morning-she was getting too personal. Best to go home and sleep. The better she could think, the better she could convince the Shrink Team that Ian had nothing to do with all of this.
She forced herself onward. She said bye to Danny and the captain before hitting the chill of the night air. She zipped up her black leather coat, rounding the corner of the building until she reached her black motorcycle. She removed the helmet, fastened it securely under her chin, and straddled the machine.
And then something that felt like a truck hit her. She lurched forward, her eyes growing wide through her helmet's visor. She reached up, gripping the bars of her bike, and glanced over at her right wrist. The vermillion jewel of the Witchblade was glowing bright, and Sara felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.
Suddenly, she wasn't seeing the side of the precinct building anymore. In fact, Sara wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. She was still in New York, and it was still dark. But it all felt… past. Like this had already happened.
The alleyway she stood in was dark, only a single, green dumpster occupying a space on the wall. A hunched figure was off to her left, crouched over some small, darkened figure. Sara screwed up her eyes, trying to make out some sort of detail on either shadowed figure. She tried to call to it, but it ignored her. Like she wasn't even there.
The hunched figure stood, his face still shrouded in shadow. But the figure at its feet was now clearly visible. It was the body of young Emily Masters-age nine-the first body discovered in this case. The blood on her now, in this strange vision, wasn't as Sara remembered it was when she had crossed the crime scene tape all those weeks ago. It wasn't the crusted black-and-red. No. It was fresh. And it was all over the poor girl, her baby blue eyes wide and staring off into nothingness. Sara's stomach churned, remembering the details she had learned later, after forensics had had a chance to run a few tests.
The poor girl had been tortured. And then molested. Terrible, disgusting things that a nine year old should never had to endure… they had all been a part of Emily's last moments. Sara balled her hands into fists and tried to approach the figure. But she was stuck, rooted to the spot. The Witchblade was restricting her in this vision, something it did only on rare occasion.
The sound of shoes scuffing on a dirty sidewalk made the figure whirl, his face still a mystery.
"Ian," he growled.
Sara gasped, turning. Dressed in his now signature black suit, his equally ebony hair pulled back into a low ponytail, Ian Nottingham stepped into the light of a hanging lamp.
"Ian?" Sara whispered.
Ian walked right past her, stopping just before her. He had a walking stick in his hand, and he pulled it up, holding it horizontally across his body.
"I never expected to see you here," Ian spoke.
Sara's brow furrowed. Ian knew this monster? Spoke to him like an old friend? She shook her head. The figure chuckled.
"I required new hunting grounds," he said, gesturing to poor, dead Emily behind him.
"I see."
That was it? That was all Ian had had to say? That kid was dead, not but feet from him, mutilated and molested, and all Ian could say was, "I see"? Sara's breath was coming out in heavy puffs now, her heart racing in her chest. What was she seeing here? What was the Witchblade trying to show her? Ian had taught her-and it made her almost sick to think that now-that when she had a vision, it was because the Witchblade desired her to know knowledge that was withheld from others. To conduct herself with a higher purpose. But seeing that Ian knew the murderer she searched for? Seeing him so cordial with him? What was this supposed to be telling her?
"So, what brings you out to see me this evening, Nottingham?"
Ian shook his head. "After learning you were in my town? How could I resist?"
The killer huffed. "Your town? And with what right do you call it that?"
"Haven't you heard? Father is long dead. Killed by the weapon he so desired."
"He wore the Witchblade. He cannot be truly gone."
Sara blinked. Her murderer knew of the Witchblade? Knew of its rules? How?
"You are correct about that. But with some help from a, ahem, friend of mine, we were able to fully exorcise his ghost from my manor. Father is no more."
"Shame," the killer sighed. "Kenneth Irons was truly a man who could understand one with exquisite tastes."
Sara watched Ian closely now. Irons, as Ian discussed him now in front of her, was always a topic of some bad feelings. There would always be something, some little thing that would show on his face to show his true feelings about the man who had once ruled him with an iron fist in a velvet glove.
Ian frowned. It was small, but it was enough to elicit a sigh of relief from Sara. Her eyes flew back to the still unseeable murderer.
"Ah… yes. That's right. You never did agree to your father's leniencies toward me when I would visit."
Ian grinned, and it was strained. "No. I did not."
"So, you intend not to allow me to have my fun, Ian?"
Ian's tongue snaked out, just a tad, and wetting his lips. He cocked his head slightly to the right and locked eyes with the murdered.
"That, Gilles, is something that remains to be seen."
With a gasp, Sara was back, sitting on her bike, staring up at the side brick wall to the precinct. She breathed deep, her mind racing. With one strong kick, she brought her bike to life, pulling out, and roared down the street.
Gilles. She had a name. Honestly, a name in a city as big as New York wasn't really much… but it was something. And Ian knowing, personally, the killer? Underneath the visor, she lightly bit her lip.
What was Ian up to?