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Title:
A Little Thing Thanks for beta-reading and cheerleading from Wormie. She makes my work better, and I thank her greatly for it. nks Come here directly without going to my main Witchblade fanfic page?
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| Ian Nottingham escorted the
sobbing woman out of the Vorschlag building's back entrance, holding the
heavy door open so she could fit through with the box containing the contents
of her cleaned-out locker. She pushed past him, then balanced the box
precariously on a trash can while she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of
her coat. "It was only sugar," she said, not quite looking him in the eyes. "And it was only a couple packets." Ian didn't say anything, just stood there in the cold wind that whipped through the narrow alley, doing as he had been instructed: see that she left the property with no fuss. "I only wanted to make cookies for the children. I would have made it up after payday." When he still didn't say anything, she pulled her too-thin coat around her tightly, and picked up her box. "Goodbye, Mr. Nottingham. Happy holidays." He watched her until she was off the property, then stepped back inside, allowing the thick metal door to slam in his face. ***** "I trust your surveillance of the Wielder today did not prove troublesome?" Kenneth Irons asked, and Ian recognized the rustle of the newspaper being set down on the antique rosewood table that was beside Irons' throne-like chair. "No, sir," Ian said, keeping his voice as still as his body, as still as the wood-paneled wall behind him. "She did not see you?" Irons asked. "No, sir." "She has the holiday off, correct?' "Yes, sir." "Even so, did she manage to cause any trouble today?" "Yes, sir." "With Dante or someone else?" "Yes, sir." A sharp intake of breath told Ian he'd finally gone too far. Irons shoved his chair back suddenly and stood, then stalked over to stand in front of Ian. Irons stood too close to him, so close that Ian could feel the man's breath on the part in his hair. He tried to remain still, but Ian was unable to stop himself from hunching his shoulders slightly, trying to draw himself into a shell that wasn't there. Irons quickly raised his hand, but Ian was ready and didn't flinch. When the hand lightly brushed along the side of his face and then tucked a stray curl behind his ear, Ian tried not to shiver. He always preferred being struck to these displays of affection. Ian had long ago lost any belief that Irons truly acted out of any sort of love or concern; Irons only did this as yet another way to control him. Ian knew that, but it didn't help. "What have I done, Ian?" Irons asked, his voice deceptively gentle. "You have been upset for days now." Ian kept his breath level, though he could feel his heart rate begin to increase. The hand dropped to his shoulder and squeezed gently. "Ian." Ian had to close his eyes. If only he could believe that love-tinged sorrow in the other man's voice was real. He wanted to believe. He hated wanting to. He hated needing to. He hated the way it always worked. "I ..." Ian had to clear his throat to continue. "I ... I wish I hadn't told you about Ms. Callahan." The hand dropped from his shoulder. Ian opened his eyes to find it, with the other, on Irons' hips. "You have been recalcitrant and moody for days because I fired one of the janitorial staff?" The affectionate tone had been replaced by disbelief. "Ian, do not be foolish." "It was only a little she took, sir." Ian risked a glance up, but dropped his eyes again at Irons' obvious annoyance. "I should have ..." "You should have what? Lied to me? I would not like to think that you were contemplating such a thing." There was a dangerous sound to Irons' voice now, one that Ian associated with unpleasant occurrences. "You wouldn't have lied to me, would you?" "Of course not," Ian said quickly. "But I might have ... waited." "Waited to report a theft?" The danger was gone and the disbelief back. "That is not like you." "But it's the holidays," Ian said, and even he knew it was a stupid excuse. There was never any excuse for permitting theft, especially not because of the time of year. "I could have waited to tell you until next week. And it really wasn't very much that she took." He carefully considered his next phrasing. "A reprimand and restitution might have been sufficient." Ian didn't have to see Irons' face to know that one eyebrow was raised at the presumption he had just shown. The likelihood of violence had just increased exponentially. There was a long silence before Irons spoke, but the response was not anything like what Ian expected. "Should anything ever happen to me, you would be in charge of the entirety of Vorschlag Industries," Irons said, his voice brusque. His hand again came up to rest on Ian's shoulder briefly before he turned away. "Perhaps I should begin to delegate some of the more tedious administrative tasks to you." Ian looked up under his lashes to watch Irons walk away, his hand waving dismissively. "You may have responsibility for the human resources department, in addition to security. I think you will find the maze of laws to be of considerable frustration." Irons sat back down in his chair and picked up the newspaper that lay on the table. After a moment, he looked up at Ian. "Why are you still here?" Irons asked. "I believe I just gave you new duties which require your immediate attention." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Ian nodded and began to walk away. At the door, he stopped and turned. Irons still held the paper in front of him, but he stared beyond it into the fireplace. No, that wasn't where he was staring, Ian decided. Wherever it was he was looking, it wasn't in this room. Ian couldn't read his face, though, in the flickering firelight, so he had no idea what the man he thought of as master, employer, and, on very rare occasions, father, was thinking. Ian found, though, that he hoped it wasn't unpleasant. "Merry Christmas, sir," he said softly, then quickly left the room, shutting the heavy doors behind him. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number for directory assistance. "Brooklyn, please. The number for Callahan on Festivus St." ***** The familiar thump of the great wooden doors closing jolted Irons out of his thoughts. He blinked his eyes hard, finding them too dry from the heat of the fire. The boy could have the job for a few days before he took it away again. By that time, Ian would have the sugar thief back swabbing out the toilets and restocking the kitchens. If that would stop Ian's sulking, then it was worth it, this little thing. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending out a spray of sparks, and Irons shivered. Though he knew the nights were getting shorter again, they still seemed long, and this one especially. It was no matter. Spending Christmas Eve alone was a little thing. A little thing. |
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Fin.in
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