By Kitsa

At First Sight

Ian Nottingham carefully straightened his tie and brushed his school blazer. He wished he could check his hair in the mirror, but knew that his father did not like to be kept waiting. His Father…he knew he was not to call him that anymore. It was Sir or Mr. Irons, even Master when they were alone, but never father. That was their secret, a way to protect him from those who would try to hurt Irons through him. But in his mind he always would be. He took a deep breath and stepped through the doors into the den.

Kenneth Irons sat in his chair by the fire, the dogs at his feet and a small handful of papers in his hand. Ian walked into the room, trying to contain the joy he felt to be here, home with his only family. He walked up and stood to his father’s right side, his hands clasped before him, feet slightly apart, head bowed in respect as he had been taught. He waited patiently for his father to speak first as he was supposed to. He schooled his features to remain calm and emotionless, even when Cathain, the small female wolfhound, rose and stuck her nose into his clasped hands. He smiled briefly at her, promising her in his mind a long play session later to make up for his lack of response now.

“So, young Nottingham, you have returned from your first term at school. How did you find it?” He thought about his answer carefully. He did not want to anger him or appear ungrateful, but he still missed his home, long nights playing chess or being drilled on what he had learned, playing with the dogs, even following Renfrew, the security man, around learning the tasks that would one day fall to him. It was so quiet here, at school the dorms were always loud. Even though he had no roommate, the sounds echoed, made it hard to sleep. But he enjoyed his lessons and a limited friendship with the other boys; within the requirements his father set him.

“I have done as I was required, Sir,” he said simply. The safest answer was usually the best, especially when it was honest, if limited. His father looked up at him and nodded with a small smile. It was the correct answer.

“Are you glad to be back here?”

“Yes, Sir,” he answered, quickly following it with “If it is your wish.” Again the smile, again the nod. He had passed.

“You may sit,” he told him and Ian walked to the chair Irons had indicated and sat properly, knees together, back straight, gloved hands neatly folded in his lap. “What are your duties?”

“To serve you in all things and to protect the next wielder of the Witchblade,” he recited, adding her name in his mind, Sara Pezzini. He had known about her all his life, in pictures that he had been shown, in a strange tingling he felt whenever he thought of her or heard her name. He knew that she was to be like a sister to him, a twin that lived somewhere else, but was always a part of this family, always there even though he had never seen her in person.

“Very good. You have not lost sight of your goals while you were away,” Irons said with a pleased smile. “I was concerned that with so many new things around you, that you might forget, become distracted.”

“Sir, was not the purpose of my attending school to make me more capable of discharging my duties?” he asked quietly, hoping that his impertinence would not anger his father, ruin their special moment.

“You are correct, but it was also a test of your devotion, your will. Would you like to return to school after the break or remain here?”

Trick question, Ian knew that, wondering how to best answer, to be honest and still give the right answer. “I will do whatever you believe is best, Sir. My duty is do as you wish.”

“A good answer, although perhaps a bit vague. As much as I might wish for you to remain, you will return at the end of the break. Your marks are excellent, as I expected, and by the reports I have, you have done exactly as you have been instructed. I am pleased with you,” he told his son, wanting to give him some small sign of his approval. He wanted to hug the boy, to reassure him, but it was not in his nature. He rose and walked behind his son’s chair. He was growing quickly…so soon he would finish his training and take his place in the world that Irons had built for them. “I think a special outing is called for, a gift if you will, for your accomplishments.” He knelt by the side of the chair and turned Ian’s chin gently to face him. “Would you like to see her?” There was no need for him to name her, there was only one her in the Irons household. He tried to lock down the excitement he felt at the words. To see her, not just pictures, but to actually see Sara. He phrased the answer very carefully. Too much emotion would lose him the opportunity, but to seem indifferent might anger his father, be disrespectful of his gesture.

“I would be grateful for the opportunity, Sir, it will perhaps help me to further understand my duty.” He looked his father in the eye very carefully. Irons smiled inwardly. Ian was trying so hard to please, although he could feel the excitement boiling just under the surface. Yes, he would do well. He smiled at him and stroked his cheek.

“Very well, you will change and be ready to meet Renfrew in the front hall in…” he checked his ever-present pocket watch. “Thirty minutes. One minute late, and you will have lost the opportunity.” Ian tensed, ready to spring up but resisting the urge until he was dismissed. “You may go.” He rose as slowly as he could force himself, bowed his head respectfully to his father, and left the room.

After the door had closed behind him, Irons listened carefully and was amused to hear the sound of Ian running down the hall, where he knew he would not be seen. Yes, the boy would do very well indeed.

Ian made it back to his room in record time. He changed quickly into black sweater, black trousers and black boots. He checked his time and took a second to remove the picture from his inside blazer pocket and slip it under his mattress, replacing the covers quickly, leaving everything as he found it. He grabbed his cap and ran out the door with plenty of time to spare.

When Renfrew reached the front hall, Ian was waiting on a bench near the door like a coiled spring. He was a tall man, like Ian, dressed from head to toe in black, moving with a grace that belied his muscular bulk. He gestured to the boy to follow, and walked off without waiting. Ian hurried to keep up with his strides, knowing that if he did not succeed he would be left. He thought about asking him for details but decided against it. Renfrew was to Ian’s mind everything that a bodyguard should be; tall, silent, and deadly. He rarely spoke to the boy, except to lecture him on surveillance and fighting techniques, but then he rarely spoke with anyone save Irons himself.

Ian followed him as they left the car parked on a side street and climbed the stairs to the top of an apartment building. Reaching the roof, Renfrew removed his bag and began taking out a camera, lenses, and a pair of binoculars. So today was picture day, Ian thought. He handed the boy the binoculars and gestured to the playground below. Ian put them to his eyes and began to survey the area. He reached out in his mind for that fuzzy feeling, so like his connection to his father, but full of static, like a badly tuned radio. Finding it, his eyes followed to the spot. There Sara sat with another girl of about the same age talking on a bench beside the basketball court. His heart leapt and he felt a strange feeling, like a small electric shock. Sara, in person there in front of him. He nodded to Renfrew and gestured to where she sat. The bodyguard acknowledged the look and began taking pictures. Ian turned back to watching her. She sat there talking and laughing with her friend, occasionally trading comments or insults with the boys on the court. Suddenly Ian longed to be down there, to walk up and talk to her, hear her voice. He wanted to be one of those who were spending their afternoon playing and joking around in such easy companionship. He sighed, just like the other boys at school, this was not his life, not part of his special destiny. He could no more fit in down there than he could step off the roof and fly. But still, he watched with such complete concentration that he jumped when Renfrew tapped the back of his shoulder and gestured that they were to leave. Reluctantly, he took a last look and returned the binoculars. <Goodbye, Sara,> he thought, almost wishing she could hear.

Sitting on a bench with Maria, Sara felt a little shiver down her spine and thought she heard her name. Looking up in that direction, she could almost make out a shape, someone moving on the roof of the apartment building. Must be someone up there for a smoke, she thought dismissively, returning to her conversation.

Ian left the den late that evening, tired but happy. What a day, home from school, dinner and an evening spent playing chess with his father, and best of all, Sara. It almost make him forget how different he was. As he reached his room, Renfrew detached himself from the shadows by the door. He started to speak, but the man in black simply put an envelope in his hand before disappearing silently down the hall.

Ian went into his room and closed the door behind him. Puzzled, he took the envelope over to his desk and opened it. The only thing inside was a photograph of a girl about his age, with long brown hair, sitting laughing on a park bench. Ian smiled happily as he placed the photo on his nightstand.

Just before he turned out the light, Ian Nottingham took a last long look at the photo, before slipping it under his mattress with the others he had managed to acquire. “Goodnight, Sara.”