Work Text:
Marathon
Ian leaned back on the beach chair. The sun infused his body with healing warmth. The roar of the surf was loud, but strangely soothing. He was at peace. He surveyed his surroundings.
The sands of Pacific Beach sprawled out around him. It was quite a contrast to the claustrophobic feel of New York. Ian was used to checking out people, without people even knowing he was there. Here, he was in full view of the people around him. He felt somewhat vulnerable, but at least the sunglasses he wore kept others from knowing whom he was checking out at any given moment.
He wasn't disappointed with the continuous parade of women in bikinis. They were everything he imagined. Each one of them was perfectly tanned and had the body of a goddess. He was somewhat surprised that they all smiled at him as they passed, but these were California girls, after all.
Every so often, Ian had a nagging feeling that he shouldn't be here, that something was wrong, but then he remembered. Irons had let him take a vacation. Ian chose to come to San Diego...a place he had dreamed of visiting all of his life. Plus, it was thousands of miles away from Irons. He smiled smugly.
Ian closed his eyes and stretched, breathing in the scent of the ocean breeze. He dug his toes into the sand, finding the sensation invigorating. Maybe he wouldn't go back at all. He toyed with the thought. Irons would find him, of course. Would Irons kill him? No, probably not. He would just torment him enough to make Ian wish he were dead. He put such thoughts from his mind, and let himself relax once more.
A shadow blocked his access to the sun, and Ian reluctantly opened his eyes. A tall, beautiful blonde woman gazed down at him.
"Ian." Her voice was not nearly as pleasing as her visage, he noted.
"You know me?" Ian asked, marveling at the situation.
"Ian. Get up. Now. It's beginning." Strange, this woman sounded just like...
Ian grimaced. Before his eyes, the blonde beauty transformed into a looming, unsmiling Kenneth Irons. Ian blinked.
"I didn't know you were going to be here, too, Sir."
The trip home was quick. In fact it was too quick. He traveled at hyper-speed when Irons gripped his shirt and pulled him to his feet. The sun-drenched beach disappeared. In its place was the confining space known to him as his bedroom.
"Why wouldn't I be here, Ian?" Irons said, impatiently. "Get dressed. There is no time to waste."
What did Irons say? It's beginning? It couldn't be time...it wasn't right. The Witchblade's choosing of the Wielder was supposedly a long way off.
Ian dressed quickly and caught up with his master, who was making his way to the living room. It finally occurred to Ian that he had been rudely awakened from a pleasant dream. -Note to self...next time, even if I am dreaming, I should remember Irons would never give me a vacation.'
Irons grabbed the TV control and sat down in his armchair. Ian walked to stand beside him. "It is about to start. I cannot do this without your help, Ian." Irons spoke solemnly.
"I know, Sir. However, I didn't think it would be so soon."
Irons stared at him, disbelief clearly showing.
"I told you about this weeks ago, Ian. Have you forgotten?"
Ian shifted nervously. "Sir? I'm sure I would have remembered. Did you tell me She would be on television, today?"
"Who's She?"
"The Wielder, Father. That is what you need me for, isn't it?"
Irons shook his head.
"No?"
Irons looked like he had never been more disappointed in all his life. "Ian. You did forget!"
Ian was perplexed. "I'm sorry." Ian bowed his head. "What did I forget?"
"It's starting! Look, Ian."
Ian looked at the television. A nauseatingly clean-cut smiling group of kids were gathered around a wisecracking housekeeper in a repugnant orange and brown kitchen. Ian gasped.
"Do you remember now, Ian?" Irons asked, hopefully.
"No, it just frightened me!"
Irons snapped. "It's -The Brady Bunch' Marathon, you idiot! You were supposed to set up the VCR!"
It all came back to him.
"There is no tape in the VCR, Ian. It has started, and you did not set it up to record."
Ian ran to the television cabinet. He rifled through the shelves. "There are no blank tapes, Father." He heard Irons whimper. Ian continued to look. "Maybe we can find something to record over." He pulled a tape from the back of the shelf. "How about this one?"
"What does it say?" Irons started to panic.
"Veronica. Is it something important?" Ian chose the tape on purpose. He knew full well who Veronica was. She was a favorite -guest' of Irons. Ian suppressed a smile, when again Irons whimpered.
"Just use it. Hurry, Ian!" Ian put the tape in the VCR and set it to record. He resumed his place next to Irons.
Irons sighed. Ian knew the sigh was a mix of relief and consternation. He knew why, of course. Ian remembered Veronica, too. She was very talented. He almost felt sorry for his master. But it served Irons right. Interrupting a lucid dream about beautiful girls on a California beach deserved at least this mild revenge.
Ian turned his attention back to the television. Hmm...Of course, there was always Marcia. He looked forward to the episodes where she would be older. Maybe this insipid show did have some redeeming qualities, after all.
-END-