This is my first fanfic ever, so please bear with me. This is an Ichabod/Katrina fanfic set in their own time period. Not sure if the town they were in was actually Sleepy Hollow when they met, but I'm just gonna go with it being the setting. This would be set about a year after they met, and will be my own take on what they may have experienced in the years before Ichabod faced the Horseman. I will also do my best to stay true to their character personalities, though I don't speak like that, so we'll see how it all works out.
And for the usual disclaimer. I do not own Sleepy Hollow, or any of the characters, etc.
Moments
Sleepy Hollow 1782
Night had fallen over the town of Sleepy Hollow. Everything was quiet for now. All the hustle and bustle that comes with war had been given a short reprieve. The people of Sleepy Hollow were content with their few moments of peace, taking comfort in time spent with their loved ones. That is, everyone but Ichabod Crane.
Ichabod, who just a year ago, had made the difficult decision to turn his back on all that he knew, was a man not at peace. Though, he truly wanted to be. When he made the decision to turn traitor to England, he knew things would never be the same. He realized that he was giving up everything he knew to fight for a cause that would change him forever, and in the year since his turn, regret for that decision has never entered his mind. However, the regret for the family he would never again be a part of, constantly haunted him. They were ever present in his mind.
This is not to say that he had not developed many acquaintances over the last year, for he had. Even some that he would call friends. He had struck quite the friendship with Abraham van Brunt. A man very different than he to be sure, but one he seemed to get along with none the less. General Washington was a man he held the deepest respect for. The General was one of the most accomplished and well rounded leaders he had ever had the honor of serving under. He had no doubt that any order given by this great man, would be followed to the last detail. Such loyalty, he inspired in his men!
There were others that he had developed quite the camaraderie with, but none like her. The one that caused the spark that ignited like a blaze out of control in his heart. If anyone were to blame for his abandonment of England, it would be her. He has never in his life been so content in the presence of another. Yes, she is to blame! She is to blame for his traitorous act. For his awakening. For his refusal to simply follow any order without question. A trait that had been engrained in him from childhood. She is to blame for all the new wonders he had experienced in the past year. For the future that lay before him. Eidetic memory, or no, the very day he met her would forever be engrained in his memory. In his dreams. Oh, how she has consumed him. Her very name causes his heart to constrict in wonderment. Katrina.
Katrina van Tassel. He adores the way saying her name feels upon his lips. The way he hangs on to her every word, lest one might slip by unheard. She was often at camp, tending the wounded. In his observation of her, he has taken notice that she rarely speaks to the men at camp, or the ones lucky enough to be under her care at the infirmary in town. He has also taken note that he was not the only man in his regiment to notice Katrina. He could not blame them. She carries herself in such a way as to cause instant admiration in those blessed enough to be in her presence. Women of the time rarely speak for themselves. Men have somehow come to the conclusion that they, and only they understand the true workings of the world. Katrina, however, pays them no mind. When she does offer words, they are rarely without point. She shows herself to be truly remarkable in her knowledge of the war, and the future she has envisioned for this country. A truly unique soul. A unique soul, that once again must be mentioned, does not go without notice.
Ichabod knows that most men who encounter Katrina take no stock in what she says, and if they do, it is only because they wish to steal her wisdom for their selves. In the aftermath of her presence, little is spoken of what words she has offered. The only observation taken note of is her overwhelming beauty. To hear the men speak of her in such a way unnerves Ichabod. However, he understands the admiration of her beauty, for she is unlike anything he has ever seen before. Words are not enough to describe her. He remembers the first time he saw her. Hair, the most brilliant shade of red. Eyes the greenest he had ever seen. Deep, soulful eyes. Oh, how he could stare into them forever! Skin so white, only made more lovely by the light freckles that dot her arms and shoulders. Yes, Ichabod Crane had taken note of Katrina van Tassel's beauty.
Sadness fills his features as he walks through the brisk night. Thoughts swirling through his mind, as he clenches the letter in his hand; the letter he received only a handful of hours ago. The letter that haunts him this night. If only everything could be as simple as admiring a pretty nurse, but alas, no happiness may remain for long when war is about.
He'd been walking for hours since reading the letter addressed to him, paying no mind to where he wandered. A creaking board above his head draws his notice, and he looks up. The freshly, painted sign of the infirmary swings in the light breeze. He had not even noticed he was near this place. He enters, and finds the infirmary deserted. It would seem the brief reprieve from war had emptied the building. He turns to leave, and that's when he hears her.
"Ichabod?"
He freezes. The sound of her voice sending shivers down his spine. He should not have come here, he thinks.
"Ichabod? Is everything alright?"
He takes a deep breath and turns, a helpless smile upon his face. He takes her in. She is dressed in her usual nurses' uniform. Her curly hair pulled up on her head. Small wisps of her striking red hair falling from beneath her bonnet. She looks tired, he thinks to himself, as she slowly approaches him. A questioning look of concern upon her face.
"Are you hurt?"
He finds his voice, though it comes out in a whisper, "No. I'm not hurt. I...I'm not quite sure why I'm here."
After a moment's pause, he begins again. "I suppose I had nowhere else to go."
She gives a small sympathetic smile, and the rest comes pouring out of him.
"I received a letter from home today."
He closes his eyes with a frown, and slumps down on the bench against the wall. "Or I suppose what used to be my home," he says in resignation.
As she moves to sit beside him, he glances at her and finds that just her mere presence soothes him. Bringing the letter to hold in his lap, he continues. "My father has written me to inform me of the consequences of my actions."
Closing his eyes once more, "I knew he would be angry, furious even, but I never thought he would go so far as to disavow me as his son. To inform me that I was no longer a son of his, or a Crane. I'm not sure what I expected him to say. I simply never fathomed he would go this far. To forbid me from contacting my mother, who is prone to illness when father and I are at odds. In the past, I suppose she believed that as long as our full attention was upon her, there would be no room left for us to concentrate on anything else."
He lets out a long breath, "I'm not quite sure why I'm so upset. I knew I was making a sacrifice when I chose to turn my back on everything I knew. I knew my life would never be the same. Arthur Bernard told me as much. But now that it is here, I'm just not sure how to feel any longer.."
He feels her shift next to him. Her hand grasping his causes his eyes to open slowly. How could something be so soft? So delicate? He can sense it, her eyes are on him now. He dares a glance at her. She is but a few breaths away. Her natural scent overwhelming him. Her eyes, so thoughtful, take him in.
"Do you regret your decision?"
Such a simple question. All it requires is a simple yes or no. He turns from her, and takes a moment to ponder it.
"No. I've never been more sure in my decision. It was the right choice..."
"But it does not stop the pain that comes with it," she offers.
He looks thoughtfully back at her. She understands. He does not know how or why, but she does. What experience could have caused such an understanding of what he was feeling to befall this lovely creature before him? For a moment, he does nothing but look at her, really look at her. As if he could see into her very soul if he looked hard and long enough.
"No, it does not."
She turns to look ahead at the many candles lit throughout the infirmary, and smiles a small smile, one that seems as if it would only be meant for her dearest and most intimate of friends. He relishes in the fact that she has chosen to share it with him.
"I've said it before, and I stand by it." Her eyes meet his once more, "You are a good man, Ichabod Crane."
A slight playfulness enters her eyes, as if she knows a secret he does not. "Besides, Mr. Crane, if you had not made the decision you did, who would keep all the ladies in town on their toes if not you?"
He does not need a mirror to know he has begun to blush. He suddenly is more mesmerized by the candles across the room, than her eyes.
"I do not know what you could possibly mean, Madam."
The laugh she releases lets him know without a doubt that she does not believe him.
"You know good and well what I mean, Sir. Every unwed woman in town, and even some older women, that I know for a fact are happily married, has entered into conversation at some point or another in the past year about what a catch you are."
"I'm sure it is not quite what you are making it out to be," he murmurs in a small, still blushing voice.
"Surely, you have noticed the many looks you receive around town?"
He has noticed, but he would never admit it to her. His embarrassment over seventy-three year old, Mrs. Todd, pinching him on his..., well it is too horrible to even remember, still haunted him. He was simply walking through the crowd at one of Abraham's overly extravagant parties when he felt the pinch. He nearly jumped out of his shoes when he felt it. He turned to see Mrs. Todd grinning at him from her seat. Needless to say, he has yet to venture knowingly into her presence since.
"You must be mistaking me with someone else. There is a man in my regiment that has an uncanny resemblance with myself. It must be he that is receiving all this alleged attention."
He clears his throat, and attempts to steer her attention to some other subject. He cannot help but hope she lets the conversation venture in a new direction. "I noticed upon my arrival that the infirmary has a new sign..."
"Do not try to get out of this one, Ichabod. You know it is you that has all the women in a fuss. They are all dead set on becoming, Mrs. Crane, before the new year."
She pauses and smiles a knowing smile. One he fears the reason for, and shifts uncomfortably. "Tell me, do any of them have a hope?"
He lets out the breath he had not realized he'd been holding, firmly defeated. "No. I do not believe there will be a new Mrs. Crane gracing our presence any time soon."
"Hmm, well I imagine the women of Sleepy Hollow will be both saddened and relieved at this. I suppose they will just have to try harder to gain your attention."
Thankfully, after this statement, her inquiries into his romantic life, or lack of romantic life, ended at that.
After a while of more pleasant conversation, he felt any more time spent alone with her would be inappropriate.
"Thank you, Madam van Tassel."
At her questioning look, he continues, "For distracting me from my troubles. I truly appreciate your company."
She gives him a sweet smile, and replies, "I appreciate your company as well. "
He rises and begins to make his way to the door, but stops at her hand on his arm.
"You always have a place to come to. I'm always here."
He considers her a moment, and then gives her a bow. Once again, he turns to the door.
"And Ichabod?"
He looks to her and sees that smile he so relishes in gracing her face. "Madam van Tassel is my step mother. Just Katrina will be appreciated more."
Oh, the bliss he felt in that moment.
"Goodnight..Katrina."
I'll probably write some more to go with this. As a continuing story of moments shared between them. Every chapter will most likely have an ending. So, no cliffhangers for when this writer's block that I hear about hits. That is, if everyone doesn't think it was completely terrible, and that I should stop. Thanks for reading :)