Abbie smoothed her sleek hair over one shoulder and glanced at the clock once again. This was getting beyond a joke. She had already double-checked the time and location that she had meticulously recorded on her phone: McKay's Tavern, Saturday 8:30pm. It was nudging 9:15 and there was still no call from James.

She had tried to manage her expectations from the start. After all, it had been a while since Luke and, given her divinely-appointed role as Witness, her love life had been pretty much non-existent since then. However, something clicked in her the moment she bumped into James in the Emergency Ward.

She had just questioned a woman who claimed that a demon tried to pull her from her stalled car on the turnpike. He was coming out of surgery, where he had just reattached the arm of a chef who'd tangled with a mincer and lost. The attraction was instantaneous. Somehow talking to him felt so natural, so right. It had been a long time since she had had a conversation with someone that didn't involve demons and witches and Apocalyptic dealings.

Truth to tell, she was done being the intermediary between Crane and his wife. For weeks now, she had swallowed her doubts and misgivings about Katrina in an attempt to be supportive. Despite all of her deceptions, Crane still felt an abiding need to make his marriage work. Without the hope of a future with Katrina, he felt rootless and lost in the twenty-first century.

For all that Abbie had supported him, both financially and emotionally, she knew that she could not give him the help that he needed. For now, at least for tonight, she needed to think about herself.

Even as she put on her highest heels and dolled herself up, she couldn't help worrying about Crane. He was helping to organise the Re-enactment Society's Spring Ball, and she knew that he was looking forward to attending with Katrina. A taste of life in their former times would surely help to reset their emotional trajectory and repair the ties between them.

As she sat in the bar, nursing her second whiskey and water, she felt a horrible sense of inevitability. Every glimpse she got of a normal life seemed to be illusory. Every time something potentially new or unexpected entered her field of vision, it turned out to be either a threat or a disappointment.

What had happened to her life? Her Mama would surely be shaking her head if she could see her now, sitting in a bar by herself, stood up by the one viable date she had had in months.

Her God-given appointment seemed like nothing so much as a poisoned chalice. She could not deny that the only spot of light or hope in the darkness and doubt that enveloped her life was Crane. Despite everything else, his friendship was her only source of consolation.

Her phone buzzed, and Abbie didn't need to check the screen to know who it would be.

'Hey, James,' she answered smoothly, not betraying her irritation.

'Abbie! I'm so sorry I didn't call earlier – you have no idea.'

The tiredness and strain was evident in his voice and Abbie's annoyance melted away on the spot. There had been a three car pile-up on the interstate and an entire family had been brought into the ER. He had been on his feet for eighteen hours straight and there was no end in sight.

'Look, Abbie. I shouldn't have even asked you out to begin with. My life is a trainwreck now that I'm a resident. I barely have time to sleep, let alone have drinks with a beautiful woman. I'm not blowing you off, I swear…'

'James,' Abbie broke in. 'To be honest, my life is a total disaster too. I thought I could have a night off from it, but I guess I was looking in the wrong place.'

As Abbie hung up, she felt a strange sense of calm. The world was full of people struggling with all their might to do good – she wasn't the only one. She walked out of the bar, intending to take the short-cut home but found herself irresistibly drawn towards the Town Hall where the Re-enactment Society ball was taking place.

The candle-lit rooms and sounds of music wafting from within were so inviting that she couldn't resist taking a closer look. The interior of the hall was lavishly decorated with freshly-cut flowers and greenery. Everything looked authentic, from the bewigged footmen to the costumed quartet playing quadrilles and minuets.

Her eyes swept the room, trying to locate Crane and Katrina amongst the corseted and powdered couples. She felt a sudden sting that she had not been invited. As goofy as the whole event had seemed to her, it was infinitely preferable to sitting in a bar by herself.

She dismissed the idea as nonsensical. She was not Katrina, and as baffling as the thought was, the only person who would make the night enjoyable was Crane.

'Abbie?'

She turned and saw him standing five feet away from her. Her heart swelled with something like pride when she saw him dressed in his finery, his hair pulled back in a single queue. He seemed confounded to see her, and Abbie was struck with the unpleasant realisation that she might not be welcome.

'Hey, Crane.' Her voice was cheerful, hiding her discomposure. 'I was just passing, so I stuck my head in the door how you crazy colonials like to party.'

'Oh, I…' He seemed as uncomfortable as she felt. 'Everything seems to be advancing according to plan. How was your evening?'

'It was a non-starter. My date didn't show up.'

A strange look flitted across his face – a combination of irritation and something else, something Abbie was afraid to probe too deeply.

'That is unfortunate. You look very lovely.'

Abbie felt herself blushing furiously, even though Crane surely meant the compliment as nothing more than everyday gallantry. 'Thank you. How is Katrina – is she having a good time?'

Crane's expression darkened. 'Katrina was unable to come this evening. She was suffering from a headache.'

Sure. Abbie thought bitterly. Spending time with her favourite ex-fiancé and minion of darkness.

'Oh,' Abbie replied, unable to form a more coherent response.

'It seems we are both without partners this evening,' he said thoughtfully. 'Would you care to dance with me?'

'Um, I don't think I'm dressed for the part. And all that mincing and shuffling isn't exactly what I call dancing.'

Crane smiled broadly and Abbie felt a jolt inside.

'I'm well aware what this generation considers to be dancing. However, I believe the next dance is the waltz, which you cannot possibly be unfamiliar with.'

With a combination of trepidation and excitement, Abbie clasped his outstretched hand and allowed herself to be lead to the dance floor. She couldn't resist smiling as Crane dipped low into an elaborate bow. She responded with an awkward curtsey as the music swelled around them.

Suddenly, the night that had begun so disastrously had become something else, something almost magnificent.

A touch of the glamour that had surrounded them throughout the dance still clung to them as Crane walked her back to her house. Try as she might, Abbie was unable to stop grinning.

She was tempted to speak, to express the immense joy she felt at being in his company. It was as if a spell had been cast, banishing her fear and loneliness forever.

As soon they reached her front door, she knew that the magic could not last. Crane was still a married man and her partner, and whatever they felt that night, his loyalty would always be to his marriage, to Katrina.

With all of those thoughts swimming through her mind, she was astonished when Crane took her hand and gently kissed it.

'Crane, I…'

'Please, Miss Mills.' His voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper. 'Do not tell me what I already know is true.'

He gazed at her intensely for what seemed an eternity. 'In a few moments, I must return home to a wife for whom I have lost much of my former esteem, to a marriage which may be unsalvageable. Grant me this one moment of happiness.'

Abbie felt tears stinging her eyes. It was as if, for the first time, they weren't speaking in code to one another. Everything was laid bare in the pallor of the moonlight.

'This isn't fair. You have someone at least. What do I get?'

The unfathomable tenderness in Crane's eyes made her heart ache. 'What does either one of us get, except the shadow of the thing we crave the most?'

Abbie knew in that moment the truth that she had been running from. The sense of frustration and despair that she had felt in the bar all came back to this – the unnameable thing that lay between them.

'Grant me this, Abigail. Allow me to say that I have never beheld anything – neither graven image nor woman born – as beautiful as you are at this moment.'

She wanted to cry, but more than that she wanted to punch him. Damn Katrina and her lies, damn Crane and his weakness.

She looked deep into his eyes and saw herself reflected in them, and knew that it would never be over between them. As sure as the approaching Apocalypse was the inescapable love she felt for Ichabod Crane.

As she reached for him, she knew they were both damned.