"Of all the confounding and-"
Abbie put a hand over Crane's mouth with a rough "Shh." She moved away when his eyes narrowed dangerously and walked over to the seating along the Archives wall. "I have not finished my coffee yet," she said in a hushed voice. She sipped at the contents of the Starbucks tumbler delicately, so not to scald her mouth.
Crane took on the appearance of a flustered bird, puffing out his chest and clasping his hands behind his back. A scowl cringed up his face until he managed to temper himself and calmly, albeit a terse tone, replied, "I am perfectly capable of using a gun, Lieutenant."
Abbie cocked an eyebrow. "Look you may be well enough able to handle an old flint lock, but... the force doesn't use those anymore. Reyes says you have to upgrade if you want to help out," she said. "And, to be honest, if you try to use one of these modern pistols the same way you do your old ones, you'd put your damn eye out on the recoil. Or at least chip a few teeth."
The bird ruffled his feathers again. She wondered if he realized the technique of making himself look bigger only worked for certain types of animals, but not humans.
Pursing her lips, Abbie tried to figure out the best way to appeal to him, to make him actually at least consider lessons. "Look... You have to do it to keep working with me," she said. Even though it was a lie, Reyes had made comments about his favouritism towards dated weapons. To be honest, the few times Abbie had seen him use a modern gun, she had wanted to run over and snatch it from him before he hurt himself. "I can bring a few up here and go over some basic gun safety and care. It'll be fun. You'll be learning something new and useful. Then we can hit the range for some practice and get you qualified."
Crane dropped his hands to his sides, ticking his fingers impatiently. He puffed with annoyance. "Very well, Lieutenant," he groused. "I shall be eager to become qualified to use an instrument with which I am already familiar."
Abbie smiled brightly, choosing to ignore his blatant sarcasm. "Good. I'll grab a couple and bring them up here for you to learn about."
##
Crane felt he would, indeed have to commend his dear Lieutenant upon one item... It had been rather fascinating to learn the disassembling, servicing, and reassembly of her modern weaponry. He had half the mind to inquire of Captain Reyes if he could be permitted to giving each of the arms in their stash a thorough cleaning.
Although much of Miss Mills' lecture on safety as merely information a fool would see as obvious-Don't point it at anyone unless he had every intention of using it, being the most idiotic of instructions because of course he would not aim a device with the potential of harming another at them unless his intentions were to halt them due to concern of harm to his own person.
Shortly after the lecture had reached its conclusion, he and Miss Mills made their way to a small cafe to get lunch before travelling to the police training range. Upon arrival he already wanted to leave. He felt the ear protection was absolutely farcical, as were the spectacles which Miss Mills insisted he wear.
Although it was somewhat more tolerable since she wore them as well.
"Just a quick run through..." she said as she set out one of the smaller weapons with a barrelled chamber. ".22 revolver..." She next laid out a compact pistol without a barrel. ".308 semi-automatic." Another smooth bodied armament was next. "9 millimetre, semi-automatic... .38 special, revolver... and the one you seemed to like, .45 semi-automatic. Most of our reserve officers use the 9 millimetre or a .45 but, it's really up to you. Whatever you're comfortable with."
Crane arched a brow, clasping his hands behind his back. "If that were the case, Lieutenant," he said dryly. "Our presence here would be superfluous."
He drew in a sharp breath when she gave him that infernal doe eyed smile which made his heart feel as though it wished to flutter out of his chest. Either he was about to have something heartfelt directed at him or dripping with sarcasm. "Do you want to stay on the team in an official capacity or not, Crane?"
Ah, so she chose the bitter truth angle, he mused to himself. "You and I, have and shall be in this together, Lieutenant," he said with a humbled bow of his head. "And my being in an official capacity would prove to be beneficial to all."
He was rewarded with that smile again. "Good," she said, her voice gentle as a breeze filtering through a bed of dandelions. She took off her jacket and placed it over the counter in the next lane over. "Now, off with your coat. It'll make it easier, I promise."
How it would make it easier, Crane hadn't a clue. However, he felt it would be in his best interest to do whatever his lieutenant bade him to do in order to receive his certification. He removed his coat with only a small disgruntled sound and handed it over to Miss Mills. She let it join her jacket on the other counter.
"First we're just going to let you get a feel for each one," she said. "Once you find one you like, we'll do some practice rounds... and then we'll get you qualified."
Crane picked up the smallest of the weapons and studied it carefully. Light-weight, compact... It could easily fit into his coat pocket if necessary. Upon his observations, he took notice of a scrawled word on the barrel. He had taken note of lettering earlier whilst cleaning it, but had decided to revisit at another time on the details of the wordage. "What, pray tell, Lieutenant, do these words mean?" He studied it again. "Obviously, this part is a reference to its calibre..."
Miss Mills peered over his arm to see. "Smith and Wesson are the people that made it and that shows what city and state it was made in. This is the serial number. That's the most important information you need."
"And the name on the grip?" Crane asked.
Corbin. He had hoped, perhaps, it was not the once beloved sheriff. However, the expression on his dear lieutenant's face said that he had been suffering from a fool's hope.
Miss Mills drew in a deep breath. "All of these were Corbin's. I kept them in my desk after he was murdered by our headless friend," she admitted. "So, consider yourself lucky. I don't let just anyone use them."
Crane held the pistol a little more reverently at her admission. "I do indeed feel honoured by the privilege, Miss Mills."
Miss Mills took the gun from him. "Alright... this is how you open the barrel." She pressed a small latch on the side and she tilted it so the barrel rolled out and exposed the seven chambers within. "That's where you put your rounds. Load her up."
Crane frowned and wondered precisely how the rounds would be projected from the weapon. He was well familiar with the fact Miss Mills' weapon did not require reloading with gun powder and the other items he favoured. He had never really thought about what sort of process she used to reload.
"And with what sort of munitions am I to load her up?" Crane asked.
The petite lieutenant reached into the bag she had brought the weaponry in, she withdrew several small boxes. She handed him one of the boxes. "Here you go."
While he slipped the rounds into the chambers Miss Mills clipped up a target. She flipped a switch and the target moved down the lane until it reached one of three flags dangling from the ceiling. Crane pushed the chamber back into place on the pistol. When it clicked into place, Miss Mills stepped up to his side.
"All right," she said. "You did good. You remembered the cleaning. Now, all you do is pull back the hammer with your thumb, aim for the middle of the target, and pull the trigger. Just like the one's you're familiar with."
Crane turned, tucked an arm behind his back as he was accustomed, and raised the firearm.
"Hey," Miss Mills barked. "What did we discuss in your training?"
Crane felt his face warm as he lowered the gun once again. "My apologies, Lieutenant," he muttered. "Years of learning skills as a gentleman prove arduous to alter."
His lieutenant placed a hand upon his arm. Crane looked down into the fathomless dark depths of her eyes. "This isn't duelling, Crane," she said gently. "It's not a gentleman's skill we're looking for. This is making sure we both make it through everything that's going on." She placed her hands on either side of his waist and he gladly shifted his stance under her guidance. Next she showed him the proper way to hold the weapon with both hands. "Two hands..." His breath hitched as she eased a knee between his legs from behind. "Feet around shoulder length apart..." She nudged at his feet with her own until he put them into position.
Her tiny hands went to his elbows and encouraged his arms up. "Straighten your arms but don't lock your elbows," she instructed. She returned to his side and made a few more physical corrections to his posture before nodding with approval.
"Perhaps we could fetch you a box in which to stand upon, Lieutenant," Crane said, making a half attempt to tease as he peered down at her.
Miss Mills made a sign to indicate he needed to get his eyes on the target. "Have at it, Crane."
He rolled his eyes at her terminology but, nonetheless, had at it. Once the weapon was empty of ammunition, Crane set it down on the counter and pulled off the glasses and ear protection. He then picked the gun back up and carefully opened the chamber. Miss Mills reached over his arm to show him how to easily remove the spent rounds. He placed the gun on the counter again and studied the empty bullet. Where once had been a rounded tip to it, there remained a hollowed casing. "Lieutenant, would you happen to have knowledge of how this weapon works?"
"Beyond pointing it at the target and pulling the trigger?" Miss Mills asked. She shook her head. "I never really gave it any thought. If you want we can go to the tact shop on my next day off and they might be able to tell you."
"I am most appreciative of your kindness, Lieutenant," Crane said, making extra certain he sounded as grateful as he felt.
He and his lieutenant had been through a considerable amount of troubles, some of the more major troubles being given to his own thick headedness and refusing to trust his instinct instead of his heart. His instinct was, of course, to trust Miss Mills. It seemed, now that Katrina had gone, a veil had been lifted from over his mind. His instinct and his heart were aligning their loyalties once more.
He watched Miss Mills' face as as she plastered on a smile. It was that smile she would have when he mentioned their bond as witnesses and how they needed to be together. There was always a modicum of sadness in her eyes which counteracted the smile. "Together until the end, right?" she asked softly, their gazes locking for a long moment.
"Until the end," he replied, barely above a whisper.
In the endless battle between his instincts and his heart, the two were finally agreeable to one thing. This would be a most opportune time in which to let Miss Mills know that, when he spoke of their togetherness, he meant in a manner which often led to matrimonial situations and possibly a family. However, his instinct and heart could not agree on a means of which to communicate his intent. His instinct said to touch her face and simply tell her. His heart said take her into his arms and allow his mouth to become intimate with hers.
Before the two came to an agreement, Miss Mills looked away and put her attention back on the lesson at hand. The moment to confess had passed and his mind admitted, at the very least, he should have said something as saying anything could have very well led to the other. But that was his own befalling... never being able to find the words to say to let a woman know he cared.
When it came to confessions of affection or something greater, he became a bumbling fool. It was quite often for a woman to be the one to confess her affections to him. Some he had politely declined or declined out of a sense of propriety, as the case had been with Katrina prior to her breaking her engagement with Abraham.
With Miss Mills, he always seemed to have the right words and the boldness with which to use them. However, his execution on using the words somehow faltered to where he was afraid she felt he saw her as merely a friend.
The opportunity had passed and Miss Mills was delivering another box of ammunition into his hands to put in the next weapon. She guided him in the removal of the clip of the .380 and loading in the bullets. "You'll need to be a little more careful with this one because the chamber slides back and forth," Miss Mills explained. "You don't want your hand too close to the barrel or you will get a really nasty injury. This one is compact and low calibre enough that you could theoretically shoot it with one hand but... if you want accuracy, use two. Also, if you want to get qualified to use it, use two."
"Understood, Lieutenant. Two hands are required," Crane quipped, as she traded out the paper targets. The used one looked fairly well with three of the seven holes being in the target area, two at the edge of the lines, and two within an inch of the target area.
"Remember to use your sights," Miss Mills said, holding the spent target at arms length. "If you do this on your qualifying test, you will fail. You gotta keep it near centre mass, Crane."
Crane felt his muscles tense at her rebuke. He fought for the freedom of the American people. He had fought the Horseman of Death numerous times. He didn't need instruction on how to use arms as though he were a newly commissioned soldier. And good gracious that little smirk of Miss Mills' was proving to be his undoing.
"Go ahead and let it out, Crane," she drawled. "Just say it and get it over with. You'll feel better once you grouse about how great things were in your time."
"Lieutenant," his said tensely. "You may not be aware this but I am a grown man that fought in the Revolutionary war. I am well aware of how much I am in love with you." He was about to add more when a shocked expression fell over his lieutenant's face which rendered him silent. After approximately ten seconds it sank in precisely what he had said.
Both simply stood there, mouths slightly ajar in surprise.
How had his admission come at such an inopportune time? He hadn't even been thinking of it whilst he had been preparing his tirade. Yet, somehow, he had blurted out his feelings. He was suddenly not at all flustered with the entire process of learning to use modern weaponry. Instead he felt the blinding desire to make haste to the nearest necessary to evade the look on his lieutenant's face as she became fully aware of what he had said.
Miss Mills was the first to clamp their mouth shut. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear, cleared her throat, then turned back towards the lane to send the target to it's destination. "Right. The sights. I showed them to you while we were covering general safety, right? So use them and lets see if you can get seven for seven in centre mass this time."
Crane swallowed hard and put his attention upon the task at hand.
The hour that followed was practically agony. The playful banter they had been sharing had become non-existent. Where Miss Mills had been incredibly likely to pull and tug at his posture to correct it, she barely put enough pressure for him to feel her touch through his clothing; if his hands were wrong, she verbally corrected him and pointed until everything was to her liking. When she was not jabbing at the air with her finger to correct him, her hands stayed tucked securely inside of her folded arms.
The worst of it was, she would not even look at him. Not even the slightest of glances was spared in his direction. That was what hurt the most. Her walls latching down in full force was unpleasant to accommodate, but he was always willing to hear her speak of her troubles whilst she removed the proverbial bricks one by one and allotted him the privilege of glimpsing what lie upon the other side.
Discovering that her affections were not reciprocated hollowed a space in his heart as nothing could. By time he had finished firing the .380, he felt a most urgent desire to purge himself. he drew in a deep breath and gave a respectful bow in his lieutenant's direction. "If I may be permitted to take a brief leave, Lieutenant?"
Miss Mills nodded wordlessly so he hastily took his leave, opting to conceal himself in a supply room as he feared someone walking in upon his panic. He paced small room relentlessly, clinching and unclenching his fists before grasping a handful of hair on either side of his head.
What had he done? What could he do to salvage what he and his lieutenant shared as friends and working partners? He could have very well handed over the apocalypse to Moloch with his careless declaration. perhaps he had sealed the fate of mankind by driving away his fellow witness and leaving the world defenceless against the great evils that would plague them.
Because, if that was what she requested, he would leave her and fight alone. Although he was certain she would not cease her own fighting.
Or, perhaps, there was a means of which he could not only save mankind but mend the damage he had done with Miss Mills. He would simply retract his admission and make certain she knew, under no certain terms would be mention such feelings towards her. After all, a true gentleman, even from his day and age knew the truest power in any relationship was in the hands of the woman. If a woman did not feel as the man did, he was to simply bow out with his head held high and pursue other matters.
Even duels for the hand of a woman was to solely be done if the woman truly could not decide between suitors-although some gentlemen would insist even should she not choose him. But that was not the sort of man Ichabod Crane considered himself to be.
In all fairness, he would much rather have situations be momentarily awkward and to retain his friendship with Miss Mills, rather than to never see her again. It was time for him to be bold, as he so often found himself doing with Miss Mills. He steeled himself for what he must do to preserve their bond and strode purposefully back to the range.
Miss Mills was hanging up from a call when he arrived. He stopped short when he saw the expression of distress on her face as she stared at the screen. There was a naked vulnerability to her posture; shoulders slouched, nary a sign of her normal self-assurance was present. As soon as the door clicked closed, she snapped to like a good soldier standing strong and proud.
The walls were firmly in place and made of steel when she looked at him.
He strode to stand before her, hands behind his back so she could not see the way he squeezed his fingers to the point of pain because of what he was about to say. "Lieutenant," he said firmly. "My admission of feelings towards you were completely unwarranted and very clearly undesired." She opened her mouth to interrupt but he put up a silencing hand. "Please, permit me, Lieutenant. Under normal circumstances I would welcome your interruption because fire and conviction you have to your opinions are constantly rendering me speechless. But this is a matter of utmost consequence and speechless is not what I wish at this moment." His hand returned to behind his back. She gave a swipe of her hand to indicate he could proceed then folded her arms over her chest, although this time her expression was one of impatience.
"I understand you value your independence and, to be fair, that is one of many qualities which I find so desirable about you," he continued. "Since my feelings for you are not reciprocated, rest assured I shall be putting them aside. I value our friendship and our bond too much to permit it to be hindered because I so fool-heartedly confessed my love to you. So, please, accept my apologies for speaking out of turn."
He closed his eyes and bowed respectfully to his lieutenant. When he lifted his head to receive her response, Miss Mills pursed her lips and shifted her weight from one hip to the other. "Are you done?" she asked flatly.
Crane scowled as he processed her words. He thought he had been perfectly clear that he had finished. "Yes, Lieutenant. I have... completed my apology," he replied with uncertainty.
"First things first, Crane," she started, her tone stern and unforgiving. "You can't just tell a girl you love her and five minutes later recant it. It's rude." She shifted her weight again, this time putting her hands on her hips as she continued to address him. "Two, you should never have to suppress anything you are feeling. Even if I don't feel the same, your feelings are valid and deserve to be known. Third," at this she poked him in the chest. "Don't assume just because I panic after getting shocked into silence, that I don't reciprocate your feelings. Four..."
Ichabod suddenly found himself being yanked downwards and Miss Mills sealed her mouth over his. For the slightest of moments he kept his hands behind his back, but as she drew him deeper into the kiss, his hands unclasped and he tried to decide the best location in which to place them. Eventually, he settled them into the curve of her waist.
When Miss Mills pulled away, he drew in a sharp breath. She tasted her lips to hide a smile. "Sorry I panicked," she said. "But... I just... All I could think of was how bad things always happen to people that I care about. I didn't want that to happen to you."
Ichabod smiled gently. "Rest assured, Lieutenant, there is yet a few more years before our minimum of seven year of service to mankind as witnesses has been completed. And, there is a likelihood that we could or already have put a stop to the impending doom. Then there is the prophesy that we are to remain together for the duration of our time as witnesses. What I interpret this as meaning is... should something happen, regardless of the circumstances, we will be remaining together."
Miss Mills nodded in approval. He was graced with her beautiful doe-eyed smile. "Let's get this done. That way we can put our complete focus on where we're going from here."
The rest of their time on the range consisted of Ichabod needing as much hands on instruction from his lovely lieutenant as he could logically get away with before achieving his qualifications.