I Choose You
Fate may have brought Ichabod and Abbie together, but that doesn't mean they don't have a choice in the matter.
Ichabod had three options. The first was intolerable; the second, improbable; and the third…
The third, he had no right to ask.
He continued to ponder the words of the attorney hired by Master Corbin as he entered Whole Foods Market. He was determined to find the ingredients for the meal he had watched prepared that morning on his favorite cooking show.
"When someone is denied their bid for citizenship, there are three options," Thomas Cardenas had explained to him earlier that day. Ichabod placed a bag of baby red potatoes in his basket, and moved on to look for the leeks.
"First, you can start over. That usually requires returning to your country of origin and re-applying for citizenship from there."
Ah yes, here were the leeks. Now for the rosemary. As he picked up and sniffed several sprigs of the fragrant herb, he sighed deeply. Returning to England was out of the question. Although he had made friends during his nine-month sojourn there, a few of whom might be willing to put him up again, he was loath to leave Sleepy Hollow. With The Hidden One having re-acquired his hourglass and Pandora reassembling her box, whatever those two fiends had in store would soon unfold. He would not abandon the Leftenant to deal with it alone.
She would not be alone, he argued with himself. She had Miss Jenny and Master Corbin to fight alongside her, and now Miss Foster as well. The latter had proven a very capable member of the team.
"Some metals are made to pair. Never underestimate the power of a natural bond."
He paused before an array of fruit, recalling the words spoken by the metallurgist from the University of Rochester. The comment verified what he had long known, that the bond between himself and the Leftenant had been destined for thousands of years. If the tablet identifying them as Destroyers was true, the two of them together were required to defeat The Hidden One. No, he must stay.
He located a small jar of capers among the salad toppings and moved on to the meat section. He espied organic, free range pork ribs. They were quite pricey, making him hesitate. Recalling a documentary he had watched about the horrors of factory farming, he overcame his distaste for the price.
"Second," the attorney had continued, "An employer can sponsor you. If they feel your talents are essential and can promise you a job, their sponsorship will allow you to remain in the U.S."
Ichabod grimaced again at the price tag on the ribs, half-tempted to choose a vegetarian recipe that would certainly cost less. He was well-aware that his meal-preparation, no matter how much Abbie appreciated it, was quite costly to their budget. He also knew that since Sheriff Reyes had left for New York City, her departure ending his consultancy to the Sheriff's Department, he was no longer contributing any funds to the household coffers.
Well, that had to change. A job he must find. But what employment could he acquire that would make him valuable enough that an employer would sponsor him? He briefly recalled Miss Corinth joking that his knowledge would be prized at the Historical Society, "if we could afford to hire you."
He might suggest that Master Corbin make a donation that would change those circumstances, but it was far too late for that possibility. His regrets about the end of his relationship with Miss Corinth were few. His heart had not been engaged, although he was saddened that he had caused harm to the feelings of a kind young lady.
As he reached the register and began to unload his cart, which now also contained uncured bacon and balsamic vinegar, he considered his prior profession as a university instructor. He would certainly enjoy the opportunity to teach again, but such a possibility was out of the question, unless he were first to return to school as a student. False identification was easy to obtain; a curriculum vitae was not.
He pondered other questions, including the still unknown plans of their current nemeses, during the three mile walk home. It was only as he approached their house that he allowed himself to consider the third option presented by Attorney Cardenas.
He thought of the lovely house as "our home," but in his honest moments, he admitted it was not. G. Abigail Mills was the name on the mortgage statements that arrived every month, and payment for such came from her FBI salary. This was the Leftenant's home, and he was but a guest, regardless of how gracious his hostess might be.
And a guest was far more than he deserved to be. She had supported him, financially and emotionally, throughout his three years in this new world, with very little complaint, and how had he repaid her? By prioritizing his wicked family above her, and then abandoning her without word for nine months. That she had forgiven him was a testament to the goodness of her heart. He had striven mightily to show his gratitude by giving her as much space or support as she needed (for that which she required could vary, depending on the day), and by his acts of service around the home. Yet it wasn't enough. He could never repay Abbie for all she had done for him.
No, the third option he certainly had no right to ask.
Upon entering the house, he left the day's mail and his materials from the lawyer on the small end table by the door, and hurried to the kitchen. He placed the potatoes, cut in half and coated in olive oil and salt, in the oven to roast, and began to braise the ribs in a large skillet.
Red wine was required for this dish. The door to the garage, where the Leftenant kept her wine collection, was attached to the kitchen, so Ichabod entered in search of a nice bottle.
He halted when he saw the tarp that remained draped over the far wall. The Leftenant had asked him to paint that particular wall the day she had confessed to him the hold that the symbol beneath it had over her. She did not trust herself to carry out such a task.
Trusting him, however, was not an improvement. He had purchased the paint, but when he entered the garage and removed the tarp, he felt himself drawn to the beauty and power of the symbol. He had hastily covered it once again, and had not returned to the garage since.
"Sometimes the things we think that will hurt us will actually save us."
Now that they knew the symbol was not evil, he was glad he had not completed that particular duty. Instead, he and the Leftenant had embraced the symbol, trying to learn more about its power. Each of them now wore half the emblem on a chain, and each now carried half of the tablet. Indeed, the objects continued to be useful tools in their fight against evil. In the last week, the portion about his neck had vibrated gently in warning whenever Abbie faced danger. Placing his piece in the tablet allowed him to once more see his partner's current circumstances, and when necessary, to come to her aid.
The pork ribs were simmering in a sauce of balsamic vinegar, red wine, garlic, and rosemary when Ichabod heard the Leftenant call out, "Hey, Crane, I'm home!
"Oh, wow, it smells so good in here!" she exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. The Leftenant wore a bright smile, which warmed Ichabod's heart. Since her confession and then discovery that the symbol was a force for good, she had been sleeping better, eating better, and seemed much happier.
"I hope that it shall taste as good as it smells. How was your day, Leftenant?"
"Uneventful. Nowadays I have to be thankful for that. And yours?"
Ichabod paused. The challenges of his day certainly were mild, but he was unprepared to broach the topic of the attorney. "I continue to peruse the archives in search of information about our good luck charm, but I have not yet met with success."
Abbie placed her hand gently on her breastbone, where her half of the emblem lay. "Well, the fact that we've now used it twice to help us out is already success in my book. Listen, I'm starving. How soon will dinner be ready?"
"About ten minutes. Will you do the honor of setting the table?"
"Of course."
Not long thereafter, Ichabod carried into the dining room their meal of succulent ribs, warm potato salad with bacon, leeks and capers, and a small garden salad. Abbie was already sitting at the table, looking pensive.
Abbie quietly served her plate and took a bite of the potato salad. She looked up and chortled. "You eat ribs with your hands, Crane, not a knife and fork!"
"Oh," he said sheepishly. He placed down his utensils and then picked up a rib in imitation of his partner sitting opposite him.
"Mmm, this is heavenly!" Abbie closed her eyes to savor the taste of the tender, flavorful meat.
"Indeed."
Consumed with eating for the next several minutes, Crane only slowly became aware that Abbie was staring at him. "Is something on your mind, Leftenant?"
"Yeah, I was so hungry I almost forgot about it. When I came in, I saw your letter with the mail. Why didn't you tell me that INS had turned down your application for citizenship?"
"There has been much on your plate, Leftenant. You needn't have my troubles to worry about, too."
Abbie rolled her eyes. "Crane, come on. We're partners. What affects you, affects me. Why'd they turn you down?"
"I missed my interview."
"How'd that happen?"
Ichabod took a sip of his wine in lieu of answering.
"It was scheduled for when I was gone, wasn't it? Oh, Crane! I'm so sorry!"
"'Tis not your fault, Leftenant. I had more pressing things to do at that time."
She gave him a small smile, and reached out to touch his hand. "Thank you. So what happens now? I saw the card for the immigration lawyer. Did he give you any advice?"
"He did indeed. He said that I could return to England and re-apply from there, which of course is out of the question. So, I am going to pursue option B, seek out employment."
Abbie laughed. "You're gonna get a job, Crane!"
"It is far past time. I only hope that I can find one in which my value is such that the employer will sponsor my citizenship."
Abbie chewed her lip for a moment. "You know, I'm not up to speed on immigration law, but there's an option C, isn't there?"
Ichabod's heart thudded. "Option C?"
"Yeah. I mean, I've always heard that if an immigrant marries an American citizen, their spouse can sponsor them."
"True, the attorney mentioned that as well. But that puts me in the same bind as the employment possibility, finding someone willing to take up my cause."
"Oh, that one's easy. I'll marry you."
He almost knocked over his wine glass. "No, I can't ask that of you, Leftenant!"
"Why not? We're partners, supposedly with an eternal bond. And you already live here."
"Abbie," he said softly, "I am not unconscious of the many, many ways you have sacrificed for me. I can't ask this sacrifice from you."
"Help me understand, Crane. It's just a piece of paper. What's the big deal?"
The words, "just a piece of paper" pierced Crane to the heart. Even as he was trying to dissuade her, it hurt that she accepted the idea so casually.
"Anyway, this isn't just for you, it's for me, too. I don't want you to get deported. I need you here."
Ichabod was unsure how to respond. It made sense, and would be simply one more extension of their partnership. But…
"Leftenant, you are a young woman. What shall happen if you meet someone with whom you would like an actual marriage, one that is not just a…" — he stumbled on the words— "…piece of paper?"
Abbie shook her head. "That's not going to happen." He tried to interrupt, but she stopped him. "Look, I've resigned myself to it, okay, Crane? I know I can't bring someone else into this bizarre world of mine. I can't imagine anyone wanting to be a part of it, and I don't want anyone else to get hurt." She snorted. "Yeah, the Mills women are definitely destined to die crazy and alone."
"Oh, Leftenant," he said softly. "Please do not believe that is your fate. I for one will always be here for you."
She smiled wryly. "You say that now."
He nodded grimly. "I know that I proved myself disloyal with my abandonment, yet I have committed myself never to behave so selfishly again. I do not expect you to take my word for it, but I do ask that you allow me to prove it to you."
She took his hand again and gently squeezed it. "Oh, Crane, don't get all serious on me. I trust you, I really do. I know you'll do whatever is in your power to stay by my side. It's just… we never know what the future holds. I don't think anything is guaranteed, for you or me."
She rose from the table. "Can we move to the sofa and finish this conversation?"
He assented, and they soon settled again in the living room.
"Let me ask you something. I know how seriously you took your vows to Katrina. Is that why you're not willing to do a marriage of convenience, even if it would solve your immigration problems?"
"Perhaps," he said slowly, although the Leftenant was more right than she knew. "I do believe that marriage should be an eternal bond, one forged in the deepest of love." His eyes met hers, hoping to see something, anything, to indicate she felt the same.
Abbie looked away too soon, down at her hands. "Yeah, and you've already been burned once. I can see why you're not willing to jump in again." She sighed. "Look, this probably isn't what you want to hear, but I think we should just do it. Our purpose as witnesses and saving the world are more important than our scruples. After your citizenship comes through, we can divorce, and then you won't feel bound—"
"That's not what I want!" He had not meant to yell, but his yearning for matrimony with Abbie was so strong, the thought of divorce was anathema to him.
Abbie looked up in surprise at his outburst. "Then what do you want, Crane?"
The vein pulsed in Ichabod's forehead. He had long held back his confession, knowing almost from the first time they'd met that he felt attraction and deep affection for Abbie, but withholding and denying those feelings since he was wed to another. When he returned after his long absence following Katrina's death, he sensed Abbie's coldness, her hesitance to trust him again. She pushed him to date others, she talked about fences between neighbors, she made clear that there were boundaries in their partnership that he was not to cross.
He had respected that, knowing he had no right to ask for more. But during her weeks in the catacombs, he had nearly lost his mind from grief and fear. Her absence created a chasm in his soul as though his heart had been ripped in two. He could no longer deny to himself that he was hopelessly, overwhelmingly in love with Grace Abigail Mills.
She had returned so vulnerable and damaged, however, and he knew that if any of his love was unselfish, it was time to demonstrate that now. He would care for her, do what he could to help her heal, and not push through any doors she was not ready to open. He would no longer focus on what he wanted, but only on Abbie.
Yet now she was asking. How could he tell her what he truly wanted? To marry her in every sense of the word, and not for immigration purposes. To be bound to her heart, mind, body and soul for eternity, and not because some tablet or Bible prophesied it. 'Twas neither fate nor destiny that drew him to her, 'twas his choice!
How could he tell her, if hers was a different choice? No, he could not, would not place that burden on her.
Abbie must have sensed something in the agony of his silence, because she suddenly rose from the sofa and began pacing around the room. "No, Crane, no! Don't go, there, all right! I can't handle it!"
He followed her, and stopped her movement with gentle but firm hands placed on her arms. She exhaled deeply, and then allowed him to pull her into an embrace. He could feel the magnetic tug of the two emblems between them, longing to be joined together once more.
After a few minutes, Abbie's shoulders shook, and he realized she was laughing. "We haven't hugged it out in a long time," she said.
"Indeed. We should do it more often."
"I agree." Abbie pulled back. "So what are we going to do?"
"You asked me a question that I still have not answered."
"I'm a little afraid of the answer."
"I'm more than a little afraid to give it."
"Everybody leaves, Crane. Everybody. Or they die."
Ichabod winced, for he had been one of many to desert the Leftenant in her time of need.
"But I guess you and I are fated to be together, so maybe this is different. I keep thinking about how you were with me the whole time I was in the catacombs. It's scary to trust but… Go ahead, tell me what you want."
Ichabod placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're sure? Once I say my piece, the words cannot be unsaid. As the children of today are wont to say, no backsies."
Abbie nodded. "I'm sure."
In that moment he had a decision to make, whether to submit to his fears of being spurned, or to reassure this beloved woman that she was treasured above all others. He lifted her chin with one hand and gazed into her eyes, inhaling deeply to give himself courage. "What I want is you, Grace Abigail Mills. What fate has done is merely allowed me to meet the strongest, bravest, most beautiful, most loving and marvelous person I have ever known. But fate has not made me love you. That is my choice. I choose you. Were we to wake up tomorrow and all this were over, no more apocalypses or symbols or gods or demons or fates drawing us together, I would still choose you. I love you, Abbie, with all my being. And if we are to marry, I only want it to occur knowing that you feel the same."
He lowered his arms to his sides and stepped back. "If you do not feel the same, then I will begin my employment search in earnest tomorrow morning."
He dared to glance back at Abbie. Her eyes were moist, but she was smiling. "Once you're a citizen, that job search will get a whole lot easier."
He heart thumped. "Are you saying…?"
"Yeah, I'm saying it. I choose you, too."
His long stride bridged the gap between them, and he lifted her into his arms. The room filled with their laughter as the emblems, joined between fabric, vibrated wildly against their chests. He lowered her and pulled apart the symbols, and then both removed the chains from about their necks.
"We'll have to figure out what to do with these when we make love," Abbie pointed out.
"They would be problematic, wouldn't they?" he quipped, but he was thinking, she said make love! She loves me!
And then she said the words, "I love you, Crane," before they were together once more, their lips meeting in joy and passion.