"That is it! I have had it with this cold fucking weather!" Abbie's exclamation reaches Crane's ears through the house. His Lieutenant has just returned from a late assignment with the FBI, during which the temperature plummeted.
He rushes to the kitchen to put the kettle on and warm up a plate of dinner he saved for her, pressing the button on the microwave before going out to greet her. "Lieutenant," he greets, watching as she yanks her feet out of her boots, glaring at them like they have offended her.
"There is a wind chill of -26 out there right now," she declares, showing him the weather app on her phone. "And we had to track this idiot, outside, only to find him hiding inside."
"I am sorry to hear that, Miss Mills," he says, frowning. "Please, go make yourself comfortable. The heated blanket is waiting for you on the sofa, and I have the kettle on and your dinner in the microwave."
Some of the tension eases out of her body as she looks up at him. "Thanks, Crane," she says, deciding to let him take care of her. She pats his arm as she walks past him to the living room.
He hurries back to the kitchen, checking on her food.
"Crane?" she calls. "Can you make me some cocoa instead of tea?"
"Of course," he answers. "Whatever you wish."
"What I wish for is a tropical beach and a piña colada," she says, half to herself.
"What was that?" he asks.
"Nothing," she sighs, huddling under the blanket.
Crane returns a few minutes later with her dinner and cocoa, then sits beside her on the couch, keeping her company while she eats and then clearing her dishes when she has finished.
"Would you like me to draw you a hot bath?" he asks, concerned about her having caught a chill.
He's never made such an offer before, and it catches her slightly off guard. "Maybe later," she says. "Would you hand me my laptop?"
"Certainly," he says, walking over to the desk and disconnecting the charger. He joins her on the couch again. After a few minutes, he asks, "Are you searching for something specific?"
"I am searching for an escape," she says. He looks truly puzzled, so she adds, "A getaway. To someplace warm."
"Oh."
"We deserve a little vacation," Abbie says, eyes focused on the screen as she scrolls. "We're in the post-tribulation lull now that Pandora and her man are gone, so now's as good a time as any," she explains.
"We?" Crane repeats the only word he really noted. He had assumed she was looking for a trip to take with Miss Jenny, or, God forbid, Reynolds.
She looks at him. "If you honestly think I'm going anywhere without you after…" She leaves the sentence dangling, and he knows she's talking about her solo "vacation" in the catacombs.
While he is relieved to hear he is joining her, he can't help feeling the sting of her pain in his chest over her ordeal. Also, he had rather hoped she was including him because she wants him along. "Of course," he replies, managing to keep his voice light.
"Besides, I want to see you on a beach," she teases, smiling at him. Then she shivers and huddles deeper into the electric blanket, which he tucks around her more securely. "You know where your passport is, right?"
"Certainly," he replies. "We are leaving the country?"
She doesn't answer for a second, then says, "Yes. Yes. Oh." She looks up at him. "You don't have a problem spending Christmas in the Bahamas, do you?"
"As long as I can spend Christmas with you, it matters not where it is spent," he answers.
She regards him for a second, then simply says, "Good. Because I just found a hell of a deal."
xXx
To Abbie's surprise, Crane is an excellent traveling companion. She half-expected him to get into an argument with the TSA agent, but he was polite and charming not only to Security, but everyone working in the airport.
He also insisted on carrying her suitcase.
He had their flight attendant doting on him in a matter of minutes. Abbie did not want to admit it, but she was feeling a little salty that he was flirting with everyone except her.
She also did not want to admit that she felt a pleasantly warm sensation when he grabbed her hand during takeoff, quietly admitting that he finds the process "fascinating, but quite unsettling". She squeezed his hand, feeling better with the knowledge that while he may flirt with others, he will only confide in her.
She even relaxed enough to doze on his shoulder for a little while. Crane gently wakes her when they begin their descent into Nassau.
"Sorry," she apologizes, sitting up and rubbing her cheek.
"It was no trouble," he assures her. "I simply wished to give you ample opportunity to fully awaken before we land."
"Thanks," she says, smiling at him. "Oh, look…" She leans over, looking out of the window, and feels the warmth of him close behind her. "Look how blue." The water is a bright turquoise, glistening in the sun as they draw closer and closer.
"And green," he adds, noting the lush growth of palm trees and other tropical plants covering the island. "Lieutenant, it is wonderful."
"Have you ever been to the Caribbean?" she asks, turning to find his face right there.
"Almost," he says, backing away a little. "My parents talked of moving to one of the territories here, but Father decided it would be too much of an inconvenience."
"How old were you?"
"Sixteen."
"Ooohh, that would have been awesome for you," she says. "But if you had moved, you may not have ever met Katrina."
"Or you," he muses, giving her a fond look.
"Well, since we are Witnesses, we probably would still have crossed paths," she responds with a shrug.
The captain makes a brief announcement, and Crane grabs Abbie's hand again for the landing.
When they make their way off the plane, one of the flight attendants leans in towards Abbie and quietly says, "You are a lucky woman."
Abbie replies with a quick, "Thanks… have a good day." She doesn't bother correcting the woman's mistake.
xXx
Crane's face is glued to the window of the hotel shuttle as they drive to their resort, his eyes taking everything in, occasionally making exclamations about things that interest him.
"Miss Mills! There's a humongous ship out there!"
"You had that plant in a pot at home… before I inadvertently killed it… and there it is, growing in the ground like a common boxwood!"
"Oh! Those are broken seashells… I thought it was gravel at first…"
Abbie simply smiles at him, enjoying this carefree Ichabod Crane.
They reach their resort and are pleased to discover only one other party checking in before them.
"Hi, we have a reservation under Mills," Abbie tells the woman at the desk when they walk up.
"Yes, here we are," she replies. She looks at the screen. "Oh, you qualify for a free room upgrade," she says.
"How'd we manage that?" Abbie asks, trying to remember if she saw anything about that, but she booked so quickly, she probably didn't read as much of the fine print as she normally would have done.
"It's from the website you used," the woman answers. "You booked the basic room, but I can upgrade you to pool view for free. Or, for $50 more, I can give you ocean view."
"Is that $50 total or per night?" Abbie asks.
"Total."
Abbie looks at Crane, who is standing right behind her but looking around, studying every detail in the lobby, which is currently decorated for Christmas. "Sure, why not?"
"Hmm?" he asks, thinking she was asking him a question.
"I'm upgrading our room," she answers. "We're getting an ocean view."
"Very good," he replies, clearly trusting her to handle the details.
The receptionist gives them their key cards and towel cards, then asks for Abbie's left wrist. She holds it out and the woman places a wristband on it. "Sir?"
"Crane, she needs your wrist," Abbie says, tapping his left arm.
"Whatever for?" he asks, but offers his arm nevertheless.
"It's for security. So they know you are staying here at the resort," Abbie says.
"Ah," he replies.
"Enjoy your stay," the receptionist says, then gives them directions to their room.
"Thank you, my good woman," Crane replies, slightly bowing, then goes to retrieve their suitcases.
They walk for what seems like a very long time, but eventually reach their room, on the fourth floor, at the end of the hallway. Along the way, every hotel employee greets them with a smile, and one man even tells them the quickest way to the beach from their room.
Abbie opens the door and Crane holds it for her, letting her enter first.
She stops, staring at the room, while Crane walks straight through to the huge sliding glass doors. He opens them and steps onto the balcony.
"Miss Mills, this is glorious," he says, staring out over the ocean.
"Crane," she says, walking out to join him.
"Look how beautiful it is. And not a snowflake in sight," he says, then turns to look down at her. "Thank you for bringing me along."
"You're welcome," she says, momentarily forgetting what she was going to tell him. "This is nice." She closes her eyes and turns her face towards the sun, letting the warmth seep into her skin.
"I don't think 'nice' is quite the correct word," he quietly says, allowing himself to openly gaze at her since her eyes are closed.
She opens her eyes to find herself staring up into his. Time slows down for a second and she tries not to remember Betsy Ross declaring to whom Crane's heart belongs. Those words – and the fact that he did not deny it – have been haunting her for weeks. "There's only one bed," she blurts.
He finally looks inside. "Oh, dear," he says, walking back in. "I shall sleep on the floor," he decides.
"Don't be silly," she protests, waving her arm at the bed. "It's a king-sized bed, and I'm really small. We can both sleep there and never run into each other at all." As the words come out of her mouth, she realizes she's not sure if she wants to not run into him if they share a bed.
He purses his lips. "I shall… consider it," he allows.
"It's not improper or anything," she reassures him. "Besides, what is sleeping in the same bed compared to my spirit willing yours to come back from being lost in the catacombs, right?"
His eyebrow twitches. "I suppose you do have a point," he allows. In truth, he would very much like to share a bed with his partner, but sleeping is second or third on the list of preferred activities in which to participate there.
"You know I do," she says, trying to sound braver than she feels. I just insisted we sleep together; what the hell? "Are you hungry?"
"Starving," he answers, relieved to be off the topic of sleeping arrangements.
"Great. Let's change clothes, get some lunch, then hit the beach," she says, opening her suitcase.
"Change? You mean into those… swim trunks you insisted I must have?" he asks, eyeing his own suitcase like it is Pandora's box. It is filled with modern clothing, as Abbie insisted he would be more comfortable if he temporarily adapted. He relented, but is now beginning to regret his decision.
"Yes. You can wear a shirt with it, but I did not scour Amazon in December looking for trunks for you so you can go to the beach in trousers," she says, waving her hand at his legs. She takes her suit and cover and disappears into the bathroom.
xXx
Lunch eaten and towels claimed, Abbie and Crane find a couple of empty lounge chairs on the beach. It is sunny and in the low 80s, with a light, warm breeze.
"This is so much better than the Arctic temperatures at home," she says, spreading out her towel.
"I must say, I completely agree," he says, neatly smoothing his towel over his chair as well. "And I must also say I have noticed a distinct upturn in your mood, though we have only been here a few hours."
Abbie sits and pulls a bottle of sunscreen out of her bag. "Come here and take your shirt off," she instructs.
"I beg your pardon?" She waggles the sunblock at him and he sighs. "Must I remove my shirt?"
"Well, you don't have to, but you still need sunblock on that pale English skin, my man," she says.
He lightly huffs and sits, taking the bottle from her, watching as she takes out another bottle. "You are using a different one?"
"I don't need SPF 50," she says, smoothing it on over her skin.
He stares, transfixed, watching her small hands glide over her skin. He's never seen such flawless skin before. Even Katrina, with her porcelain complexion, had a few freckles and showed the beginnings of crow's feet around her eyes near the end. But Abbie's skin is the softest, smoothest he's ever seen and had the privilege to occasionally touch (in the most respectful way, of course). He forgets to continue applying his own sunblock as his fingers twitch with the memory of caressing her arm and holding her hands when he returned from retrieving her from the Catacombs.
"Earth to Crane," Abbie says, snapping him out of his reverie. She saw him watching her and suddenly started having second thoughts about wearing the two-piece suit straight away. But she needs him to put sunblock on her back.
"Oh. Yes. Forgive me; I was lost in thought," Crane stumbles over an awkward apology. "Must be tired from traveling; we were up quite early this morning."
"Are you awake enough to put some of this on my back for me?" she asks, trying not to sound as anxious as she feels about having those giant mitts of his running all over her back.
"Of course," he replies, instilling more confidence into his voice than he feels. He takes the bottle from her.
Then she stands, removes her swim cover, and sits in front of him on his lounge chair. She can't bring herself to look at him.
His mouth goes dry as he unsuccessfully tries to not gape at her. But there is so much of her to see that he cannot help it. My God, I can die a happy man just staring at the bare skin of her back, he realizes, taking in the graceful lines of her shoulder blades and her delicate spine leading down to the enticing swell of her backside. He takes a deep breath, squirts some sunblock onto his hand, and rubs it between his palms to warm it before touching her.
Abbie waits, holding her breath. She can't see him – won't look at him – but she can feel the tension radiating off of him.
His hands are tentative, gentle, and moving with a surety that he does not feel. He bites back his groan and makes sure he is sitting in such a way that will disguise anything that may arise. He doesn't say anything; whatever words he may think to say die before they can escape. As his hands move lower, his anxiety grows. His fingers quickly skate along the edge of her suit bottoms, the bright blue material contrasting with her brown skin, taunting him.
"There we are," he quietly says.
"Thanks," she whispers, then quickly returns to her own chair. She fumbles for her sunglasses, needing to hide her eyes before they give away how much having his hands all over her back affected her. She's had occasional, fleeting thoughts about those hands in the past, but now she knows those thoughts will no longer be occasional or fleeting. She quickly puts sunblock on her legs, then settles back onto her chair and sighs.
"Are you not going to swim?" Crane asks, handing his bottle back to her.
"Not at the moment," Abbie answers. "Right now, I'mma just sit here and be a blob in the sun. I want to enjoy doing nothing."
"In that case, I will join you," he says, settling back. He crosses his legs at the ankle and laces his fingers together over his stomach.
"Jeez, Crane, at least take your shoes off," she says, giggling.
He makes a noise, then toes off the canvas loafers to which he agreed (after firmly declining the sandals), flipping them onto the sand. "Happy?" he asks.
"Just want you to be comfortable," she says.
"In that case, you should have let me bring my boots and coat," he protests.
She looks over the top of her sunglasses at him. "Seriously?"
He pauses, looks at her, his eyes lingering over her navel for a second, then looks out over the ocean. "No," he relents. "I will thank you for not choosing swimwear such as that," he says, indicating a man walking past in Speedos, "for me."
"Hey, I'm honestly amazed you agreed to the trunks," she says. "Nice legs though."
"What? Oh. Thank you?" he replies, baffled. "I do have rather shapely calves, don't I?" he asks. She laughs, and he smiles. "That is not a sound of which I hear enough."
She looks at him. "Really? That's a pretty interesting statement considering I almost never hear you laugh."
"Well, I am afraid my life has had very little mirth," he says with a sigh. "Not to imply that yours has been a… joyride… since I know it definitely has not." He looks down at her. "But yes. You are right. I am rather morose a great deal of the time."
"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," she says. "And I wouldn't go so far as to call you 'morose'. Serious, yes, and occasionally… cantankerous," she explains. "And while I wouldn't have you any other way, I'm just saying that it might be good for you to… unclench your sphincter and let loose once in a while."
He blinks at the sentiment, then regroups. "Well, what are spontaneous vacations for, if not the unclenching of sphincters?"
Abbie laughs again, drawing the attention of a man selling drinks served in hollowed-out coconuts.
"Ah, thirsty work, making your woman laugh like that," he says, walking over. He holds aloft a coconut. "Am I right, Boss?"
"She's—"
"How much?" Abbie asks, cutting Crane off before he can correct the man.
"For a beautiful woman like yourself, $10," he answers.
Crane clenches his jaw, biting back his response to the exorbitant cost, while Abbie digs into her bag, knowing full well she has no cash.
"Shoot; we didn't bring any money down," she says. "We'll catch you another time, I promise."
The man gives her a sideways look. "All right. Next time, you come see me and I'll make you the best Bahama mama on the beach."
"I believe you expressed interest in having a piña colada, did you not?" Crane asks Abbie.
"Well then, I can make you the best piña colada on the beach," the man insists, undeterred.
"Next time," Abbie says, chuckling, as she waves him off.
"You keep a close eye on this one, Boss. She looks like she belongs here on the island and you don't want to lose her to some smooth-talking local," he says to Crane.
"Oh, such as yourself?" Crane counters. "I assure you, I have every confidence that my beautiful companion will be returning home with me."
The man laughs and says, "That must be why you're the boss, Boss."
Crane raises an eyebrow and counters, "If anyone is 'the boss', it is her."
"Don't I know it," the vendor agrees while Abbie laughs again. Then he finally walks away, shouting the names of drinks, coconut held aloft.
"I'm going to check out the water. You coming?" she says.
"I will let you scout ahead," he replies.
"Suit yourself." She gets up and walks to the water.
Crane watches her, feeling like a bit of a creep. The sway of her hips is hypnotic as she walks away from him. He sees other people noticing her and feels a wave of jealous protectiveness, willing them to stop ogling his Lieutenant.
He also ponders how she didn't allow him to correct the drink vendor when he assumed they were a couple. And she didn't correct the flight attendant, either. He knows he was not meant to hear the woman's comment, but he did. Perhaps she simply wishes to spare them the discomfort of making an incorrect assumption. He watches the waves splash around her thighs as she stands, simply looking out over the ocean. She turns around and waves at him. He waves back. Perhaps she enjoys people thinking we are a couple. It is an understandable and honest assumption; we are rather close and do often behave like partners in more than one sense.
Crane sees a man slowly approaching her, and he is up and walking before he even realizes it. He wades in beside her, and when she beams up at him, he decides that small matters like bare legs and sunblock are definitely worth seeing her so happy.
He also sees the potential suitor scowl and change direction, which makes him stand a little straighter.
"I must say this is much nicer than the beaches in England," he allows. "The water is warmer, for starters. And bluer."
"Good," she declares. Then a larger wave jostles her, and she loses her balance. "Whoa."
He reflexively reaches for her, wrapping his arm around her while catching a flailing hand with the other. "I've got you," he says, steadying her.
"I know."
xXx
Crane eventually grew restless on the beach doing nothing, so they decide to go back inside, visiting the lobby to make some dinner reservations for the week.
They relax and shower before dinner, then wander around the resort after, getting their bearings.
"I like that this resort isn't gigantic," Abbie says, unthinkingly taking Crane's arm as they walk. "Some of these places are huge."
"Really? I think it is quite large, but of course my basis for comparison is slightly different," he replies.
"Did you see those big buildings off in the distance to the northeast while we were on the beach?" she asks.
"Yes."
"That was another resort. A giant one," she says. "It's not all-inclusive though, so I bet it's hella pricey to stay there."
"Indeed," he agrees. He felt strange leaving the table without paying at dinner, especially after a three-course gourmet meal, but Abbie assured him that they did pay, just all at once. He still felt a bit uncomfortable, but decided he may just need more time to get accustomed to it.
"We should look at some activities to do while we're here," she says after a bit. They are gradually making their way back to the room.
"Activities? I thought you simply wished to be a 'blob in the sun' all week," he counters, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
"Well, an entire week of that might get a little boring," she allows. "Especially considering how active we normally are."
"Yes," he agrees. "There were pamphlets in the lobby. I saw them when we were checking in," he adds, unlocking the door and opening it for Abbie.
"We'll check them out tomorrow. I'm beat," she says.
xXx
It's more awkward than Abbie thought it would be, yet somehow easier than it should have been. Sliding into bed beside Ichabod Crane, her Witness partner, her best friend.
He agreed to leave his long nightgown at home and sleep in soft shorts and a t-shirt instead because they take up less space in his suitcase. Abbie is wearing a tank top and shorts, and her hair is wrapped up. He's seen her like this at home; the fact that they have been roommates all year does seem to help with some of the strangeness.
"Do you want to watch TV for a bit?" she asks, looking over at him.
"I prefer to read," he replies, indicating his book, "but if you wish to watch, it will not bother me."
"Okay," she says, then starts flipping channels, looking for something to watch. She settles on a nature documentary about giraffes, and makes herself comfortable.
She doesn't know exactly when Crane eased the remote out of her hand and turned the television off, but when she wakes for no reason in the middle of the night, the room is dark and silent. And Crane is sleeping peacefully beside her, one hand carelessly flung over her hip.
She leaves it there and goes back to sleep.
A/N: I recently visited the Bahamas (10/10 definitely recommend) and yes, the resort at which they are staying is loosely based on the resort at which we stayed.