The Elevator Altercation
Though she knew he thought he was being boring, occupied and quiet, Abbie could hardly focus on the paperwork at hand. Crane cleared his throat, and looked her way to which she ignored for as long as she could.
"I do not wish to interrupt..." She met his gaze with an arched brow. "Your work. However I am wondering if you will do your usual routine of leaving the office at half passed 2?" He glanced away then back at her.
"You're hungry?"
"Yes... and since I am trapped here like your... pet, I have no way to obtain proper sustenance." Abbie sighed, putting the pen down.
"You're the one who wanted to come to work today." She leaned back in her chair. "Demons, or no demons. So you said." She raised both brows. He shot her a side glance before rising from the chair he looked too big for.
"That I did. I did not know, however, it would be a day spent indoors. Writing."
"Part of the job."
"This I know."
"Writing up reports about demon attacks, and leaving the demons out isn't exactly easy." Abbie sighed, reaching into her pocket and handing him a 10 dollar bill. "I'm skipping lunch to get out of here early. Now you either find something to do, or go by yourself something to eat at the cafe across the street. Can you handle that?" Crane stiffened and an indignant expression grew on his face.
"Do not have so much doubt, Miss Mills. I am the one who ordered the coffee this morning." Abbie smirked before tossing him the money.
"That you did. I'd like to see you do the same at Starbucks." He went still and blindly took the money from her.
"I would not. Thank you, Miss Mills. I will be back shortly, and I will repay you for this meal."
"It's on me." He paused, looking her over.
"What is?" She shook her head as she went back to her paperwork, waving him off. "Be careful." Crane smiled on his way out.
"It is merely downstairs and across the street, what could possibly go wrong?" She didn't answer him, letting him go. Abbie didn't need to worry about him, right? Of course not, he had already gone to the grocery store by himself, at least once. He could handle a cafe. Though what Abbie didn't know, is it wasn't the street, the cars, the cafe or the patrons that was dangerous...
Crane proudly left the cafe, a pair of sandwiches in hand. A cool wind kicked up, making him regret the leaving of his coat back at the office.
The winter air was crisp against his face as he crossed the street when the image of the little walking man appeared at the light, just as he had been instructed. His pace was brisk as he didn't want the melted cheese inside the bread, which had become one of his favorite things of this century, get cold. Back into the office building he went, and took a deep breath as he approached the elevator, yes, he could always use the stairwell. But Abbie had warned him the alarm would sound if that door was opened, Crane, however, believed that was an excuse to force him to learn to use an elevator.
And use one I very well can, the tall man thought as he pressed the button and waited. The doors slid open. Once inside he took a moment to gather himself. No matter how many times he had used one with Abbie, the movement, the feeling, the tightness of the contraption, always made him uneasy. Crane pressed the button to go up and waited.
He tensed, gripping the sandwiches tight.
When he heard the machine ding, he knew it was almost time to be free. With a sigh of relief, the doors began to open. But Crane must have moved too quickly, with too loose of a grip on his sandwiches. He paused, lunging for one as it splatted to the tiled floor. He snatched it back up, a panic growing as he realized his time was growing short.
That's when he saw it. The open doors were now closing. And fast.
Crane scurried for the shrinking opening as quick as he could. Just when he thought he was safe, all the way through, he moved to step away from the machine when he heard a rip. Felt a tug. A tickling breeze. Heard the sound of splitting seams. Crane went stiff. He had thought he had imagined the feeling... the feeling a part of him was still...still... Crane turned about to face what was, indeed, a part of him still in the elevator.
A chunk of fabric hung, sandwiched in the shiny metal doors. A sudden rush of fear and heat ran through him at the realization. Air trickled down his legs and... Crane went as stiff as the wall and turned about, holding a hand to his behind as tightly as he could. A tear twirled vertically down the seat of his pants.
Several employees passed him, thankfully, none gave him a strange look, for they had stopped giving him those after they got used to him. But now they would think him even stranger if they saw what he looked like, let alone knew how it had occurred.
Abbie poked her phone to check the time. Crane should be back by now, or maybe the deli was just being swarmed.
She sighed with relief as she finished off several sets of reports when something caught her eye. Strange movement by the elevator. Then it was gone. Furrowing her brow, she rose from her seat to peer into the hallway. It was Crane, standing tight against the wall, face strained. He then side stepped, back still against the wall as if maneuvering in a booby trapped crypt.
"Crane, what're you-" At the sound of her voice, Crane inched further, before looking about and making a mad dash in her direction. Abbie cleared his path. The tall man slammed the door shut behind him, still leaning tight against the thing like it was all that could hold him up. He avoided eye contact. "Mind telling me what the hell you're doing?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, cheeks flushed pink.
"I..." He stuttered.
"You running from someone?" He shook his head and she relaxed a little.
"No. I am not. Here are the sandwiches." Crane held them out in front of him, resisting taking a step forward. Abbie's brow remained arched as she gave him a quizzical eye before taking them from his hand.
"Crane, what happened?"
"You see Miss Mills, I have a... problem."
"I'm afraid." She crossed her arms, leaning against the desk. But a smirk began to grow the longer she took in his expression, as not one of fear, but embarrassment. "What did you do? And why won't you stop hugging the wall?" She stepped towards him, to which he clenched his jaw before inching forward the slightest.
"I had an altercation with the elevator."
"A what with the what?"
"Altercation with the elevator." He said more clearly though he knew she had heard him the first time.
"And now you're hiding from it?" She smirked.
"No. I... I did not win in the altercation and it resulted in... a loss of more than just my dignity, though that is nearly the most crucial piece."
"Uh oh."
"Uh oh is right."
As he stepped closer, he held his hands tight against his backside before making a dart for the chair.
"Crane," she asked as a prodding question, eying his every move. "Stand up."
"I am quite comfortable actually."
"Crane." She warned. With a disapproving glare, he gingerly rose, snatching a piece of paper to hold against his backside.
Abbie arched a brow.
"What the hell did you-"
"It was not I, but that blasted elevator. It caught me up and held me there like some sort of demonic creature." Abbie crossed her arms.
"Please tell me this has nothing to do with not getting to the bathroom fast enough." He straightened and locked her gaze.
"Do you find me so incompetent that I cannot-" Abbie lunged forward, tearing the paper from his grasp with a gaped silent laugh.
"Oh. My God. You ripped your pants." His eyes fell to the floor as she looked over the gaping rip. "You ripped, your pants."
"Let it be said that I have never been more thankful for the product of a certain Mr. Joe Boxer."
"You and me both." She said with a smirk.
"There you've seen it. Now may I please sit before anyone else witnesses this impropriety." Abbie took a seat on her desk, staring at him with a bemused face.
"I can't believe you ripped your pants." He glared up at her.
"I can't believe you keep saying that."
"Well, they are 200 years old. Probably time for some new ones?"
"I will never go anywhere near – Skinny Jeans," he said the words like poison, "ever again." Abbie smirked.
"Crane's got ripped pants." She said with a taunting tone, chuckling as she swung her feet. Crane fought joining in her amusement with a tortured smirk that he replaced with a superior look.
"You are not to tell anyone of this occurrence, all I need is-"
"All you need is to finally get rid of those things. Now you have no choice." Abbie rose, putting away her papers.
"You have forgotten my handiness with a sewing needle." He said with an arched brow of pride.
"And you forget that I'm your ride out of here."
"That is not entirely true."
"It is now that I know your holy secret." She said with a smirk, gathering her things.
Crane wouldn't budge, gripping the arms of the chair tight. After some silence he spoke.
"On one condition. I will only wear the new trousers until these are repaired. Which I will do the moment I get home." Abbie eyed him, taller than the man for once.
"Fine." She headed for the door, to which he followed, walking like a wooden plank.
The walk to the elevator and all the way down was dead silent. Crane avoiding eye contact with anyone at all cost, and moving with a rather peculiar stride as he aimed his behind away from any face. By the time they reached Abbie's car he threw himself inside.
"You do realize you just made people stare more than they would have if you hadn't been walking like a penguin?" Without looking at her he buckled himself in.
"Please- drive."
Abbie got out of the car, the dim sun lightly warming her skin as she pulled off her coat. Crane on the other hand, was stiff as a statue. Abbie opened the back door behind him, snatching something off the seat.
"Let's go." Abbie tossed him the baggy sweatshirt to which he gave a peculiar eye. "Tie it around your waist." Crane carefully looked it over, an amused look dancing in his blue eyes.
"I do believe I will make it to the cover of Vogue in this do." He said as he tied it about him, side glancing at Abbie. She rested a hand on her hip.
"You been reading my junk mail?"
"Only on occasions."
Since it was still work hours, they had the leisure of browsing without a crowd. Abbie led the way, Crane quick at her side with his unique look of aged boots, a near blouse and tied sweatshirt.
He looked about nervously, the amount of clothing, the types, the shapes, and the prices rattling his brain.
They passed through the woman's lingerie section on the way upstairs, making Crane pause with a quirked brow.
"I would be insulted if were I not an American citizen." Partly amused, partly horrified, he plucked at a matching set of a skimpy bra and underwear printed with the British flag. "Does every clothing store sell massive amounts of... what someone, apparently, considers under garments?" Abbie watched him.
"No, they do it just to make 18th century soldiers feel uncomfortable." He straightened.
"Uncomfortable? What makes me uncomfortable is imagining wearing such a..." But Abbie's bemused look cut him off as she paused by the escalator.
"Thanks for the mental image." Crane instantly reddened, holding his hands behind his back. It took him a moment to realize Abbie had headed for the stairs, but one look up made him stop in his tracks. She was moving, as if walking but at a rather skipping pace, and rising... Crane looked down to the thundering machine at his feet, stairs appeared like a rising beast from underground. One after another.
"No no no, not again you foul machines." He stood still at the foot of the escalator as if making some sort of point.
Abbie glanced down, sighing when she realized she hadn't thought of Crane plus an escalator, especially after the elevator mishap. She shouted over the noise.
"Crane, just step on slowly." He rocked on his toes.
"I would rather not." Nearly at the top of the escalator, and not wanting to walk around the store to find the matched descending set, Abbie began the struggle of heading down the current of the mechanic stairway. Crane widened his eyes as she neared, as if she was-
"You look as if you are defying physics, Miss Mills how do you-"
"The things I do for you." She said as she reached the bottom, "Jenny and I used to race like that, got kicked out of 2 malls 'cause of it." Crane smirked. Abbie grabbed his hand, leading him forward and gesturing at the growing stairs.
"Take one step on, and then don't move. Got it?" He nodded.
"Is there no other-" But he did, indeed, have no other choice. Abbie pulled him by the hand onto the stairs in sync with her. He stumbled a moment, squeezing her hand tight as he caught himself.
"I bet security guards have entire tapes of Ichabod Crane saved aside for a rainy day." He have her a glowering look, letting go of her hand to flatten his tunic.
Abbie looked him over briefly before grabbing a handful of various jeans.
"Have I no say in my trousers?" She paused, looking up to him.
"All right fine, in fact, I'd love to see what you'd choose." Abbie took a seat on a shelf of t-shirts, arms full of pants. With timid fingering, Crane began browsing through the racks. Only picking up, with some disgust, a pair of wide legged tan suit pants.
"Aha."
"You wanna look 80?"
"80 is younger than 200 if my mathematical skills are still in tact." He snipped with an raised brow. Abbie pointed him to the dressing room, handing him her pile of pants. Crane vanished .
"So?" Abbie called, shouting down the dressing rooms that were empty save for Crane. She took a seat on a bench in the room.
The door opened and Crane appeared, looking like a took pick lost in a tan blanket in the vague shape of pants. Abbie snorted, looking him over. The slight pride in Crane's face fading.
"I may understand that I perhaps chose the improper size but-"
"No, you are not. Get those off." A superior look grew on his face.
"No. I will not take off my trousers, Miss Mills. Especially not if you despise them." Abbie marched forward, reading the price tag.
"$50? For grandpa pants? Not happening."
He went quiet, fingering the tag.
"Then I shall not purchase them, but on the basis of the price, only." Crane sidled back inside. Abbie laughed inwardly as she watched him catch his pants from falling as he opened the door, the dramatic excess of fabric drifting about his thin form as he struggled.
Abbie waited, checking her clock and realizing it wasn't worth it to return to work since it was already getting late.
"You doing okay in there?" She was answered by a chorus of violent shuffling, thumping, and an exasperated yes. She smirked.
"I have discovered this market carries only trousers crafted for a man your size, or double mine."
"Just pick one."
There was silence. Some footsteps. And the door creaked open. A blue, white and red leg stuck out, followed by another, the print of the British flag crawling snug up his leg, all the way up to a large print of the flag on his-
"You've got the Union Jack on your ass." Crane closed his eyes before looking down at her.
"Better than nothing." Abbie smirked and he returned the look.
"Can't argue there." He wiggled his fingers.
"This pair suited my form the best. And are decently priced if I have learned to properly judge the current market."
"Out of all the pants... why don't you just admit your love for skinny jeans and move on?" He tossed the handful of unwanted pants at her with a smug look.
Despite him already being in the pants, they paid and got out of there as the sun began to set. As they crossed the parking lot, Abbie realized that the tall man looked the most modern he had yet. A yellow glow rimmed his silhouette, making him look rather dramatic in his flowing top set above the loud pants, hair tousled by the wind above a well kept beard. He nearly did look fashionable, a strange look yes, but wasn't that what fashion was?
Once in the car, Crane carefully folded his old pants and sat them on the back seat. Abbie stared ahead before turning to face him.
"As bizarre as you look, I think you might just make it to the cover of Vogue after all." A curious expression grew on his face as she started the car.
"Shall we return to the woman's section to retrieve a matching pair, Miss Mills?" He said with a smirk. He went quiet, only speaking after an awkward amount of time had passed. Hastily adding, "And I was not referring to the other woman's section with the other," he cleared his throat, "English, type, look, to them..." Abbie smirked as she headed for the road.
"A-huh," she said teasingly.
"I did not mean that... I was merely clarifying."
"Crane," she said with a firm tone before cracking a smile. He looked her way. "You're allowed to be a man." He went quiet once more, crossing his legs with a pained expression.
"Thank you for the... permission, however I do not see what my-"
"Never mind, Crane. Never mind." Abbie laughed inwardly, even a man like Crane was, indeed, a man.
"So, back to the office?" Abbie said as serious as she could. Crane whipped his head about.
"That was not our deal. I am not getting out under any circumstance unless a Molloch is in the road. And in that case I suggest you drive very quickly." He painfully shifted, pants uncomfortably tight. Abbie smirked.
"Really? Don't wanna do a show with the elevator? I'm sure Irving wouldn't mind another laugh." Crane looked superior once more.
"He was not present for the first."
"No... but his office is straight across. Plain view."
Crane shrunk in his seat.
The car rolled up to the wooded home, the air in the trees thick with the growing cold of the evening. Crane turned to Abbie.
"I will repay you soon for all that you did today."
"Crane-"
"No, no. For the meal," he patted the still uneaten, and now cold, sandwich in his lap. "For the trousers," he said with a smirk before meeting her brown gaze. "And most importantly, for saving my pride." Abbie smirked.
"Don't mention it."
"See you tomorrow, Miss Mills." Abbie waved him off as he opened the car door. Watching him stride off in his blurred strut of red, blue and white, she couldn't help but laugh. And he seemed to know it, as he gave her a playful glare over his shoulder. Abbie smirked, but it began to fade. It was then that she realized by the changing look on his face what he too must had realized. She had just enough time to peel out of there and back down the darkening road before he could catch her.
Abbie ignored the incoming call she knew he was in a fluster making, smirking as she glanced behind her to the pile of old ripped trousers in the back seat.
The following morning Crane called in sick. But at Abbie's mention of a demon sighting, that never actually happened, he appeared, looking more British than ever.
It was rather entertaining that day at the office, for many reasons.
It was a day Crane wouldn't let Abbie live down for several long weeks to come.
Author's note: Thank you very much for reading! Please review! :)