"So, are we almost there?"
Abbie's exasperated sigh punctuates the placid hum that had settled into the interior cabin as Crane pilots the vehicle northward on an expanse of unnamed road.
"All in due time, Lieutenant," he responds soothingly, squinting in the darkness for the markers of his journey. He glances sidelong at her, slumped against the passenger door, arms crossed, lips pulled together in an exquisite pout. He cannot help the smile that tugs his mouth upwards then, more so as he acknowledges that rarely can he look upon her without doing so.
Abbie cricks her neck from side to side. She has spent the week tracking a slithering drug lord through every abandoned toilet of a building in a twenty-five mile radius of Sleepy Hollow, devoting the last ten hours doing paperwork to process three junkie informants, one of which vomited all over her shoes in the interrogation room. All she had wanted when she got home was to shower, drink a glass of pinot noir, and plant her face on her pillow. Somehow, though, she'd allowed Crane to cajole her into what he billed as "a midnight adventure."
"It is ridiculously late, Crane—or maybe I should say 'ridiculously early.' This has been a hellacious day at the end of a seriously crappy week. I should be dead asleep right now," she grumbles.
"Why, Miss Mills, as lovely as you are, I very much doubt you'd have been allowed much sleep," he murmurs. He extends a single finger and runs it lightly down the back of her hand.
Abbie's eyebrows shoot up, and the brief contact makes her shiver in spite of herself. How does he do that? She clears her throat. "Well, can I at least take this stupid blindfold off?"
"Of course not! I will remove it when the time is right. Patience, my sweet."
She digs her hands into her jeans pockets. "Fine. I'll play your silly game." She tries to keep her tone flat, but she can't help the inkling of anticipation that sets her foot tapping on the carpeted mat.
Ichabod sees the barest corner of her bottom lip crunch between her teeth, one of her more adorable tells. He knows he's captured her curiosity, and it fills him with an inordinate amount of self-satisfaction.
Abbie's senses heighten as she feels the car slow and turn carefully to the right onto an unpaved extension. The vehicle rolls and jostles for several minutes, the rumbling crunch of gravel filling the space until Crane coasts to a stop. She scrabbles for the door handle, but he admonishes, "One moment, please," and turns off the ignition. There is a swoosh of cool air as he gets out, then rummages in the back seat. In a few moments, she hears a click as he opens her door. A warm hand envelopes hers. "Allow me." The gentle baritone is inches from her ear; she inhales deeply his wonderful scent of soft musk and wool and soap, letting herself be guided smoothly from her seat.
The path they walk is grass, cushioned and soundless under her boots. Empty tree boughs scrape together in the breeze, and she can hear a distant swishing, like running water. Abbie sighs and grips Crane's hand tighter. "Ichabod?"
He stops. "Yes? Are you well?"
Only a glint of her white teeth flash before him in the darkness of the covered trail. "Ok, I admit it: this is fun," she confesses, sheepish.
Against her cheek she feels a quick scratch of his beard and press of his lips. "As is every moment with you, Lieutenant. Our destination is just ahead."
He leads her another fifty yards or so, where the path seems to open. The hiss of the water is much louder now, and the air temperature seems to have dropped. He bids her stand still while he makes some final preparations, and she detects zippers and a rustling of fabric. Finally, Crane maneuvers her backwards and lowers her to the ground.
A thick fleece blanket is beneath her. She sits, stiff and awkward, uncertain, until Crane's long legs slide around hers and his hands circle her waist and give a light tug. She scoots back until she is flush against him, cozied and secure within his protective grasp. At last she feels his fingers work against the knot of her blindfold, and the scrap of cloth falls away.
Her gasp puffs a halo of fog into the chilly air. "Oh, Crane!"
They are seated at the edge of a rocky outcropping at the peak of a river gorge. In the unseen depths, the river grudges and swirls under a perfectly cloudless night. A crescent moon lights the fields across the river, dotted with angular pines and dusted with frost, winking in the ambient silver glow. Below the dip of the moon glimmers Venus, bleeding into a deepening thicket of stars overhead.
"How in the world did you find this place?"
"I stumbled out here during an expedition some months ago. I always determined I would return here with you; I was merely waiting for the opportune astrological moment."
The valley looks enchanted, a living work of art painted by a steady hand. Abbie clutches her chest as she tries to catch her breath. "My God! This is so beautiful!" Her head swivels around ceaselessly. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"
He lowers his head to the shell of her ear. "Yes. Yes, I have."
She interlaces the fingers of her left hand with his and holds both to her heart.
Ichabod wraps more of his coat over her shoulders as, with quiet reverence, they take in the scene.
"You know what's cool about the stars, Crane?" Abbie whispers.
"What's that, angel?"
"They are alive. But what we see right now, as light in the present, is actually millions of years old. They are living history."
He grunts. "Indeed, I do have some knowledge of that sort of dichotomy…"
"And that's what makes them so miraculous: Logically, they shouldn't be. Yet, somehow, they are."
Crane's arms tighten around her. He noses the nape of her neck "Now, that is something for which I have a most profound appreciation."
Abbie isn't sure which of the shining orbs above them was her lucky star, but the gratitude she feels sinks through to her core. "Ichabod…" Tilting her head back, she kisses him, slowly at first, tending to his lips one at a time, before pouring all of herself into both. She can feel his heart race in time with her own.
When she finally settles forward again, her eyes are bleary with the same wonder that surrounds her and the night is far less cold. She melts into the cocoon of his hold. "Thank you, Crane." She runs her hands the length of his thighs. "You got any other nights of adventures planned?"
He smiles into her hair. "All my life."
**Author Note: I LIVE for your comments; please tell me what you think!**