I do not own Sleepy Hollow.
But there is a creepy coin following me around my house. Please help.
Ichabod Crane and the UFO
Poor Ichabod. He never saw it coming.
And he turned to her, outraged and offended.
"Do you see that?" he gaped in astonishment. "That . . . miscreant nearly took my head off!"
Oh yes, Abby mused sarcastically. Nearly rivals the Horseman, Crane.
Still it was her fault, she supposed. She had suggested they go outdoors. To a park of all things.
They'd been researching for hours in their little hideaway.
The words were blurring. She couldn't make sense of them anymore. They were spinning their wheels, getting nowhere.
And Crane was getting cranky.
Well, more so.
He had suddenly thumped his gentlemanly fist upon the table he was standing before, his jaw clenched.
"This is insufferable!"
And she known they had to get out.
Rising, she'd grabbed her jacket.
"Come on, Crane."
He'd flicked his gaze at her.
"Where are we going? Do you have a lead?"
She'd shaken her head.
"No, I have a headache."
She had strode from the suddenly stifling room and through the tunnels and byways.
Straight into the sunny, breezy fall day.
And felt instantly better.
She'd headed straight for the park. Once there, her pace had slowed and she'd began, for lack of a better term, ambling around at a much more relaxed pace, breathing deeply.
Of course, Crane never could stay quiet for long.
"Why have we come here, Lieutenant?"
'Left Tenant', he pronounced it. It had sounded so pretentious and annoying the first time he'd spoken it.
Now it was a comfort.
He was in her ear again and so help her, he wasn't going to drive her crazy. She just needed . . .
"Five minutes, Crane. I just need five minutes. To clear my head. Soak up the sunshine. Think straight. Just five minutes. Then we can go back to saving the world, okay?"
He had relented then.
"As yes, recreational activity. A precious commodity during times of frustration and hardship. Of course, back in the . . ."
She hadn't even looked at him.
"Crane? I said 'five minutes'."
He'd hushed.
Then it had happened.
The sudden intrusion that had led to his current linguistically charged outburst.
"What are these ridiculous simpletons doing?" he ranted. "Don't they know there are larger issues at stake here than inane games of tomfoolery?!"
You'd think a guy as attentive as Crane would notice a Frisbee before it practically skimmed his nose. Of course neither did I. Huh. Guess nobody's perfect.
Though Abby usually tended to agree with the irate Brit, she also understood the concept of 'down time'. Apparently, so did Crane. Seeing as he had watched the finale of 'Glee', a show she herself had never and would never watch.
"Sometimes you just have to relax and take a break, Crane. So your brain can reboot and think fresh. It's why we came out here."
"Dude!"
Eyebrows raised, Ichabod turned his dark-maned head toward the crass voice.
A blond haired teenage boy was standing twenty yards away, the toss having gone widely askew. He held out his hand.
"Dude?"
Ichabod turned and glanced down at the yellow flying disc a few feet away. He glanced at Abby, who caught a devilish idea.
"Hey, don't look at me. Toss it back."
Of course he didn't know how.
So she had to explain. It should have felt odd to wrap her small hand around his larger one and guide his movements to toss the glider back to a puzzled teenager. And his incoherently laughing friend.
It didn't.
Five minutes later . . .
Ichabod Crane, gentlemanly Brit and Witness to the impending Apocalypse, had removed his overcoat. And his boots.
And now was unabashedly immersed in a rollicking exchange of Frisbee.
And Abigail Mills could not stop smiling.
He ran back and forth, snatching the spinning disc out of the air and returning it with a surprisingly fast dexterity.
Considering he was over two hundred years old.
Reluctantly, Abby opened her mouth and called to him.
"Crane . . ."
He turned his head to look at her as he stretched out one hand for the flying disc. And his stockinged feet hit a carpet of dry leaves. And the most graceful Ichabod Crane fell right on his rear and over onto his back.
Abbie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise.
She wasn't worried that he was hurt. Not Crane.
But she was afraid of the verbal tongue lashing he was no doubt about to launch upon the poor teenager who had thrown wide.
And then he sat up.
And he, Ichabod Crane, was laughing. Really laughing. Leaves stuck in his long brown hair.
Frisbee clenched triumphantly in one hand.
And turned his face to her again.
He looked so young and carefree. Like he wasn't miserable for once.
Well, maybe five more minutes.
"Good catch!" she called.
And held out a hand.
And he grinned.
And threw.
Okay, this was too goofy, I know. But when Ichabod said he watched the finale of 'Glee', I decided I could have a little fun too.
Oh and if you haven't, check out the story pic. Hello, nurse! :D
Thanks to gatheryourbreath, ChiefPam, Dina C, JohnGilbertVampirehunter, sharon breaux, Bunny's Daughter, LouBlue (an excellent fic writer, btw), cocoalounge, Sarah, lauren, and my mystery guests for positively reviewing this lil ditty. :D
Thanks to XxLaydee-PreciousxX, slythendorgurl, Vampirix, Snazzy Suit, timeworn grace, koali29, RemusTonks555, and elektralyte for adding your support as well.
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