"Are you certain that it is necessary that I make use of this communication device?"
"It's a cell phone, Crane. Keep it on you in case there's an emergency and you need to get in touch with me."
"And it will somehow convey my message to you?" Ichabod held the phone up again and experimentally pressed some of the buttons. Abbie hoped he wasn't dialing 9-1-1. It was inevitable that the force would find out about a mistaken ambulance call, and she'd never live it down.
Neither would Ichabod, but he never seemed to mind their mockery. Being the only black, female cop in Sleepy Hollow made her sensitive to how others perceived her, and they were quick to crack jokes since her wacko presumptive partner had started tagging along.
"Very well," he said, holding the phone out to her. "I am ready to learn."
Abbie pressed the power button and showed him the screen that turned on. "I won't make you do anything complicated with it. I've programmed myself into speed-dial -"
"Dial? There are no dials on that machine."
"It's figurative, Crane. We can talk about the history of telephonic technology some other time." He obediently shut up, to her relief, and watched her turn it on and off a few more times. "Now, once it's on, press here, look for my name, and press again."
She demonstrated, and pulled out her own phone to show that it was ringing.
"Now you try."
He narrowed his eyes in concentration, and tentatively reached a finger out to the touchscreen. When it beeped, Ichabod jumped back. It must be difficult, she thought, to discriminate between the alarming things in this time that were due to threatening magical creatures chasing them, and the ones that were just part of the modern world.
Her phone started vibrating in her hand. She answered and held it up to her ear, grinning. "Well done!"
Ichabod brought the phone speaker up to his mouth. "CAN YOU HEAR ME, LIEUTENANT?" he shouted.
"Goddammit, Crane! Yes, I can hear you, I'm standing right next to you!" Abbie hung up the call with a sigh. "Okay, you'll get that with practice. Let's talk about texting."
"Texting," Ichabod repeated, testing out the word.
Abbie showed him the screen of her phone. "On this screen, you can type out a note and send it to me. It's useful," she added, "in situations where we can't talk out loud. Like sending a written message, but instantaneous. Like a typewriter."
"A type-writer," Ichabod repeated again, somewhat awkwardly. "Has this some connection to movable type?"
"You've got to be kidding me. Didn't you have typewriters back then?" He looked at her blankly. "I don't have the time for this," she muttered.
"It was your idea in the first place," Irving's voice, sounding amused, pointed out from behind her. She hadn't even noticed him approach. "He follows you around like a puppy dog, anyway. Why would he ever need to call you?"
Abbie gritted her teeth. "In this job, I have learned," she said, "that it's important to be prepared for emergencies."
Irving's gaze had come to rest on Ichabod, who appeared to be slowly poking out a message on the phone's keyboard. She had to give him credit: Ichabod could be a nuisance, but he was a quick learner. "It's your funeral," he said, and stalked off.
Grinning, Ichabod held up the phone. "MY NAME IS IGUANADON," it said. She'd have to teach him about autocorrect some other time. Right now, she didn't have the patience.
"Cruz!" she shouted. Ichabod's grin faltered, and he looked at the screen again, crestfallen. The young IT kid came over, looking wary. "I have casework to be doing. Will you teach Crane how to use his phone?"
"Of course, Lieutenant Mills," Cruz assured her, but looking a bit skeptical.
"He's never used a smartphone before," Abbie felt she had to explain. "You know history people. Always stuck in the past." Ichabod's real origin was becoming an open secret in the office, but they still played lip service to the idea that he was just a visiting professor. Everyone was more comfortable that way. "And Crane, don't be an ass to Cruz."
Ichabod looked hurt. "I will endeavor to play the obedient student, lieutenant." She rolled her eyes and Cruz hustled him off to his cubicle.
Abbie went back to her own desk and comforted herself by playing out, in her head, several scenarios where a simple phone call would be the downfall of supernatural creatures unused to the modern world. Knowledge about the 21st century was no less a weapon than a gun or a knife. She was just tired of looking like a fool. Well, that, too, would be cured by instruction.
She had just, finally, gotten back into her work when her cell phone rang. Ichabod's picture popped up on the screen. She glanced around, but neither he nor Cruz were anywhere to be seen.
"Mills," she answered shortly, not sure whether to be pleased or worried.
"Lieutenant." Ichabod's voice came over the line, sounding both tinny and booming at the same time. "I have learned to operate this cell-phone just in time. I must ask you something that is of the utmost important to our mission here, and much could depend on your answer."
Abbie's heart raced. "What is it, Crane?"
There was a short silence and a scuffling sound on the other end that she couldn't identify. Then Ichabod's voice returned. "Lieutenant, I must know -"
"Crane! Just tell me!"
"Is your refrigerator running?"
Abbie slammed the phone down on her desk and tried to ignore the sound of Ichabod's and Cruz's laughter echoing around the office.