Mistletoe

It's everywhere. Abbie doesn't recall having seen this much around in previous years. But this Christmas season, it seems it's everywhere. Mocking her.

Mistletoe.

In people's homes when she goes on calls. In stores (which is just weird and unsafe and she often wonders if she should invent some public health ordinance to make the managers take it down). In the freaking station house. In her own apartment. In Crane's cabin.

She tries to avoid stopping beneath any of these ominous branches, her eyes constantly looking up as she walks now. She doesn't want to get caught standing beside anyone. Like Luke. That would be bad. Or Captain Irving. Definition of awkward.

Or, worst of all, him.

Not because she finds him repulsive, but because she finds him exactly the opposite.

But, just… no. Their relationship is complicated and co-dependent enough as it is.

Abbie knows who's to blame for the mistletoe in her apartment and the cabin. The station house's sprig is also under suspicion. Jenny. Her sister seems hell-bent on trying to catch Abbie under that blasted poisonous sprig with anyone.

No, not just anyone. Someone.

Him.

Crane.

Jenny has been on a mission to find as many ways as possible to push Abbie and Crane together since nearly the minute she met Crane and saw how he interacted with her big sister.

"Interacted." Right. "Just partners." Right. Abbie can see these thoughts in Jenny's brain as if they were playing across a marquee on her forehead.

It's been about a year and a half since Crane appeared in Abbie's life, and a year since Katrina disappeared from it. Forever.

That's when Jenny really started in on her mission. Suggesting they go out to Crane's cabin, then receiving a mysterious (and likely fake) phone call and bailing, stranding Abbie alone with him. Always making sure Abbie and Crane sit beside one another when they go anywhere. One time even hip-checking Abbie when she walked past, making her stumble into Crane, who caught her. Naturally.

Caught and held her for just a fraction of a second longer than would be considered "proper."

But that fraction of a second was all Jenny needed.

So: mistletoe. Every-damn-where. Abbie is waiting for Jenny to attach a branch to a hat and staple said hat to Abbie's head.

"Come on, Ab, let's go," Jenny urges, halfway out the door, box of ornaments under one arm.

"Yeah, yeah," Abbie says, sauntering out into the living room with her boots in her hand.

"Damn, you don't even have your boots on yet?" Jenny makes an exasperated noise and closes the door again, leaning against it, waiting impatiently.

"What's the big rush? It's not like he's going anywhere," Abbie says. While Crane has learned basic driving skills, he has no car, so he's still at Abbie's mercy when he wishes to go somewhere. But Abbie knows exactly what the big rush is. Jenny is itching to get her sister out to the cabin so she can put the wheels in motion on whatever her next Big Plan is.

Abbie has learned trying to catch Jenny at her games or asking her what she's doing only ends up being an exercise in futility. So, she mainly ignores her sister's taunts and remarks, choosing, instead, to keep her eyes and ears open.

Sometimes she ponders the possibilities of giving in. Of letting one of Jenny's plans work. She's not in denial of her growing feelings for her partner, but she doesn't know if they are requited.

She's decided not knowing is less painful than confessing and being rejected. Because then, it'll always be out there, an invisible wall of knowledge between them.

Abbie could not live with that. It would slowly, painfully crush her over time until she was nothing more than an empty shell with a broken heart.

"All right, let's go," Abbie says, standing and reaching for her coat.

"Good. Let's go get tall, dark, and British a Christmas tree, shall we?" Jenny says, practically sprinting out the door.

Sweet Jesus, Abbie thinks, rolling her eyes as she closes and locks the apartment door.

xXx

"It is a fine tree," Crane declares, standing in front of the pine, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I like it very much, indeed."

"Good. Now, step aside so I can start putting the lights on it," Abbie says, thankful that this year she won't have to have the why-you-cannot-put-candles-on-a-Christmas-tree discussion with him. He didn't even have his own tree last year, in fact, so this is a big deal for him.

"Of course, Miss Mills," he says, stepping back, smiling indulgently at her as he does so. Abbie doesn't really notice anymore, he does it so often. Jenny, of course, does, and starts handing ornaments to Crane.

A minute later, Abbie feels him behind her, trying to hang ornaments on the tree before she's finished the lights.

"Crane," she nudges him in the stomach with her elbow, "you have to wait until the lights are on before you can start hanging those."

"Oh, yes. Sorry. Miss Jenny started handing me these ornaments, and…"

He's still right there. "Of course she did," Abbie says, peering around Crane to glare at her sister.

Jenny smiles and waves, then looks pointedly at her cell phone. A threat.

"Why don't you go make us some cocoa," Abbie suggests, touching his arm lightly. Crane actually makes wicked good cocoa.

"Are you yet cold, Lieutenant?" he asks, his voice full of concern.

"A little," she says. Half-lying. Crane insisted on one of those cut-your-own places instead of just going to the lot outside Walgreen's, so there was a fair amount of trudging through the cold and snow.

Abbie knew better than suggest the fake tree option, for fear of an indignant diatribe about the prevalence of plastic in the world and how it cannot possibly be harmless. Or something to that effect.

The upside was she got to watch Crane swing an axe at something that wasn't trying to kill him back. For once.

And it was a good show.

So yes, she's a bit chilled still, but his proximity alone is taking care of that quite effectively.

"Can I offer you a sweater, perhaps? I'm certain my slippers would be much too large for you…" he trails off, looking down at her sock-clad feet, her snowy boots having been abandoned by the door.

Really she would love one of his sweaters. Not because she's especially cold, but because it would be his sweater, smelling of him. It would almost be like she was wrapped in his embrace, his warmth surrounding her…

"Lieutenant?"

Oh God, daydreaming. "No, thank you, I'm fine," she says, ignoring the knowing snort she just heard from her sister.

"It would be no trouble," he presses.

"I'm good, thanks. Cocoa?"

"Yes. Right." He turns on his heel and strides the short distance to the kitchen.

Jenny catches Abbie's eye long enough to give her a look that clearly says Come ON, girl. This is too easy.

An hour later, the tree is decorated, cocoa consumed, and Abbie has managed to avoid Jenny's blatant nudging as well as the sprig of mistletoe hanging near the front door.

"We should get going," Abbie suggests, looking out the window to see the shadows growing long outside. "I have some research I need to get back to."

"What research?" Jenny asks. Crane looks curious as well.

"Just… stuff I'm… looking into…" she says. Damn it.

"Rrrriiiiighhht…" Jenny says, drawing the word out as long as possible.

"I would persuade you to stay for supper, but I'm afraid I have limited provisions at the moment. Miss Mills, may we go to the market tomorrow?"

"Sure, of course," she answers automatically. The supermarket with Crane is actually still a rather fun adventure, even after a year and a half. Watching him admire the butcher case alone is worth the trip.

"Excellent," he grins.

"I'll call you tomorrow morning," she says, taking her phone out and checking her calendar, just to make sure. "Yeah. We can go tomorrow." She sets her phone down on the table and heads for her boots and coat. Jenny is already at the door, waiting.

Lying in wait, rather. Hoping to use her imaginary Jedi Mind Trick to maneuver them under the mistletoe.

"Good night, Miss Mills, Miss Jenny. Thank you very much for helping me with my tree," he says, nodding politely to both sisters, his eyes lingering on Abbie that fraction of a second too long once again.

"'Night, Crane," Abbie says, waving.

"See ya, Ichy," Jenny answers with a laugh. She knows he hates it when she calls him that, so naturally, she does it as often as possible.

They reach the car when Abbie remembers. "Damn it. My phone," she mutters, tossing her car keys to Jenny so she can get in and start the car to get it warm.

She trots back up the stairs and opens the door without knocking (they're well beyond needing to knock at this point). "Hey, I forgot my—"

"Your smart-phone, Lieutenant," Crane is standing with the phone in his outstretched hand. Abbie secretly loves how he still pronounces smartphone like it's a foreign thing. She can clearly hear the fact that he mentally hyphenates it when he says it.

"Thanks," she says, stepping forward to take it from him.

Stepping forward and straight under the mistletoe. She glances up.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath.

His eyes follow hers, then drop back to her upturned face. He clears his throat softly.

"Um, I should go," she tries, stuffing her phone into her coat pocket.

"Miss Mills…"

"Look, you're not really going to…"

"Abbie." She feels his hand on her waist. It burns through her heavy coat.

"It's just a silly tradition," she says, trying for a light tone and failing miserably.

"Silly tradition? A… kiss… under the mistletoe is a practice dating back to the ancient Greeks." His voice is soft, hypnotic, and when did he get so close? "If we cannot honor such a time-tested tradition…"

"Jenny's waiting for me," she whispers.

As if on cue, they hear the sound of Abbie's car, accompanied by the flash of headlights through the cabin as Jenny peels away.

"I think not," Crane whispers, sliding his other hand around her now and dropping his head to hers.

Soft. That's the only word that dares enter Abbie's brain as his lips touch hers. His lips are soft. His hands on her back are soft. Even his beard, which she imagined to be scratchy, is soft.

It is a small, chaste, soft kiss, and it is over much too soon.

Even so, the world has shifted.

Crane hovers, his face inches from hers, waiting. Holding his breath.

"What was that?" Abbie asks, wide-eyed and breathless. From one small kiss. Not even small. Tiny. Microscopic.

"I am not certain. But I should very much like to try it again," he answers. His voice is also soft.

Before Abbie can reply, his lips are on hers again, slightly less soft, slightly more urgent. Insistent.

Passionate.

Her fingers curl into his shirt, clinging to him, and she whimpers quietly just before he releases her lips again.

"Abbie," he whispers, only a breath, resting his forehead against hers.

"Ichabod?" she asks, tremulous and quiet, not sure what exactly she is asking.

"I have been waiting for you under the mistletoe for days," he admits.

"What?" she asks dumbly, blinking at him. He lifts his head and kisses her forehead.

"I am pleased you finally stumbled beneath it here, in the privacy of my home."

"What?"

"Miss Mills, has something affected your hearing? I am trying to tell you my fondness for you has surpassed my expectations," he says, cupping her face in his hands. "Do you not feel the same?"

The combination of his shining blue eyes and his thumbs stroking her cheeks is making it very difficult for Abbie to think. "I do," she finally answers.

He releases his held breath, and almost laughs with joy. "Oh, good," he says, kissing her once more. "I did tell you once you are very easy to read, but… your words so often belied your body language that I…"

"Crane, shut up and kiss me again," she says, lifting up on tiptoe and pulling him down by his shirt.

He groans and does as he's been told, kissing her again, boldly open-mouthed this time. His eyes open in surprise when her tongue eagerly meets his but close a moment later, lost again.

He is hunched downward and she is stretched upward, her toes barely on the floor, as they strive to stay together. She moves her arms up around his neck for support and finds herself lifted off the floor, his arms wrapping around her waist.

"Crane," she gasps between kisses, "my coat…"

"…is ruddy inconvenient," he finishes, setting her on her feet and shucking the thick parka from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.

He pulls her to the couch and kisses her again, finding it much easier now, not having to contend with the one-foot height difference between them.

"Miss Mills… Abbie… I love you," Crane confesses softly. "I understand if you do not feel the same, but I only ever want to be completely honest with you, and…"

She stops his words with a kiss. "I love you, too, Ichabod," she whispers. "I have for months now. Maybe longer."

"Oh…" he gasps, surprised. "Truly?"

"Truly," she affirms, nodding slightly.

He kisses her again, longer this time, and when they come up for air, Abbie is lying beneath him on the couch, her leg wrapped around his and her fingers in his now-unbound hair.

"I'm stuck here for the night, you realize. My ride ditched me," she says, smirking and toying idly with his hair.

"Good," he answers, returning his lips to hers.