A/N: This story was written for kla1991 on tumblr as part of the Bering and Wells Holiday Exchange. Thus far, I only have this chapter written. I figure about four or five more. I'm going to do my best to get them out as soon as possible, especially as I have other stories I want to get finished. I've been having a lot of fun with this though, and fortunately for me, kla1991 likes it!

This is Bering and Wells version of Sleepy Hollow's pilot episode.

Sam is in this fic just because one of the officers in the show has a thing for Lt. Abbie Mills (Myka's role), and the story works out much better with Sam in his role. I kind of bash Sam in the story, so if you like him you shouldn't read this. I never cared for him in the show (and not just because I ship Bering and Wells!). His nickname for Myka was "Bunny", which I felt was misogynistic and I couldn't stand it.

The others you will just have to wait and see. Artie is in this chapter, but I don't want to spoil his role.

Helena is the Ichabod Crane in this story, just like the tv show. I love season one, but the show lost its way afterwards. I thought Helena would make a great Ichabod as she is a British time traveler herself. In fact, the coat and outfit Helena wears in "3...2...1" reminds me a bit of Ichabod's outfit on the show. It also helps at one point I saw a manip (or drawing, I forget) on tumblr with Helena and Myka as the two leads in the show, except Myka and Helena's relationship will eventually turn romantic, unlike Ichabod's and Lt. Abbie Mills.

...

Hudson Valley 1781

The forest was wrought with the smell of gun powder, which was so strong it could overwhelm ones senses.

A slight woman, dressed in a Revolutionary War uniform, fired off shots from her pistol, seeking to kill as many Redcoats as possible.

Suddenly, a white horse and its rider, inexplicably untouched by any semblance of the battle raging around him, came to a halt not far from Helena G. Wells. The Redcoat of a big, bulky build, took slow, deliberate steps towards Helena, and only Helena. As if she was this man's sole target and nothing else mattered. Helena suddenly was aware this man was the one she had been directly sent to kill.

Helena still had two shots left, and fired directly into the man's chest, who took them without stopping. Helena soon realized she was in trouble, for the man carried a broad ax, and any soldier that tried to stop him was summerly dispatched in the most gruesome fashion

This was no ordinary man, Helena thought. This was some kind of demonic creature hiding behind some sort of leather mask. The chance of her survival was minimal but it was vital she dispatch this fiend. Besides, Helena was no coward. If she was to be beaten by this monster, she would not go down without a fight.

The demonic figure swung his axe, but each time, Helena was able to avoid its hit. She tried to use her expertise of kempo in defense, and hoped to knock the creature off balance, and use its weapon against him.

Luck was with her; she knocked this monster off balance. However the luck soon turned. With surprise, she felt the blade cut her stomach. However, during his fall, the creature dropped the axe. Before Helena fell from her injury, she summoned enough energy to grab the axe, and cut off the creature's head. As she completely fell onto the leaves already showing signs of her blood, Helena passed out.

—–-

Sleepy Hollow Present Day

The dirt was damp, and the moment she became conscious, Helena clawed and fought her way though it, soon breaking through the loose soil.

Helena continued to pull herself completely up through the hole, able to only roll her body about a foot away. Was this her grave? Helena sat up, shook her head, and began to roughly brush off the damp earth. Seeing was difficult; only bits of sunlight shown through cracks in what appeared to be a cave.

Helena stumbled to her feet, touching her stomach where she had been wounded so severely. To her surprise, it had healed. After the battle, Helena was sure she would die.

There was suddenly a hazy memory of being in a triage area, a civilian nurse trying to stop the bleeding. "Don't die yet, Helena. Please. We can help you."

Helena shook her head trying to remember more but it wouldn't come. She knew the voice but unfortunately was unable to place it.

Helena studied the area where sunlight filtered through the top. It seemed loose enough where one good toss with a rock could break through. Luckily, rocks scattered on the earthen floor would most likely do the trick to set her free. After a number of tries a bigger hole, streaming sunshine shined through causing Helena to block her eyes a moment as she was so unused to such brightness.

The path upwards was not insurmountable, and Helena considered utilizing her grappler. She felt around her pockets. However, she frankly had serious doubts about the ability of the grappler's hook to catch hold of something firm in order to lift her through the hole. As the grappler was not on her person, Helena made a cursory check on the cave she was trapped within, but could find no trace of her invention. Despite the temptation to keep looking, the need to leave this earthen prison was more immediate, and not just for the basic necessities of food and water. She would return for the grappler at a later date. Helena had no wish to be trapped in here when night came.

Steeling herself, she climbed easily enough. Helena poked her head out the hole to see forest. The warmth of the sun was incredibly welcome, as until that moment, Helena hadn't realized how cold she really was.

Lifting herself through, she surveyed the land wondering if she was still at the site of the battle. There was no scent of gunpowder, and the area looked untouched by anyone. No boot prints were to be found.

After a moment, Helena took off, half walking, half stumbling through terrain she could not identify.

—–-

It had been an hour when Helena broke through the unfamiliar forest, and came upon some sort of road.

Sitting on her haunches to examine further, she ran her hand across the surface. It was. Granite with some sign painted on it.

Suddenly a loud noise caused her to jump up, and she was very nearly run over by some sort of…vehicle?

Before Helena could gain her equilibrium, a sound of a horn blared so loud, and she had to cover her ears. Another impossibly large vehicle brushed past her.

Deciding it was time to flee, Helena stumbled and then ran down the endless road with no ending in sight, unknowingly passing a large sign that said: Welcome to the Village of Sleepy Hollow.

—–-

Sheriff Artie Neilson took another bite of his messy hot apple pie a la mode.

Myka grimaced slightly. Artie's fondness for this dessert reminded her of her pal Pete and his sugar loaded appetite. Although, Artie seemed to limit it more towards this pie and his own baked cookies. Myka wasn't fond of sugar, but would relent to eating one or two cookies, telling herself it was to make Artie happy when in reality, she secretly enjoyed the treat. The amusement in Artie's eyes showed he knew the truth, despite Myka's put upon distaste for the cookies.

Myka knew she would be teased even further if he knew of the twizzlers she hid in her desk at the police station. Only Pete knew and took the opportunity to continually tease her. However, he knew well and good he was in for it if he should let others know. Myka's punches were painful even in supposed jest. Suspects unprepared for a Myka punch often were in such pain afterwards, ice packs and multitudes of ibuprofen were needed.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep eating those pies, Artie."

He pointed his fork at her. "My heart is perfectly fine. I had Vanessa check it just a week ago."

Myka smirked, knowing full well Artie's visit to Doctor Vanessa Calder was more personal than professional. She was about to make a comment when the waitress set a coffee cup down in front of her.

"Here ya go, Myka. Anything else?"

"No thanks, Jackie. I'm fine."

She stirred in a bit of cream, and before she had a chance to sip any coffee, Artie started in.

"You know, Myka, there are some unsolved murder cases I was planning on getting to soon. I could use your eye for detail."

Myka set the coffee cup down, and rolled her eyes. "I know what you're doing, old man, and it's not going to work."

Artie shot her an innocent look. "I'm just saying, there is a lot going on here, and those idiots at the station wouldn't know what to look for, even if the evidence bit them in the ass."

"Artie, I am going to Quantico next week, and that's the end of it. You know the FBI only picks 240 people a year." Pausing, her insecurity surfaced. "I'm lucky to even have been considered for the program."

Artie finished up his dessert, and wiped his beard with a napkin. "It had nothing to do with luck, Myka, and you know it. You know I've never been one great with…well…feelings of any kind but…" Artie stared at Myka and she could see pride there, which filled her with happiness. "You are one of a kind, Myka, and I know you'll get through just fine."

She wisely didn't say anything, not wanting to embarrass him any further. Artie cleared his throat, returning to his gruff self. "It's time to go. Get a to-go cup if you insist on taking the coffee with us." He pushed away the empty plate, and grabbed his hat.

Myka smiled a bit and shook her head before rising from the booth. "I'm good."

They headed to the door, Myka leading. As they made their exit, Myka never saw the priest in another booth stare at Artie who quizzically stared back.

—–

Myka was about to open the police cruiser door when a call came over the radio. Grabbing the mike, she answered, "Go ahead, Charlie 101."

The police operator responded with "There's some kind of disturbance over at the Schroeder Farm. Horses are acting up or something."

Myka rose an eyebrow at Artie. "Sounds like coyotes, Mabel."

"Probably," Mabel said flatly, and Myka could easily envision the eye roll at the answer; they responded to calls from Schroeder at least once a week, which inevitably turned into nothing more than the old farmer's imagination.

"On our way."

"Copy that. Charlie 101 out."

Artie went around to the driver's side. Taking off his hat and tossing it into the back, he remarked, "Guess to Schroeder's it is."

"Guess so," Myka replied and slid into the passenger seat, shaking her head.

She sure wouldn't miss the routine calls as being part of Sleepy Hollow's finest.

—–

The wind was kicking up as they drove up, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was a light shining through the window, and Myka wondered if Schroeder was around. They heard the horses whining over the wind. If she could hear them this loudly amidst the fierce wind, something really had them spooked.

Artie instructed, "I'm going to check the barn. See if Schroeder is home. Be careful if it really is coyotes. They may still be around."

Myka followed the commands, choosing not to respond to the needless warning. She'd handled these type of calls plenty of times.

Sighing, she knocked on the door, calling, "Mr. Schroeder, it's Lt. Bering." Myka waited for a response, but there was only silence, so she pounded on the door. "Mr. Schroeder, it's Lt. Bering from Sleepy Hollow PD! Are you in there?" Myka considered going in, but knew she had no real reason for doing so without a warrant.

Holding out her small sturdy flashlight, Myka began to walk around, her right hand on her gun, ready to pull it out of her holster if necessary.

"Mr. Schroeder!" She didn't need Pete's vibes to tell her things weren't right. Myka decided to withdraw her gun, and held it by her side. Seeing Schroeder's old pickup parked in its usual spot, Myka carefully walked over.

The high wind was now followed by the occasional boom of thunder. Rounding the back of the truck, Myka saw the door open with the car light on. "Mr. Schroeder!"

The moment she saw Schroeder's headless body, Myka almost lost any food in her stomach. Her flashlight fell from her hand, and she stumbled back a bit, nearly stepping on Schroeder's rifle and his severed head.

Still holding onto her pistol, she took a quick look, and grabbed her mike hooked to her shoulder.

"Artie! I found Schroeder. He's been beheaded, Artie!"

—–

The barn lights had been on when Artie had made it to the barn. Not wanting to let the horses out, he slowly closed the barn door behind him.

There had been nothing on his way. No coyotes, no anything. The horses in here were still whining, but there were no other animals in sight.

"Hey, there. What's got you so spooked?"

Right as he spoke, Myka's shout came over his mike. "Artie! I found Schroeder, and he's been beheaded, Artie!"

Artie's eyes went wide. Did they have a serial killer on the loose?

"Got it. I'm in the barn now. Call it in. I'll be right there."

He could hear his heart thumping in his ears. Suddenly appearing about ten paces away, was a sight he never expected to see: a large male body dressed as a Redcoat from the Revolutionary War, wielding an axe, and completely missing his head.

Artie went into police mode as the creature stalked towards him. "Police! Stop right there!" It never stopped in its tracks, and Artie shot the headless man in the chest three times and ran out of bullets. Before he could do anything, the creature was upon him. As the headless man swung his blade, Artie knew in that moment, he was going to die.

—–

Myka called for backup, and ignoring Artie, she ran to the barn.

She had just made it to the barn door, when an axe cut through the wood.

"Shit!" she swore.

Stumbling back, Myka was nearly hit by the door which burst open as a white horse ridden by someone dressed as Redcoat, and was…headless.

Myka could not believe what she was seeing. The horse stopped, reared up, and the rider appeared to look right at her, the axe still in his hand. She was aware enough to notice the tattoo on the back of his right hand. The rider then swung around, and galloped off into the night.

Scrambling on all fours, Myka witnessed Sheriff Nielsen's head roll out, closely followed by his headless body laying close by on the floor to the entrance of the barn.

White as a sheet, she grabbed her mike from her shoulder.

"Officer down! Officer down!"

—–

Sam heard the call over the radio during his quiet patrol.

"Got it!" He feared it Myka, and didn't think he could stand it if it really was.

Sam flipped on his siren, and swung a u-turn. Just as he sped up, someone ran in front of his police car. Skidding on the brakes, he managed to stop a few feet from this person, and jumping out, he immediately withdrew his pistol.

"Hands up!"

The person was so dirty, the sex was undiscernable, and they simply stared at him, as if unable to understand the simple command.

Sam knew a good number of Sleepy Hollow residents, if not personally, then on sight. This person he did not recognize, and as such, gave immediate credence to being responsible for an officer injured, or worse, dead.

"Place your hands on top of your head, turn around, and kneel."

There was hesitance, although he was certain the person now knew the command.

"Do it, or I will shoot you."

They slowly raised their hands with obvious reluctance to do so, but turned and kneeled on the ground.

Sam withdrew his handcuffs, and as he got closer, he could tell it was a woman dressed in some sort of old fashioned waistcoat and breeches. Ignoring the strangeness, he cuffed the woman and began to read her her rights.

—–

Myka stared at the woman in the cell, still handcuffed.

Was she a member of one of those reenactment American Revolution groups? Myka had seen her fair share in Sleepy Hollow. But this woman's outfit seemed more authentic, if possible.

And a woman dressed in the garb of a soldier also struck Myka as odd. She knew of women pretending to be men fighting in the Revolutionary War. Despite the male garb, this woman apparently did not hide the fact she was indeed female.

And rather beautiful even if filthy.

Myka cleared her throat and shook her head, attempting to dismiss that thought from her mind.

The sound of the jail door opened, and while Myka continued to stare at the prisoner, she heard Sam walking over to her.

"This is the person who killed Sheriff Nielsen, isn't it," Sam stated more than questioned. The surety in his tone told Myka he was trying so hard to impress her.

Myka didn't want Sam's neediness right now; not ever really. She had broken it off with him; he just couldn't accept it. But the reminder of why they were here made Myka sick memory of both Sheriff Nielsen and Old Man Schroeder's severed heads rolling on the ground next to their bodies was very vivid.

It was the most gruesome sight she had ever witnessed. Not only that, but Sheriff Nielsen, while gruff, was a great mentor and friend. She'd known him as a youngster and at times he felt more like a father than her own.

"I tell you I killed no one." The British accent, which at any other time would have made Myka swoon, led Myka to wonder if this woman was even in this country legally.

Whatever the case, she didn't match the description of the killer. Myka however instinctively knew this woman held some connection to the events.

"No, she isn't, Sam. For one thing, the person who killed Sheriff Nielsen and Schroeder, was a man." Myka neglected to mention no head, but she couldn't run the risk of her fellow officers slapping her with a 5150. Despite the incredulousness of it all, she knew what she witnessed.

"The man wore the uniform of a Redcoat, and had some sort of brand on the back of his right hand."

There was recognition, along with something akin to dread on the woman's face as she interrupted, "Was it of a bow? And did he wield an axe?"

Myka was right; this woman did know something. "Yes. How did you know this?"

Instead of directly answering, the British woman mumbled as if to herself. "No, no, no, no…it cannot be."

"So you know him."

"Yes, I do."

"From where?" Myka questioned.

"Not from where, but from when." The Englishwoman stared hard into Myka's eyes. "From the moment I cut off his head."