Author's Note: I don't know, I just love writing the way Ichabod talks.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Washington Irving/FOX
"Miss Mills, might you explain something to me?" Ichabod calls from the sofa in her living room. He's plopped in front of the television, as he so often is whenever their tribulations allow them a bit of downtime. Abbie permits this mainly because it is a great way to introduce him to modern culture without actually having to do anything herself.
"Yeah, what is it?" she asks, never leaving the kitchen.
"I am watching a television play – Gossip Girl, it is titled – and I'm trying my very best to follow the plot, but it is contingent on several terms that I do not understand," he explained earnestly.
Abbie sighs deeply – this is definitely not going to end well. "What terms?" she inquires cautiously, treading into the living room in order to see the paused screen.
"Rehab? I initially presumed it was an abbreviation for the word 'rehabilitation,' but I do not understand its use it in this context. It appears to be some sort of institution…"
"It's short for 'rehabilitation center.' People go there if they have a drug problem."
"A drug problem?" he echoes, eyebrows knitted together in complete bewilderment. His confusion would almost be cute, had it not pertained to Gossip Girl.
"You know how people can be addicted to alcohol? Well, it's the same with drugs. When someone is addicted to drugs, they go to rehab to get better," she clarifies. It's an oversimplified explanation, she realizes, but she tells him all he really needs to know.
"I see," he states solemnly. "So, cocaine is one of these drugs?"
"Correct. And drugs are illegal, by the way."
"Very good. And what, pray tell, is a 'one-night stand'? I cannot, for the life of me, decipher the terminology, but it seems to be something rather grave."
Abbie very nearly chokes on her own tongue. "They talk about that on the show?"
"Yes." Her response has only served to make him more curious, and his blue-gray eyes stare at her brightly.
She doesn't know how to put this delicately, so she just says, "It's, um, it's when two strangers have relations for one night and then never see each other again. Usually they meet at bars and then go back to one of the people's houses…"
Ichabod turns beet-red. "Relations?" he repeats in utter disbelief, nearly falling off the sofa in a fit. "Surely you cannot mean to say – "
"I do," she interrupts, her discomfort giving way to amusement upon witnessing Crane's incredulous reaction.
"Are these people – are these strangers – I'm afraid I cannot comprehend – these relations do not transpire in a house of sin?" he sputters comically. His eyes have lost their gentle inquisitiveness and now look as though they might bug out of his skull. Not to mention, his whole demeanor has become twitchy.
"A brothel? No, no, it has nothing to do with prostitutes," she says, an inadvertent smile toying at the corners of her mouth.
"There is no exchange of currency? What on earth could drive a woman to agree to such a lecherous arrangement?"
Ignoring the inadvertent misogyny in Ichabod's question (he really can't help it, she tells herself), she shrugs and replies, "I don't know. Usually they're both drunk."
He stares blankly at the wall, defeated and vastly disappointed in humanity, and says, "I fear I will never grasp the social intricacies of this world. I venture to assume, then, that having relations before marriage is not an uncommon practice."
Abbie snorts inelegantly and answers, "Hardly anyone waits to have sex anymore."
Ichabod winces exaggeratedly at her usage of the word 'sex' and finally tears his gaze from the wall to look at her. "So you –"
She cuts him off immediately. "No, no, no," she says almost violently, "we're not going there. Let's just say a lot of people do it." Her flustered response is answer enough for him and he returns to staring straight ahead.
Visibly disturbed, he murmurs, "How can people conduct themselves in this way? It's – it's indecent..."
She does not disagree. "They do say romance is dead. But hey, everyone is free to do what they want." She thinks the use of the word 'free' might help him understand.
"But it loses all meaning," he protests.
"Not necessarily," she refutes. "You're right that it can be meaningless, but it's different with different people…"
Now, it's abundantly clear that Abbie has had premarital relations with not one, but multiple people and it's a lot for Ichabod – who had initially assumed that she had never known a man in such a way, given her circumstances – to wrap his head around. He cannot believe that he has miscalculated the situation to such an enormous extent.
Abbie, on the other hand, has never felt more morally deficient. She knows he cannot help being so surprised, that things have changed significantly in the last two-hundred-plus years, but his obvious disapproval still stings.
She fidgets under his intense gaze and he immediately softens his features – he does not wish to make her uncomfortable with her choices and it is not his place to judge them. "I see," is all he can manage to say. After another moment or so, he's recovered. He jokes, "I suppose I'm just old-fashioned."
And Abbie smiles and mutters, "That's the understatement of the century."
She vows to figure out how to install parental controls on the TV in the morning.