A/N - I wrote this before Abbipocalypse, and it takes place sometime before that but after the Catacombs. I debated publishing any SH fics I had that were cute drabbles like this, but I choose to remember them this way - I hope you enjoy for the same reasons.

The sound of the shower turning on was a comforting one - Abbie was nothing if not a creature of habit. Every night, around 9:30 he would hear the pipes creak and moan and then the sound of water. Her old house had thin walls, which neither of them had ever been bothered by - neither of them were ever particularly loud.

When she was in the catacombs he missed that noise more than he could speak to - it served as his nightly reminder of her constant presence in his life. That she was solid, reliable and accepting of him in her home so much that she allowed him to see these rituals. Sometimes she would come down after her shower, smelling of coconut and warmth to join him for a drink, a chess match, an episode of House Hunters. He was unsure if she would tonight - her day had been long. They hadn't spoken much - they hadn't needed to. The quiet of the evening had been a luxury they both indulged heartily and comfortably with each other.

Sitting on the couch, small dram of whiskey in his glass, he perused through a new novel on the life of Washington - as he knew the man, he also suspected there was much he didn't know and was ever vigilant to discover more. Though so far, the bulk of the text proved to be standard knowledge, and hardly worth the paper it was printed on. In the distance he heard a soft singing - looking up from his book he focused on it - was that Abbie? He couldn't tell over the sound of the water.

Rising and setting his glass down, he moved swiftly closer to the stairs to explore the noise, hearing a few broken phrases.

I should've worshiped her sooner

If the Heavens ever did speak

She's the last true mouthpiece

She was singing in the shower. Gracious. He didn't recognize the tune but the lyrics reminded him of her, somehow. He debated as he climbed the stairs - he wanted to respect her privacy. But he was overrun with curiosity - he had to listen.

She says worship in the bedroom

The only heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you

He sat at the foot of the stairs, leaning his head against the banister. The bathroom door stood ten feet in front of him and on the other side she sang. Presumably, he thought brazenly, nude. He closed his eyes - hearing only her as her voice rose to the chorus.

…..offer me that deathless death

But good God let me give you my life.

Rarely did he ever let himself indulge like this. He was proud, as he knew she was, of the fact that their relationship had its foundation in trust and respect. But the years had painted her in a different light - she who was once only his closest friend and confidant, who helped him so tirelessly to gain back his wife, he now longed for as a lover. He had fought the feeling those months away from her following Katrina's death, feeling that it betrayed both women, but now surrendered to it - however fruitless or ill conceived it was.

She continued to sing as he started to smell the warm steam escape from under the door - it wafted towards him like an ominous fog.

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

Only then am I human

Only then am I clean

He wanted her like that - equal and bare. Laid out before him or commandingly on top of him - it was all the same. And perhaps that is why hiding his feelings was so bearable - he needed nothing from her, only to love her and care for her. For her to allow him to be her partner - it was enough. As she had always done.

As she picked up the chorus again he remembered himself and stood, making the decision and descending the stairs. Her time was her own - and as much as he longed to kick down the door and make love to her where she stood, he knew she would come to him, if she was ever going to, in her own time.

He heard the water shut off a few minutes later as he closed the book on Washington, and picked up another. It wasn't long before he heard her pat down the stairs and he turned. She looked cozy with her hair bundled into a towel and wrapped in comfortable pajamas and robe. The smell of warm air descended with her, and she smiled at him.

"Discover anything new?" She asked, filling his glass with a bit more whiskey. She took a sip and sat down, joining him in the living room.

"What?" He asked, a slight panic to his voice. Surely she hadn't heard him….

"In the book." She pointed to the now closed book on Washington. "Or maybe you should just write your own?"

"Oh!" He expelled, a bit relieved and then, guilty. "No, just a bunch of hogwash, really. But Lieutenant, I'm afraid I must confess something to you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sounds serious, Crane."

"Indeed. I very much value your friendship and I enjoy our - living arrangements." He started. "I know that relationship is built on trust so I must confess - I did for a time listen to you just now. Singing, while you bathed."

Her eyes went wide, and she set down the glass. "Well, that is serious." She said, then her expression calmed and she winked at him with understated mirth.

"You must know that I have the utmost respect for you and your boundaries." He rambled, leaning forward. "I should have practiced more caution. But your voice, it's such a pleasure to listen to. I suppose it was like a siren's song, and I felt compelled to listen."

"Didn't sirens songs lead sailors to their deaths?" She asked with a smirk.

"One could argue that the closer I got to your voice, the more likely it was that you would kill me." He countered grinning, relaxing a bit at her reaction. She didn't seem mad, and he was glad for it.

She shrugged, taking a last sip of his whiskey. "You may not have been as dead as you think." She stood as he looked at her, expression one of quiet shock and she sighed, leaning down and kissing his cheek. Her soft, full lips hit his cheekbone just above his beard and her eyelashes teased against his forehead.

"Goodnight Crane." She hummed. She left him alone then for bed, taking Cranes heart and all of the rooms oxygen with her. He was left a daze of her, and felt very much like a ship who'd been blown off of it's course. But as long as she was the cause, he would happily ride out the storm.