Maybe You're Right Miss Mills
A/N: This is my first ever Sleepy Hollow fic so, bear with me...please? Maybe?
It was early evening and the sun was just beginning to set. Streams of orange and purple light had begun to filter into the dusty archive through the small circular windows that lined its ceiling, filling the room with a warm, almost otherworldly glow.
Ichabod sat atop a sturdy wooden stool surrounded by a pile of weather worn books, his face twisted in impassioned concentration as he perused the dog-eared pages of the novel in front of him. He'd always been fond of literature and, since awaking from his 200-year odd slumber; he'd found himself particularly drawn to so-called 'American Classics'. He'd devoured Faulkner, studied Hemingway, and a myriad of other authors, voraciously taking in anything of this new genre that he could get his hands on.
Not that he necessarily had much time for leisurely reading. The past few weeks had arguably been the most intense yet, with the impending apocalypse drawing nearer and nearer. With each passing day, Ichabod could feel the stakes getting higher and the tension growing.
And so, he welcomed this rare quiet moment of solitude, surrounded by familiar, yet unfamiliar, comforts – a good book and a warm cup of tea. Admittedly, the tea didn't hold a candle to that of his English youth. It was too sweet and not quite rich enough in flavor, but it was warm and there was, nonetheless, a hint of familiarity in the herbal drink that pleased him so.
"I thought you'd be here," he heard Abbie's voice say from the doorway.
"You know me well, Lieutenant," Ichabod said without glancing upward, so enraptured was he in the story unfolding on the pages before him.
She laughed faintly before speaking up again. "Whatever you do, don't fall asleep here again. You know Irving hates it."
"Unfortunately, I make no promises on the matter, Miss Mills, but I will do my best," he replied matter-of-factly, finally pulling his gaze away from the pages on the table to look up at Abbie.
As soon as he caught sight of her, he felt his breath catch in his throat.
She was wearing a tight strapless black dress that stopped just above her knees and hugged taut over her figure. With it, she wore a pair of black-heeled shoes that made her appear considerably taller than he knew her to be. Her hair, which was usually pushed out of her face, hung loosely over her bare shoulders in large waves.
Her cheeks were rouged and her eyes seemed brighter, lined with a thick band of kohl. Her lips shined, a dark red drawn across them.
He'd never seen her so intricately adorned before.
And he had to admit that the sight had taken him by surprise. It wasn't as if he was unaware that Miss Mills was pleasing on the eyes. Married though he was, Ichabod was not blind. He could appreciate the beauty of those around him when he saw it and Abigail Mills was not sore on the eyes by any means.
But, he'd never seen her like this and so he'd never quite noticed just how bright her eyes were or how full her lips were. He'd never quite noticed the pleasing curve of her figure or the leanness of her legs.
No, she wasn't just pretty. She wasn't just a sight for sore eyes (quite literally).
She was stunning.
Was it just him or was it becoming unbearably warm in here? If only he could open one of those blasted windows. That would certainly do the trick.
"You tryin' to catch flies?" Abbie said with a teasing laugh as she nodded towards him and his gapping expression, tearing Ichabod from his thoughts.
"I beg your pardon?" he questioned, fighting the urge to glance over her figure once more. He wasn't sure how men of this century managed when attire like that was commonplace.
Abbie simply rolled her eyes.
"Forget it. Anyways, I just came by to grab my jacket," she said as she picked up the familiar black leather coat from the back of an old worn armchair.
"Might I ask where you're going in such fine dress, Miss Mills?" Ichabod asked suddenly, before he could stop himself. Why was it any concern of his? Certainly it wasn't his business to know what her engagement was for the evening, and yet, he couldn't stop himself, couldn't help but be curious.
"I'm just having dinner with Luke. After the whole failed coffee date…" her words trailed to an almost inaudible mumble.
"You two are trying once more at a relationship of a romantic nature?" Ichabod asked, again unable to stop himself (or the uneasy feeling that was now growing in the pit of his stomach.)
"It's not anything serious. It's just, we broke up because I was leaving and now I'm not so, what's the harm in dinner?" she said, staring intently at something on the wood warn floor below her.
Though her voice gave off an air of flippant casualness, Ichabod could see the hint of a smile on Abbie's lips, the nervous eagerness in her body language.
As he'd once said, she was much easier to read than a viginere cipher.
She was excited by the possibility of, once again, being courted by her former suitor.
It was written all over her face.
And for reasons he didn't quite want to think about, the realization made Ichabod wholly uncomfortable.
"Well, I should get going. I'm already running late," she said.
She gave him a small smile, that earnest one he'd grown so fond of over the preceding months. It was one of those genuine smiles that reached all the way to the eyes. Ichabod couldn't help but smile in return.
"Miss Mills?" Ichabod called out.
"Yeah?"
"You look lovely," he grinned.
"Thanks, Crane," Abbie said with a pleased, yet slightly embarrassed, laugh and a playful roll of her eyes. As she turned her back towards him, he once again felt his eyes being drawn to her, watching the way her hair fell down her back in loose waves and the way her hips, hugged in tight black satin, swished swiftly as she walked.
Immediately, he turned away. He could feel the warmth spreading from his cheeks and down his neck. Undoubtedly, his face was currently turning a ghastly shade of red. He prayed Abbie wouldn't turn around again, lest she catch him blushing and fumbling like a pitiable schoolboy.
He listened as her heels click-clacked down the hall until he could no longer hear them and though he tried to turn his attention once more to the book in front of him, he found he could no longer concentrate, his mind's eye filled with distracting hazy images of Abbie in her black dress and heels, face shining brightly.
Luke Morales was a very lucky man.
Ichabod spent the rest of the night in the archives, attempting once more to immerse himself in the stories surrounding him, but it was of little consequence. He couldn't stop thinking of Miss Mills, despite the innumerable reasons why it was highly inappropriate, most importantly being that he was married.
Married to Katrina. His beautiful Katrina who had borne him a child. His passionate, exuberant, and fiery Katrina who was currently stuck in purgatory, with Ichabod no closer to knowing how to free her than he was when he'd awoken from his cavernous rest.
And yet, as soon as his mind filled with visions of Katrina, they drifted to visions of Abbie in her black dress as she made her way towards the door of the archive. Abbie smiling brightly, her eyes wide with nervous glee. Abbie being courted by Morales, who was likely doing everything he could to gain her favor. He'd lost her once before. He certainly was going to do everything in his power to keep from loosing her again.
A small voice in the back of Ichabod's head didn't quite blame Luke and with that thought, that unwelcome feeling of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach grew.
He fell into a fitful sleep, surrounded by discarded books and a cold cup of tea, sometime after midnight.
"You've been rather quiet this morning, Lieutenant," Ichabod noted as he and Abbie sat in silence at her desk.
It had been two days since Abbie's date with Morales and she hadn't said much of anything about it to Ichabod, despite his subtle prodding, out of curiosity and nothing more, of course. He was simply inquiring on the processes of courting in the 21st century. It certainly seemed quite less formal than that of his own time. As such, any queries he had were purely for research purposes…for the further expanding of his horizons.
"That's because I'm working, Crane," she said simply with a flourish of her wrist as she picked up a sheet of paper from her overflowing stack of paperwork and read it intently, before hastily typing something into her computer.
He watched her closely out of the corner of his eye, her eyes focusing intently on the screen before her. She bit her lip in concentration. He'd begun to realize recently that she had a habit of doing that when she was focused on something. He wasn't sure if she'd always done this or if he was simply paying more attention to her lips these days, but surely it was nothing. He was simply an observant person. That was all. It was nothing more than that. Simple, harmless observation.
"Morning, Abbs," a deep voice boomed from somewhere behind them.
Promptly, Ichabod turned around and found himself face to face with Morales. His features were covered in a wide and eager smile, one that Ichabod noted that Abbie returned in-kind almost immediately.
"Hey, Luke," she answered.
"Could I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, glancing territorially in Ichabod's direction. It was clear he was signaling that he wanted to have a conversation with Miss Mills in private, but Ichabod wasn't budging, more for the sake of principle than anything else. He and Luke hadn't gotten along from the very start and so, Ichabod couldn't help but feel the need to be rather cross and headstrong with Miss Mills' apparent suitor.
Besides, Lieutenant was his partner after all. Certainly anything Luke had to say to Abbie could be said in front of him as well.
Realizing that Ichabod had no plans of vacating the area, Luke turned back to Abbie.
"Look, Abbs, I just wanted to say that I had a great time the other night and-"
"Crane, I need some more coffee. Can you go get me some more coffee?" Abbie asked suddenly, cutting Luke off.
"Well, Miss Mills, I mean no manner of rudeness, but it appears your cup is still quite full," Ichabod said as he glanced at the barely touched cup of coffee in front of her.
"I know, but it's cold and I don't really like cold coffee, so can you go get me some hot coffee, please, Crane? Like, right now?" she said, her words spilling out of her mouth messily.
"Certainly, Lieutenant," Ichabod said, realizing that she was trying to get rid of him. She was asking Ichabod to let her speak with Luke alone, without really asking, and more begrudgingly than he cared to admit, Ichabod obliged.
Ichabod reached over and picked up the large blue mug from Abbie's desk, momentarily making eye contact with Luke, who was eyeing him with slight smugness, his hands crossed over his puffed chest.
By the time he'd come back, a hot cup of coffee in hand, Abbie and Luke appeared to be finishing up their conversation.
"So, I'll call you later," Ichabod heard Luke say once he was again in earshot.
"M'kay," Abbie nodded.
Luke stared expectantly at Abbie, their eyes locking a beat too long.
Crane cleared his throat, breaking the spell of whatever moment Luke and Abbie had been sharing.
"Your coffee, Miss Mills."
Abbie looked momentarily confused, clearly having forgotten that she'd sent Crane away in search of more coffee that she'd never really wanted in the first place.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks."
Luke and Abbie glanced at one another again, clearly sharing some sort of secret that Crane wasn't privy to, as if they were speaking in a language he couldn't quite understand, and as a master of many languages, he found it rather irritating.
With a final smug glare at Ichabod, Luke left and made his way to his desk on the other side of the room.
Without a word, Abbie sat back down at her desk, turning her attention once again towards the stack of paperwork piled high next to her.
"He seemed rather friendly. I take it his courting has been rather successful? Is betrothal, once again, a possibility?" Crane questioned, purely out of curiosity, of course.
"We're not talking about this," she said simply, all attention on the screen in front of her.
"I don't understand why? Given all that you know about Katrina and I, I think it only fair that I'm allowed my own inquiries," Crane huffed.
"Remember that time that I told you I'd literally pay you to stop talking?" Abbie asked, finally turning away from the computer screen to stare at Ichabod. He noticed that, much like on the night she'd gone out with Luke, there was a bit of rouge to her cheeks and her lips were drawn with a slightly bright red. Her eyelashes were long and, once more, lined with a thin line of kohl.
She'd never worn this sort of make-up for work before.
Clearly, Luke's courting was going very well. Very well indeed.
"I meant it," she said finally, and without another word, she turned stonily back towards the screen in front of her.
Ichabod had only been to Miss Mills' place a handful of times, mostly to pick-up things on their way to fight whatever demon of the week happened to be terrorizing Sleepy Hollow at the time, but he'd never been allowed to idle. Never been allowed into her and Miss Jenny's inner sanctuary, which was odd all things considered. The fact that they'd been through so much together and he had yet to see the intimate workings of the place where Abbie called home, had yet to see the place where Abbie decompressed battle after battle...well it all seemed quite strange to Ichabod.
That was why, when he found himself at Abbie's doorstep later that week, he couldn't quite shake the vague air of nervousness that surrounded him.
It was no matter though. This was important and as Abbie hadn't answered the multitude of calls he'd sent to her smart phone, he knew of no other way to contact her to tell her of what he'd found.
He had been in the archives, going through Corbin's old files, when he'd come across one in particular. An envelope had been concealed below all the other files, taped discreetly to the underside of one of the drawers. Upon opening the envelope, Ichabod was certain that its contents would be of great interest to Abbie.
With rapt eagerness, Ichabod knocked on the solid wooden door.
No answer.
He knocked again, this time with slightly more force.
After a moment of silence, he heard noise from the other side of the door - shuffling followed by muffled voices followed by the click of the door's lock being undone.
"Miss Mills, I do hope I'm not intruding on anything and I apologize for showing up unannounced and so late in the evening, but I've found something that I think might be of great interest to you. May I come in?" Ichabod began as Abbie opened the door.
"I, uhm," Abbie stuttered.
"Abbie, who is it?" Ichabod heard a familiar voice yell from somewhere behind the door.
"Uhm, one second," Abbie yelled back before turning to face Ichabod again.
"Crane, what is it?" she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
Just then, a figure came into view.
"Crane," Luke sneered as he eyed Ichabod.
"Luke," Ichabod responded in-kind.
The two men continued to eye one another until their gazes drifted towards Abbie.
With a look of incredulity, Abbie sighed.
"Crane, can this wait?"
"I don't believe it can, Lieutenant," Ichabod supposed. Though he felt bad for intruding and likely ruining Abbie's plans, he couldn't help the small sense of victory that flooded through him as he chanced a glance at Luke's deflated features.
With those words, Abbie turned to Luke, giving him a sympathetic smile.
"Can we reschedule?"
"Of course," Luke responded, his face softening immediately as Abbie looked up at him.
"Thanks," Abbie replied.
"Anything for you, Abbs," Luke said, before leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.
This situation was becoming all too familiar to Ichabod and, for reasons he was still not comfortable exploring, he was not pleased.
As if on cue, he cleared his throat, once again pulling Abbie and Luke from their moment.
Luke smirked in Ichabod's direction, smugness oozing from his every pores as he crossed his arms over his chest in a clear sign of dominance.
"Well, if you're done here, Miss Mills and I have business to attend too," Ichabod said, the smarm apparent in his tone, instinctively standing straighter and taller.
"Goodnight, Luke," Abbie said, subtle irritation at the two mens' obvious show of machismo creeping into her voice.
With a final gentlemanly nod in her direction, and a final glare in Ichabod's, Luke was gone.
"What is it with you two?" Abbie said finally, as she shut the door behind her, exasperation obvious in her tone.
"Why, whatever are you referring to Miss Mills?" Ichabod replied, shooting an innocent glance in Abbie's direction.
"Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about Crane. That...testosterone fest back there."
"If you're referring to Morales' feeble attempt at peacocking, I think it is rather clear that your friend is threatened by me and is attempting to mark his territory," Ichabod answered.
Abbie stared back at him, a look of utter disbelief on her face.
"For real?" Abbie said, her eyes rolling as she did so.
"I'm being quite literal, Miss Mills," Ichabod responded matter-of-factly.
"First of all," Abbie began as she held up one finger, "I am no one's territory and if that's how Luke feels, we need to talk. Second of all, that 'peackocking' wasn't one sided. You were doin' a bit of marking yourself, " she finished pointedly.
"Well, I...I was just...That's beside the point," Ichabod argued. Typically he was impeccably eloquent, so it was unlike him to stutter and stumble over his words in such an uncouth manner.
Clearly, Abbie's words had struck a cord.
Finally, giving up on coming up with any sort of smart retort, Ichabod simply stared at Abbie, who was now chuckling to herself at his apparent discomfort and loss of words.
As she did so, he took in the way her lips had curled into a smile, the way her shoulders bounced as she laughed, and the way her eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement.
And in that moment, Ichabod realized that maybe, just maybe, there was more truth to Abbie's words than he cared to admit.
More truth than he could ever admit.
'Maybe you're right, Miss Mills,' Ichabod thought to himself.
'More right than you know.'