Disclaimer: sorry, I own nothing. Yup, absolutely nothing.
Gunpowder pounded out a frantic rhythm with the pounding of his hooves. Ichabod leaned into the horses neck, driving it to speed that made his head spin. His stomach begged him to stop and his muscles screamed in protest against the sheer lengths he pushed them to.
Ichabod shook his pale head, as if to ward off the encroaching darkness in his mind and the wood that had grown up about him. He was there, behind that tree, ahead on the trail, charging after him… The Hessian was winning and Ichabod could not let him, not when Katrina's cries still echoed in his ears and his promise to save her still burned on his tongue. He would save her. He had too.
The Tree of the Dead was in sight and Ichobod spurred his mount on, raven black hair flying across his vision as he saw his angel struggling to reach him. Her eyes were dark with panic as she stretched her small fingers out for him.
He could see so much detail…the way her tears fell down the same tracks that had already been moistened, the shape of her mouth as she called his name, the small wrinkle in the silk of her right sleeve…and yet he was so far away, never getting closer despite his excruciating efforts.
The Hessian, neck jaggedly sliced, vertebrae showing faintly above his high ornamental collar, had one large hand wrapped in her soft hair while the other drew his sword.
Ichabod dropped his eyes to the horse's shoulders, cursing his own slowness. He heard the sword swing and Katrina yell the last words she would ever speak. It was his own name…
Ichabod awoke panicked, where was she? Where was his Katrina? His dark eyes focused on the wall of the room he slept in, recognizing it as the wall of his chamber in Sleepy Hollow. His heart slowed to its normal rate, his mind finally comprehending that he had been dreaming. His Katrina was safe.
He frowned into the darkness. She wasn't his anything. True, she was beautiful and kind and brave…
He pulled his mind back. Yes, she was all those things and more but what was he? He was the coward who hid behind reason and would be scurrying back to his job in the morning. He was the man who had accused her father of being a murderer…
Ichabod rose from the bed, feeling the bruise of the bullet her book had saved him from. He smiled sadly at that, knowing that if he could stand to be shot he could stand to do what he was about to. He slid his black waistcoat back on, ignoring the bullet hole that graced the front.
He assumed, correctly, that he had fainted after the Hessian had disappeared and the danger had passed. He could only hope that Katrina and Masbeth had indeed been as uninjured as he seemed to remember. His stomach tightened. If anything had happened to them…
He found himself in the kitchen, looking at the figure that sat before the dying glow in the grate. "Katrina…" he began but left off, knowing he didn't have the words to comfort her. Her face was glittering with tears, just as they had in his dream. She shifted slightly on the plane wooden bench, as if inviting him to sit with her.
He approached uncertainly and sat by her, ready to bolt if need be. She said nothing, made no move to wipe the tears away, and resumed watching the fire.
To alleviate his fears he began to speak. "Katrina, I was thinking. Thinking about home that is. It isn't at all beautiful or promising but it is mine… I was thinking of how crowded it is, how drab…"
Her voice slipped into his pause quietly. "Your going back, aren't you? You were before she retuned." Leaving without having the courage to let me say goodbye.
"Yes. I will go back." His voice had taken on a stronger quality now. "I will go back to the faceless crowds and smoke filled streets. But," he paused again, "but I was thinking that I would much rather go back if you were to come with me..."
He was going to continue, tell her that he wanted her to be Mrs. Crane but when she turned to him he lost the courage. "…a-and Masbeth." He added. "As evidence." What am I doing? He screamed at himself.
"Mr. Crane," her voice wavered, "what are you asking me?"
"To go back with me. To New York. As…as my wife." His voice dropped, for which he was grateful. He had been afraid it would leap an octave.
Even through her tears, her smile made his heart skip. "Yes. I'll marry you." Her lips brushed lightly over his cheek before her head came to rest on his shoulder.
"You-you will?" Now his voice jumped.
"Yes. Ichabod, I love you." She pulled away just in time to brace him as he fainted again. She smiled. I guess that means he feels the same for me.