She returned on Christmas morning. Crane awoke alone, his heart heavy with longing and loss, as always. Intending to spend this Christmas in the Archives, continuing his research into how to retrieve his Lieutenant from the Underworld.
He wills himself out of Abbie's bed, swings his feet to the floor of Abbie's room, and trudges down the hall into Abbie's kitchen, where he puts the kettle on. His motions are automatic, with no real purpose or flair. Kettle goes under tap. Tap turns on. Tap turns off. Kettle goes on stove. Burner is switched on.
Tasks completed with all the grace and care of a robot. He doesn't even know why he bothers making actual tea. Food and drink have no flavor. Pleasant pastimes seem pointless. Things he previously found amusing or engaging now hold no interest for him.
He shuffles to the living room. There are no festive holiday decorations. He got as far as locating the boxes in the basement, but could not bring himself to carry them up and decorate.
He had so looked forward to going out and selecting a tree with her.
There is no tree because there was no Abbie.
He is just about to sit on the couch and wait for his water to boil when something catches his eye.
There is someone on the porch. Their silhouette is familiar. Too familiar.
He jumps to his feet and runs to the door. It is the first action he has made in weeks with any motivation behind it. Apart from research.
The door is swiftly unlocked and flies open. Crane stumbles out onto the porch, heedless of the cold wood beneath his bare feet.
"Abbie," he breathes, blinking back tears. He longs to pull her into his arms and never let go, but he stands, frozen in shock.
She is dressed just as she was when she left them a month ago. Her hair looks the same. She looks up at him, and her expression keeps his feet planted. Her eyes are the only thing that indicate she has been away.
"Haunted" isn't quite the correct word. Her eyes have always been expressive, indicating a wisdom deeper than her years. They are still bright and beautiful, but he can tell she has learned some things. Has seen some things. She says nothing.
His heart feels like it has stopped. "Do you not remember me?" he asks, almost whispering, fingers twitching in panic. Oh God, what if this is the price she had to pay for returning?
She looks at him for what feels like a very long time. "Yes. I do remember you," she says. "Crane."
He sees her breath as she whispers his name and is reminded of the cold seeping into the soles of his feet. "Yes, yes… come inside and get warm," he says, his voice shaking. He offers her a trembling hand, knowing it is his turn to be the strong one. Knowing he can be, because his strength has returned to him in the form of her.
She takes it, and her fingers are like ice. "Thank you," she says. He leads her inside and closes the door behind them.
"Lieutenant, I…" he trails off, not even knowing where to begin. A thousand questions form and die on his tongue as he stares at her, his hands dithering. He still itches to hold her, but her hesitant and slightly confused behavior holds him back. He doesn't want to overwhelm her. Instead, he reaches for her leather jacket. "May I?" he finally asks.
"Thank you," she repeats, allowing him to remove her coat. She seems a bit puzzled and a lot dazed.
"Do you know how you got here?" he asks, guiding her to the couch.
"No," she answers. "Everything is a bit foggy." She sits and he tucks a blanket around her. "I… I think it's more important for me to remember my… my life." She looks up at him. "Things are slowly coming back. This is my house. I know you. I know I have a sister," she remarks.
"Yes, Miss Jenny… Oh! I must tell her you have returned!" he exclaims, glancing at the time. It is only 6:40, but he calls her anyway. She doesn't answer, but he doesn't leave a voicemail. He texts her and then tries Joe's phone, which goes straight to voicemail. Crane frowns and lightly tosses his phone on the table. "They are probably sleeping and Master Corbin's phone appears to be off," he mutters.
"'Sallright," Abbie says. "They?"
"Miss Jenny and Joe Corbin," he explains. "You… you remember Joe?"
She nods. "I remember. Just… the way you said it sounded like they are together, wherever they are," she says.
"Yes, they are… romantically involved now," he says. "You are beginning to shiver," he comments. He bends down to remove her cold boots for her, then tucks her feet up beside her, taking care that they are covered by the blanket.
The kettle whistles. Abbie jumps.
"Tea. It will help warm you," Crane says, rushing to the kitchen, glad he has heated enough water for two cups but knowing if he didn't have enough he would give it all to her.
"Ichabod?" she calls.
He nearly drops the mug in his hand. She never calls him by his given name. Still, he looks out from the kitchen. "Yes?"
"Is there any…" she closes her eyes, thinking. "Cocoa? I think that's what I want."
"I believe so," he answers, going in search of the convenient little packets with their tiny freeze-dried marshmallows that do nothing except immediately melt. He finds them and grabs two from the box.
He quickly prepares their drinks and returns, handing her the one containing cocoa. "Double strength, the way you like it," he says, sitting beside her and boldly pulling her cold feet into his lap before tucking the blanket around them again.
She gives him a small smile. "What day is it?" she asks, sipping the cocoa.
Shades of the final chapter of Dickens' A Christmas Carol fly through his brain for a moment before he answers, "Christmas Day. You have returned to me – to us – on Christmas, like a wonderful gift," he answers, his voice growing thick at the end as his tears start fresh.
"Oh," she replies. "I wonder if that means something."
"Possibly," he agrees. "Abbie, are… are you…?"
"I think I'm okay," she says. "I don't remember much of what actually happened… maybe it will come back to me with time. I don't even know if I want to remember." She closes her eyes. "But there's a lot I have learned." She opens them and looks at him. Really looks at him, her dark eyes boring into him in a way that feels more intimate than anything he's ever experienced. "I know things now, Crane. Things I can't un-know. About me. You. Us."
"You don't have to tell…"
"Yes, I do. I have to tell you. I'm not sure why, but I know I have to tell you." She sips her cocoa, then pulls the blanket tighter around her with her other hand.
"You do not need to tell me now, then," he allows. "Rest a bit. Allow yourself to re-acclimate."
She nods. "I want to take a shower and I want to sleep," she says, setting her mostly-empty mug on a coaster. She moves her feet out of his lap and onto the floor.
"Of course," he says with a nod. He sets his mug down as well and stands.
She rises and moves the blanket so it is around her shoulders, then looks up at him. She frees one hand and lifts it to his cheek, her small fingers burrowing into his beard. "Crane…" It is just a whisper.
Her touch is the opening he needs, and he pulls her against him, wrapping her in a tight hug that engulfs her. He feels her gripping him just as strongly, feels the blanket slither to the floor behind her. "I missed you most desperately, Abbie." He whispers the admission as tears pour from his eyes and land on the top of her head. "I was a shell of—"
"Shh," she gently hushes, hugging him even tighter. "I know," she whispers. "I know."
xXx
Crane hovered nearby while she showered, afraid that something would happen and Abbie would be sucked down the drain and back into the underworld.
Jenny called while Abbie was showering, and Crane answered to hear the younger Mills sister's nearly-unintelligible voice as she attempted to speak while she was sobbing. When Abbie emerged from her understandably very long shower, Jenny had calmed down enough to speak.
Until she heard her sister's voice.
The sisters talked on the phone for a while and Crane sat nearby, watching Abbie the entire time. Watching how her slipper-covered foot swung as it dangled over her knee. Watching the folds of her fuzzy robe where it covered the various angles and curves of her body. Watching with strange fascination as her hair gradually dried into tight spirals rather than the smooth, loose waves to which he was accustomed. Watching her lips as she spoke, her eyes, her hands, drinking her in, relishing her presence. Her existence.
Silently vowing to never take her for granted ever again.
Abbie glances up and sees him studying her. "No… don't take this the wrong way or anything, but can you wait until this afternoon?" A pause. "I need to sleep. No, I didn't. You don't down there. Time passes differently, but there is no sleeping in Hell." She chuckles with very little humor. "Yeah, I guess that's why it's Hell." She reaches over and takes Crane's hand. "He is. I'll call you later. As soon as I wake up, okay?"
"What am I?" Crane asks when Abbie puts her phone down.
"Keeping a close eye on me," she says. "Jenny told me she made you promise."
He nods. "She did. I don't imagine she was happy to be made to wait to see you."
"She understands," she answers, squeezing his hand and standing. She goes to her dresser and opens a drawer. "Wrong one," she mutters, then tries another. She pulls out some pajamas. "The shower helped a lot, but I'm still not all here," she says, and he's not sure if she's speaking to him or herself.
"I will step outside while you dress," he says, then goes out, closing the door behind him. He is still in his pajamas as well, thinking he would dress while she slept.
A few minutes later, she opens the door. She is clad in a t-shirt and fleece pants and her hair is secured under a scarf. "Why does my bed look like it has been slept in?" she asks, stepping aside, indicating he should enter.
"Because I have been sleeping in it," he answers, knowing there is no point in claiming otherwise.
She blinks twice, then answers, "Okay," and turns towards the bed.
"Sleep well, Lieutenant," he says, intending to leave her to her rest.
"Will you stay?" she asks. Her voice is surprisingly small, and when he turns back, she looks very vulnerable. Fragile. Similar to how she looked when she and Jenny saw their mother's ghost at Tarrytown. "I need you to stay right now," she whispers.
"Of course," he answers. He doesn't bother to hide his relief at getting to remain with her.
She climbs into bed and looks expectantly up at him until he understands. She doesn't just want him to stay, she wants him to stay with her. To keep a close eye on her, as he had promised Jenny.
The impropriety of sharing her bed doesn't even occur to him. Impropriety can be hanged for all he cares right now.
He slides into her bed and she immediately curls into him. He automatically wraps his arms around her, holding her close. He inhales, taking in her familiar scent. Relishing it. Some tears slip from his eyes again as she sighs, completely relaxing in his embrace.
However, to his surprise, she doesn't immediately sleep.
"We have been around nearly since time began," she starts, speaking quietly, drawing strength from his presence. "Not us us, but Witnesses. But still us in some form."
"Reincarnation," he supplies.
"In a way. I mean, yeah, we keep getting reborn, but unlike most people – if reincarnation is a part of their beliefs, that is – unlike most people, the Witnesses are meant to know about it. Like… remember. That's why I have to tell you."
"I understand," he says, his hand idly rubbing her back. "Please continue."
"There are always two. Always made up of opposites. Man-woman, black-white…" she pauses, thinking. "Tall and short," she chuckles. "You were raised in a family of nobility, wealthy, with parents who loved you, and I was a poor orphan. You're from the 1700s; I'm from this time." She pauses a moment. "Of course that last one may be unique to us." She sighs. "But it's intentional. All of it."
"Yin and yang," he comments. "Contrary yet complimentary forces, opposites, but completing one another."
She nods against his shoulder. "And together, we are stronger than we are separately. Better."
"I can say with some degree of certainty that I have felt incomplete this last month," he quietly admits. "I was missing my other half."
She nods again and hums her agreement. "Now you know how I felt when you bailed last year," she says, her voice becoming very sleepy.
"I always knew, Abbie," he whispers, unthinkingly bending to kiss the top of her head. "I felt the same. And you know I won't do it again."
She hums again, which he takes as her assent.
"Did you learn anything about… about who we were?" he asks, even though he knows she is on the edge of sleep. His curiosity is piqued. Did we witness the great flood? Pompeii? The Holocaust? Countless horrors throughout history flash through his brain, and he wonders how many of them happened because of their failure or were stopped by their involvement.
"Mmm-mmm," she answers, shaking her head. "Don't know yet," she mumbles. "Won't know until…"
"Until?" he prompts, curious.
"Until we…" she pauses, yawning, "until we… solidify our partnership."
He puzzles over the phrase. Just when he opens his mouth to ask if she can further explain, she speaks again.
"Consummate our bond as Witnesses."
Then, she is asleep, leaving him to ponder the meaning of this last statement.