As promised, here's the start of another Ichatrina fic. It won't be too long. My outline had about twenty chapters.

It's basically taking place after season one with significant differences. No Henry. Katrina and Ichabod have only interacted that one time during the Pilot when she told him where to find Headless' head. He and Abbie freed her from Purgatory without any weird stuff happening. No one gets stuck in Purgatory. They simply free her.

I wrote this as an idea for Ichabod to be the kind of caring husband he always spoke of being. His speech in the Indispensable Man episode about how when he and Katrina were reunited, he would cherish her as never before is literally going to happen in this fic. The dude needs a job and to take care of his traumatized wife while helping his fellow Witness deal with the Apolcalypse. Let's see if he can handle it, or crack under the pressure. I also want to delve into his insecurities as a man surrounded by women who take care of him. I can't imagine any real man, especially one from Ichabod's time, being alright with not pulling his own weight, or taking care of things that need doing. I want to show how he feels underneath his pride; the slight emasculation he may feel as well as some vulnerability over ever being able to fit in and care for his family in a world he daily struggles to understand.

Anyway, now that I've given the whole plot away...

Hands flying over the various pots and pans spread along the kitchen cabinet, he was doing his best to keep the level of racket to a minimum. However, his frazzled nerves had him fumbling over the silver cookware, making it sound like he was beating them against the wall rather than making a simple pot of tea. As he poured some of the steaming liquid into a white ceramic mug, he glanced up to search out the hunched figure who was staring into the flickering flames of the hearth. When he noticed the significant lack of movement since the last time he'd gazed across the room, he felt his spirits deflate even further.

What could he say? Should he say anything at all? Perhaps silence was best. Then again, he couldn't imagine the beautifully, tormented soul warming by the fire needed anymore silence. He knew he would certainly prefer to speak if he'd endured so long without such a freedom. Though, at present, he could think of nothing to begin speaking about. Should he start with how she feels? Does she need anything? Is she cold? Too warm? Perhaps, she'd like a quilt? Or a change of clothing?

He glanced at the small, one bedroom door connected to the kitchen and sincerely hoped she didn't ask for a change of clothes as he had none to offer her. Why hadn't he prepared for this? He'd been working toward freeing her for months. Surely, he should have thought to acquire some clothing and essentials for her beforehand. Had he become a complete imbecile during his time in this century? How could he have been so thoughtless?

With a weary sigh, he lifted the hot mug and approached his beloved with wary steps. Never before had he been so uncertain of what to say to her. Even during their time of courting, he'd been more sure of himself, which was saying a great deal. He'd felt like such a clumsy fool while in her presence in those days; like everything he said and did was something worth being ridiculed or teased. She'd never done so, though. She'd always laughed at his jokes and smiled in such a way that had her eyes creasing with joy at his voice.

Now, though, he found himself at a loss. Since freeing her from that Hell she'd endured for the last two hundred and thirty-one years not an hour passed, they'd barely spoken. There'd been a sweet moment of joy on her part at being set free, but, after that, she'd immediately closed off from him; going so far as to have barely even touched him since their reunion. It disappointed him right down to his very core. However, there was something clearly happening to her he couldn't quite wrap his mind around. To him, she seemed like something akin to a wary cat; always waiting for the other shoe to drop; perhaps even waiting to awaken from the dream she surely felt she was in.

"I made you some tea."

Her green eyes darted up to him, wide and searchingly, as she startled and sat straighter. It almost seemed as though she'd forgotten he existed entirely.

"Oh."

Internally questioning whether her reply was a thanks for the tea, or a rejection of his offering, he remained where he was; standing alongside the sofa and wondering what to do with himself. Should he set the tea down? Should he take it back? Did she even want him in her presence at all?

"Uhm..." he squinted as his gaze darted from her blank stare to the steaming cup, then back again.

Seeming to understand his predicament, she gave the smallest smile he'd ever witnessed grace the face which had always held him captive and held out her slender hands for the mug.

Thankful for her acceptance, despite it seeming to be forced, he carefully handed the tea off and shifted his stance to that of an observer as she took a small sip.

"Is it to your liking?" he asked with a measure of uncertainty. "I can make another pot if-"

"No, it's lovely," she assured as she settled it in her lap; the white mug a stark contrast to the black dress. "Thank you."

Glad to have pleased her in some small way, he nodded rather dumbly and once again shifted his feet while doing his best not to blatantly stare at her. However, the way she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth combined with her shifty eyes and fidgety fingers had him wondering if he was imagining her discomfort with him. What reason would she have to be uncomfortable around him? Had he done something to displease her? Perhaps, she was worried over his thoughts of her being a witch. She needn't worry over that. Regardless of that pang of hurt he'd felt over her secret, he loved her no less for it. She was still his beloved.

"Katrina?"

Upon her olive green eyes slowly rising to meet his searching gaze, he asked rather nervously, "Are you not happy to be with me?"

The way her eyes immediately widened told him he was on the wrong track before she ever uttered the first syllable.

"Of course, I'm happy to be with you," she whispered through a cracked voice. "It's all I've wanted for so long."

Allowing a sigh of relief to slip from him, he took a careful seat beside her, making sure to not move too quickly, or sit too closely. The last thing he wanted was to cause her to dash from his presence altogether.

"You've spoken very little since the Leftenant and I found you."

Her throat gave a heavy bob as she swallowed and nodded; her eyes void of any of the light he so loved. "I'm simply..." She shook her head as her eyes fell closed, a weariness consuming her lovely features he wished he could banish altogether. "Things are so different now and I find myself afraid."

Unable to stand going without her touch for a moment longer, especially considering the lost expression she bore, he scooted closer to her and brushed a few locks of russet hair behind her ear. "You needn't fear anything. I know how terrifying it is to enter into such a new world, but I can assist you, my love. I'll take care of you."

Once again, she shook her head and turned to look at him, her eyes filled with the tears that had the ability to set his pulse to racing and proceeded to do so. Why was she crying?

"That's not why-" She glanced down at the mug of tea as a few tears leaked over her lids and down her cheeks; glistening in the light of the hearth. "I have something to share with you; something... I've been wanting to share with you for a very long time."

More than a little dumbfounded, he asked, "What is it?"

When she seemed reluctant to continue, he caressed her ear and pressed, "My love, whatever it is, you can tell me. There's nothing in this world you need fear sharing with me."

Ever so slowly, her glistening green eyes returned to his. "Ichabod... I... I'm with child."

Unsure he'd correctly heard her, but knowing in his heart he simply needed to hear it again, he whispered in a cracked voice, "You're...? What?"

"My coven..." she weakly elaborated; her eyes focused directly on his. "After I buried you in that cave, I was preparing to sail to England in the hopes of finding a cure for you when they banished me to Purgatory."

She paused and set her mug of tea on the coffee table before situating her hands in her lap and fixing her stare on them. It seemed to him that she felt more comfortable when she wasn't looking at him. When had they grown so far apart? Had her time in Purgatory lessened her love for him? Her desire to feel his gaze upon her? At one time, she'd sworn so long as his eyes were on her, she had the confidence to do anything; that his love gave her the strength she needed to pick herself up and carry on even in the weakest of moments.

"Before I could board the ship, they detained me and dragged me into the woods away from prying eyes where they proceeded to demand I tell them where you were hidden." Her eyes slid to his as her tears began dripping from her chin and finding a home on her twisting hands below. "I vehemently refused and prayed that when I told them I was carrying a child it would cause them to lessen the severity of their punishment. However, they said our child's life didn't outweigh the world's need for protection. When I still refused to give you up... They cast me into Purgatory."

Throughout her entire tale, he'd forced himself to remain silent and still, but the moment those last words tumbled from her lips, he found himself bolting from the sofa and taking to pacing in front of the flaming hearth; his mind a swirling rage.

"Those..." He clenched his fists, choosing to keep the curses to himself. "How could they be so callous toward you?"

"They were doing what they thought best at the time."

He spun on her so fast he had to catch himself on the back of the chair to keep from toppling right over. "You're defending them? After they put you in that hell?"

Her eyes softened as she spoke. "I accepted their indifference as they did not share my love for you, Ichabod. However, my understanding of their choice ended the moment they refused to allow my sentencing to await the birth of our child."

Our child.

Two simple words strung together that were beginning to change his entire outlook on life.

Heart feeling as though it were lodged in his throat, he whispered, "You're with child; my child. I'm... going to be a father."

A momentary frown creased her brow and he knew she must be thinking he had lost all sanity. Minutes had passed since she'd revealed that news to him, yet he was only just now feeling the information actually sink into him. However, all resemblance of confusion left her as a small smile crept over her lips, the woman he'd fallen in love with all those years ago finally making an appearance in her eyes. "You are."

For some reason, he couldn't return her smile. He wasn't sure if it was the shock of realizing he was going to be a father, or something else entirely. He only stood still with an expressionless face; most, if not all, rational thought escaping him.

Which was something she noticed as her smile faded to be replaced with a worry filled gaze; her fingers once again taking to fidgeting. "Are... are you displeased?" She looked as though he'd taken her spirits and crushed them further than Moloch, himself. "I know you must be shocked. We weren't attempting to conceive and ... while I'm sure if I'd known I was with child and told you then..." She swallowed and beseeched him through her glistening green eyes. "My love, please say something; anything. If you're angry with this news..."

Forcing himself to set aside his own selfish need for time to absorb the information he felt he was being bombarded with rather unexpectedly in order to acknowledge her obvious need for comfort, he stepped around the coffee table and took her hands in his own before reaching to wipe his thumb over her damp cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I simply..."

He stared down at her slim waist, wondering if it had changed in appearance at all. Was she showing signs he'd simply missed? She certainly didn't seem to be. How far along was she? When did they create the life within her? How had she remained pregnant all this time?

"I never imagined in my wildest dreams..."

"I shouldn't have kept it from you," she whispered softly as her fingers threaded through his. "But we only encountered each other that one time after you awoke and..." Her eyes fell once more as a look of inexplicable grief passed over her features. "I wasn't sure you'd be able to free me. I didn't want you to carry the burden that it wasn't only me trapped in that horrible place. The very idea that you'd have to live out your days knowing I was forever trapped in that hell with our unborn child..."

A knot began to form in his throat as he considered all she'd been through. How was she even still functioning enough to relay all of this information to him? If their roles had been reversed, he wasn't so sure he would still have his sanity intact. No, he was positive his sanity would have slipped by this point. Just waking in this new world had nearly overwhelmed him. Where was she finding her strength?

"I understand, but..." He grasped her hands more tightly as he dipped his head to catch those green eyes he so adored. "No more secrets, Katrina."

He lifted his hand and trailed his fingers over her lips; unable to stop the shudder that ran through him at the feel of her soft skin. "I want to know every part of you; all the good, the bad, and everything in between."

"I promise," she earnestly replied with an almost compulsive-looking nod of her head. "I'll never keep anything else from you for as long as I live."

Allowing his first true smile of the night to creep over his face, he slid his fingers into her thick russet hair and pulled her body closer into his; reveling in the warmth he'd so missed.

There was a great deal more that needed to be discussed between them. However, for just a moment in time, he felt the need to hold her; to assure her that he was here and the burden she'd carried for so long need not rest solely on her shoulders any longer.

"I suppose this is where we begin again, isn't it?"

Her fingers tangled in his shirt as she relaxed against him; her eyes trained on the dancing flames of the hearth. "So long as we begin together, I feel as though I could endure anything."

As he continued to run his fingers through her silky hair, he whispered, "I'd not have it any other way."

Alrighty then, there's the start. I hope it's to all you lovelies liking enough to stick with me.

Next up: More contemplation of father hood, telling Abbie, and some freaking out from Ichabod.