Are you planning on attending the opening of the new wing of the History Museum?
Miss Corinth's text shines up at him from the screen of his phone. He ponders his reply. Carefully.
Of course he is planning on attending the opening; he acted as advisor to the curator. However, he has noticed Miss Corinth's attention of late has been a bit… cloying.
He sighs, leaving his phone balanced on his knee while he takes a sip of his tea. She wishes for more than just my friendship. However, I am not certain that is what I wish.
Miss Mills and Miss Jenny both said as much. Master Corbin, too. All three have advised him to try opening his heart once again.
The problem is he is not particularly interested in opening his heart to Miss Corinth.
He ponders her a moment. Why am I not interested? She is kind, sweet, helpful, intelligent. Attractive.
He scrolls back up through her texts. She is trying so hard to be a good friend to me.
Then it hits him, staring at a recent selfie she sent him of her visiting the re-enactor's encampment.
No. She is trying very hard to be the woman she thinks I want instead of being herself.
He sets his phone down, frowning, as his mind inexplicably strays to Miss Dani at the FBI lab where Miss Mills works.
He has learned to avoid the area of the building where her desk is located. Has gone so far as to wait in Miss Mills' office, or once, the men's room, while the Lieutenant consulted with the pretty lab assistant.
Her fawning and fluttering in his presence is simply too much for him to bear. He fears one day he will not be able to keep his eyes from rolling in derision as she simpers up at him.
He knows he's not being fair. He hardly knows this woman. All he knows about her is she is a scientist (and a good one, from the looks of things) and is ridiculously attracted to him.
"Ridiculously" being the operative word. Once, she walked right into Agent Reynolds because her eyes were glued to Crane as he leaned over Miss Mills' shoulder to look at her computer screen. He distinctly remembers thinking Have a semblance of decorum, madam while Miss Mills pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.
He takes another sip of tea from his mug. The "I heart Founding Fathers" mug that once belonged to Miss Caroline. Dear, sweet, Miss Caroline. Dead Miss Caroline.
He fondly remembers all that she did for him, trying to help. Clothes. Hand-baked goods. The woman even churned butter for him, for goodness sake.
Of course, it had been different with her. He had been a married man at the time. But if she were still alive…
No. She would have unwittingly prevented me from fully acclimating to this time. My new life, here, in this century.
He even takes a moment to allow his thoughts to drift to Katrina, and is surprised (comforted?) at the realization that he no longer feels the pain her death brought on.
When he fled Sleepy Hollow, the memory of his late wife felt sharply painful, as though the knife had been plunged into his own heart instead of hers.
Now, a year later, it is little more than a dull ache, like a bruise that is half-healed. Had she not so completely betrayed him (and all of mankind) just before the end, he is certain he would still be mourning, possibly never to recover. But, as it happened, the sting of her betrayal wound up hurting more than the sting of her death.
He did love her, very deeply, once. Well, the version of her she allowed him to know, in any case. When he thinks of her, he often finds himself wondering if he ever truly knew his wife.
And this leads him to wonder: could he and Katrina have lasted as man and wife in this era? Would they have been able to repair the fractured trust between them and move forward?
No matter now. You will never know the answer to that query, Ichabod.
He files the thought away with other questions to which he knows he will never get an answer, then glances at his phone, knowing he should answer Miss Corinth. It is not yet late, so it would be unrealistic for her to think him retired for the evening.
He hears the door open, and a smile comes unbidden to his face. Miss Mills is home. He sets his phone and mug down on the coffee table and stands, crossing the room to greet her.
"Good evening, Lieutenant," he says, reaching to help her out of her coat.
"Hey," she replies. She sounds weary.
"Was your dinner with Agent Reynolds unsatisfactory?" he asks, frowning.
"You could say that," she sighs, pulling her shoes off. "He said it was to talk about the case, but that's not exactly how it went. I mean, we did talk about the case, but…"
He furrows his brow. "It was my understanding that the two of you already 'cleared the air' between you," he comments. She's never directly told him what went on between herself and the Regional Chief back when they were at Quantico, but he and Jenny have managed to work out the basic gist.
"Well, we did, but it's still kind of weird. And the fact that he keeps insisting it isn't weird kind of bugs me," she says. She stretches her arms over her head, then walks past him into the living room.
"I fully understand how that can be troublesome," he agrees. He knows Agent Reynolds would never use his position of power to press his advantage and has thus far been a pillar of professionalism, but he fully understands the complications of working with someone with whom you share a romantic (as far as he and Miss Jenny could glean) history.
"Yeah, yeah, Betsy Ross, I know…" she rambles, waving her hand at him, making it clear she is not in the mood for any anecdotes. Especially not about her.
He nods once, watching her walk to the couch. He knows her every movement, every gesture. He can close his eyes and see her walk, her smile, even see how she draws, aims, and shoots her pistol. He could pick her voice out of a chorus of others. Her company brings him comfort like none other, and he hates it when she works late because that is less time she is spending with him.
He never says this to her, and mentally castigates himself for his greediness.
But he misses her when she is away.
Does she miss me, I wonder?
"Did you eat?" she asks.
"Yes. I had a splendid repast of the leftover Chinese food from Wednesday," he says, sitting beside her. Even preoccupied, she thinks of others. Of me.
She chuckles, rolling her head back and forth, trying to loosen her stiff neck muscles.
"May I?" he asks, his hands poised near her shoulders.
She turns and stares at him, surprised at his offer.
He's honestly surprised, too. He so rarely speaks without thinking first, but that is precisely what he has just done.
"Sure, why not?" she finally answers, turning so her back is to him.
She is so tiny. That is the first thought that comes into his mind when he places his hands on her shoulders. They look almost comically large in comparison to her small frame, and for a moment, he fears he may hurt her.
Her head drops forward as he carefully digs his thumbs into her knotted muscles. "I know you can do more than that," she goads, her head down. "You're not going to break me."
He can see her smile over her shoulder. "Indeed not, Miss Mills," he murmurs, pressing with more force. She is tiny, but so, so strong. Stronger than I, at times. He hits a particularly sore spot and she lightly gasps. He keeps his pressure steady, knowing she doesn't want him to back off.
"What irks me the most is that we were in the same class…" she pauses to groan as his fingers find another knot. "And now he's my boss. I try not to let it bug me, but…"
"I would be bothered were it I in your situation," he says. "It is never easy when an equal becomes elevated to a higher rank."
"Of course it would bother you," she says, smiling again. "You and your ego, I mean."
His hands stop. "Touché, Miss Mills," he chuckles, then resumes, his strong thumbs sweeping up the back of her neck, one on each side of her spine.
"Mmm…" she hums. "Might not have been so bad if I didn't know I did better than him on our final exams," she says.
"Perhaps it was simply a case of being in the right place at the right time," he suggests, trying not to notice how satiny smooth her skin is. He's never touched her neck before, never daring to touch her skin any place other than her hand or arm. Now he feels like he has been cheating himself.
"Yeah, probably," she sighs. Crane's phone lights up and vibrates on the coffee table, and Abbie's eyes automatically flit to it. "Text from Zoe, what a surprise," she says.
He tries not to sigh too heavily, but doesn't move his hands from her neck. "She is likely wondering why I haven't responded to her previous missive."
Abbie picks up his phone and looks at it. "'Are you okay? Did you fall asleep on me?'" she reads. "Persistent little thing isn't she?"
"Quite," he agrees, his tone clipped.
"You gonna answer her? I know you're going; do you want me to—"
"No, no," he quickly answers, moving his hands to rescue his phone from his partner before she sends a reply. "I…"
"You don't want to go?" she asks, confused. She turns to look at him.
"I do want to go. I… I fear she wishes me to ask her to accompany me as my… date," he admits, setting his phone aside again.
"So?"
Looking at Abbie, a wave of realization rolls over him, and his fingers twitch in his lap. He quickly folds them together. Do not overthink, Ichabod. "I do not wish to escort Miss Corinth to the event," he explains.
"Crane…"
"I know what you are going to say, Miss Mills, but please, if you will let me finish," he says, stopping her before she launches into a speech about "moving on" and "finding happiness". Stopping her before her words kill the ones dancing on the end of his tongue, ready to leap out.
"Mmkay," she says, angling her head at him.
He looks down and takes a deep breath. "I have given this matter much thought, and I have no… interest in Zoe for anything beyond friendship. As I was saying, I do not wish to escort her to the event because… I was rather hoping you would do me the honor." He looks up at her, his eyes hopeful.
She blinks at him. Her mouth opens, then closes. She bites her lower lip, closes her eyes, and exhales.
He waits, his heart pounding, wondering if he has just made a giant pig's ear of their friendship. He's actually a little surprised himself. An hour ago he was mired in a quandary, but since she came home, all the confusion about Zoe and the other women clouding his life has suddenly cleared and there stands Grace Abigail Mills, bright as the sun.
Miss Corinth.
Miss Dani.
Miss Caroline.
Even Katrina.
None of them can hold a candle to Miss Mills.
Abbie.
Abbie, who is still staring at him, her expression inscrutable. "Lieutenant?" he softly asks. So strong, yet so fragile in some ways. She guards her heart ferociously, ever fearful of having it shatter.
She sighs, leaning back, chuckling a little. "Well, this has been a night," she says, looking across the room, still giving nothing away. She turns to face him. "Why?"
"Why?" he dumbly repeats.
"Why me? You already spend most of your time with me. I would think you would want a break," she says.
"Never," he answers, his voice still soft, but fervent. "Miss Mills, I once said your company held the greatest value to me. That is still true. There is no one with whom I would rather spend my time." She sits back up again, her expression serious but soft. He cautiously reaches for her hand, holding it gently between his, firm enough so she can feel his touch, but soft enough to allow her to pull away if she chooses to do so. She doesn't. "As I said, I have given the matter much thought. And what I have learned is my thoughts ever and always turn back to you."
"What are you saying?" she whispers. She is afraid to admit how much she likes how her hand feels between his. Afraid to admit how much she's wanted to hear him say something like this to her. Afraid to admit that she just might feel the same way about him.
"I am saying that if you will allow it, I would be very interested in… a relationship beyond that of friendship… with you," he says. "I fully understand that our friendship is already… more than a friendship due to our Witness bond, but what I am trying to convey—"
"Okay, shut up," she says, her soft laughter erasing any sting her words might have held. "I know what you mean," she says. She blinks a few times, looks down at their hands, then back up at him. "So this history museum thing then… it would be, like, a date?"
"Only if that is what you wish," he says.
"No, no, we're not doing that," she replies, and he almost panics, thinking the worst. "We are not doing the 'whatever you want, my love' kind of thing here. That doesn't work."
"Ah," he says, understanding. Understanding all too well. "Of course we shall have an equal partnership, just as we do as friends and Witnesses," he says. He lightly squeezes her hand. "I would very much like for us to consider it a 'date' then."
Abbie smiles, relieved. She was a little worried that using the phrase "my love" was pushing it. Not because of using the "L-word" right out of the gate, but because that is what he and Katrina always called each other. She knows he will catch the reference. Maybe not right away, but he will. "In that case…" she says, gathering her courage. She is afraid. She knows this. She knows it could go wrong and she'd still be stuck with him for several years. But somehow, deep down, she also knows it won't. "I would love to go to the museum opening with you. As your date."
Crane smiles more brightly than she's ever seen, and it makes her want to hug him. So she does, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
"Oh!" he softly exclaims, clearly not expecting the hug. He pulls her closer and indulges himself, burying his nose in her fragrant hair. She pulls back a little and looks up at him. "Shall we seal this accord, Abbie?" he asks, reaching up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.
She does the same for him, and then leans up to meet his lips as they descend towards her.
The kiss is brief, soft, and sweet, but leaves them both slightly dazed.
"That was…" he says.
"Yeah," she agrees. She wants to kiss him again, and has a feeling he also wants to, but she moves away, not wishing to overwhelm him.
His phone buzzes again.
"What am I going to tell Miss Corinth?" he asks.
"Tell her yes, you're going. With me. And you hope to see her there," Abbie suggests. She passes him his phone, but when he tries to take it, she pulls it back. "Call her and tell her in person."
"Right. Of course," Crane agrees. "What if she no longer wishes to help me gain my citizenship?" he asks, hand hesitating over the phone still in Abbie's grasp.
"Then you know she wasn't really interested in helping you in the first place," she simply answers. "And if she bails, we'll just press on without her help." Or I could marry you. The thought springs out of nowhere, and she presses her lips together to stop the words from issuing forth.
"Very well," he replies with a slight nod. He takes the phone and makes the call.
Zoe is pleased to hear from him, at first, but after he tells her "Miss Mills and I will be attending the opening, and we do hope to see you there", her normally bubbly voice has a sadder timbre, and she simply answers, "Yes… of course you're going with Agent Mills… of course." She doesn't sound terribly surprised, simply disappointed. As though she just got confirmation of something she suspected all along.
Crane wonders at her reaction, but carries on. "We are still meeting on the morrow to go over my paperwork, yes?" he asks, deciding to get his answer about Miss Corinth's character straight away.
"Tomorrow? Oh, yes. Right. Tomorrow. Ten o'clock, right?" she confirms. He can tell she is trying to sound positive.
"Ten o'clock," he repeats. "I will see you then, Miss Corinth."
"Um, okay. G-goodnight… Mr. Crane," she answers, then disconnects the call.
He sets the phone down and looks at Abbie.
"Well?" she asks, eyebrows raised. She scoots closer to him again, having given him some room to make his call without her hovering.
"She is disappointed, but strangely, she did not sound surprised," he replies. "But we are still meeting tomorrow to go over my forms, so I will take that as a good sign."
Abbie smiles. "Good. Well, not good that she wasn't surprised… I'm not sure what that means, but…"
He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer again. "My dear Lieutenant, you have been mistaken for my significant other on more than one occasion, I believe."
She laughs. "Yeah, well you encouraged it once," she says. "Or do I need to remind you of when you met Danny?"
Now his eyebrows rise. "'Danny'? Are you referring to Agent Reynolds?"
"I am," she says, her face amused as she leans up to kiss him. "And your eyes are turning green."
"I… they are n…" he sputters and huffs, offended that she should imply he is jealous of her past paramour. "I am simply—"
She cuts off his protests with a kiss that leaves no doubts in his mind.