Written after receiving the following ask on Tumblr: Soooo now that Abbie's got Ichabod doing the little exploding hand motion, she decides that it's time to teach him the 'next' step of a proper fist-bump, just to see how many she can add before he figures it out. {/headcanon}
Minor spoilers for episode summaries through 2.10, but nothing major. And while this mostly just friendship, feel free to read pre-Ichabbie into it if you want. ;)
They're living in dark times, facing down foes who have them way outgunned, who are capable of truly terrible things. Worse, they're constantly playing catch-up, this latest horror is proof enough of that. Katrina nearly gave birth to Moloch himself, and though Abbie has faced down a lot of disturbing things by this point she's not sure anything could quite match seeing those hands trying to push their way right out of the woman's skin. And as if that weren't enough, Ichabod and Katrina both are still somehow convinced that there's good to be found in Henry. Of course they want to think that, he's their son - but he's also Moloch's devoted servant and the thought of trying to empathize with him after all he's done makes Abbie feel distinctly uneasy.
She doesn't want to have that argument with Crane right this minute, though. It can wait - times like these, when they've just barely held their own against immeasurable odds, these are the moments worth celebrating. These are the times when any success should be celebrated, when rather than dwelling on all the darkness they can't fix, it's better to take a breath and smile at one another, to toast the evil they have stopped. If they don't do that now, they'll never have the strength to carry on.
So rather than continue debating over Henry, Abbie deliberately changes the subject. "We stopped Moloch," she says firmly, and holds out her fist. "Today was a win."
Ichabod smiles, maybe a little rueful, and swings his own fist into hers. Then he pulls it back, opens it up and even makes a little explosion noise between his lips, and Abbie… can't help but laugh.
(Ichabod makes her laugh far more often than anyone would expect, in times like these. It is a quality that she secretly values just as much as the way he has her back in a fight.)
She drops her fist and glances away for a moment, still grinning; when she looks back up at him he's got this smile that looks a little smug, and Abbie (remembers driving lessons) gets a sudden spark of inspiration.
"Pretty good," she comments. "You've almost got the fistbump down."
Ichabod swings his entire body round to face her, hands going behind his back, posture stiffening in that typically overblown way of his. "Pardon me," he says - more than a little snooty - "but I think I've quite mastered the fist-bump." (She loves the way he over-enunciates the word, with the hyphen audible and the 'p' on the end popping indignantly.) "So-called 'explosion' and all."
"Well, yes," Abbie admits with a nod, and turns to go back into the parrish before he can see the smirk on her lips. "But there's still the slap, and shake, and… well, you're not quite there yet."
Ichabod huffs behind her, following along close at her shoulder. "Would you care to elucidate, Leftenant?"
She tilts her head up to look at him, and smiles (thinks, these moments with Ichabod, the banter and gentle mockery and all his rantings about historical inaccuracies, these are the things that make fighting on really worth it - thinks, more than anything she's so grateful she's not alone in this).
"Next time we've got something worth celebrating," Abbie promises… and silently wonders how long it will take him to figure out.
-xxx-
In the end it takes him almost three weeks.
That's pretty impressive, by Abbie's standards - considering that in those three weeks they manage to kill both a succubus and a vengeful spirit with the ability to drive people mad, and unearth vital information on a sword that might be capable of killing Moloch himself (Hawley has been recruited despite Ichabod's reluctance, and is 'putting out feelers' for any information on where it might be found). They've also managed to survive two more encounters with the Headless Horseman, though the second resulted in Katrina choosing to go back into his care in an attempt to further confuse his and hopefully Henry's loyalties.
That's five victories, five fistbumps, and five new steps added to the now near-mythical proper fistbump, which by step three Ichabod had become a little obsessed with.
He was accepting of the fingers slapping sideways across each other after the explosion, and the following hooking together of the index fingers and tugging gently back and forth likewise met with no more protest than a single eyebrow arched high on his forehead.
After the victory over the spirit, though, and when Abbie brings spirit fingers into the equation, he goes off on a five-minute rant about the ridiculousness of this gesture, the "extended length of which, not to mention the increasing foolishness of each new step in the sequence, only serves to waste valuable time and render those performing the ritual figures of ridicule, surely, Miss Mills!"
Abbie shakes her head sadly, like he just doesn't get it. She turns to Jenny, who is watching this latest exhibit with lips pressed tight together and utter glee in her eyes.
"Jenny's not ridiculing us, are you Jenny?"
"Nope," Jenny says in strained voice, then coughs. "No, why would I? That's just how a fistbump is supposed to go."
(Abbie loves her sister.)
Ichabod stares down suspiciously at the two of them for a long moment.
"All right then, let's get on with it," he mutters finally, and reaches his fist out towards Abbie's. They go through the whole long ritual, ending with their spirit fingers fluttering against each other, and his fingers are warm and rough and slightly ticklish against Abbie's own, and she has to turn away quick when they're done to keep from laughing outright.
"Well?" Ichabod demands, catching her by her shoulder and spinning her back around. "Is that it, is it complete?"
"Almost," she chokes, and hears Jenny snort behind her.
-xxx-
The fourth time then, and occasion of their second Headless Horseman encounter, Abbie decides to go easy on him. Katrina has left again, on what she and Ichabod both claim to be a worthy mission (Abbie's still skeptical, but keeps quiet for now), but she's gone even so and despite their victory Ichabod is looking a little down.
So she keeps it simple. After the spirit fingers, Abbie adds just another simple fistbump, just like the first step. She even considers stopping this little game altogether, maybe claiming that this is the end.
But Ichabod stares down at his curled fist in what looks almost like disappointment, and mumbles, "so that's it then," in a melancholy little voice…
And Abbie finds herself scoffing incredulously, looking at him like he's a madman: "Not yet. Soon," she amends quickly, not wanting to push too much and show her hand, "but it's not over yet."
"Oh." Ichabod says, looking up from his fist. And then he repeats, with renewed interest, leaning forward a little, "Oh?"
"Wait until next time," she smirks, and when he smiles back she feels that now-familiar warm flush inside of her.
-xxx-
The fifth time is the big one. In just about every sense of the word. They finally have a lead on a real, solid method of disposing with Moloch for good. Not to mention the latest report from Katrina, that she has all but elicited a promise from the Horseman to turn against his master (his growing enmity with Henry, though not exactly what the Cranes were hoping for, has worked in their favor).
They are at the cabin, having returned from meeting with Hawley, and just finished downing one of several celebratory toasts - because that's what this is, it's a celebration, even though Jenny may have stayed behind to 'keep an eye on Nick' (Abbie suspects that's not all she wants with him) and Irving is still in Tarrytown, and Katrina is still behind enemy lines. Still, despite their friends and family being scattered to all corners, the two Witnesses are together (always together, Ichabod keeps promising, will live and die together, and Abbie's heart doesn't quite know what to do with that, except to lock the words away deep inside where they'll be safe and take them out to cling to late at night whenever she wakes up from another Purgatory nightmare).
They are together, and the whiskey is warm in their bellies, and this is another one of those savor this moments of which they've improbably shared so many already, and - Ichabod is the one who brings it up.
"Well, Leftenant?" he asks, holding out his fist with one eyebrow raised challengingly and a grin on his lips. "What new step must I master today?"
And, well, that's - that's just asking for it, really.
"This one's easier to just show you," Abbie says, so: they begin.
Their fists bump together, hands pull apart as they make twin explosion noises. Then their hands turn sideways, fingers slapping across and back and then twisting to catch in the middle. One pull towards him, one towards her, then they unhook their fingertips to twiddle them loosely against one another. After the spirit fingers come the second fistbump, and then before Ichabod can react, Abbie grabs his arm to twist him sideways, even as she spins too, quicker than he can react, and - bumps their butts.
Ichabod jolts and actually leaps away, like some kind of startled kangaroo or something, and a loud snort escapes her before she can help it. "Leftenant!"
"That's the next step," Abbie says, as innocently as she is able (not very, considering how she's biting her cheek to keep from laughing outright). "You know, the double-jug bump. It's standard."
Ichabod's eyes widen in horrified outrage. "Leftenant," he says, taking a deep breath and brushing back his hair as if to attempt to compose himself (he fails). "I have gone along with this - this nonsense for quite some time now, but this is simply going too far. I cannot believe that, even in such a, a free-spirited time as this modern era, that any such routine could ever be anything approaching standard! This bumping of the buns, yes I said 'buns' thank you, demonstrates an appalling lack of respect for both personal space and personal dignity, and quite frankly I would rather be the laughing-stock of town than sacrifice my pride to willingly engage in such a disgrace!"
He is panting by the time he's done, and more vehement than even he, hothead that he is, would normally be - perhaps that's the alcohol in his system, or maybe it's the fact that shortly into his tirade Abbie started giggling madly, and she hasn't been able to stop yet.
"Okay, Crane," she manages breathily, then makes the mistake of meeting his eyes, and has to grab the back of the couch for extra support, laughter taking over entirely. "No more fistbumps."
When she manages to calm herself enough to look back up at him (taking deep, even breaths), Ichabod is watching his with narrowed eyes.
"It seems I have let this charade go on too long. - Yes," he adds when she lifts her eyebrows at him, "I'm quite aware that this elaborate 'fistbump ritual' is nothing more than a prank, I have been for some time."
There's a little waver in his voice, and Abbie reaches out to pat his arm, grin melting from manic amusement to something much fonder. "I'm sure you were," she mollifies, and doesn't attempt to conceal the skepticism behind her words (oh, no doubt he suspected at the very least, but this way is much more fun).
"Do not test me, Miss Mills," Ichabod murmurs ominously. "I assure you, you will not enjoy my vengeance."
"Try me," Abbie says with a challenging grin, because there's really nothing else she could say to that. Ichabod's eyebrow goes up, and he nods, thoughtful like he's already plotting.
(A prank war in the middle of the apocalypse.)
(This could never be possible with anyone else. Only Ichabod.)
"Perhaps I shall… when you least expect it," he says, and Abbie clinks her glass against his in confirmation.
They sip in satisfied silence for a moment.
Then… "We don't have to abolish the fistbumps entirely," Ichabod says. She arches her eyebrows at him and he clarifies, faux-casual: "The first bit - until the explosion's rather nice."
"Oh, really," Abbie responds, as flat as she can manage, but she's smiling (of course she's smiling). "Well, if it's rather nice."
She holds out her hand, curled in a fist.
Ichabod meets it with one of his own, and they pull their fingers back in unison, making twin explosion noises.
He's right. It is rather nice.