A/N: Hi! So this is my first Ichabbie fic. I hope I did the characters justice because I really like them. It's semi-canon because I'm still familiarizing myself with the Sleepy Hollow-verse.

Ichabod found his hands twitching almost incessantly as he stood in the kitchen putting Chinese takeout onto plates. Abbie smirked at his back, wondering why it made any difference whether or not they ate off plates or out of the cartons. But she indulged because it was Ichabod. He turned around with heavily laden plates and brought them to the table.

"Can we at least eat in front of the TV so this doesn't seem so 'Hi honey, how was your day?'?" She snorted at her own silliness.

Ichabod chuckled, his eyebrow raised at her. He had very much planned to inquire about her day, but now he would wait until a moment that posed a lesser threat for mocking. "Is it so terrible to be traditional, Miss Mills?"

Abbie snorted again. "You've hung up my bras. I think you can call me Abbie."

"Perhaps in our living quarters, but I believe I'll maintain our boundaries in public," he relented. "So, Abbie, what is it were eating tonight? I'll admit I'm not very well-versed in takeout."

"This is shrimp fried rice. It's exactly what it sounds like, Crane."

Ichabod nodded, already eating. "Quite good."

They split the large carton, Ichabod eating the majority while Abbie watched with a smile tugging at her lips. When they were finished, he cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, a machine that still mystified him three years into his stay in the 21st century. Abbie watched him wipe the table with a dishrag.

"You really need to stop playing happy homemaker, Crane. Be a regular mooch. Spend all day on my couch eating my food and abusing my Netflix subscription," Abbie said as she threw away their takeout cartons.

"I won't do anything of the sort," he replied. Abbie knew he wouldn't. "I already feel quite terrible imposing on you this way—especially after that incident with your unmentionables—"

"Our laundry got mixed. It happened a week ago. It's fine." She could still remember the curiosity that played over his face as he held her negligee, and the horror that followed when he was caught.

He shrugged, something he had only recently come to do, then looked at her dubiously. "I'm terribly afraid I must ask one more imposition of you."

"Yes I'll accidentally handle your underwear so we'll be even." Abby sneered, rolling her eyes.

Crane blushed deep crimson. "Heavens no, Miss Mills! I would never ask—"

"Joke, Yankee Doodle." She smiled when his face relaxed into a smile.

"I'm terribly sorry that this request may be just as embarrassing. I need you to…marry me." Abbie was sure he'd never been such an alarming shade of red. And his hands were twitching almost violently.

Her own eyes widened, fear clawing up her throat and threatening to render her speechless. "Uh, Crane…I know this living situation is new to you but shacking up doesn't require marriage anymore—not that that's even what we're doing. We're just roommates."

"Oh I completely understand our situation, Miss Mills, new as it is. I'm only asking about the marriage because apparently I require some assistance in remaining stateside. I'm an illegal alien—odd phrase it is, and not even close to accurately describing the circumstances by which I arrived here—and must have some documentation to remain here. It is my understanding that the citizenship process is rather cumbersome and quite time-consuming—something of which neither of us has very much given our respective and collective duties—and as I comprehend it, a marriage is the simplest way around the rather laborious task. We would simply have the ceremony performed and then there would be a visit from an INS agent. Given our shared living quarters and our quite unique bond, I hypothesize that this would be a rather simple thing for us to accomplish and make appear authentic. I assure you I would not ask if it were not of the direst necessity and I would be willing to repay any fees incurred as soon as I am gainfully employed." He didn't exhale until he was finished speaking, standing before Abbie with his hands clasped before him to keep them from twitching.

Abbie blinked at him and exhaled. "Wow, Crane. You're informative if nothing else. I've honestly never even thought about your citizenship. You don't even have a birth certificate."

"I've a death certificate somewhere if that would be of any assistance," he offered sheepishly.

Abbie stifled a laugh as she shook her head. "No. That would only raise questions we don't have answers for. We'll go to the courthouse and get you a new one. We'll say yours was destroyed. After we get that, we should be able to get married pretty easily. Thank God you're British."

"Why is that so helpful?"

Abbie's smile twitched. "If you were brown or from a country with 'stan' in the name, this wouldn't be nearly as simple."

Ichabod nodded though he wasn't sure what she meant. "Well then I suppose we can get started in the morning if that's convenient for you."

"Tomorrow morning works." She stood, her wine glass in hand. "I should go pick out some clothes for you."

"May I not pick out my own garments, Miss Mills?"

Abbie shook her head. "No. You'd be very fashionable in Colonial Williamsburg, but here you look like you're off to a perpetual war reenactment. They'll take one look at your Yankee Doodle costume and throw us out."

"Yankee Doodle—" His voice rose with annoyance but Abbie interrupted him.

"Sorry, sorry. Not funny." She smiled, wrinkling her nose. It was his least favorite joke, so naturally it was her favorite.

"Not in the least, Miss Mills." He raised both eyebrows at her sass. He'd oft thought she would greatly benefit from a turn over his knee, but there was no twenty-first century equivalent that he could administer.

"You're gonna have to start calling me Abbie, Crane. I'm your fiancée after all." She couldn't help laughing at the thought of being Ichabod's fiancée, though there was a part of her that didn't find it funny at all, instead finding it exhilarating. "The good news is, after tomorrow you'll have a middle name I can call you by."

"By which you may call me," he corrected, unable to stop himself.

Abbie rolled her eyes, heading for his room. "Don't correct me, Mr. Mills."

"I assure you such a change will be neither tolerable nor plausible, Abigail." He grinned at the top of her head as he followed her into his room. "I think I'll call you Abigail when you prove incorrigible. That sounds rather nice and befitting a married couple."

"It sounds like you're my headmaster at St. Anne's," Abbie replied. "But I suppose it's one of those things that the INS agent will like to hear."

Ichabod had to pause in the doorway to imagine Abbie as a schoolgirl in all the fitting attire and then himself as her headmaster instructing her to lift her skirt and assume the position for a paddling, before he took a few steps forward. He had to pause again to make the image disappear. Abbie was already in his closet, digging his modern clothes from the back. She pulled out a white button down and dark denim jeans, laying them out on the bed like a dutiful wife. She bent over and Ichabod impulsively dropped onto the bed behind her, giving himself a nice view of her delightful backside as she pushed aside his boots to retrieve the pair of loafers she'd bought him as a gag gift for his first Christmas.

Abbie placed the shoes on the bed and Ichabod looked at them dubiously. "May I not wear my boots under the jeans? Surely they'll fit."

Abbie smirked at him as she shut his closet then hung the clothes on the door. "Be a good husband and do as you're told."

"Yes dear." He smiled at affecting the sit-com delivery of the cliché line. Abbie smiled, shaking her head at him, then turned to leave but Crane stopped her. "Miss Mills, please understand that I am not making light of marriage in asking you under such circumstances. It is a bond which means quite a lot to me, much like the one between us. If these circumstances were not of a legal nature, I would assuredly prove to be the most devoted husband to you. And I intend to do just that, regardless to the nature of our marriage. I greatly regret my inability—or rather, my lack of planning and forethought—to plan a proper proposal or even procure a ring for you. I have done you a disservice in this endeavor and I must apologize."

Abby's eyes glassed, deeply touched by his earnestness. She had no doubt that he would be a devoted husband. He was a devoted friend unlike any other. She could only imagine what being in love would do for his overtures of politeness and concern. But she wouldn't indulge in such thoughts. He was sent to be her partner, not her lover. "Crane, you've gotta stop thinking so hard about this. I'm doing you a solid. That's what friends do."

"A solid what, Miss Mills?"

Abby smirked, shaking her head. "It's just an expression. Don't worry about it. Get some sleep."

"Shall I see you to bed? It seems the husbandly thing to do."

Abby snorted. "You're not my husband just yet, but if you'd like, you can."

She wondered what seeing her to bed would entail, if it was a Victorian custom. When they reached her room at the other end of the hall, she asked. Ichabod pursed and unpursed his lips. "Nothing more than seeing you to your chambers and bidding you an affectionate goodnight. It was a rarer custom, mostly one of aristocratic couples who did not share bedchambers for any number of reasons. I myself was only introduced to it in passing when some fortuity or another granted me a soldier's visit to the castle. Apparently his and her majesty did not share living quarters—nor did the duke and duchess—and this provided them with such lovely occasions to see their wives off to bed. It was supposedly the most romantic of tasks, though one wonders how romantic it can be to see one's spouse off to bed but not join them."

Abbie nodded as she walked into her room. "Do you know what you should do? Or rather what we should say you do? We're going to tell everyone you're a recently relocated museum curator. That's the only excuse for your knowledge and your rambling."

Ichabod nodded. "As you wish. I shall be a good husband and do as I'm told."

Abbie sat on her bed and looked at him expectantly. "Have I been properly seen to bed?"

"Well…customarily I would bid you goodnight with a kiss but…such seems inappropriate." His fingers flexed. Abbie snickered as she walked over to him, standing on her toes and planting a comically loud kiss on his lips. Ichabod scarcely stopped his knees from buckling. "Miss Mills, I've never been so—"

He stopped his admonition mid-sentence, watching as she collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles. "Calm down. You've got to get used to it if we're gonna look normal in front of the INS."

His face burned. "Surely they won't be investigating our amorous activities! I absolutely will not stand for something so scandalous!"

Abbie shook her head, a silly smile still on her full lips. "No. We just have to look like we have sex."

Ichabod nodded, remembering all the times Abbie had already been mistaken for his wife. He imagined they could fool one more stranger with little difficulty, but didn't share his belief. "I shall attempt a performance most convincing."

XXXXX

At the courthouse, Ichabod sat beside Abby, fidgeting every few minutes until she looked away from the novel in her hand to smirk at him. "Can you settle down?"

"I'm sorry. These trousers are the most troublesome things. They're terribly uncomfortable." He shifted in his seat again.

"Sit normal." He glared down at her, his eyebrows raised and she sighed. "Slouch a little, and open your legs. You'll be a lot more comfortable."

She imitated the posture and he copied it with a dubious expression. "I feel like a lout."

Before Abbie could say anything snarky back, their names were called. They arrived at the counter and the woman behind it looked at them over the tops of her thick black-rimmed glasses. Abbie smiled. "Good morning. My boyfriend needs a replacement birth certificate so we can apply for a marriage license."

"I see. And what happened to his original?" the woman asked in reply, looking at Ichabod. He smiled, brushing his hair back from his face.

"There was a rather tragic fire in my childhood that destroyed everything my family owned. My mother and I got out all right but my father attempted to be the hero to save some things and we lost him. Mum couldn't make herself go back to investigate the rubble for anything salvageable. And they're not so strict on documents in Devonshire, our village, so it was never a problem until I immigrated." He smiled sadly and Abbie wondered how much of his story was true. "Believe it or not, I don't even know my middle name. I was barely out of nappies when the fire happened and as far as I can remember, no one ever used it."

"That's terrible," the woman replied, clearly charmed by him. Abbie smirked at yet another woman who would be afflicted with "Crane brain." She found it amusing how easily his often accidental charm could grease the wheels for them. The woman tilted her head at him. "You look like you could have been a Michael."

"Anything is better than an Ichabod," he replied, smiling boyishly, aware that he was doing well. "I have a deep love of family names, but being an Ichabod in the 1700s like the grandfather I was named for was undoubtedly much easier than being one in the 1980s."

"Oh I can imagine." The woman smiled sympathetically then reached beneath her desk and retrieved a folder of paperwork. "Just fill these out as best you can, and we'll get everything fixed up for you."

They walked away from the counter and resumed their seats. Abbie smirked at Ichabod as he stared at the files in confusion. She took them from him and began filling them in. "What should your new middle name be?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. What do you like?"

Abbie bit her bottom lip as she thought. "It's got to fit your first name, but what the hell fits Ichabod?"

"My maternal grandfather's name was Thomas. I have rather fond memories of him."

"Thomas works." She completed the forms then took them back to the counter.

A few days later, his new birth certificate arrived in the mail. They promptly applied for a marriage license. Abbie tried not to think about the butterflies in her stomach that seemed overjoyed at the prospect of being Mrs. Ichabod Crane.

XXXXX

The night before they would return to the courthouse for their wedding, she sat on Ichabod's bed and watched him huff over the simplicity of his modern suit. "It's got no tails, no vest, no gloves. It's not even fit for the most casual of lunches."

"I like it," Abbie replied, her eyes roaming over his slender frame on which the suit hung beautifully. She was surprised that it didn't even need any tailoring when they bought it at Macy's.

Ichabod turned away from the mirror. "You do?"

Abbie nodded. "You look really nice."

"Nice" was an understatement. The suit clung just enough to make his wiry frame sinewy, and even his hair, hanging around the collar of his white shirt, looked for Calvin Klein than founding father.

Ichabod hoped he wasn't blushing. If Abbie liked him in it, the suit was officially his favorite garment. "My warmest thanks...Abbie."

xxxxx

Jenny smirked at her sister and Ichabod as they sat nervously outside the judge's chambers. Abbie wore a cream wrap dress and black pumps, her hair curled in soft waves around her face. Ichabod wore his new suit. Jenny smirked at his boots peeking from beneath the hems of his pants. She held up her digital camera. "Smile!"

They both looked up at her and she snapped a picture of them, wide-eyed with raised eyebrows. She laughed when it appeared on her screen. "That's going on the Christmas card."

"Come off it, Jenny," Abbie replied.

Jenny continued laughing as she sat beside Abbie. "Come off it sounds decidedly Crane-ish. I think you two are rubbing off on each other, which I guess is a good thing since you're getting married.

Abbie rolled her eyes at her younger sister. "I think I should have gotten someone else to be our witness."

"But I'm family." She snickered as she removed a bouquet of tulips from her purse and handed them to Ichabod. "Here you go, bro."

Abbie threw Jenny a look then turned to Ichabod. He fluffed the violet flowers then handed them to Abbie. "I thought you should have a bouquet. It seemed fitting."

"They're new and blue. All you need is something old and borrowed," Jenny interjected. She took her bejeweled butterfly hair clip from her hair, letting it fall around her face, and handed it to her sister. "It's old enough, and I definitely want it back."

A clerk poked his silver head out the heavy chamber door. "Grace Mills and Ichabod Crane?"

Ichabod looked at Abby, his left eyebrow raised. "I don't believe I've ever heard anyone call you Grace. I quite like it."

"My name is Abbie. Abigail is pushing it. Grace is out of the question." She stood and smoothed her dress. "Let's get a move on Tommy."

"Absolutely not," Ichabod replied, vetoing the nickname immediately.

She smiled at him, wrinkling her nose. "Ichy?"

"Not if you expect an answer, darling." He was surprised at how easily the pet name rolled off his tongue, thinking that perhaps he was having to easy a time settling into a relationship with Abbie, fictitious at it might be.

xxxxx

Ichabod wore an immovable smile as he held Abbie's left hand in his as they stood before the round judge. He read the traditional marital speech to them, looking over the horned rim of his glasses. He looked up at Ichabod. "Ichabod, do you take Grace—"

"Abbie," Ichabod interrupted. "She prefers Abbie."

"Oh. My apologies," the judge replied. "Ichabod, do you take Abbie to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and health, for richer or poorer, to have and hold for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Ichabod answered, hoping he didn't seem too eager.

"Me too," Abbie interjected. Ichabod's eyebrows raised as he looked at his partner. He wasn't sure what to make of her seeming eagerness.

The judge smiled at them. "Very well then. And I assume no one has any objections so I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Ichabod turned to Abbie and placed his hands on her shoulders. They both hesitated, not having discussed this aspect of the wedding. The judge looked at them quizzically and Ichabod quickly found his tongue. "We've never been much for public affection."

The judge sneered. "Shall I cover my eyes?"

Abbie looked from him to Ichabod and took his face in her hands. She was surprised by how natural it felt to press her lips to his. Not natural because she'd kissed a man before, but natural because it seemed to be something she should have been doing all along. It didn't take any prodding to get him to respond, his lips quickly finding a rhythm with hers. Abbie shuddered at his tongue ghosting the swell of her bottom lip.

Jenny cleared her throat and they sheepishly parted. The judge hiccupped a chuckle. The younger
Mills sister rolled her eyes. "Save some for the honeymoon."

Abbie's cheeks went hot but it was her husband's face that showed the embarrassment. He was crimson from his neck to his hairline, his hands still awkwardly clutching her. Neither of them was sure what had come over them. He turned to the judge and extended his hand. "Our warmest thanks."

The judge shook his hands. "I wish you the best, Mr. and Mrs. Crane."

Abbie smirked. "Mills."

"We haven't decided," Ichabod replied, glancing down at Abbie with raised eyebrows.

xxxxx

After their first marital spat in the parking lot about who would drive, they ended up at their favorite diner, where the staff graciously sent over cheesecake drizzled in chocolate to congratulate them on their nuptials.

Ichabod cut a large piece and picked up a hunk on his fork, looking at his partner—wife—with a smile. "Would you care for the first bite, Mrs. Crane?"

Abby smirked at him. "When did we decide I was taking your name?"

He shrugged, blushing. "I'll admit it's an old-fashioned assumption."

Abbie looked at him, noticing the softness of his gaze. For whatever reason, it meant something to him. "Alright. I'll be Mrs. Crane, but only until after the INS clears us."

"I assure you, you will find it a most satisfying experience." He couldn't help smiling, clearly pleased.

"I can only imagine." She could, but she wouldn't let herself.

Their pie boxed to go, they headed back to Abbie's house and Ichabod sat on the couch, watching her put the pie away. He wasn't sure what else there was for them to do for the evening. This wasn't a traditional marriage, but he couldn't just bid her goodnight and go to his room, not when something like excitement hung in the air between them.

"So what do we do now, Mr. Crane?" she asked, surprising him.

"I…I am not certain. At this point in my first marriage, Katrina and I were…consummating it." He wasn't sure what he would do if she suggested they do the same. That was a lie. He knew exactly what he would do. He would be a good husband and do as he was told.

Abbie's eyebrows raised and a smile played on her lips. "Well you do owe me big, but let's save that for another time. Why don't we move your stuff into my room?"

Ichabod wondered when such a time would present itself, hoping it was sooner rather than later. He cleared his throat. "Why should we move my things?"

"So when the INS agent makes a home visit, it'll look like we share a bed."

"We're going to share a bed then?"

Abbie hadn't considered them actually sharing a bed. But they couldn't have two slept in beds when the agent showed up. It would raise too many questions. "I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, we have to at least look like we do when immigration shows up, so… What the hell? We've done it before, right?"

"And under circumstances less official, I might add."

They set to work moving his things into her room and after more than a few squabbles over where things went and if they went at all, they managed to settle in nicely. Ichabod found himself goosebumped with anxiety as he stood in Abbie's shower. The whole room smelled like her—jasmine and vanilla—and he wasn't sure whether or not he should use her soap. When he realized the alternative was wrapping himself in a towel and walking past her to his bathroom to retrieve his own, he lost his reservations with her Dove soap and lathered himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he exited the shower and found her at the sink brushing his teeth.

"Miss Mills! This is most—" He wasn't sure what it was. She was his wife, after all. And they were cohabitating as married couples did. And it wasn't as if they'd never caught glimpses of each other in the past. Technically, "this" wasn't anything.

Abbie's bubbling laugh broke him from his thoughts. She set her toothbrush on the counter and looked at his reflection. "I think this is the first time you've stopped yourself from losing your shit. Nice personal growth."

He raised his eyebrows, his lips pursed indignantly. "I can assure I'm quite capable of keeping my shit properly contained, whatever that means."

Abbie didn't immediately reply, instead turning to look at him. Ichabod's face burned when he realized she was staring at him. She leaned back against the sink and considered him, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn't overtly repulsed by the sight of him, but she wasn't salivating the way he imagined he would be if the roles were reversed, so he wondered what she was thinking.

Abbie's gaze abruptly jerked away. She didn't realize she'd been staring. Ichabod's naked body had entered her mind more than she'd ever admit without a gun to her head, but the real thing was riveting. He wasn't as thin as she'd assumed, instead quite muscular in a wiry way, with a thin layer of dark hair on his chest and a thicket of curls above impressive privates. She'd imagined he would be adequately endowed, but he was completely surprising. She said the only thing that came to mind: "Wow."

"I suppose a declaration of thanks is the only logical reply." He retrieved his towel from the toilet lid and wrapped it around his waist.

Abbie shook her head, better able to focus without his naked form staring at her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I just… You're hot. I didn't think you would be."

He resumed his indignant expression. "Well I've come quite a ways since I had my hump removed."

She laughed, shaking her head again. "That's not what I meant. I always knew you were attractive. I just…made certain assumptions about you that were surprisingly inaccurate."

He gave a smug smile. "Judging from the time you spent gazing, I'd say I did quite the job surpassing expectations, Abigail."

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't call me Abigail, Ichabod."

"I believe our marital status gives me the right to call you what I please."

"I believe our marital status gives me the right to make you sleep on the couch."

"Noted, Mrs. Crane." He left the bathroom and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. A moment later, he heard the shower turn on as he dressed for bed. It was a strange feeling, climbing into Abbie's bed. It was place he never thought he'd be, but one in which he found himself surprisingly comfortable as he nestled beneath her fabric softener-scented sheets. His eyes quickly grew heavy with sleep and he had dozed off when the bed groaned gently with the weight of her joining him.

His eyes fluttered open and there she was, clad in a dark green t-shirt that he knew to be his own. She had pulled her hair up into a bun at the crown of her head, and her scrubbed clean face seemed much younger. She looked down at the swaddling t-shirt. "I hope you don't mind. I took this cause you never wear it."

"I suppose it's alright since you purchased it for me."

Abbie shrugged as she joined him under the covers. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't buy it for you with the intention of stealing it back."

"Well you're much more attractive in it than I would be."

He turned off the bedside lamp and cloaked them in darkness. Abbie lay on her side, facing away from him. It was the way she always slept, but she'd be lying if she said it was helpful in putting distance between them. Seeing him naked had surprised her in more ways than she'd let on. Not only was he surprisingly attractive, she was surprisingly attracted.

"Goodnight, Abbie," he murmured in the darkness.

"Goodnight Mr. Mills," she replied with an unseen smirk. She yelped softly when he gave her side a gentle pinch.

It didn't take them long to drift off to sleep and when Abbie awoke at dawn, she was surprised to find herself pinioned beneath the weight of Ichabod's embrace. His arm lay over her side and his left leg was draped over the arch of her hip, holding her to him. She shifted, trying to extract herself without waking him. He gave a still-asleep groan and attempted to pull her back to him. His arm tightened on her waist, his hips pivoted, pressing him closer to her backside, and his snores ceased for a moment during which Abbie held her breath. She wasn't sure what would happen if he awoke to find them in such a position, especially because she couldn't tell which of them had reached for the other. Judging her distance from the edge of the bed, she guessed they had met in the middle of the night in the midst of their sleep. It was blameless.

xxxxx

She drifted off to sleep again and awoke alone the second time. She tumbled out of bed, wondering where Crane had gotten to, if he'd fled their marital bed when he awoke embracing her. She couldn't help a little laugh at the idea of her and Crane having a "marital bed." After she used the bathroom, she heard distinctly Crane noises coming from the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and took in the sight of him having a battle of wills with the stovetop as he attempted to scramble eggs.

"Hell's bells," he muttered and Abbie stifled a snicker. His profanities were always hilarious to her. Instead she walked over and wedged herself between him and the stove, taking his spatula-holding hand and gently stirring the eggs.

"If you keep them moving, they won't stick. Butter helps too," she said as he let go to allow her to handle the eggs independently.

"Perhaps we should invest in that unexpectedly ingenious egg scramblers from the late night advertisements," he replied.

"Or you could just let me do the cooking. I'd like to think that would be easy for a man of your time."

Ichabod pursed his lips. "I'm more evolved than that, thank you."

"Noted," Abbie replied, scraping the eggs onto a plate. "Do you want sausage too?"

"Yes please." He set to work loading the toaster, a task he found much easier. "So what shall we do today, dearest?"

Abbie took note of his pet name but didn't say anything. She liked that he was relaxing past calling her "Miss Mills," though he did it with such sweetness that she was permanently endeared to the title. "I don't have any plans."

"Well, we must procure wedding bands."

Abbie looked down at her bare left hand. "I hadn't even thought about it. That's probably a good idea."

Two hours later, they were driving to the shopping center in the next town over. Abbie had even coaxed Ichabod into wearing jeans. They easily found the jewelry store and a tall, thin man greeted them warmly. "Hello, I'm James. What can I help you find today? Perhaps a necklace for the lady? We have some lovely new sapphire pieces that would glow quite nicely against your skin, ma'am."

If had the means, Ichabod would certainly have draped her in sapphires. "Perhaps for her birthday. Today we require wedding bands."

"Ooh! Congratulations!" The man beamed, even bouncing a little as he clapped excitedly. "So what are thinking? Gold? Silver? Diamonds?"

"Simple gold will do. Maybe a diamond for the lady," Ichabod replied.

"Very classic." He led them to a case of sets of rings and pulled out a tray. He pointed to a set with a large plain gold man's ring paired with a thinner ring encrusted with round diamonds. "This is actually a new set we just got this week. It's called The Lord and Lady because there's something deliciously royal about it. Would you like to try them on?"

Ichabod looked at Abbie to gauge her reaction. She considered the rings, her head tilted to the side, then shook her head. "No. That ring is beautiful, but it's a little too fancy for my job. I think someone a little less sparkly would work much better."

Still, Ichabod slipped the too-large ring on her slender finger. He liked the way the diamonds glinted. "Are you sure?"

Abbie nodded, slipping the ring off. She looked up at Ichabod. "Do you like them?"

He shrugged. "My only desire is for you to be pleased with them."

She smiled, her insides suddenly soft and warm. Ichabod was surprised when she reached up and gave his cheek a pinch. She looked back at James. "I want simple gold bands with our wedding date on them."

Ichabod nodded. "Given my penchant for forgetting specific dates, that shall prove most fortuitous."

James found the perfect bands and took down their information for engraving then led them to the cash register. Abbie waited until his back was turned to press the cash she'd withdrawn from her account into his palm. He looked at her questioningly then quickly understood and deposited it in his pocket. He gave her side an affectionate squeeze, surprising them both since he wasn't very physical.

XXXXX

Two Weeks Later

Ichabod stood in the kitchen doorway watching Abbie stir sweet tea in a pitcher. She wore a dress that day, a rarity for her. It was white, with thin straps that crossed between her shoulder blades, and a dipping neckline that put her impressive cleavage on breathtaking display. Coupled with the short, flouncing hem that seemed to flutter with every move, he was sure he'd never been so distracted by her.

"Crane, come taste the tea," she called, drawing him out of his daydreams about the wonders beneath the dress's whispery fabric.

He walked over and peered at the pitcher with disdain. "Tea is to be served hot with milk and sugar, not ice and lemons."

"It's got sugar in it. Just taste it." She drank from her own glass, her wine red lipstick marking the rim of her glass. She held the glass out to him and he took it, grimacing as he took a sip. It was surprisingly sweet, but delightfully tart from the lemons.

"Mmm." He nodded as he took another sip. Abbie wore a cocky smile as she watched him, but it twitched when he licked his lips. "This is exceptional, Abigail."

She rolled her eyes, though still smiling. "You really need something else to call me."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You do not wish me to call you Ms. Mills, nor Abigail or Grace. I am afraid you've left me without options, darling."

"Darling works." She wasn't sure how long it would work considering the frantic flutter of her heart when it came out of his mouth, but she craved it falling from his lips. Or maybe it was only his lips she was craving…

His eyebrows quirked. "I would not expect a woman such as yourself to enjoy such a delicate moniker."

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. "Are you saying I'm too tough to be your darling? Well you can fuck right off because I'm damn precious."

He couldn't help laughing. Her swearing would have been intolerable from anyone else, but on her lips it was both hilarious and exhilarating. He raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever you wish, darling."

She glared. "Don't patronize me, you—"

His index finger against her lips cut her off. She glared at him again then parted her lips, allowing the tip to fall inside her mouth. Ichabod watched, transfixed, the pad of his finger against the silken softness of her tongue. Her teeth nipped the soft flesh and he yelped, hastily snatching his hand away. "Grace Abigail Mills-Crane, I should turn you over my knee!"

She stepped closer, his use of her full name and the threat setting off a thumping in her core. "I'd like to see you try."

They stared at each other for a long moment, each waiting for the other to make a move. The doorbell broke the spell and they reluctantly looked away from each other. Abbie headed for the front door, yelping when Ichabod swatted her backside. He looked down at his palm in awe, wondering when he'd become so free to touch.

It was undoubtedly their living situation, sharing a bed and a bathroom. They had settled into something like a real marriage, save the physical aspect. But he was confident that there would be some change on that front very soon. Abbie had lost all qualms about cuddling with him in bed, draping herself over his body like a cat while he read on the porch in the evenings, being delightfully irritating as she raked his beard with her fingernails. And she wore so little to bed that he was loathe to consider it nightclothes at all, usually only shorts that were barely more than undergarments and flimsy tank tops that cupped the lush mounds of her breasts in the most torturously arousing way. She even kissed him goodbye when she left in the mornings, a quick peck on his nose or lips, her travel cup full of coffee he'd learned to use the coffee maker to prepare just for her. The irony that he couldn't remember which of them had started the tradition despite his eidetic memory wasn't lost on him. What amazed him most was the seamlessness of their change. The only person who commented was Jenny, declaring that she "fucking knew it" after watching Abbie greet him with a kiss upon returning home. Abbie merely looked at her sister and shrugged.

He walked into the living room and smiled at the tall, thin woman standing in the middle of the living room. She wore a dark suit and carried a briefcase. Her face wasn't unfriendly, but she wasn't smiling either. He stepped fully into the room and Abbie stuck her tongue out at him behind the woman. He felt his face relax into a smile. "Hello ma'am. Ichabod Crane, pleased to make your acquaintance. I see you've already met the better bearer of the Crane name."

The woman cocked an eyebrow at him. "She introduced herself as Mills."

He returned the gesture. "She likes to do that with strangers in hopes of irritating me."

"I succeeded." Abbie came to stand at his side, looking up at him with a cheeky smile.

Crane responded by affectionately tweaking the tip of her button nose. He looked back at the INS agent who was watching them with something like curiosity. He guessed that their ruse was working, though he wasn't sure where the ruse began and ended anymore. "Would you like some sweet tea, ma'am? I still prefer my tea as it should be but I must admit it is not a terrible alternative."

"Sweet tea would be lovely." She took a seat in the large leather wingback that Ichabod had brought from the cabin and crossed her legs, considering them unabashedly.

"I'll get it," Abbie volunteered, giving Crane a subtle nudge toward the couch. He took a seat and attempted his most congenial smile at the agent whose name he couldn't remember. He wasn't entirely sure if she'd introduced herself at all. He had been too busy looking at Abbie.

She tilted her head at him, seemingly examining him closely. "So Mr. Crane, what brought you to America?"

"I visited to do some consulting work with a museum in Atlanta and met my sweet Abigail. Please don't tell her I called her that; she'll wring my neck as I've already received my warning. Well I was absolutely smitten, irreparably so. Never has a man been so taken with a woman, at least outside of Harlequin novels. I begged my way into an extension of my visa to give me more time to woo her, and some celestial being took pity on my besotted soul because she was quite equally in love. I'll admit it's my personal belief that she suffered some unseen blow to the head to agree to marry me so soon after our meeting. I'll also admit that the time contingency of my visa rushed our nuptials much more than I would like. Much to my dearest's chagrin, I'm terribly old-fashioned and was set on a lengthy courtship to ensure her a thorough wooing but certain constraints rushed my actions. Now I find myself courting my wife if ever such a silly thing has happened." He watched the woman's face as she watched him. She remained expressionless but she didn't look away. He guessed he had her attention to say the least. "Ma'am if I may be frank—something I'm regrettably terrible at that my beloved blames of my Englishness—I wish to become a citizen not because of any lofty allegiance to America. I am not enamored with the ideals of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I only wish to remain in this fine country to be near the very beat of my heart. I scarcely comprehend how I lived so long not knowing that such a heavenly creature existed. I could bear going home to England and longing for her every minute, but I could not bear the thought of her unhappy without me. The slightest frown from her is enough to spur me into anything to see it removed from her face. She told me that she cannot abide my leaving, and I cannot abide her discomfort in any way."

Abbie stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyes glassy. She knew firsthand what a terrible liar Ichabod was, and he hadn't stammered once. His hands remained perfectly still in his lap. He was telling the truth, unabashedly so. She finally entered the room and set the tray on the table then took a seat beside him. He looked at her almost sheepishly, unsure of how much she'd heard, and she answered by taking his face in her hands and pulling it close to plant a kiss on his forehead, smoothing his hair back off his forehead. She brushed her nose with his, smiling softly as she looked at him. He blushed, his ears crimson. "To what do I owe such sweetness, precious?"

"Nothing. It's just for being you." She scratched his beard and he hummed with pleasure.

The INS agent cleared her throat and they parted, looking at her like teenagers caught under the bleachers. She picked up her briefcase and took a sugar cookie from the plate. "I get the very strong sense that I'm about to be guilty of coitous interruptus so I believe I'll take my leave. Mr. Crane, your documents will arrive in the mail in four to six weeks.

Ichabod grinned, a rare true smile that made Abbie smile at him as he sprung up off the couch to shake her hand. "I cannot express my thanks!"

She accepted his thanks then left. Ichabod shut the door and turned to Abbie with a grin. "I'm an American citizen. What should I do first? Buy a pickup truck? Eat a supersized Big Mac? Drink a canned beer? My possibilities are endless! I have legal license to become completely without refinement!"

Abbie laughed, falling back on the couch. Ichabod grinned, pleased at amusing her, and walked over to sit beside her on the floor. When she recovered, she turned to look at him with a smile. "Now that you're American, you should definitely go by Tommy. It's very American."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, angel, I think being Ichabod is just fine."

"Why?"

"Because he loves and is loved by a very special lady."

She smiled, reaching over to run her fingers through his hair and pull him close enough to kiss again. "You know this is gonna be a really funny story."

"A marriage of convenience becomes an accidental match made in heaven. Indeed, our children shall find it quite entertaining."

She continued running her fingers through his hair. "You should carry me to bed and tell me…slowly, Mr. Crane."

"I shall be a good husband and do as I'm told."

A/N: So this was super fun! I'm definitely going to write more of it! Don't forget to review! XOXOXOXO