How a day could be so utterly devastating always befuddled him. Death. It was everywhere, consuming his vision, his senses. He thought he could even taste it in his mouth.

Glancing about the destroyed field, he took in the burning grass, the fallen trees. His comrades and enemies alike lay torn to shreds by bullets and cannon fire. With a heavy heart, he walked toward the encampment, carrying the weight of the dead on his shoulders, in his mind, and in his very soul.

"Captain Crane?"

Turning to the young man addressing him, Ichabod nodded. "Yes?"

"Do you have a number to deliver to the General?"

The number of fallen men. They were etched into his memory, forever branded there. Faces. Eyes. The shocked expression as death came for them.

"No, but I will inform you as soon as I know."

The boy, no older than seventeen, nodded his understanding and headed in the direction of the field, a sight unlike any other waiting to greet him.

Continuing his walk, Ichabod paid little mind as to where he was going. Occasionally, another soldier would stop him with questions about the battle, or where a particular tent was located. They were all aware of his eidetic memory and often would test his ability, marveling with jealousy over it. How he wished he could give it away at this moment.

"We need some help over here."

Looking for the voice that had inquired for help, Ichabod turned about. Seeing a soldier supporting another under one arm, Ichabod rushed to their side, taking up the other arm.

"We need to take him to the infirmary. Quickly."

Through the chaos, they finally reached the proper tent. Lifting the young man up, Ichabod held his hand to the wound as he waited for the other soldier to find a nurse. A hand grasped his arm and he glanced down to find the young man staring up at him.

"Just hold on. Help is coming."

The boy, which is exactly what he looked to be, winced as Ichabod lifted his hand to check the wound and found it to still be bleeding profusely. There was little hope this could be helped, but he did his best to convey a positive expression.

Finally, the other soldier returned with a doctor in tow. "Let's see what we have."

As the doctor looked him over, Ichabod stepped back to allow him room to properly assess the young man. With a sigh, the doctor shook his head and stepped back. "There's nothing I can do."

Ichabod regarded him with a frown as he stepped forward to resume pressure to the wound. "You haven't even touched him."

"I'm sorry, but this boy is too far gone and there are others that need my attention, others that can be saved."

The doctor turned to walk past him, but Ichabod used his free hand to grab his arm. "You will not leave this boy to die."

Jerking his arm away, the doctor continued walking away without another word.

Ichabod stared after him for a moment before returning his attention to the young man. Finding his eyes beginning to glaze over, he looked up at the other soldier who had carried him in.

"What's his name?"

The soldier shrugged. "I don't know. I found him wounded at the edge of the field."

Unsure what to do to ease the boy's pain, Ichabod pressed his hand harder against the wound, desperately trying to cut off the bleeding.

"Ichabod?"

Eyes darting up, he found his wife mere feet away.

"Katrina, please do something."

She moved to stand beside him and looked the boy over. Sighing, she laid her hands over his. "My love-"

"No," he shook his head. "Why is everyone abandoning him?" He glanced up to catch her eyes. "Do for him as you would do for me."

Her mouth opened slightly to reply, but then closed as her eyes fell to the boy again. With a sigh, she pulled his hands away from the wound.

"Katrina-"

"He's gone, my love."

Darting his gaze back to the boy, he found him still as stone, eyes wide in death.

"I'm so sorry. Was he your friend?"

His eyes fell closed, his body slumping in defeat. "No, I didn't even know his name."

Her hands gripped his tighter. "Are you hurt?"

Catching her eyes, he shook his head, wanting more than anything at the moment to collapse in her arms. "No."

With a nod, she looked past him to what he knew were more wounded being carried in. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

Understanding, he took a step back from her. "I understand."

Her gaze found his once more. "I'll find you when I can."

He nodded as she stepped toward him, squeezing his arm as she moved past.

Sighing, he looked back to the boy. Gently, he reached over and ran his fingers over the boys lids, shutting his eyes, before he pulled a sheet over him.

With a last glance about the infirmary, he made his way outside. He was covered in blood and dirt, making his only wish of the moment to find a quiet place to gather himself.

Making his way deep into the trees, he came to a shallow stream and knelt to rinse his hands and face. As the water swirled red for a moment, he considered that he really didn't even know whose blood it was. A son? A brother? Who had he left behind? Did he even have any family to mourn him? Or was he simply another number to be forgotten with time?

Pushing himself back to where he rested against a tree, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, wishing the rest of this day would pass quickly.

A hand on his face caused him to jerk awake, one hand shooting up to grab the one touching him, the other reaching for his knife at his side and bringing it up toward the intruder to his privacy.

"Ichabod."

Focusing on the face before him, he dropped his knife.

"Katrina," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She released a hesitant laugh. "It's alright." Her eyes fell to his hand still clutching hers tightly.

"Oh." Loosening his grip, he threaded his fingers through hers and brought them to his lips. "Forgive me, my love."

She smiled and laid her free hand to his cheek. "Let me see you. Are you sure you're alright?"

He nodded, eyes sliding closed at her touch. "I promise, I'm fine." Bringing his hand up to rest over hers, he turned into her touch. "I'm glad you're here."

A chuckle fell from her causing him to open his eyes to see her eyes bright with mirth.

"That's the first positive thing you've had to say about my being here." She raised an eyebrow. "As I recall you said my being so close to death was something akin to the end of the world."

Returning her smile, he leaned back against the tree. "I still think it is."

She shifted to sit next to him, her hand tightening in his as she leaned her head against his shoulder. For a while, they just sat there, simply being in each other's presence. He always loved these moments, the ones where no words were spoken, just them, together.

"Someone came by who knew the boy."

Ichabod glanced down at her.

"His brother."

Sighing, he looked back out at the stream. "I'm tired of this, of death."

He felt her gaze on him. "I know."

"I want to go home."

"Perhaps we'll be able to soon."

With a heavy breath, his eyes fell to their entwined fingers. Hers were so small in his.

"That's not what you meant...is it?"

He couldn't look at her, not knowing that she most likely bore a hurt expression at his words.

"You want to be back in England, with your family."

Yes. That's where he wanted to be, back where things were simple. Uncomplicated. No death following him around like a disease that simply could not be outdone.

"It's alright, my love."

Finally finding her eyes, he found no sign of hurt, but of understanding.

"I love you, Katrina, I just..."

"I know," she replied with a small smile. "I know."

Eyes darting all over her face, he took her in. Green eyes boring into his. Full lips. Flawless pale skin framed by red strands hanging about. Lifting his hand, he slid his fingers beneath her bonnet and pushed it from her, allowing it to fall to the grass behind her. His eyes fell to her lips once more, wanting more than anything in this moment to feel them against him. To feel the safety he always felt in her embrace, the pureness of her love, surrounding him, making him whole.

It would seem she could read in his eyes what he'd yet to voice as she leaned into him, doing exactly as he wished. She was so soft, every part of her. As her lips gently brushed his, he felt her love seeping through her and into him.

After a moment, she pulled back. "There's nothing wrong with missing your old life, your family."

Leaning his forehead to hers, he sighed. "Why can't you be one of those wives who yell at me? Tell me I'm wrong?"

"I'm sure if we give our marriage some more time, it will come."

He chuckled, taking in her semi-serious face. "It's been three years."

"Well," she said, a smile creeping into her features. "We're sort of slow when it comes to expressing our feelings."

"Are you saying you may have repressed emotions you're keeping from me?"

She pulled back from him and raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. I suppose you'll have to wait and find out."

His eyes fell to her dress, spotted with blood and dirt.

"You shouldn't be here."

"You just said you were glad I was here."

"I was being selfish. You make me feel better, but that's not a very good reason for you to endanger yourself." His eyes went back to hers. "Please go home. Please, my love, go home where it's safe."

Her hand cupped his cheek. "I can't leave you."

"Katrina..."

"My desire for your safety is just as great as yours for mine. Don't ask me to leave you, now. I need to be near you. I need to know at the end of each day that you're still here, that I can still see and touch you. Please don't ask me to go home and suffer through doubt and uncertainty, not when I can be here with you, taking every moment available to us to spend together. I will not be parted from you, Ichabod. I can't be."

He didn't want to concede to her, but could find no refute to her wish, not that he believed for a moment that any refute he could find would actually convince her to leave.

"We should return to camp, my love. I'm sure the General will wish to speak with you."

Yes, he would be expecting him soon, but he wasn't yet ready to leave this moment.

"Not yet," he whispered, sliding his hands to her waist and pulling her to him. As her mouth collided with his, he held her body to his and leaned back against the tree. He needed to feel her, to know there was something left in the world to fight and die for.

Desperately, he caressed her jaw and throat with his lips, his hands gripping her sides in what had to be a nearly painful way, but he simply could not help himself. The desire to know she was real and here with him was too great.

"Ichabod...my love, we can't."

His head fell to her shoulder. "Please, Katrina. I need you." He felt as if he were on the verge of falling apart.

Her hands came to rest at his neck bringing his face level with hers. "You're exhausted and we're both covered in blood."

She was right, of course. They were filthy. It was wrong of him to ask this of her, especially with everything that had happened today. He shouldn't have the comfort of his wife, not when so many of his men would never know comfort again.

He allowed his eyes to fall closed, doing his best to gain control of his emotions.

"I can't get them out of my head. I just...I don't want to see them anymore."

Her fingers stroked his cheek. "If I could take it from you, I would. There are so many things I'm capable of, so many things I can do. I wish I could I help you."

Resting his head back against the tree, he released a shaky breath. "Can we stay here a little longer?" He caught her eyes. "Please?"

She nodded slowly. "Of course we can, my love. We'll stay for however long you need."

Once she was sitting beside him again, he leaned into her, his face burying in her neck, his arms wrapping around her.

"I love you, Katrina." He tried to hold them in, but his tears slipped out anyway. "Promise you won't ever leave me."

Her hands came up to rest along his face as the other rubbed his back. "If it is within my power, my love, I will remain with you always."

Tightening his grip on the reason for his existence, he poured everything into her, praying he would never know life without her.

Yeah, I'm a total sap. Oh well, hope it was enjoyable :)