"So you wouldn't just shave it all off?"
"No. And what is your obsession with my hairstyle as of late? This is the third time this month you've inquired as to its upkeep."
Abbie held up her hands in surrender. "No obsession. I'm just saying it's gotten longer since you've been here and a little trim now and then wouldn't hurt. You know, cut off the split ends, get some layers, maybe add some blonde streaks…," she teased, glancing at her partner out of the corner of her eye. She shined her flashlight along the rocky walls of Crane's former burial site.
They were scouring the cave to look for clues Martha Washington had left behind. Apparently, Mrs. Washington had buried some of her believed-to-be-destroyed letters along with Crane's magically preserved body. At least that's what one of the hidden clues alluded to in one of the many texts Jenny had brought back from her resource acquiring travels. Hopefully, the former first lady's letters could give them an idea of what to do next.
It had been well over a month since Katrina and Henry/Jeremy had died. Also a month since there was any sign of evil purgatory monsters on the loose. Even their "headless" pal was nowhere to be found. Although it was concerning, it was undoubtedly something to be grateful for because Abbie had definitely not been looking forward to explaining to the horseman of death how his former flame was accidently stabbed and disintegrated into dust.
It only took Crane a few days to get back in action after the incident. A bit too soon in Abbie's opinion but who was she to say anything? Her family related copings skills were certainly nothing to brag about. She was just glad he was talking, even if he was grouchier than usual.
Crane's dirt covered top half popped up from his former grave. He rolled his eyes. "What is your generation's obsession with altering your selves with your hair dye and tanning salons and plastic surgery? Please explain to me the appeal in filling your bodies with harmful chemicals to achieve an unnatural appearance. What is so wrong about accepting your natural forms?"
"Well, some people feel the need to express themselves or feel desirable. Doing those things makes them feel good. And you should know. You and your boys wore powdered wigs and sexy knee-high socks."
"They were hosiery, not 'sexy knee-high socks'. And wigs, as you well know by now, were a symbol of status." Crane huffed and slowly stopped digging. He rested his arm on the shovel and looked off into the distance. "Beauty is no quality in things themselves. It exists merely in the mind which contemplates them; and each mind perceives a different beauty," he recited, smiling with a dramatic flourish of his hand.
Abbie turned to him and raised her brows expectantly. Crane glanced at her, sighed, and began shoveling again.
"It is from Hume's Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary. He indicates that the perception of beauty is subjective. What I think is beautiful may or may not be something you think is beautiful or vice versa," he grunted as he shoveled another pile of dirt from the hole.
"Ah, beauty is in the eye of the beholder," said Abbie, nodding knowingly.
"Mmm, yes," hummed Crane, standing still and glancing at her thoughtfully, flipping back tendrils of escaped hair from his face, "Well said, Lieutenant."
"It's a common saying. Then again most people just end up basing their opinions of beauty off of manipulated, unattainable standards fed to them through multiple forms of media anyway. People rarely recognize the true beauty in something."
"An insightful observation. I couldn't agree more."
"Yeah, well, I think your starting to rub off on me," admitted Abbie, shining her flashlight at the ceiling. She playfully added, "Pretty soon I'm going to start complaining about Ben Franklin and donut-hole taxes."
Crane half-heartedly smirked. Abbie caught his eye and smirked back. She could tell there was a sadness in her partner's eyes that wasn't there before. He'd put up a wall and refused to let anyone in since the incident. She, Jenny, and Irving had done their best to get something out of him without pushing too hard but to no avail. They offered ears to listen, shoulders to cry on, even an open tab at the bar but he had remained impassive. They had barely managed to get him to agree to a very private, extremely brief memorial gathering for his late wife and son.
He had requested a simple plaque to be placed behind the former St. Henry's Parish. Since there were no bodies to bury and the church had provided both Katrina and Jeremy with a connection to one another in life, it seemed like the most appropriate spot to memorialize them. The plaque read, In memory of Katrina Crane, wife and mother; Jeremy Crane, son, may they rest in peace. Jenny suggested adding a "beloved" or "dearly loved" in there but Crane simply said there was no need for pretense in death. Abbie was surprised by his callousness but didn't argue. It appeared that she had done some rubbing off of her own on him in regards to the whole closing up and avoiding feelings.
She couldn't imagine the pain he had to live with day in and day out. There were moments where it seemed like it was a chore for him to even breathe. If she were in his shoes, she'd be feeling an overwhelming sense regret and confusion. Then again, knowing Crane he probably felt that he deserved what his wife and son did to him, or worse, that it was all his fault.
Abbie wanted him to talk about it and start dealing with it. That was his way of coping with things; talking it out. He just wasn't quite ready to share that pain with her but she would be patient. She'd give him his space and time. It's what he did for her when Corbin died so she would be more than happy to return the favor.
However, in all honesty, when Corbin died she didn't get much time to grieve. She was too freaked out to stop and feel anything with everything going on. Wrapping her mind around monsters being real, Andy dying and zombie-ing out and then dying again, her sister coming back into her life, adjusting to the whole Witness with a capital W thing, trying to get an 18th century man to adjust to modern life, on top of attending to her regular job duties left her very little time to herself.
So instead of going through all the healthy stages of grieving, she coped with his death by clinging to everything he left behind. The archives and the cabin helped her feel his presence and slowly come to terms with his absence. Of course, she wasn't sure if she had grieved Corbin long enough to fully accept his death. She just hoped Crane would eventually find the closure she was still trying to find.
They continued their work in silence. Abbie occasionally stopping to crouch down and squint at the cave wall. After a few minutes, Abbie huffed impatiently, slapping her thighs to brush the dirt off her jeans. "So you think finding these letters will help us answer some questions?" she asked.
Crane had taken a break and was taking a swig from his reusable water bottle. He replied contemplatively, "Well, seeing as Lady Washington was vital in helping General Washington achieve much of his success, she certainly must have had vital information that could be pertinent to our mission."
Abbie nodded. "So you knew her? You get to meet her in person?" she asked, genuinely interested.
"Of course. Lady Washington lived at the camp with the general during the war and involved herself in the welfare of the troops and management of the encampment."
Abbie was impressed. And here she thought that the only women who got close to the action were the nurses. Crane smiled, wistfully remembering his general's wife.
"She was such a lively woman. About as tall as you and just as strong-willed. She was charming, warm, and a wonderful hostess. When she wasn't entertaining, she was quite the avid reader and active letter writer. She forged several personal, political, and business connections through her letters which were quite beneficial in the acquisition of allies and resources," he said proudly.
"Hmm, you don't really hear much about her in the history books. But then again you don't really hear much about any woman's contribution in building this nation, in general. Well, except for Betsy Ross and her sewing skills."
"Which is quite unfortunate as many women made enormous contributions to the war and had quite the tale to tell. Even Ms. Ross' tale was full of intrigue, once you overlooked her overzealous disposition toward me."
Abbie rolled her eyes. If there was one thing that didn't change, it was men's ability to misconstrue a vibe from a woman into the whole "oh she wants me" vibe. Crane was no exception to the rule. However, it probably wouldn't be very sensitive of her to bring up misunderstandings between Crane and the women in his past life. Perhaps somewhere down the road she'd have to take some time to set some things straight but not anytime soon. Abbie subtly steered the conversation around it.
"So I guess one day, when you and I go down in history, you'll have entire books written about you whereas, if I'm lucky, I'll be a footnote in a high school textbook," she pointed out, running her hand down the cave wall.
"Never, Lieutenant. I would not stand for it. Our roles are equivalently important and must therefore be inaccurately recounted in equal parts," he said adamantly, slyly side-glancing at his partner.
Abbie shook her head and smiled. In the end, it didn't really matter to her. If they both died, the world would have so much more to worry about than their history being impartially told. Abbie shrugged off a chill crawl up her back. Contemplating their fate and death was enough to unnerve her completely. Of course she understood mortality and was well aware of the risks involved in her job as a police officer but it was different from what had been foretold about her and Crane.
Now that she knew that an afterlife existed, well purgatory at least, the possibility of their fate coming true was near certain. But being the realist that she was, it seemed more likely that if there was one witness who would not make it to the very end it was her. Chalk it up to the luck, or rather the lack thereof, she had experienced throughout her life, it didn't make sense for her to survive the full seven years that had been prophesied.
Besides, Crane was the one that had been somewhat trained and preserved for centuries just to fulfill their mission. She was just a troubled kid who passed out in a forest and was now throwing blind, albeit skilled, punches in the dark. Sure, it was convenient that she had a proper grasp of the modern and had enough resources to keep their mission going and under wraps but, in the end, she understood she was dispensable. Once Crane assimilated to this time, she would become expendable.
To be honest, it wasn't that part that bothered her since she fully understood that life moved on regardless of who died or who left or what anybody did. What bothered her is knowing that she had such little time left to achieve everything she wanted to accomplish. It filled her with panic and she felt an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness to get it all done as soon as possible. It was like having an unfair death sentence hanging over her head all the time. She avoided thinking about it. It was easier to focus on making sure that her fated partner stayed alive and well. He was her welcome distraction.
She closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts. Now was definitely not the time to start having an existential crisis. She had a job to do and it deserved all her focus. She opened her eyes and trained her eyes on the cave wall in front of her. Suddenly, she spotted a faint, distinct pattern on the lower part of the wall. "Crane, over here," she called out, squatting down to get a better look at the symbol. He scrambled out of the hole and crouched down next to her, brushing dirt off of the pattern.
"It is identical to the symbol in the text," he murmured, caressing the marking. After a few moments, he eagerly looked at her with the contained excitement of a trained puppy.
Abbie gave him a knowing look. She loved seeing him light up but knew better than to get their hopes up so she just calmly nodded. She stood up and rolled up her sleeves, sighing, "Alright. Grab the shovels. Let's see what the charming Lady Washington left for us."