A/N It was only a matter of time, and not a great deal of that, before I succumbed to shipping these two. I've already got a heap of little ficlets and ideas scribbled in my notes for Abbie and Ichabod, so this could well progress further. Will likely deviate from canon with each new episode. Consider yourself warned, and proceed with caution.

This particular snippet is set after Episode 0.8 'Necromancer'.

...It was supposed to be SHORT, dammit.


Ichabod Crane was not a man who had been raised to show his discomfort, and indeed he barely paid any heed to the pain at first. Realizing that his oldest enemy had once been his dearest companion, before the branding and the sorcery, had taken it's toll. Sitting with Abbie and her direct manner of not allowing him to wallow, of calling him out any time he tried to swing the blame back to himself, helped. Abbie was easy to be with, not only because she was his fellow witness, but because she was straightforward and honest.

Maybe it was more than he deserved.

Her offer to drive him home he accepted with an affirmative murmur, and they drove in silence. Abbie knew him well enough by now to know when to give him his space, and deep down Ichabod was afraid that if he did force himself into conversation with her sooner or later he'd glimpse disappointment in her eyes.

He hadn't handled tonight all that well, and he wasn't proud of himself now.

He had registered and dismissed the throbbing around his neck and the aching spot on the back of his head by the time they pulled up to the cabin, but his mind barely lingered for a moment as it returned to processing the capture and interrogation of the Horseman (Of Abraham, insisted his rationality, but it was still too difficult a name to give to their headless foe).

Abbie, however, had the sharp eye for detail of her profession, and it was she who first noticed. "Crane!" She exclaimed, reaching a hand towards him, eyes wide. He startled, drawn back to the current time and off beat at the concern in her voice. Then her fingertips grazed his neck and his concern grew for an altogether different reason.

"Your neck." Her fingertips rasped lightly over his beard, lifting his chin gently so she could see better in the low light from the car interior and the stars outside, dim now with the approaching dawn. Ichabod held himself completely still - he didn't even think he was breathing. Abbie leaned closer, gaze intense now as she took in the extent of the bruising she had spied around his neck.

"The Horseman did this to you? Why didn't you say anything!" There was the familiar scolding undertone in her voice that was so well-known to Ichabod.

"It was of little consequence at the time." He muttered feebly, unable to summon any great will to pull away from her touch. As if this evening wasn't already complicated enough, now his body - he refused to think heart - were betraying him for his partner of all people.

You are still a married man, Ichabod Crane, and no matter how much you miss Katrina, you will not replace her with Abbie, he reminded himself sternly. His marital status aside, the last thing Abbie needed right now was any indecent behavior from him. Particular when earlier he had insisted on finding a way to get Katrina back, despite the fact he had no idea how.

Abbie dropped her hand and was out of the car before he could blink. "In the cabin, I can't see properly out here." She ordered. Ichabod could understand the sentiment. He often had trouble seeing properly when Abbie was concerned.

She was different from the woman of his time. She was plucky and stubborn and wry in ways that he didn't realize a woman could be, in ways that made him want to ask a thousand questions of her so that he might understand just a little better how her mind worked.

Of all the people in this strange present he had found himself, he was glad that he had her to face the future with.

"Crane!" Now she was impatient, and well she might since he was still sitting statue-like in the passenger seat. She stalked back to pull him out by the wrist, though with some gentleness. "You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"Well..." He had, but was trying to come up with an inventive and belivable lie. Abbie made an exasperated noise and towed him towards the cabin. "We had a whole conversation earlier after all this mess and you neglected to tell me you might be hurt?

"Lieutenant, I feel perfectly fine."

"Head injuries can have delayed reactions you know." She continued to grumble as if he had never spoken as she let him sit on the couch and released the arm of his coat. "I ought to take you straight to hospital."

"No!" Ichabod couldn't contain the alarm in his voice and without thinking his own fingers locked around Abbie's tiny wrist to stop her. "No hospitals." After his short stay in a mental institution and the plague incident, modern hospitals were not Ichabod's favourite place of this era. Abbie paused for a moment, evaluating his expression and sighing when she caved in to the pleading note in those blue eyes.

"Okay, but you have to let me take a look. First things first..."

She bustled about bringing supplies, better light, then getting the fire started. It was a few hours until dawn and still chilly, and the flame's heat was welcome. Ichabod knew he ought to protest Abbie arranging everything herself but the weariness of the night and the encroaching pain had caught up to him and so he sat and watched the trancelike flames crackling in the fireplace.

"Are you sure you're okay, Crane? You look a bit... glazed." She finished after searching for a term that he would both understand and take no offense to.

"I feel fine. If I appear 'glazed' it's more to be the emotional strain of the night rather than the physical." He muttered, as Abbie plopped down on the couch beside him, a little too close for his slightly frayed nerves to be comfortable. A moment later she was lifting his head to inspect his neck again, fingers light at first. "There's going to be a lot of bruising. How long did he have you by the neck?" She questioned, applying light pressure around his adam's apple as she probed to discover the extent of the damage. Ichabod winced slightly for a reason that had nothing to do with pain. "I don't rightly recall." Ichabod admitted unwillingly, averting his eyes. He was very, very aware of how close she was sitting next to him. He could feel the warmth from her body and the nudge of a knee up against his leg. He jumped a moment later as the warm pressure of Abbie's fingers upon his neck was replaced by something ice-cold from the supplies she had beside her. "Sorry. It'll help stop the bruising colouring up too badly. Though I still think you're going to be black and blue tomorrow." Abbie patted the cold washcloth into place. "Keep your head tilted up."

Ichabod only had a second to relax when she got up from the couch and he could gather his wits about him. The next thing he knew she was standing behind him, fingers in his hair. "Where does it hurt?" Her voice had lost all of the scolding tone now. Ichabod swallowed. "Towards the back, on the left." He briefly tapped the throbbing area of his skull that already threatened a hell of a headache, and he felt rather than saw Abbie nod behind him. "Hold on."

She unwound the leather tie that kept the majority of his hair out of his face and gently combed it to one side with her fingers. Ichabod forced himself to let out his breath normally. Abbie was close enough to spot any momentary lapse in his body language, and he would not bring up, tonight of all nights the way he responded to her.

It is naught more than loneliness, a mere physical reaction, he swore to himself, but he didn't have the heart to believe his own lie. Yes, he missed Katrina greatly, but this wasn't just projecting the feelings he had for his wife onto the next closest thing he had in this era. Abbie wasn't Katrina.

It was so hard to concentrate on anything except how wonderful it felt to have her hands in his hair.

"Yep. You've got a bump." Her deft fingers checked over the impact of his head on the ground where the Horseman had thrown him against the cement, then she nodded to herself. To the tiniest bit of disappointment, she dropped her hands and came back to sit by him, not quite so close this time now there was no need to examine him. "You were lucid enough earlier, so I'm not going to drag your ass to the hospital. But I am staying here tonight."

He couldn't figure out what to say but there must have been alarm in his expression because she waved a hand dismissively. "Don't start all the high-handed chivalry and decency speeches, Crane. I'm sleeping on the couch and waking you up every second hour to make sure you're conscious, and so help you if I have to call an ambulance for you, so you better be fine."

He managed a meek nod. There was no arguing with her in this mood. He did have to protest one point. "Lieutenant, I couldn't possible allow you to sleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed in the sleeping chambers-"

She held up a hand to cut him off again. "No way does all six feet of you fit on this couch, and besides, you're the one with a head injury and the imprint of a headless horseman's fingerprints around your neck. Get into that bedroom and get your first two hour's sleep. I'm already timing." She pointed for emphasis at the bedroom then tapped her watch.

Another battle he wasn't likely to win.

"Very well." He muttered unwillingly as he rose to his feet, handing her back the cold washcloth. Though he was more than ready for bed Ichabod couldn't resist annoying Abbie just a tiny bit, and he leaned in towards her, blocking her way towards the kitchen with an arm braced on the wall.

"By the way, Miss Mills? I'm six foot one." He managed with a small, smug smile.