A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. It was so nice seeing some familiar names and knowing you hadn't forgotten me. That was awesome! Now, I haven't gotten to answering all my reviews yet, but I will. I've just been working all this weekend, then come home and sat down for five hours and wrote this chapter. Soo… no promises about what I produced. I'm still hoping to wrap this up in five chapters or under… you'll notice my original hope for three chapters has gone by the wayside… because it's me, obviously, and I can never stick to restrictions, even self-imposed ones. It's why twitter isn't for me. 140 characters, pft!, please, not worth my effort. I can't work under those kinds of conditions. Lol

So, anyways, thank you all for taking a chance on this fic and reading. We get a little more information about the 'kitchen incident', but this is mainly fleshing out Ichabod's POV right now. It's a bit more serious, because that is what the muse threw out there today. She's the boss of me, so I don't really have a say.

Hope you enjoy, and I seriously don't know when I'll get time to update again, because this next week is going to be murder at work, but I'll try my hardest to get this story wrapped up as fast as I can.

CHAPTER TWO

The morning sunshine felt good on Ichabod's face as he briskly walked down the street which lead to Abbie's house. He'd declined her offer of picking him up to do the researching of the wilting of the nearby town's crops, instead opting to walk to her house. It was somewhat of an undertaking, the brisk pace he'd set himself still meant it took him just over an hour to arrive at his destination, but Ichabod did not begrudge the time. He had always been an early riser, but sleep was something that seemed to have become his enemy over these last six months. Ichabod would often find himself very much awake at three o'clock most mornings. He'd exhausted all the literature he kept in the cabin long ago, and the lure of the internet had limited appeal. There were only so many cat and ferret videos one could watch before one's patience wore thin.

Of course, there were more adult forms of moving pictures on offer to him, but Ichabod found them more disconcerting than titillating. Some inadvertent button pushing of the laptop gifted to him by the Lieutenant had found him being exposed to a couple engaged in energetic sexual activities. For a few minutes, Ichabod had been caught in a kind of haze of horror as he looked at the act of fornification going on in the screen. Both seemed to be a strange orange color, overly muscled and the woman had been endowed with an unnatural roundness to her breasts, which was only slightly less distracting than the amount of makeup she wore. The sex had been loud, both of them screaming obscenities at one another, as they performed impossible feats of physical dexterity out in the open by a pool. The final straw had been when the man had slapped the woman across the face repeatedly, to her seeming enjoyment. If this was what passed for modern lovemaking, Ichabod wanted nothing to do with it. He was no prude, and had seen much in his years as a soldier, but there would never be a point where he could condone violence against a woman, physical or verbal, regardless if she was willing or not. If that was the expectation of this century, then he was happy to remain celibate. Of course, a choice of celibacy also had the added bonus of him not having to ponder further the demise of his marriage to Katrina.

The truth was he'd lost his wife long before her death, and that knowledge did not sit well with Ichabod, especially as the loss of Katrina meant he had no recourse left to him by which to fully comprehend what had gone wrong between them. With no way back towards discernment, Ichabod had instead chosen to forge forward into the future. A future which did not include romantic entanglements of any kind. With no real understanding of his failed romantic past, there was no reason to believe he would not repeat the same, unknown and unwitting mistakes going into another romantic coupling. That was unacceptable to Ichabod. As much as Katrina had hurt him, what wounded him most was to know that he'd hurt her in return, and even more painful than that was knowing she'd regarded him as failing her. Such a failing struck at the core of his understanding of both what he'd promised Katrina on their wedding day, and his very understanding of what it was to be a man.

To once again voluntarily offer himself to a woman as a romantic partner, when he was clearly so inept at such a task, would be akin to offering oneself as an expert on hunting and be unable to even load a musket. It was unthinkable to Ichabod to place himself in a position to once more be such an utter disappointment to another human being. Which was why, in a perhaps slightly perverse way, he was glad, and even a little grateful of the mantle of Witness. It provided a purpose to the remainder of his days to know that he had something to offer this world which could be relied on. It was the reason he'd thrown himself so whole-heartedly into that role for the last six months. With Katrina and Henry no longer causing a division of his attention, and indeed, clarity of thought, Ichabod had found a renewed vigor with which he now pursued his calling to fight the forces of darkness. And it was with no little gratitude that he'd found a like-minded partner in Abbie Mills to stand by his side to fight in that war. Abbie shared his dedication to the single goal of maintaining the balance between light and darkness with the same determined focus of purpose that he possessed. It would be a lonely, and soul-destroying fight without her unflagging kinship. Which, was a rather roundabout way of coming to the conclusion that he was happy to walk the five miles which had separated them this morning, if that meant they could begin their day together in the common purpose of their calling. To know there was another person as dedicated and focused on this one task was a great comfort to Ichabod. Abbie understood, even without words, she understood and embraced the joint responsibility they shared with the same level of single-mindedness.

That thought brought a slight smile to Ichabod's face as he turned into the path which led directly to the front of Abbie's house. The morning newspaper had been carelessly tossed onto her lawn, up along the right side of the house, and Ichabod stepped off the path to retrieve it for her. It only took him a few strides to reach the rolled up newspaper, bending down to retrieve it. As he straightened up, Ichabod caught movement out of the side of his eye, and he turned his head to look through the window which opened into Abbie's kitchen. But instead of the petite brunette walking around the kitchen, Ichabod saw someone entirely different. He stiffened as the naked torso of Nicholas Hawley walked back around the kitchen counter, the man absently chewing on a piece of toast as he read from something on the counter top. Ichabod could only see the top half of Hawley, but there was no reason to believe the bottom half wasn't as unclad as the top. Ichabod's lips tightened as his brain scurried to assimilate the impossibility of a naked Hawley in Abbie's kitchen, and it was taking longer than Ichabod would have liked. Hawley looked up just then, and noticed Ichabod staring at him through the window. The other man looked initially a little caught off guard, then he was sauntering over to the window, leaning on the frame and looking down at Ichabod.

"Well, hey there," he drawled, "didn't know you had a paper route as well as all that Professoring you do." Hawley took another bite of his toast and chewed on it casually.

Ichabod straightened up, squaring his shoulders as he ignored the slight. "I was simply retrieving the Lieutenant's newspaper," he said a little stiffly. "We have a prearranged assignation this morning." The two men stared each other down.

Hawley arched an eyebrow. "I hope you're not expecting me to throw down my long blonde locks to get you up here," he said laconically. "Because that ain't gonna happen."

Ichabod's expression was decidedly unamused.

"It's a story by the brother's Grimm," prompted Hawley at Ichabod's stony countenance. "It's called Rapunzel, a woman locked up in a tower, lets her long hair down to for Prince Charming to climb up."

"I am fully cognizant of the tale," said Ichabod disdainfully, "although you misspeak when you claim the tale to be a creation of the Grimm brothers. There have been many much earlier mythologies of just such events. In fact, it was the third century which first told of a story of a trapped woman in a tower. It was from Christian iconography that the tale of Saint Barbara arose, a young woman imprisoned in a tower by her father, and tortured for her Christian beliefs. Those wounds miraculously healed, so her father then beheaded her, and then was promptly struck by lightning and killed himself."

Hawley scratched his blond beard, and regarded him thoughtfully. "Can't see Disney making a version of that story anytime soon. It's hard to find words which rhyme with beheading for the songs." He half-smiled at the still unamused Ichabod. "I'll say one thing for you, Crane, I've never met a man who has such a font of useless knowledge crap on any subject ready to share with folks. Solicited or not."

"Knowledge is never useless if one knows how to apply it wisely," said Ichabod sharply.

Hawley rolled his eyes. "Okay, whatever. I'm not in the mood to debate knowledge versus wisdom with you this early in the morning. It's too nice of a day which has already been a lot of fun." He gave a little knowing smile.

That smile infuriated Ichabod. It was full of surreptitious knowledge that Ichabod meant he was meant to heavily infer things from. Things he was incredibly uncomfortable inferring about. Like the obvious explanation as to why Hawley was naked in Abbie's kitchen at such an early hour, and looking very much at home, eating her toast like this wasn't the first time he'd eaten her toast. The thought struck Ichabod with fresh horror. Had this fraternization been going on longer than just this morning? She'd been dismissive of Hawley's return to town a few weeks back. Had Abbie been intentionally misleading him as to her relationship with this man the whole time? Ichabod's world tilted a little at the thought. He'd just been handing out self-congratulatory pats on the back that he had such a dependable partner in Abbie, one who shared the same goals and committed focus to the cause. To now be forced to consider that she was involved in dalliances with a man who had no commitment to anything other than himself was causing Ichabod a great amount of internal turmoil. They were meant to be two peas in a pod, fighting together, the two of them against the forces of darkness, giving their all to the cause. Not handing out toast to naked men in their kitchens at unseemly times of the morning. And if there were pieces of toasted bread products in need of being handed out, then he should be the one doing the receiving.

The oddly territorial thought caught Ichabod off-guard.

Had he not just found contentment in the reaffirming of his choice of celibacy for the rest of his life? Hadn't that been the most prudent and responsible recourse to undertake given his disastrous forays into romance thus far? Why on earth would he immediately recant that sensible belief that he had little to offer any woman as a lover at its first challenge? He held Abbie in the highest regard of any woman he'd known in his life. Why would he want to present such a woman who deserved so much more with his inadequacies as a romantic partner? But it had been his first thought, and that knowledge unnerved him the most of any of the previously unnerving thoughts he'd been unhappy to experience that morning. Emotions churned inside of Ichabod, none of which he was proud of, and he ended up choosing the one which would get him in the least amount of trouble.

Anger.

Having so recently pondered the neat packaging of his own sexuality, it was more than a little unsettling to be confronted with Abbie's, and it made Ichabod mad that she should do that to him. Ichabod didn't want to feel any more pain and confusion. He'd had his fill. Abbie was meant to be his oasis of certainty. His oasis wasn't meant to have naked men in their kitchens. This was a completely unacceptable turn of events.

"Umm… are you okay?" asked Hawley, looking down at him in vague concern. "You're just standing there, not saying anything. It's kinda weird… particularly for you, because you're always saying something. It's pretty much your thing."

"You do not know me well enough to have the first inkling about my 'thing'," bit out Ichabod.

"Well, you don't seem to be a morning person," said Hawley laconically. "I'm getting that vibe pretty damn strongly."

Ichabod glared up at him. "Perhaps I just have an aversion to my present company."

"Careful, Crane, a couple of more cracks like that, and I'll be forced to think you don't like me." Hawley smiled, and gave a careless shrug. "But I guess that's okay, because your other half likes me just fine. You might even say she relies on me for certain… tasks." He ran a thumb over three small scratches on his chest.

Unbidden images of Abbie making those scratches in the throes of passion invaded Ichabod's brain, his ridiculous eidetic memory storing away the images he hadn't even seen for future torment. Ichabod's fingers curled into a fist.

Hawley seemed to be really warming to his subject as he followed Ichabod's fierce gaze to the scratches on his chest. "What can I say, kittens like to scratch." His smile widened at those words.

Ichabod couldn't stand there and listen to this any longer. If he did, he feared what would happen. "I shall return at a later, more convenient time," he said hoarsely, and then promptly turned on his heel and walked away. Ichabod just kept walking, trying to contain the rage and sense of betrayal he was feeling. Abbie had lied to him. It was a lie of omission but it was still a lie. She had sought comfort in the arms of Hawley, and then misled him on the matter. This wasn't how they were meant to be. They were meant to be honest with one another about everything, and Abbie wasn't meant to be having sex. She was meant to be with him in his dark little world, where the only passion was for their calling. They were kindred spirits, she could not abandon him, and for Hawley of all people. Fresh anger coursed through his veins at the thought. The man was wholly unworthy of her. She was so much more than that mercenary deserved, more than any man deserved. Ichabod's chaotic thoughts chased their way around his head as he stalked back along the road he'd just come down. It was going to take him more than a little while to find any kind of peace with this latest development in his life, and he highly doubted he ever would.

#

Ichabod's senses were spinning as he felt Abbie go up on her tip toes, deepening their kiss. She was all softness and curves against him, something he'd resolutely tried to ignore with his ill-humor thus far this evening, but now there was no reprieve from such acknowledgements. Abbie was all around him, surrounding him with her soft, compliant flesh, and it was a kind of heaven on earth Ichabod had resigned himself to never know again. Only it was happening, right there and then, and there was no escaping it, no walking away and trying to find a cooler head. Ichabod's hand moved from Abbie's jaw to her throat, fingers lightly encircling the delicate flesh. His thumb rested against the dip in her collarbone, feeling the dance of her pulse against his flesh. Abbie's hand crept higher, and was now resting on his chest. Ichabod knew she'd be able to feel the ecstatic tattoo his heart was beating out right then, a marked contrast to the delicate, butterfly-like pattering of her vein against his thumb, and didn't care that she should know her kisses were making his heart race. He luxuriated in the taste of her in his mouth, quickly becoming addicted to the sweetness of her. Stopping this madness wasn't an option for him right then, and for some inexplicable reasons, Abbie seemed to be agreeing with him as she returned his kisses with equal investment.

Ichabod didn't even know how this kiss had started. All he knew was that for the last two weeks, he'd felt impossibly far away from Abbie, knowing she was keeping the truth about Hawley from him. He'd done his best to subtly pry the admission of her involvement with the mercenary from her in that time, but to no avail. Each day that passed where Abbie kept a part of her life from him saw Ichabod's frustration growing. Her keeping such a secret from him was like a splinter caught under his skin, everyday working its way in deeper and festering. By the time they'd fallen down this hole together, the irony was not lost on Ichabod that they'd never been so close, and yet he felt impossibly far away from Abbie. Out of that frustration the sniping at one another had been born, and when she'd offered him that lifeline, telling him that he made sense of her world, it had really felt like she'd saved him with those few words. Ichabod had been freefalling since that morning at her house, trying desperately to grab a hold of something solid, but to no avail. The ground continued to shift beneath is feet as he struggled to find his footing with Abbie in light of this latest development. And then, when the ground had literally given way beneath him, Ichabod had found his sure footing again in her admission. Such was the power Abbie held over his equilibrium. In that moment, kissing her seemed like the only way to try and impart all those thoughts and feelings her need of him in her life had wrung from him. It said everything his feeble words couldn't communicate, and possibly a lot more than he probably should. In the end, kissing her was a way to be close again after what felt like an eternity on one side of an ever-widening chasm.

Why Abbie was kissing him was a mystery less easily solved.

Ichabod had no idea why Abbie was allowing their kisses to continue, all he knew was that it was unlikely that he'd find the strength to stop. This was too amazing to contemplate ending it. His life had been nothing but denying himself any kind of happiness for the longest time. There was no strength in him left to stop now he'd open those particular floodgates. Ichabod lost all sense of time in those kisses. He didn't know if a few minutes had passed or a few hours. All he knew was that this was the happiest he'd felt in a long time, and never wanted it to end. "No," he moaned softly as Abbie pulled her lips from his. Ichabod looked down at her, gaze full of concern. Was she about to rain down a harsh rebuttal on his head for taking such liberties? Had she just remembered her lover, and was struck down with guilt? Ichabod searched her face for answers. He didn't find any ripostes to his forwardness, or maybe he was just too distracted by the flush of Abbie's cheeks, the way her lips looked thoroughly kissed. By him. That territorial feeling was back, uncomfortable in its unreasonableness, impossible to ignore in its intensity.

"No," he rasped again, not sure if he could stand another alienation from her right then. He needed this closeness, more than he should, more than was safe for either of them, but Ichabod couldn't help it. Their uneven breaths mingled as both silently regarded each other in wide-eyed wonder at this new development in their relationship. "No," said Ichabod hoarsely, that one word meaning to convey to her that he wouldn't allow a return to the distance between them, to lose once more the natural rhythm they always found around one another. No to sharing her any longer with a world that didn't see her as only he could. But all that was lost in him pressing his lips back to hers. Abbie sighed into their kiss, perhaps tasting all the things he was struggling to give voice to in that moment anyway. Theirs had always been a mysterious communication. Like recognizing like even when they couldn't have come from more separate worlds. The commonality of their beings had always overshadowed the reality of their situations, had done from the moment they'd first met. Ichabod felt like this kiss not only recognized that, but celebrated it. Familiarity in the face of the unfamiliar. Their hallmark. He didn't know where these kisses were going, but for once Ichabod didn't dwell on consequences. All that mattered was the here and now. The outside world could just let them be for a little bit longer.

"Abbie! Crane!"

The sound of their names being shouted from what seemed like not very far away had Abbie giving a small gasp and pulling back once more.

"Abbie! Crane! Can you hear me?"

Ichabod closed his eyes and ground his teeth together in frustration. Yes, he could hear the insufferable man, they both could, and it was like his voice had poured a bucket of cold water down their hole.

"It's Hawley," said Abbie unevenly, blinking rapidly. "He must have come looking for us." She seemed to be trying to compose herself. "Better late than never, I suppose."

Of those two options, Ichabod knew which he'd chose. Never. He'd recently discovered that his objections to being buried in the ground was not so much the being buried part, but being alone in there. Faced with the reality of extradition from his latest hole, Ichabod had an overwhelming reluctance to leave it. Or maybe the reluctance was more based in the fact that he was once again going to have to share Abbie with the source of the initial contention between them. A contention which hadn't been truly sorted Ichabod realized, as Abbie still hadn't confided her relationship with Hawley in him. Apparently that was something their kisses drove from both of their memories for a few blessed minutes.

"Hawley, we're down here!" shouted back Abbie.

"Abbie?" yelled back Hawley, sounding closer.

"Yes, here, we're here!" she called back. Abbie was craning her head all the way back, looking up at the opening above their heads. "We're getting out of here." She looked back at him, face full of relief. "I thought we might be here all night." When Ichabod made no attempts to share her relief, Abbie's expression became suddenly worried. "Crane, listen to me, I need—" Abbie didn't get to finish her sentence because Hawley's blond head was suddenly at the opening to the hole.

"Hey, that's some hole you guys are in," he volunteered. "It's really long and narrow."

"A firm grasp of the obvious as always," said Ichabod acerbically, but he was watching Abbie's expression carefully at the appearance of the other man.

"Don't critique the hole," she instructed Hawley a little impatiently. "Just get us out of here."

Hawley gave that annoying, lop-sided grin of his. "What's in it for me?"

"You get to retain the use of your legs," offered up Abbie flatly.

"I do like it when you threaten me with physical harm," said Hawley cheerfully. "It's kinda sexy. Although I'm pretty curious as to how you'd manage any kind of maiming with being in that hole and all."

Abbie fixed him with a hard look. "You've met my sister, right? Used to be in a mental institute."

"Outsourcing your torturing - a woman who thinks outside the box, what more could a man want?"

"Hawley," groaned Abbie in frustration, "just go and get us a damn rope already, okay?"

"Only if Crane asks me nicely," he teased them.

Ichabod glare up at him was full of icy daggers.

"Okay, okay, I can see your senses of humor have been buried in that hole with you. I'll go and get some rope." Hawley disappeared, but then his head was briefly back. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" He gave a little laugh at his own joke, and then was gone again.

Ichabod looked at Abbie, unable to believe she'd allowed such an annoying man into her bed.

"Again with that look," said Abbie in exasperation. "Enough already. I'm not apologizing for Hawley anymore. He's not my responsibility."

Ichabod envied Abbie's seemingly easy ability to compartmentalize her life in such a way. If only he was so similarly blessed. Hawley might be about to get them out of this hole, but Ichabod was less certain as to how he was going to get himself out of the hole his impetuous kisses had just dug for them both. Abbie's thoughts on what had just transpired between them were impossible to discern from her expression.

"We'll get out of the hole and then talk, okay?" she offered up, and blushed a little. "Because that was, you know, a little… umm…" Abbie cleared her throat, moving against him as she suddenly avoided his gaze. "We'll talk."

Ichabod nodded slowly even as he had no idea what he wanted to say to her. Everything he wanted to say was overstepping boundaries, but seeing as he'd already trampled more than a few of those this evening, did it even matter at this point?

Abbie broke the lengthening silence between them as she looked back at him. "This not talking thing you're doing of late… I don't like it."

"I am endeavoring to understand what it is I want to say," said Ichabod a little hoarsely.

Abbie bit her bottom lip. "I know the feeling," she said with a sigh.

"I'm back, did you miss me?" asked Hawley brightly.

Ichabod's gaze never left Abbie's face. "In a word, no," he said in annoyance.

"Incoming," said Hawley cheerfully, dropping the rope down to them. "So, did you talk to my guy already or what?"

"I think 'or what' pretty much sums up this evening," murmured Abbie.

Ichabod was forced to agree with her as he reached up and grabbed the dangling rope. Tonight's events were most definitely in the 'or what' category, and Ichabod really needed to know what Abbie was thinking right then. He was both dreading and longing for that talk Abbie had just promised him. The paradox of making your way in previously uncharted territories. Ichabod just hoped by the end of this evening he wasn't going to be stuck in another hole, one that was going to be a lot harder to climb out of.

A/N: And now let's see if I can write my way out of this particular corner… or hole if I stay in theme, I guess. The who, what, where and why will start to unfold in the next chapter… kinda… after, you know, stuff. Hope you'll join me. :D