There hadn't been time to drop Ichabod at his hotel room, so he sat waiting for Abbie in her living area while she prepared for the funeral. She made her way to her room, muttering something about putting on the "spit and polish." She half wondered what Ichabod thought of the changes in modern vernacular, because it was easier than thinking on other things. It didn't take her long, but with their research she was worried about being late, so she hurried out with her hair still down.
Ichabod stood as soon as she entered, his expression as solemn as her own. Placing her uniform hat down, she pulled the hair tie she had placed around her wrist off. Before she could place it in her hair though, Ichabod came up behind her.
"Let me," he murmured. At her hesitation though, he immediately backed off. "Only if you wish."
"Well," she relaxed and consented, teasing entering her tone as she handed the hair tie over her shoulder. "You must have practice, with your own luscious locks."
He gently plucked the tie from her hands, running the long fingers of one hand through her hair. "It is the customary style of my time, as you well know," he huffed.
She hummed, as he ran both hands through once more, expertly catching each strand together at the base of her skull. Abbie turned as he stepped back to admire his work. "Perfect?"
"Perfection," Ichabod nodded. He caught her glancing toward a nearby clock. "Time to go?"
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. As them moved toward the door, he placed a comforting hand on her elbow.
"Thanks," she murmured, leading the way to the cruiser.
"I am happy to help with hair, anytime," he stated with a light smile. But both of them knew that she was thanking him for more than just that.