"Tattoos?" Abbie asks, raising her eyebrows suspiciously at Big Ash.

The large Shawnee nods once, absently scratching his little dog behind its ears. "They will help protect you. Our shaman, Frank, will paint them on, and I'll take you to my guy."

"Your… guy?" Crane asks

"My tattoo guy. He'll make Frank's drawings permanent."

"Splendid," Crane replies, sounding less than thrilled.

"Can we have a minute?" Abbie asks, and Big Ash nods. She pulls Crane aside and says, "You know what tattoos are, right?"

He straightens his back. "Of course, I do. They are one of the most ancient forms of… artwork?" he pauses, unsure of how to define exactly what tattoos are.

"It's called 'body modification' now," Abbie supplies.

"Yes. In any case, they date back to prehistoric times. I'm given to understand they are quite painful to receive, and the recipient can become quite ill if the tattoo is not properly done."

"Well, they still hurt… at least, that's what Jenny said when she got hers," Abbie starts.

"Miss Jenny has a tattoo?"

"Yeah. Probablyshouldn't mention I told you. She was only 18 when she got it, and… well, it's not in a place you'll ever see, so it's best to just pretend you don't know."

"Oh, dear," he exclaims, his eyes wide.

"Anyway, getting them is a lot safer than in years past," Abbie continues. "I've been in a few tattoo parlors, you know, for work. Everyone wears surgical gloves and all the implements are sterile."

"That's somewhat reassuring."

They stand, staring at one another for a long moment.

"I think we should do it," Abbie suddenly proclaims. "I mean, what do we have to lose? I'd rather accept even the possibility of help than turn it down, you know?"

Crane slowly nods. "Our mission is about faith is it not?"

"Exactly," she says, poking him in the chest.

"Then, we are in agreement." He holds his hand out. "Shall we seal this accord?"

She snorts a small laugh and grasps his large hand with her small one, then turns towards Big Ash. "Okay. We're in. I have one condition though."

"What's that?" Big Ash asks.

"Mine can't be in a place that will show when I'm in uniform. It's against police regulations," she explains.

Big Ash looks over at Frank, the shaman. The older man nods. "Okay," Big Ash says. "We should go inside."

Abbie and Crane follow the two men inside Frank's house. It is small, but tidy. Very nondescript.

"Please sit," Frank speaks for the first time, indicating his kitchen table. They sit. "Lieutenant Mills, I have a vision for you already, so I will do yours first," he continues, pointing at a high cupboard. Big Ash sets his dog on the floor, opens the cupboard, and takes out some supplies, handing them to the shorter man. The dog trots to a pillow in the corner, curls up, and immediately goes to sleep.

Frank pulls a chair close to Abbie and places a warm hand on her left shoulder blade. "Okay?" he asks.

"For the placement?" Abbie asks. The shaman nods. "Yes, that's fine." She pulls her sweater off over her head, smiling when she notices Crane politely avert his eyes. "I have a tank top on, Crane. It's fine. Besides, you've already seen me in my bra…" she teases, recalling their dream-trip together to vanquish the Sandman.

"Ah, Ro'kenhronteys," Frank comments. "Seamus informed us of his presence in your dreams."

"Well, I got rid of him," Abbie says, moving the strap of her tank out of the way. She jumps a bit at the first touch of cold ink from the older man's marker against her skin, and wonders what he is drawing. It feels kind of big. "To be honest, I'm kind of grateful to him."

"As you should be," Frank says. "His purpose is not to do evil. His purpose is to drive man to confront the evil within himself."

"Yeah, I totally get that now," Abbie allows. "May I ask what you are drawing?"

"The fox, cunning and clever," he replies, continuing to move the marker across Abbie's shoulder in sure, neat strokes . "Wise. Adaptable."

Crane leans over and looks, staying out of the shaman's way and light. "It is beautiful, Miss Mills."

"What does it look like?" Abbie asks, curious.

"It isn't finished yet," Frank remarks.

"It's rather stylized," Crane says. "The fox is more... implied than strictly drawn. She is curved, her tail mid-swoop as though she is in motion. It's quite beautiful."

Abbie smiles. At least, it's pretty.

"One last detail," Frank says.

"Ah, an arrow," Crane comments with an approving nod, watching as the other man draws an arrow clenched in the fox's mouth.

"The arrow is the symbol of protection," Big Ash says, handing bottles of water to Abbie and Crane.

"Gotcha," Abbie replies, understanding. "Am I done?" she asks.

"Yes," Frank answers. He stands, stretches, takes a drink from a third bottle Big Ash has set out for him, then turns to Crane. He studies him a long moment, then closes his eyes.

"Your friend is more complicated than you," Big Ash quietly tells Abbie. "That doesn't mean he's a more complex person though. It just means he's more difficult to read."

"Funny, I have no problem reading him at all," Abbie drily comments.

Big Ash snorts a laugh, then says, "Your spirit shines brightly. His must be... fragmented. Or something."

"That actually makes sen—"

"You are ancient, sir," Frank suddenly says , opening his eyes and staring hard at Crane. "Much older than you appear."

"Yes," Crane replies, knowing there is no point in hiding the truth from this man.

"Hmm. Yes. Of course," the shaman mutters to himself, then drags his chair and supplies over beside Crane. He places his hand over Crane's left pectoral muscle. "No. This place has been touched by evil," he mutters. Crane nods, knowing the shaman is referring to the scar left by the horseman. "Here," Frank places his hand on Crane's left forearm, "or, here." He moves his hand to his upper arm, on the outside of Crane's shoulder.

"Miss Mills?" Crane asks, deferring to his partner.

"No. You must choose," Frank says.

"Shoulder," Crane says after a moment. Then, he pulls his shirt off.

Frank's eyes take in the younger man's scar for a moment. "Hmm." That is all he says before he begins to draw.

"Where is the bathroom?" Abbie asks Big Ash. "I want to try to see mine."

Big Ash points the way, then turns to watch Frank draw.

The distant sound of Abbie's voice saying, "Cool," reaches them, then she returns, moves her chair so she can see, and sits.

"Is that a wolf?" she asks.

Frank nods. "The wolf, intelligent and eloquent," he explains. "Compassionate. Loyal."

Crane smiles approvingly. He looks over to see Abbie doing the same. She gives him a thumbs-up, which he returns in his customary stiff manner. Abbie chuckles fondly at him.

Frank works for a few minutes, not disturbed by the fingers of Crane's right hand occasionally twitching and flexing.

"It's really cool, Crane," Abbie finally says, breaking the silence. "Similar to mine, but more masculine. Shorter ears and narrower tail , obviously," she smiles at him. "If you had picked your forearm, you'd be able to see it better," she says, grinning at him.

"We would have had to shave his armfirst," Big Ash remarks. "So, it's probably good he didn't."

Abbie laughs. Crane makes a noncommittal grunt.

A minute later, Frank declares Crane "done". Crane raises his arm and looks at the drawing. "Splendid," he declares, noting his wolf also has an arrow in his mouth.

"All right," Big Ash says, standing. "I sent a text to my guy. He'll be expecting us."

"All right," Abbie says, sounding braver than she feels. "Can we have a drink first? Like, a real drink?"

"Yes," Crane agrees.

"Nope. Any reputable tattoo parlor will not ink a drunk person," Big Ash says. "And, Jon is reputable."

"Worth a try," Abbie sighs.

Crane puts his shirt on and they head out.

On the way over, Abbie teaches Crane Rock, Paper, Scissors, then they play best of three to decide who has to go first.

Abbie loses.

xXx

Crane holds her hand the entire time, talking to her, trying to keep her mind off the pain.

"It feels like he's carving into me with a knife," she comments.

"Ah. Something to look forward to then," Crane replies with a sigh.

"Keep talking, Crane," she says.

When it is Crane's turn, a bandaged Abbie sits nearby. He insists he doesn't need her to hold his hand. When Jon starts working, the fingers of his right hand are so active, Abbie reaches out and takes his hand just to still them.

"Your earlier description is remarkably accurate, Lieutenant," he quietly says, tightly holding her hand.

She smiles. "Sorry, Crane. I don't have your gift for storytelling," she says.

He nods. "Will you... will you sing to me?" he asks.

Abbie looks around the tattoo parlor. It's after hours, and the only people inside are Crane, Abbie, Jon, and Big Ash. And, Big Ash's little dog, curled in the large man's lap.

She looks back at Crane, takes a deep breath, and begins to sing.