hands down,

i'm too proud for love

but eyes shut,

it's you i'm thinking of

-Little Bit, Lykke Li


II

(Abbie.)

Abbie's body was being assaulted by tingly warmth that seemed to spread outward from the intense, throbbing heat between her thighs. Damn, she was horny.

The memory of Crane's long, strong arms encircling her and squeezing gently was persistent. And the way his voice deepened as he whispered in her ear before she escaped to the bedroom. So was the thought of his burning gaze in the cab; the frustration brimming forth through his dark blue eyes.

The things he'd said to her tonight…all that talk about being a man. About biding his time to earn a woman's affections. It was sexy shit. She had struggled mightily to maintain her composure, sitting so close to him in that booth, his naturally sweet, musky scent overwhelming her, surrounding her on all sides.

It was like he could see right through her act. He had exposed her. And aroused her. All in one long, impeccably articulated string of Crane-isms. She knew it was because he'd been drinking. She hoped he had no idea how his words truly affected her. She wanted to blame the beer for this too, she was definitely not sober either, but she also knew she'd been holding this in for weeks. No, months.

Damn it, why do I let him get to me like this?

Abbie tossed and turned, angry at her throbbing libido for making her fixate on Crane's strawberry tinted lips…the way his eyes darkened as he explained how men of his 'ilk' operated back in the day…his slender, expressive fingers gripping the seat of the cab. Maybe he would entwine those fingers with hers as he pressed her into the mattress. Maybe that's the kind of lover he was. She squirmed, her clit throbbing slowly, her panties becoming soaked, clinging to her sex. She imagined his weight on top of her; her small thighs wrapped around his long body.

Fuck. Stop it, Abbie.

For several long months, she had tried to ignore the feeling that she wanted him. She wanted him all over, touching, whispering, stroking, grinding…

She had no idea when the thoughts started-maybe they'd been there for far longer than that-but she knew that they were becoming increasingly intense with each passing week. She tried very hard to hide it, throwing herself into their work, but it only seemed to make things worse.

At first it had just been like always: little things about him tickled her, endeared him to her. Then she started noticing his slow smile, how his eyes caught hers and didn't let go while he spoke to her as though they were the only two people in the universe. Didn't matter what he was saying; it could be 'here is your coffee, Leftenant.' That look in his eyes started stirring up feelings inside her that were far more intense than amusement. How tender he was; how much care he took to support her, let her know that he appreciated her, reminding her that they were in this together. And she couldn't help it. She soon started watching him more, studying him when he wasn't looking, taking care to think of him when she was out doing anything:

'What would Crane want to eat?', 'Ha—I'll bet Crane would get a kick out of this', 'I hope Crane isn't waiting up…wait actually I hope he is…I just want to be close to him and hear him talk for a little bit, and maybe he could give me one of those amazing foot massages…', 'Damn, he looks good in that shirt…', 'Look at that big ass brain of his go…shit, that's sexy.'

And those thoughts produced deeper, more intense, more inappropriate feelings that she had to work overtime to hide.

Did he notice? Did it matter? She wasn't about to admit to it. God, if he knew...then she'd really be exposed. And he'd no doubt be mortified, despite his fervent protests of being thought of as a 'fussbucket'.

He was a gentleman. Honorable. Loyal. And damn sexy. She could no longer ignore that last part.

He was also a soldier. A bit of a polymath. A man out of time. A widower. Definitely not a puppy.

"...am I always to be your ward? Hm? Your pet?"

She thought of him, turned to face her in that tiny ass cab, his eyes blazing. His words had stung like hell. Was that really how he felt about their friendship? That she coddled him? Treated him like less than the remarkable man that he was? How had she gotten so caught up in trying to hide her feelings from him that she ended up turning him into a foxhound?

Abbie rolled over, sighing hard, unable to shake the image of Crane in the cab, his brow furrowed, his eyes deep and perturbed, his jaw set into a hard, angular line.

She hated it when he was mad at her, but she could never seem to escape noticing how fine he was. It was so unfair. Even then, the red tint of the taillights at the intersection made him look broody and sexy as hell. He was wearing one of his new brown coats (she had searched high and low until she finally found a place online that specially made reenactment clothing) and a dark blue, linen button-down shirt. His hair was loose and wavy; he had it hanging just past his shoulders these days. She had pressed herself hard into the door on her side of the cab, hoping it was locked, keeping her distance so he wouldn't be able to see how attracted she was to him in her eyes.

But it wasn't just his looks. It was how everything within him shaped who he was. Not just a man out of time, but a man of morals, nobility, and honor. Always striving to be a better version of himself. She was slowly discovering these things as time went by, and she got a big dose of knowledge dropped on her when she met the version of him that existed long before they met.

She could see more of the Crane from the past in him, now. He was not to be trifled with when he was angry. He had once commanded men; led them into battle. Watching him stride around back in 1781 was a total trip, and she could see more of that man, that soldier, in Crane now than ever before. It was that version of Crane that she'd been hiding from all this time; that version that she'd been pretending didn't affect her so.

The fussbucket was easier to dismiss. Easier to be just friends with. If she allowed herself to see the Crane that he showed her tonight...he would see through her act like she was made of cellophane. He was too observant. Too intelligent. She had to keep herself in check constantly or the jig would be up.

Abbie finally settled on her back in the old bed that was way too big for her (but just big enough for Crane's long body, she suspected...great, now she was thinking about all six feet, two inches of him slumbering naked in this bed). She stared at the ceiling and listened to the silence, and all she wanted was to talk to Crane. Hear his voice; trade sarcastic one-liners with him; have his strong hands massage her feet.

She had to meet with Reyes first thing, but the minutes ticked by, and she just couldn't go to sleep. She found herself plagued with a heavy, throbbing heat hovering stubbornly inside her. A longing she knew she couldn't feed. The frustrating thing was that Jenny was right. She needed release. But part of her, deep down, knew that just getting off wouldn't cut it. Not for this.

Abbie absentmindedly rubbed her thighs together, trying to stop thinking about Crane. Picking up a guy seemed like a cakewalk compared to navigating her feelings about the wiry man sleeping on the couch less than twenty feet away. She didn't want some random dude. She wanted…

Shit. He had been trying to tell her that he wanted to be free. Freer than he'd felt the last few months, because of her. She had only been trying to be a good friend (and disguise her longing, she reluctantly had to admit). But apparently he thought of her as this...sexless...stern...not fun prison warden. That was her fault. That was the Abbie she'd been showing him. Because the alternative was scary.

Forget about the hurt that she barely let herself feel before she put it on lockdown. The guilt she felt over what happened to Katrina and Henry rippled through her, staying her horniness for a moment.

This was a mess. She needed to fix it, pronto. She had pushed him, constantly hammering her righteous "Witnesses First" attitude into him. She had given him no choice before Katrina died, had she? All because what? She didn't trust him to keep his head on straight around the woman he loved. She didn't trust herself not to long for more than what they had. She didn't trust that he wouldn't abandon her for Katrina, leave her alone and holding all her guilt and mixed up feelings on her shoulders like her Mama and Jenny and Corbin.

She'd been laboring under the assumption that she was making what they had good. Solid. A life. If they kept things going like this, she could get through the next seven years. Work. Apocalypse. Crane. She'd been fooling herself. The reality was that she was at his beck and call, trying to somehow prove to him that he'd made the right choice. But that had blown up in her face apparently. He wanted more than what her friendship-their 'bond', as he called it-could offer.

She felt the hurt again, but shoved it back down into the dark where it belonged.

He was right. How could she think he would want to just hang around Corbin's cabin forever, consulting on her cases from Reyes every now and then when they weren't busy apocalypse-busting? Sure, they'd been at a steady pace for the last six months, which left them little time to do anything but lay around on the couch once a week, her watching TV and he pretending to pay attention while reading or massaging her feet (her favorite, favorite thing these days). And sometimes they'd get to go out with Jenny and Frank and drink their woes away. But now that leads on Henry's network had gone cold, there was no telling when anything else would kick up. What was she gonna do, invent shit for them to hunt? All to cover up her stupid guilt?

They had gone through every inch, every word of The Grand Grimoir and Mama's journal. She felt like she was waiting on something that was playing hide and seek with her. When she returned from the past, she had felt certain that things would start to make more sense from now on. But things were just as uncertain as ever.

They were fighting a war, but they were still alive. She had a job to do, she had her sister back, and she was back with her version of Crane...well, maybe not much else, but that didn't mean that Crane had to be as solitary as she was. How could he ever get accustomed to the world if he never experienced it? She couldn't keep him to herself. And try as she might, no matter how many nights of sleep she lost or what new thing she thought of to teach him or show him, she was only one person and she could not be his world. She wasn't big enough. She wasn't good enough.

No, really. Stop it.

She thought of him, lying out there, his long limbs nearly overcoming the small couch. At first, he had just been this…strange, funny, frustrating man dropped into her life on the heels of a jarring, disturbing loss. A man who caused an instant reaction in her. The moment he spoke. She remembered his first words exactly. She didn't have Crane's perfect memory but she had that gut feeling. He knew exactly what she'd seen. And suddenly, with those words, she felt tethered to this man.

Ichabod Crane. Nothing about their pairing should work. They were so different in so many ways. Yet somehow it did. It worked. That lanky, handsome, impossible man had somehow become Abbie's world. Damn it, she was in trouble.

No. She could do this. She had mastered her self control a long time ago. She knew how to get on with things and come apart in the dark when she was alone. That's what she was good at, and that's what she would have to hold onto. Duty first. As a Witness, she would be vigilant, strong, and shrewd. As Crane's friend, she needed to make sure that he knew he could be free to try to start a life outside this war. She would be his friend, his fellow Witness, and help him out with that, however she could. She owed him that.

Plus, she knew him, and she knew that he would always put their bond; their mission; first. Not to trust him on his word would just be stupid at this point.

And she would lay in the dark and think about him. Maybe just for a little while. Until it was time to move on and make peace with it.

She was tired. Abbie still felt warm and tingly and thoughts of Crane's long body wrapped around hers lingered in her head...but she realized that she was also just really, really tired. Maybe this was a good thing. Crane could go be a flesh-and-blood man and Abbie could get some damned rest.

She would start over in the morning. She could do that. It would be better. Let him go meet a nice girl…find a job. He needed a job. That would help.

Finally she drifted off into a deep, dark, silent sleep.

The next morning, she woke up to the sound of Crane hollering in the living room.

"NO!"

Abbie bolted upright, the fog of her late night ramblings rushing away from her, causing her head to spin. Ugh, she shouldn't have had so many beers…

"LEFTENANT? ABBIE!"

She jumped up and scaled the length of the room. Abbie grabbed the spare gun from the top dresser drawer (the one Corbin had kept, and that she'd passed on to Crane for his protection) and stumbled out into the hall, her guard up.

"Crane!" When she made it into the living room, she only found Crane on his feet, shirtless, breathing hard as hell. When he spotted her he rushed towards her, his tall frame overpowering hers, startling her a bit.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He was backing her into the wall, his eyes dark and blazing with almost wild concern, fingers flexing.

"I'm okay. Hey..." Abbie took two big steps away from him, lowering her gun. She felt a little silly for rushing in like a one-woman S.W.A.T. team. She should have known; they'd been through this enough times. He had been having bad dreams ever since Katrina died. She had been startled awake by his night terrors at least twice a week for a two-month stretch once. Since they began closing in on the end of Henry's food chain, she thought they'd moved passed them, but she wasn't a freakin' psychiatrist.

First order of business was to calm him down. She began their routine.

"Just breathe, okay? Come on, in and out…"

Ichabod did as she instructed and stopped himself from devouring any more of her personal space, visibly making an effort to calm down. He ran both hands through his hair, looking her over thoroughly before he started to breathe the way they practiced. Abbie looked around, not wishing to meet his intense gaze just yet, making sure they were indeed alone and that it was as she suspected—just a bad dream.

When she finally looked at him again, she noticed that he was as white as a sheet. "Jesus, Crane. Are you alright?"

He nodded, backing up unsteadily and leaning against the back of the couch. "Yes...yes...I think I will be."

She watched him close his eyes to steady himself; to clear whatever dream had startled him so badly from his mind. She knew he wasn't going to tell her the details. He never did. She had long since stopped asking. They had grown to be open and direct with each other about a lot, mostly because it made their partnership work better, but also because they were friends. Or at least she thought. But where his night terrors were concerned, he stayed mum. Abbie eventually grew to accept it.

She couldn't go into his dreams and protect him. Groceries, driving lessons, monster slaying, and the occasional cheering up with Netflix she could do...but not ending his nightmares. His dreams were his territory and only he could navigate his way to a place where they wouldn't haunt him so fervently. All she could do was be there when he woke up so he knew that he wasn't alone. She had hoped that it had helped. Apparently not.

He took a deep breath and his gaze fell on her again. He stared at her now, and even though she told herself that he was still thinking of his dream, she was suddenly very aware that she wasn't wearing anything but a sleeping shirt and some panties. He was more than just looking at her. She could feel the heat of his gaze tracing her limbs from her toes to the top of her head. The room seemed really small all of a sudden.

A thick pause fell over them, until he finally broke the silence.

"Leftenant...whatever disagreements we come to…whatever hardships we face...I don't think I could bear to lose you." He said very softly, but gravely.

She was taken aback by the gravity in his voice, and it made her recall her restless fantasies about him from last night, but humor was her first line of defense.

"Is that the dream talking or are you just happy to see me?" She muttered with a small laugh, her delivery sounding unsure even to her ears.

He didn't react. Abbie swallowed and shifted on her feet under his gaze. She really wanted to go put on some pants. Then she remembered. "Shit! What time is it?"

She darted around him, eager to get away from those crystal blue tractor beams of his, and eyed the clock on the cable box next to the TV. It was only ten past seven in the morning. She still had time to shower, dress, have some coffee, and be down at the station for her meeting with Reyes at nine.

She turned around, huffing out a breath that blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. "Hey. I gotta hop in the shower but...are you good?"

Ichabod had stood up from the couch and turned around; he had followed her with his eyes. Crap, the way he looked at her. His eyes were always probing. Assessing. Trying to figure her out. All the time. Even when he was joking. And now...she felt too undressed and too groggy from a long night to compose herself under his gaze. But a split second later, he nodded quickly, and the spell was broken. "Please, I do not wish for you to miss your meeting with the Captain. I'm good."

"Pinky swear?"

Crane smiled faintly. "'Pinky swear', Leftenant. Go; take your shower. It's nothing a little coffee won't remedy."

"You read my mind."

"I shall prepare some for us, then. Go." He walked toward her on steady legs when she stared at him suspiciously. He had gained some of his color back, and his eyes were clear; focused on the here and now. Focused on her. Oh, Jesus. He had her locked in those tractor beams again.

"Please. I'm fine."

She needed to stop hovering. "Okay...see you in a minute, then."

She reached out with her pinky, and he hooked his with hers. Tightly. They lingered this way for some seconds that seemed to drag out indefinitely as Abbie felt anticipation grip her. She could feel his body heat. He stood staring down at her; his lashes dropped low, his lips flushed. He was so tall, blocking out the pale, early morning sunlight shining in from the kitchen windows. His chest rose and fell softly, silently. She really took in the fact that he was shirtless now. The jagged scar that marked his first encounter with the Horseman of Death cruelly interrupted the dirty blond scruff peppering his chest. Despite the lingering paleness from the shock of his dream, his arms looked so tempting. Strong. Meant only for her. His pajama trousers hung low, barely clinging to his slender, yet very well toned hips.

Somewhere over the months, he had stopped becoming so flustered around her when one of them was less than fully dressed. When had that happened...?

She had such an overpowering urge for him to pull her into an embrace. She felt the ghost of his warm arms encircling her and wanted nothing more than for it to happen. But that was just her own stupid body still betraying her. Last night's drunken horniness lingering, she told herself, knowing that if she pushed her luck he probably would get flustered.

Hovering, Abbie. You're doing it again. She let go first.

By the time she made it back into the bedroom and closed the door for some privacy, she knew she was really closing it to put some distance between her own sparsely clad body and his. To stop herself from feeling compelled to linger near him, to touch him, to comfort him, to...what? Jump him?

Yep. That's exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to jump into his arms and wrap her legs around him and feel him grip her ass in those exquisite hands of his.

Why did he say that kind of shit to her? Look at her that way? He made such a point of telling her how much he valued her as a friend, and then he turned around and said shit like "To give you pleasure," and "I don't think I could bear to lose you…" with that voice. He practically made her panties wet. If he weren't so honorable, and so...Crane...she would suspect he was torturing her on purpose.

Ugh, listen to yourself, she chided herself as she leaned against the door, gun hanging loosely at her side, pussy throbbing, eyes shut tight. The man just had a nightmare, probably about his dead wife, and you're ready to jump his bones.

She heard him rummaging around in the kitchen, starting the coffee for them. She knew how much he loved making coffee with the French press she bought him on a whim at the Costco a few months back. She knew he loved it more now to help work out his latest fixation, puzzle, or a blind spot in a case. He was always brimming with some theory of his about one thing or another by the time they were ready to drink it. She could handle that Crane. She was safe with that Crane.

She decided to shower quickly and get back in there, normal Abbie his Friend and Fellow Witness. That's what he needed. Not confused, horny Abbie with a bunch of indecent thoughts she couldn't shake off.

Okay. You're gonna give yourself fifteen minutes to get this shit out of your system and get your ass back in the game, Abigail…

Abbie pushed herself off of the door and replaced Corbin's gun, making sure the safety was on. She grabbed her giant, black rucksack with all her spare clothes and toiletries for when she spent the night here. As she opened it and took a look inside to see what she had to put on, she first realized that, dang, she kept a lot of shit here. Between working, hunting Henry's allies, and taking care of Crane, she spent so much time away from her apartment that she'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

The second thing she noticed was that Crane had washed and folded her clothes and arranged them neatly inside for her. A few days ago, she remembered this duffle being a piled up mess of clean and dirty garments stuffed hastily inside. Now, socks were with socks, V-necks with V-necks, tanks with tanks, a couple of pairs of jeans...even her panties were economically folded and neatly tucked underneath it all. An attempt to preserve her 'propriety' (and his) by hiding them from view and pretending that some fairy had done this. Damn, he was adorable. Confusing. But adorable. Ha—and judging by his reaction to being called cute, there was no way in hell she would be mentioning this.

Also, this would probably have to stop. Giving him his independence meant not staying here four nights a week, with practically a dresser-full of clothes stored in his bedroom.

As she waited for the hot water to reach the temperature she liked, Abbie couldn't help remembering the lines of his arms...the large, jagged scar on his chest...his hair, tousled from a restless sleep, hanging in his face...his forceful stride towards her as she entered the living room...the deep concern etched all over his face and in his fucking amazing eyes.

Stop. It.

She undressed and stepped under the deliciously hot spray, willing it to wash away her thoughts. It didn't, of course. The hot water made it worse, if anything. After a few futile minutes of trying not to think about Crane, she finally gave up and just let the thoughts come.

Abbie closed her eyes and let her hands roam over her body, and in her mind's eye Crane was stepping in behind her. Silent and tall and strong, exhaling into her hair. She felt her thighs quiver as she imagined that her hands were his, caressing her, gripping her flesh, one hand snaking its way down her belly to her now really throbbing sex.

"Open your legs, Miss Mills..." she imagined him commanding huskily, and she did. She pictured the stern gaze from the Crane of the past, and the long hair of her present Crane. Damn. Sexy.

She imagined assisting his long, nimble fingers as they cupped her sex. Guiding him as he slid one into her folds, gently at first. Then she imagined herself leaning into him; feeling his breath hot on her neck; his long, thick, hard erection pressing into the small of her back, just above that sweet spot at the top of her ass. Ugh…shit, she had it bad. And she thrust her fingers more forcefully inside, imagining that they were his; sliding in and out, circling around her swollen clit with the perfect amount of pressure, causing her to moan softly. Over and over again. Slow and firm and focused on a singular outcome. She crushed her eyes shut, letting herself fall into fantasy under the hot water.

"That's it...come for me...Abbie...please…"

Abbie pleasured herself with Crane swirling all around her brain until she climaxed hard. "Fuck!" She panted, slapping one hand against the wet wall to steady herself as she came down from her orgasm.

When it was over, she was disappointed to find that it hadn't really been enough. It hadn't been the real thing. And the guilt was back again.

Irritated instead of satisfied, she finished washing and got out, walking over to the steamy mirror to wipe it down and stare at herself disdainfully. "Well, it's official. You've got a problem." She muttered as she practically stabbed her toothbrush with paste and jabbed it irritably into her mouth.

And that problem's name was Ichabod freakin' Crane.


(Ichabod.)

The terror he felt at the sight of Katrina's spirit in his dream was nothing compared to the overwhelming dread that greeted him when he awoke, bellowing.

Abbie. His mind was filled with Abbie. And Katrina. Those eyes. The hatred in them. Abbie! Where was Abbie?

"LEFTENANT!" He jumped to his feet and stumbled toward the bedroom, nearly knocking into the coffee table in front of the couch, blind with anxiety. "ABBIE!"

"Crane!" She appeared, small and swift, alive and well, and wielding a gun. He stormed towards her. He couldn't explain it. He had felt, with stabbing certainty, that her life was in danger. He had to stop himself from grabbing her and pulling her toward him, cupping her face in his hands and pressing his forehead to hers. The urge was so strong it created a thick knot of longing in his throat, but he had to swallow it down.

Ah, when he saw her, relief washed over him, and it was so palpable, he felt as if it would rent his heart in two. He took in every detail of her. She looked just as she had in his dream. Small, soft, swallowed by that shirt, hair like silken black feathers, the fog of slumber still glistening in her large, round eyes.

Mercy, she was so beautiful. He had wanted, so badly, to hold her just now; to feel her and smell her. To make sure that she was alive, and this was real. The dream was...fresh. Every detail of it. How voluptuous she felt in his hands. Her warmth, her deep moans, her velvet lips. She lingered while they pinky swore, and he was sorely tempted. Did she notice? Did it matter?

He held himself in check. For he knew that if he moved to satisfy his deep longing for physical contact with her that he may not be able to keep his hands from feeling for more and more purchase; from seeking out more of the places on her smooth, curvaceous body that they'd longed to explore for longer than he cared to admit.

Now, as he watched her close the bedroom door on him, he tried to force himself to think clearly.

Because he also, quite lucidly, remembered those terrifying eyes, wreathed in floating, fiery red hair. And the hatred in them. The dread that welled within him at the sight still tingled in his chest.

Should he confide these things to Abbie? Ichabod retrieved last night's shirt, put it on, rolled up the sleeves, and made his way to the kitchen to start their coffee, deep in thought. Should he tell her what he felt? What he dreamed?

No. He could not tell her about the entire dream. He had no intention of confessing himself to her in such a manner. When the day came to confess himself-and if his deplorable behavior last night held any indication, it would soon-he would do it properly. For now, he felt he should tell her something.

Ichabod put the water on to boil, and fetched the coffee from the 'freezer'. He took a moment to appreciate that Abbie insisted on keeping it there, to keep it fresh far longer. And that this machine cooled and preserved all manner of perishable items independently and indefinitely, as apposed to the ice blocks that were a nuisance to create and replace in the cooler sheds of his time. One of the 'perks' of the twenty-first century, she often said to him about these kinds of marvels.

As he waited for the water, he got out two mugs and scooped the coffee into the press. This process calmed him; made him focus. Helped him think.

Ichabod began searching his mind; through countless memories of facts, people, books he'd read, conversations he'd had, all perfectly preserved for almost his entire life. He'd been overwhelmed by his ability when he was a child. He couldn't understand why no one else could remember the way he could. It frustrated and, truth be told, frightened him at times. But his father, though he was an unyielding man who expected great things from Ichabod without leniency, taught him to focus it and wield it confidently. Now, he counted it as one of his foremost strengths, and he relied on it unconditionally.

There was something about dreams...symbols. Warnings? Flames. Green, serpent's eyes. A serpent…snakes held both practical and symbolic meaning amongst witch kind. They were used to cast spells and as avatars to…enact curses. His heart gave a thump as the kettle began to sing. That terrible dread was upon him again.

There must be some connection to the last sight of his dream, the feeling it gave him, and the image of serpent's eyes that was nagging at his mind's eye as he went through the motions of preparing their coffee. But why now? And why in a dream about Katrina?

Ichabod's jaw clenched; he glared at the countertop, crestfallen, as he thought: it began as a dream about Abbie…one that felt so real. He prevented himself from lingering on his disappointment that it hadn't been.

Instead, he called to his memory a series of books in the archives that Jenny had brought from the county library (they were due back, come to think of it). They were tales of the paranormal, urban legends from all over the world, 'things that go bump in the night', and dreams.

They intrigued him because they appeared not to be intended for adults, which gave the histories they examined a fanciful tone. Fairy tales though they may be, given the nature of their work, he understood why she would bring them to the archives. He had only skimmed the one about dreams, but he had a mind now to go and revisit it. He hoped she had not returned them.

The most troubling thing was that he had nothing to go on but a gut feeling. He had dreamt of Katrina several times since her tragic death. These were no longer vehicles that transported him to visit her in Purgatory. These were most definitely products of his own grief and guilt. Usually of the moment it happened. Over and over again of her lifeless vessel shedding its last mortal coil, evaporating to nothing but ash and cinder before his eyes. Or of the moment in which she was stripping the life from Abbie, hatred in her eyes and tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Last night's dream was most assuredly an exception to that trend. This had been rather more specific, in a way he hadn't expected. Cruel in the way it taunted him with a passionate fantasy of Abbie before revealing its true nature. And that feeling of dread only overcame him when he woke; the feeling that Abbie was in danger. It didn't come from the memory of her near-death at the hands of his late wife. It came with the death rattle Katrina's imagined spirit released as those terrifying eyes stared him down into a chilly, dark abyss. It was too visceral to ignore.

The questions remained, what were they to do about a gut feeling? And what was he to tell Abbie?

He had chosen not to burden her with his nightmares until now. She carried so much. She had spent many nights calming him, many days making sure his mind was occupied and that he never forgot his purpose. She gave so much of herself, he couldn't bear to make her feel responsible for dealing with the demons in his own mind as well. No. That would not make him a man, a mantra he had so foolishly-drunkenly-accosted her with last night. That would make him a sheep in a man's clothing.

He lapsed for a moment into dark thoughts about his behavior last night. He'd been so relieved to have a moment's peace; so beset with attraction to her that he'd quite forgotten himself. Allowed his frustration to get the better of him. Lord, the things he'd said. Ichabod frowned, pausing as he pushed the strainer down into the press. He remembered how trapped by his gaze she'd been when he told her that he wanted to give her pleasure. The perfect memory of it made his long-unsatisfied manhood ache, even now. He went about the motions of making their coffee, but his mind was on Abbie. He could no longer ignore the very powerful feeling that he was drowning in desire for the young Lieutenant. He felt her absence when she wasn't in the room, and whenever she was, he was as drawn to her as to a torchlight in the unforgiving dark.

He was alarmed by his dream but he was also plagued with guilt over his crass behavior. He determined to himself now that he would make amends by behaving with absolute self-control from this moment forward. Besides…he had far more sinister matters to deal with now.

For he could not shake the sinking feeling that something—something that was, at the moment, elusive and opaque—intended to snuff out her light.

But before he could work out what exactly he ought to tell her, he had finished their coffee and he could smell her approaching by the pleasantly familiar scent of coconut oil from her 'leave-in conditioner'. She had explained to him that it made her hair look and smell the way it did, and he loved to catch the scent in the mornings whenever she was near. Hers was a scent that was sweet, and also somehow spicy, but natural. Like cinnamon or ginger or coconut, but all very distinctly Abbie. It didn't assault his olfactory senses the way that Star woman's had. It soothed him. Lulled him. Made him crave it; comfort in it. Something so simple as her natural smell had become an indulgence to him. He was in trouble, of that much he was certain.

He could not lose her. He would not. He had to tell her. They had to make sure it was nothing. Or discover that it was something and defeat it together. For now, he set aside the fact that he would also not be able to restrain his ever-deepening affection for her for much longer, either. He didn't know when, but sooner or later he would have to give up pretending that he was not in love with her. It felt like walking in shoes that belonged to another man; he longed to stop suppressing his instincts; to stop muzzling himself in order to conceal the fact that Abigail Mills was as precious to him as his own life.

They crept toward him like vines in the dark, his desire and his dread. But to what end?


(Abbie.)

When she had dressed and dried her hair, she found him at the kitchen table, having put on his shirt from last night, pouring them two cups of steaming coffee.

"'Light and sweet' for you, Leftenant." He said, not looking up at her as he retrieved the milk from the fridge and the sugar from the cabinet near the sink. He didn't have to announce it—he knew how she liked her coffee like he knew that she liked the raspberry doughnut holes the best. He still didn't look at her as he prepared it for her.

She wondered if he was embarrassed about his outburst after the dream. Abbie paused, trying to figure how to handle this after their argument last night. She didn't want to press him about his dream and she didn't want to make him feel like she was hovering.

She adopted an air of nonchalance and came to meet him at the table. She stood on the opposite side from him, and he handed her a mug. This was their morning routine. Whenever she slept at the cabin (which, let's face it, was often these days), Crane would make them coffee and they'd stand or sit across from each other at the kitchen table, sipping and talking about their plans for the day. Sometimes they'd be headed to the archives to do research. Sometimes they'd be chasing down a lead. Sometimes she'd brief him on some case Reyes had her overseeing.

This was familiar, at least, if still a bit awkward because of...well because she'd just masturbated in the shower thinking of him. And he had told her the night before to give him his space.

"Do you know what the case is about?" He spoke up, his voice bringing her out of her thoughts. She focused on him and found him watching for her answer as if it was of grave importance. "From Captain Reyes?"

Abbie blew at the surface of her coffee, and he watched her still, his eyes taking on that assessing focus that made her stomach flutter. She shook her head, breaking their gaze to take a sip. "No, I haven't heard anything over the wire. Must be something special. Maybe in another jurisdiction."

"Another jurisdiction?" He raised his eyebrows, his eyes sharpening at the statement. Okay, that was interesting.

"Yeah. Sometimes the smaller counties need help with big cases. This must be one of those."

"I see…"

It was Abbie's turn to frown at him. He'd gone pensive again. She had no idea what about, but then she got a hunch. The hurt poked at her but she ignored it, remembering what she told herself she would do from this moment forward. Crane needed her to be supportive. Give him his space. So. Here goes nothing.

"Sooo...maybe this is good? While I'm gone you can stretch out. See what you might wanna get into."

Crane's eyes refocused and angled down at hers, her words pulling him from his thoughts. "While you're gone..." He said quietly. God, was he gonna make her reconfirm that he was right? Big baby, she thought, but said:

"Yeah." She lay her head from side to side, clutching her mug. "If it's like I think, I might have to go to another town for a few days. Just to get a handle on the case, whatever it is. So you can, you know, flex your independence, like we talked about."

"Oh." He took a long sip of his black coffee. Abbie faltered. Wasn't that what he wanted? She was feeling unsure all of a sudden, and his uncharacteristic aloofness wasn't helping matters.

She closed her eyes briefly and rubbed at her forehead. She couldn't tell if she was coming or going with him. She tried to chalk it up to him still being plagued by remnants of his dream, but truthfully she was feeling the prickly burn of insecurity starting to poke at her. "Hey. Are you still dreaming? You've never been so quiet."

"Forgive me, Leftenant," he spoke up, apparently noticing her confusion. "I'm...out of sorts this morning."

Abbie smiled softly, despite herself. "It's okay, Crane."

"No." Crane put his coffee down and lifted his gaze to meet hers fully now. "It's not. I'm sorry, but I have something that I must tell you."

Abbie's heart stopped dead. Crane was looking at her so intensely, his damn tractor beams locking her in place and pulling her in. She had no idea what she expected to come out of his mouth, then he uttered:

"As you know, I had a...very disturbing dream. It took me quite by surprise, to say the least. But there's more."

Abbie tilted her head at him, concern flooding through her, replacing the momentary paralysis under his gaze. She couldn't help asking: "Was it Katrina?"

Crane didn't answer right away. His eyes were darker blue than usual and his brow was furrowed. At first, she chided herself for forgetting their 'no asking questions about the nightmares' rule. Then he nodded. "Yes. But this wasn't like the others. When I woke I was overwhelmed with fear for your life. And, forgive me, but I cannot help feeling that we should not be separated under any circumstances. Not after what I..."

"What you what?"

"I cannot explain it." He shook his head slowly, his lips pursed in frustration that he couldn't explain himself properly. "I saw...something. I think it was a warning. About us. About you."

Abbie felt a shiver run down her spine at his grave words. They stared at each other still more, both unsure how to proceed from there. Crane didn't talk about his dreams. But he was now. It must have been a pretty bad one. Or he was right and this was different, somehow. The last time he'd been this at a loss was when he'd had a vision of Moloch telling him he'd deliver Abbie's soul to Purgatory.

There was a sharp knock on the door, jolting them both out of the moment.

Jenny came in through the unlocked door a second later (it was always unlocked when Crane was here, a habit Abbie had tried and failed to break him of). She was still wearing the clothes she had on the night before, but she looked positively aglow. Awesome...Abbie thought irritably. Jenny gets laid (by Frank of all people) and I get ominous nightmares about Katrina. Despite her annoyance, Abbie was kind of relieved that Jenny had broken the tension a bit. She had to gather her senses; she was sluggish to shake off all that drama from last night and the alarming start to the morning. She needed to spend a few more minutes with her coffee. She wanted to ask more about Crane's dream, but Jenny's bright mood momentarily distracted her. She had never seen her sister so...chipper.

"Hey, party people. What'd I miss?"

Abbie blinked incredulously at her sister's cheerful greeting and frowned past her through the open door. "Why are you up so early? Where's Frank?" I thought you two had a booty call last night, she added with her eyes as she took another sip of her coffee.

"I brought your car back. Picked it up from Maybes." Jenny used their nickname for the bar and smirked, ignoring Abbie's last question. She tossed the car keys on the table, closing the door behind her. "You're welcome. Hey, Crane."

"Good morrow, Miss Jenny. You look...rested."

Jenny beamed and stole his coffee. "Rested, huh? Sure, I'll take it. Got any more coffee?"

More like his usual self, Crane rolled his eyes and dropped his hands pointedly from the air where his mug had once been. "Oh, by all means, do help yourself."

Jenny arched a playful eyebrow and muttered "Thanks," as she took a sip.

Abbie shifted on her feet, following Crane with her eyes as he poured himself another cup. She didn't know how to grill him about his dream. It was a touchy subject, and she could tell he was struggling with how much to tell her.

"So." Jenny said in that way she always did when she was about to make things awkward. Abbie gulped down her coffee and prayed that it wasn't going to be what she feared.

Of course, it was.

"What'd you two kids get up to last night?" She grinned behind the pilfered mug. Abbie glared at her, but quickly arranged her face into cool nonchalance as Crane turned around to face them with fresh coffee in his hands. He frowned.

"'Get up to?'" Jenny's suggestive turn of phrase escaped him, of course. He took a breath and offered a flourish of his hand. "Oh. Well...we quarreled. Mostly." He was now looking at Abbie.

"Of course you did." Jenny muttered, looking a little more disappointed than Abbie felt she ought to be.

"And…" Crane took a deep breath and lowered his mug. "I had a dream. But it was no ordinary dream," he added grimly. "It was a warning. The more I think on it, the surer I become."

Jenny's smirk faltered, her brows drawing closer together. "A warning? Of what, exactly?"

Crane raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but he faltered, looking unsure of how to explain.

"We don't know, exactly," Abbie answered for him. Jenny turned to regard her sister, her frown deepening as the mood in the room became serious again. "But Crane thinks it's about me, or us, or something to do with one of us. Something bad."

"And you know this becaaaause…?" Jenny was now exchanging looks between the both of them, resting her mug on the crook of her crossed arms.

Crane straightened up, sighing hard. He strode forward and put his coffee down, bringing his hands to his sides, fingers flexing. "In the dream, Katrina's spirit appeared to me without warning," his eyes flickered at Abbie and back to Jenny. "It taunted me at first, unseen. But when it showed itself…"

Both Mills sisters exchanged glances at the low baritone of Crane's voice. His eyes were focused on the table as he recalled, with perfect detail she knew, what he'd seen in a dream that had sent him shouting Abbie's name in a panic.

"The scene thereafter was terrifying, I assure you, but what impressed on me most was the sight of green eyes, wreathed by fiery red hair. Or, the symbol of a serpent, wreathed in flame, something I've seen before. Though I cannot be certain until I've-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—a 'serpent, wreathed in flame'? How did we go from Katrina to snakes?" Jenny scoffed. "Holy shit, Crane, don't leave us hanging here."

"I think he's serious, Jenny." Abbie interjected quietly. Crane looked relieved at her verbal support.

"Okay. Sorry." Jenny cleared her throat and set her coffee down too. "If you say there's something there, then there's something there. So what's our plan?"

Abbie set her coffee down as well, putting her hands on her hips. "Crane? Your dream. Your call. We can get to the bottom of this. After what happened with The Sandman and then Mama...we know dreams are nothin' to mess with." She nodded at him, drawing herself up to her full height, to reaffirm her support. "If you think this is the same thing, then-"

He shook his head, crossing his arms and raising his thumb to his bottom lip. "No, Leftenant, I'm afraid there is our 'fly in the ointment'. I'm not entirely convinced this is the same. But I would like to find out. If this is Katrina…"

They all looked at each other, remembering the mess Katrina had made before her death. They'd all been living with the certainty—the hope, Abbie admitted to herself—that she was gone for good. However they all dealt with that fact, they all still considered the chapter closed, especially after they'd wiped out the last known members of Henry's network. But they still had very little to go on. They had all done this enough times to know that they needed to start out small, check their sources, and stay vigilant.

"Right. So, dreams." Jenny finally broke the silence. She gestured slowly, making a face. "And...serpents wreathed in flame. We'll start there?"

"Exactly my thought." Crane agreed. "We should consult the Grand Grimoir—I suspect there's more we can learn there. You haven't returned the collection of urban legends you borrowed from the library a fortnight ago, I presume?"

"Oh, shoot. Thanks for reminding me." Jenny winced, attempting to look contrite. Obviously, he presumed right.

"Good. As always, your innate instinct to flout authority proves most useful, Miss Jenny. I saw an account of dreams there that might shed more light."

"Okay. Cool. Divide and conquer. And by the way: My 'instinct to flout authority' gets us out of pretty deep shit on a regular basis, Icky."

He rolled his eyes and made a noise of exasperation, his stiffness from earlier seeming to thaw. "Please, I've asked you to desist that bludgeoning of my given name. And, that is exactly what I just said, wrapped in a cocoon of nonsense."

"To-may-toe, to-mah-toe." She winked at him.

"Okay, corners." Abbie called, lifting her hands at them. "I gotta be at the station in thirty minutes. Why don't you guys check out that serpent thing, I'll catch up with you at the archives after?"

"What shall we tell the Captain?"

Abbie frowned at his words. "Tell the Captain…?"

He moved closer to her, a forbidding expression resting on his handsome features. "If she tries to send you away on assignment." He said matter-of-factly, as if they'd reached some sort of agreement that she'd forgotten.

Abbie gave him the time out signal.

"We don't know what she has for me. Add to that, we don't even know what we have, so let's not put anybody on house arrest just yet, okay?"

She wanted to add that it was her job and she could only do so much ducking and dodging her responsibilities and he wanted his space anyway and she could take care of herself, and boy wasn't he eager to lock her in the tower and throw away the key? But she didn't. She wondered if he could read it all in her expression. He certainly looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn't. This was the problem with trying to be the Abbie he needed all the time. He wanted his space; he wanted to keep her from doing her job because he saw some kind of warning sign in a dream; he wanted to be his own man; he wanted to clock her every move. She felt about ready to put some distance between herself and this infuriating man, actually looking forward to losing herself in real, honest-to-goodness police work for a little while.

Abbie shifted to cop mode.

"Let's get hard proof first. I got your back, but I gotta do my job. You got a hunch. Let's work it. I'll meet you in the archives. Okay?"

She looked into his eyes, trying to stand her ground. Trying to seem supportive. Trying to seem resolute. Trying not to seem totally anchored to his moods and desires, like she knew she was.

"As you wish." Crane nodded stiffly and gestured to the bedroom. "I should…"

He left them to get dressed and Abbie waited until he'd closed the bedroom door before turning to face what she knew would be a hurricane of questions from Jenny. She was playing it cool right now, but she wasn't fooling anyone. And three, two, one…

"Okaaay. What was that all about? And please tell me you did more than 'quarrel' last night. Like, I'm kind of hoping that's just eighteenth century talk for getting busy."

Abbie's face twitched. "What the hell are you talkin' about, Jenny?"

Jenny gaped at her. "Abbie. Come on. The way you two were dry-humping each other with your eyes last night (and just now for that matter), I thought at least he'd give you a little h-!"

"Keep your voice down!" Abbie hissed.

Jenny looked at Abbie in disbelief. Then she whispered: "Nothing? You didn't even kiss? Shit, I lost fifty bucks..."

Abbie tilted her head at her sister. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, don't try to deny it." Jenny casually sidestepped her little bomb about making a bet on Crane and Abbie hooking up as she stepped towards Abbie, her sharp eyes narrowed knowingly. Abbie blinked, feeling caught all of a sudden. Shit. She should have known this was coming. Jenny sighed, gripping Abbie gently by the shoulders. "Look, I'm being silly, but Abbie, I see you."

"What?" She was taken aback.

Look at me, Abbie. See me.She got a heat-flash image of Crane, red lights illuminating his gorgeous face as he glared at her imploringly in the back seat of that cab. She shook it off.

Jenny nodded still more knowingly. "Yeah. I see you both. You've always been in sync somehow, even when you first got caught up in all this, but this is different. You can't keep your eyes off each other. Where you go, he goes. You spend practically every night here. You take care of each other like you're an old married couple. You let him massage your feet, for God's sake."

"Ugh, I can't believe I told you that!" Abbie crushed her eyes shut, embarrassed and simultaneously annoyed.

"You can deny it all you want, big sis, but I know you despite what you might think. You don't date because you aren't interested. And don't think I didn't notice that you got jealous of that stripper chick last night."

"Okay, not having this conversation." Abbie shrugged Jenny off and went to retrieve her keys, badge, and gun. She felt flushed, and defensive. She turned on her heel. "You know, you are so one to talk, after you and Frank? In my apartment? Did you use my bed?'

Jenny balked. "No! Jesus, Abbie, what do you take me for?"

Abbie huffed a sigh, then made a face. "Ew, my sofabed?"

"I think we broke it a little." Jenny offered her that same cringy-contrite look that she'd given Crane earlier about the library books.

Abbie threw her hands up. "And she's taking bets on me..."

"Calm down, Martha Stewart. I'm joking, it wasn't that crazy." Abbie watched her sister smile softly, a warm look spreading over her face. Something Abbie rarely saw. "I mean, it was damn good. But then we actually talked afterward. I think I really liked it. I know he did. It was different for me, but I liked not being the cigarette and jet kinda girl for a change."

"Even though you're a pain in the ass, I'm actually happy for you, okay?" Abbie said finally. "Just be careful. Baggage doesn't even begin to cover it."

"You ain't wrong there." Jenny paused, turning to make sure Crane was still doing his thing before returning to Abbie with an expression that read 'nice try'. "And don't think I don't know what you're doing. Don't change the subject—I know you've got your impenetrable fortress up because you and Crane have some pretty big baggage, too. But just do me a favor? Think about it, okay?"

Abbie bristled, her guard shooting up again, as if conjured by her sister's words. "Think about what, Jenny?"

"About how we both know Crane has real feelings for you."

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to react. She felt completely taken off guard. She swallowed.

"Ever since Katrina died...he looks at you differently. Maybe you can't see it. Maybe you don't want to. But for the rest of us it's pretty obvious. Question is...what are you gonna do about it?"

"Are you high on morning after fumes or something?"

"Nope."

"Jenny, we argued the entire way here." Abbie snapped. "He wants to live his life. He wants his space. He thinks I baby him. Hell, maybe I do-I can't tell anymore."

"I don't believe that." Jenny rolled her eyes and lowered her voice even more. "The dude just had a bad dream and is clearly freaked out by some vague (at best) threat of losing you. He almost just forbade you to go in to work today because of it. Maybe he's not looking for the kinda freedom you think he is. The dude is bursting at the seams, trying not to scare you off, Abbie. Maybe…" she paused for emphasis, treading carefully. "Maybe you should tell him how you feel."

"How I feel?" The knowing gleam in her little sister's eyes was really getting on her nerves. Mostly because she knew she couldn't hide from Jenny. That had been the worst part of their estrangement over the years. Jenny knew Abbie inside and out. She never let Abbie get away with bullshit. Not about that day in the woods. Not about her guilt. Not about Mama. And not about this.

"It's okay to admit that you like him, too. Maybe even love him a little bit?"

Abbie took in a sharp breath, prepared to unleash a million reasons why Jenny was wrong-had to be wrong-her instinct to protect herself on high alert. But her iPhone buzzed in her back pocket, saving her. She licked her lips, tearing her eyes away from her sister's to look at the view screen. It was Reyes.

'If you can report right now, make it happen. Fill you in when you get here.'

"Shit, Reyes is calling me in early. Something must be wrong. Tell Crane I'll see you guys there." Avoiding Jenny's gaze, Abbie turned her back to the room to secure her badge and gun to her belt. She ran nervous hands through her hair and reached for her jacket before opening the door.

"To be continued?" Jenny called after her hopefully.

"I gotta go, Jenny..." She left Jenny standing in the middle of the kitchen without another word.


(Jenny.)

Shit. Way to poke the gorilla in the room, Mills.

Jenny stood between the kitchen and living room, watching as her sister strode determinedly towards her SUV through the open door until she disappeared from view. She frowned at the foliage lining the road as she listened to the engine starting and the sound of leaves and dirt crunching under the truck's tires.

She watched as the car backed down the driveway, her arms crossed, her mind buzzing with the argument they'd just had, and all the points she wanted to make about this ridiculous game of cat and mouse Abbie was playing with Crane. That was one of the things she'd talked about with Frank last night. They'd both come to the conclusion—after a couple rounds of pretty earth-shattering sex, a lot of water and a lot of quiet talking—that fighting this war wasn't worth it if they weren't fighting it for the people they cared about. Frank fought for his family. Jenny fought for hers. Ichabod Crane fought for Abbie; they needed each other. They'd all be a lot better off if both of them were finally honest about how much they cared for each other. Jenny knew better than anyone how secrets destroyed relationships, especially when letting go of them could make those relationships stronger than ever.

As for Frank and Jennie, they both agreed to be honest about what they wanted, and that included if and when either of them wanted more.

The SUV disappeared from view around a curve in the tree-lined path that led to the secluded road into town. They'd take Corbin's old truck to the station when Crane was finally done primping.

Jenny smirked, an idea forming in her head as she walked towards the door to close it. So maybe she couldn't get through Abbie's fortress of self-preservation, but maybe Crane could. Maybe she could convince him more easily to drop the act and make the first move.

When she reached the door, already planning her attack, she felt a chill run through her out of nowhere, like she'd walked into a really cold patch of air. She paused, her hand on the knob. She peered out into the yard, and the woods beyond, feeling heavy stillness overcome her. She had the feeling that she was being watched. It was getting steadily stronger as she leaned closer to see more of the yard. So did the chill she felt, crawling up her back toward her neck. Cautiously, she stepped over the threshold onto the porch, her eyes hunting the landscape for signs of movement. The pale morning sun broke through the clouds every now and then, illuminating parts of the woods.

She stood absolutely still, her senses on alert. She thought she heard a twig or branch cracking loudly to her right, and her eyes darted that way. She got a flash of red; a glimpse of hair disappearing into the maze of trees. The sight shocked her so badly that she jumped, wishing she had a gun handy.

Did I just see…?

It couldn't have been Katrina. No way. Jenny swallowed hard and stared into the trees, hoping more sunlight would break through to give her more sight. Her heart was starting to pound.

"Miss Jenny? Where is—?"

"CRANE! Shit!" Jenny nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his questioning voice. She spun around to see him standing there, having showered and gotten fully dressed. He raised his hands and stepped back, his eyes darting from hers to the trees beyond. "You scared the crap out of me!" Jenny breathed hard, smiling awkwardly as she tried to calm her rapidly thumping heart.

"My apologies, announcing myself seemed the safer alternative. But you seemed…preoccupied. You look pale. What's the matter?"

"I thought I saw…" Jenny trailed off, second-guessing herself, turning to look out into the yard again. Crane joined her on the porch, his eyes following hers, his expression serious.

"What did you see, Jenny?"

Jenny shook her head slowly, still doubting herself. The cold air was gone. The birds were chirping again. The woods didn't seem so bleak and silent anymore. "I don't know. Someone with red hair, maybe, but it was just for a second."

They both exchanged looks before turning out again, and they stood still on the porch, watching. Jenny was starting to feel silly when she heard an odd nose to her left.

She narrowed her eyes past Crane at the floor of the porch. There she saw, to her shock and utter alarm, a large black snake rearing up on its belly, almost to the height of Crane's chest. He noticed her staring in rigid shock and followed her eyes. "Oh!" He stepped back immediately, his arm shooting out to usher her behind him.

"What the hell does it want, Crane?" She whispered into his ear, swallowing hard. He didn't answer. It was just hovering there, staring at them; looking poised to strike; it's forked tongue darting out every few seconds. The thing's eyes were as green as emeralds, the sunlight bounced off of them spectacularly. It was an eerie sight.

Then, without warning, it went up in flames and disappeared in a puff of smoking cinder.

"Where is the Leftenant?" Crane uttered through clenched teeth, his eyes fixed on the spot of burnt porch where the creepy snake had just been. Jenny stared at it too, befuddled and shaken.

"Got a text from Reyes…went ahead of us. What is it?"

He had walked toward it, leaning over to examine it. He knelt, and reached out to brush his fingers across it, clearing some of the soot away (snake residue, yuck, Jenny thought). What was left was a brand of sorts, though it wasn't a symbol. It was some sort of message. Jenny knelt with him, and examined the words that had been singed into the wood. It was a language Jenny didn't recognize, but Crane had gone deadly silent. His swimming blue eyes rose to meet hers, and she was hammered with the dread in them. When he spoke next, she knew by his voice that he could read the words, and that it was bad.

"I suggest we follow. With haste."

Okay. So this was actually serious. Note to self: don't make fun of Crane's nightmares…


A/N:

So sorry that it took me so long to update! I'm extremely hard on myself when I'm writing something I'm really, really excited about. Also, with work it's hard to find time to write for myself at all, so updates take a while. :( However, have no fear, I'm sticking with this bad boy til the end. I need it in my life until the next season finally arrives! Hope you like!

In the next installment, Abbie and Crane find themselves torn asunder.