A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I do try to update at least once a week, and I will get to your wonderful reviews of chapter 2 as soon as I can. I'm very thankful so many seem to be enjoying this fic, and I am also grateful for all the favorites and follows. Thanks so much.

Chapter 3

Crane knew exactly where to go: old ruins in the middle of the forest that had become Pandora's lair. Ahead of them, they could hear the pounding of the horse's hooves, the thrashing of bushes and branches as the Horseman made his way through the dark woods. The moonlight and Crane's flashlight lit their way, but Crane didn't bother to slow his long-legged pace to accommodate Jenny's.

"Where the hell are we going?" she panted after him, cursing under her breath as a branch slapped her in the side of the face.

"The most likely place," he replied irritably, not pausing to be sure she'd heard him.

Up ahead, the sudden cry of the horse pulled Crane up short, followed by the crackling sound of electricity. Crane bounded forward with a renewed burst of adrenalin.

In the clearing before Pandora's ruins, the Horseman and the goddess were engaged in immortal combat. Crane hid behind a tree, watching wide-eyed as Pandora sent bolts of energy at Abraham, who deflected them easily with his ax. He rode toward her then, barreling down upon her with all the power of Death behind him. With a mighty effort, he hurled his ax, and it spun through the air with an evil hiss. But with one wave of her hand, the dreaded weapon fell short of its mark, embedding itself instead into a nearby tree. Pandora summoned her strength for the kill, easily flinging his rifle away when he removed it from the holster on his back.

Crane felt a horrible déjà vu accost him, and, without a second thought, he circled round the battleground to retrieve the Horseman's ax. By this time, Jenny had caught up to him, and she looked on in horror as she watched her friend head into the fray.

"Crane!"

But either he didn't hear her or he ignored her, for as Pandora began to bombard the unprotected Horseman with bolts of supernatural energy, he was attempting to free the ax from the tree. But it was much more difficult for Crane to retrieve it this time, and he struggled, cursing and sweating to remove it. Jenny joined his effort, pulling on the long handle beside him, careful to avoid the blades at the lower end.

Crane glanced over his shoulder to see that the Horseman had fallen to his knees under Pandora's onslaught, and, his heart dropped into his stomach. Was all this to be for naught? The Horseman of Death was the only thing he knew that could defeat Pandora, and with him gone…No. This was not acceptable. Crane put every last ounce of strength he possessed to pull out the infernal broadax.

"Come forth you cursed ax!" ground out Crane in Latin.

And then, the instrument began to move.

Like the myth of King Arthur's sword, the ax eased from the tree as a hot knife through butter, the entire weapon becoming too hot for them to grip. Crane and Jenny howled in pain, then stepped back as the ax magically flew end over end through the air toward its master. Unfortunately for Pandora, her head was in the way.

There came the sickening sound of the hot blade searing through flesh and bone, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the air as Pandora dropped like a stone to the forest floor, the Horseman's ax embedded now in her neck and back.

The swirls of energy evaporated into the cool night air, and the forest was quiet once more. Hearts pounding madly, their breathing ragged, Crane and Jenny made their way gingerly to the dead goddess, who lay face down, dead leaves her diadem. Crane felt for her pulse in her still-warm wrist, but she was indeed, most sincerely dead.

Abraham, his grisly skull having rolled some distance from the battle, still glowed with an eerie light as Abraham weakly turned toward it. He rose on shaky legs and moved toward Pandora's body. Placing one Hessian boot hard upon her back, he leveraged his broadax before dislodging it violently from the corpse. Jenny and Crane both flinched involuntarily in disgust. Next, the Horseman picked up his head from where it had fallen, and tucked it under his arm like a gruesome football.

"I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, Crane. In exactly a fortnight, there will be no moon. On that day, we can perform the rite, and you can sever your soul from Katrina's forever."

"On point of fact," Crane began, holding up one finger, "I was the one who released the ax, so in truth—"

The Horseman raised said ax meaningfully toward Crane, the sharp blade once again glowing red in reflection of his fury.

"Never mind," Crane amended. "I agree to the terms. Shall we meet here?"

The Horseman turned his ghostly head, looking around the clearing before Pandora's lair.

"This will do. And don't fail me, Crane, or your beloved Miss Mills will suffer for it."

"You have my word, Abraham," said Crane solemnly. The Horseman scoffed, but climbed back on his horse and rode into the night.

"What do we do with her?" asked Jenny, nodding toward Pandora. She'd been quiet through the entire exchange between Crane and the Horseman, patiently biding her time till the moment he would tell all, as promised.

"I don't know. What does one do with the corpse of a goddess?"

Jenny shrugged. "Burn or bury, same as everybody else, I guess."

"Do you have a shovel in that monstrous contraption you drive around in?"

She chose not to take offense, but grinned instead. "Yes, I do. Two of them, as a matter of fact. In our line of work, you never know when you might have to bury a goddess."

Jenny started to move in the direction of her vehicle, when Crane stopped her.

"Wait. I have a better idea."

"What? Because I don't have any matches on me."

"No, not that. There is, however, the matter of Pandora's box," he said. "We must look for it inside the ruins. She was able to keep people captive inside of it. Perhaps if we hurry, there is still time to deposit her inside as well."

He went over to Pandora's body, and, lifting her beneath her arms, began to drag her toward the nearby ruins, frowning as her blood soiled his clothes and boots. Jenny rushed over to help.

"You mean, the box?" she said, taking the dead woman's feet. "The actual box that is supposed to release misery into the world?"

"Indeed, Miss Jenny. A relic like that should not be allowed to fall to the winds. Who knows what evil might take possession."

"Well, yeah, I can see that. Let's find this thing."

They carried Pandora together.

They found the fathomless pool inside, flickering torches reflecting in the water, just as Crane had remembered it. Absent was the tree that would have acted as a portal to another dimension, had Pandora's plan been allowed to succeed. He was happy beyond measure that he had also saved Abbie her horrible experience in the Catacombs.

They unceremoniously dropped the corpse on the old stone floor.

"I will attempt to summon the box with a spell that I know worked before."

From his eidetic memory he recited the Norwegian rhyme that Nevins would have someday used to access the box to fulfill The Hidden One's nefarious demands.

From the pool arose Pandora's box, where it floated above the water expectantly. Crane hesitated, nonplussed at the sheer power emanating from the silvery vessel in bright waves, the air literally humming with its suppressed energy.

"Now what?" whispered Jenny.

Now what, indeed? He too was at a loss.

But he had to try something.

"I command you to take back your mistress Pandora, body and soul!" he said, in his most forceful tone.

Much to his and Jenny's surprise, the glowing box opened its lid and immediately began converting Pandora's body to a glittering stream of pure energy, sucking it into its dark interior. When her body had completely disappeared, the lid of the box slammed shut, and the box fell to the floor with an unceremonious clang. The ethereal glow surrounding it disappeared, and all was quiet.

"Well," said Jenny. "That was a bit anticlimactic."

Suddenly, the box began to hum once more, the sound becoming exponentially louder with each passing moment.

"Pardon me, Miss Jenny, but I think we needs must run…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Battered, tired, and still a bit rattled, Jenny took Crane out for the promised beer. They both drank deeply before Jenny turned to him expectantly.

With a resigned sigh, he related the bare bones of the events surrounding his travel back in time, though he refused to tell the true reason why, explaining his desire to change as little of history as possible, except where Pandora was concerned.

"…suffice it to say, I thought to end Pandora's reign of terror before it started, and after your sister's successful visit to the past using Katrina's spell, I felt it worth a try, to-to save the many lives The Hidden One was bent on destroying. Now, without Pandora, I am hopeful that his reappearance on the earth will have been thwarted."

"And will you go back? To the future?" She smirked a little at the allusion.

"You mean like in the movie?" he asked, smug with himself that he understood the reference. "I—well, I hadn't given it much thought, actually; my only for the last few weeks has been of your sister. I mean- to find a way to make things right in the future for her—for us all."

"But how are you here alone? I mean, why aren't there two of you in this time period?"

"I've no idea. Perhaps a soul can only exist in one plane at a time. Perhaps my earlier self was combined with my later. I'll leave it to your modern scientists to speculate on the space-time continuum, as it were."

Jenny shrugged. Fine with her. She only hoped he was right and they could avoid the complication of finding another Crane. One was bad enough. She smiled into her beer.

"There was a little more to it than that though, Crane. I heard what you said to the Horseman, if only from your side of the conversation. There were two lives you wanted to save. Was one of them my sister's?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She nodded. That certainly explained his tremendous risk in attempting to alter the future. She would have done the same to save Abbie's life. "And the other life was mine?"

"In a way," he hedged. "I beg you, though, ask me no more. I fear already what might come now, since you know so much."

"Okay. I get it."

They were silent again, both relaxing into their beers, the night's terrors slowly seeping away. Then Jenny had a sudden thought.

"You know, we could make a lot of money off this situation."

"What?" He cast a suspicious, sidelong glance at her, and he knew immediately the kinds of questions she was about to ask.

"Who wins the next Superbowl?"

"Absolutely not," he proclaimed, his voice low so as not to be heard over the jukebox and the general hubbub of the bar.

"Oh, come on, Crane. What could that possibly hurt?"

He narrowed his eyes dangerously, but she was by no means dissuaded. "Okay, then, who wins the presidential race-? Wait. No, don't tell me. I'm not sure I want to know."

"When I left, it had not yet been decided," said Crane. "Now, enough of this, if you please."

"So, you have come from only a few months ahead then."

"Miss Jenny—"

"All right, all right. I'm stopping."

"Thank you."

They drank in companionable silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"You need to tell Abbie about this, you know," Jenny ventured.

"I most certainly do not. Nor do you, I might add. Can't you see how we could alter the future even more? You must promise me you will be silent on this matter. I know it will be difficult—for both of us—but to further protect her, this is what we must do. Besides, with the changes we have made already, I really can't predict what lies ahead now, and in a few months, when this timeline has caught up with mine, all will be moot, and perhaps then I can freely tell her. Until then…"

Jenny sighed. "Fine. But this really sucks."

"Indeed."

They asked the bartender for another round, and once that was finished, they agreed they were both zapped of strength after their earlier excitement, and so, called it a night. Jenny drove Crane back to Abbie's house, and he hopped gracefully out of the SUV.

"Thank you for the lift," said Crane. "As well as for your help in the clearing."

"That's what friends are for."

"Well, I continue to be in your debt." He bowed his head in sincere gratitude. He shut the car door and walked round the front of the vehicle.

"Hey, Crane," she called from her open window.

"Yes?"

"Lottery numbers?"

"Good night, Miss Jenny," he said to the incorrigible young woman. But he was smiling as he made his way up the steps of Abbie's house.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Something was definitely off with Crane, thought Abbie, as she climbed the same steps Crane had two hours before. Throughout the night's earlier stakeout, as she'd watched and waited for a break in the case that didn't come, she'd thought of him and the new awkwardness between them since he'd gotten back from England.

They had left things on a solemn note nine months ago, after Abbie had watched him lose his entire remaining family. She didn't blame him for needing to get away, to lick his wounds among people who sounded like him in a place he used to call home.

She had missed him every day he had been gone, but she had stopped texting him when he'd stopped replying. She wasn't the kind of woman who hounded someone who didn't want to be contacted. She could be patient. He would come back. When they met again at the ICE detention center, she'd guilt-tripped him a little bit, just to mess with him, just to let him know that brushing her off hadn't been cool.

What Crane didn't know was, Abbie had known exactly where he was from the moment she'd lost contact. A British friend of hers from college worked with the Metropolitan Police Service outside London, and she'd called in a favor. She'd received updates on Crane's whereabouts once a week, so she knew he was okay. This she had done for her own sanity. Plus, it had kept her from jumping on a plane and tracking down his sorry ass.

Maybe her own anger and worry had brought about this change in the air between them. Maybe it was his guilt at leaving her. But it didn't change the fact that there had been a couple times since they were reunited that he'd looked at her differently, and not in the witness-buddy sort of way she was accustomed to.

What's more, he was touching her. Not that he never had before. They'd hugged, touched each other on the arm or shoulder in a casual, friendly, or comforting way. He'd even taken her hand on a few occasions, but it had never made her entire arm tingle as it had earlier today, when he'd pressed his lips to her knuckles. And he certainly had never made her heart leap when he'd looked deeply into her eyes. But what she'd seen there in those solemn blue irises could only be classified as longing, and no self-respecting woman wouldn't respond to that.

Whatever it was, she thought, remembering how his mouth had felt on her skin, it unsettled her. With these new emotions he was stirring within her, all was not right with her world. She and Crane were destined to remain partners, not lovers, right?

Right?

The vision of his mouth upon her, the long eyelashes resting against his high cheekbones, made her shiver, and she hesitated before she put her key in the lock of her front door.

"Right," she confirmed aloud. Nothing would happen between them unless she wanted it to. She resolutely pushed aside the brief thought that perhaps becoming Crane's lover wouldn't be so bad.

She opened the door and went in, and the aroma of something heavenly greeted her before the kitchen's occupant even had a chance to.

"Aw, Lieutenant," said Crane. "I hoped you would arrive soon. Dinner is still warming in the oven."

"Dinner?" she said with a skeptical smile. "You cook?"

He was wearing one of her mother's old aprons, and she had to admit that he looked adorable. She liked the shorter hair he was sporting now, especially with the light dusting of flour near his right ear. To hide her appreciation, she turned and removed her jacket, then her sidearm, laying the latter on the table in the foyer.

"Yes," he was saying. "My father employed a French chef, and I would sneak into the kitchen when no one was looking. He taught me all manner of cuisine, both Continental and English, said any many worth his salt could whip up an omelet for his lady. But today, as a thank-you for your hospitality in letting me stay here, I have made for you a pigeon pie."

From the oven he produced a beautifully browned, savory pie, the filling bubbling through the vents in the top crust. At Abbie's look of horror, Crane chuckled heartily.

"Sans pigeon," he finished, setting the pie down on a trivet on the kitchen counter. "With nary a squab to be found at the grocer's, I settled for chicken."

She looked visibly relieved. "Well…it looks pretty good. But you didn't have to wait for me. I told you I would be late."

"Nothing was going to stop me from spending my first night back with you," he said softly. She looked from the pie to his earnest expression, felt her face grow warm. She could think of nothing coherent to say.

"Sit, please," he said, taking two plates from a cabinet. She complied, climbing on a bar stool at the counter. He expertly cut two large pieces of the chicken potpie, and her mouth watered at the amazing smell. Vegetables and meat swam in a creamy sauce, and the crust looked flaky and perfect. She could never in a million years get hers to do that. Was there anything this man didn't do perfectly? She watched as Crane filled two wine glasses from a bottle in the refrigerator, and handed one to her.

"Might I propose a toast," he asked politely.

"Sure," she said, finding her voice. She cleared her throat nervously. He was making her nervous. What the hell?

"To my dearest friend and partner. For her hospitality in my time of need. For her rye humor. For her lovely eyes. I drink to thee."

"Thanks," she said softly, clinking his glass before draining hers in one long draught. After one drink, Crane set down his glass and watched her, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Difficult evening?" he asked, when she slid her empty glass toward him for more. He obliged her, but his face displayed his concern.

"More frustrating than difficult," she said. This time she controlled herself and only took a dainty sip of her wine. "The new information we got didn't pan out. I'm wondering if someone is tipping them off that we're watching them."

"This…crime ring you mentioned?"

"Yes. They're involved in some pretty destructive stuff. Drugs. Guns. Human trafficking…"

"Different kinds of monsters," he said, remembering a similar conversation when he'd first arrived some months before.

"But monsters nonetheless," she maintained.

"Yes."

He joined her at the counter, sitting next to her as they both dug into their pie.

"Wow," she said over a hearty bite. "This is actually very good."

"You doubted me? I feel I should take offense at that."

She took a drink. "Please don't. Even in our day, it's unusual for an ordinary man to cook so well."

"I have always been out of the ordinary, Miss Mills."

She smiled. "Yes. A man ahead of his time."

He looked startled at her statement, but he covered it up neatly with a drink of wine.

"It's just an expression, Crane."

"Oh. Of course."

They continued to eat in silence, and it seemed to Abbie as though something were on Crane's mind, that maybe he was waiting for just the right moment to tell her what it was. Something disturbing, she thought, her brows knitting, if the tension in his shoulders and the way he only picked at his delicious dinner were any indication.

"Ok, Crane. What's up with you? Since you've been back, you've been…well—weird."

"Perhaps I have been," he acknowledged. "But it's only because I feared I would never see you again, and now, here we are, together again. It's somewhat disorienting."

"Why would you think you'd never see me again? You hadn't planned on coming back?"

His silence spoke volumes.

"Oh."

"In complete candor, I had briefly chosen to give up my life in America, to try to make my way in the country of my birth. We're no longer at war, you know. The Revolution has been long forgotten, at least in England."

"What made you come back, then?" she asked, staring down at a chunk of carrot. She was surprised at how hurt she was by his admission.

He didn't hesitate. "You, Abbie. You are the only reason in the world that I am here, right now, in this place and time. I grew to miss you, you see. So much so that I ached inside with the pain of it."

"Crane—"

"No. Wait. Let me speak, before I lose the courage."

He swiveled his bar stool around to look at her, and he reached for her hands. She set down her fork and let him.

"Our time apart has made me realize a few things. Firstly, that I know I lack the heart to go on without you. It was torture, the thought of never seeing you again. Never hearing you make sport of my clothes, or roll your eyes at my wild theories or impetuous conclusions. Never hearing you laugh, or seeing your smile."

He reached up now to touch her cheek, and Abbie felt as if what was about to happen might well be the most momentous of her life. His long, graceful fingers were lightly callused at their tips, and for some reason, the feel of them against her face made her tremble.

"And secondly," he continued, in that mesmerizing voice of his, "you must know that there is nothing I wouldn't do for you, no sacrifice too great. I'm sorry again for making you suffer those nine months. If it helps to know, I suffered too, beyond measure."

She didn't know what to say. He was throwing a lot at her at once, some of it painful, some of it what she had secretly longed to hear, but it was difficult to sort out the one from the other, especially with him so close to her. She needed a little distance—ironic since she'd been mad when he'd sought distance from her.

She gently slid her hands away, and picked up her fork and plate.

"If you'll excuse me; I'm tired. I think I'll take this to my room, watch a little TV, and hit the sack. Thanks for dinner. It's wonderful."

She got up from the bar, her heart pounding.

"Abbie—"

"Please," she said simply, looking into his eyes. She knew he must see the vulnerability there, the confusion, for he nodded in understanding.

"Very well. Good night, Lieutenant."

"'Night, Crane. And for what it's worth, I'm very glad you're back."

"That, for me, is worth a king's ransom," he said, and his smile was wry.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Only after he had heard Abbie's bedroom door close and the muffled sound of her television, did Crane allow himself to let go the breath he'd been holding. He put both hands in his hair, closing his eyes and bowing his head with relief.

She should have no doubt of his feelings now, he thought. And with Pandora gone, their future together seemed limitless. He had accomplished what he had meant to do, and now, all that remained was to allow Abbie to come to the obvious conclusion: she loved him too, and they were meant to be together as more than just friends and witnesses. He could afford to be patient now, and while he knew there would certainly be more evils to face, more trials to undergo, they would confront them together, as it was foretold they would.

He felt suddenly famished, and attacked his pie with as much fervor as he had in freeing the Horseman's broadax. She was right, he thought in satisfaction, it was delicious.

He had just deposited his dirty dish in the sink when Abbie came rushing from her room, her eyes wide with shock. She held her cell phone limply in one hand.

"It's Special Agent Granger," she said, as he looked at her askance. "My boss- he's been killed."

"What?" he exclaimed, no less horrified than she. This was not supposed to happen. Without Pandora and her minions in the world, Granger should have been saved.

"It was a car wreck. Drunk driver on the wrong side of the road. He died instantly."

"My God."

"I know. He was a good man, had a wife and two young kids..."

Two things occurred to Crane in that moment. Number one: if one was meant to die, perhaps nothing could prevent it. And two, next in line for Granger's job was Daniel Reynolds, a man with whom Abbie had unfinished romantic business.

Crane couldn't decide which realization frightened him more.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I would love for you to let me know what you think. More very soon. Thanks again for reading.