A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update guys! This last week just hit me really hard homework and work work wise (I had to write my first research paper in Spanish... :/) so I hope this chapter makes up for it. It's more than a little bit silly and is just based off a random thought I had in a particularly boring lecture. This takes place presumably a few years after Katrina is out of the picture (I don't much care how, died, sacrificed herself, whatever tickles your fancy for getting her out of the way). Hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow and all related characters belong to FOX. All sports teams I mention belong to their respective franchises.

The television was blaring the Sunday Night Football theme song, and Crane was utterly confused by the whole ordeal. When he played football as a boy, the ball was shaped much differently and this armor all the players were wearing was completely new to him. But Abbie had insisted he sit down and watch some "real American football" so here he was.

"Only five minutes 'til kickoff," Abbie said as she set down a bowl of popcorn and folded her legs beneath her on the couch. She was wearing a large, baggy garment called a 'sweatshirt' emblazoned with a red, white, and blue head the word New England Patriots along the top. Then there were the yoga pants. Ichabod tried to not let himself be distracted—again—by those. "Miss Mills!" he exclaimed "What in the heavens are you wearing?"

Abbie looked down, "Just yoga pants. It's an off day, and I'm not going anywhere."

Ichabod gulped, maintaining a steady gaze on a point on the wall just behind the Lieutenant's head. "They're very form-fitting," he said. "Are you not uncomfortable?"

Please take them off, please take them off, he thought. For his own sake, he wished she would put on something normal, like a skirt and petticoats. Even those blasted skinny jeans would be better than this.

"These are literally the most comfortable item of clothing I own," Abbie said. "And they aren't worse than jeans, Crane. Welcome to the twenty-first century."

She was wrong then and she was wrong now. Yoga pants were worse. Much worse. Ichabod reached for the popcorn, just to give him something to do with his hands.

"Kickoff?"

Abbie swatted his hand away, "Hey, share. Does chivalry not apply to popcorn?" Abbie said and took the bowl, setting firmly in the exact middle of the coffee table. "Kickoff, beginning of the game. You'll see."

"Alright," Ichabod said. "Is this similar at all to 'baseball?'"

"No," Abbie said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Baseball's better, but it's something to watch during the off months."

Ichabod nodded and prepared himself for American football. A shot of some scantily clad women doing kicks was shown and Ichabod couldn't believe it. Their entire midriffs were showing.

Abbie noticed him flailing in distress, "Cheerleaders, Crane. Don't ask me what they're there for, but those are their uniforms."

"They are wearing far less than even prostitutes," Crane said, crossing his arms and sitting up straighter, as if his own decorum could make up for their obvious lack. "Is this all football is?" If so, he had no idea why the Lieutenant enjoyed this sport at all.

"No, not at all. That's just for the guys," Abbie said. "Here's kickoff."

Ichabod turned back to the television, a blush still gracing his cheekbones. Those uniforms were far worse than yoga pants.

There were twenty two forms on the field on opposing sides of the pitch and in a moment they rushed together, and a small, eggish ball went flying.

"The team kicks it, other team catches, they try and get to the end zone—see there? It has the Patriots logo on it?—and then they get six points when they get there," Abbie said, pointing to the different scenes and they flashed across the screen.

"Oh my heavens! Are they barbarians?!" Ichabod said as the Jets kickoff team sacked the Patriots runningback. Abbie laughed, and Crane took a second to be upset at her ridicule. He knew it was all in jest, but no matter how long he had been there, he still felt different. Like he didn't belong. Every time he got confused by something simple, it struck him like a blow to the chest. The only balm was Abbie's laughter, and no matter how frustrated he felt, seeing her face light up in such a way that he normally didn't get to see brightened his entire day. If he could make her laugh like that once a day for the rest of his life, even at his own expense, he would be happy.

"What may I ask is so amusing, Miss Mills?" Ichabod said, frowning. Both of them knew he wasn't actually upset.

"That's part of the game, Crane. When you have the ball, the defense—the Jets, right now. In the green.—try and tackle the offense—the Patriots, red, white, and blue—so they can't move forward. You have four tries to get the ball ten yards. If you can't do it you kick it away so the other team has farther to go," Abbie said. "Easy peasy."

"But why must they hit each other? That's so uncivilized," Crane said, reaching for the popcorn bowl. Abbie handed it to him before turning down the volume on the game.

Abbie smiled again, showing off those perfect, white teeth of hers, "It's just a part of the game, Crane. Get over—go, go, yeah, good job Tom Brady!"

"Am I supposed to shout now, as well? I see no 'umpire' at whom to yell," Ichabod said, grasping at straws to find something he recognized. Abbie held out her fingers and shushed him as she watched the action play out on the screen. Ichabod crossed his arms and huffed out a breath. A simple be quiet would've sufficed.

Crane turned to the screen to see what had the Lieutenant so excited. A man threw the ball and another man caught it down the field, closer to the 'end zone'. This seemed to please Abbie as she began shouting again.

"You go Tom Brady," Abbie said, smiling, then she turned to Crane, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. "Sorry, first down throw, what were you asking about?"

"I was simply wondering," Crane said, trying his best not to sound like a petulant child whose mother wasn't giving him what he wanted. "What you were yelling about."

"Tom Brady made an awesome throw, his receiver caught it. Now we're in the red zone and we're almost guaranteed to score at least a field goal. Three points," Abbie said.

"Who is this Thomas Brady fellow you keep going on about?" Ichabod asked.

"He's the quarterback for the Patriots—the red, white, and blue team I'm cheering for—he's the one that throws the ball and leads the offense," Abbie said, pointing his tiny form out on the screen. He was thrown to the ground this time by a pack of enormous gentlemen in green.

"See, that's him," Abbie hit the pause button when a face came into the center of the screen. The man had blue eyes and a barely-there, scruffy beard. Numbers were being displayed by his head, advertising things such as PPG and Sacks. Ichabod didn't even bother asking about those. This "football" was far more confusing than the game of his youth, and much more violent. It was only when he turned back into the Lieutenant that he noticed she hadn't unpaused the game and was in fact 'rewinding' backward to see the short film of Thomas Brady and his accomplishments.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Abbie said, before coming back to reality. She shook her head as if waking herself. "Just watching Tom Brady's highlight reel again. He is too man-pretty to be real."

Ichabod was confused. Pretty? Pretty was a term usually only applied to younger women and girls, but never a man. Was the Lieutenant trying to insinuate that Tom Brady was not masculine?

"Pretty, Lieutenant?" he said.

"Handsome, hot, good-looking," Abbie said. "The Pats get a lot of hate, but with a quarterback that attractive I have no idea why. Look at him!"

Tom Brady was now running with the ball, doing spins and jumping over other players. Ichabod was really impressed, but he had no idea this was what Abbie looked for in a man. Hadn't she just gotten over her betrothal to Mr. Morales?

"I am looking," Ichabod said, and Abbie gave him a look as if that wasn't what she was talking about. "But I don't understand what all the fuss is about Miss Mills."

"He's so tall, with that scruffy man-beard and those deep blue eyes of his," Abbie said, a wide smile breaking across her face. "A girl could be happy to spend the rest of her life just staring. And he's really athletic, and really kind. Smart, too. He could ask me to marry him right now and I'd say yes."

Tall, blue eyes, scruffy man-beard? Kind and smart? Aside from the scruffy part—Ichabod kept his facial hair well-kempt, thank you very much—it seemed as if the Lieutenant had just described himself. Ichabod saw his opportunity to poke some fun at his fellow Witness, so he ran with it.

"Miss Mills?"

"Yeah?" Abbie said, muting the television once again.

"Do you know anyone else who is tall, kind and intelligent, has blue eyes, and a 'scruffy man-beard'?" Ichabod asked. She took so much pleasure in seeing him confused, it was about time for some revenge.

"What are you getting at, Crane?" Abbie said, and he could see the gears turning in her head, figuring out what he was going for. She looked Ichabod up and down, and his back straightened involuntarily. Once the realization dawned in her eyes a blush dawned across her cheeks. She said, "I wasn't talking about you, Crane."

"Oh really?" Ichabod asked, teasing. "It sounds almost as if you were."

"I wasn't."

"Oh, but you really, really were. Would you like to rescind any of your prior statements, Miss Mills? Perhaps your offer of marriage? Or 'staring at him all day long?'" Ichabod grinned, "I'm sorry for distracting you with my man-prettiness during battles. Perhaps I could wear a mask?"

"I said he was nice and man-pretty Crane? Doesn't apply to you. Now lay off," Abbie snapped, turning off the television and walking away. He heard a door slam. What had begun as a joke was suddenly serious. He had offended the Lieutenant, and she in turn had lashed out at him. Ichabod prided himself on never being particularly vain, but to hear one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—and it caused him no pain to say this, the Lieutenant was beautiful. And smart, strong, and unwaveringly brave. The fact was as obvious as his name being Ichabod Crane or the sun rising in the east and setting in the west and Grace Abigail Mills was beautiful—saying he wasn't handsome scalded him a little. Even more so was how she had implied he wasn't kind, and that the very thought of him being similar to this fellow was abhorrent to her. Was he himself that detestable?

Ichabod stood and put on his great coat. He would go for a walk. It would give him some time to cool his emotions and perhaps for the Lieutenant to think about forgiving him for his transgressions. The autumn air was crisp around him and the moon was nowhere to be seen. He made a simple loop around the grounds, nothing extremely long, before he decided he must apologize to Miss Mills.

As soon as he opened the door, she was there, arms crossed, feet set.

"Crane," she said, taking a step toward him as he hung up his coat.

He took a deep breath before turning to face her. "Miss Mills, I most ardently apologize for my prior conduct. I was fishing for compliments you were not willing to give—"

"Crane, no, really. I'm sorry—" Abbie began, but he wouldn't let her apologize for something she had no reason to be sorry for.

"There is nothing for you to apologize for, Miss Mills. You made it obvious by your words and demeanor you were done with the subject but I persisted in pursing it. I am deeply sorry for offending you and by presuming you found me attractive and kind and intelligent, which I only claim one of those."

Abbie held up her hand. "It's really okay, Crane. You don't need to apologize. I freaked out over nothing and I shouldn't have. You just caught me off guard, and there's something I really need to tell you."

"It's perfectly fine you 'freaked out', Miss Mills. I was not acting like a gentleman should. If you are to tell me I should take my leave, I perfectly understand," Ichabod hoped that was not the case, but if that the Lieutenant had news, he couldn't think of anything else it would be. He was about to begin again when Abbie was right in front of him. She stood up on her toes and put her hands on his neck, pulling his face down to hers before pressing her lips to his.

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. He had thought she was upset with him, about to kick him out, but here she is, kissing him! He then realized his eyes were wide open, his hands stock still at his side. Less than a second had passed before his mind realized he should respond. Ichabod settle his hands on her hips, pressing his mouth more firmly to hers. Abbie was warm beneath his hands, her lips softer than even Katrina's. When she pulled away, he immediately realized what had occurred. His face flushed bright red. Abbie stood before him, face flushed, mouth opening and closing, as if she couldn't believe what had just happened. He couldn't believe it either.

His fists opened at closed at his sides, fingers shaking. Ichabod couldn't bear to meet her eyes, "Miss Mills, I do apologize. That was very forward of me, and if I have insulted your honor, I do apologize, I—"

Abbie reached for his hand, and leaning up again to kiss his cheek. "Ichabod, you talk too much, did you know that?"

Ichabod was speechless, and a wide grin broke out across his face. Abbie was smiling too, and he held her hand even tighter, marveling at how perfectly her fingers felt between his own. As if they belonged there. "I'm beginning to realize, Abbie."

"Good," Abbie said, "Now how about we go finish off that popcorn?"

I hope you all liked it! For those of you following and reviewing, THANK YOU SO MUCH. Seriously you guys make long days better :) I'll try and update again soon.

Best wishes!

Bliss

P.S. I was raised in a family that eat, sleeps, and breathes football (but we're not Pats fans, btw) as for cheerleaders, I have been a cheerleader since I was seven, so nothing against them, either.