Crane walked into the steamy kitchen wearing the pair of Corbin's sweatpants that Abbie left out for him. They hung off his long torso even with the drawstring tied tightly. His wet hair was tucked behind his ears. He was shirtless, his chest and back pebbled with gooseflesh. Abbie looked up from spearing a hotdog. She raised both brows.

"There's t-shirts in the top right drawer," she said, pointing towards the bedroom with the fork.

"Um hmm," grunted Crane.

She watched him pour rum into a coffee mug. He knocked it back in a large gulp.

"Aside from the fact that it is only half past seven in the morning, you should probably eat something first."

Crane poured another drink. This time he sipped it, staring out the window with a frown.

"What's wrong with your face?" asked Abbie.

"I'm just ... thinking."

Abbie slathered a hotdog with mustard, piled it with onions and pushed it into Crane's hand.

"Eat."

She watched as he absently devoured it in three bites. She made him another, this time putting it on a plate and setting it in front of him. Crane was prone to bouts of melancholy. She usually just left him alone to work it through. She knew it had to do with Katrina but she was not in the mood to hear about her.

Abbie squirted her hotdog with Sriracha and went into the sitting room, juggling her plate, coffee mug and the bottle of rum. She plopped down on the sofa. She nibbled her hotdog and sipped her rum. She waited for Crane. Food usually brought him around.

"Would you like another Hot Dog, Lieutenant," Craned called from the kitchen.

Abbie smiled. "Ah, there he is," she whispered. "No, thank you," she said loudly.

Crane wandered in and sat on the sofa. He poured himself more rum, slouched back against the cushions and balanced his mug on his flat belly, long legs stretched out before him, looking for all the world like a hipster boyfriend.

Abbie stared into the fire to keep her eyes off Crane's body. It was unlike him to knock about half-dressed - less than half-dressed, if she wanted to get technical. His pants were in the wash, along with his shirt and trousers. There was nothing between the worn thin fabric of those sweat pants and ... the rest of him. Abbie flushed, cleared her throat and took a long drink.

"We need to attend to that wound on your hand," said Crane.

"It's just a scrape," said Abbie.

"I'll get the medic kit."

"Don't worry. Look." Abbie extended her hand to Crane. "It's clean and dry already. I'll be fine."

Crane moved closer, took her hand in both of his and examined it carefully.

"You can kiss it better, if you're so concerned," teased Abbie.

Crane turned her hand over. He traced the lines in her palm with his fingertips. "So small," he murmured. "I thought you were a child in fancy dress when first I saw you."

Abbie watched his fingers glide over the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. "Fancy dress?" she whispered.

Crane's fingers stopped at the hollow of her elbow. He stared at it with great concentration. "Fancy dress. Masquerade. A costume."

"Ah," said Abbie.

Crane circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. "Like a kitten," he said quietly.

Abbie gently removed her hand from his. She hooked her fingers and growled. "Like a tiger."

"As you say," chuckled Crane.

"You laugh, Crane but I can kick your ass anytime I wanted."

"Are you challenging me to a bout of fisticuffs, Lieutenant?"

"You've seen me fight."

"You are rather hardier than you look – when you are pointing that ridiculously out-sized gun of yours."

She regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Think you could take me?"

Crane threw his head back and laughed.

"I'm serious," said Abbie.

"I'll give you your due but you are no match for me."

Abbie put her mug on a side table and stood. "Get up," she said.

Crane drank down his rum, grinning. Abbie kicked his ankle with her soft boot. Crane held up both hands in surrender.

"If you insist," he said. He stood and faced her. "It is an exercise in futility. I'm a trained -."

"Blah, blah, blah. Washington's prized soldier," said Abbie. "I've heard it all before."

"I'm far stronger than you."

"I can easily get free of you."

Crane looked down his nose at her, his blue eyes glittering beneath his lashes. "I think not," he said.

"Let's make this interesting," said Abbie.

"A wager?"

"If I win, you have to give me something you really, really want. If you win, I have to give you something I really, really want."

"I'm not sure I understand the stake but I'll agree."

"I'll even let you pick how to hold me. Grab my wrists."

Crane captured her wrists and held her at arm's length. He grinned smugly, arching a brow.

"Get serious," said Abbie.

Crane drew her to him, standing close but careful to keep his lower half from touching her.

"Now, you can hold me like this," said Abbie, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. "Like you're trying to cuff me while I'm facing you. Or." She turned in his arms so they were back to front, with her arms folded across her breasts. "Like this. Whichever way you think is the best way to keep me your prisoner."

"I think – ahem – I believe this position will suffice," said Crane.

"Get a good grip."

Crane tightened his arms around her. He could feel the warmth and softness of her body beneath the sweater. He looked down at her bent head. Her hair had parted, revealing the back of her neck and the curve of her shoulder. It took all of his strength not to bend down and press his lips to the tender skin. Heat started to gather in his loins again, despite the fact that he'd had his release in the shower less than half the hour before. He was beginning to believe that this was a bad idea.

"Lieutenant..."

"You've got to really hold me. It's cheating if you let me win." She struggled a little, testing his grip.

He pulled her closer, holding her tight against his body. He would get this over quickly.

"I won't let you win, Lieutenant."

"You got me, Crane?"

"Proceed," he croaked, swallowing hard.

"Okay. Let me go."

Crane dropped his hands, confused. Abbie turned, looking up at him coyly.

"I win," she said.

"What?"

"I. Win."

"But you said -."

"I said I could get free of you and I did."

Crane's mouth dropped open. "You cheated," he exclaimed.

"I won. You owe me."

"This was to be a contest of strength."

"Really? I never said anything about strength."

Crane folded his hands behind his back and turned to the side, studying her from the corners of his eyes, the way he did when he was measuring a man with whom he might do battle.

"While I believe you were not entirely forthcoming," he said, finally. "I shall honor your terms."

"What are you going to give me?"

"Something I want, is it not?"

"Yes. You have to give me something you really, really want. Like if I'd lost, I'd have to buy that Bentley coupe I love and give it to you."

"Anything?"

"Jenny and I usually limited it to candy bars."

"A rematch", said Crane.

"A rematch?"

""Chicken?" I believe is the correct taunt." Crane started circling her slowly, keeping his body sidelong, as if he were in a fencing match.

"No, I'm not chicken," snapped Abbie.

He bumped her gently with his shoulder.

"Not so clever now, are we?" he said.

"All right, smartass. Let's see who is "highly trained"," said Abbie. She shifted her weight forward and lowered her center of gravity. She held her arms loosely at her sides.

"Bust a move, ninja," she said.

xxxXXXxxx

A/N: Good grief. It took me forever to get these two to shut up and get on with it. Stay tuned.