A/N: I'm going to apologize now for such a long break between updates. It was a mixture of my muse being almost wholly absent and a bunch of deadlines smacking me in the face (study abroad applications, scholarships, my two exams, work, etc.). This chapter is going to be a two-parter, with the second part being up hopefully by the end of the week.

A huge thank you to everyone who leaves me comments and follows this story. You guys rock. Seriously J

Now on to the story!


"Miss Mills," Ichabod said, trailing behind Abbie while pushing the cart with the groceries. "Why are we getting this much alcohol? And 'hot dogs'?"

Abbie grabbed a bag of 'Jumbo Jet-Puffed Marshmallows' and set them in the cart. "It's almost the fourth of July."

"Yes, I had realized that when I glanced at the calendar this morning, Lieutenant," he said raising an eyebrow. Ichabod watched the Lieutenant go past a wall of what appeared to be different kinds of crisps. The labels were so foreign to him, brightly coloured with words he didn't wholly understand, and was it really necessary for a whole wall of crisps? How many could there be? Flip-sides! No Sodium Saltines! Goldfish! Cheez-nips—"Miss Mills, what is so special about this K?"

Abbie selected a box of graham crackers (he only hoped they were more appealing than the crackers of the same name from his youth) and added them to their cart. "Just a brand. Low-cal, Gluten-free stuff, to help you with your diet."

"Gibberish, everything you just said was gibberish," Ichabod said. "And I still don't understand why we are purchasing all of this inane foodstuffs."

Abbie looked back and him and brushed some dark hair out of her face. "It's tradition, Ichabod. You get a fire going, cook up some hot dogs, eat some really bad-for-you stuff. Drink beer. Eat s'mores—I'll explain those when we get to them," she said with a smile. Abbie certainly was getting better at noticing when he was set adrift in her sea of words. "Then you watch fireworks. How else are you supposed to celebrate the birth of our nation than with explosives?"

He didn't even want to touch that sentence. Everything would be explained in due time, he thought. If not, he made a mental note to ask Abbie again later. After antoher moment, she steered him toward the front entrance of the grocery store. "I still don't understand why you use the signing of the Declaration as the date of your nation's birth," Ichabod said. "It was signed over many days. Shouldn't you use the winning of the war as the date?"

"I don't know," Abbie said. "Just the way it is. Why do you celebrate the moment you are born as your birthday? Shouldn't you start counting your age from when you were conceived?"

"Touché," Ichabod said. Abbie smirked.

"Anyway, speaking of birthdays, isn't yours coming up soon? As in the fourth of July?"

Ichabod chuckled. "Yes, it is. Quite a coincidence how that happened, isn't it?"

"Coincidence, or fate?" Abbie said, looking him straight in the eye, cocky grin gracing her wide lips. He felt a blush rush to his cheeks. "I mean, aren't you mister 'I choose to forge my fate with you?'"

Ichabod nearly choked and had to take a moment to cough and regain his composure. "I beg your pardon, Miss Mills?"

"You're forgiven," she said, laughing. She was laughing at him! For basically saying he lov—"Anyway, let's check out and get out of here, yeah?"

He was still dumbstruck, blush high on his cheeks. What was he thinking? When had this shopping trip gotten so out of hand? Ichabod followed Abbie to the front of the store, helping her unload the cart onto the 'conveyor belt' apparatus.

"Oh, damn it, I forgot something," Abbie said, smacking her forehead.

Ichabod looked up at her. "I can go retrieve it for you, Lieutenant."

Abbie waved her hands about. "No, no. It's fine. I'll go get it, you just wait here. I'll be right back."

Before he could protest, Abbie was off, trotting quickly through the store. Ichabod turned to see the older woman working the cash register giving him a knowing smile. He nodded at her, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels. Moments passed in silence. What could possibly be taking so long?

"Your girlfriend is quite the spitfire," the woman at the register said, winking at him. Ichabod swallowed hard.

"She is not my girlfriend," Ichabod said, trying his best not to sputter. "We are merely friends."

The woman frowned, "Oh, I'm sorry dear. I didn't realize you are of the opposite persuasion—my granddaughter's that way as well, she has a lovely girlfriend—"

"Back," Abbie said, setting down an armful of goods Ichabod was too flustered to get an eye of. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing," Ichabod said quickly, "Absolutely nothing."

"I told you, I have lighter fluid and matches, Crane," Abbie said, her hand on her jutted hip, rubbing her forehead.

"That is no way to start a fire, Miss Mills. It will only take me a few moments to do it the proper way." Ichabod said, using some steel and flint to hit sparks into a pile of kindling. Before long, he had a pretty little blaze going. "There, what did I tell you, Miss Mills?"

She shoved his shoulder, and he grinned just a little wider. "Whatever, the fire's lit. Let's break out the hot dogs and beer."

Abbe got up off the log they shared and opened the big, plastic (honestly, why was this blasted plastic in everything now?) 'cooler' and emerged with a package of hot dogs and two skewers. She prepared his for him, slicing open the package with a small knife she kept in her back pocket and handed him the skewer to roast it.

"Keep it over the coals, not the actual fire. We don't want any flaming hot dogs," Abbie said. She turned away from him, and Ichabod held the long metal skewer over the reddened coals of the fire. Abbie cracked open a beer and took a sip.

"I should hope that I know enough not to set a wiener aflame," Ichabod said with a hint of a pompous sniff. He would've gone into a lecture on how he had been cooking food over a fire for years if it weren't for the fact that Abbie had choked on her beer, sending it up through her nose. She sat there trying her best not to laugh and failing.

Ichabod didn't know what to do, so he sat down his poker on the log and looked to the Lieutenant. He patted her back a few times in hopes that it would help her swallow or perhaps breathe, and he was getting a bit worried about the chance of her suffocating when her cheeks were turning redder and redder. "Miss Mills, are you quite alright?"

Abbie sucked in a deep breath. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Just—just don't say that again, okay?"

"Say what?"

"Nevermind."

"How am I supposed to refrain from whatever you don't want me to say unless—"

"Drop it. C'mon our hot dogs are getting cold."

Ichabod decided to follow her instructions to drop it and they finished roasting their hot dogs. They ate them in companionable conversation, sipping their beers all the while. He had to admit, he much preferred the smooth taste of Abbie's beer to the more woodsy, fermented taste of the ale he was accustomed to. Before long, they were roasting marshmallows over the fire, and Abbie sandwiched them between two graham crackers—much sweeter and leagues more appetizing than the Graham crackers of his youth, those which aimed to keep teenage boy's attention where it should, and not on pretty girls—and a square of chocolate.

"Miss Mills, I must admit, this is simply heaven," Ichabod sighed after swallowing his first mouthful.

"It's pretty hard to mess up a s'more," Abbie said, using a long stick to poke the fire. "Anyway, the fireworks should be starting any minute now."

Ichabod finished his s'more (he'd have to ask her where such a strange word came from at a later date) and peered out over the water. Far in the distance he could see a barge and various campfires dotted the countryside.

"What are these 'fireworks?'" he asked.

"You'll see," Abbie said, leaning back in her Adirondack chair. She tapped the screen of her phone and it alit with the time and date. "In exactly one minute. It's 8:59."

He could hold his curiosity that long. Ichabod tried to slouch the way Abbie did, as if he didn't have a care in the world anymore, and to just enjoy the night. In the distance he could hear the thrumming beat of the noise that counted as music now, but that was far enough off he could ignore it. Their fire crackled merrily, warding off any chance of chill. Here and there fireflies lit the night. Ichabod was just about to say something to Abbie about how peaceful the night air was when he heard a low fwwwpshh. A spume of flame went up through the air before going out. A mere moment passed and an enormous boom like cannon fire sounded and a ball of expanding red, silver, and blue sparks shone down to the water.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Ichabod had hurled himself out of his chair and onto Miss Mills, throwing her to the ground and covering her body from his. It wasn't much protection but she might survive the onslaught with a bit less damage, if she even lived.

That is, if she would stop wriggling beneath him.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?!"Abbie said, punching his arm until he let go. She stood up and began brushing herself off, giving him a dirty look.

Another boom sounded, and Abbie didn't look phased. He, however, tried to get her under cover. "Lieutenant, do you not hear the explosions? You must get down. Hurry!"

A look of confusion crossed her face as she batted his hand away, and then she burst out laughing. His mouth hung open. "Why are you laughing at me?"

"You—you thought—oh my God—"

"I'm glad you find my terror so humorous," Ichabod said, standing and wiping himself down. He tried not to flinch when another shockwave reached his ears.

Abbie breathed deeply for a few moments. "Those are fireworks, Crane. Controlled explosions. High in the sky. They can't hurt anyone."

"But the noise—"

"Is part of the fun, it's okay. Just sit down, chill, and enjoy the pretty colors, and I'll forget you assaulted me," Abbie said, a wide grin breaking across her face.

"I did not—" Ichabod began, but Abbie wasn't paying attention. She was back in her chair, sipping her beer that had miraculously escaped being spilled. He huffed, and relaxed back into his own chair. When his heart stopped racing after each explosion, he could admit it was astoundingly miraculous. The patterns the explosions formed in the sky were amazing. Some of them drooped to the ground like weeping willows in long strands of silver, others had wandering sparks of gold and blue spinning through the night sky like whirligigs. His favorite though, was the one that made the face of a colon closed parenthesis. He pointed it out to the Lieutenant, and she gave him one of her soft smiles and called it a smiley face.

When the finale came with a near continuous stream of sparks, bangs, and booms, he was sad to see it end now that he could properly enjoy it without fearing for his life.

"That was simply fantastical," Ichabod said when the last spark fizzed out, turning to Abbie. She nodded and raised her beer can.

"Happy Birthday, America," she said, grinning wide at him.

"Happy Birthday, indeed."


A/N: I hope you guys liked it. It's kind of rough, as I didn't really edit it the way I usually do, because I wanted to get it out faster. Please comment and tell me what I can do better or to tell me something you liked!

Best wishes!

Bliss