Author's Note: Thank you so so so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! One of the reviewers suggested I write a story about Abbie getting sick and Ichabod taking care of her, so here you go! It got away from me a little be towards the end, but hopefully you'll enjoy it nevertheless. I'll try to work through some of the other reviewers' suggestions later on, this one was just the one that came easiest to me at the moment.


Abbie's eyelids were fused together when she attempted to wake up one Sunday morning. Her head felt like her skull was made of lead, and she had completely lost the ability to breathe through her nose. There was no denying it: she was sick. Her mouth felt dry and sticky as she attempted to swallow the fog of sleep away, and she soon realized that the action produced the sensation of a thousand pins piercing the inside of her throat. With a wince, she lifted her heavy limbs out of bed and padded into the bathroom to take a hot shower.

The steam alleviated some of the congestion in her sinuses, but still she felt lousy. Wiping away the condensation on the window, she took a moment to scrutinize herself; her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was swollen, and her complexion was ashen. She tried to assure herself that she was fortunate – that things could be worse and she should be thankful that she didn't have to go in to the station today – but she found it difficult not to wallow in her discomfort. She pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants before heading into the kitchen to make herself a hot cup of tea to soothe her throat.

A quick glace at the digital clock on her microwave told her that she'd slept later than normal, and it was currently eleven-thirty in the morning. Usually she would have had some sort of communication with Crane by this point in the day, and she surmised that she ought to check her phone to make she had hadn't called – lo and behold, it turned out he had.

Before she had the chance to listen to his voicemail (which she was sure was just as florid and formal as all his other ones), however, there was a loud rap at her front door. It had to be Crane, she thought. There was no one else that could possibly be visiting her.

Pulling the fabric of her sweatshirt further up near her collarbone, she slowly swung the door open.

"Lieutenant, you did not answer my telephone call," he was his curt, hasty greeting. His blue eyes flickered over her, memorizing the details of her unusual appearance. Pushing his way inside with much concern, he immediately observed, "You are unwell."

She waved his statement away dismissively, as she often did whenever he fretted over her physical wellbeing. "I'm fine," she said. "It's just a cold."

Just then, the sound of the microwave beeping rang out throughout her otherwise vacant house. She started towards the device to retrieve her mug of hot water, but Crane quickly ushered her to the sofa.

"My tea – " she started.

"Allow me to tend to you, Miss Mills," he interrupted. "I shall make you tea the proper way, using a kettle."

"We've already gone over this," she said, giving him an unamused sidelong glance. "It's the same thing. Water is water, no matter how you heat it up."

Nevertheless, though, while she said this, he dumped the contents of her red mug into the sink and began filling the kettle that typically sat unused on her stove. As her back was turned to him, she questioned, "Why'd you come?"

"Like I said, when you did not answer my telephone call I grew fearful that something sinister might have happened to divert your attentions."

"You came all the way over here just to check on me?"

Crane paused his fussing through her cupboards abruptly, causing her to turn around and stare at him. "Of course," he said, as if she were crazy for even asking.

Oddly touched, she turned back around and sank further into the sofa as she switched the television on. Re-runs of Modern Family were just what the doctor ordered, she decided, and a tall British man taking care of her certainly didn't hurt, either.

When he had finished concocting whatever strange sort of tea he intended to make her drink, he sat beside her on the sofa. He handed her the mug innocently enough and inquired, "What is the name of this play?"

"It's a TV show," she corrected, savoring the heat of the ceramic glass against her palms, "and it's called Modern Family."

"Modern Family?" He repeated the words as if he were tasting them; he seemed to find the title distressingly ironic, given his circumstances. His eyes watched the scene before them unfold, narrowing dramatically when he saw Cam put his arm around Mitch.

Mentally preparing herself to explain gay marriage to him, Abbie took a long sip of tea and nearly sprayed it all over herself. "What the hell is this?" she managed through her revulsion.

Crane seemed unfazed by her reaction. "It is my mother's recipe," he told her plainly. "It is a blend of herbs that shall restore your health in no time."

"A blend of herbs?" she echoed, unconvinced. "Look, I just want chamomile."

"No," he insisted, "this tea works wonders – when I was a boy, she would give it to me whenever I was sick and I would be cured within the very same week. Sickness was much more severe than it is now, evidently, so this was a godsend."

Begrudgingly, she complied and took another sip; Abbie couldn't bring herself to spurn his mother's recipe, especially when he got that nostalgic, glazed look in his eye as he spoke of her. He watched her drink with satisfaction, before turning his attention back to the television.

"What in God's name is that woman saying?" he burst out defiantly as Gloria spoke. "While most of what everyone says in this age in gibberish, this is undecipherable gibberish."

Abbie grinned and said, "She's from Colombia – that's why she has an accent."

"'Accent' indeed…" he mumbled. Even more frustrated, he continued, "And is that man her father or her husband?"

"Her husband."

"And are those two men –"

"Together? Yes," she finished.

Crane's cheeks became tinged red and he opened and closed his mouth several times before he had finally chosen his words. "Such a practice is no longer illegal, then, I presume," he said carefully.

"Not illegal, no… At least not in the US. And many parts of the country are working towards making gay marriage legal."

"Gay marriage?" he questioned, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Homosexual marriage," she clarified. "Gay is the word we use nowadays."

"That is certainly a far deviation from the way it was used in my time," he muttered wryly.

"I'd imagine," she said, measuring his demeanor. She couldn't tell if he was scandalized or merely surprised. "You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

Growing visibly uncomfortable, he said, "Freedom of expression is one of the pillars that this country was founded on. I cannot, in good conscience, argue that the expression of one's affections ought to be moderated by the state – it is a private matter, and people should be able to love whomever they choose, regardless of gender. It is fundamentally anti-democratic for the government to deny the rights to some that it extends to others."

"That's very progressive of you," she noted appreciatively. "In fact, what you just said is a lot more progressive than the way a lot people in this country think."

"Tradition is stubborn, and religion and government are regrettably more entwined than my compatriots had intended," he acknowledged ruefully. "But you clearly anticipated a more dismayed reaction – in actuality, this concept is not so foreign to me as you might think. There were in fact many members of the nobility back in England that displayed similar proclivities, and nearly everyone turned a blind eye to it. Though it was technically a crime, many of us felt it was not our place to pass judgment."

"You must have been quite the libertine in your day," she quipped jokingly.

Ichabod, however, missed the humor in her tone. "I was a bit radical for my era, yes," he admitted. "My thirst for liberty and equality under the law surpassed even that of some of the authors of this nation's founding documents, I suspect. If nothing else, I am glad to find that my opinions are more widely accepted in this age."

The symptoms of Abbie's illness had been drowned in this discussion of politics and history. In fact, she had nearly forgotten that she was sick at all. Either his mother's tea was doing the trick, or Crane himself was adept at the art of distraction.

He seemed to be able to sense her thoughts. "How are you feeling?" he inquired with a knowing smirk.

"A bit better," she conceded.

"The tea has subdued your discomfort?"

With a small smile, she murmured, "Something like that…"

A smile that mirrored hers found its way to his lips, as if the two were sharing some sort of unspoken understanding. In reality, though, the gravity of the moment was not well comprehended between them – the interaction was so simple, so mundane, that it almost felt strange. They behaved more naturally when their lives were in imminent peril.

"Thank you for coming over, Crane," she told him sincerely, breaking the silence.

Eyes shining in the blue light from the ignored TV, he replied, "Of course, Lieutenant. Should you ever need my assistance, I vow to provide it to the best of my ability – even if you don't ask for it."

Abbie looked into her nearly empty mug shyly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat under his intense gaze. "Thanks," she said softly. After a moment she flitted her eyes up to see that he was still staring at her, wordlessly willing her to grasp something that she could not fully decode; she thought maybe even he did not know his own true intent.

When the moment broke, they returned to watching Modern Family, without fully engaging with the plot. Crane's words, "I vow," hung heavy in the back of Abbie's mind.


Author's Note: Let me know what you think! Sorry it was a bit short. It was very much just fluff, but sometimes that's OK, right? I couldn't help but have Crane make his grand proclamations about his political ideology - his interest in politics is part of why I love him so... Anyway, let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions let me know and I will try to write them! I think I'm gonna try to have him marvel at an airplane next...

ALSO. If you like Thor/Avengers/Loki, I'm going to post a new Loki/OC story! Please check it out if it interests you! :)