"What on earth...?" Ichabod mutters, weighing a leather drawstring bag in his hand. He just found it inside a drawer in Corbin's – now Abbie and Jenny's – cabin.
Joe Corbin found the deed to the cabin on his latest trip back to Sleepy Hollow and decided he had no use for the place, so he gave it to Abbie, saying his father would have wanted the two Mills sisters to have it. "I didn't even know he had that cabin," Joe had confessed.
"Neither did I," Abbie laughed, taking the papers. "Thanks. Hey, is it all right with you if we let Crane keep staying there?"
Joe simply shrugged. "Your place now. Do with it what you want."
"No, I mean, would you be... upset if we, you know, made it more of a home... for him?" Abbie clarified.
"You mean would I be offended if you cleared out some of Dad's stuff? Nah, go ahead," he said.
"If I find anything... meaningful, I'll keep it aside for you, me, and Jenny to go through next time you're in town," Abbie promised.
"Thanks," Joe replied.
"No. Thank you."
So Abbie and Ichabod set about going through every inch of the cabin, boxing up clothes (Abbie kept one flannel shirt; Crane declined everything, claiming the late sheriff was a "much burlier man than myself" and therefore "nothing would fit") and going through closets.
Jenny did not wish to participate in the purge. In a rare display of sentimentality, she admitted it would be too hard for her.
Abbie tackled the task as she did any other: with determination, detaching herself from her emotions.
Attempted to detach from them anyway. This is why she also tackled the task with a bottle of rum on the table, occasionally pouring out shots for herself and Crane, telling him, "I don't like to drink alone."
"Lieutenant," Crane calls, peering into the bag. It is filled with pennies. "Can you explain this?"
Abbie stands and emerges from the bedroom closet, where she was going through a box of what turned out to be mainly fishing supplies. She smiles. "Pennies?"
She looks quite charming in the flannel shirt, and the sight brings a smile to his lips. She has rolled up the sleeves, but it still hangs off of her like a bathrobe. "Yes. Why did Sheriff Corbin have a sack full of pennies?" he asks, weighing the bag in his large hand. "It certainly could serve as an effective weapon," he muses.
"Where did you find it?" she asks, indicating he should show her. "And what else was with it?"
"In the credenza," he says, pointing. "There is... a deck of cards... and a... what is this?" He holds up a plastic item. It is circular, red, and comprised of two identical halves held together with a central black knob.
Abbie smiles. "That's a card holder. For kids. You know, if your hands are too small to hold a bunch of cards." She walks to the table and pours out another two shots of rum.
"Ah. Like yours," he says, arching an eyebrow at her.
"Funny," she answers, handing him his shot. He downs it and she hands him the other glass. "You get a double for that remark."
Both eyebrows rise now, and he takes the glass and quite haughtily downs it as well. When he hands the glass back to Abbie, she is pouring a third shot, which she then knocks back.
"So... clearly all this is for some sort of card game?" Ichabod asks.
Abbie nods. "You ever hear of poker?" she asks.
"Game of chance, first documented as being played in the city of New Orleans, Louisiana, in 1829," he rattles off like a schoolboy making a recitation.
"Corbin used to teach Jenny and me. He had a similar bag of pennies at his house," Abbie explains, taking the bag and peering into it. She pokes her finger in, stirring the coins. "You wanna learn?"
"I have read—"
"Psshhh," she interrupts, waving her free hand as she steps closer to him. "Do you want. To learn?"
"Should we not continue our task?" he asks.
"It's getting late and we need a break. Go heat up that leftover Chinese food and I'll start shuffling," she says, patting his chest before heading to the table.
"Very well," he nods, knowing arguing is futile. He also knows that the events of the day have been emotionally draining for her and if his Lieutenant wishes for a break, then a break she shall have. And if he is completely honest, he is more than willing do whatever she wishes if it means making her happy. He heads to the kitchen and pulls the takeout boxes out of the fridge.
xXx
After a half an hour, Ichabod had mastered five-card draw, picking up the rules quite easily. They turned out to be quite evenly matched, what with knowing one another so well, but Abbie was clearly better at schooling her features into an unreadable "poker face". And the more Crane drank, the harder it became for him to control his eyebrow.
"This is all well and good, Miss Mills, but we are quickly reaching a stalemate," he says, shuffling the cards.
Abbie looks up from the study she hadn't realized she was making of his hands as they deftly manipulated the cards. "Hmm? Getting bored? Have another drink," she suggests, pouring him another shot. "You're bigger than me, so you need to drink more so we stay... you know... even."
She does have an impressive tolerance for one so small, he observes, setting the cards down. However, there is no way possible she can match mine. He drinks his shot, then picks them up again. "I simply meant I read there are variations of the game. Perhaps we could try one of those?"
"Mmkay," she replies. "Let's see... there's Five-Card Draw..."
"We've been playing that," he interjects, pouring himself another drink this time.
"I knooowww," she says, pushing her glass over as well. "I's just... namin' types. Five-Card Draw, Five-Card Stud... Strip Poker, Texas Hold'em... Seven Card something... I don't know how to play the seven card kinds..." She drinks.
"Did you say 'Strip Poker'?" he asks, eyebrows raised.
"Did I say 'Strip Poker'?" she echoes, raising her own eyebrows.
"Yes. You did."
"Oh... that's where you play any kind of poker... but the loser of the hand, you know..." she waves her hand at her clothes. He gives her a puzzled "I don't have a clue" look. "Ugh. If you lose the hand, you take something off. How can you have been here for nearly four years and not know what stripping is?"
"Well..." he admits. He'd be blushing if his face wasn't already red from the rum.
Abbie laughs, louder and freer than she normally does. Then she grows quite serious, leaning forward on her elbows. "Well?" she asks, bolstered by the alcohol. She is feeling quite warm and pleasant. Her inhibitions are low enough for her to be willing to act on some of the more wayward thoughts that have been plaguing her for longer than she'd readily admit.
Ichabod's eyes widen. "Well what?"
"You game?"
"For... for Strip Poker?" he asks. Is she truly suggesting this? Honestly, the thought of what his partner looked like unclothed had occurred to him more than once, and with increasing frequency as the days tick by. But the prospect of actually seeing her is almost more than he can bear. Almost.
"Chicken?" she goads, slowly reaching across the table, her fingers walking across the wood. She snags the deck of cards from him, pulling it towards herself. When he hesitates, she starts making quiet clucking sounds.
He squares his shoulders. "I hope you are wearing many layers of clothing, Miss Mills," he declares, drawing similar courage from the same source as his partner.
"I know I have on more than you do," she retorts, pointedly adjusting the flannel shirt over her t-shirt.
"In any case, I'd better stoke up the fire while you deal," he says, standing. "We don't want you catching a chill." He slightly sways, then walks a less-than-straight path to the fireplace, where the fire had been slowly dying.
"We'll keep it simple," Abbie declares. "Five-card stud. No drawing. Whoever has the best hand wins."
"Very..." Ichabod plops down into his chair with rather less grace than usual, "well." He grabs the bottle to pour them out two more shots. "Why are we still using these tiny glasses?" he muses aloud, standing again to go and retrieve two full-sized glasses.
"You're stalling..." she calls, carefully keeping her cards close to her chest as he walks past her. She watches him in the kitchen, telling herself she's counting how many articles of clothing he is wearing and not checking out his backside at all. She finds herself thinking, Nice, and realizes she is, in fact, checking him out. "Shoulda pulled your hair back today, Crane," she says. "You could count the hair tie as clothing."
He plunks the glasses down on the table. "That seems like it would make me a... cheater, cheater pumpkin eater," he replies, flopping into his chair once more.
Abbie laughs again, her head falling forward onto the table. "Whoa," she says, slowly lifting her head. "Spinny." She looks at Crane, studying his cards. "Where did you hear that?"
"Children at a p-lay-ground..." he explains, over-enunciating the last word, which only draws Abbie's eyes to his lips.
She blinks a few times, takes a long drink of her rum, then says, "Whatcha got?"
"I believe I have... nothing," he says, showing his cards.
"Ha... you got better nothing than me." She lays her hand down and his queen-high beats her nine-high. She pulls out the elastic holding her hair. "Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater," she sings, dropping the item on the table.
Crane grunts and takes a drink.
They alternate drinking and playing, and by the time the fire is low again, Crane is in his boxer briefs and Abbie still has her t-shirt, bra, and panties.
She loses the next hand. "Well, you've sssseen me in my bra before..." she says, her words slightly slurred as she struggles out of her t-shirt. "We had...n't even known each – oof – other that long either." She pulls her shirt off and flings it at his face.
He catches it as it falls, intentionally letting it hit his face so he could take in her scent. "But you still had your trrrousers on that time," he says. He begins to lean down to peek under the table, his curiosity too much.
"Crane, what the hell?" Abbie asks, kicking him in the shin. If you're going under the table, at least be useful while you're under there. She blinks and slightly shakes her head, willing away images of her partner's head nestled between her thighs.
"I am a... cruri... curri... an inquisitive person, Abbie," he says, lifting his head. "I was just looking... for... scientific reasons." He quickly closes his mouth before he blurts that the memory of her in her brassiere is one that he revisits often.
"Right," she says, taking the cards, not noticing he called her by her first name. "I'mma deal," she declares, mixing the cards on the table like a giant Go Fish pond, too lazy or drunk to shuffle properly. She gathers the cards into a haphazard stack, then tosses five cards at him.
Her heart sinks when she sees her hand. She peeks at him, and sees his brow furrowed, lower lip jutted out. He looks adorable. I bet he made that face a lot when he was a kid. Unfortunately, it will tell her nothing about his hand. She's honestly surprised he let the game continue on this long.
She's honestly surprised he agreed to play at all.
She moves her cards around, hoping they'll somehow start matching. She knows after this hand, she'll either have to expose something or he'll be completely naked, and the odds highly favor him keeping his drawers. Still, she bluffs.
"Dun dun DUNNNN..." Abbie sings. "Time to show me whatcha got... in one way or another."
Ichabod sets his cards down with exaggerated care, fanning them out beautifully, his long fingers dancing over them.
Two kings, a nine, and two threes.
"Shit," Abbie says, tossing her hand down. Eight, Jack, two, five, and ten. No matching suits. "All rrright," she says, bolstering her confidence. "Let's do this." Top or bottom? I could take my panties off and continue to hide under the table...
"Y-you do not have to if..." Crane starts, looking almost as anxious as she does.
"No, it's the rules," she replies. She takes her glass and drains it. "You wwwon fair an' square. I'm jus' tryna to decide which one is gonna go."
He drains his glass as well and stands. Abbie's eyes widen, certain parts of him suddenly right at eye-level. She looks elsewhere, but not after allowing herself a rather indulgent inspection. He's skinny, but damn, he's fit.
She watches as he walks around the table, moving behind her. "Perhaps..." his hands land on her shoulders and she jumps, "perhaps I can help," he suggests, trailing them down her back, his fingers feather-soft over her shoulder blades, to the strap of her bra. He seems less drunk than before, which throws her slightly off-kilter.
"Okay," Abbie softly breathes, the word being the only breath leaving her.
Ichabod slips his fingers beneath the band, and she can feel them tugging and moving the garment, but he seems to be having trouble opening it. He kneels down to get a closer look.
Just as she reaches back to help, he opens the clasp. "Ah," he says, inspecting the two ends to see how they fit together. "Most in-genius..." he murmurs. She moves her head, trying to look back and see what he's doing back there. The familiar yet heady scent of her hair reaches his nose and he finds he can no longer resist the lure of her skin so close. He strokes her back with his fingers, pushing the bra out of the way in the process, then leans forward and kisses her spine.
"Ichabod," she says, but her voice is more of a moan than a warning.
He takes this as permission to continue, so he kisses again, and again, sweeping her hair out of the way as he moves up to her shoulder. Abbie's bra falls forward into her lap, but he doesn't notice because his eyes have drifted closed.
When he lightly sucks at her neck, she melts, dropping her head back. "What is happening?" she asks.
He lifts his head from her neck, still not looking down at her breasts. "I am finally giving in to my deepest desires, dearest Abbie," he rumbles, kissing the edge of her jaw. "The game and... the drink... have given me courage where I previously had none." His head is slowly spinning, but he's not sure if it's from the rum or from her.
"Oh, okay," she replies, reaching up to caress his face, stroking his beard. "Good." So good.
"Good?" he asks, lifting his head again.
"Mmm-hmm," she answers. "I've been thinking about this too…" Her hand moves upward, her fingers threading into his hair as he continues to slowly and softly spread kisses over her neck, jaw and ear. "How we've both been too scared to… mmm, right there…"
He sucks lightly at the patch of sensitive skin he's discovered, then moves away, kissing her cheek right at the corner of her mouth. Then he moves his head away. "Abbie," he quietly says, his voice suddenly very sober and serious.
She opens her eyes. "Why'd you stop?"
"Because I want you... but I want you when you are in full control of your faculties," he says, sitting back on his heels. "When we both are."
"I am in control enough," she says, looking over at him. "Don't think this is just the rum talking," she adds, her voice sounding clearer as she attempts to concentrate on not being drunk.
"I don't think that," he replies, smiling. "But... it is not right. Not this way. You deserve better." She raises an eyebrow at him. "We both do," he adds, and she nods.
He's gotten her all wound up, but she also knows he is right. Waiting is better. I want to be sober for... that. I want to be able to clearly remember everything. "Okay."
"Come to bed then," he invites, standing. "To sleep. It's very late." He picks up the flannel shirt and drapes it over her shoulders, wishing to wait before seeing all of her. "We will sleep, and if we feel the same about... this," he motions between them, "in the morning, well..."
Abbie considers his idea. I'm not going to change my mind, but I am really tired. "Will you share the bed?"
"That was my intent," Ichabod answers.
"Okay," she agrees, standing and pulling the flannel shirt around her like a cloak.
While he takes his turn in the bathroom, she ditches the shirt, sliding into the bed wearing just her panties. We should get him some new bed linens.
She is nearly asleep by the time he joins her, spooning behind her. He startles slightly when he feels her bare skin against his, and Abbie manages a small, sleepy chuckle before falling to sleep.
xXx
Abbie is hot. Too hot. Her back is sweaty, and it feels like she is surrounded by a heated blanket. She squirms, not ready to wake up yet. Her head feels a little thick and throbby, and though she can tell the sun is up, she is afraid to open her eyes. The hot blanket wrapped around her is very heavy.
And it has hands. One is holding her breast. Her eyes open as she remembers the previous night. Then they close again, and she finds she doesn't mind the hot blanket currently overheating her, because it is Crane. Ichabod. She squirms again, more deliberately this time.
"Mmm." A low rumble sounds behind her, and Ichabod moves, attempting to pull her closer. His thumb skims across her nipple. His hips flex forward into her backside. His lips brush her shoulder.
He stills behind her. What has happened? Oh yes. That's right. He kisses her again, firmer this time, and she sighs. "Good morning," he murmurs.
"It is, isn't it?" she sleepily replies, moving her head a little to entice him to kiss more.
"Do you remember last night?" he asks, gently taking her earlobe in between his teeth. From the looks of things, she does, and still feels the same. That knowledge is making him bold. Still, he must ask.
"Yes," she answers, "I do. I haven't changed my mind, and I am no longer drunk." However, his attentions are making her feel slightly drunk again.
"Good," he replies, caressing her breast again as he lightly sucks the side of her neck. "Because I've awoken with a tremendous cockstand," he flexes his hips into her again to illustrate his meaning, "and it would be a shame to put it to waste."
"Is it really tremendous?" Abbie asks, giggling. "Wait, 'cockstand'?" she asks, laughing more. She never grows tired of his antiquated terminology.
Ichabod lifts his head and looks down at her. She is incredibly beautiful. "I believe you take my meaning just fine, Miss Mills," he says, struggling to keep a straight face. "As far as your first question, I'll leave that for you to determine."
She turns around in his arms. "One thing first though," she says, tilting her face up towards his.
"Mmm, of course," he agrees, knowing what she wants. He leans down and kisses her, finally indulging in the softness of her lips.
Abbie sighs into the kiss, both comforted and amazed by the feeling of rightness that washes over her. So much so that she pulls away and looks up at him, fondly brushing his hair out of his face.
"What is it, my love?" Ichabod asks. He doesn't look concerned; merely curious.
"Nothing. Everything. Just… this. It feels…"
"Right. Like everything is as it should be," he finishes with a smile, bending his head to kiss her once more.