A/N: Rushing off to work, so it's a post and run. BTW, if anyone knows the exact make of Abbie's car for sure, could they let me know so I can fix up the last chapter? I just took a wild stab in the dark. :D

Hope you enjoy the chapter…

CHAPTER TEN

Ichabod burst through the line of trees to find Abbie wrestling with someone on the ground. Actually, it wasn't so much wrestling as her punching the other person repeatedly in the face. "Lieutenant!" he cried out, rushing over to the pair.

"Tell me where it is!" she screamed, not seeming to even notice Ichabod's presence. "Tell me!"

Ichabod bent down and wrapped his arms around Abbie's middle, dragging her off the hapless fellow she was still intent on pummeling. She writhed in his arms like a hellion. "Lieutenant, stop it! Calm down!"

"Let me go, Crane!" she hollered. "He knows where the bible is. He knows and he's going to tell me!"

For someone so small, Ichabod was finding it incredibly hard to contain her wild flailing about. "An unconscious man is able to offer little information, Lieutenant!" he shouted back, tightening his grip on her. "Please, contain yourself. This degree of hysteria achieves nothing."

"It makes me feel better!" she bellowed.

He understood her frustration and even shared it but knew this course of action would get them nowhere. "Be that as it may," Ichabod grunted, still trying to contain her and tightening his hold on her, "I must insist you give way to reason in this matter."

Abbie suddenly stopped struggling, going still in his arms. "I'm fine," she ground out, panting unevenly. "Now let me go."

Ichabod was wary of her sudden mood change. "You are calm?"

"Yes," Abbie growled.

He slowly loosened his grip on her and let Abbie move out of his grasp. Ichabod made a contrite expression. "I am sorry for manhandling you thusly, Lieutenant. I meant no impertinence." Abbie turned around to glare up at him and Ichabod swiftly swept her from head to toe, noticing blood her the bodice of her dress and across her arm. His brow furrowed in concern. "Are you wounded? I heard a shot." Ichabod reached out a concerned hand to check more closely for any kind of wound.

Abbie slapped his hand away. "I'm fine," she said shortly, still catching her breath. "I wasn't the one who got shot. Now, if you're done interrupting, I want to get back to interrogating my suspect."

"Why are you taking this tone with me?" asked Ichabod, taken aback. "We are on the same side. I heard that gunshot and feared someone might have been injured."

There was a weak groan from the ground. "Someone was injured."

"Shut up you!" snapped Abbie. "You shot yourself. And seeing as you spent half the night trying to shoot Crane and me, you're not going to get any sympathy from us."

Ichabod peered down at the bleeding man on the ground who was struggling to sit himself up against a tree trunk while nursing a gunshot wound to the arm. "Is that—?"

"Max Duncan, yes, it is and he was just about to tell me where the Anima was and who he was working for."

Max struggled to his feet, leaning back heavily on the tree behind him. "I'm sorry, Abbie, but you're not going to get the location of that book from me." He spat out some blood and licked his lips. "You two have got enough troubles without it."

"Oh yeah," said Abbie sarcastically, "Max here is trying to look out for us, Crane. Apparently shooting us was him doing us a favor."

Ichabod took a step closer to the man. "Why do you want us dead?"

"I don't," he replied simply. "He does."

Ichabod looked at Abbie and arched an eyebrow. She folded her arms in front of herself and shrugged. "Good old Max hasn't been forthcoming with the identity of this 'he' person he keeps talking about either. We were just discussing that when you interrupted us."

"Perhaps a less aggressive approach might get us further, eh?" suggested Ichabod.

Abbie looked unimpressed. "Knock yourself out."

Ichabod turned his attention back to Max. "Sir, you seem to be one pressed into reluctant service in the matter of disposing of Miss Mills and myself." He ignored the disdainful snort he heard from behind him. "We are the Witnesses—"

"I know who you are."

"Then you must know we fight on the side of good and free will," said Ichabod gravely. "Whatever your past transgressions, there is always the possibility of redemption. Let your actions redeem you now, sir."

"If I tell you anything, I'm a dead man," said Max soberly.

Ichabod was undeterred. "We believe you have information vital in turning the tide of this war in the favor of all that is good and worthwhile. No matter the sacrifice, isn't that a legacy you would wish to leave to future generations?"

Max made a face and looked away. "Hell, I was dead the moment I picked up that bible anyways." He looked back at Ichabod for a long moment. "I can tell you this," he said at last. He crooked a finger, indicating Ichabod should come closer.

Ichabod stepped closer.

"Closer," instructed Max.

"Crane," warned an unhappy Abbie.

Ichabod held a calming hand up to her. "It is alright, Lieutenant." He stepped closer and Max took hold of the lapels of his coat, dragging him down so his lips were against Ichabod's ear.

"The day is coming when her blood will be on your hands," he rasped into Ichabod's ear.

Ichabod stiffened, recoiling against such a suggestion.

"You're losing her already and you don't even know it. She's dying in front of your eyes but you can't see."

Ichabod couldn't help but feel a cold dread shoot through his body at such dire words, he opened his mouth to implore for more information but Max was already talking again.

"The only chance she has is if you don't—" Suddenly Max stiffened and gave a strangled cry.

"Crane, something's happening. Look out!" Abbie was grabbing his arm, trying to pull him away from Max but Ichabod resisted.

Ichabod took hold of Max's arm and gave it a shake. "What chance? What mustn't I do? What is going to happen?"

"Crane!" Abbie yanked him away violently.

Ichabod was forced to take a step back and when he did it was to see a Max starting to turn a strange, white-blue shade. The air around them became abruptly freezing as Max stiffened, eyes wide open in fear and pain. It was like the man was being frozen solid in front of their very eyes. Max went completely rigid as his whole body became like an ice statue made of flesh and bone. Ichabod and Abbie stared at the transformation in disbelief.

"What the hell was that?" squeaked Abbie in shock. "What just happened?"

Ichabod leaned forward a little, trying for a better look at this odd new phenomenon. "It appears our erstwhile Mr. Duncan has met an untimely end, rather unexpectedly." While Ichabod didn't meant to be hard-hearted, he could barely contain his ire at being cut off at such an important part of their conversation. Which, he supposed, had been the point of whoever perpetrated the man's demise.

"I get that," said Abbie in frustration. "What I want to know is how? He looks like he's been dropped into a vat of liquid nitrogen."

Ichabod didn't know what that was but Max's death certainly wasn't a result of natural causes, that could not be debated. "It seems someone did not wish Mr. Duncan to speak with us—" Ichabod didn't get to finish his sentence as suddenly there was a loud cracking noise and fissures abruptly started to appear all over Max's lifeless body. "Well, that doesn't look promising," noted Ichabod as he took a step backwards and holding out an instinctive hand to place Abbie behind him. Without any further warning, Max's body exploded into a million pieces and with a force that knocked both Ichabod and Abbie off their feet. Ichabod felt himself sailing through the air and landing several feet away on his back on the ground. Crystalline fragments of Max rained down upon him as he struggled to take hold of his senses again. The ground beneath him started to move.

"Crane, get off me! I can't breathe!"

Ichabod's eyes widened as he realized in his attempt to shield the Lieutenant from the exploding of Max Duncan, he had in fact landed on her. He quickly rolled to one side, freeing Abbie from beneath him.

She drew in a ragged breath, still looking shell-shocked. "You are so much heavier than you look," Abbie complained weakly, struggling to sit up.

"My apologies, Lieutenant," said Ichabod hastily, moving his hand to help her but then realizing it was covered in rapidly melting pieces of Max Duncan and withdrew it. In fact, he was covered in bits of flesh and bone, all down his coat and shoes. It was a fate Abbie was just realizing she shared.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at her dress. "Oh my god, am I covered in body parts?" Abbie made a pained expression as she put a shaking hand to her head. "Oh God, please don't tell me he's in my hair."

Ichabod grimaced as he did indeed see pieces of bone and flesh sticking out of the Lieutenant's hair. "Ah… well…"

Abbie gave a loud groan and flopped back on the ground covering her face with her hands. "I've got the one link to that bible stuck in my hair, my dress is ruined—"

Ichabod made a face as he made a quick sweep of that outrageously priced garment. Her dress was indeed ruined, torn, covered in mud, blood and human flesh, this dress would not see another outing. Ichabod couldn't help but feel a little relieved by that fact but didn't volunteer such an opinion on the subject, suspecting it would not be well received.

"And my car—"

"Is in a nearby field," offered up Ichabod quickly.

Abbie dropped her hands away from her face and looked up at him in amazement. "It is?"

"I drove it here. Without it, I feared I would not make it in time."

"My car still goes?" asked Abbie hopefully, propping herself up on her elbows. "Wow, that's one thing at least."

"Ah, well, it only appeared to function in reverse," said Ichabod reluctantly, "but as it transpired, I seem to be a better driver going backwards than going forwards, so it was of little handicap at the time."

"My car only drives in reverse now?" asked a despondent Abbie.

"Not quite. Unfortunately your mechanical beast gave its life in the service of delivering me to you. Its innards exploded in quite an unsettling fashion."

Abbie rolled her eyes and sagged back on the ground. "Of course it did," she groaned. "Perfect, just perfect."

Sirens could be heard drifting their way through the night air. "It appears our plight has been conveyed to others and help is on its way." Ichabod wrinkled his nose. "Albeit a little tardily as it turns out." He looked down at Abbie who was just lying on the ground, eyes closed. Ichabod frowned. "Lieutenant, are you alright?" Suddenly the woman by his side looked tiny and fragile to him. From their first meeting, Ichabod had never seen her as such, despite her diminutive stature. There was a fierce determination to Miss Abigail Mills that was evident within a moment of speaking with her and it warned you to take her lightly at your own peril. The strength and size of her character could always hold its own against anyone or anything. But now, she looked broken, almost defeated.

You're losing her already and you don't even know it. She's dying in front of your eyes but you can't see.

Unbidden, Duncan's words came back to Ichabod and felt his stomach tighten with anxiety. "Miss Mills?"

She sighed noisily. "I'm fine, Crane. Couldn't be better. You don't need to worry about me."

Ichabod wasn't as convinced of that. "When I approached you and Mr. Duncan—"

"I know," she interrupted him. "I was out of line. I shouldn't have done that. I guess I just snapped. I've never lost control like that before."

Ichabod looked carefully for his next words. "I am still uncertain what you hoped to achieve by such an assault."

"I was just looking for answers," Abbie said tightly. She pressed her lips together. "I just want one good day," said Abbie unevenly. "I want one day when everything doesn't go to hell."

"We both still draw breath, Lieutenant," said Ichabod quietly. "I count that as a very good day."

Abbie stared at him with hollow eyes. "I had him. I had Duncan right there but I couldn't get the information we needed out of him. I failed."

"You did not fail," said Ichabod firmly. "There is no doubt in my mind that Mr. Duncan would not have offered up any information to us, no matter the coercion or the incentive."

Abbie's gaze became intent. "But he said something to you, just before he exploded. What did he say?"

Ichabod hesitated, not sure if he should say anything. He needed more time to ponder the man's ominous meaning. "He said we must hold to one another," said Ichabod decisively. "That we are stronger together than apart and we must watch over each other with great care." His expression became more serious. "And that one should not leave the other behind to hurl themselves into great peril," he said with a note of censure.

Abbie's eyes narrowed. "He said that?"

"Perhaps that last part was an editorial on my behalf, but I believe his initial sentiment supports my thoughts on the subject."

"I saw a chance to do something and I took it. Don't even try and tell me that you wouldn't have tried to do the same thing if positions had been reversed."

"This is what I will tell you, Miss Mills, from now on, it is together, or not at all. We know our greatest strength when we are together. Apart, we only invite defeat." Ichabod could not accept that any harm would come to Abbie by his hand. It was an anathema to him. All he could presume was that the man was trying to unsettle him and make him question the undeniable bond the two of them shared. He would not allow that to happen, not while there was still breath in his body.

Abbie blinked. "Okay," she said quietly, "no more cowboy Abbie."

Ichabod looked at her in confusion.

"A cowboy is—"

"I know what a cow boy is, Lieutenant, they were the four troops of light dragoon and seven companies of infantry most recently led by Colonel James De Lancey of West Farm. They were recruited from among many of the finest families of Westchester County and New York and performed patrol duty throughout Westchester during the war."

Abbie's forehead wrinkled. "Why were they called cowboys?"

"Because they also would bring in cattle and other supplies to the British Army while they were entrenched in New York city."

"You don't say."

"But I don't quite understand your reference of being a cow boy, Lieutenant. They were well known for their organizational skills and strict discipline, in fact, other soldiers were sent to train with them to gain skills in these areas."

"I need to get you to watch a few John Wayne movies," said Abbie wryly. "Then you'll know what I'm talking about when I say the word cowboy."

"Is this what you two do with your free time, lie in a field and hold history lessons and cinema appreciation classes?"

Ichabod started at the sound of the other man's voice and he pulled his attention from Abbie to where Captain Irving was standing a few feet away, looking at them oddly. "Captain," he said in shock, scrambling to his feet, "we did not hear you approach." He reached out and helped Abbie to stand up too. It was then Ichabod noticed that the Captain wasn't alone. There was a barrage of emergency vehicles, police and ambulances, making their way over the field towards them, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

Irving arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, I opted for the silent and stealthy approach, so that's understandable," he said sarcastically.

Abbie looked a little flustered, tugging at her dress. "Sorry, sir, it's been a distracting night."

"I gathered. Sometimes you two are in your own little world." Irving shook his head at them. "I gotta say, I'm not convinced it's all that healthy." He walked closer and squinted at them before either could protest that statement. "What is that all over you two?"

Ichabod and Abbie exchanged unhappy looks before he responded. "Unfortunately it's Max Duncan."

"I'm not going to like this story, am I?" asked Irving in resignation.

"It would seem unlikely, sir," agreed Abbie ruefully. "But before we tell it, I really need to have a bath." She touched her hair gingerly. "A very, very long bath."

One of the CSI officers was by her side. Officer VanBurren shook his head at her. "Not before I collect every bit of our suspect off the both of you." He inclined his head at them. "I need your clothes."

"Of course you do," said Abbie flatly.

Ichabod put a protective hand up to his coat. "You want our clothing?"

"You'll get it back after we've scrapped all the dead guy out of it," said VanBurren casually. "May take a day or two."

"A day or two?" squawked Ichabod.

"Give the man your coat, Crane," Irving ordered him. "I've got some clothes in the trunk of my car which you can both wear."

"But—" Ichabod was already being bustled over to a square of white paper and made to stand on it as other CSI officers swarmed on him, pulling off his coat, shirt and shoes. Fortunately his coat had protected most of his trousers so he was allowed to keep them on. Abbie had been shepherded away to the other side of the CSI van for a little more privacy with her disrobement. Ichabod made several grunts of annoyance as the remainder of Max Duncan was picked from his hair by tweezer wielding officers.

"Okay, you're all done," announced VanBurren after what felt like an eternity of being pawed at.

"A small mercy," muttered Ichabod as he watched them bundle his coat, shirt and shoes into plastic bags.

"This way, Crane," called out Irving where he was standing by the trunk of his car.

Ichabod rubbed his bare arms to ward off the cold night air and walked briskly over to the Captain, taking the item of clothing the other man offered. Ichabod stared at the garment in his hands and then looked over at the Captain with a look of censure on his face.

"It was a gift from my daughter," said Irving unapologetically. "And I don't need to be gettin' attitude from the guy who wears stripper boots every day."

Ichabod's face wrinkled in generalized disapproval. "Is there nothing else that you can offer me?"

"I gave my other t-shirt to your partner because it was longer and she has more to cover."

The thought of a more covered Abbie brought Ichabod a small amount of relief. At least that was one blessing. Abbie then walked out from behind the van, wearing a grey men's t-shirt which came to just above her knees. Ichabod had forgotten the allure of a woman wearing a man's clothing and he pulled a face, this night felt never ending.

"Okay," she said flatly, "I've had enough fun for one night. Who's taking us home?"

"Can I expect a report on my desk tomorrow morning?" Irving asked.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," Abbie reminded him, "but yes."

"I've got a whole crew up at the big house pulling every bullet from the place."

Ichabod was reluctantly pulling on the garment supplied to him by the Captain. "They should prepare themselves for a long night then." He tugged down on the t-shirt. "Mr. Duncan was quite relentless in his wish to dispatch Miss Mills and I tonight."

"I can see that. Okay, we'll talk about this tomorrow. You two look like wrecks. Go home, get some sleep and we'll deal with this all with clear heads tomorrow." Irving waved his hand at a passing Deputy. "Carl will drive you both home."

Within minutes the two of them were within the back seat of a cruiser car, being driven home. "Will it really take a couple of days to secure our clothing back?" fretted Ichabod. He really didn't want to be without the familiarity of his attire for that long.

Abbie had her head propped up with her hand, elbow wedged against the back window glass as she watched the scenery go by. "You've got those clothes I bought you. You can just wear them for a day or two. It won't kill you."

"Clearly you have never attempted to fit yourself into the devil's trouser," muttered Ichabod. "A day or two entrenched in such constrictive clothing would be certain to do me a permanent mischief."

"They're called skinny jeans and no one ever died from wearing them," Abbie informed him, still intent on looking out the window.

"Mm," replied Ichabod, less than convinced. "At least the apparel waiting for me at the cabin is less of an abomination than my current attire." He pulled out the material of the hot pink t-shirt and read the inscription emblazoned across his chest in sparkling letters. "Who's your Daddy?" Ichabod shook his head. "Why would this article of clothing request such information of people on first meeting?"

"It's just a saying, Crane," said Abbie tiredly. "It's meant to be funny. Don't worry about it."

"The fashions of this time continue to perplex me. There is no logic to them."

"Yeah, you mentioned."

The rest of the ride home was spent in silence until they pulled up in front of Ichabod's cabin.

Carl twisted around in his seat. "I'm just going to check the place out, in case there is someone else looking to finish the job tonight. You two stay here."

"In this garish attire I suspect I have little to fear from any man or demon," grumbled Ichabod as the Deputy climbed out of the car and walked away, "because surely they will be too consumed with trying to pluck their eyes from their sockets to avoid beholding such a garb as this, granting me time to gain the upper hand."

"Ichabod?"

"Mm?" said Ichabod distractedly, scratching at the sparkling letters in an attempt to see what they were made of. He wondered how such material was applied to the shirt and made to stick so ferociously. A warm hand touched his knee. That got his attention, his head snapping around to see Abbie looking up at him with warm, loving eyes. "Ah, Miss Mills?" he said hesitantly.

Abbie just gave a languid smile and the next thing Ichabod knew, her hand had gone to his face, cupping it and drawing him into a heated kiss. Ichabod froze, hardly able to believe this was happening again. His hand went to grab her wrist, trying to break the kiss but then Abbie moved, straddling him in one fluid move. Ichabod made a strangled noise as he felt her thighs wrap themselves around him and then she was kissing him again. Panicked, Ichabod went to move her off him, his hands grabbing at her hips to try and remove Abbie from his person but she resisted, clinging more tightly to him instead. Ichabod's head was spinning from her kisses and the feel of her softness wrapped all around him. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as the confusion continued and he seemed unable to stop Abbie's overtures. Finally Ichabod grabbed at her arms, forcing Abbie back and breaking their kiss. "Stop," he panted. Ichabod shook his head at her. "We can't, this is madness."

Abbie just smiled knowingly and leant in closer, her lips against his ears. "I think the time for sanity has passed, my love." She pressed a warm kiss to his neck. "Don't you?" Abbie asked, lips brushing his neck. Ichabod couldn't help but close his eyes at the soft caress, hands tightening on her arms as his whole world tilted into chaos…