Running. Running like someone had set their backsides on fire, their heavy boots crunching through the thin crust of ice on top of the snow as they flew, racing through the trees, Abbie's hand clutched in Crane's as he pulls her along with him, forcing her much shorter legs to keep pace with his.

"Still want a dog, Crane?" she yells sarcastically, pointing her gun behind her and firing point-blank at the massive hellhound pursuing them.

She fires and fires and fires and nothing happens.

"At the moment, I do not," he answers, pulling hard on her arm, practically throwing her at the drivers' side door of her car.

Abbie scrambles inside, fires up the ignition, and hits the gas just as Crane is closing his door.

"What the fuck was that?" she asks loudly, her still-rapid breathing forming little puffs of steam in the cold air of the car. She doesn't normally drop f-bombs, but if there was ever a time for one, it's now.

"It appeared to be some sort of hellhound," Crane says, taking several deep breaths, trying to slow his own racing heart. His voice is steady, but his eyes and the flexing fingers of his hands betray his inner terror.

Also, Abbie can read him like a book.

Unfortunately, so can an increasing number of people at the station. In the past month, as their relationship has developed, as their feelings for each other have continued to deepen, the shift in their relationship has become more obvious. Abbie's had a few more conversations similar to the one she had with Wendy. Sometimes they just get looks when they walk through the station, not touching one another, sometimes not even speaking, but people can see the attraction between them.

Abbie is about ready to post a memo on the station bulletin board stating, "YES, LT. ABBIE MILLS AND PROF. ICHABOD CRANE ARE INVOLVED. CAN WE GET BACK TO FIGHTING CRIME NOW?"

To make matters worse, Luke's face seems permanently stuck on the "stinkeye" setting. At least it's his default expression whenever he sees them. Or even hears Crane's name.

And then there's Irving. Captain Frank "Assume I Know Everything" Irving, who happened to walk into the archive one afternoon while Abbie and Crane were working.

Honestly, they were working. Abbie had found something of interest in a large volume opened on a table in front of her, and had just called Crane over to take a look. He stood behind her, reading over her shoulder. Perhaps he didn't need to stand so closely behind her. Perhaps he didn't need to lean over and rest his palms on the table on either side of her so he could surround her small body with his and smell her hair.

And perhaps Captain Irving didn't need to walk in at the exact moment when Crane succumbed to temptation and kissed Abbie's temple, bringing a sweet smile to her lips.

"Really?"

They jumped, excuses rapidly formulating as they turned, only to see the retreating form of the captain, hands in the air in surrender.

"Is it still following us?" Abbie asks, looking in the rear-view mirror. She sees nothing but blackness behind them.

Crane turns around in his seat, cursing under his breath as the seatbelt impedes his movement. "I see nothing. Perhaps the Horseman hailed the hound back to his side," he says. The foreboding image of the Horseman standing, tall and still, silhouetted against the trees, the huge beast on a chain at his side, is one that will always stay with Crane. It's pretty indelibly imprinted on Abbie's mind, too.

Especially the part when the Horseman released the chain.

"Awesome," Abbie says sarcastically, turning the car towards the station instead of home.

Crane recognizes the route. "We are going to the archives. Excellent," he nods.

"Sleep is overrated anyway," she answers, stretching her stiff neck.

"Abbie, are you all right? Not injured? Forgive me for not asking sooner, Treasure," he says softly, reaching for her hand.

She smiles at the unusual endearment. He never ceases to surprise. "I'm fine," she says, lifting his hand and kissing it just as he so often does to hers. "Thank you. And thank you for not letting go."

"I could hardly sprint off and leave you vulnerable to that… creature," he says. He looks down at her and cocks his eyebrow, smirking. "I do not know how to drive this machine."

"Ha ha," Abbie says, but she is actually laughing as well. She knows he is teasing, trying to lighten the mood.

"You know, you probably should learn to drive," she says, parking. "What if something happens to me and I'm unable to do so?"

"Hmm. True," he allows, frowning as he climbed out of the car, clearly unhappy at the thought of Abbie being injured in any way. He looks to the east and sees the barest hint of gold just beginning to show in the sky. "Dawn is nearly upon us."

"Good," she says. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"Not exactly the most festive way to ring in the New Year, is it, my love?" he asks, following her out of the cold and into the station.

"I've had wor—wait, no, I haven't," she sighs, laughing. "Even that time when Jimmy Dickinson tried to give me a New Year's kiss – ugh – was better than hunting a big-ass demon dog in the forest, only to wind up becoming the quarry instead of the hunter."

"Indeed," he agrees, walking down the stairs beside her.

Three… two… one… Abbie mentally counts down. Waiting.

"Who is this James Dickinson?"

Bingo.

"Crane, I was 16 years old. Get a grip," she says, biting back her laughter as she walks inside.

"A 'grip,' you say?" he asks, pulling her into his arms. "Will this be sufficient?" he rumbles, holding her tightly as he leans down to kiss her.

"Yeah," she breathes when he releases her lips.

"Happy New Year, Abigail," he mutters, touching the tip of his nose to hers briefly.

"Happy New Year," she answers, hugging him, her head on his chest. "We need to do some work," she says, but doesn't let go.

"Yes, we do," he agrees. They reluctantly separate, and Crane heads towards a book he found a few weeks ago about demonic animals.

Abbie has learned to be very thankful for that memory of his. He never forgets where he's put something. Comes in especially handy when doing research.

"Coffee?" she asks, heading to the coffee pot she brought from her house. They decided it was much more useful here.

"Please," he says, simultaneously flipping pages in the book while shrugging out of his coat.

"You got a good look at that thing, right?" she asks, stepping over, absentmindedly toying with the tiny ruby pendant hanging from a slender gold chain around her neck. Her Christmas gift from Crane. She bought him a gold pocketwatch, figuring he'd prefer it to a wristwatch.

"As good as I could have, considering the low light," he says, slowly turning the thick pages of the ancient volume in front of him. "No… no… too slender… too many heads… there. Does that agree with your memory, Abbie?" he asks, angling the book towards her.

"Yep," she says. "Huh. Looks like the demon dog from Ghostbusters," she observes.

"Beg pardon?" he asks, looking at her.

"It's a movie. I'll show it to you sometime. You'll love it," she says. He might get about half of the jokes.

He looks skeptical. "Perhaps after we vanquish this beast," he says. "Well after."

She chuckles and turns back to the book. "All right. Let's see what we can find out about this thing."

xXx

"Do you have a plan?" Abbie asks, stepping out of her car and checking her weapons. Again.

It's dusk, moments after sunset. Heading into that damnable (quite literally) forest. Again.

"No. Yes. Maybe. Find the hound, retrieve its amulet, destroy said amulet, kill the hound."

She rolls her eyes skyward. Thanks, genius. "How?"

"I have no idea," he sighs. "I suggest we begin the same as last night."

"Yes, because that worked out so well," she says shortly, trudging towards the forest.

"Well, forgive me, Lieutenant, but I am just as stymied as you on this matter," he snaps, her cross mood infecting him now.

She stops and turns to face him, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry, Ichabod. I haven't slept in over two days. Neither have you. We're functioning on caffeine and adrenaline, and I'm scared. I didn't mean to be short with you."

"I know, Abbie," he sighs, pulling her into a hug. "I'm frightened, too."

"We need to get this thing before it decides to go back into town," she says, leaning her head against him.

They got the call from Animal Control two nights ago. It was a short call, generally consisting of "Oh, hell no."

"Indeed," he agrees, "we must—"

A deep, menacing, otherworldly growl pulls them out of their thoughts and one another's arms, and suddenly, they are on high alert.

Crane and Abbie creep into the forest, every sense alert, guns raised.

The growl comes again, and they follow, their boots softly crunching on the frozen ground.

They walk about 20 more yards and stop, suddenly noticing the unnatural quiet that has fallen over the forest.

Crane opens his mouth to speak. He never gets a chance. The hellhound lunges, tackling Abbie.

"Abbie!" he yells, running after them, trying to aim his pistol but unable to get a clear shot.

Abbie screams, and Crane hears a shot ring out. The hound makes a startled bark, its hind leg hit, but the injury only makes it angrier. Panic rises in Crane's belly and he runs toward them, his only thought Get that beast off of Abbie.

Crane quickly holsters his weapon and leaps, jumping on the hound's back, praying his added weight won't crush Abbie. "Get… off… of… her…" he growls through gritted teeth, pulling at the hound's head, yanking its horns, trying with all his might to keep its fangs away from Abbie.

The hound snaps its jaws and thrashes its head, trying to shake Crane, but his grip is like iron. "Abbie…" he shouts, his voice edged with a desperation Abbie has never heard before.

"Aaurgghh! Yuck!" she answers. She sounds angry and is fighting valiantly, keeping her arms between the hound's head and hers, her elbows locked but arms beginning to tremble. "Crane… get the… collar…" she grits out, eyes locked on the glowing jewel dangling in front of her face.

"Trying…" he grunts back. "Can you shoot again?"

"Yeah…"

She kicks her foot up as hard as she can, hoping the beast is male, and aims approximately for where she thinks its balls should be.

It yelps and loses its footing slightly. Paydirt. Crane hangs on, and Abbie takes her advantage and moves the hand still gripping her gun.

"Now!" he yells. Aiming low, she fires at the hound's haunches again.

Crane grunts and tugs, pulling the beast off of Abbie, steering it by its thick horns. He has less than a second to enjoy his victory.

"Ichabod!" she screams, watching as the hound and Crane tumble, rolling down a hill on which she hadn't realized they were struggling.

Something flies through the air and lands at her feet. "Break it!" his voice rises up from the slope below.

Abbie hesitates a moment, torn between shooting the amulet and going after Crane and the hellhound. Amulet first. We can't destroy the hound until we destroy the amulet.

Quickly, she picks up the broken collar, sets it on a rock, and shoots it. It explodes in a shower of sparks, a shower much larger than what she was expecting. Much larger than that which should come from a one-inch amulet.

A moment later she hears a shot from the bottom of the hill.

She immediately bolts, heart pounding, half-sliding down the snowy slope.

"Ichabod…" she gasps, skidding to a halt a few yards from them. She sees the body of the hellhound, still and strangely smoldering, melting the snow around it. A short distance away is Crane's prone body, his gun still cradled in his open hand. He's not moving.

Abbie's breath leaves her body and she slides down closer. Quickly, with hands that are now trembling slightly, she puts another bullet in the hound's head – always double-tap these things – before hurrying over to Crane.

He's as still as the hound slowly turning to ash behind her.

Abbie reaches down and touches his shoulder. "Crane?" She shakes him slightly. "Ichabod?" She pats his cheek and shakes his shoulder harder, growing more frantic as each second ticks by. "Ichabod?" She climbs over him now, straddling his waist. "Please wake up, Baby," she whispers, leaning over him, her ear close to his mouth, trying to see if he's breathing, the whole time thinking No no no no no no…

His breath is present but shallow. Biting her lip, she pats his cheek again, a little harder. She sags, then inspired, takes a handful of snow and sprinkles it on his face. "Crane," she pleads, her voice breaking slightly.

"Pfff…" Crane sputters, blowing the melting snow off of his face, shaking his head a little. He reaches up and wipes the moisture from his face, blinking up at Abbie, surprised to see her sitting on him.

"Oh, Baby, thank God," Abbie sighs, dropping over him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. His arms come up and circle her back, holding her tightly.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"Am I all right?" she moves, kneeling beside him now, looking down at him with an incredulous expression on her face.

"You've a scratch," he frowns, sitting up now. He reaches across to touch her cheek, brushing a bit of dirt away from the scratch.

"You were unconscious and you're worrying about a little scratch?" she huffs. She brings her hand up over his, though, turning her head and kissing his palm. "Are you okay?"

"I believe so. A bit battered and bruised, but I shall mend," he says, slowly making his way to his feet.

"You're sure you're all right?" he asks, his blue eyes boring into her, scanning her for any other sign of injury.

"Might be a little sore tomorrow, but I think I'm intact, amazingly," she says. "I got some demon dog slobber on me. That was pretty gross," she adds, smirking a little, trying to diffuse his intensity. It's making her worry.

Her attempt doesn't work. She can see his hands opening and closing, his eyes darting. He looks like a man trying very hard to hold it together.

"We should go before Headless realizes we killed his pet," Abbie says softly.

"Yes," he agrees immediately, glancing at the dead hellhound once before tightly grasping Abbie's hand and climbing back up the hill.

xXx

After a quick call to report in to Irving, the ride home is quiet. They are both wide awake now. Both thinking about what just happened, both trying to process his or her feelings. Both thinking the same thought.

I could have lost her.

I could have lost him.

Abbie feels Crane's eyes on her while they drive. She feels them like they are his hands on her; each place at which he gazes grows warm.

She reaches to turn down the car's heat and he takes her hand, holding it tightly. A little too tightly, Abbie notices. He's gripping her hand like he's afraid she's going to slip away from him.

He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses each finger, the back of her hand, her palm, her wrist. Abbie notices he is trembling slightly.

She also notices her hand is getting wet.

"Ichabod, are…" she looks over at him and her words fail when she sees silent tears falling from his closed eyes as he presses her hand to his lips over and over again.

She pulls the car to the side of the road, and Crane releases her hand just long enough for her to shift into park and turn off the engine.

It's then she notices her own tears. Problem is, she's not sure if she's crying because of what just happened out there or because of what's happening right now in here.

As Crane unbuckles her seat belt and pulls her into his arms, she realizes it doesn't matter.

He holds her, his whole body trembling, his tears joining hers as they fall.

Somehow he's managed to pull her completely onto his lap. His arms are locked around her body.

"I've been in war… seen men die before my eyes… taken lives," he whispers, tucking his face against her neck, "but seeing that… thing… leap onto you… watching it trying to kill you… was the single most frightening thing I've ever seen."

"Now you know how I felt watching you tumble down the hill," she whispers back. "I think my heart stopped."

"I know my heart stopped," he answers, lifting his head to lean against hers, thumbing away the tears on her cheeks. "I don't know what I would have done had you—"

Abbie realizes it's her turn to be the strong one now, and she straightens up, looking directly into his blue eyes. "Stop. Don't think about that. We're alive. Better than alive; we're alive and have sustained amazingly little damage." She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him against her. "Someone is looking out for us," she whispers.

He sighs, squeezing her again. He turns his head and kisses her neck. "You may be right," he says.

"You know I'm right," she says, grinning now, and she feels him chuckling against her neck.

He sighs again. "I will confess that finding you perched on my stomach was quite an agreeable way in which to wake up."

Abbie laughs now, lifting his chin and placing a small kiss on his lips. "Let's go home," she says softly.

xXx

Abbie unlocks the door and notices her hand is still trembling slightly. They step inside, moving automatically, walking to the coat closet. Crane, ever the gentleman, lifts Abbie's coat from her shoulders, his deft fingers somehow managing to brush the back of her neck in the process, sending a shiver through her. He removes his own coat and hangs it up as Abbie pulls her boots off.

His hand is halfway to his scarf when Abbie reaches over, taking one end of the scarf in her hand, intending to unwind it from around his neck.

Instead she grabs the opposite end with her other hand, and just when she is about to pull him down to her, he leaps, beating her to it.

Their lips crash together, desperate, a little clumsy in their adrenaline-fueled passion. Teeth bump a bit, but neither care as they lock together in a heated, frantic kiss.

"Abbie…" he gasps, tearing his lips away so he can reach down and hoist her into his arms, his hands boldly holding her backside as she wraps her arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

All the fear and anxiety bubbles to the surface again, transformed into something different; something primal.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he croaks out between kisses, walking blindly to her bedroom.

Their bedroom.

"When you went over that hill…" Abbie answers, reaching up to tug the band from his hair. She drops it to the floor and plunges her fingers into his soft tresses. "And then…"

"That beast was huge… you're so tiny…"

"Oh…" she gasps as he sits on the bed. She straddles his lap and he starts kissing her neck, nosing the thick collar of her sweater aside.

"Sod it all," he mutters, grabbing the hem of her sweater and tugging upwards. She lifts her arms and he pulls the thick garment over her head. She has one of her v-neck t-shirts on beneath it. "Better," he mumbles, his eyes taking just a moment to appreciate how her ruby necklace rests attractively in her cleavage before returning his lips to her neck.

"You, too," she says, yanking his scarf off and tugging at his dark green thermal Henley shirt.

He whips it over his head a second later and it lands on top of her sweater on the floor. Then his lips are on hers again, kissing her deeply, hungrily.

"Ichabod…" she sighs his name as she feels his hands pulling at her t-shirt now, pulling it free from her jeans. He slides his hands inside, his palms flat on the skin of her back. "Mmm…" she moans into his lips, loving the feel of his hands on her body.

Somewhere in the farthest corner of her mind, Abbie is wondering when he's going to ask permission to do what she thinks – hopes – they are about to do. He is breaking his own rule, after all.

She feels his hands slide down and grab her backside again, shifting her off of his lap.

Oh. I guess that's it, she thinks, but then he is yanking the covers back and dropping down onto the bed, kissing her again, moving her, laying her back on the pillows.

His lips still glued to hers, his fingers find the button of her jeans. He opens it easily, sliding the zipper down as well. Without asking permission. He instinctively knows he already has it.

I guess that's not it!

"Ichabod," she moans his name, writhing on the bed as he moves down to pull her jeans off, lifting her hips to help.

"Abbie," he whispers, kissing her knee before tugging her socks off as well.

"Keep up, Crane," she says, teasing, looking pointedly – and hungrily – at his jeans – and the very noticeable bulge contained therein.

"Boots," he mutters impatiently, sitting on the end of the bed next to Abbie's feet, yanking hurriedly at the laces. He hears the bedside table drawer open and turns his head to see Abbie withdrawing a small, flat square of plastic and setting it on the top beside her necklace, which she must have just removed.

Crane doesn't have time to ponder the mysterious plastic thing, because his second bootlace has gotten knotted.

"Bloody hell…" he curses, bending over his uncooperative boot. He hears Abbie's soft sigh behind him. "One moment, my love," he mutters, contemplating finding a knife and just slitting the damnable ties.

"Ah," he declares a moment later, finally succeeding in untangling the knot. He pulls the boot off and stands, turning, working on his own jeans now. He looks down at Abbie, laid out on the bed. Beautiful.

Asleep.

"Oh, Abbie…" he sighs. He's a bit disappointed, of course, but feels a smile tugging at his lips nevertheless, the humor of the situation not completely lost on him.

He finishes pulling his jeans off, removes his socks and undershirt, and climbs into bed beside Abbie, pulling the covers up over them and wrapping his arms around her.

"Good night, my heart. I love you," he whispers, kissing her forehead. She snuggles into his embrace, sensing his presence, even in her sleep.

Crane closes his eyes and immediately falls asleep.