The Sin Eater lives several miles to the north, in a cabin on the shores of Pocantico Lake. Frank had warned them that he was an "unfriendly hermit who doesn't really like people" and that it was a definite possibility that he would not help them.

It was Cynthia who convinced the eccentric man to help their son, and he only did so after she showed him the fine wool she made from their sheep's fleece and offered to make him anything he liked from it. In the past three months, she's made two blankets and a scarf for him, and is currently working on a sweater.

Abbie and Ichabod spent another night in an inn. Exhausted and in no mood to deal with any other Hawleys, Abbie told the innkeeper that Ichabod was cloaked to disguise himself from some bandits he had beaten up who are now looking for him. She said it loud enough for several patrons to hear, and when they walked through the tavern to their room, no one said a word.

That night, they immediately fell into an exhausted but fitful sleep, their upcoming meeting with the Sin Eater heavy on their minds. Wondering if he will help them. Wondering what the price will be if he does.

Wondering if he can help them.

xXx

They left just before dawn once again, wishing to waste no time. They munched on bits of leftover food from the previous night's dinner as well as some dried fruit they brought along for breakfast and lunch. They only stopped a one other time to heed the call of nature, and reached the cabin by mid-afternoon.

The forest is beautiful and still here, the lake glistening in the background. It's just late March, so not much is growing yet, but Abbie imagines it must be a gorgeous, lush green in late spring and summer.

She squeezes Ichabod's hand. "Come on," she says, leading the way to the door.

He hesitates again outside the door, so Abbie knocks.

There is no answer. She knocks again.

"Perhaps he's out," Ichabod says.

"Frank said he was a hermit," Abbie answers. She peers into a nearby window, and Ichabod quickly and gently pulls her back.

"Don't!" he frantically whispers. "We don't want to give him any reason to—"

Abbie knocks again, louder this time. "Mr. Parrish," she calls. "Please, my husband and I have traveled far to seek your help." Ichabod goggles at her, and she whispers, "I saw him in there. He's home, he's just ignoring us."

"Well, bullying him isn't going to—"

"Go away," a gruff voice says on the other side of the door. "I am indisposed."

"You are doing a jigsaw puzzle," Abbie retorts.

"As I said," he snaps from the other side.

"Mr. Parrish, my name is Dr. Ichabod Crane," Ichabod finally finds his courage and his voice. "You have been recommended by the Irving family as someone who can help me. I have been living under a curse placed on me three years ago by Katrina Van Tassel, and—"

The door opens, causing Abbie and Ichabod to jump back in surprise.

Henry Parrish appears to be in his late 60s. He likely had a rugged handsomeness in his youth, but his unfriendly demeanor has etched permanent frown lines in his weathered face. He stares hard at Abbie for longer than she would have thought necessary, then gives Ichabod a rather quick once-over. "Hng," he grunts. "You are a pair." Then he steps back. "Are you coming in or do you plan to stand there gaping on my front porch all day?" he barks.

"Yes, of course. Thank you very much," Abbie says.

"Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Parrish," Ichabod echoes.

Henry sits, then brusquely waves at two chairs at the other side of the table, indicating that they should follow suit. "In what way will I benefit from helping you?"

"We can pay you," Abbie says, glancing at Ichabod, who nods.

"I have no need of paltry coin," Henry sniffs.

Ichabod looks around the man's small dwelling and notes many unique specimens of plants. "Would you be interested in rare cuttings and seeds?" he asks. "As a botanist, I have quite a collection in my home, and…" he digs into a bag, "a few samples with me that I am more than willing to offer in exchange for your help." He withdraws some envelopes and begins carding through them. "Hibiscus… bougainvillea… I can also offer you…" he looks around again, trying to determine what might take his fancy. Something he doesn't have. "Bromeliads. I have several," he concludes.

The old man's eyebrows lift just slightly. "Aechmea?"

"And canistropsis." After a beat, Ichabod adds, "I also have a fine collection of succulents, including many colorful and unique varieties of echeveria."

"I'll make you a list," Henry says. Then he looks back and forth between Abbie and Ichabod before asking, "What is it you wish? To be made a man once again, or for her to become like you?"

Abbie stifles an unexpected, anxious laugh. She hadn't even thought of that possibility. She looks over at her husband and sees his expression is mirroring hers.

"It's an intriguing thought, but for practicality's sake, I think it would probably be best for me to become a man once again, if you please," Ichabod answers.

"If I please?" Henry repeats. "I really don't care one way or the other, but I've agreed to help you, so I shall." He stands, walks to a closet, opens it, and withdraws a box.

It hadn't escaped Ichabod's attention that his mentioning Katrina's name seemed to be what opened the door, and his curiosity gets the better of him. "Did you know Miss Van Tassel?" he asks.

"She was my niece," he grunts.

"Oh!" Abbie exclaims, blinking in surprise.

"I come from a long line of very powerful witches and warlocks. Witchcraft has been in our bloodline for centuries, and Katrina Van Tassel was an embarrassment to our family," Henry continues, returning to the table. He spreads a large black cloth over the table, covering the puzzle he was putting together. "She was a remarkably incompetent witch," he grumbles, sitting. He begins fussing about in the box, pulling out various pots and tools. "I am amazed she lived as long as she did."

Abbie glances at Ichabod to see him gaping in surprise at the older man's words. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, then regroups and asks, "You are?"

Henry turns around. "Do you not know the meaning of the word 'incompetent', Dr. Crane?" he snaps. "Honestly, why do you think she had to make her living by brewing abortives and reading tea leaves for gullible village girls?" He sets his supplies on the table, then adds, "Tea leaves. Pah. An inexact and amateurish form of chicanery of the highest order."

"You don't believe in tea leaves?" Abbie asks, trying to hide her mild amusement. Mr. Parrish is bizarre, unpleasant, and prickly, but she finds she likes him a little. I must have a soft spot for cantankerous types, she realizes, thinking of both Sheriff Corbin and her husband. She reaches over and takes Ichabod's hand. He gently squeezes it.

Henry fixes her in his gaze, peering at her through his glasses. "Do you believe that there is also a message waiting for you in the bottom of your morning porridge, Mrs. Crane? Or perhaps it is the chamber pot that holds the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe."

A slow smile crosses her face and she can no longer hold back her laughter. "Point taken, Mr. Parrish," she says.

He nods once, then turns his attention back to Ichabod. "Now. Tell me."

xXx

By the time Ichabod finishes telling his story, Henry is shaking his head in disbelief.

"While I am impressed that she actually succeeded in turning you into a beast, I am not surprised that she bungled the spell," he says. "I know precisely where she went wrong, too," he adds, muttering almost to himself. "Now. While I agree that you did nothing to deserve the punishment she visited on you, it did do you some good, yes?"

Ichabod nods. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me," he commands again, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

Ichabod swallows, nerves starting to take hold. He glances at Abbie, still holding his hand, and she gives him an encouraging nod.

"I was selfish. Arrogant. I… I still have a tendency towards arrogance, if I am being honest," he pauses. "I thought I didn't need anyone else in my life… I did not want anyone else."

"And now?"

He glances at Abbie. "My Abigail's sister broke into my garden. I was a brute to her… I overreacted… turned my anger with myself outward… then Abbie appeared and showed me what kindness and selflessness looks like," he admits. "I was… immediately smitten. I quickly learned that I had been wrong." He looks over at Abbie, then back at Henry. "Of course I wasn't very kind to her at first either, but… she showed me the error of my ways. She changed me."

"No," Henry says, shaking his head and frowning.

"No?" Ichabod asks, confused.

"Abigail did not change you. No one can change another person; it is simply not possible. You changed yourself. You finally opened your eyes and your heart, saw the error of your ways, and—"

"And endeavored to become a man worthy of her. A man worthy of her friendship. Her love," Ichabod finishes.

"Good," Henry curtly replies. He unfolds his hands and holds his left one out, palm-up, on the table.

Ichabod glances at Abbie, then places his hand in Henry's. Quick as a flash, Henry stabs Ichabod's palm with a stone dagger. Ichabod hisses in surprised pain.

Abbie watches in mild horror as Henry lifts his finger to his lips, licks a drop of Ichabod's blood from it, and momentarily closes his eyes in what looks like euphoria.

Henry regroups and releases Ichabod's hand, leaving it resting on the table, blood welling in his palm. He holds his hand out to Abbie next.

"Me?" she asks, releasing her husband's hand to give to Henry.

"Just a drop, my dear," Henry says, his tone just a shade kinder. Instead of stabbing her palm, he takes a needle and just pokes the tip of her little finger. He gently squeezes until a single red pearl blooms on the end, then moves her hand so it is hovering over Ichabod's. He gives one more squeeze, turning her hand, and the drop lands in the small pool of blood in Ichabod's hand.

Henry looks squarely at Ichabod. "There is blackness in you. Katrina put it there, quite unintentionally, of course, and it clings. As long as you carry this sin of hers in your soul, it will keep you bound to this form. However, it does not want to go."

"Please… help me release it," Ichabod replies in a fervent whisper.

"That is what the drop of Abigail's blood will help accomplish. Her light will banish the darkness," Henry replies. "Take her hand again." Ichabod does so, and Abbie wraps both of her small hands around his. "Now repeat after me. I purge the wicked from my blood."

"I purge the wicked from my blood," Ichabod repeats.

"Our spirits severed; my soul sanctified."

"Our spirits severed; my soul sanctified."

"Curse, leave me now, I command you."

"Curse, leave me now, I command you!" Ichabod passionately repeats this last, his hand trembling in Abbie's.

Henry tips Ichabod's pierced hand, and only some of the rapidly-congealing blood breaks loose, suddenly flowing freely and pooling on the black cloth without soaking into it. Henry reaches over to a basket on the table and tears off a hunk of bread from a loaf there. He dips it into the blood, then pops it into his mouth.

He chews and swallows.

Ichabod collapses to the floor.

"Ichabod!" Abbie exclaims, dropping to her knees next to him.

"He is sanctified," Henry says, standing to look down over the table at them.

Abbie looks up at the strange old man. "I know. Thank you."

xXx

Henry and Abbie move Ichabod's body to a small, creaky sofa to wait. Abbie knows this is right; she knows that Ichabod blacked out when he became a beast, but she doesn't know for how long he was out.

Henry makes tea, and brings her some. Then he returns to the table, packs up his box, removes the black cloth, and resumes working on his puzzle.

"Just stay with me," Abbie whispers, sitting on the floor beside the couch, holding his hand. "That's all I ask. I don't care if you're a beast or a man, just don't leave me. Remember, you promised."

She waits for what seems like hours, until her rear feels numb and flat from the hard floor of the cabin. Henry mostly ignores them, quietly working his puzzle. Abbie isn't sure if he's intentionally staying out of the way to give them a sense of privacy or if he truly doesn't care, but decides it doesn't really matter.

Tired, she rests her head on the edge of the sofa for a second, idly stroking the back of his hand. She leans up, kisses his forehead and whispers, "I love you." Then she sits back down again, once more resting her head on the sofa cushion.

Her eyes drift close but her thumb still rhythmically rubs his hand.

Something feels different. She opens her eyes and looks at their joined hands. It looks like the fur is…

She releases his hand and wipes the back of it with hers. The fur falls off in clumps. A relieved sob escapes her, and she reaches up to his face. The fur is already disappearing, and his ears are slowly moving back down to their proper position as well as returning to their correct shape. His nose elongates back into a human form. His claws lighten and thin into fingernails. She reaches into his shirt and feels his heart beating beneath his skin – skin!

"Ichabod," she gasps, standing and stepping back, just watching now as the last of the fur falls away. Thankfully, it disappears as it falls, leaving no mess behind.

"He's quite a handsome man." Henry's voice behind her makes her jump. "Have you seen him in his human form before?"

"Only in a torn painting," Abbie answers. She looks at Henry. "I actually didn't think he was that bad to look at as a beast," she admits.

"Well, that is because you love him," he simply answers. "Love is not blind, but it does affect how we see people."

"Have you ever been in love, Mr. Parrish?" she asks, looking at him, trying to imagine such a thing.

His surly face softens for a moment. "I have the ability to recognize love in others, but have no capacity to give love," he answers. "It is the price I pay for my… gifts."

She gives him a sad smile. "Is it worth it?"

Henry looks from Abbie to Ichabod and back. "Sometimes."

"Abbie…" Ichabod's voice is weak and hoarse, but definitely his.

Abbie wheels around, rushing to her husband's side. "Don't get up," she says, perching beside him, gently pushing him back onto the cushions. "You're back," she sighs.

"My teeth are blunt," he comments, and she laughs, watching his face twist as he explores the inside of his mouth with his tongue. He lifts his hands and stares at them like they are long lost friends. He reaches up to his face, then stops, changing his mind and instead cups Abbie's face with his large hands. "Oh," he sighs, his voice wobbling. His hands explore further, touching her hair, her neck, then her hands. "This is so much better… my hands as a beast were so thick and rough… no refinement, no gentility." He takes her hand and kisses her palm, groaning as he does so. "At last I can love you the way you deserve," he murmurs into her hand, kissing it again.

"I've had no complaints," she says, laughing and crying at the same time. She reaches down and touches his face, watching as his eyes close in bliss. "You still have a beard," she observes, lightly raking her fingertips through it.

"I had it before," he replies. "You saw it in the portrait. Though now, perhaps I might shave, just because I can."

"Don't you dare," she immediately says, leaning down. "It suits you, and I like it," she adds, then kisses him. "Oh, God, you have lips," she says, then immediately kisses him again.

"They're still not much, but they'll do," he replies, his voice slightly muffled as they haven't stopped kissing. He begins to pull Abbie down over him, but Henry pointedly clears his throat, reminding them they aren't alone.

"Oh," Abbie giggles, wiping her face and moving away.

"Tea," Henry says, bringing a cup for Ichabod. "It will help. Then you can leave."

"Thank you, Mr. Parrish," Ichabod says, taking the cup. "For everything." He sips his tea, which has been prepared exactly to his liking. "I shall not forget our bargain."

"I know you will not," Henry replies.

xXx

Abbie and Ichabod leave Henry's after dark and find an inn for the night, reveling in not having to concoct a story to explain Ichabod's appearance. They even dine in the tavern with the other guests instead of in their room.

However, they eat quickly, having other things on their minds.

Their coupling is fast, frantic, messy, and mostly clothed. Much to her delight, Abbie learns that while her man is no longer a beast, at least one part of his personality has remained very beast-like.

Some time after, Ichabod strips and goes to the mirror, where he stands and stares at his naked body, studying his now-unfamiliar human form. He gathers his hair, which hangs just past his shoulders, and pulls it back, trying to decide if he should cut it or leave it long.

Abbie sits on the bed and stares, too, simply taking him in.

He turns around. "What do you think?" he asks.

"About your hair or in general?"

He chuckles. "In general. I find I am suddenly a bit insecure."

"Says the man standing unconcernedly buck naked," Abbie laughs. "You look good. Real good," she adds, pointedly looking him up and down.

"Thank you," he exhales. "It's been such a long time."

A playful smirk crosses her face. "Well, it will take some getting used to," she says, hungrily watching him as he slowly stalks towards her. "But…"

"But?" he prompts, dropping back onto the bed. He kisses her, deeply, longingly, passionately, relishing the ability to properly do so now.

"I admit I was happy to discover that the beast isn't completely gone," she whispers, leaning her head back as he begins kissing down her neck.

He lifts his head and raises an elegantly arched eyebrow at her. It's extremely sexy. "Were you afraid I was going to turn meek and limp in our marriage bed?"

She forgets how to breathe for a moment. "The thought had crossed my mind," she answers.

He wickedly chuckles, then leans down to bite her neck. She gasps and he quickly removes her clothes, then shoves the bedcovers back so he can climb over her again. He kisses lower, moving to her breasts, which he licks and sucks at until she makes small whimpering noises. When he makes his way back up, she pushes on his chest.

"What? Oh…" he lightly exclaims, momentarily confused until he realizes she wants him to lie on his back. He happily complies, watching her with greedy eyes as she straddles him.

"I have all this new skin to explore," she says, running her hands down his chest.

He groans, his eyes closing as if her touch overwhelms him. When she leans forward and sucks on the side of his neck he nearly sobs in ecstasy. After three years of being covered in thick fur, his skin is extremely sensitive and every touch from his wife is like the most exquisite torture.

Abbie kisses down and lightly bites his nipple. Ichabod cries out, nearly flying off of the bed. When she swirls her tongue around it, he groans again.

"The other guests are going to hear," she says, running her fingers through his very reasonable amount of chest hair.

"I don't care," he says, breathing heavily. "We are married… oh…" he pauses, grunting when she kisses his stomach, "and I cannot help it… your every touch floods my senses."

"Should I stop?" she asks, drawing a circle with her finger around his navel as she wickedly grins up at him.

"Good God, no," he answers.

She laughs, kisses him just below his bellybutton, and moves lower. When she takes him in her mouth, he shouts.

This part of him hasn't changed, Abbie notes, licking his length before sucking him in as far as she can. When she reaches to cup him below, he decides he can't take any more.

"Abbie," he growls through clenched teeth, "Oh God, stop…"

She immediately releases him, places one more small kiss on his shaft, then moves back up over him. "Too much?" she asks, stroking his face.

"Yes," he replies, his eyes hungrily roving her form.

She knows that look; it is the same look whether he is man or beast. She shifts her hips lower, sliding herself on his manhood. "Mmm…" she moans, her head dropping back.

"Abbie, my treasure… why do you torment me so?" he asks, his hands coming up to cover her breasts.

"Because," she answers, lifting up and positioning herself over him, "I can." She slowly sinks down, her small hands braced on his ribs.

He groans, his fingers flexing into her breasts, and she begins moving. He watches her, his hands roving, and marvels at how lucky he is. How his life took an unexpected turn that led to yet another unexpected turn that led him here.

"I love you so much, Abbie," Ichabod breathes, pulling her down so he can kiss her.

"I love you, too, Ichabod," Abbie answers, sealing her lips over his in a deep, slow kiss.

They gradually start moving faster as sensations quickly build, and it's not long before Ichabod is gripping her hips, reminding himself (for the second time that night) that he doesn't have to pull out.

"Oh… oh!" Abbie cries, dropping her forehead against Ichabod's just as he tenses up and floods into her with a growl.

She nuzzles his nose, then kisses him before relaxing on top of his chest, tucking her face into his neck. "You're still warm," she observes.

"So it seems," he agrees, wrapping his arms around her. She yawns and he gently rubs her back before smoothing her hair away from her face. "You're tired," he says, kissing her forehead. "Sleep. We can leave at our leisure tomorrow for a change."

"You must be tired, too," she answers. "You've had a harder day than I have."

"I'm exhausted."

She slides off of him and he spoons behind her after pulling the covers over them.

"Ichabod?" she asks after a minute.

"Yes, Love?"

"How much money do we have left with us?"

"A fair amount, since we did not have to pay Mr. Parrish for his services. And the inns we've chosen have cost less than we expected," he answers.

"Do we have horse-buying money?" she asks.

He laughs. "We probably have enough to buy one."

"Well, if I'm riding with you, that's not a problem," she replies.

"Indeed not, Treasure," he agrees. "And it would be beneficial for us to have one, if I am returning to bring aloe to the Irvings."

"And plants to Mr. Parrish," she adds, snuggling deeper into the blankets. "And then you can teach me how to ride."

"I think you'll be an apt pupil, based on your performance just now," he rumbles, nosing through her hair to kiss the back of her neck.

"What? Oh!" she exclaims, descending into giggles as understanding dawns.

"You were divine, my love. Now go to sleep," he says, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

She nods, and they are both asleep in minutes.