Thanks to my dear friend JWAB for inspiring some of my thoughts on this chapter. She is like candy for my brain. If you haven't read her Sleepy Hollow fics yet, you are missing out on fine writing, friends.
Abbie fenced like she was playing baseball.
Crane had tried to teach her the classy, fancy way he used a sword (or, in their case, a stick with a hilt), but it didn't work for her. The long sword, almost as tall as she was, slowed her down, made it harder to maneuver. She wound up getting tangled and couldn't get any leverage. So after their second lesson, she'd hacked off a good four inches of her sword with Crane's ax. Rolling his eyes, he'd said it looked like a dirk and she looked like a common seaman.
She didn't care. Now she could get low, minimizing her strike zone. Now she could choke up on the sword to give herself more control and power. Now she could duck and dart and harry him.
Now she liked fencing.
"Keep your guard high. Turn to the side, make a smaller target," Crane coached, but his voice was strained. Abbie grinned. She had him on the run. Instead of the big, broad motions he used, Abbie poked him and thwaped him. None of them were kill shots, but if they'd been using steel, he'd've been bleeding pretty badly by now. She prodded him in the ribs; she smacked him across the back. Every now and then he'd land a blow, but she hardly felt them.
"Leftenant, I believe that is enough for the day," he panted after she'd sent him crashing to one knee with a well-timed strike to the back of the thigh.
"I'm just getting' warmed up. C'mon." She bounced on the balls of her feet like a boxer.
Crane cast her a sidelong glance, but brushed the dirt from his pants and saluted her again. She returned the gesture just to humor him, then barreled in once again. Crack, sword on sword. Thwack, hip. Thwack, elbow. "Leftenant," he started, but she ignored him. She was in the zone. Jab, ribs. Every movement, every sound of sword on flesh, it all made her feel alive. Crack, swords. "If you please, Miss-" Smack, belly-
"Yield!" Crane coughed. He dropped his sword and doubled over, clutching his stomach. "Good God, Mills, I yield to you. Are you trying to do Moloch's work for him?"
"Oh come on, don't be mad 'cause I was winning." She swished her arms through the air, trying to stay warm and limber for when they started again. They would start again soon, right?
"I am not angry, but I am severely bruised. Whatever has gotten into you today?" He walked gingerly to a fallen log. Abbie started to give another taunting reply, but she saw him wince as he lowered himself to sit.
"Crane? Shit." She let the sword drop from her hand, moving quickly to his side. "I didn't think I was really hurting you." It had just been a game, like the dozens of other times they'd fenced or hit the shooting range or played Texas Hold 'Em. "What do you need? I'll go get some ice." She spun toward the cabin.
"That is not necessary. The only thing I require from you is an explanation."
Abbie didn't turn back toward him. She raised a hand to her hair, fidgeting with the loose strands from her ponytail. "An explanation for what?"
"Why you fought like a woman poss-" He left out a soft breath of laughter. "A poor choice of words indeed. Why you fought with such verve and vigor. Have I done something to dismay you?"
"I didn't realize I was fighting with verve or vigor. Not even really sure what verve is."
"Admittedly, I am not the finest swordsman in the land, and you are a quick and able student. But usually, you make at least a moderate attempt to blunt your blows. But not today."
She felt him looking at her, eyes burning a goddamn hole in her neck. "I'm sorry, okay? It's been kind of a crazy week, even by our standards. I wasn't thinking as much as I should've. Won't happen again."
"You discovered some unpleasant truths yesterday. It would be logical if it took some time to come to terms with all of them." In some ways, knowing that he was looking at her was more uncomfortable than actually facing him and those clear blue eyes. So she turned, arms crossed hard over her chest.
Nope, she was wrong. It was way worse when he was looking at her, like she was a puzzle to be figured out. But mixed in there with the curiosity was something warm and gentle. It wasn't pity—fuck pity—but it was...understanding?
Abbie cracked open. "Eighteen. That's how many times she was arrested. Eighteen separate times." She'd looked it up late last night, scrolling through the mountain of files on MILLS, JENNIFER in disbelief. Twenty-seven charges total. Everything from shoplifting to trespassing to grand theft auto. Even assault. "She did all of that—hurt other people—just to protect me. If Corbin hadn't known and been looking out for her, she'd be in prison for God knows how long."
"And she did it gladly, because she loves you," Crane said.
"How could she love me? I don't know that I would have crossed the road to piss on her if she was on fire at that point, but she went to jail for me. Over and over."
"Piss on her if she were—I shall have to remember that eloquent turn of phrase," he said with obvious amusement. She sideyed him. He cleared his throat. "You and Jenny both wanted the same thing: to keep the other safe. You merely had different ways of achieving that end."
"Yeah, and mine was lying." It had seemed safer. After all, no one believed kids, even when they were telling the truth. No one had believed them when they said foster parents hit them, or when they were only fed every couple days. Those weren't crazy, out-there stories, so why would any grownups believe them about demons? Their best chance had been to stay together, and their best chance of doing that had been to lie.
But Jenny insisted on the truth, and they lost each other.
Abbie sank onto the log beside him. "She should've been your other witness. Not me. She's always had the guts to stand up for what she believed in." She studied the ground below her feet, the trampled yellow grass speckled with frost.
"Now are simply indulging in self-pity," he said, but not in a mean way. "When God appeared as the burning bush, He told Moses to refer to the Lord as eyeh asher eyeh. Most scholars translate this from the Hebrew as 'I am who I am,' but another possible translation is, 'I am becoming who I am becoming.'" He looked at her expectantly, as if that was supposed to mean something.
Abbie shook her head. "Okay. So what?"
"I have always vastly preferred the second translation, this idea that God Himself is in a constant state of flux and change." Crane touched her shoulder, hesitantly. When she didn't jerk away, he wrapped one long arm around her shoulders. "Perhaps in order for you to become who you are becoming, you needed Miss Jenny to be your shield for a time. And now, you are the witness God, humanity, and your sister need you to be."
Abbie let herself lean against him. He was warm and solid and smelled like sweat and wood smoke, and just for a second, she was able to share her guilt with her partner. After all, Ichabod Crane knew a thing or two about letting down family when they needed you. Even if he was wrong to feel guilty, he got it. And even for that second of shared sympathy, her load was so much lighter. She wondered if his was, too.
Then she straightened, and he withdrew his arm. They scooted apart. "I'm sorry for beating the crap outta you."
"Now that is a vast overstatement of my injuries," Crane argued. "My crap is still firmly within me. And now that I have caught my second wind, I believe I shall best you this time." He reached for his sword, then paused, glancing at her uncertainly. "That is, if you're feeling better?"
"I am. You give good pep talk." She stood. "You gonna teach me that balustrade move you were telling me about?"
"I can only assume from your deeply mangled French that you are referring to the balestra."
"Yeah, that one. Give me two secs, okay?" She dug into her pocket for her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts.
"beers tonight at sullivan's?" Abbie hesitated. "drinks on me," she added, then pressed send. It wasn't enough; it wasn't ever gonna be enough to repay her sister. But hey, it was a start.