"Miss Mills, I require some more fluid for the Swiffer machine," Crane says, eyes scanning the list in his hands as he walks beside her. She navigates the cart around an oblivious young mother, staring at the apples as though they are keeping secrets from her.
"Crane, how many times have you used that thing?" Abbie asks, grabbing a bag of clementines and setting it into the cart. He likes these.
"Apologies, Lieutenant. I do enjoy using the Swiffer," he admits.
"Yeah, well, the juice for it costs money, you know," she reminds him. He has been on the SHPD payroll for a while now, but his income is still rather meager. If his time was all his own, he would have found a job at the Historical Society or Town Library by now, but unfortunately, his Witness duties limit his job options.
"Forgive me. I will try to limit my Swiffer-ing activities in future," he says, frowning. He picks up an avocado, scowls at it, and sets it back down.
"Avocado," she says.
"Yes, I am aware," he answers, following her out of the produce department. "But, are you aware that the name 'avocado' comes from the Nahuatl – or Aztec – word for a man's..." he trails off, raising a saucy eyebrow.
Abbie looks back at the avocados and identifies the part of the male anatomy to which her partner is referring. She laughs then, loud enough to draw a few curious glances. "Nice," she finishes, picking out a package of ground beef and putting it into the cart.
"I do enjoy our outings to Wal-Mart, Miss Mills," Crane comments after a few moments. "Oh, corn dogs," he adds, plucking a box from the freezer case.
"Are they on the list?" she teasingly asks, raising her eyebrows. He flourishes the list and points to the words "corn dogs" written in his florid handwriting. She snorts and keeps moving.
They traverse the aisles, loading up on things they each need, including the Swiffer refill fluid and pads. As usual, Crane bounces back and forth between praising the year-round availability and convenience of modern shopping centers and decrying the exorbitant costs and taxes applied to various items. Occasionally, a curious child will stare, or even point at him, but he takes such occurrences in stride. Many of the citizens of Sleepy Hollow have seen him around, usually in the company of the pretty police lieutenant, and hardly ever notice his eccentric attire and manner anymore.
"How are you set for toiletries?" Abbie asks.
Crane consults his list. "I require toothpaste – I'd like the cinnamon flavor again, I found I prefer it to the mint – and more of that body wash."
"Okay," she replies, steering through the clothing departments in the center of the store to cross to the health and beauty section.
"Oh! Miss Mills, may we peruse the men's socks? I'm afraid the few pair I have are... that is, if I darn them once more, they will consist almost entirely of stitched thread with very little of the original cotton," he says as they pass the men's department.
"Sure. You really didn't have to let them go that far, you know," she answers, turning the cart. "Here, try these," she says, plucking a 10-pack of socks from the rack.
"Ten pair!" he exclaims. "I do not need that many."
"Oh, come on, I have twice that many, and in different colors besides," she says, taking the package and dropping it into the cart. "Corbin used to wear this kind. Said they really held up."
"Very well," he relents. He has occasionally borrowed an article or two of clothing from the cabin's former owner, always first clearing it with Abbie. Her former mentor was a tall man, like himself, but much broader, so the items he borrowed were limited to an occasional t-shirt and, once, a pair of the aforementioned socks.
Abbie sighs. "I really should go through the personal things he left in the cabin. Give you some more room for your things."
"Do not feel obligated, Lieutenant," Crane says. "I know it will be a difficult task for you, and I truly do not need a lot of room."
"No, it's been almost two years. It's time," she insists, convincing herself more than him. "You know you can stay there as long as you like, right?"
"Yes," he answers. "Thank you. I have grown quite fond of the little home."
"It suits you," she says, guiding her cart to the toothpaste aisle, where she easily finds the product Crane requested.
"Your home is quite nice as well," he allows, "but, I fear it may take me some time to fully acclimate to all the modern conveniences." He picks up a bath puff and squeezes it a few times in his large hand before dropping it into the cart.
Abbie chuckles at him, her walking contradiction.
"I read it is good to regularly replace those," Crane explains. "All those crevices are a... hot-bed for bacteria, and—"
"Yes, I know," she interrupts, grabbing one for herself as well. "Okay, Mr. Not Yet Fully Acclimatized, what kind of body wash do you want?" she asks, an impish grin on her face.
He merely gives her a sideways look, eyebrow aloft, then turns his attention to the selection of men's body wash bottles in front of him. "Hmm..."
They both start plucking bottles down and smelling them, making assessments.
"Hmm."
"No."
"Smell this one."
"Oh, I like this."
"Let me see."
"Eh."
"You don't like this one?" Crane asks, looking at the bottle in his hand.
"It's fine," Abbie answers.
"Which do you prefer then?"
"I like this one," she holds one out to him.
He takes and smells it. "That is nice," he says. He returns his choice to the shelf and places hers into the cart.
"You could have gotten the one you prefer," she says, secretly pleased he went with her choice.
"Ah, but you are the person with whom I spend the vast majority of my time," he explains, eyes carefully trained forward as they walk to the registers. "It would not do for me to... offend your olfactory senses." He peeks down at her over his collar, not wishing to give away that he would have put whatever scent she chose for him into the cart without question.
She smiles and steers the cart into one of the checkout lines, standing behind a young mother with a sleeping infant in a child seat.
"Well, I thank you for your consideration," she answers, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
He holds it just a moment before releasing it. "No, thank you, Miss Mills. As always."
"You're welcome, Crane," she replies. "Should we order some pizza? We can have it delivered to the cabin, and if we time it right, we'll get there at the same time."
"Oh, yes, that is an excellent plan," he says, helping load items onto the belt. "May we get pineapple and ham?"
"We'll get you a pineapple and ham. I want pepperoni," she says.
"Very well. You may have your loathsome pepperoni as long as you do not try to convince me to try it yet again," he answers.
"Thanks for the permission," she teases.
"Movie night?" he suggests, looking for a reason to spend the evening in her company.
Her face lights up, and it warms his heart. "Yes. Oh! We can watch The Lion King. You'll love it. It's like Hamlet. With animals."
"Is this another offering from Mr. Disney?" he asks. She nods, and he smiles. "Excellent."
"Order the pizza, Crane," she says, poking the pocket where she knows he keeps his phone.
"Your wish is my command, Lieutenant."