Disclaimer.


I do not own Sleepy Hollow. The characters and movie plot of Tim Burton's 1999 motion picture Sleepy Hollow is the property of their respective owners. I acknowledge that they do not belong to me. This is a Sleepy Hollow fiction, introducing the character of Inspector Frederick Abberline from the movie, From Hell.
WARNING: I will give you a fair warning. This fiction contains male on male rape and male pregnancy. If you are offended by it then read no furthur and leave now, because I don't want your flames and ash words in my review box. Flamers, I repeat, turn away now.

I rate this mature for strong language, sexual scenes and a scene of rape.

Collaberation with EmiStaw13y

Any man who had the knowledge of the world, which Ichabod did, could easily imagine the Inspector was made up of encomiums on his beauty, and vows of everlasting love and constancy; nor will he be surprised that a heart open to every gentle, generous sentiment, should feel itself warmed by gratitude for a man who professed to feel so much for him; nor is it improbable but his mind might revert to the agreeable person and proud appearance of Frederick Abberline.

Yet, Ichabod felt the man of Whitechapel was bothered. Greatly, and it came as little surprise. He was disappointed in the pleasure he had promised himself from Abberline's smile. The levity of the gentlemen and the freedom of their conversation after sharing a heartfelt embrace had eased him only slightly. Ichabod was astonished at the liberties Abberline permitted himself to take as he had been so pleased to hear they might become parents; he grew thoughtful and uneasy, and heartily wished their situation would only come out well, and that the blood of Abberline ran through the child's heart.

Gracious Heaven; if Abberline were the father - it would more than likely change everything. When he thought on the miseries that must rended his heart mere months ago when the darling of his eye was at first doubted from his issue, and the thought of ever raising it abandoned he found himself conflicted. Those miseries continued to play on him even after eight months had passed, Whether or not the baby was fathered by the very wretch who decoyed him from the comfortable life he had or the Inspector, the son or daughter would still belong to its mother. No, mother was the wrong word. More of a genitor; or parent - and even those seemed such risky words of choice. Then there was Katrina. When he saw his poor and wretched fiance, his heart was torn between remorse for his crimes and love for his dear Inspector while every tear from his eye was numbered by drops from his bleeding heart, his soul yet glew with honest indignation, and the wish for the power to pull the monster from the earth and toss him back to Hell.

'Ichabod,' A fair voice muttered beside him.

The man was pulled back out of his own head, he was possessed of many qualities, both favourable and un. Though a peculiar trait in his character threw a shade over them, his ability to disappear into the deepest of thoughts. Even when walking through a busied New York street with a lady and young boy. He was about to acknowledge her, when he looked up and where she had presented him to; frowning up at the large sign he couldn't quite read from his position.

'Where are we? He asked, looking back down at Katrina's small frame. She had not held onto him arm, clinging like a lovesick girl like she normally would. She wore a subtly grave face, and so she had been for a months. Whenever she tried to hold his hand or kiss his cheek she felt nothign more than a ridiculed romantic girl, who foolishly imagined her fiance to return her affections and constitute to the fine gentleman he was. Should that fine gentleman make even just an effort to love her, she would imagine herself so much in love as to fancy it a meritorious action to jump out of a window and trust entirely to the honour of her man, who perhaps hardly knew the meaning of the word anymore. And if he did, would be too much the modern man of refinement, to practice it in her favour.

'The tailor,' Katrina answered. 'Had you forgotten? You are being fitted with your groomswear today, Ichabod.'

The forgetful Ichabod was astonished at what he heard. He remembered now their appointment with young Bridgeman, made months and months ago while he had the aid of being a thin man - an unimbrued man. His black cloak he wore deliberately hid him well for now, but oh; how he knew now that he had taken advantage of being so lean and trim. Wearing clothes that hugged his figure and striding out with furthur thought, now he was here and forced to be attached underneith baggy garments. How wonderful then, that he should resolve to be with another man and become pregnant; his mind bitterly told him. It was indelicate. It then laughed at him and called him a little idiot.

'Mr. Bridgeman sews well, sir.' Young Masbeth added, blissfully ignorant as he cut Ichabod out of his daze. 'He has been mending your shirts for a while.'

'Yes,' Katrina added, merely for the sake of it. She was already pulling Ichabod in by his arm before he could stop her or argue. Shewn to a house of public mending. Scarcely were they seated when the door opened, and the constable found himself in nerves. The first transport of tension not heeding to subside as Katrina was seated beside him, looking up and down at his smothering clothes attentively.

'Must you cover yourself so?' Asked she.

Ichabod was already prepared with his answer, muttering. 'Doctor Rolfe recommended that I cover up if I am to get well again, Katrina.' Half a lie, there was no getting better.

She would again renew her watchful position, till the shades of evening enveloped every object in a dusky cloud, unknowing of whether or not he or she believed it. Though she did not intend on answered, they were approached before another word could be spoken.

'Good afternoon, Miss Van Tassel.' The Bridgeman lad offered to Katrina, nodding once to Young Masbeth and looking at Ichabod with interest. 'Who is this?'

'That is Ichabod Crane.' Young Masbeth said, like he were announcing tonight's entertainment.

No sooner was he was introduced did he immediately become engaged, struck silent. A beam of exulting joy then played round the animated countenance of the young tailor, at these encomiums bestowed on him by the very presence that was his idol. The most delightful sensations pervaded his face, grabbing Ichabod's hand to shake it.

'Oh Constable Crane, sir! It is such a pleasure to be meeting you at last!' He said, delighted. Ichabod himself not knowing how to react as he jerked back and forth with the force of the handshake.

'Am I supposed to know your name, young lad?' He asked cautiously, taking his hand back for himself and looking up from his seat at the grinning boy.

'Oh no no, sir. My father and you work together, and I have heard so many great things about your work.' He answered.

'Who is your father?'

'Bridgeman, sir. Constable Bridgeman.' He said. 'I am Daugney.'

The constable began to feel humble at the thought of beginning an acquaintance with the tailor, remembering only slightly the mention of him down the watch house. In truth he rarely payed much attention to what the other constables had to say - especially the roughian that was Bridgeman, so he nodded at Daugney curtly.

'Pleasure to meet you, young Mister Daugney.'

The tailor was most humbled, 'The pleasure is all mine, constable! Now, what is it I can do for you?'

'He has an appointment.' Katrina added in. 'For his wedding apparel.'

'Oh yes,' Daugney nodded, only too pleased to oblidge. 'Well, if you will step through, Constable Ichabod, sir. I will take your measurements.'

A blush, deep as the glow of the carnation, suffused the cheeks of Ichabod. 'M-Measurements?'

'Yes, sir.' The lad said, standing before a grey-white curtain that lead to some back room. 'I take a length of string and measure the height and width of your legs, shoulders, arms .. all that, to determine the size of your clothes. Come through.'

Ichabod swallowed, proceeding to describe the unhappy situation in his head and becoming both iritated and scared to death to oblige to the tailor. Legs, shoulders, arms .. torso. Of course the dimensions of that would be surveyed and he would not be able to armour himself in draping clothery then - he would be discovered if he went with Daugney now.

'N-no.'

Katrina turned the conversation, facing her entirety to him from where she sat. '.. Ichabod?'

'No, I .. I can't, I'm sorry .. ' With a quick fluster he arose out his seat and left out the door. Horror and despair tearing every tortured nerve, and Katrina now confident he was hiding a secret from her

It may be asked by those, who, in a work of this kind, love to cavil at every trifling omission, whether Katrina did not possess any value of which she could have disposed, and by that means have supported herself till Ichabod's return, when she would have been certain of receiving every attention which compassion and friendship could dictate; but let herself entreat the wise, penetrating gentlemen to reflect, that when Ichabod left the tailor's, it was in such haste that there was no time to purchase anything other than worry, let alone the clothes he would wear to hid wedding. They had been so in love on her arrival to New York, arm in arm everywhere and looking ahead at their future in the city. She had so many plans which the greatest extremity of want could not have forced her to part with, marriage .. children .. the bliss of golden age at his side while they lived through the new century. She thought then that she knew nothing of the world. If the world sanctified such things - her fiance growing so distant from her and their love beginning to die, it must have been a very bad world. Their journey back to New York almost three years prior she had understood they were to marry when they arrived at New York. Katrina was sure Ichabod promised to marry her. Yet here she was now, unmarried and doubting love - standing as she heard the door open. It had taken him the afternoon and night to return home.

When the door was opened, Katrina, in a voice rendered scarcely articulate, through cold and the extreme agitation of her mind, demanded of him before he had even stepped in. 'Ichabod Crane, you will tell me this instant what you are keeping from me.'

Ichabod hesitated in the doorway before proceeding into the house, knowing that this lady was engaged at a game of vindication with him, nor could he think he would like to be disturbed by a person whose appearance spoke him of so great a consequence as Katrina; yet there was something in her countenance that rather irritated him.

'I am no disposition for this, Katrina.'

'Why would you not be fitted for your wedding clothes!' She demanded, blocking his way with her tiny body as he tried to move past her. 'Ichabod, you have been so distant with me that I fear any marriage between us would be a waste!'

'Katrina .. ' His voice came out an aggitated sigh, which frustrated her furthur.

'No! Answer me!' The tremulous accent, the tearful eye, must have moved any heart not composed of adamant, Her voice lowered as tears fell. 'Do you still want to marry me, Ichabod?'

There was a pause, 'I've not the patience to argue with you.'

As this conversation passed so did Ichabod, beginning to pass her. It was deeply impressed on Katrina's mind, her face rendered hurt. For charity's sweet sake this night let her just be sheltered by a solid answer and let his stoic heart be moved to at least some compassion. Katrina there reacted with aggression, turning at him and crying out as she grabbed at his cloak, trying to pull him back toward her where then she would demand truth. Though she stopped him moving, her small feminine frame could not force him. Though it did tear away his cloak from his shoulders. Ichabod felt his heart stop, not bothering now to tear away or cover himself for she was already staring as his protective layer was now shed from him. His agonizing sensations almost overpowered him as he felt her eyes on him, on his developed stomach.

'.. Oh God,' cried Katrina., clasping her hands in an agony, 'Oh .. oh my God! I-Ichabod .. ! What tricks are these!'

The still, dumbfounded figure of Ichabod in his affecting situation might have moved had he dared; remaining inflexible. In vain did he recount the time they had known each other at the Hollow, in vain mention their being in the same home, in vain were the names of those they once knew mentioned in his head. Ichabod could only turn slightly to her, swallowing the lump heavy in his throat.

'No tricks,' He said, in a grave calm.

'Liar.'

'Katrina,' He could feel a strong feeling of enragement brewing between them, keeping it behind clenched teeth. 'I will confess now I have lied to you in the past, but not about this.'

'So .. what is it you are telling me! That .. that you would not disrobe because you felt did not want me to find out or, or .. ' Her voice died away, a tear trembling in her eye. ' .. What do you mean you have lied to me?'

No wonder, then, that such a man should resolve to tell her the truth at last for the relief of his conscious heart, it had been kept a secret far too long. He would not enquire too minutely into the cause which might actuate him in this instance; suffice it to say, he immediately put the plan in execution; and took himself a deep breath - feeling the baby become suddenly active and kicking at his insides as if trying to distract him away from what he were about to commit. He silently dealt with it, having the superlative felicity at last of seeing her, and himself, at liberty with the truth, When the heart had will, the voice would soon find means to execute a good action.

'I have been seeing another.'

Receiving an ample reward of the tearful eye and half crushed look of Katrina, she came in with a trembling voice. 'A-Another?' Her voice sounded so young. 'Did .. did she do this to you then, Ichabod? Did she turn you against me?'

'No, not she.' He meekly corrected. 'The one I have been with .. is not a woman, but a man.'

The distressed fair one dried her tears, listened patiently, and at length declared she believed every word; so feared her poor broken heart. 'So .. so, you are carrying the child of another man, is that it? And in doing so your love for me was robbed.' She paused. 'Did you ever really love me, Ichabod?'

Ichabod heard her with emotion: he had lost Katrina's respect by avowing his passion for Abbeline, and he saw now there was no hope of regaining it. But the Inspector would not make him miserable, and he had no ambitious notions. She did not need to know about the Horseman, it would only distress her furthur and secretly, it felt well not to mention it and believe he was talking solely of his child's father set in stone. The heartbroken look on her face, along with that heavy knowing that Abberline wasn't as happy as he tried to be diluted his own heart.

'There was a time I loved you, Katrina.' He said with earnest, showing his deep sincerity.

'And now you hate me?' Katrina, containing her upset as much she could though her pale face crumpled.

'I do not hate you.'

'Do you love me?'

He closed his eyes, beginning to shake his head slowly. His dark hair following him. 'No.'

The girl feared the emotion of him; or lack thereof. She loved Ichabod, and the very idea of incurring his displeasure gave her the greatest upset: but there was a more forcible reason still remaining: should she show cling to Ichabod and beg that he love her again - and what would be the consequence? Her voice was wistful through upset, tears staining her white cheeks.

'I had always hoped your children would be with me.' She was looking down at his stomach, pushing against his white linen shirt. Practically laughing at her. 'I had always dreamed what our sons and daughters would be like, Ichabod. Free-minded as I was, but so intelligent like you. Beautiful too.'

She looked up at him, eyes blurry. 'Is that why you would never make love to me? Because you wanted no children by me?'

His guilty silence comprised his character in a few words to her; dissipated, thoughtless, and downright heartless, he paid little regard to the moral duties, and less to religious ones: eager in the pursuit of pleasure, he minded not the miseries he inflicted on others, provided his own wishes, however extravagant, were gratified. Self, darling self, was the idol he worshipped, and to that he would have sacrificed the interest and happiness of all mankind. That was how strongly her heart felt againt him right now, knowing only she would break the silence.

'I see I am more of an obstable to your life then we both had imagined,' Katrina said to his lowered head, the man trying to blot out how sharply her stare was cutting him. She took past him and began to shamble up the stairs.

'I shall be gone by morning.'