And I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out

Broken - Lifehouse

Ugh.

I roll over so that I lie on my stomach, burying my head under my squishy pillow.

It's late, it's biting cold and my dress is all rumpled and mussed up from sleeping in it.

Despite all that, I can't find the strength to get up.

Why you may ask?

Well, part of it is due to my exhaustion. Five hours of sleep just can't make up for running, getting into a fight, running some more and then riding with an unpredictable German mercenary in the rain. Not that I'm ready to deal with any of that right now.

Mainly, though, I choose to stay in bed just for the sake of… staying in bed. Because this is my bed. Or rather, what used to be my bed before Erhard carried me off.

I turn to my side, staring curiously at the ceiling. Trying to let everything sink in little by little. A strange feeling jars in my chest. I can't quite grasp it. There is a certain sense of familiarity, alright, but… that's about it. There's no longing. No wistfulness. No cosiness here. Instead, my room seems kind of empty and I wonder why it no more feels like my shelter. Is it my fault?

Hmm. Probably.

The only thing I'm thankful for is that at least I can hide. The mansion had been pretty much crowded the whole morning and let's just say that it was less than comfortable for me. The people Ichabod needed in order to see to Lady Van Tassel's body and others he did not… Those who were curious, who heard that she was dead and rushed to find out what happened. Ichabod couldn't send them away, of course. There was a lot of explaining that needed to be done.

I didn't venture downstairs. Not even once.

Judging by the manor's stillness, they're all probably gone now. But I still don't want to go out.

In case I stumble upon Katrina and her sore, curious glances. In case she starts asking questions. Questions even I can't answer right now. Questions that bug me, too, and I don't want to think about.

A sigh sinks its way through me. No matter how much I want to crawl under the bed and ignore the world, it's not right to stay in my room any longer. There are probably a lot of things that need to be done. Housework… A gripe of gloominess cuts through me as I remember that Sarah is dead, too. We were never close, but still, she's another unfortunate victim of Lady Van Tassel's lunacy.

I swing my legs over the bed, scrambling to escape my covers and the thought of a decapitated Sarah. My jaw clenches as I get up and shuffle towards the bathroom, aiming to take a bath and make myself somewhat presentable. Surprisingly, I manage that fairly well.

My legs feel heavy and unyielding as I move through the room, clearing it of my clutter, tidying it, picking out another dress… Yeah, this one's already wrinkled beyond hope.

I move carelessly, hurrying to get this over with. To get everything over with really so that I can just… I waver. Of all things cracked by the sight of my desk and the memory it teems with. The memory of Erhard holding me against it.

My throat strains to keep away the unexpected wave of tearful uncertainty.

Once more, I'm at a loss with him. Why did he disappear like that? Why did he leave no trace? Maybe it would have made sense, had he just taken off after confronting Mary, but he… he came back! He looked for me. So he must care, right? To do that…

Are you running away again?

Some sort of irrational annoyance spirals up inside me, before coming apart and leaving me cold and fearful. What if he's free now that his witch is gone? What if he has no place in this world anymore? What if he's… gone?

I shake the thought off. No. Certainly not. He would have let me know, right? He would have told me when he came.

Wouldn't he?

I take a deep breath, turning around and heading for the door. I try to pretend that I don't ache. I just need to go. I need to clear my head and get outside before I make another half-assed excuse not to. If he wanted to go, he wanted to go. What can I do?

It's the last thought I allow myself before my mind trails off into blankness.

I make my way downstairs, taking a staunch turn to my left and heading towards the study. No one is here. Feigning purpose, I begin to tidy it. A meeting must have been held in the morning, judging by the many half-empty glasses that are scattered around and the heavy smell of smoke that lingers in the room, making it all the more stuffy.

Gathering as many glasses as I can carry, I make for the kitchen, all the while ignoring that giant ball of emotion that threatens to burst as I wander through the mansion. It feels like stepping back in time; like nothing has changed. And maybe nothing has. But some teeny tiny but nonetheless obnoxious voice in my head sassily asks me who am I kidding, pretending that I'm still the girl who knew not of the Horseman and the murdering plots surrounding him. Pretending that I'm still the girl who just tried her hardest to fit in.

I burst into the kitchen and leave the glasses on the table, intending to go back to the study and round up the rest of them.

I take a few steps, before glancing back at the kitchen. Something floods through me. I can't decide if it's cordiality or nervousness. Whatever it is, Katrina is standing by the counter, helping herself to some lunch. She looks up and turns around upon hearing me move, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

"Good day, Linda. I did not expect to see you up so soon." Her soft voice is tinged with a hint of anxiety. "How are you?"

I turn around, standing awkwardly where I stopped. "Uh… I'm a little… drowsy…", I mumble, taken aback. "But I'm alright."

Discomfort begins to poke at my stomach. Katrina continues to look at me calmly, but I can't help expecting her to explode in a fit of questions and disapproving statements. Shouldn't she be angry at me, wanting to keep me at a distance? After what she saw? Who I was with?

Instead, she gives me a polite nod. "I'm glad. Are you hungry?"

Hungry? My stomach has officially turned into a knot. And even though I haven't eaten anything since the Tree, I shake my head. "Where are the others?"

"Ichabod and young Masbath? At Doctor Lancaster's, I believe. They are making the arrangements for the… funeral." Her face darkens slightly, but she rushes to give me that warm look again. That's how she's always been. Calm. Composed. Tidied. Blonde, wavy hair tied in a rose ribbon, spilling onto her coral dress, every lock in perfect order. She's totally comfortable with her environment; a complete contradiction to the flavours of emotion and the random thoughts that always bounce ferociously in my head.

I wish I knew how she does it.

I try to return the kind look. "I'm… I'm sorry for your father. Ichabod told me Mary Archer… Well…"

She just nods. This time her polite smile is sadder, but she says nothing more.

Although I wish to offer her some comfort, I make a mental note not to pester her about that any further. She seems more content with grieving by herself.

She rests her hands on the counter and throws me a scrutinizing look. "I suppose settling back seems… strange."

I shrug uncomfortably, knowing well enough what is coming.

"It is all right. I promise no one means to bedevil you about what you endured." She gives me a careful dip of her head. "I understand."

Does she really? A lump forms in my throat. Ugh, this is more than I can cope with. How can she be so nice to me? How can she care about me after everything that has happened to her? After losing so much?

I hover stiffly by the table, wondering if I should sit down or scuttle back to the study.

Typical me, right? My first thought is always to run away.

I want to be better than that.

I hesitantly take a seat, unable to manage anything better that a fuzzy "Thank you."

Katrina takes a few seconds before forming her next words. "Linda, can I ask you something?" She looks at me directly. "Something… intimate." When she sees that I don't answer, she pads towards the table and sits next to me. I lightly rest my hand on top of hers and she looks at me amiably. "I consider you a very close friend of mine, do you know that?"

I can only nod.

"You can rest assured that this shall not change. I value our friendship dearly." She tilts her head, trying to catch sight of my expression as I keep mine lowered. "Last night… the Horseman…" I instantly look up at her. Yes, evidently I'm terrible at hiding my reactions these days. "…Why was he in your room?"

I open my mouth, intending to answer, then falter, dispirited. "Honestly? I don't know."

She doesn't seem content with my answer. I can't blame her. "I understand he had no intention of hurting you…?"

"No. Definitely not." It comes out curt. Abrupt. Laying bare my reluctance to have this talk.

She sighs faintly. "Linda, you have my word, whatever we say will stay between us. I have always trusted you and I would delight in having your trust in exchange."

"I trust you."

"Then speak to me. When I entered your room, I could not help but notice that you were quite… close." I swallow, as the image comes back to me. "…And upon hearing Ichabod mention the Hessian last night, you looked rather flustered."

To my extreme embarrassment, I actually feel colour prickle up through my cheeks. The sudden impulse to deny it all starts to take over. So what if I did? Nothing happened and he's gone and… it's over! But just thinking about last night brings an entire clump of emotions to the surface and I'm pretty sure that everything she must be expecting to hear is written plainly across my face.

I try to turn the tables. "Like the way you look when Ichabod is around?" Hah, yeah, I might have been away for a week, but I'm not blind.

A slight expression crosses her face and I begin to regret my stupid attempt to get back at her. It's not like she's talking to me to make me feel bad. "I'm sorry. It feels so difficult, it makes me grouchy."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. You've been nothing but good and helpful to me, since I've set foot here. The least I can do is make an effort to be polite."

That twist of lips appears again. "I have met uncouth people, Linda. You are not one of them. Besides, you are right. I would lie if I said that my heart does not belong to Ichabod Crane."

For some reason that makes me feel even smaller. It's so easy for her to admit her feelings while I can't even… I don't…

I sniff, trying to keep myself together. I'm not sure I want to keep this up.

"I do not mean to berate you. I will not.", she firmly states, urging me to open up.

And I do just that.

My heart throbs so frantically in my chest I wonder if I'm actually about to have a heart attack. Because that would be a great deliverance right now.

"I… he's… It's complicated. I wouldn't blame you if you assumed the worst about him. I did, too. Once."

"I do not assume any-"

"You do. I know you do. Everybody in this village does, as well. Look, it's okay. I'm not trying to coax you into believing he's a misunderstood hero or something. Most things he has gained a notoriety for are true. But he's not a mindless massacrer." I look at Katrina gravely. "Not at all."

She nods, puzzled. "So… From what Ichabod recounted he seized you and took you prisoner…?"

"Well… yes. That's the short story. What I told Crane…"

"And the… long story?"

"He thought…" I let out a glum sigh. "…he thought I was his witch. The one who used him. He was resolved to keep someone he could put the blame on close and, conveniently, I was the only one present when he regained his head. At first, he refused to listen to me. I guess he was enraged. Pushed too far. He is curt most of the time, anyway. But as the days went on, his mulishness started to give way and he let me talk to him. He…" I look up, trying to push back the heartache that gains ground as I speak. "It wasn't easy. He's changeable, rough, enigmatic… He can be so unreachable when he wants to and he surely is dangerous. But trust me when I say that he would never harm innocents like that. I've come to know him well enough to be sure of that. And he was… nice to me. In his own way. He never gave me the chance to figure him out, but I think deep inside he knew I was not the one to accuse."

Katrina's brows furrow in bemusement. "Yet he would not release you…"

"No. He would not. It's the part I haven't been able to chew over yet."

"So how did you flee?"

My cheeks burn red. "His… sword. It can open the gateway. I managed to reach it."

"I see. But…" her eyes widen, studying me. "…that does not explain why he was with you in your room last night."

"Oh. That." I cringe slightly, fully aware that I have no other option than to be forthright with her. "Katrina, you're the first person I'm saying this to. Probably the only one, as well." I take a deep breath, preparing for the worst. "Just before I escaped the Tree something… happened. Between us."

Okay, now she looks worried. "Something bad?"

"Yes. I mean, no! Well… yes… like… kind of… maybe…"

Oh God, can somebody please shoot me and put me out of my misery?

"Um… I'm afraid I'm not following you, Linda."

"Truth?" I huff some kind of sulky sigh. "He kissed me. And I didn't object. Quite the contrary, actually. So… I guess there are just some loose ends between us…"

I suddenly become intensely aware of the stupefaction in Katrina's expression, although she does make a decent effort to conceal it.

"So… you… the Horseman…"

My face turns even redder if that's possible. "We're not."

An ucomfortable amount of silence hangs between us. When she speaks her voice sounds painfully loud and clear to me, although her tone is actually mild and cautious.

"Linda?" I look down, startled to realize that her hands are as unsteady as mine. "Do you have feelings for him?"

Her question comes at me sharp like a knife. Although I've repeatedly struggled to sort out our fragile relationship, It's the first time the question is directly thrown my way. And I can't help it. After everything else, tears start running down my cheeks.

"I'm… I'm… I'm afraid so.", I wail between shuddery breaths and trickling tears. "I never thought this could happen. I don't know how… I… I…" My hand smudges over the downpour that cascades my face. "I can't explain it. What is it that they say? It might be that love is blind or something…"

"Love is not blind. Love sees thoroughly. It sees wholly. That is why it fancies to see less.", she shoots back pointedly.

Through the mess of my tears, I rear my head. "He's not a random manslaughterer, Katrina, I told you that."

Her expression softens, lips twisting in a heartening ghost of what could almost be a smile. "Yes, I know. And I am sorry."

"I just wish I knew what to do."

My hand is still lightly touching hers, resting on her lap. She slides her fingers round into my palm and gives it a gentle squeeze. The gesture is small and subtle, but nonetheless reassuring. For the first time I realize that she really feels for me. That she doesn't intend to judge me. And that no matter what she's seen in the past few months, no matter how difficult it is for her, she wants to trust and believe me.

"Do what your heart believes is right."

A/N: Many thanks to xLunaAngelWarriorX, HessianLover99, Wicked Little, LilithMorte, noodle86, bleach102 and TheElegantFairie for their super-duper reviews! :) Aaand in response to a worried reader's review, nope, "The Crimson-eyed Snake" is far from over. We still have quite a long way to go! Also, seeing as things miiight be a little confusing due to the drastic changes in the movie's plot (aren't I shameless?), I'd like to make clear that Baltus Van Tassel was murdered by his own wife and not by the Horseman. Yes, apparently, I'm really concerned about preserving our dear mercenarys's honour. Heh. So, there you go. Till next time!