Sorry I haven't posted in so long, but thank you for still reading. I've been busy with school and work. For T2Angel. Enjoy. :)

Abbie chuckled as she searched through Danny's drawers for something to sleep in.

"What's funny?" he said.

She showed him the tag on a t-shirt. "Crane hates this brand. He bought it one time to try it out, but said it itched. He didn't want to throw them away, so he let me sleep in them."

He sighed, getting into bed. "Another one of your damn Crane stories. I should've known."

"And?"

Sometimes she mentioned Crane: how he drank warm lemon tea before bed, how he cut his burgers in half, how he ate chocolate-glazed doughnuts for lunch. She didn't do it on purpose. Her and Danny could be eating dinner or watching TV and she'd talk about him. He never said anything about it before. Or maybe she was too caught up to catch his tone. He'd nodd and say, "He sounds interesting." And she'd smile down at her lap, still thinking of Crane, and say, "Indeed."

"You slept in his clothes?"

She searched for some bottoms. "Is that a problem?"

"At his house?"

"His apartment in college. It was much closer than my dorm when I got off work late."

"You slept in his bed, too?"

"Does it fucking matter?" She faced him.

Her and Crane were best friends since middle school. Obviously, they'd be close. She slept in his bed because he was a gentleman and insisted she rest there. Once did he sleep with her. Only because she asked him to. Finals and work and graduation stressed her out. She wanted to relax, so she asked Crane to hold her. He wasn't planning on falling asleep. Come morning, they were twisted in the other. Legs between thighs, arms around waists, fingers in hair, his head in her neck. She wanted to tell him how comfortable and secure she felt, how his beard on her skin aroused her, how his breathing sung to her, how she started to think she wanted more. But there was no talking about it. They were friends. Instead she asked for coffee.

"How do I eat my hamburgers? What's my favorite drink? My favorite dessert?"

"You don't think I know you?"

She's been with him for four months; they were co-workers in the FBI. She knew him.

He crossed his arms.

"No tomatoes, beer, and cheesecake."

"Cheesecake brownies."

"It's one tiny detail, Danny."

"That's the point. You know every fucking detail about Crane, but you don't know shit about me."

What else was she supposed to say? They spend a lot of time together. Of course, she knew everything about him.

"Stop being insecure."

"Well, stop being in love with him."

Her upcoming words slipped back down her throat. She couldn't talk herself out of that. He said what she already knew, what she was afraid to admit to herself, to admit to Crane. She'd never act on those feelings anyway, which meant it didn't matter. Why couldn't he trust her? She closed his drawer and left. She'd drink a glass of rum when she got home.

"These are for you." Zoe, Crane's three-month girlfriend, sat a box on the table. They had just come from a play and were enjoying dinner at pub.

"Oh?" He put his napkin down.

She nodded, pushed the gift toward him.

He didn't know why she got him a present. It wasn't their anniversary or either one of their birthdays. It wasn't a holiday. He didn't even have anything to give her in return.

"You shouldn't have. I haven't done anything to deserve this."

"Open it."

He did. It was cufflinks. Silver and shiny. His initials, IC, on each. He closed the lid, slid the box back to her.

"Take them," she said.

"Zoe, as much as I appreciate this token, I cannot accept it. I am sorry to have caused you any financial trouble."

The ones he had on now were his favorite, the only pair he wore. Abbie purchased them for his birthday in middle school. She even used her allowance to do so. They were navy, like his family's 250-year-old Revolution military coat he frequently wanted to wear. One of the links had an "A" on it while the other had an "I" for their names. He almost cried when she gave them to him. They've been on since then. Even if he didn't wear them, they were nearby: in his pocket, on his nightstand, in his briefcase.

She glanced away from him, shoved the box in her purse.

"I can reimburse you."

"It's not about that, Ichabod." She stood up, left some money on the table for their meal.

He didn't mean to hurt her feelings. He knew why she was disappointed. She couldn't win against Abbie. They both knew it; yet she tried so hard to one-up her, to step into her. When Crane said Abbie picked the best movies, she showed him an award-winning film. When he said Abbie enjoyed drawing, she enrolled in an art class and attempted to paint a portrait of him. When he said Abbie loved Chinese food, she ate Mongolian chicken for a week.

He put his hand on hers. "Don't leave."

"It's pretty obvious. Don't waste your time."

"But—"

"You're in love with Abbie."

What's he to say to such a bold declaration? He told himself he was never in love with her, just fond. Very, very, very fond. Now that Zoe could see it, how was he supposed to ignore it now? He was certain she wouldn't feel the same if he told her so.

"Zoe—"

"Bye, Ichabod." She left.

He ordered a glass or two of rum.

"Can I come in, love?" Crane said, slumped against Abbie's doorframe. His eyes drooped; his words came slow. She shouldn't have opened the door.

"You and your damn rum," she said.

He did this when he was slightly drunk, flirted with her. She couldn't tell if it was intentional or not. She was half-drunk herself.

"One minute."

She looked down at her feet. "Crane—"

"She gave me new cufflinks."

She could've laughed. That's why he brought his intoxicated ass here? Because Zoe gave him another pair of cufflinks? Why did she open the door?

"Go home."

As much as she wanted to comfort him, there was no room for him when she needed to sort out her own shit. It wasn't a good time. She had relationship problems, too. He wasn't coming in.

He said her name soft and silent. "Abbie."

Fuck.

She sat across from of him at her kitchen table. He played with his cufflinks.

"What happened?"

"Zoe and I were eating dinner. I didn't expect a present, let alone cufflinks. She was hurt when I didn't accept them."

Crane's father told him cufflinks had a story. That's what he told her anyway, so she got him a pair to tell theirs. He was gleeful when she gave them to him. She didn't get why he couldn't accept Zoe's either.

"What did she say?"

He shook his head, glanced at the counter behind her. "You've had a rough night, too, I suppose?"

She looked at her bottle and empty glass next to it. "Danny and I got into a fight, so…"

"Would you like to share, love?"

"You're not off the hook yet, Crane."

He normally talked about his problems. Zoe must've really said something to him. Abbie's only met her once. She seemed like a nice girl, not the type of person to be rude.

"I would simply like to hear about your night."

She couldn't tell him exactly what happened with Danny. She didn't know how he'd take it, especially since what Danny said was true. Was it really such a bad thing to be in love with Crane? With her best friend? They knew each other: their likes, their dislikes, their hobbies. She was comfortable with him to the point where he went to the store and bought her tampons and cake.

"What'd Zoe say?"

"Nothing of importance."

"Crane, you can't knock on my door and offer me nothing."

He sighed. "Fine, but first…"

He went to pour a drink; Abbie followed him. He looked in the glass.

"She said I was in love with you." He took it in one swing.

Abbie's breath stopped. Now, she understood why Zoe was upset about the cufflinks. She could never be her.

"She wasn't alone in that." She grabbed the glass and refilled it.

"Leftenant?"

When he was really curious about something, that's what he called her. She worked as a lieutenant for Sleepy Hollow's Sheriff's Department before joining the FBI. He only used that pet name sparingly. She missed it.

"Danny said the same thing. That's what our fight was about." She swallowed the rum and left the glass on the counter.

"Oh. Well, it appears they saw something we could not."

"Indeed."

"What made you drink this?" He tapped the bottle.

"I know you had it, too." She smirked.

He grinned. "Correct, but I asked you first."

"Please," she said.

"You please."

She shook her head, smiling. They shouldn't be doing this. Stuff would come tumbling out if they kept on.

"Reminded me of possibilities."

"Of what, Leftenant?"

"Of us. Particularly that one night we…"

"…kissed."

She looked at her feet while the gentle thrust of his tongue came back to her. He tasted sweet and bitter like their drink. They kissed slow before they stopped. She said they'd had too much alcohol; he agreed. Then they watched Netflix, trying to forget the vibrations and tingles on their mouths. It was another missed chance to confess what had been growing.

"We were drunk, kind of like now. I made fun of your family coat."

"And I tickled you for it."

"Then…" She paused. "We didn't talk about it."

"We don't talk about a lot of things, Leftenant, like when you asked me to hold you. The way we woke up… We could've done that every day." He sighed. "However, I was a coward, too afraid to tell you I was beginning to fall for you, that I had already fallen."

Her breath stuck in her throat, her bones and skin warmed. She grabbed his hands and breathed deep.

"I'm in love with you, too."

He touched her cheek. "I'm relieved to know you feel that way. I was terrified you wouldn't."

"Same."

She realized now that there was no need to be afraid of rejection. He was her best friend. She knew him: his kind spirit, his pride and arrogance, his loyalty and respect for her, his odd interest in history. Abbie should've known this was where they were headed after they shared those moments. But they hid in other relationships, ones that, funnily enough, led them back to each other. They couldn't deny it anymore. It was supposed to be them.

Abbie trusted him like no one else. He was the only other person she cried in front of beside her parents and sister, the only other person she freely gave hugs to just because, and the only other person she let loose with. Each time, he embraced her. He took the bad, too. She was stubborn, easily annoyed, and sometimes shut him out. Yet he was always patient. He never pushed her.

He kissed her neck. "I wish to have you, love."

There goes that endearment again. She had a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing when he used it this time. It made her want to go there with him. It wasn't the alcohol. After he held her that time, alone in the dark and quiet, she wondered how he'd make love to her, how his beard and lips would fondle against her skin, how he'd fit and feel in her.

She moved the bottle and glass out the way and lifted herself on the counter. Her legs parted. His attempt to get her in bed was brave, but she was braver.

"Then have me, Crane."

And he did.