I'm sorry for not posting for a while. Been dealing with life. :( It's a little calmer now. Anyway, some much-deserved Ichabbie fic to start the New Year. This is something a little different. I was inspired when I went to my grandma's church. I hope you like it. Happy New Year, Sleepyheads. Also happy birthday to Barbara Ruffin on Twitter. This is dedicated to you. :)

The stress of Abbie's new job as an FBI agent paraded itself each time Crane saw her. When she stepped into their home, away from rotted bones and flat bodies, he observed her rubbing away niggles, the slices of pain, from her head, lower back, and feet.

For five days, she said, "I'm going to take a bath," and kissed his cheek on the way to the stairs. The opportunity to properly greet her and pamper her was filched by the role of her occupation, which left her limp and spent. Her remaining energy was for lathering herself in honey and vanilla body wash and plugging her belly with a corner of lamb or chicken, or whatever meat course he prepared for the evening, a spoonful of assorted veggies, a snag of bread, and a teacup of wine. Sometimes, she didn't eat or bathe at all. Her bed was the last place she went for the day, and he went with her.

She asked about his day as she slid her finger down his nose and over his beard. He didn't go into great detail about the rare artifacts he collected at the Historical Society, as not to bore her, but he did give her an overview. Even with his attempted summary, she still dozed off, with light snores that caught the ends to his tale instead. He chuckled and switched off the lamp, said, "Sleep well, my Abbie."

Every morning, she apologized, but Crane shrugged as he straightened his tie. "You were exhausted. I understand."

"You can finish telling me as soon as I come home." She kissed his lips.

"Alright," he said, though he knew her promise would end the same: with her light snores interrupting his story and floating into his ears.

He decided they wouldn't repeat the prior nights, so he moved their coffee table in the living room closer the television and put a basin of warm water in front of the sofa. A folded towel slung across his shoulder. And a wooden serving tray, crammed with her dinner plate and a glass of wine, was placed on the cushion.

"What's this?" she said, while she snatched off her heels and blazer. She threw them both in the coat closet like she didn't have plans to put them on again.

He extended his hand toward the sofa. "Come."

After she sat down, he knelt on his knees in front of her.

"What have I told you about spoiling me?"

"It appears you haven't been spoiled enough, judging by this week." He placed her tray in her lap. "Eat."

She smiled as she shook her head and cut into her steak.

He rolled up the legs of her pants. Then he centered the basin in front of her feet. After gently picking up her feet, he sunk them in the water. Her lavender bath salt was sprinkled about at the bottom.

"Mmm," she said, leaning back into the plump and soft pillows. She chewed with her eyes closed. "The water feels nice."

"I hope you enjoy this simple act of footwashing." He massaged one of her feet, letting his fingers work on her heel. Next, they made their way to the middle of her foot, where his thumbs pressed and rubbed. Lastly, they kneaded the ball, which needed the most care according to her sighs and moans and groans. He repeated this process twice before starting on her other foot.

"I didn't know you knew about that."

"Television." He chuckled. "I watch too much of it I suppose. However, I was flipping through the channels when I stumbled upon a church service. Members of the congregation washed each other's feet. Even the children participated. They also prayed as they did so. The preacher described the importance of the ceremony: humility, love, and selflessness. He explained how Jesus cleaned the feet of his disciples in the book of John. I even discovered that this act is done at weddings, when two become one. It's quite beautiful." He paused, dried her feet, and set them on the carpet. "So, here I am, wanting to express my love for you with such a deed. You do not have to return the favor if you do not wish. I'm not expecting it in return. I am only trying to honor God by loving and serving my wife, whom I utterly adore and appreciate."

He slid the basin to the side and swung the towel across his shoulder. His thumb stroked her cheek. "I've missed you, Abbie."

She set her plate aside to wipe her eyes. Then she leaned toward him and kissed his lips. "I'm going to go get some clean water."

As Abbie refilled the basin, she thought about how blessed she was to have Crane. She didn't go to church often. Her relationship with God couldn't be defined as close. It was more like she saw Him when she saw Him. The last time she sat in a pew or somewhere close to it was at a Christening ceremony for one of her relative's newborn baby. Before that, it was her and Crane's wedding. And before that, it was as a little girl on Sundays, when Mama dragged her and Jenny to service. It was there she saw a footwashing ceremony. She was so ready to leave that she didn't pay much attention to it. She thought it was strange and kind of gross if she were being completely honest. There was no telling where someone's feet had been. She understood better now.

As she walked into the living room, she saw Crane in the same spot. "Sit on the sofa."

"Abbie, you do not have to—"

"I want to. Up." She sat the basin down and took the towel from his shoulder as he found a seat on the couch. She completed the same steps he did: dunking his feet in the water, starting from his heel and ending at his ball, repeating it twice over.

"Thank you for serving me tonight." She paused and stared at him. "I've missed you, too. This gives me a chance to say that. You know I'm not the best with words, but I really am grateful for you, Crane. You're very patient with me, especially now since I've started this new job. The last thing I'd ever want to do is neglect you. I'm sorry we haven't been able to spend time together. I've fallen asleep on you five times already because I've been so exhausted with work. I am sorry for that. I miss our bond just as much."

"It has been a challenging few days. If I'm honest, I have felt a little ignored though I know it is not your intention. I do understand your line of work. I'm so proud of you for accomplishing this goal. I know how much it means to you, how hard you've worked to get here. I'm willing to put my needs aside in order to see you happy. I would never complain and tell you that you work too much. Your job gives you such joy despite the pressure that comes with it. Who am I to make you feel guilty for that? It's alright, Abbie."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, sniffed. "This lavender salt is starting to get to me. I must've put too much in the water."

"We both know you didn't." Crane kissed her forehead.

Abbie shook her head, chuckled. If she didn't find something else to talk about she'd cry her eyes out right here. Crane didn't hold her job against her like she thought he would. He really was a blessing from God. Most husbands would have a problem with what she was doing. They'd want sex and dinner and reasons why her job kept her distant nowadays. Yet, Crane hadn't protested against it once, didn't ask questions. All she knew to do in the moment was to honor God by giving her husband her full ears and the complete attention he deserved.

"Tell me what happened at work."

"We needed that," Abbie said, snuggling against Crane's sweaty chest. She played with his brown hairs there. "I liked the footwashing."

"We should set time apart for it each evening." He kissed her hair.

"Yeah."

She listened to him describe his day. James, one of the archivists there, lost an important piece to go into a new section of the museum. Crane was in the middle of planning a huge reenactment about the American Revolution. To top it all off, a visitor came in today and decided to pick a debate about the benefit of Ben Franklin on the growth of American society. Crane wasn't a big fan of Franklin. She didn't let him finish telling her why because she mashed her lips against his. His characteristics came to her: his passion, his testiness, his animated fingers, his voice that deepened when he was upset. She hadn't encountered that for five days. And she missed every bit of it. So she kissed him, unrestrained and sudden.

They found themselves on the carpet, discarding clothes in a haste they can't really remember. Their bare skin touched. They squeezed and licked and nipped and bit and kissed and sighed and moaned and grasped the other. He carried her upstairs to their room. His hands gripped her butt as she kissed his neck. Both of them whimpered and rejoiced when they finally joined together. Five days of deprival, of not being filled and felt and attached and drawn in and held. They wouldn't go five days without being solely loved.