Disclaimer: I own Rose and all the party-goers. Except Ichabod.

Once Upon A Time
Chapter Three

"Look, everyone! It's Ichabod!"

"Ichabod!"

Ichabod only had time to mutter a quick, "Oh, dear," before he was bombarded by five female bodies. They charged at him, armed with hugs and kisses, and by the time it was all over, his fine velvet hat was quite askew.

"All right, all right, that's enough," the birthday girl said, and her companions all stepped aside. Rose approached Ichabod with a smile on her crimson lips and a happy twinkle in her chocolate eyes. "Hello, Ichabod," she said, and gave him a curtsy.

He bowed low in response, then took her porcelain hand and kissed it. "You should curtsy to no one on this day, Rose. It is your day." Her smile only widened. "I have brought some gifts for you." He pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing two wrapped packages and an envelope. "But first, you must have this." He pulled a deep red rose from his jacket.

She gasped. "Oh, Ichabod..." She took it from him and tucked it into her hair. "It's lovely."

"No more lovely than thee," he told her. "I also have these for you." He held out the gifts.

She took them from him and greedily ripped the first open. "Oh, a book of poetry." She looked up at him and gave a silly grin. "Thank you, Ichabod."

"Open the other one."

She did, and the look on her face could not have been more priceless. She dropped the parchment it was wrapped in, quickly placed the poetry book and unopened envelope on a nearby table, and held up the second gift. The blue topaz glinted in the weak sunlight that filtered through the windows, and a collective gasp floated into the air. "Oh, Ichabod," she said again, and looked as though she might cry.

"Here," he said, and took it from her. He traveled round to the back of her and brushed her raven hair away, letting it hang over her left shoulder. Then he undid the clasp on the necklace and reached his hands up over her head, allowing the jewel to rest around her neck as he fastened the clasp again. Once this was done, he took her shoulders and led her to the mirror above the hearth, pulling her hair back so that she might admire her trinket.

"Oh, Ichabod," she said for the third time, and it didn't take long for the girls to gather around her. They nearly shoved Ichabod out of the way. "It's so beautiful. Wherever did you get it?"

"Oh, I just bought it in town," he told her, but he was scowling. Absolutely too many girls...

"It must have cost you an arm and a leg," she said.

Of a sudden, one of the girls, a buxom redhead, turned around and grabbed his coat, checking for something. "No, he's all there," she said, and a collective giggle rose into the air.

Rose turned to face him, smiling and slapping the redhead away. "Oh, stop it," she said. "It's a wonderful gift, Ichabod. Thank you." And she embraced him tightly, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. He blushed profusely, but only hugged her tighter to stop the other girls seeing. But she pulled away after a moment and said, "Now, Mother's had a beautiful cake baked, and she even had someone go into town to buy ice cream." The girls cheered. "So let us not waste it."


"Thank you for saving me from all of them," Rose said quietly as she leaned her cheek on Ichabod's shoulder. "I really don't enjoy being with them so much as my mother makes it seem. I'd rather spend time with you."

"Oh, I didn't rescue you," Ichabod said, smiling at her even though she could not see it. "You distracted all of them every time they got to be too much for me." He shuddered. "And that happened disturbingly often."

She laughed, the sweetest sound on earth. "Well, it doesn't surprise me at all, you know," she told him. "You're very fascinating."

"Flatterer," he muttered.

"Of course I am," she admitted. "But only to you and only because you deserve it."

Of a sudden, a cool autumn breeze started up, stirring the fallen leaves into a frenzy. It tugged at the flower in her hair, and he pinned it back gently, pushing a few raven locks behind her ear as he did. The breeze blew again, causing the tree above them to shake. They looked up as one, just in time to see a large mass of crimson leaves fall down upon them. She laughed again and rose from the fallen tree, dancing through the scarlet flurry, ebony hair swinging and emerald skirts twirling. Watching her, he felt a very strange pain in his stomach. Only, it was not pain. He did not know what it was, but he knew it was not normal.

She must have noticed, for she stopped her spinning and focused her attention on him, waiting for her breath to calm before asking, "Is everything all right, Ichabod?"

"What?" Then he looked up at her and cleared his throat. He rose from the fallen tree and said, "Yes, everything is fine, but I am feeling just a tad unwell. Perhaps it was all the excitement from the party, or perhaps it is some grave illness. I would not want you to catch such an illness, so I suppose I will be on my way."

"All right," she said, trying to mask the concern in her voice. Instead, she gathered her skirts and strode toward him, wrapping her arms around him tightly as she reached him. "I will call on you tomorrow to see how you fair. When is a good time?"

"Noon, shall we say?" He pulled away from her, holding her at arm's length, then kissed her forehead, noticing a sharp stab in his stomach. He let go of her and turned away, saying softly, "Happy birthday, Rose."


The next day, still concerned about the fluttering feeling in his stomach, Ichabod sought out Bertha, an old woman who lived down the road and who had been a friend to his mother before her death. Bertha knew all their was to know about any sort of medical problem, as well as how to cure it. She would often give out tonics to the locals, and she cooked up special salves for any kind of cut and burn one could imagine. If there was something wrong with him, Bertha would know what to do about it.

So he knocked upon her door that day, on the first of December, and was greeted by a pretty young maid with honey hair and emerald eyes. "Hello," he said, "I am Ichabod Crane, come to see your mistress. Is she at home?"

"She is always at home," the young maid replied. Then she said, "Follow me." He stepped into the house, waiting as the young maid shut the door behind him, and then followed her into the bowels of the house and up numerous flights of stairs. Finally they reached a foreboding-looking hall, with one scraggly-looking door at the end, and the maid pointed to it.

He stared down the hallway, apprehension taking control. He looked up at the maid, his eyes pleading, and asked, "Is that where you mistress is, in that room down there?"

"She never leaves," the young maid said.

He audibly gulped, then asked, "Is it all right if I just go in?"

"Be sure to knock first," the maid said, and left the young man to deal with the strange old woman all by his lonesome.


The blood is the life, Sikerra.