Disclaimer: I own everybody but Ichabod and Lord Crane, but we probably won't see him ever again, because he's in jail!

Once Upon A Time
Chapter Sixteen

Mr. James Hall came to call at the Crane residence one day in late February, while Ichabod was attempting to make some sense of his ever-falling financial status. He was in the library, as usual, mumbling to himself and occasionally scribbling things down in various ledgers and on pieces of paper. The double doors were open, and so James stood in the doorway for a moment and watched his son puzzle over his problems. But once his feelings of tender fatherly affection passed, he was all business.

He cleared his throat and rapped his knuckles upon the wall, which caught Ichabod's attention immediately. The thoroughly confused and utterly exhausted young man looked up, dark eyes wide in curiosity. But when he saw who was standing in the doorway, he did not feel the least bit better. "Oh, it's you," he said.

"Were you hoping to see Rose, perhaps?" James asked. The question was innocent enough, but the tone of his voice was so smug that Ichabod felt tempted to give him another bruise or two.

"It would have been nice, yes," Ichabod admitted.

"Well, then you'll be glad to know that I've come here on her behalf," James told him, walking further into the room. His footsteps were uneven, and the small thumping of the cane he had been made to use seemed to echo throughout the room like the loudest sound imaginable. He paused by the bureau, where he took a perverse pleasure in seeing how terrible his son's finances were. "She knows you're in trouble, everyone knows. But no one has yet done anything about it, so Rose has asked me to offer you some sort of bargain."

"You mean you'll offer an ultimatum," Ichabod said, knowing that this man was up to more than he was saying.

James smiled slyly. "Yes," he said, turning to face Ichabod, "an ultimatum indeed. I'll pay off your debts and restore your home to its former glory, without any financial contribution from you."

"And what about me?" Ichabod said. "What do I have to do?"

James shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't care what you do," he said. "I only care where you go." Ichabod's mouth dropped open just a little bit in surprise, and James' sly grin widened. "I'm going to pay your debt, buy your house, and leave you with nowhere to go. Nowhere except New York City."

"Why New York City?" Ichabod asked.

"Honestly?" James said. "Because it's the first place that popped into my head. I'll even finance your trip and give you enough money to support yourself for a month or two. And one more thing: if you agree to my conditions, you can't ever come back to Hartford again."

"And what if I don't agree to your conditions?" Ichabod asked.

James chuckled. "You already know that," he said. "The men will come and demand their money, and you won't have it, and then they'll send you off to debtor's prison with Lord Crane. Or they'll kill you." He glanced from side to side and then leaned toward Ichabod, whispering conspiratorially, "Personally, if I were them, I would want bloodshed for all the grief I'd been put through." He leaned away again, the smug, sly grin still set securely on his face.

Ichabod considered his options, but knew deep down that Mr. Hall was right. In the end, he simply didn't have the money to pay the men who wanted it, so he would either be thrown in debtor's prison (from which it was nearly impossible to escape) or killed. Neither one was a very appealing option. Then again, neither was the prospect of never coming home to Hartford. But it was better to be homeless than to be dead, he supposed.

So he finally sighed and said, defeatedly, "All right, the house is yours, along with all the servants in it. I'll go to New York City and won't ever return. But please, Mister Hall, you must allow me to do one thing."

"What is it?" James said.

"I beg you, just let me see Rose once more before I go, just once more," Ichabod pleaded.

James considered the young man's request, and finally decided that it was only fair. So he nodded and said, "All right. On the day of your departure, you may have a quarter of an hour alone with her. But only a quarter of an hour. No more."

Ichabod nodded and said, as he shook his father's hand, "Agreed."


The day of Ichabod's departure was the last day of February, the twenty-eighth. On that day, he stopped by Mr. Hall's house, where Rose was waiting for him in the library. The instant she saw him, she gasped and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him in a tender embrace. "Oh, Ichabod," she said, "I'm so sorry. James is so cruel. He twisted everything to his advantage. I never meant for this to happen."

"It's all right," Ichabod said quietly, hugging her tightly and stroking her hair. "I know you never meant any harm. And I don't blame you. My father is just a cruel man. I should have known he was planning something like this." He sighed, and then he pushed Rose away to hold her at arm's length. "But we haven't got time for all of this. We have only fifteen minutes, and I must say what I want to say before my time is up."

They sat down on the sofa and simply stared at each other for a moment, utterly at a loss for words. Then Ichabod cradled Rose's cheek in his hand and said, "Oh, Rose, I love you so much, and I'm so sorry. I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"But it doesn't," she told him, tears in her eyes. "You can stay. You could hide. He would never find you."

He shook his head. "He would," Ichabod said. "I know he would."

"I could come with you," she said, sounding almost desperate. "I could take some of the money and we could build a life together in New York City."

"But he would know where we were," Ichabod said. "And he would find us, he'd hunt us down. And I can't risk you getting hurt. I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you. Or Adelaide."

"I can feel her," Rose said quietly, in a sort of breathless wonder. "I can feel her growing inside of me, getting larger and larger every day. It's wonderful." She took his hand from her cheek and held it to her stomach, which had indeed gotten larger since the last time he'd seen her.

"Incredible," he said, staring down at her stomach and then back up at her face. "Our daughter," he said, in the same sort of breathless wonder. Then a disturbing thought entered his mind. "James must know," he said. "He must be able to tell."

She shook her head. "He seems to ignore it," she said. "Which is just as well, I suppose. I only hope that he won't hurt her. But I don't think he will. He knows I would go straight back to my parents if he so much as laid a hand on me."

"Well, at least he respects you," Ichabod said. "And at least he's smart enough to stay away. But you will be all right, won't you? When I go to New York City?"

"I'll be able to handle things," she said. "Besides, even if we don't see one another ever again, I have the assurance that you will meet our daughter. She'll find you, she'll seek you out, I know it. I'll tell her everything about you, and I'll remind her every day of who her true father is. And one more thing," she said, "promise that you'll write to me."

"I wouldn't dream of not writing," he said. "As long as you don't think he'll intercept the letters."

"He shouldn't," she said, "but I'm certainly not going to show them off to him. Will you be all right? You've never been to New York City, and it's a very big city."

"I'll be able to handle things," he said, smiling. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "Oh, dear," he said, "my carriage must have arrived." He kissed her passionately on the lips, then gently kissed her stomach. "I love you," he said to her, "and Lisette." And then he dashed out of the door, casting her one last forlorn glance.

And that was the last time they ever saw one another again.


Oh, but it's not over yet! I've got to write an epilogue, you know, so stick around for that. The blood is the life, Sikerra.