Fix-it Fic because that whole season finale was SH#T. All of this fic I wrote for this fandom was pure hope and now it's ruined. I'm still hurt about this. I will forever and always be hurt about this. I'm not writing anymore fic for this show after I finish Married at First Sight and Brownies. I'll write for Ichabbie if I get requests, but other than that, I won't be writing for Ichabbie anymore. It saddens me to. All of this fic was my hope for them and giving you hope. But after this episode, there isn't any hope left. It's completely gone. Writing for Ichabbie won't be the same without Abbie. I love you guys so, so much and appreciate every last one your reviews, favorites, follows, and kudos. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I do not take you for granted.
"My, my," Abbie said as Crane kissed her hand and put it to his check. "Be still my beating heart."
Crane grabbed her other hand, tugged her toward him. His forehead touched hers.
"You're trying to give me a heart attack, Crane?" She smiled at him, liked the feeling of his breathe on her face. This was their last moment.
He chuckled. "You will forever remain witty, won't you, Leftenant?"
"Damn right." Her nose fell into his coat lapel. He smelled like wood and smoke and the pages of a book and somehow doughnuts, like her Crane, her man. She touched his chest through his shirt. Her palm rested on his scar that forced them together. "Don't forget us, Ichabod."
He took her breathe when she saw him cry. She removed her hand to wipe his face. He kept her palm near his lips, kissed it. Her throat hurt; she couldn't speak. Her face was hot while her eyes burned. She cried with him. Her other hand rested on his cheek. On tiptoes, she kissed him, let a soft something and took it away. His lips were salty and wet. He brought his lips to hers again. He kissed her like he wanted: tongue against tongue, not too fast, not too slow, breathed her in. She moaned and sighed into his lips. His fingers slide under her shirt for her skin. He'd never experience her again. His fingers slipped down her waist to her hips to grip the back of her thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He picked her up, walked them to the porch banister. He sat her down; her legs tied around his waist. She let her fingers wonder in his beard; his hair, down his neck. She tasted her own salt and wetness. They didn't have to say what they already knew. He kissed her neck and left his head in its crook.
"You are my heart, Grace Abigail Mills. I miss you already."
She buried her face in his shoulder, wanted to keep him here. "I love you, too, Ichabod Crane."
He helped her off the banister and walked them in the middle of the porch.
"You and Jenny look after each other, okay?" she said.
"You have my word." He kissed her lips again. "Be free, Grace."
She didn't want to leave him. He didn't want to leave her. They couldn't change it now though. They held hands and stared at each other.
"Our work is not done."
"Indeed not."
"Be happy, alright?"
He couldn't be happy without her. It was her wish for him, so he'd try. He nodded.
They tried to stall time. Why wasn't it ever enough? Neither of them said anything. She attempted to take her hands away; he wouldn't let her.
"Crane."
"No."
The tears came again. "Ichabod."
He kissed each of her palms. "I shall remember us." He released her hands.
She played with his beard. "Eat lots of doughnut holes, wiggle those fingers, rant as much as you want. Live, Crane. I mean it."
She knew he'd be out of it for a while, but he had work to do. She wouldn't let him wallow for her. He nodded again.
"I'll watch over you," she said.
"When the wind blows, I shall know it is your spirit that fills and strengthens me. You'll be the rain on the grass, the thunder striking a tree, the sun between the clouds, the stars around the moon. It will be you."
She kissed his cheek. His declarations were always so moving. She'll miss that about him. "Yeah."
He put some space between them, bowed for her with closed eyes. When he opened his eyes, she was gone.
Crane stood in front of her grave. He brought her flowers every week. He sat them down on her tombstone. The wind blew. He looked at the sky, closed and opened his eyes as he smiled.
"Hello, Leftenant."