I think I saw someone post that we never got a chance to see Crane mowing Abbie's lawn. Yeah, I know how that sounds. Lol Anyway, here is something. :)
Abbie bought a lawn mower years ago when she purchased her first house. She never used it. With her wacky schedule as an police officer and currently an FBI agent, she never had the time. On off days, she caught sleep. If the grass grew above her ankles, she hired someone to cut it. Time was really slim when she became a Witness. Late nights in the archives, hunched over tea, fast food, and dusty books, pointed guns at moldy and slimy demons, and disinfected gashes and scrapes with alcohol and smooth words were her nights now. But today was a normal day. An off day from work and Witnessing. She and Crane did normal things: he ranted at the Saturday paper over an English muffin while she poured coffee and lost level 124 in Candy Crush.
Now, in the afternoon, five episodes of Orange Is the New Black later, she sat on the porch, watched Crane mow her lawn. He insisted, so she told him to knock himself out. This was what they did on normal days.
He moved the mower back and forth across her yard, paused to wipe his forehead with the heel of his hand. She waved him to the porch for a bottled water and raisins for a snack. Then she kissed his lips and beard. He played with the ends of her curls, smiled. She patted his chest and walked away with a smile of her own.
It was spring, pretty close to summer. He got warm. The buttons of his shirt opened. He shook his shirt off. When he left it on the porch steps, she peeked from her phone and pretended not to notice his slick chest, abs, and back. She could never get him to update his wardrobe. He liked his shirt and trousers and boots and the military coat he draped over his arm. He was happy, comfortable in his 1700s wear. That was alright with her.
As he mowed the grass, she watched him. Her mind narrowed to their first meeting. Him in a jail cell, lost and overwhelmed. Her outside the jail cell, lost and confused. Both of them needed somewhere to belong. They'd found it that day and onward. She flicked through their sacrifices, their laughs, their losses, their victories, everything else in the cracks. She saw him for what he was: a man, who wanted to make a difference for others, who wanted to be happy. She saw the man she loved.
He pushed the mower in her garage and walked up the steps. After he grabbed his shirt and snacks, they went inside. He put his things on the couch. She threw her cell phone to his small pile.
"What is on your mind, Leftenant?" he said.
She didn't think he noticed her observing him.
She shook her head, glanced away. "Nothing, Crane."
She wanted to know if he thought about her, too, as he mowed the lawn. He pulled her to him and kissed her slow. His tongue dipped in and out of her mouth, tasting and retasting. She didn't mind the sweat and the bits of grass that stuck to his shoulders. She wanted him how he was: sometimes sad and broken for his lost life, at other times grateful and humble to be a Witness in the 21st century, but always delighted and at ease to be with her. He picked her up, carried her up the stairs, and to their room, where he carefully lay her on their bed. He removed his boots and the rest of his clothing, then undressed her. Unhurried. He kissed her favorite spots while he did so: the inside of her left ankle, her inner thigh, her bent knee, the side of her waist, her shoulder. She enfolded her legs around his waist, kissed him. With wide eyes, he flooded into her.
"Abbie. My dear Abbie," he said.
She knew his thoughts were of her, too.