I haven't posted for this fic forever, so here's something. Hope you like it. :)
Abbie finds herself in an unfamiliar cabin. A fire wallops in its hearth as it rains outside. Pine soaks the living room, where she is, and probably the rest of the house. She stands from the couch to observe her surroundings. No TV. A coffee table in front of her. A table lamp. No stairs. A hallway. Three windows. An open entrance to what she hopes is the kitchen and not a creepy ass lair or dungeon of some sort. A navy coat hangs on a rack and knee-length black boots are by the front door. These don't belong to her, nor to any lovers she knows.
She's had a couple of weird dreams in her life. Some about elephants climbing mountains and others about fish baking cakes. Those weren't real, but this one feels pervasive, like it's nicking her bones to get inside of her. This dream is startling, especially now as she hears running water, clinking dishes, and humming. She's on her guard and holds her breath as she slowly steps in the kitchen. A man washes what she can't see. Her eyes observe the back of him: shoulder-length brown hair, wide shoulders, a nice ass even. He's taller than her. Probably by a good foot.
A pan of brisket smokes on the eye of the stove. He must've just removed it from the oven. A bowl of romaine and spinach salad, a bottle of white wine, and a loaf of wheat bread are assembled on a mini island. She quietly goes further in the kitchen. The man shuts off the water. When he turns around, the plate he holds slips from his hands. He doesn't clean up the broken glass. His eyes scan her from head to toe. He's got a beard that matches the color of his hair. Long fingers. His shirt's slightly unbuttoned. Handsome, she thinks. But she doesn't know him.
"Who are you?" she finally says.
"I could ask you the same question, Miss." He's British and his fingers wiggle.
She refuses to move because she doesn't know what he'll do. Her belly flicks like the fire in the living room.
"Is this your cabin?"
"I'm afraid it does not belong to me. However, I attempted to make myself at home. I prepared supper."
"It smells good." If she's honest, she's kind of hungry, but she won't eat. What if it's a Purgatory? If she eats, she can't leave. Her soul will be trapped here, according to the horror films she's watched.
"Thank you." He smiles a little. "I enjoy cooking."
"What's your name?"
"Ichabod Crane."
"I'm Abbie."
"It is nice to make your acquaintance, Abbie, despite our peculiar circumstances."
Her lips form a thin line as she nods.
"I'm not sure whether I've invaded your dream or whether you've invaded mine. However, we are both here. That being said, would you like to join me for dinner? Forgive me, I was not expecting company at all, but there should be enough for the two of us."
"I'll pass."
"Are you certain you don't—"
"Positive. Excuse me."
She needs air and leaves the kitchen to find some. There's a wrap-around porch with two rocking chairs side by side. She has a nice view of a lake and its dock. All types of questions sway on the tip of her tongue. Was this her dream? Was it his? Why is she here? What the hell is going on? How did this even happen? She watches the rain. The front door opens.
"The rain's quite lovely, isn't it?" he says.
"Quite." She pauses. "But it saddens me now."
He stands beside her and observes the raindrops, too.
"It saddens me as well."
Curiosity gets the better of her; she wants to know his story. Did the rain leave him with memories of blood and loss, too? Her instincts tell her so, and she lightly squeezes his hand. She should pinch herself awake right, but instead she says, "Let's eat dinner."
He gives her another little smile and gently tugs her inside the cabin. Then she wakes. She still feels his warm hand.
It's night two, and Abbie shares a dream with Crane again. She sets up a chess game on the front porch. There's a small table between the two rocking chairs, one of which she occupies.
"Hello." Crane sits across from her.
"Hi."
"How are you?"
"Fine. You?"
"I'm quite well. Resting as it were."
She chuckles.
"Do you enjoy chess?" he says.
She nods. "It's the only game I play."
"Would you mind if I joined you?"
She slides him his chess pieces. It's raining again.
"Do you think it'll always rain here?" she says.
"Perhaps."
They quietly play; she wins four rounds.
"I'm convinced you can read my mind, Abbie."
She giggles as she clears the board and puts the game in its box. "Or you're not as good as you thought, Crane. Can I call you that, by the way?"
"I have no objections; Crane suites me well. And I'll have you know I'm a rather fine chess player. I was a member of the chess team at university."
"Hooray." Abbie grins and goes inside.
He follows her. "Do you not believe me?"
"I do. You're good, but you can be better." She puts the game on the table with the lamp and makes herself comfortable on the couch.
He sits beside her, with his fingers folded and legs crossed. "What, pray tell, is my weakness?"
"You're too confident. That's how you lost each time. The pieces don't play the way they're positioned on the board. You can't assume what moves I'll make, Crane."
He tries to object, but says otherwise. "I suppose that's true."
"We'll work on it."
"I look forward to being under your tutelage. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"That'd be great. Thank you."
Crane prepares it while Abbie stares at the fire. She doesn't know where this dream world is going, what it'll lead to, but she wants to give it a chance.
He's back with their tea. Both cups are on saucers. He carefully gives one to her before cautiously sitting down with his own.
"How did you become such an expert at chess?"
"My sister Jenny. She learned the game from our parents. She's the only one who could beat me. I still want a rematch."
"Perhaps when you wake, you can agree upon a time and date for said rematch."
Her eyes settle on her tea. There's a sting in her chest. "That won't happen."
"Why, if I may ask?"
"Jenny's… um…" She clears her throat to keep the tears at bay, but it doesn't work. Her tears fall into her cup. She wants her back. "My sister's dead."
Crane sets his tea down on the coffee table in front of them and scoots closer to her. His palm rests on her back. He gently removes her cup from her grip to sit it on the table as well.
She told him how the rain left her with blood and loss. How they should've stayed home, but Jenny wanted to go to the mountains. They're stunning in the rain, she said. Abbie told her no, that they needed to pick a better day when it wasn't raining. Being the younger sister she was, Jenny pouted about it. And being the oldest, Abbie didn't like disappointing her, so she sighed and reluctantly agreed. They packed a cooler and left that morning. Abbie expected a fun roadtrip, old school tunes, and laughter, not a car accident that left two dead and six of them injured. A drunk truck driver swerved out of his lane on the highway. He collided into them and caused a four-car pileup. Abbie woke in a cold hospital room, with beeping machines and pains in her leg, arm, back, everywhere. Jenny wasn't in the bed next to her, so she called for her at the top of her lungs until a nurse came in. Where's my sister? Where is she? I'm so sorry, Miss Mills, but your sister…. She ordered the nurse to leave. Abbie didn't cry until after the funeral a week later.
He grabs her hand while she sinks into her grief. He doesn't say he's sorry like everyone else. She appreciates him for that. Her head drops on his shoulder. He lays them down on the sofa and permits her to cry as long as she needs. Soon she wakes. Her face is hot and her eyes are still wet. She thinks he left a kiss on her cheek.
It's the third night, and in the doorway of the bedroom, Abbie says, "Thank you."
"You're quite welcome." Crane's staring out the window.
She decides to stare with him. "You okay?"
He doesn't answer, so she holds his hand. He squeezes it.
"Today is my wife's birthday."
"You don't sound happy about it."
"I'm quite sad."
"Why?"
Tears are on his cheeks. "We can't celebrate her birthday together. She, too, died in the same accident as your sister. My wife's name is Katrina. We were visiting her parents for the weekend. I volunteered to drive, due to the weather, since she gets a little frantic about rain. However, she insisted otherwise. She said I drove too slow and that we'd never get there in time. To say the least, she was excited, since they only visit America three times a year. They're from London." He pauses. "We drove into the median because of the truck. The impact killed her instantly. I shouldn't have let her drive, Abbie. She should be here instead of me. I—" Grief overtakes him; he weeps into his hands.
She leads them to the bed, which they both sit on. Her legs straighten, she puts a pillow in her lap, tells him, "Come here."
He does. He cries into the pillow while she combs through his hair with her fingers. She doesn't shhh him or tell him it'll be okay, like people do. That won't do a damn thing. She lets him be. And it's obvious to her why they dream of each other.
They're in the kitchen on the fifth night. Abbie's making them s'mores, a feel-good snack, one they could use.
"Thank you for last night, Abbie."
"Don't mention it."
She sets their plates on the table.
"Is this a treat you often eat?"
"Yeah. Jenny and I used to make them when we were younger. I figured we needed something a little light-hearted after the last two days."
"Indeed."
Marshmallow sticks to his beard and chocolate stains Abbie's shirt.
"We look a mess," she says once they finish.
Then he laughs loud and full. She can't help but join him. It feels good, but she also feels she shouldn't enjoy it.
Later, they sit on the dock without an umbrella and listen to the rain for a while. It drenches them.
"We're connected by loss," Crane says. "That's what's resulting in these dreams."
"I realized that, too. I knew there were others involved, that there was another loss, but I don't know why it's just us here. Why not anybody else?"
He shrugs. "Maybe we aren't meant to have all the answers, Abbie."
"My sister died that day, Crane. I deserve fucking answers."
The truck driver was arrested, but that still didn't make Abbie feel better. She wanted to know why they got on the highway in the first place. Who let them drive? Does the truck driver feel guilty? Is the person sorry for what they caused? It still nags at her to this day.
"My apologies. I didn't mean to offend—"
"I know. I'm sorry." She pauses. "She was the only family I had left. Our mother died when we were younger. I can't say much about our dad other than he left when we were babies. The only other time I saw him was at Jenny's funeral."
He tangles their fingers. "I wish you didn't have to endure this."
She nods. "We deserve to be happy, you know?"
"The question is how do we do that? Our loved ones have only been gone for nine months. How do we find happiness in the midst of tragedy?"
She shrugs. "I think we just try. We enjoy the small things again, like eating s'mores or playing chess."
"That is a start. However, even while we engaged in these activities, I felt guilty, like I shouldn't have laughed when my wife is dead. Do you experience that?"
"I do, yeah." She sighs. "I think we have to okay with that, to get comfortable with living again. I'm not going to forget my sister and you're not going to forget Katrina. We aren't 'getting over it,' you know? It's normal if we have days where the grief is too much and we cry all day in bed, but we can't do that everyday either. No one grieves the same. I get that. I do think it's good to have a balance. We're just trying to live again, to find substance in life. And that's okay. We don't have to feel guilty about that. I think they'd want us happy, right?"
"I'd like to think so." He stands up and helps her to her feet. "I suppose a bit of fun is in order, yes?"
"Indeed," she says. "Let's start with the lake."
Before he can respond, she jumps in with a squeal.
They play hide-and-go seek in the rain or play rounds of chess on the porch or on the dock. They gaze into the fire, drinking tea, wine, or coffee while they reminisce about their loved ones. They laugh; they cry, hold hands, and kiss foreheads for comfort. In the kitchen, they attempt to make fancy dinners and desserts they can't pronounce. Once, they broke out in a food fight. They sleep in the bed and twiddle their fingers together as they tell what-if stories about who they think Jenny and Katrina would be right now. Sometimes their lips skim the corner of a mouth, a nose, or a neck for comfort and support. They like it. They want more of it, of life and laughter with each dream they spend together.
They are supposed to be tree climbing in the rain this dream. Crane's supposed to give her a foot up. He's not a fan of heights, so she decides she'll be the one to see how much branch she can climb. Instead of lifting her, he tickles her waist. She squirms, laughs, tells him to stop. Her attempts at escaping don't work because he pulls her closer to him. Suddenly, he's not tickling her anymore. As they stare at each other, Abbie thinks the rain is tragedy, but she wants to make new memories with it. Happier ones that dull the sting of loss. She deserves that. He deserves that. And so she kisses him while the rain sods their clothes and hair. His tongue knocks against hers and she moans. He licks the raindrops that fall down her neck and into her shirt, which she quickly removes. He snatches his own off. The rain is sweet on his skin. Finally, they are naked, slightly cold against the tree, but neither of them care. His teeth tease and nip her nipples; she holds him there. Then he kisses lower, dips his tongue in her belly button. Her knees weaken as he tongues her clit. One of her legs hangs on his shoulders. Then he lifts her other leg over his shoulder as well.
"Crane…."
He licks, groans, and softly bites. She wants more, so much more with him, for him. They deserve adventure and spontaneity like this. It's theirs to make and it feels more than amazing. She climaxes in his mouth like she wants to. Before she knows it, he's sliding his penis in her. And he's looking at her like he wants her to be the happiest woman in the world, with or without him. And she feels it all: the immense pleasure, their losses, the tip of their healing. She wants that for them. And she kisses that wish into his lips, his cheeks, his eyes lids. They cry because perhaps they've found a little bit of it in themselves and in each other. She orgasms again. He quickly follows, rests his head in her neck. Her fingers play in his wet hair. The rain slows. Then it completely stops. Between the clouds, there's a bit of sunshine.
Abbie's fully awake right now, though she wishes she was asleep. But all she presently has are her memories of Crane and their lovemaking under the tree while she sits on a park bench with her umbrella over her head. After they sexed, she woke up. She didn't dream about him for a couple of days. It's disappointed her, but she hopes he's somewhere happy. They never exchanged contact information. There was only so much time before one of them had to get up and face reality, unless it was the weekend. They slept a little longer then.
She visits the park because she wants to climb a tree or find one to climb once the sun comes out. None of what's here interests her, so she'll return home. As she stands, she hears a man behind her say, "Leaving so soon, are we?"
She turns and there he is. Crane. He's more so tall and handsome in person. What are the fucking odds they meet here in the rain?
He smiles, says, "I believe we've met a time or two."
She can't help but smile herself and say, "I think we have."
The rain stops.