Abbie knew it was Crane at her door by the way he knocked. She wasn't sure what it was about the knock that gave him away. It was just so Crane. She rolled her eyes at herself. She needed to get a grip.
He must've walked the two miles from the station, where she'd left him for a few hours at his insistence he had more research to do, while Abbie took a well-deserved break.
But it wasn't Crane on the other side of the door. At least, that's what her brain told her for at least three and a half seconds before it finally hit her.
"Crane!" she couldn't stop herself from exclaiming. Her eyes must have been embarrassingly wide, and her gaze traveled, embarrassingly slowly, along his frame.
He'd gotten a haircut. It wasn't closely cropped, like Luke's, but it was a few inches shorter, making him look more lumberjack and less Jesus. His beard was trimmed close to his face, as if he'd simply been too lazy to shave over the weekend. The most shocking thing though, was his clothes. Abbie didn't think she'd ever see him in anything but the hardy, 18th century tunic, breeches and overcoat. She'd resigned herself to it. He needed the comfort of the one familiar thing he had.
But he was wearing jeans. Denim blue jeans that fit. With a slate blue V-neck sweater that made his eyes look like ice. His old boots were all that remained of his old visage, but they paired remarkably well peeking out from the boot-cut jeans.
She finally glanced back up to his face, and he was smirking, damn him. He was remarkably pleased by her reaction, though a bit of doubt still lingered, evident in the stiff way he stood, his hands behind his back, his nose drawn up in that English way he had.
"Leftenant," he greeted. "Miss Wendy was kind enough to offer her advice at the shopping plaza this afternoon. Since I am now receiving compensation for my consultation with the department, I thought I'd try to fit in with the modern garb."
This was his home now. He'd accepted that this would be his life. That warmed Abbie in a way she'd examine later. At the moment, she was still a little flabbergasted.
"What do you think?" Crane finally asked, when it became clear that Abbie wasn't about to regain her speech anytime soon.
"You look," Abbie started, waving her hand toward him vaguely. The first adjective that came to her mind was devastating, since that's how she felt, but that wouldn't do. The other adjectives that swam through the fog were even less appropriate. Foxy, super fine, devilishly handsome, stupid hot.
She finally settled on "Very modern." He seemed relieved. He let out a breath and smiled.
"Miss Wendy assured me you would approve of this clothing for everyday use," he explained. Approve was an understatement. Abbie was dying to know how that shopping trip went.
"How nice of her," Abbie said weakly, and retrieved her coat to accompany him back to the archives for another long stint of trying to figure out just what the hell was going on.
It seemed like every person they passed on their way through the station stared. Crane looked unaffected as ever, but Abbie couldn't help it if she stood a little closer to him and donned her best 'don't-give-me-shit' expression. She could just imagine the accusations when Luke managed to corner her.
And if her eyes drew toward him as they worked in silence into the evening, she could hardly be blamed. Crane caught her a few times and raised his eyebrows in question.
"It's just a little startling," she finally explained, when he'd caught her watching him for the fifth time. "You look so different."
"In a favorable way, I hope?" he asked with a small smile. He knew damn well it was favorable. To vex him, she just shrugged and went back to work, but the next time she glanced covertly at him, he was still smiling.