Chapter Six

The crime scene was just the same as all the others. A body lying in the midst of a crowd of people, the head plain gone. Everything was the same, except for one slight difference. This victim, was a man.

Ichabod released Anabelle's hand far from the gruesome sight, but where he could still keep an eyes one her, and gave Masbeth a look that plainly said, "Stay with her." Then he moved, once more, to kneel beside the headless corpse, opening his bag. He was sure he didn't really need to confirm all the things he already knew. If would be no different than the rest, quite the same. It was the Horseman, he knew, but doing these check gave him time to think while all the while looking like he was doing something useful and convincing the onlookers.

Four total victims, he thought as he watched the smoke rise from a "chemical reaction". The wife of a candidate running for mayor, a young girl, Katrina, and.. this man. Who was...

"Mister Alan Walker," said another constable behind him upon Ichabod's questioning look.

With a frown, Ichabod looked back down at the bare neck. Alan Walker... he was another candidate for mayor. That had to mean something... but what? Ichabod scratched his chin, out of things to do to make himself look impressive. He needed to search around, go to the city hall and get documents... the library maybe. He ran his fingers through his hair. They need to figure out something soon, or the magistrate would really be displeased, and he would be demoted, instead of promoted. What did these four have in common?

Anabelle did her best not to look at the corpse. The idea of seeing someone beheaded did not appeal to her senses; however, she did want to keep watch over Ichobad.
From where she stood, removed with young Masbeth, she saw Ichobad study the body, finally rising and returning back to them with an expression that clearly stated this was just like every other Horseman attack he'd seen.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something beside where Ichobad had been kneeling.

"Ichobad, I think you left something," she said as he approached, indicating to the forgotten article back at the body.

"Hm?" Ichabod furrowed is brows and looked around back to the body. Indeed, there was a little piece of crumpled paper lay on the ground, by Ichabod was sure it hadn't been his. Nonetheless, he quickly turned and head back towards the corpse. Bending down, he picked up the paper. By the time he had it unfolded and was scanning it, he had reached Anabelle and Masbeth's side again and was walking past the, intending them to follow.

"It's an...invitation," he said simply.

"An invitation?" Masbeth asked, raising an eyebrow. "To what?"

"To a conference of the candidates running for the mayor's office this term." Ichabod looked up and took in Anabelle's and Masbeth's confused faces. He sighed. "That," he nodded back to the body, "was Mr. Alan Walker, one of the eight current candidates." He thought for a second. "At least, I think there was eight. Seven now."

"Is this good news or bad?" Anabelle asked. "The invitation I mean."

Why would someone be after the mayoral candidates? And what did Katrina and the girl in front of Ichobad's house have to do with any of this?

"I... don't... know," Ichabod admitted slowly after a bit of a pregnant pause. He folded the invitation up and pocketing it. "None of this makes sense. Come on." Taking her hand again, he pulled the two of them down the street back towards the house. "I think we'll be dressing up tomorrow night... We've been invited to a conference." He wasn't really trying to be funny. In fact, he was feeling exceeding stressed. What the hell could all of this mean? What common ground did the four victims share? Katrina... What did Katrina have to do with any of it?

Anabelle walked quickly beside Ichobad, lost in thought of her own. She had to admit the idea of attending this conference was rather daunting. However, she said she'd stay by him, and she was not one to go back on her word.

She raked her bottom lip through her teeth, wondering how a mayoral conference, two girls and a headless Horseman all fit together.

The next afternoon, Ichabod stood before a mirror, trying to make his hair appear presentable. After about fifteen minutes, it still would not stay swept back or even remotely neat looking. With a frustrated noise, he threw the comb at the mirror, making it bounce off with a loud "pang". He stress was really starting to get to him, or was that heartbreak? He was shaking quite often, he hadn't gotten much sleep, and now he was taking out his anger on inanimate objects. Ichabod was sure he would have quite a few gray hairs by the end of the night, at least. Sitting heavily on the edge of his bed in the guestroom, he put his face in his hands, gripping handfuls of his dark, messy hair to try and relieve his stress, but it was no good. The stress wouldn't go away until he had the Horseman back in hell, or he was dead himself. A welcome release, he thought bitterly, shaking his head.

Anabelle was not fairing much better. She wanted to be back in her house, with her things, in her room, her bed. Most of all she wanted to be far from the thoughts of Ichobad that would not desist their relentless bombardment of her mind.

Finally she managed to get her skirts tied tightly. Her fingers were sore.

I have no desire to go to this stupid conference anyway, she thought, falling back in a very ungraceful manner on the bed, kicking her legs up as she landed on her stomach, hiding her head under the pillow. I don't want to go. I don't want to be Katrina. I just want to go home and to hell with the Horseman. Surely I have never done a thing to him...or Katrina...yet in the eyes of the law; I'm as good as guilty.

Unfortunately, thinking about the law only brought her mind back to Ichobad. Clenching her eyes tight, she let out a frustrated groan that was muffled beneath the pillow.
She most certainly did not wish to go.

Giving up on his unruly hair altogether, Ichabod stood and decided to go see how Anabelle was doing. He frowned when he saw her splayed over the bed, her head invisible under a pillow. He raised an eyebrow and rested his head against the doorframe, watching her. What was it about her that made him so... sure of everything? Those last few words echoed in his mind. Sure of everything... Are you always so sure of everything? Unconsciously, Ichabod place a hand over his heart, a memory flickering through his mind.

"Keep it close to your heart, it is sure protection against harm." Katrina had spoken those words upon Ichabod's first visit to Sleepy Hollow. Slowly, he slipped a hand into his coat and pulled out the book that she had given him on that occasion. It still held the bullet that Lady Van Tassel had shot him with, and this little book had saved him. If he worked at it, he could pry open the covers and many of the pages, though they all had an obvious hole through them. With a sigh, he put it back into his coat and instead looked at the ring on his finger. He slipped it off and examined it closely. There we small marking inside and, frowning, Ichabod realized there were marking drawn in chalk on the door as well. He looked at Anabelle and squinted. She was hiding something from him.

Anabelle heard footsteps in the corridor, but she didn't lift her head. Maybe if she just ignored it all, she would wake in her bed and laugh about the maddening dream she had...although there had been a few incidents that she would not wish away for anything.
One rebellious tear coursed down her cheek, hitting the soft blankets below her. Then another, and another. For once she didn't care. No one could see her with her head hidden beneath the pillow. She just lay still and let them fall.

"Anabelle?" Ichabod asked gently. He tore his eyes from the symbols on the door and walked toward the bed. "Anabelle, we need to leave soon. Are you ready to-" he froze, his gaze suddenly very concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked. He couldn't see her crying, but he could her the unevenness in her breathing. "What's wrong, Anabelle? Hey." He sat on the bed and rested a hand on her upper back; rubbing it in what he hoped was a comforting way. "Look at me. What is wrong?"

Anabelle started when she heard his voice.

Not good. Not good! her mind yelled. She didn't want him seeing her cry. Compared to what he was going through, she had no reason...no right...to be in tears.

Then his hand was rubbing her back, his touch making her forget all her troubles. Her breath started to return to normal and she snuck her hand under the pillow, furiously wiping away her tears. Slowly she pulled the pillow from over her head, keeping her eyes stubbornly closed. She felt horrible for crying.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she hesitated before meeting Ichobad's eyes, her full of apology.

"Are you okay?" Ichabod asked again, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You had me worried there for a minute." He looked at the clock on the wall. "We should leave soon, but if you want, we can be late. It is not that important. If you need to rest a bit, I will leave you be and get you in half an hour." He did not, however, move from his spot on the bed. Instead, he searched her eyes deeply. Her eyes were such a beautiful chocolate color... Why was he so drawn to them? And her lips... those perfect, cherry lips. Ichabod stood quickly from the bed, forehead creased deeply. He was confusing himself. He was desperate to have Katrina back and consequently was noticing certain features of Anabelle more. Yes, that was it. He just wanted Katrina back, but he would have to get used to it... Katrina was not coming back.

Anabelle was about to reveal what was on her mind, refusing to leave her in peace. Then she noticed the changing look in Ichobad's eyes as he abruptly stood.

Telling him would do no good at all. In fact, she realized it would probably only make things worse.

Instead she rose, smoothed out the skirts of her dark dress, and wet her lips.
"I'm all right," she didn't meet his eyes. "We can go."

"Alright," Ichabod said, making for the door. When he reached the doorframe, however, he stopped and glanced at the symbols drawn there. With a shrug, he rushed past them and to the top of the stars, forcing himself not to look back at Anabelle. He had to start controlling the urge to stare at her better. He had to control his desire to be near her. It wasn't real; it was just him missing Katrina.

"Are you ready to leave, young Masbeth?" he asked the lad when he reached the bottom of the staircase. Masbeth looked up and nodded, looking very smart indeed in his best suit, his new constable's uniform. With one last disgusted look at his hair in the window, Ichabod led the two out into the street, heading for the city hall, where the conference was to be held.

Anabelle stared off to the side, not really paying attention to where they were going. She hadn't said a word to either of her companions and, from the looks of it, wasn't going to for a while still. She was lost in the labyrinth of her mind, mulling over Ichobad's strange behavior.

I'm sure he'd much rather be taking Katrina to this than me, she thought, despondently. I shouldn't have ever left her.

She glanced sideways at Ichobad, unable to read his expression. She studied his profile for a moment, as if to note any change. Giving up she reverted her gaze and just continued walking.

A moment after Anabelle looked away, Ichabod's head turned to look at her. He took in the almost expressionless face and the deep, emotional eyes. He sighed. Why could life not just be simple? It was obvious she hated this. She hated being dragged to this conference, she hated living in his house, and she hated being Katrina. He bit his lip. There was just nothing for it. It had to happen, for her own protection. Ichabod was not about to leave another woman that he c-

"Oof!" Ichabod's foot caught on the curb as he kept walking, but was not watching where his steps took him. He tripped the raised sidewalk and feel hard on his knees. He winced and could feel the fabric tear, as did his flesh, and blood dripping down his calf. He swore quietly, shifting over onto his backside to examine is bleeding knee, his face bright red from embarrassment.

Immediately Anabelle was at his side. She couldn't help it, her body responded moments before her mind grasped the situation.

"Are you all right?" she asked, sounding much more worried than she anticipated. "Masbeth, can you fetch a doctor?"

Instantly young Masbeth was off.

She placed her hands on either side of the torn fabric of his trousers. This did not look good. Anabelle turned and there was a loud rip as she tore off part of her skirts, folding it twice over and meeting Ichobad's eyes.

"I will try not to press too hard," she told him apologetically before applying pressure in hopes of lessening the bleeding.

Ichabod gritted his teeth, looking determinedly anywhere but down at his wounded knee. His hands worked furiously, clenching and unclenching at she tried to help.

"I... I didn't need a doctor," he muttered through clamped jaws as he tried to push away the pain shooting up his leg. "It was just a tumble. It can't be that bad. Ah!" His hand shot out to grab at her wrist and pull her hand away, but she stayed firmly pressing on the bloodied, torn skin.

"You do too," Anabelle argued, keeping one hand on his knee, pressing the fabric to the wound. The other wound around the back of his head, pulling his forehead to her lips. She kissed his forehead before resting it against her own.

"You will be all right, I promise," she breathed, hoping it offered some comfort.

Ichabod stared at her, into those dark brown eyes. He held his breath for a second, and then felt himself leaning into her and kissing her softly on the lips before giving it a second thought. He pulled away quickly. The next second, he had jumped at a shout from their right.

"Sir! Mis- Mrs. Crane!" Masbeth was back, followed quickly by a doctor about Ichabod's age. By the looks on their faces, they had seen what had just happened. Ichabod groaned inwardly and turned his head away as the doctor kneels beside Anabelle and looked over his need quickly. Part of him wished he could just sink away and act like nothing had happened, and not have to endure the pain and humiliation of having the skin on his knee almost tattered away.

Quickly yielding her makeshift bandage to the doctor, Anabelle moved to sit beside Ichobad, her hand covering his. She could feel how tightly he had it clenched. He must be in so much more pain than he let on. Anabelle felt a wave of helplessness come over her. What she knew about medicine was contained in a few volumes back at Ichobad's house. There was nothing readily available to alleviate any of his pain. She shifted so he could lean up against her shoulder, one of her hands resting on his shoulder while the other slid down his arm to rest atop his clenched fist.

Her lips burned from when he touched them with his own. She pushed the thought from her head. Now was not the time to dwell on kisses. She lightly squeezed his shoulder, feeling him rest his head back against hers, his eyes closing.

Ichabod's breathing grew slightly labored as he tried to hide the pain. The raw flesh of his knee smarted as the doctor began cleaning the wound. Suddenly, the agonizing sting increased tenfold. Ichabod cried out in both surprise and pain and grabbed tightly onto Anabelle's hand.

"Mr. Crane, please. Try to relax. I need to clean the knee with alcohol to avoid infection and it will need to be stitched," the doctor said. Ichabod looked pleadingly at Anabelle, as if asking her to take the pain away. Young Masbeth had stepped back to give his master space. The doctor was as carefully at he could removing dirt, germs, and dead skin from the bloody knee then took out a needle and thread. Ichabod tilted his head back, eyes clamped tightly shut. His breathing fluttered for a moment, and he fainted right into Anabelle's lap.

Anabelle looked down at Ichobad's pale cheeks as he lay unconscious. She passed a hand over his forehead, smoothing back his unruly hair. He was out cold, but at least his mind wasn't registering pain. Anabelle did not take her eyes from his face as the doctor finished closing the wound.

"Masbeth, I hate to ask this," she looked up at the young constable. "Can you find a carriage? I should take him home," she turned her eyes back to Ichobad. "He really has not had an easy time lately."

With the help of young Masbeth, Ichobad was soon resting on the master bed, his leg elevated on several pillows. Masbeth agreed to keep watch while Anabelle prepared something for the pain Ichabod would be in when he woke. Stealing one of her books, she crept downstairs and soon returned with a pitcher and a mug.

"Masbeth, I cannot thank you enough for you assistance today," she began. "Is there something I can do to make up for your troubles?"

"Just see that he is all right," young Masbeth smiled before turning to go. "I shall be available if you need me."

"Thank you," Anabelle turned from the young constable to Ichobad. He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping. "I should be all right, I think."

With a nod and a slight bow, young Masbeth departed.

Anabelle pulled up a chair and sat beside Ichobad, her hand reaching for his, lacing their fingers together. With the other hand, she flipped open her worn and tattered copy of Twelfth Night and waited for Ichobad to wake.

It was quite a long while before Ichabod came to. When he did, the reactions occurred slowly. His eyes fluttered open and he squinted confusedly up at the ceiling for a moment. Then his face contorted and he was sent into stages of whimpering and trembling. He had not spotted Anabelle; on the contrary, he was in too much pain to notice much for than the dull gray color of the ceiling. His knee bent unintentionally, pulling up under his chin. However, this action only made the pain worse and he nearly screamed.

A heartbreaking whimper drew her attention and she saw Ichobad writhing in pain on the bed. In an instant, she had discarded her book and was sitting beside him on the bed, one hand cupping his cheek, running her thumb back and forth across his cheekbone. The other quickly grabbed the mug that held a thick, dark liquid. She moved to lean against the headboard, urging Ichobad to rest his head against her shoulder, being as gentle and keeping him as still as she could. Anabelle set the rim of the mug to his lips.

"Ichobad," she murmured, her voice low. "I need you to drink this for me."

She could feel his body tense, either with pain or hesitation she didn't know, but either way, it was not good.

"Please," Anabelle pleaded, her mouth at his ear. "It will ease the pain and make you sleep. Please, Ichobad, trust me."

As if to prove her good intentions, she pressed her lips to his cheekbone in a rapid succession of little kisses. She felt some of the tension in his body abate, and urged the mug to his lips again. This time he was able to drink, his body slowly becoming more and more relaxed as he leaned further against her. The mug finished, she set it aside, wrapping her arms protectively around him, taking his hand. Anabelle could feel when he would tense from the pain, but at least it was no longer constant. She rested her cheek on the top of his head waiting for sleep to claim him.

"Sweet dreams, Ichobad," she whispered.

Just before he drifted off, Ichabod became more aware than ever of warm arms around in and gentle lips at his ears. He had barely time to react before the drink took full affect and he was fast asleep in her arms. And sweet dreams, indeed, did he have.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with a new design for an instrument when someone's arms wrapped calmly and affectionately around him. He turned his head to meet the soft lips in a sweet kiss, smiling to himself. His hands were lost as they ran through the velveteen, dark hair, entangling themselves in it.

He stood, arms closing about the woman's waist and pulling her to him tightly, deepening their kiss. After a few seconds, in the dream, Ichabod pulled away and grinned down at the young woman in his arms.

"Good morning, Anabelle," the words echoed through Ichabod's asleep and weary mind, the name particularly pronounced. "Anabelle..."

"Anabelle..." Ichabod whispered out loud, turning his head slightly so that his face was buried against her neck, and slept on.

Anabelle heard him murmur her name, her heart stopping in her chest. Ichobad had never spoken her name as he slept...it had always been Katrina...His breath was warm on her neck, sending shivers through her. She loosened her hold on him, letting one hand become lost in his hair, smoothing it back, tangling her fingers in it, watching out of the corner of her eye how it slipped through her fingers.

Thoughts ran rampant through her mind as she tried to decipher what she felt for this man...She hated seeing him upset and sad. Seeing him in pain drove her nearly mad. Anabelle finally decided she cared for him. However, how much, she would not allow herself to ponder.

Ichobad continued to sleep, his breathing rhythmic and warm on her skin.

Ichabod began to toss and turn within his dreams, making odd noises. At one point, he rolled over and wrapped his arms slowly around one of Anabelle's legs, resting his cheek atop her thigh. In his sleep, he smiled faintly, and then lay perfectly still.

Anabelle froze. She couldn't imagine what dreams Ichobad must be having. She heard him sigh softly. It was then that she remembered to breathe.

An hour later, Ichabod woke again. His breathing was a little heavy and he was disoriented. Glancing around from his spot on Anabelle's lap, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. He moaned from the dull pain throughout his leg, but shook it off. It was not nearly as bad as it had been. Slowly, he sat up, one hand still resting on Anabelle's thigh. It had not really even occurred to him who she was or that she was even there. He looked down at his knees, decked out in thick bandaging that barely permitted him to bend it. He rested his head back, letting the remainder of the odd sleep that had possessed him drain from his eyes and mind. Another few seconds passed before he became aware of the other breathing being beside him. He looked around with surprised eyes that scanned quickly over Anabelle, but he wasn't altogether shocked to see her there. He forced himself to smile down at her, taking his hand away from her leg and setting it in his own lap.

"You... You didn't feel obligated to stay with me, I hope?"

With a small smile, and tell-tale blush, Anabelle shook her head. "No," she answered softly. "I did not feel obligated. I wanted to stay with you." She paused. "How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?" She knew she was firing questions, but she was nervous. His deep chocolate eyes bore into her, almost as if he knew something that she herself did not know. She felt so uncertain about everything except that she wanted to be close to him as long as he would allow her to remain so.

"Ichabod shook his head quickly.

"No, no. It's more discomfort than pain..." He tenderly ran a hand over his bandage, thinking. Why did he feel so drowsy? He usually was able to awaken and be well-alive immediately after. Now, he felt as if he had been drugged. Shaking in from his mind, he shrugged.

"Water would be good at some point, but..." He took her hand. "Not yet. Stay here a little longer, if...if you want to." He paused. "Anabelle... did the doctor give me anything? Any medicine to help the pain?"

Anabelle gently slipped her hand from his, beginning to twist her fingers around as she always did when she was nervous.

Well, I've made it this far, she thought, her eyes darting to her hands. Ichobad is a constable. He was bound to figure it out sooner or later.

"No, Ichobad," she shook her head, dark waves covering her face. "The doctor gave you nothing."

The next bit was barely audible.

"I did."

Ichabod stiffened for a second, scraping his fingernails of the fabric of his pants leg. He looked up at the ceiling. She had given him...something.

"C-can I ask what...was in whatever you gave me?" He looked down at her, his face stressed. He felt a little uneasy all of a sudden, but he tried to convince himself that it was all unfounded. She had only been trying to help whatever she hd given him, and it had helped. The pain was not nearly as bad anymore, and seemed to be getting better. The only side affect was that he felt drowsy. He knew his reaction time was less now, and he felt unable to function. Unable to protect.

"I doubt this will assuage your apprehension, but it was made with items you already had in your kitchen," Anabelle couldn't look at him, feeling very small indeed. "It's simply a mixture of herbs. I wouldn't have ever given it to you if I hadn't know it would work. It was something my mother used to make for me when I was in pain."

Her hand raked through her hair, tugging at the wavy locks.

"It is supposed to ease the pain and help you to sleep...it should wear off soon, I'd imagine."

For a while neither spoke.

"I apologize if I did something wrong, Ichobad," Anabelle began twisting her fingers again. "I couldn't bear to see you in so much pain."

Ichabod's absent scratching and turned to a anxious drumming of fingers on his leg.

"And... those drawn on the doors? I saw them this morning. What are those?" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the bullet-pierced book. "This was Katrina's. It had symbols and things similar to those... But I obviously cannot look in it anymore." He pointed to the door. "What do those drawings mean?"

Anabelle glanced up, taking the book from Ichobad. Reverently she turned it over in her hands, marveling at the bullet hole in the center. A faint smile passed over her lips before she got off the bed and headed to the small dresser. She opened a drawer and shifted through what sounded like several books. Finally she found what she was searching for, her fingers wandering over the worn cover and spine. Anabelle closed her eyes against the sense of loneliness this book always brought. She shook her head before returning to sit beside Ichobad. She met his eyes and handed him the book.

"You mean this book?" she asked. "I trust they are all quite the same...excluding the bullet hole of course. I have yet to be shot at."

Anabelle flipped through the pages as Ichobad held the book open. She tried not to shudder at how they were close together with their heads resting almost against the other's, pouring over the contents of the small book.

"They are symbols of protection. I drew them the night the magistrate came to dinner...when I thought I heard hooves."

Ichabod nodded, his head bumping against hers slightly. He flipped the page shut and scrutinized the inside the front covers. Two names were scrawled in two different neat hands; one, Ichabod knew was Anabelle's. The other he didn't recognize, though he could only assume it was her mother's. He sighed.

"I believe you, of course..." He shifted so that he could lift her chin up and look into his eyes. "Odd coincidence, that both your mother and Katrina's mother bought the same book. Unless, of course, it was they who were sisters?"

Anabelle did not want to discuss her mother, not with Ichobad holding her chin and her gaze at the same time. She searched his eyes, battling against herself to answer him and ignore the tumbling of emotions that were making a mess of her mind.

"They were," Anabelle said slowly. "I was sure you would figure it out sooner or later, Ichobad," she gave a faint half smile. "Although I wasn't sure if it was something you wished to know for certain, therefore I didn't mention it. Just because you love Katrina doesn't mean you wish to have to safeguard the daughter of a witch. My mother wasn't a bad person," Anabelle hastened to add. "In fact, she was more concerned with protecting those she loved. You may have noticed the inside of your ring bears the same markings as the doorframe..."

Anabelle stopped her ramblings. Suddenly, she didn't know what to say. She was lost in his eyes, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't make herself look away.

"You may be the daughter of a witch, Anabelle, but in a way, so was Katrina." He cupped her cheek in his hand, his eyes glued to hers. "Unlike most, I've grown to believe there is nothing the matter with one who does magic for those they care about. Katrina...and her mother I suppose, for instance. Witch seems such a horrid title and you are not a bad person. Quite the contrary, you are an intriguing, kind, and beautiful woman..." Before he could rethink it, he pressed his lips gently to hers in a swift, sweet kiss. "And I cannot kid myself any longer that the only reason I am protecting you still is because of Katrina."

With a trembling hand, Anabelle touched her lips, her mind reeling at Ichobad's words, at his kiss. She couldn't have put a conscious thought together if she tried, and yet, she struggled vainly to find something to say, some way to respond...to let him know she felt the same way. Her mind was not working properly, her lips not able to form words.
Throwing all caution to the wind, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, her heart racing. His lips were so soft, his breath so sweet and warm. Slowly she pulled back, her cheeks flushed scarlet, her eyes sparkling.

"Ichobad," her voice faltered. "I--I don't know what to say...no one has ever said anything to me like that before..."

She concentrated on burning his words into her memory along with the sweet taste of his lips.

Ichabod shook his head, smiling slightly.

"You needn't say a word," he whispered, his hand resting on the back of her neck lightly. "I understand..." He sighed, his forehead rested to hers and his fingers playing with strands of her long dark hair. "My heart has broken for Katrina, but now, I feel it healing. Had you not been here for me Anabelle, I know I would be a goner, my heart in pieces. I am only sorry that it took this," he motioned to his tattered, bandaged knee, "to realize that dwelling on my losses will get me nowhere. I miss Katrina, terribly, but I cannot continue to dwell on what cannot be helped."

Anabelle's eyes fluttered closed, her forehead resting against his. She felt overwhelmed and incredibly calm all at once. She smiled slightly as Ichobad's fingers toyed with the strands of her hair. She slipped her arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace, her head resting on his shoulder as her hands idly trailed up and down his back.
Feeling the rise and fall of his shoulder began to lull her into a dazed trance. Whether from relief or simply exhaustion, two tears dropped from dark lashes, trailing down her face and hitting the soft fabric of his shirt.

Anabelle felt one of his arms wrap tenderly around her waist as her breathing slowed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a decent night's sleep, and here she was falling asleep in Ichobad's arms...Anabelle...not Anabelle-playing-Katrina...
She smiled at the thought before giving over to the dreamworld that pulled her in.

Ichabod smiled as he felt Anabelle's body relax in his arms. He thought she might be more comfortable lying down, but he did not have the desire to set her down just get. He buried his face into her hair and took in the gentle scent. If was not until his knee began throbbing dully with pain that Ichabod realized he was not in the best position to be in while injured. Trying his very best not to wake her, he moved Anabelle to lay flat at his side. He straightened out his leg and propped it back up on its pillows. He sat there for a moment, one hand resting lightly on Anabelle's head, gazing down at her. Then he spotted the book she had been reading and reached to pick it up. He smiled. It was Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Silently, he flipped it open and began to read, all the while toying with a bit of Anabelle's hair as she slept.

Even asleep, Anabelle could feel Ichobad's fingers tangle in her hair. She emitted a little noise, tilting her head to give him more of her dark locks to play with. In her dreams, this was something that occurred every night.

In her dreams...

In her dreams it was pouring down torrents of rain as two drenched figures stood before a closed doorway. One was fishing inside a pocket in a frantic and unsuccessful search.

"Ichobad," Anabelle yelled over the rain. "Can't you find the key?"

"If I could find the key, my dear, we wouldn't be getting soaked," Ichobad turned his head face her, rolling his eyes. His hair was dripping. The sight made Anabelle laugh.

"I suppose you find this amusing," Ichobad arched an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, I rather do," Anabelle pushed back her own dark and dripping locks from her forehead.

In two strides his arm was about her waist, pulling her into his chest. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he took in her startled expression.

"Very well," he murmured before setting his lips to her own in a passionate kiss. The pouring rain only intensifying the perfection of Ichobad's actions.

Anabelle murmured in her sleep, turning onto her side, her body making contact with something...someone...someone she knew. An arm encircled her shoulder and she could hear the soft heartbeat beneath her. With an unconscious blush and a smile, she wrapped an arm about Ichobad's waist and dreamed no more.

Ichabod's grip on Anabelle's shoulders tightened gently as she rolled into him. Peeling his steady gaze from the book, he smiled down at her, his hand still entwined in her dark tresses. He wondered what she might be dreaming about. Quietly, as not to wake her, he bent down and placed a light kiss to her forehead.

Strange way to begin a relationship, he thought. Was that what they had now? A relationship? It seemed incredible that mere hours ago, he had been doing his very best to deny whatever feelings he had for her. Now, he was lying next to her as she slept. And he had kissed her. Completely sane and sober, he had kissed her, and had very much enjoyed it too.