Chapter
Seven
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"Damn it, Crane! Get your lazy arse out here and do some work!"
Ichabod jolted awake. It was three days after the tumble that had led to his injured knee and he had, not ten minutes ago, dozed off while reading. The book, Twelfth Night, lay open on his shoulder and chest.
Also there was Anabelle, her head and arms rested upon his chest. One of Ichabod's hands was well tangled in her dark brown locks of hair again. There had been little movement from similar positions in the whole three days, save for Ichabod shifting round some, moving from sitting to lying, and Anabelle getting up to get food, water, and other necessities.
Now, Ichabod was rubbing the light sleep from his eyes as a loud shout sounding from outside by the door. He gulped. The magistrate had arrived; wanting Ichabod to do some work. They had sent word, through Masbeth, that Ichabod was injured, and would not be able to move until the knee healed. Apparently the magistrate believed three days suitable time to heal a deep gash that had taken a great deal of the skin from his knee. He frowned and gently shook Anabelle's shoulder.
"Ana... Wake up..." he whispered as another yell came from the ground floor outside.
With a groan, Anabelle lifted her head from Ichabod's chest, eyeing him with sleep-heavy questioning eyes. Then she heard the bellow from outside on the street.
"I do believe I hate your boss," she rubbed the sleep from her eye with the heel of her palm. "I knew I should have poisoned his dinner when I had the opportunity."
Behind her, she could hear Ichabod chuckle. The noise made her smile and pull herself from his warm embrace, standing up and smoothing out her wrinkled skirts.
Another obnoxious yell from outside accompanied by a bang on the door.
Anabelle bent down, pressing a kiss to Ichabod's lips, her hair cascading around them both. She allowed her lips to linger against his, smiling before turning her head slightly to repeat her action from another angle.
"Shall I send the magistrate up here?" she breathed against his lips.
"Do you think that if we left him he would go away? Or would he just send a brigade to break down the door?" Smiling, he brushed a hand over her face, planting a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Yes, best let him in, before herniates or...something. Let us hope he is in his best temper. I can't exactly dodge blows in my present condition, can I?" He frowned. Less worried of the physical blows, it was more the threats of losing his promotion, or his job. It was not as if he could do much about it now.
True, had had spent the last few days lying in bed and thinking of many things other than the Horseman or who might be controlling him, but the magistrate couldn't know that, of course. In fact, this was the first time he had been by since Ichabod had been injured.
With a little shrug, Ichabod pulled Anabelle in for one last, stronger kiss, then let her go to show the magistrate it.
Anabelle paused at the door of the bedroom, leaning back in, biting down on her lip.
"I should smudge out these markings, shouldn't I?" she eyed the doorframe. "Seeing as how I am already not in his good graces, I doubt he'd be lenient on you if he knew I was...well, whatever I am..." her voice trailed off, her eyes turning to look at Ichabod lying on the bed. She had never paused to think about it. Was she a witch like her mother was reputed to be? Magic had always been a part of her life, not something her mother believed in hiding. She was relieved beyond belief that Ichabod seemed to view magic in a similar fashion. However, Anabelle could almost be certain the magistrate would not look up on this bit of news favorably. The last thing she wished to give the fat grotesque cow was another reason to warn Ichabod she was a liability.
"That may be a wise decision, yes," Ichabod said. He was smiling still, but inside, he was steeling himself for the tirade to come. He had no clue what the magistrate would do, or say, and he was scared. That, however, was something he would not admit to Anabelle. He had to remain confident. "Wipe them away and g-"
There was an almighty crash from downstairs as the magistrate once more hammered on the door, and the already broken and worn latch gave way, sending the door hard into the wall. Upstairs, Ichabod winced as there followed a completely silence from downstairs, then a noise snort of distaste.
"Maybe I won't solve this Horseman business until he gets to that pig... Then I will be magistrate, I hope." He made a face.
Anabelle barely had time to scramble and wipe the doorframe clean with her sleeve before the magistrate was at the bottom of the stairs.
Thankfully the magistrate did not see her as he stalked up the stairs and into the master bedroom. She felt her face go white and began to mutter something under her breath...something she'd heard her mother mutter during thunderstorms. Anabelle looked down at the damaged door. They were going to have to get another one. Tonight.
Anabelle peered over the banister to see young Masbeth eyeing the door as well.
"Rupert!" she called out in a whisper, not remembering if she'd ever used his first name before. Judging by the look on his face as he turned to see her, not many people did.
"I think you'll need a new door," young Masbeth said with a shrug. "I did my best to calm him down. His wife told him he had to get rid of his brandy habit, and he's been having a rough time. Naturally, he decided to take it out on Mr. Crane. Poor man never gets a break."
"No, he never does seem to get one, does he?" Anabelle replied, glancing apprehensively over her shoulder at the opened doorway. "I'm afraid to leave him alone," she admitted.
"I will see to the door if you would be willing to keep the magistrate away from him," young Masbeth offered.
"I believe I can manage that," Anabelle's mind started turning over various scenarios in her mind. One consolation was that she knew Ichabod had yet to remove that ring.
"CRANE!" The magistrate's volume was utterly extraordinary. Ichabod went pale and shrunk back into the covers, wishing Anabelle was at least beside him.
"Sir, my knee is no-"
"I don't care about your knee, man!! You are making up excuses to get out of work!" The great lump plunged forward, face purple and angry. Ichabod tried his best to scoot further away.
"The doctor said-"
"DAMN the doctor! You are a constable!! Get UP!!!"
"I-"
"Now!"
"Bu-"
"NOW!"
Ichabod swallowed a whimper and glanced at the door to Anabelle, who still had her back turned. He pushed the covers from him and slowly swung his legs out of bed. Though he bent one to stand up, he held the other forward at a strange angle, wincing in discomfort and leaning on the bed stand for support.
Something told Anabelle that she needed to turn around. She followed her instinct and saw Ichabod standing, leaning against the bedpost with the magistrate yelling at him to stop leaning and stand on his feet.
What is he doing? Ichabod cannot stand with his knee as badly off as it is.
Before she had a chance to think of the consequences, Anabelle stormed into the bedroom, tapped the magistrate on the shoulder and slapped him as hard as she could across his purple, fat face. The crack echoed throughout the house, resonating in the silence.
The magistrate turned to her in surprise. In fact, even Ichabod was shocked. His dark eyes were wide, his lips parted. His leg buckled and he sank back onto the bed.
Anabelle's
eyes burned with fury she didn't even know she possessed. Her jaw was
clenched tight, her breathing constant, but deep. If looks could
kill, the magistrate would be nothing but a pile of ashes.
Shaking
off his stunned expression, the magistrate glared back at Anabelle
for a moment. Then he stepped past her, her hand still imprinted on
his cheek. As he reached the doorway, he turned over his shoulder to
address Ichobad with alarming calmness.
"She's not worth it, Crane," his tone was almost menacing. "If you want that promotion, you'd better realize where your priorities are."
His footsteps resounded down the stairs and through the main corridor as he left the house.
Ichabod's jaw worked furiously for a long time, but no sounds could be heard from him. He simply stared, dumbstruck, at Anabelle. Scooting himself back into the pillows of the bed, he look a long shaky breath, his knee throbbing. At last, he found his voice.
"Y-you shouldn't have done that, Anabelle..." he whispered, eyes huge. "I'm going to lose my promotion... My job..." He looked around frantically. "We need to solve this. I need to get to work. I cannot keep lying around doing nothing. He'll only come back." He was ranting, but he hardly noticed. His stress level had just sky rocketed once more, and he was shaking. Still babbling on, he made to stand up slowly, clutching with all his might to the bed stand.
Realization slammed full force into Anabelle as she watched Ichobad try to stand. Suddenly all her anger at the magistrate faded...only to return tenfold against herself. Surely she had just cost Ichabod everything he ever wanted. Her body started to shake uncontrollably, but she made herself look at Ichabod, her eyes wide and full of apology.
"No, no. You sit," she steeled her voice to remain calm, fighting back everything that threatened to break her down. "I will bring your things."
She paused, wondering just how much more Ichabod could take before he just broke and she couldn't put him back together. This was all her fault.
"Please, sit," she whispered, her eyes downcast now, staring at the worn floorboards. Judging by the creak of the mattress, Ichabod did as she asked. Not looking up, Anabelle left the room, returning shortly with the satchel he kept his work in. She didn't meet his eyes, but held it out to him. He took it from her and Anabelle walked back out the room again, only to turn her back against the doorframe, sliding down to sit on the floor, her knees tucked up by her chin.
"Now you've really gone and done it, Anabelle," she scolded herself. Her nose started to sting and scalding tears fell from her eyes. She tangled her hands in her hair, resting her head on her knees and let herself have it.
Ichabod could hear her sobbing. He frowned. This was not good, and as much as he was concerned about the outlook of his own career, the last thing he wanted was for her to cry.
"Anabelle," he called softly. "Ana, come here." She did not come, and Ichabod frowned. "Ana, please come here? I wish to speak to you." When she still made no appearance back in the room, and set his satchel aside and very slowly, inch by inch, lowered himself to the floor. He scooted across the wooden floor, using his uninjured leg and both hands. After what seemed like ages, he had reached her side. Without hesitating, he reached over, took hold of her waist, and pulled her into his lap. Once she was there, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck and hugged her tightly.
"Don't cry, please. It's not your fault. Shh..."
Having him hold her only made Anabelle cry harder. He was supposed to be in bed, resting, healing, not over-exerting himself to comfort the source of his troubles. Still, she had to admit, she was grateful he found it worth the effort to follow her. Slowly her sobbing lessened, although a few tears still found their way down her stained cheeks.
Finally, she looked up, although still not at Ichabod. Her cheeks bore tell-tale signs of her crying, as did her reddened nose.
"I am so sorry," she said quietly, more tears threatening to well up. "I don't know what came over me...He was...and you standing...I've never been so furious at someone...I am so sorry...And now there's even more pressure on you to find something, simply to make up for my mistake..."
She
hung her head. Her next words were barely audible.
"I will
never forgive myself if I just made you lose everything you've ever
wanted..."
Ichabod sighed. She was being very hard on herself. With the greatest amount of gentleness he possessed, he took her chin and forced her to look up at him, into his eyes.
"Anabelle,
hush," he whispered, cradling her close to him. "Please do
not beat yourself up over something so...trivial. It is only a job, a
promotion, nothing more. It is not near as important to me as a human
life...,multiple human lives... your life." He pushed a
kiss onto her lips, trying to help. "I am not angry with you. I
just need to be sure that you recognize what you did, and what the
consequences may be. You know that, and it is over. There is nothing
more that can be done." He wiped the tears gently from her face.
"Fretting and crying will do no good."
Though he spoke
calmly and collectedly, inside, he was jittery with nerves. They
needed to solve this, and soon.
...and it is over.
Anabelle heard Ichabod say the words, and she faintly nodded. However, it would not be over for her so quickly. Silently she vowed to not rest until she was confident Ichabod wouldn't lose his job over her hot-headed behavior. She slipped her arms around him, pulling him even closer, remaining that way for a moment or two, placing a kiss to his jawline before she pulled away, rising to her feet. She held out both hands to Ichobad, helping him to stand.
"If you still trust me, put your arm about my shoulder and lean into me. I'll take you back to bed," she said as she wrapped an arm securely around his waist. "I promise not to do anything...stupid," she added with a weak smile.
Ichabod's
lips curled into a light smile as he was pulled to his feet.
"I
trust you," he said in her ear. He leaned as lightly as possible
on her, but it was still a large amount of weight on her shoulders.
He grimaced slightly.
"It is really quite inconvenient, isn't it?" he asked when she had helped him lie back down. "What will you do while I do some work? Go downstairs, or..." He looked up hopefully from taking files from his satchel. "Or maybe, will you stay here with me?"
Anabelle smiled, a blush rising to her cheeks. Even after all the mess she'd made, he still wanted her to stay with him. Without a second thought, she joined him on the bed, her hand resting on his cheek as she pressed her lips to his with more intensity than she planned on. She pulled back to search his dark eyes. She couldn't help but smile again, only this time it was a brilliant smile that lit up her eyes.
"I will stay here with you, Ichabod."
"Good," Ichabod whispered, pulling her in tightly for a hug. His cheek pressed against hers for a second before he released her. Then he pulled his satchel onto his lap again and began shuffling through papers. He sighed, slightly frustrated still. "Though it is not as if I can really do much with this." He rested his forehead on his hands, thinking hard. "I wish I could walk... I could get to the notary, the library, the city hall... There is so much information I don't have, but that I must have!"
Anabelle turned his dilemma over in her mind. She didn't like the idea of leaving him alone while she went to the library, and he certainly wouldn't like the idea of her going alone. Young Masbeth was seeing to the new door and wouldn't be back until later. Her eyes scanned the room, alighting on a warn journal...Ichabod's journal.
"Ichabod," she turned to him, her eyes wide as an idea hit her. "The doctor said you had to keep your leg immobile, right?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, not quite following the way she was drifting.
"Remember that drawing of those glasses I saw? The ones you made? How long did that take? I'm sure if you instruct me as to what to do, we can rig something so you can get to the library, something to keep your knee immobile."
Ichabod thought on this idea. Slowly, he started to nod, the expression on his face lighting up as an idea started to form.
"Well, the glasses took quite a while to make, actually... But we could make something fairly quickly." He nodded to the journal. "Come, hand that to me. I'll see what I can come up with."
When she had done so, Ichabod flipped open the book to a blank page and stared at it for a moment. Then he reached over and wrapped his arm around Anabelle, smiling gently at her as he pulled her half onto his lap. Setting his head on her shoulder, he reached around her and began to sketch a crude, splint-like contraption to put on his leg.
Anabelle could feel his heartbeat against her back as Ichabod began to draw. She couldn't get enough of the feeling she had when she was in his arms, close to him like this. Biting down on her lip, she fought both the blush that would stubbornly rise to her cheeks and the overwhelming urge to turn and kiss his lips again.
Now was not the time for that.
Instead, she focused on his hands, his long fingers curving around the pencil he was drawing with. Anabelle listened to the etching noise of the lead on the smooth paper and the careless flick as he brushed off the excess. She had never watched anyone draw, and to behold Ichabod was fascinating.
He was more talented than she originally believed him to be. Not only was his model beautiful to look at as he drew, it would be completely functional, most likely without flaw. She turned her head slightly to study his face, the amazement in her eyes unmasked.
Was there anything Ichabod Crane could not do?
Ichabod managed to sketch for several more minutes as she watched his face, but finally, the pull of her gaze attracted him to tear his eyes from the paper and look down at her. He raised an eyebrow quickly, looking quite surprised at the look on her face.
"Wh-what?" he asked, somewhat defensively.
"You're amazing, do you know that?" Anabelle asked. "I was just thinking about all the things which you are capable of doing...and doing so well. You're sketching your own device, which you will turn around and build and have it running to perfection shortly thereafter."
Her gaze softened, watching his eyelashes cover his deep brown eyes before revealing them once more.
"Is there anything you cannot do, Ichabod?"
Ichabod looked down, suddenly sad.
"Many things... For one, I cannot stand up to my boss. I have to rely on you to do that for me, apparently." He looked up, smiling slightly as he tried to alter the subject. "But, for the record, you are constructing the device, not I. Bear that in mind." Leaning in he kissed her again gently.
"You never saw what I drew that day you fainted and I was sitting beside your bed sketching, did you?"
"As
for standing up to your boss, Ichabod, you cannot be so hard on
yourself. The fact of the matter is, currently, you cannot stand at
all," Anabelle pointed out in a teasing manner. "But if you
could, I have no doubt you'd have handled that scenario with far more
grace than I did."
She paused to fiddle with her ring.
"But, no, I only saw the picture you drew of Katrina and the glasses, which you still have to wear for me, by the way," she smiled a small smile as she leaned in to brush her mouth against the corner of his lips.
Shuddering the tiniest bit at her touch, Ichabod nodded.
"Those drawing we quite old, which would explain why the page fell out. Here." He closed the book, only to reopen it a second later. He flipped through what seemed a thousand pages, scanning each one quickly, before he stopped at one page and help it open for her to see. There, drawn landscape onto the page, was an exquisite likeness of the sleeping Anabelle at day. Every feature, from the hands, to her cherry lips, was absolutely perfect. Look at it, Ichabod bit his lip. He wonders how she would react to him having drawn her. Would she be angry, touched, or... any of a number of other things?
For a moment, Anabelle could only stare at the page Ichabod held open for her. The likeness was so real she thought if she brushed her fingers over the drawing, she could actually wake the miniature sleeping form. Ichabod had managed to capture every little detail.
Anabelle glanced up to meet Ichabod's eyes, seeing them betraying his apprehension. She let out a small laugh as she smiled and shook her head, her dark hair brushing over her shoulder.
She ran her fingers through his hair, down his cheek, stopping at his lips. Feeling a shudder run through her, she ran her thumb slowly over his lower lip, watching his eyes.
"You have no cause to worry, Ichabod," she smiled. "I think it's the best likeness I've ever seen. And I'm honored you'd draw me."
With that, she pressed her lips to his, beginning to slowly work them with her own until she felt Ichabod's apprehension melt away. Just as she was about to pull away, her lips barely touching his, his arms tightened around her and pulled her back into his kiss.
He gently continued pressing his lips to hers, arms winding quickly around her waist. The sketchbook and satchel lay open and forgotten beside them. Ichabod's mouth opened slightly, covering her lips with his own. His warm breath hit her face, wafting back the tiniest strands of hair. After a few moments, she still had not accepted him. He pulled away and lowered his gaze to her lips.
"Sorry," he whispered, sure he had crossed some sort of line.
Anabelle had panicked. She knew it was a ridiculous thing to do, but the gentleness of his lips pressing softly to hers, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, his arms tight around her waist, all these things made her rather unsure of herself. It wasn't that she didn't trust him. She trusted Ichabod with her life. It was herself she didn't trust. Being with Ichabod like this sent a rush of emotions through her that was so powerful it overwhelmed her senses, leaving her unable to think of anything but wanting more.
All
these thoughts were flooding her mind, but when Ichabod pulled away
and apologized, sounding self-conscious about his actions, Anabelle's
mind immediately cleared. She gently tilted his lips back towards
hers, her breath ghosting over his mouth. She felt rather foolish for
what she was about to say, but knew Ichabod would want the truth.
"I
was just a little nervous," she admitted with a blush. "I'm
all right now."
She
moved closer, her mouth resting lightly against his.
"Please."
Anabelle felt Ichabod hesitate as he pressed a
kiss to her lips. After a moment, she could feel his part against
hers. Slowly she brushed her fingers through his hair, ignoring the
pounding of her heart as she parted her lips.
Ichabod could not resist shivering slightly. The idea of being so close to Anabelle.…kissing her like so, and sober, it was almost too much for him right now. He needed to get to work, but thoughts of papers and trips to the city hall were quickly slipping to the back of his mind. All he wanted to do was sink into her lips, memorize every detail. He wanted to pull her against him and not let go for days, weeks even.
Once more, his lips covered hers. Eagerly and yet oh so gently, their mouths merged. It began slowly, but passion in the kiss slowly grew.
Anabelle heard herself murmur against his lips, her heart racing. His touch was so soft, so tender. She couldn't help but wonder if it would always feel this way. She smiled into his kiss before pulling herself deeper into his arms, pressing her body to his. Her hands ran gently through his hair, across his cheekbones, down his neck, coming to rest finally on his chest. She shuddered as he broke his mouth from hers, only to return it to the corner of her lips, slowly working his way to the other side before he fully reclaimed her lips, urging her nearer.
Ichabod made a soft noise through their lips, holding her closer than ever. After another minute, his lips parted from hers and roamed down her cheek, to the corner of her jaw. They rested there for a second before returning full force to her mouth, his kiss as gentle and sensual as ever it had been.
Anabelle felt her entire body melt into his arms, his lips driving her mad. Warm breath escaped through reddened, parted lips as she let out a shuddering sigh, pressing against his lips, one of her hands clasped lightly around the back of his neck, toying idly with his silken black hair.
Ichabod's hand rested on her upper arm. His thumb ran over her shoulder, just where the fabric of the dress ended and her milky skin showed. He slowly stroked her skin there, then pulled her fully onto his lap. Their lips seemed simply glued together.
Then a loud thud sounded, causing them to pull apart, lips parted and reddened, eyes hazy, cheeks flushed. They stared at each other before Anabelle looked to the floor. The satchel and journal had fallen to the floor, scattering papers everywhere. With a small sigh of reluctance, she pulled herself from Ichabod's lap, letting her fingers slowly untangle themselves from his hair. She gathered the neglected items and returned them to Ichabod before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. She was still facing him, their legs almost touching.
She reached forward, taking Twelfth Night from the pile of books and paperwork and opened it up to where she left off last time.
"Perhaps I shouldn't remain so close to you," she smiled. "I'll keep you from your work."
Ichabod smiled.
"A, but I can't do much work until we get this," he lifted up the half finished drawing of the splint, "built." He settle back into the pillows, pencil in hand, to finish the drawing. "I am almost finished, then I will send Masbeth to get the materials, and you can build it while I instruct you." He bent his head forward, black hair falling into his eyes, and the tip of his tongue showing between his lips as he concentrated.
Anabelle peeked over the pages of her book, smiling as Ichabod worked diligently on his sketching. His hair in his eyes made him look like a schoolboy, sketching instead of doing something educational like arithmetic. She couldn't hide her smile, but turned her attention back to her book, occasionally glancing his way while he was deep in thought.
