A/N. I was of two minds about weather to post this chapter because it wound up containing a scene from 0.3, 'For the Triumph of Evil'. The next chapter I've written (It's 90% done, just needs me to proof and edit) could really fit anywhere timeline wise but the one I've outlined following that would be set after 0.9. Which is going to put this fic all over the place, but it kinda had a mind of it's own when I was writing. I hope you guys like it anyway.

Abbie had always been on her own.

At Thanksgiving, at Christmas, at all of those crappy family togetherness holidays. When the lights at her place flickered and went out, she had only herself to rely on to trek to the fuse box and get them working again. Same for when the car or the radiator wouldn't start up. She learned not to be scared of spiders or bugs that wound up inside her house, because it was her who had to relocate them outside. It toughened her, gave her valuable tools she could put to use when she joined the police force and began to face foes worse than loneliness.

After her mother left them, she'd initially had Jenny as an ally, and the loss hadn't been as terrible because it was shared. But then came the day in the forest and four white trees, and with that came the rift between sisters that Abbie didn't know how to bridge. And so she'd grown up in the indifferent foster care system with guardians that "cared" only when the government stipend came once a month, and Abbie had learned. She'd learned toughness, and independence, and she had learned all too late which roads not to venture down in the dark.

Even the people she was meant to be close to, she'd kept at arm's length. First Corbin - the closest thing she had to family. Even he had been aware of the way she guarded herself, pushed away the people who loved her, because after all he'd never trusted her with his occult research now, had he? Then Luke, who seemed solid and dependable and been a good boyfriend but... when the time came to pack for Quantico Abbie knew it wasn't as difficult to say goodbye to him as it ought to have been. He was decent company, but she'd never loved him.

She'd regarded the world from behind her hardened, suspicious exterior, the one that made her such a good cop. Then the world as she'd known it had been ripped apart and was now rebuilt into something unfamiliar, where the pieces looked like they always had except for every now and again, the light refracted off them wrong. There were more ominous things than drug dealers and thieves lurking in the shadows, she knew that now. But she didn't have to face them on her own.

Ichabod Crane.

Her fierce independence couldn't stand up to the way he'd threaded seamlessly into her life. How had she gone in an instant from thinking of him as 'annoying homeless crazy person' to something she couldn't live without?

"Mills, if your boy has to wander about town, can't you at least get him some normal clothes?" Irving begged of her one day. "I'm tired of trying to justify to the bridge club ladies or the chess players in the park why our newest consultant dresses like a wannabee pirate."

Abbie didn't really listen to much after the word your. (Irving wasn't happy unless he was complaining, anyway.)

Your boy. When, exactly, had Ichabod become Abbie's your?

It took a few weeks before patterns became established - it was hard to nail a routine down when you were spending a decent slice of your day battling demon hoards - but once it was Abbie had a hard time recalling the way she'd lived her life before.

The Archives was the safe ground, the neutral territory that belonged to them both but also neither of them. It was their workstation and they treated it with a utilitarian fondness, but it wasn't home, even if they both slept there every so often after a particularly draining night. There was too much darkness in the Archives, too many worrying answers researched within.

At least half the time, Ichabod slept in the cabin that had once belonged to Corbin and now was slowly coming to be known as Crane's. He seemed at home there, away from the buzz and activity of the city, and sometimes Abbie would arrive to find him sitting outside, face tilted towards the night sky, palms held outward as if he were soaking in being outdoors. They stocked up on basic supplies, packing away extra ammunition in case of siege.

Crane did hate to ask Abbie to make the roundabout drive out to the cabin, and after Abbie insisted he took the spare room at her place for the third night in as many weeks, Ichabod grew steadily more accustomed to sharing living space with Abbie.

She wasn't alone anymore.

The independence she was so fiercely reliant upon did not loosen its hold on Abbie easily, and she clung to it in turn, reluctant to acknowledge the truth. Yes, she needed Crane around, and spending so much time together was all but mandatory to defeat the minions of evil, but it wasn't easy for her to admit she liked having him around.

He was thoughtful. He was smart. He was stubborn and sweet and flattering and funny.

Most of all, he was reliable.

She first became aware of just how reliable during the Sandman debacle.

"So... if she dies in the dream..." Crane looked to the shaman for clarification.

"She dies. Period." He confirmed. Crane's head tilted slightly. "I see." He murmured, causing Abbie to avert her eyes. A rattle brought her focus back to Crane. He had strode to the bottle of potion, swept it up and gulped down an enormous mouthful, ignoring Abbie's protest.

"What are you thinking?" She growled at him while he sat there deconstructing the drink's ingredients, like he was critiquing a fine wine.

"Well, I'm coming with you now." Did he always have to be so damned reasonable? "So no point discussing it."

He really acted like it wasn't a big deal to him, either, though both of them sensed the enormity of what he had done for her.

A man who would follow you even in a nightmare world ruled by a demon... that was a man hard to resist.

Duncan and his mysteriously silent assistant left the room (How does one find people to fill these positions, Abbie wondered - 'Wanted, Shaman's assitant for underground Mohawk rituals, must not be squeamish about handling creepy crawlies?' The station could barely get a rookie to even consider moving to Sleepy Hollow and this guy had flunkies...) with the instruction to Abbie and Ichabod to remove their shirts.

Foreseeing that unless that drink had contained a lot more hops in correlation to anything else, Crane was going to kick up trouble, Abbie went first. After dropping her coat on a chair back she pulled her burgundy tank top over her head, leaving her top half clad in a modest black sports bra.

Sure enough... "Lieutenant!" Crane had momentarily gone a particularly interesting shade of purple, Abbie noted as he fastened his gaze on the ceiling. "Sure you cannot expect-"

"Ah!" She stopped with with a firm exclamation. "You got yourself into this, and I don't want any 18th-century ideals of modesty right now." When Crane kept his gaze tilted upwards she made a frustrated noise and stepped closer to pull on his elbow. "Crane. You'd see a lot more than this during a day at the beach or the pool, believe me." Sensing she wasn't close to convincing him yet, she threw her hands up and took a step back. "Seriously. If we're stuck together for the next seven years, you're going to have to leave a few of those morals of yours behind."

Ichabod muttered a vague agreement, finally dropped his head enough to look her in the eye, though he was decidedly pink about it. He began undoing the laces of his own shirt, looking worried again at the prospect of venom.

Not worried enough to have not drunk the damn drink in the first place, Abbie thought with a scowl, ignoring the part where Ichabod hadn't known about the scorpions when he chose to accompany her.

Besides, even if he had known - he probably would have done the same thing anyway.

"You shouldn't have done that. I don't need you to take care of me." Abbie pointed out, trying very hard not to look like she was staring as he peeled the shirt from his wiry arms.

"I thought we weren't discussing it."

"You thought we weren't discussing it."

"Abbie-" He used her first name so rarely it still carried enormous impact. "-don't look upon this as some noble gesture if it upsets you so. We are partners and if there's danger to be faced it'll be easier to overcome with the two of us. We're in all of this together."

"Hmm." Abbie grumbled, rather that admit she might not have won this one.

He had a very intriguing muscle structure under a light dusting of chest hair. Dammit, she was not looking.

It was a difficult adjustment to make for Abbie, not being alone anymore. Not as much of an adjustment as it was for Ichabod to adapt to this time, but enough that it gave her a measure of sympathy for him.

It was hard to resist sharing your life with somebody when that somebody was Ichabod Crane.