AN whoops this is late hm.

Obviously, this is a canon divergence at best, but here a few important things to keep in mind for the story: The timeline in regards to the time of year is different. I only just realized that in the show, they are currently in the middle of January at best, so I am radically bumping them back to about middle of October, because I need me some snow imagery in the future.

Also, my interpretation of the Horseman is a little different from what has been established in the show (because they just looooove to wreck my dearest headcanons). For the purposes of the story, I figure that because he has lost his soul, he has also lost his humanity, so he doesn't function in terms relating to empathy or the like. He is out for what he wants and he will take it in the ways he wants, though that in no way means he does not fully consider the repercussions of his actions. There is also a schism between the Abraham mentality and the Horseman mentality, for reasons.

Katrina sat at the table, wanting to read the novel before her, but unable to settle on anything. She could no longer imagine how she had filled her days before. The hours were the same, she knew this, but now they dragged on, making her teeth stand on edge. Even in Purgatory, she had spent her time more successfully than here, where she tiptoed and chose her battles and tried to think of a plan.

The nights were always the worst. At least during the day, she had the sun to chart how much time had passed, proof she was headed toward something. But now, at night, she was suspended in a void that was only teased way by tedium and nightmares.

Abraham had left some time earlier, though Katrina refused to think of just what he was doing. She already had trouble chasing the monstrous effects of his murders from his head, soaked in blood and fire as they were. She tried not to let it show, just how much they bothered her, but at night she found the scenes playing against her eyelids, the screams of burning men and the frantic terror of Jenny Mills as she felt Abraham prepare to kill her. And that was not even mentioning her argument with him, where he had been big and terrible and so close to truly making her suffer. Katrina had never forgotten he was Death, but she had also never expected his wrath to be used on her.

Most often, now, she could not find sleep. Instead, she sat with her back against the headboard and her arms around her legs and her heart wishing she had gone with Ichabod. That was the only time she allowed herself to dwell on could-have-beens, especially when connected to her husband. Otherwise, everything was shut away in a neat little box, and then thrown under the bed, because wanting hurt and wanting caused trouble. And she couldn't be an effective spy if her head was stuck somewhere else.

Katrina plucked at the manacles around one wrist. They were her step up from being fully bound to a chair, a reward for continual, if sometimes contrary, good behavior. The chain was fastened to the wall, and allowed her some deal of mobility. She still despised the fact that she was being bound like an animal, and that she hadn't yet managed to win Abraham's trust entirely. Arrogant and almost blindly opinionated as he was, though, he was no fool. He could sense a ruse, even if his own desires hid all but the edges of it.

Katrina leaned back in her chair, sighing and looking at the dark window. She wasn't sure, but the feeling in her stomach was strangely similar to loneliness.

The dull thrumming of hoof beats sounded outside, and Katrina straightened in her seat. Abraham's approach still sent a thrill of anxiety through her stomach. She was facing the window, so she could see the flick of his pale mount, and then they were both gone. She waited for him to come in, hopeful for a distraction, but not ready for him.

A few moments later, his heavy footsteps echoed through her chest. She listened to him come closer, eyes on her hands. He stopped in the doorway, yet both of them remained silent, waiting for the other person's first move. Abraham walked closer, stopping just behind her. She held her breath as he silently undid the manacle, not reacting to the way he almost tenderly brushed his fingers over her wrist. Then he pushed her hair over her shoulder, tracing his fingers along her neck. Katrina bit her cheek and shuddered as he paused over her spine, then froze as he lifted the chain of the necklace, and carefully undid it.

Katrina looked up at that, then turned slowly to face him. She had tried to take off the necklace so many times, but only he could remove it. And he wouldn't do that, not when he wanted to deceive her so sweetly. Had the spell taken permanent hold on her, transferring from the necklace to her skin? Or had it simply worn off, requiring a replacement?

Katrina looked at him, and felt her breath catch. He was looking back at her. He had his eyes on her face, even though the necklace was no longer about her neck. He had a head.

He didn't look the same, though. The wear on his clothes was back, as well as a trace of blood on his collar. And his hair was cropped short, barely even there.

He had a head.

Katrina blinked in surprise, realizing what had happened but hearing her thoughts chase themselves in a tight, disbelieving circle. His head. He had reclaimed his head. That was where he had been, using the legion's blood she had helped release to retrieve it from the Kindred. It had taken a few days, but he had destroyed Ichabod's most valuable asset.

Katrina swallowed, begging herself not to let any of the dread in her bones reach her face. Abraham was watching her closely, waiting for any telltale flickers of emotion. This was a test, this was a test, she could not let herself fail, she could not she could not she could not.

Katrina raised a hand and touched his jaw. She had to be sure, she had to know it was a trick before she made another move, she had to be certain. Of course, it was only flesh and blood beneath her fingertips, cool yet all too solid. She pulled back in both shock and horror, then steeled herself and brushed her knuckles against his skin.

It was a soft gesture, one that made Abraham tilt his head toward her, ever so slightly. He closed his eyes for the barest moment, like he wasn't sure what was happening, but he would indulge in it none the less.

She pulled her hand back, suddenly afraid of what she was doing, afraid of where she might end up if she continued down this path. Abraham in turn straightened, and she realized just how much he had leaned toward her. Katrina dropped her eyes, and after a moment, he left the room.

Katrina turned back to face the window, and wrapped her arms around herself.

Jeremy stopped by the coach house the next day. Katrina had decided to forgo the creeping and sneaking of before, and simply did not move when they began their conversation in the next room. She had done magic for them, she had refused to run away twice, and she was laying at their feet. She would sit and listen to what she pleased.

For their part, they seemed wholly content to ignore her. Perhaps it was because they weren't saying anything of report, just names passed back and forth, a brief update on Abraham's men, and the mention of something not working, but they talked away like she wasn't there. Katrina honestly didn't mind and kept her eyes on her needlework, but she could feel Jeremy's gaze wander to her, darkly amused at image of her domestication. Sure enough, when he passed through the sitting room to leave, he stopped beside her.

"Settling in fine, then?"

"As well as could be hoped," she answered, glaring at her work. "But of course, things tend to go a little better when one is not coerced into dark magic."

She looked up at Jeremy then, giving a sweet little smile. He didn't seem at all bothered by the poison in her voice.

"But you reveled in it, all the same." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a guess, it was a blunt statement because he had held her hand and felt the way her blood had sang.

"Perhaps the way one revels in a dry crust of bread, after being starved."

Jeremy gave a dark chuckle and walked to the door. Katrina stared after him, feeling the way her glare fell and turned into something sad and a little regretful. She didn't know how to feel about him. Sometimes she wanted to lay down and weep because this was never what she had intended for her son, but then at others she wanted to spit because he delighted in this wickedness in a way no person had a right to.

Katrina looked away from the door, and jumped when she saw Abraham leaning in the doorway.

"Abraham," she said, the word falling out before she realized she had nothing else to say. They watched each other for a long moment, and the longer Abraham looked at her, but Katrina wanted to fidget. She could feel something coiling around his teeth, begging to be loosed.

"Did you need something?" she asked, thankful her voice did not shake. He tilted his head, and gave a flat, razor blade smile.

"No," he said, and turned away.

Katrina stared after him, not liking the sinking feeling in her stomach.

Katrina rested her head against the window pane, trying not to look unhappy. It was a fine line, unhappiness and boredom, and she wanted to strike the right chord. When she sighed, she practically felt Abraham clench his jaw.

"What is it, Katrina?" he asked, clearly trying not to sound irked himself.

"Nothing, I just—" She pursed her lips, and looked at him through the window's reflection. "I was just wondering…would we be able to go out?"

Abraham stared at her, not understanding. Katrina turned around to face him, expression almost sweet.

"I've been within this coach house for what feels like weeks, now. I know every brick and spider web, and I swear I might go mad if I have to count the wood panels again," she said, praying that he would accept light natured teasing better than petulance. "Could I…could we perhaps leave, explore the grounds? I want to be able to stretch my legs more than these rooms allow."

His expression was still stern, but then he asked, "To what end?"

Katrina offered an honest smile, and said, "To the end of seeing something other than the inside of this building."

She said it with an extraordinary smile, and sure enough, the next day found her standing outside the coach house, a lit lantern in hand. Abraham was by her side, quietly watching her. It was twilight, the sky still just light enough for her to see without the lantern, but it wouldn't last long.

"What would you like to see?" Abraham asked, and Katrina shrugged.

"I truly do not care. We could walk in a circle, and I would be happy."

Abraham gave a smile at that, and it truly shocked her. He had smiled before as Death, but this time it wasn't so much the consolidation of anger, spite, or bitterness she was accustomed to seeing. He was just amused by her. It reminded Katrina of how he had been as a man, tall and honest and so very open with how he had felt. Not the silent oppressive figure she had learned to ease around.

Katrina smiled in return and ducked her head, hoping the action would come off as humble thanks, rather than nostalgic regret.

Abraham offered his arm, and for a moment, she could pretend things were fine. They were taking a turn about the grounds. He was not her captor, she was not aggressively trying to thwart him, she was not a witch, he was not a Horseman. Then she heard his horse nicker, whispering dark secrets to him, felt the brand on the back of his hand, saw the blood on his collar, and tasted the dry bitterness of being without magic for so, so long.

Katrina reminded herself that pretending and forgetting had a time and a place, and that this was not it.

"So, I have noticed that the end of days has not yet come to pass," she said, tone almost breezy as they began to walk. Abraham gave a long sigh through his nose, as if he didn't want to discuss such a topic with her, but was resigning himself to it anyway. His voice was almost steely when he answered.

"Have you?"

"Yes. After you had retrieved your head, I figured that ushering in the remaining two Horseman would be top on your list."

"I stand as a marker, not a guide to the others," Abraham said, voice flat. "They will find their way if capable. War has."

"But Jeremy was already here," she said, casting her eyes over the skeletal trees ringing the trail. "Conquest attempted passage, but that was a thin plan."

"It nearly worked."

"But didn't without your help."

"It almost sounds like you want the end of days to come," Abraham said, a thin smile on his lips. Katrina didn't miss the way he sounded pleased. It wasn't so much over her apparent change of heart, but at the perceive compliment.

"I don't, you know that, but it's also something I would like to be prepared for."

"You can't be," he said, not looking at her. "No mortal can stand in the face of the apocalypse and hope to survive. Witch or no, you will succumb." He turned to look at her, expression hard. Katrina stared back at him, swallowing. He wasn't talking about her giving in to him and becoming the immortal mistress of a dead world, at least, not entirely. There were the hints of an absolute end in his voice, an obliteration that could come from Moloch alone. She would be destroyed if she did not heed his request, not in punishment, not out of spite, but just because that was how everything else would go.

Katrina looked back at the trail before her, trying not to think about how much utter destruction absolutely terrified her.

They were quiet for a long moment, the subtle sounds of her lantern creaking and their footsteps falling flat in the air. It was getting dark enough that Katrina had to squint to look wherever her lantern wasn't pointed.

"Why would you allow hesitation in your plans?" Katrina asked eventually, voice soft. Abraham looked at her, then turned his eyes back to the trail. When he didn't respond, Katrina pushed a little more.

"You're not a man of hesitation. It makes no sense, now that you have your head, the end can begin. Yet it has been days, and still nothing. Why…"

Katrina's eyes wandered from his steely profile to the back of his head, where the mark of the hessians was carved into his skin. It was not as stark as it had once been, turning more from a tattoo to a scar, but she could feel all of its dark implications. And then a thought came to her, making Katrina stop where she was. Abraham turned to face her, jaw set.

"Unless, you can't summon them," Katrina whispered. Abraham's expression didn't change, but she could feel the icy anger inside him.

"You can't summon them," she repeated, stomach dropping away from sheer shock. "Your head, it has been sealed in some manner, binding your powers."

Abraham cast her a sideways look, sulky anger flaring up and then being pressed back in an instant. Katrina stared at him, fighting to keep herself in check, even as a burst of pride at Ichabod and Abbie spiked in her chest. They had devised a way to stop Abraham from gaining his whole powers as Death. Katrina wanted to sing and get on her knees and thank God for giving them this immense victory, but instead hid all of her relief and amazement and delight and made herself look down at the path before her.

She stared at the pool of thin yellow light cast from her lantern. Her breath puffed out before her, and goose flesh raised on her arms, but Katrina didn't know if it was from the cold or the growing dread from Abraham's silence. She could feel him thinking, churning the facts and the options over in his mind, but she could no longer tell what way his thoughts went. Katrina didn't know if it was because of the time apart, or because his mind was now a contorted contraption of Moloch's, but she had lost the ability to predict how he was going to react, at least without any obvious clues from him. Still, she had to pursue the matter, had to find answers that she might be able to use.

"Jeremy can't break whatever's binding you, can he? That's why he came over last time, to see what was wrong."

"Yes," Abraham admitted, like pulling caterpillars from a garden, quick and without any feeling. Katrina nodded, unsure how to proceed. After a moment, she asked, "So where does that leave your plans?

"Unhindered. There are still ways to usher in the end of days."

"It wasn't a challenge," she remarked, trying to ignore the pit that had formed in her stomach. "I simply—I was concerned. I expected there would be other ways, yes, but if you are unable to begin your task..." Katrina didn't say what should happen to you?, but it hung heavy in the air regardless.

"There are other ways I may serve. Guiding the other Horsemen is but the most direct path. The others simply wander more."

"So more destruction before the final destruction," Katrina asked, unable to keep the mockery from her voice. Still, she felt a wriggle of concern, because they had stalled the end, but at what cost? What was the plan that Abraham had been speaking of, the one that would cause so much more destruction? Katrina chewed her lip, thinking. She had come quite a way to make Abraham trust her. He was noticeably more forth coming to her, which was something.

But it wasn't information he was neatly pouring at her feet. It was anger, thick and heavy, and enough to make her breath catch. Abraham trusted her enough to stay without constant charm and flattery, trusted her with the honest nature of his feelings. That should have been a good thing, it was a good thing, it was progress. But it also made her guilty, because she had inadvertently caused this. And it made her scared, because she wasn't sure just how deep or powerful that anger would go.

If he found out the lie she was so sweetly weaving around his skin…

Katrina closed her eyes. She needed to be more careful. Or maybe not lie.

They continued walking, Katrina studiously fixing her gaze on the coach house, while Abraham watched her, silently asking if hindering the end was really worth it.

That next day, when she ate dinner, Abraham watched. He was dressed down, his coat hanging in the other room, and his collar allowed to hang open. Katrina made herself focus on his face and not the dark, ugly scar ringing his neck.

She looked back at her plate, quietly speaking a thick slice of cheese.

"You don't have to stand," she told him. Abraham was still for a moment, then settled into a chair across from her. It felt like he was on the verge of springing up at any moment.

They were silent for a long while, then Abraham spoke.

"Doesn't it tire you?"

Katrina looked at him, confused. He tilted his head, seeming to consider her.

"This clinging to life. Is it not tedious, the constant battle against illness, the hoarding of food? Continually having to sleep and knowing that any moment may bring catastrophic injury, what value do you see in it?"

Katrina set down her fork, considering him. Instantly, a series of sharp retorts about being uninterested in being suspended between life and death caught her tongue, but she held herself back.

"Has it really been so long since you too were alive, that you have forgotten the joys in it?"

"I recall that these joys were far too few to be counted as reasonable reward."

"Life is not about the tangible," she remarked, running her finger around the rim of her cup. "Ideally, one takes pleasure in these nuisances called eating and sleeping and maintaining one's body. Does it truly seem so pathetic from where you stand?"

"It seems unnecessary."

Katrina considered him for a moment, wondering if he even could eat or sleep. She had only ever seen him on his feet, in battle or waiting for the next one, and she had been there for weeks.

"So you disregard the chances for pleasure, because it seems unnecessary. Surely that is no way to live."

He tilted his head, halfway to a concession, and suddenly Katrina wanted to ask him where he found his pleasure. Did he even have pleasure, did he remember what it looked like, how it tasted? Or was his joy found only in blood and the last breaths of scared men?

Katrina dropped her eyes, staring at her glass. The air was flat for a few long moments, then Katrina cleared her throat.

"Abraham…would I be able to…could I scry again?" she asked, just shy enough to make him smile.

"Of course."

"Tomorrow, if it's all the same to you. I'm feeling rather tired tonight."

"If you wish," he said, nodding his head at her. And again, that ragged, cold edge was gone, and he was just Abraham again, flattering and kind.

Katrina smiled at him, because she missed Abraham, the man that had aided Washington, helped fund the resistance, and risked his life for his beliefs. She missed the man he had been, not his face. They had been friends, and now…

Now it was like looking at a cruel painting, a causal mockery of the man she had once known.

Katrina stared at the witch's glass, forcing herself to scry the mountains, the face of the one of the children she had tended after, the bright, white masts of ships at harbor. Anything that was not her husband, anything not useful. Abraham no longer chose to hang over her, but she had the distinct impression that he would know the moment she attempted to defy him.

Finally, Katrina set down the glass. She didn't want to boy with the possibility of betraying herself and her goal.

She sat back in her chair, casting her gaze around. She was suddenly gripped with the urge to fling open the shutters and soak up the sunshine she was no longer allowed to touch. It was weak, already turning orange and pink and a thousand other colors in preparation for night, but it was more than she was normally allowed. She closed her eyes, remember times that had before been bland and tedious, but now seemed so desirable because of the day washing around her. Morning spent with friends, afternoons with Ichabod, where they sometimes discussed serious matters, and others when they took quiet walks, drinking in the grasshoppers and fluffy bit of cotton in the air.

Abraham's footsteps sounded in the hall, but Katrina continued to watch the shuttered window. The slivers of sky beyond were a tired blue, fading fast into navy.

"Are you finished?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," she said, jarred by the sound of something other than the birds and her thoughts. She turned to face him, hoping that the pining on her face wasn't too obvious. "I supposed I've just gone from one form of day dreaming to another."

She gave him a soft smile, and then looked down at her hands. Abraham came closer, and set his hand on the glass.

"Oh, Abraham…could—could I keep the witch's glass? In my room? I mean, I have so few things, and I…it's one of the very few things I have any connection to."
Abraham considered her for a moment, then took her hand. He carefully placed the glass in her palm, his fingers lingering on her skin.

"Thank you," she said, drinking in the residual hum of magic from the glass. Abraham gave her a smile, and something jolted in Katrina, because it all felt so false, but also horribly real. Katrina smiled again out of reflex, and then looked back at her hands. Abraham was still holding one. She watched it for a long moment, then settled her free hand over the surly burn of a bow and arrow on his flesh.

They were silent for a long stretch, and then Abraham pulled her hand away, raising it up toward him. She held her breath, unsure what he was going to do. Some part of her wondered if her would kiss the back of her hand, but then he turned it over, and pressed his lips into her palm. A shiver went through her, because it suddenly felt wrongly intimate, a strange, precious gift that he would allow no one else, placed literally in her hand. Katrina swallowed, tried to stay calm, tried not to think about how long he had wanted to do that, how difficult it had been to bide his time until this very moment.

When she didn't pull away, Abraham kissed her wrist, his breath tracing down her veins. Katrina closed her eyes, then moved her hand back, ever to slightly. Abraham tilted his head up to look at her, his lips pulling away from her skin. Katrina looked at him, meeting his almost wounded uncertainty with a look far steadier than she felt. He seemed to realize that her hand was still extended before him, and that the movement was not a refusal, but a lure.

Abraham leaned down at kissed her, once, on the jaw. She clenched the hand holding the witch's glass as she felt his breath again, this time trailing through her hair and over her neck. He let go of her wrist, and then it was on her shoulder, caught somewhere between making sure she was real and making sure she didn't leave.

Sudden thrills of anxiety went through her, because she didn't know if she had gone too far, if she had led him to a path she was nowhere near ready for. But then they both heard a whiny, and Abraham pulled away from her. He glanced in the direction of the sound, then turned back to her. They watched each other for a long moment, Katrina unable to read his expression, or even guess what hers looked like, but then his horse whinnied again. It wasn't a strained warning sound like she had heard in his fight with Ichabod and his allies, but an almost nagging sort of reminder, like Abraham needed to go somewhere, and should have already left. He let out a sigh through his nose, and let her go.

"When will you be back?" Katrina found herself saying, the words stumbling out because she needed to hear something other than the high ringing of condemnation in her ears.

He offered what she supposed was a smirk, and merely said, "Before sunrise," then left the room.

Katrina waited for a few moments after the sound of hoof beats had disappeared before she pushed herself up from her chair, and scrambled for a piece of paper and pen. It was the first time she had been left unbound when he went out, and she fully intended to use it for good.

Within moments, she was dipping a pen into a small well of ink she had made, if this exact occasion arose. She scribbled down as much as she had learned, namely the facts involving the seal on Abraham, and a few other scraps about the movements of the hessians. Then she was at the window, willing one of the nearby birds to brace Jeremy's wards and deliver her message. Soon enough, she was strapping the note to a crow's leg, and then was setting it free again.

She leaned back against the wall, panting slightly from the sudden flurry of movement, but then it was all catching up to her, just what she had begun in the last few minutes. The triumphant smile on her face fell, replaced by something tight and vaguely sickened.

Katrina carefully stripped down to just her shift, and walked out to the water pump. Her last visit there stabbed at her as she got the water going, the taste of disgust and panic and fear, the acrid smell of agony staining everything around her. Katrina grit her teeth, and scrubbed at her skin and hair. She even leaned down and drank straight from the pump, because there was something coating her tongue and she needed to get rid of it.

He was Death. She had let Death press his lips to her skin, because those were the tools she had left.

Katrina wrung out her hair, and carefully walked back inside. She collected her clothes, draped them over a chair, and curled up in bed, even though her shift and hair were still damp.

A part of her was shrinking back from the memory of Abraham's touch, but another part was shrinking back because the first thing her mind had whispered was use this.

AN THIS IS IT THIS IS THE BEGINNING THIS IS WHERE WE DELVE INTO TERRITORY THAT IS BOTH TANTALIZING AND MAKES US HATE OURSELVES

(or maybe it's just me)