AN I am a thousand years late, but here I am. Also, I legitimately just spent about an hour trying to think of a chapter title. I hope you're satisfied.

(maybe if I yell loudly enough, the show canon won't actually affect this story)

Warning: a scene of mild body horror

Katrina moved to the stable, hoping her slow, casual pace would dissuade Abraham from storming out and locking her up in punishment. No matter how much she ached to, she did not go to the road or the forest fringing the property. She walked to the stables, because she could feel his eyes on her back, trailing her every step.

Katrina heaved open the doors to the stable, and raised her lantern high. She saw the torches nuzzled against the wall, and carefully began to light them. The wards stopping her magic were not as strong out at the stables, but they were still strong enough to grate against her skin when she attempted to light them by magic. She held her breath, then moved deeper into the stables. The Horseman's mount stood in the middle of the stalls, watching her with lazy, burning eyes. She walked closer, though, and set her lantern on a shelf. The horse kept its eyes on her, and Katrina realized that they glowed faintly in the dark.

"Hello, there," she murmured, holding her palm out to the horse. It huffed in warning, and turned its head. She gave a soft sigh, and shifted to meet its eyes.

"I just wanted to say hello," she said, keeping her voice light and free of guile. "I mean, we've met several times, but never actually been formally acquainted."

The horse let out another harsh breath, its red eyes focused on the wall. But the beast stayed still, so Katrina reach out, and put a firm hand on its side. It flinched, but did not pull away again.

"I'm sorry, did I surprise you?" she asked, moving her hand to its cheek. The horse stared at her, seeming confused by her attention, but ready to listen.

"You don't really get to see many people, do you?" she continued, stroking its head and weaving a little magic into her voice. It wasn't much, but it made the horse stay still. "That's alright, I'll be able to come here and speak to you, as often as you want."

Katrina took its head in both hands, forcing it to look at her straight on. She blew her scent into its nose, so that it would remember her, and that it could not escape the magic lacing her breath. The effort made her a little light headed, but she was rewarded with the horse shifting, and sighing out a clover-sticky breath. Now that the hostile front was gone from it, the horse appeared eager to display its beauty and might to her, as though she had not noticed before.

"I was wondering where you were," Abraham said from the stable doors. Katrina started, jerking her hands away from the horse. She smoothed her skirts as she faced him, and tried not to look guilty.

"I just—I wanted to stretch my legs, and I—I've never really, er…" Katrina licked her lips, then met his gaze. She couldn't read his expression, and it didn't change as he came closer.
"It's a great beast, isn't it?" she asked, hoping to get a different reaction. He clapped the horse on the neck, and didn't look at her for a long moment. Katrina made herself not hold her breath, suddenly away of the faint breath of magic still in the air. If he caught her now, whispering spells to his horse…

"He truly is," Abraham agreed, turning to look at her. He didn't say anything for a long moment, in which Katrina could only shift back, remembering how softly he had brushed her skin with his lips. And, of course, how brutally he had hacked into men's chests with an axe.

"You—you ride him at night, yes? I mean, to exercise him when not—to keep him fit?"

"Yes," he murmured, giving nothing away. It was like they were both waiting, trying to see if he should be Abraham, or the Horseman. Katrina offered a hopeful smile, and said, "Then, could I possibly join you? Not always, but on occasion…just go riding with you?" She needed more time to work small magicks on the horse, and any chance to explore the grounds was reasonable enough to her. Abraham smiled, then, and gave a slight nod.

"Surely something can be worked out. But I don't recall you being much of a horsewoman."

Katrina gave a shy shrug, because she had never been overly bothered with horses. She could ride reasonably well, but she had never spent much time around the stables when engaged to Abraham. She much preferred the steady, heavy hoofed beasts of burden found on farms, than the sleek and supremely delicate things the nobility insisted upon.

"A change now and again can't be amiss. And…" she hesitated, turning toward the horse like she was embarrassed, "I wouldn't mind…you're different with him. Steadier, so focused on his wellbeing."

When not charging him into battle, she thought darkly. The horse nickered, and cast her a reproving look.

"It…it's not a side of you I'm accustomed to," she finished, looking at her hands. Abraham continued to watch her, then said softly, "We'll go riding tomorrow, if you'd wish."

Katrina gave him a quick, bright grin, then took a step back from the stall.

"I had better turn in, then. I want to be well rested for tomorrow. And I still need to find another blanket, the nights have been getting cold. I can feel it cooling, even now."

Katrina knew she was babbling, but it was all spurred by her breathless good luck at not having been caught. She felt Abraham watch her go, then turn back to brush his horse.

Katrina moved through the forest. She was moving fast, her feet seeming to only skim the ground. The trees were dark and rustling around her, but they didn't so much as touch her big, black wings. It was like they were humming to her, a much sweeter sound than in Purgatory.

She continued for a while, almost giddy in her freedom, until she noticed the trees move. They shifted from a quiet rustling to ragged, jerky movements, as if waving her away. Katrina stopped, confused, but then she heard them; pounding footsteps, made heavy by the sins of the owner. The Horseman.

She hurried, but now that she wanted to go fast, her legs slowed, stiff and strange. Katrina gasped in horror as the forest floor snarled around her feet, holding her back for him. She choked on a shriek, scared he would find her that much faster, but then she felt him, felt him right there behind her.

A hand grabbed onto her dress, yanking her back and tearing the scream out of her mouth. Her wings thrashed, wanting to hurt him as much as escape from him.

He wheeled her around, and Katrina felt herself freeze in horror when she saw the grotesque thing that was his neck, severed and bleeding. She could see his spine, and the spot where his throat ended, dark and terrible. She didn't remember this, she didn't want this, she didn't want the stale air of death poured into her face.

The Horseman forced Katrina onto the ground, knee on her stomach. The forest was in a frenzy, now, heaving at the fear in her screams and the brutality of his silence. Katrina clawed at the ground, like she could gouge an escape for herself, but the earth refused to move, her wings refused to find her safety.

Then the Horseman had a hatchet in his hand, and she was nearly sick when he stretched her wings out flat. He raised the hatchet high. Katrina screamed as he brought it down, her entire body unable to move, but rebelling, just the same.

Feathers were in the air, some fine and whole, others severed or coated in blood. Agony lanced up through the rest of her body, lightning bolts of pain sparking out from her precious, precious wings. Katrina wished she could fight him, but he was too strong, too fast, each rough, brutal stroke tearing a bit of her apart and making blood soak through her dress and hair. She felt so, so cold.

The Horseman leaned back from his gruesome work, holding the limps wings up like a trophy. He seemed to be smiling at her, like he was telling her this was all for good.

Katrina gasped awake, fists tightening around her blankets. She was curled up tight, and she thought at first it was in response to her inability to move in the dream. Then she realized it was cold in the room, winter's chill creeping in a bit further.

She sighed and relaxed a little, then stiffened again. Abraham was there as well.

Katrina's eyes snapped open to find him in the doorway. He appeared to have just looked in, concerned at whatever sound she had made in sleep. She stared at him, wondering if the fear was bleeding into her eyes. Her anxiety abated somewhat when she realized he was no longer holding her truncated wings.

He never was, she reminded herself, and took another breath.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked, voice soft in the dark. She nodded.

"What about?"

"P-Purgatory," she lied, the word slipping so easily from her tongue.

"You've never cried out before," he noted, an unhappy expression tightening his features. Katrina's stomach would have tightened, had it not already been in knots. He knew about her nightmares?

"Are you cold?" he asked, nodding at the blankets she had clutched so tightly around herself.

"I—er—it's a little cold. Probably just…I'll be fine."

"Would you like me to stay?" he asked, eyes concerned. Katrina swallowed, wanting suddenly to crawl inside that soft compassion and just soak away the doubts and fears she had been steeped in for far too long.

She hesitated, which Abraham took as quiet confirmation. He walked deeper into the room, ignoring her almost fearful gaze. He had shed most of his layers, his coat and waistcoat left in some other room.

Abraham stopped by her bed, and then reached out to touch her head.

"You're cold," he said. Katrina shrugged again, and this time, managed some words.

"I-I'm fine. I'll warm up alright."

"May I stay here, to warm you?" He paused, body rebelling at the thought of him being so near after her nightmare, but also leaping at the chance to finally chase the cold from her limbs.

Katrina gave a single, tight nod.

Abraham nodded back, and sat down. He carefully pulled off his boots, then, to her shock, tugged off his shirt. He felt her pull away from him, knew she as fearing the worst, and he looked at her. Katrina sucked in a breath when she saw the almost cold efficiency of the Horseman staring back at her, saying that this was the most practical way to warm her. Neither one said anything as he set his boots neatly at the end of the bed and draped his shirt over the back of a chair. Then he was back, pulling away the blankets and climbing inside.

Katrina couldn't meet his eyes at first, but instead focused on his chest. She didn't think about the gross impropriety he was again so casually committing ("despite his good breeding," some clipped, neat British accent told her from an age past), or the stark threat it posed to her. Instead, Katrina looked at the scars lacing his skin, all slight and a few shades lighter than the rest of his chest. Katrina wondered how many had been giving to Abraham, and how many dealt as killing blows to Death.

Eventually, she forced herself down beside him, facing the opposite wall. Even his breathing was unearthly quiet, but she could feel every heartbeat, every muscle twitch. Katrina closed her eyes.

Katrina woke, but kept her eyes shut. She had no idea what time it was, but she knew for a fact that the bed was warm and so soft beneath her. She had the vague sense of having forgotten a terrible dream, one that had seemed to stretch on for centuries. Katrina frowning, rtying to recall it, curious as to what made her feel such relief. Something about the dark, a murky forest, perhaps, and then…feathers?

She dismissed them from her mind, preferring to settle a little deeper into her bed, to focus on the comfortable press of Ichabod's shoulder against her back. If the dream had been that awful, she really had no need to remember it.

A horse nickered near the house. Katrina opened her eyes. The horses were kept on the other side of the house, as was the road. So why…?
Ichabod shifted beside her, groaning slightly.

His voice was wrong.

And then she remembered, the peaceful illusions cracking neatly around her. Katrina was once again the Horseman's prisoner, not the content wife of one Ichabod Crane, left to pursue life as a housewife and secret magical supporter of General George Washington. And it was the Horseman that lay beside her, there with the purpose of helping chase away the cold. A grim slash of a smile appeared on her face. It had been nice while it lasted, but so bitter when gone.

Katrina clenched her hand by her face, forcing herself not to do something foolish. She was thankful Abraham hadn't touched her in the night, hadn't reached out to her, wrapped his arms around her and forced her close. He had instead maintained a polite distance, there to keep her warm, and that only.

"What was he saying?" she asked after a moment, certain Abraham was awake. Sure enough, he gave an empty laugh, almost a sigh.

"He's complaining I didn't have an apple for him last night."

"Oh?" Katrina blinked, surprised to hear something so mundane to have come from such a fearsome creature. She suppressed a slight laugh at the image of Death's horse being quite a fussy little thing. When not being terrifying, and riding enemies down, of course.

"Yes." Abraham sat up, making the bed shift. Katrina finally brought herself to watch him. He was leaning over to grab his shirt from the foot of the bed.

"Were you warm through the night?" he asked, slipping his shirt over his head.
"Oh, yes, thank you. I was quite comfortable."

He looked back at her, expression serious.

"Good." Abraham nodded to himself as if satisfied, then walked to the door. "If you need anything else…"

"Of course, I won't hesitate to call," she assured him. Then, with a smile that was tied but sincere, she said, "Thank you, Abraham. Really."

He nodded again, and smiled back at her. Looking at that smile, she could almost forget the phantom pain of the nightmare.

AN eheheheh

i'm laying a foundation for my guilty pleasure what of it