a/n: Thank you, uneange1, for pointing out the 'conceded' mistake. Of all my typos, I cannot believe I missed that one lol! For anyone who received an e-mail as to an update on Chapter Six, it was solely to fix a few errors.
Bleak
Chapter Eight
Abbie stood before the creature, transfixed as its grotesquely enlarged emerald eyes turned white. She was vaguely aware of the mist that floated around her body until she felt the cold effects of the manifestation like a harsh slap across the face. It wasn't until the demon placed her foggy hands to either side of Abbie's head that she had the presence of mind to run. Her eyes watered with the burning cold of the Yuki-onna's touch as she struggled to put her body in motion.
"Lieutenant!" Crane ran towards her, Hawley following with the mirror; Jenny moved towards the jeep. Crane crouched as he approached Abbie. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tackled her to the snow-covered ground. Hawley dove head first between Crane and the Yuki-onna. He lifted the mirror as it continued its focused attack on Abbie. The creature's breath began to swirl around its body and the misty formation crackled as it turned into a tangible presence. The demon released a high-pitched scream as she froze beneath a layer of ice.
"Watch out!" Jenny stood over Hawley, her feet on either side of his body, and lifted the metal bat over her shoulder. Bending her legs into a quick batter's stance, she focused her eyes on the gaping mouth of the Yuki-onna and swung hard. As the metal connected with its target, the creature collapsed, littering the ground with small chunks of ice.
"Nice swing," Hawley nodded.
"Thanks." She dropped the bat and helped Hawley to his feet, all the while intently watching Crane. He sat in the snow beside Abbie, one hand folded tightly over hers, the other quickly yet gently brushing the dusting of ice from her face. Jenny walked towards the pair, standing near Abbie's feet. "Is she all right?" she asked quietly.
"She is alive, yet very cold," he answered. "We must get her out of the weather and back to the cabin immediately."
"Let's go." Jenny and Hawley helped Crane to his feet as he rose with the lieutenant's body cradled in his arms. As they neared the jeep, they skipped ahead of Crane. "Grab the blankets in the back," she ordered as she opened the back passenger door on the driver's side of the vehicle.
"On it," Hawley called. Jenny ducked inside, sliding to the middle of the bench seat. She turned towards the open door, arms raised as Crane reached her.
"Slide her in." She settled an arm under Abbie's knees, guiding her sister's legs across her lap. Crane shifted his hold, his arms now under Abbie's as he stood behind her. Jenny pulled Abbie's arms until she was slumped forward over her knees. "I've got her. Get in." Crane obliged, quickly settling into the seat. A quick pull from him, a push from Jenny, found Abbie situated in Crane's lap. He steadied her head against his shoulder and his arm under her back.
"Here," Hawley said, passing a blanket over the back of the seat.
"Sit forward," Jenny said, grabbing the blanket. She unfolded it and placed it around Crane's shoulders, noticing his looking of confusion. "Your body heat will help her warm up faster," she explained. He nodded once and leaned against the seat when she pushed his shoulders back. She adjusted the blanket over the top of Abbie's head and reached for the second one Hawley had ready. "Keep her close and hang on tight," Jenny instructed as she tightly tucked the blanket around her sister's body. "The seatbelt won't fit around both of you and I'm not driving slowly." She turned and exited through the other door. Hawley closed the gate and Crane's door before getting into the front passenger seat. "Ready, Crane?" Jenny asked, turning the key in the ignition.
"I am," he answered, his arms tightening around Abbie. Jenny shifted the gears and started their journey to Corbin's cabin. Hawley braced an arm against the door as the jeep quickly rounded the corner. He turned to check on the pair in the back seat. Crane adjusted the blanket over Abbie's shoulder, his fingers skimming her cheek as he tucked the edge of the fabric beneath her chin. He whispered soothingly to her, held her close. His arm settled over her side and his hand rubbed gentle circles along her lower back. What are your intentions towards Miss Mills? Whatever Hawley thought he wanted when it came to Abigail Mills was a moot point.
"You all right back there?" Hawley asked as the vehicle swung around another corner.
"No worse for the wear," Crane replied, his eyes never leaving Abbie's face. Hawley nodded and with a sigh, turned in his seat again.
"What?" he asked, catching Jenny's large, brown eyes alternating between him and the road.
"What?" she countered.
"Nothing. What?"
"Nothing." Her gaze returned to and remained on the road. "Just nothing," she mumbled.
SH
"Crane, lay her on the bed. Hawley, do you have the bag?"
"Right here," he said, handing her the duffle.
"Great. Out the front door and to your left, there is a pile firewood. Bring in as much as you can." Jenny moved to the bed, sitting at her sister's side as she pulled a handful of clean clothes from the bag. "I'll get Abbie out of these wet clothes." She glanced up at Crane. "You should change, too." He looked at his clothing, soaked through in the places he had Abbie pressed against body.
"Yes," he murmured. Jenny looked at him again.
"Crane, it's all right," she said, taking his hand. "I'm right here. I won't leave Abbie alone. I promise."
"Of course," he nodded slowly. Jenny gently squeezed his hand, breaking him from his reverie. "Of course." He moved to the dresser, removing the desired items from the top drawer. He nodded as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Geez, Abbie," Jenny breathed. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into you lately," she started, pulling the knit hat from her sister's head, "but next time Crane says 'no', listen to him, will ya?"
SH
Crane stood in front of the fireplace, arms outstretched to allow his fingers to soak up the warmth of the flames. His entire body ached from the time spent in the chill of the winter weather, twice in less than a full day having found his clothes soaked with melted snow. True, he had experienced far colder temperatures and far longer durations of unpleasantness during the war, but the technologies of the modern era offered an opportunity of escape simply not found it his time; opportunities he'd be a fool to reject. He flexed his fingers and stretched his arms above his head, then reached for the lower hem of his shirt in a subconscious need to straighten the garment.
Looking down, Crane examined the fabric between his fingers. The dark blue material of the shirt was thin, as was the blue- and green-striped material of the trousers, a favored comfort during slumber. He doubted even the thickest of material would resolve the icy feeling ripping through his body. His discomfort, he knew, had little to do with the weather but almost all to do with Abbie. He turned and stared through the darkened cabin at the bedroom door. Behind the block of wood, a very capable Jenny tended to her sister. Crane understood and respected their need for privacy, though not knowing Abbie's condition was slowly building his anxiety.
"I hate snow," Hawley stated as he entered the cabin. "Loved the stuff when I was little; loved building snowmen, having snowball fights. But now?" He shook his head and joined Crane by the fire. "Now that I'm all grown up, it's just a pain in the ass." Crane offered a small smile and nodded his agreement. Hawley's eyes focused on the fire as he rubbed his cold hands together. "I promised Abbie I wouldn't give you a hard time over the whole incordata thing. You know, that I wouldn't tease you about secret desires and all. And I've kept that promise." Crane frowned in confusion but nodded. "Well, now, I'm going to break that promise." He turned to Crane. "Why did the incordata attack you?"
"I would imagine her motives were oriented towards self-defense," he answered. "After all, we sought her out with the purpose of ending her existence."
"There's certainly some truth to that, but here's where I get hung up." He lifted his hand, rubbing his fingers along his beard as he pressed forward. "The incordata's weapon of choice? The hidden desires of the heart. Once she senses them, she used them to attack. So in order to attack you, she had to have sensed something, some hidden desire in your heart." Crane slowly shook his head. "See, at first, I thought maybe this desire had something to do with your wife, being that she was in Purgatory for so damn long and all. But then, I wondered…why the heck would that be a hidden desire? And at that point, she had been released, so, you know, there's that." He stepped closer to Crane. "Which brings us back to my question. Why did the incordata attack you?"
"Perhaps your thoughts are merely a projection of your own attack," Crane offered sternly.
"That's bullshit, Crane, and you know it. Have you told her yet?"
"I beg your pardon? Told what to whom?"
"Mills. Abbie," He clarified. "Have you told her yet?" Crane looked away. I should think anyone capable of seeing your heart belongs to that woman. "Look, Crane, I'm not here to judge, okay? I just…" He ran a hand through his blonde hair. "You're in a dangerous position here. I mean, look at your wife, you son. Clearly, nothing is off limits when it comes to Moloch winning this war. What happened tonight, that was on the two of you; bickering with each other like there was nothing more important to do. But what happens when some demon comes along and pits you against one another? What if it tries to use this whatever it is going on between you and Abbie?" He shook his head. "Tell her; don't tell her; either way, there needs to be some kind of resolution here. Because next time? Next time, someone might not escape the icebox."
"Hey, Icky," Jenny called softly from the bedroom doorway. "Come here."
"If I were you," Hawley started quietly, his eyes on Jenny. "I'd tell her." He turned to Crane. "Don't make the same mistake I made." Crane offered Hawley a slight bow of his head and joined Jenny in the bedroom.
"She talks in her sleep," she smiled as they stood at the foot of the bed. "That usually means she's trying to wake up."
"She talks…in her sleep?" he questioned.
"All of the time. Well, she did when we were younger." Jenny placed her hands on her hips. "It's been a while since we've had a sleep over." Abbie mumbled a short string of unintelligible words and Jenny smiled. "Guess old habits die hard."
"I do not recall ever hearing her do so."
"Spend a lot of time sleeping with my sister?" Jenny teased. His posture stiffened.
"Over the past nearly two years, there have been several evenings your sister has elected to spend here, evenings when the weather has proven too dangerous for travel." She eyed him carefully, intrigued by his defensive tone.
"Of course," she said slowly, deciding not to push the issue verbally.
"Is she well then?" he asked softly.
"As far as I can tell. We'll see how she feels after she's rested." He nodded. She folded her arms across her chest. "She needs to stay warm. Hop in," she ordered. He lifted his eyes from the lieutenant's form and met Jenny's gaze. Her fingers wrapped around his arm. "Keep her close to you and covered up," she said, pulling Crane towards the empty side of the bed. "There is a good fire going in here and in the living room so the whole cabin will be nice and toasty." She reached for the edge of the blankets and pulled them away from the mattress.
"Miss Jenny, the lieutenant might not think this is appropriate."
"I don't care what she thinks. One of us needs to stay with Abbie, Crane. It's either you or me." She shrugged. "The other gets to make a trip into town with Hawley for supplies."
"I shall see the lieutenant well cared for," he said quickly.
"Thank you," she smiled. "Now, get your plaid-clad body under the covers. I'll stop by Abbie's place; find some clean clothes for her go-bag. Do you need anything otherwise?"
"No, thank you."
"All right," she nodded. "See ya in a bit." Jenny grabbed Abbie's empty bag and moved to the doorway. She watched quietly as Crane stretched out on the top of the mattress. Despite his protests, she did not see any hesitation in his movements as he settled beside her sister. There was no awkwardness as he arranged the covers over their bodies, as he rested his left arm over her. He seemed to know exactly how they fit together and that perception did nothing but strengthen Jenny's suspicions. She quietly closed the door and turned towards the living area of the cabin.
"That," Hawley started, "is a man in love."
"I'm sorry?"
"Crane," he explained as he rose from the sofa. "So tell me, has your sister fallen for him as hard as he's fallen for her?"
"I don't think Abbie is in love with Crane." She shook her head and moved into the darkened kitchen. She would not discuss her sister's love life with anyone but her sister, and only then after an extensive collection of permissions. "Keep your man-crush to yourself, Hawley."
"I'm serious," he said as he followed.
"How, exactly, do you know that Crane is in love with Abbie?"
"He told me." Jenny paused, her hand on the handle of the refrigerator. Turning towards Hawley, she lifted an eyebrow. "Well, not in so many words, but yeah."
"Is that what had the two of you so deep in conversation when I came out of the bedroom?"
"Yeah. You know, typical guy talk," he shrugged. "Demons, women, love." She rolled her eyes and opened the appliance, bathing the kitchen in a dull, yellowish light.
"And what does the great Nick Hawley know of love?" she asked as she surveyed the limited contents.
"Okay, first of all," he started, "ouch. That hurt." He closed the refrigerator door and Jenny blinked against the darkness as she turned to look at him through the absence of decent light. "Second, I may know a thing or two about love," he defended weakly.
"Whatever."
"I know that I was in love like that once," he said quietly.
"Yeah?" Hs hands settled on her shoulders.
"Yeah. And I ran away." His fingers drifted along her arms until they reached her wrists, then wrapped securely around her hands. "I've done some pretty stupid things in my time, Jenny. But running was the biggest mistake I've ever made."
SH
Crane groaned softly as he slowly woke. He lifted a hand to his neck, his fingers quickly playing across his skin, ensuring his head firmly attached to his body. He was sorely tired of the nightmares, tired of feeling as though failure lurked around every corner. He hated waking each morning of a probable trying day, already defeated and drained of the scant energy he possessed. This time, however, he was not waking in the morning following a sought-after rejuvenating sleep. This time, he was waking in the middle of the night after an exhaustive slumber forced upon him by the emotional volleys of the day.
Turning to his right, Crane eyed the source of his contention. Abbie remained secure in his embrace, asleep and pressed against the side of his body. She had been foolish to allow her ire to cloud her thoughts as they worked to put an end to the Yuki-onna, foolish to put her life unnecessarily in danger. Yet he had been just as reckless. Instead of pulling her aside and giving her opportunity to release her frustrations and clear her head, he had pushed, he had argued, he had fueled her imprudent passion. As he had joined her beneath the covers, his anger from their disagreement fled, washed away by a powerful sense of relief. Relief that though she had yet to wake and divulge her self-perceived state, she was in his arms, heart beating, lungs taking in air. She had no visible physical injuries, no cuts or scrapes, no gaping, bloody wounds. Nor was she encased in ice, forever preserved in death.
Crane's somber veneer had cracked as the potential severity of Abbie's condition persisted to remain in the forefront of his thoughts. He had touched his forehead to her temple as tears flowed from his eyes, as he cried for himself, for all he could have lost, as he cried for Abbie, for all his lack of a clear line of thought could have cost her. He cried until mentally and physically he could no longer bear the pain in his heart. He cried until his eyelids grew heavy, until the rhythm of his breathing calmed and fell into step with Abbie's cadence.
Though still fatigued, Crane had no desire to return to what would no doubt be another few hours of restless slumber. He shifted his eyes to the small television set sitting on the end of the dresser. There was bound to be some type of program that would hold his attention and assist in keeping him from falling asleep. As with every reflective surface in the cabin, a spare piece of bed linen obscured the screen. It was one of many items Abbie had covered in addition to the windows and mirrors. He had rolled his eyes several times as she flitted about the cabin looking for anything that may aid in Katrina's ability to see them. The ludicrousness of their situation finally pushed him over the limit when he followed her into the kitchen and watched her cover the toaster and put the teakettle into the upper cabinets. The uncertainty, the absurdity, the anger…it was all too much. He had wandered into the winter's air and did not return to the cabin until Jenny and Hawley had arrived.
"Crane?" Abbie's voice trickled through his ears, rough and strained.
"Lieutenant. You're awake."
"I am." She shifted stiffly and tipped her head to look at him.
"Well, I suppose this seems…"
"Unnecessary?" she guessed.
"Awkward," he corrected. "It was entirely necessary that we lay together."
"Have we been laying together…sleeping?"
"Indeed," he answered.
"So it was necessary that we…sleep together?" A wicked smile tugged weakly at her lips and she tried unsuccessfully to hide it behind the blankets.
"Yes. No. I…" He looked down at her. "You know I do not like it when you twist my meanings as such."
"I know."
"And yet you continue to do so," he observed, eyebrow raised.
"Yep." He shook his head gently and looked away.
"Perhaps I should have left you in the snow." She laughed softly, briefly, before her smile fell and tears filled her eyes.
"Crane, I'm sorry."
"There is no need to apologize," he said quietly. "You are here with me, safe and sound, and that is all that matters." He lifted his hand and removed a thin veil of slightly damp hair from her face. "You are still terribly chilled, Lieutenant," he commented as the tips of his fingers skimmed across her forehead. "Turn around." He shifted to his side, rolling her away from his body. Abbie settled in her new position as Crane scooted towards her. "Closer," he urged, placing a hand on her hip. She obeyed without reservation, allowing him to press against her and wrap his arms and his warmth around her. "How do you feel otherwise?" he asked, resting his cheek next to her ear.
"I'm fine. Tired, but fine." She gently pushed her shoulder against his chest as she turned to face him. "We should talk, Crane," she said quietly.
"And we shall," he replied. His hand settled over her elbow then followed her arm until his fingers found hers. "Though not now." He hooked the inside of the blanket's hem as he curled his fingers around her hand. "Sleep, Abbie." He drew their arms closer to her body, tucking their fists just under her chin. "Allow me to keep you warm," he whispered. She turned her head, resting her cheek on the pillow.
"You had a nightmare earlier," she stated around a yawn. "What were you dreaming about?"
"It was an old dream," he answered, his eyes absently focusing on the fire. "One that is not important."
"I want to know," she mumbled. "Curious." He propped himself on his elbow and his fingers gently raked through the hair along the top of her head.
"Another time." He eyes fluttered to a close. "Sleep now."
SH
The grey metal light poles seemed oddly large and out of place in the near-empty parking lot. They sported bright yellowish lights that accentuated each snowflake that swooned beneath them and floated to the ground. The snow sparkled in its accumulations, still fresh, peaceful. Though he normally would have taken the time to appreciate the beauty of a new snowfall, Irving could not focus on the life within the dome of light. The air above that dome, the space void of illumination, held his attention with an iron grip. He felt like that void, empty, meaningless, and worthless under the thumb of Henry Parish.
Irving's eyes refocused, shifting from looking through the glass to looking at it. He studied his reflection, no longer able to find himself in the image. It was now a twisted echo of a man who used to be; a man plagued with fatigue and fear, alone in fighting a battle he could not win. His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were portals to the emptiness inside his body, portals to the place that used to house his soul.
"Frank?" The security guard's reflection appeared against the glass. He pulled his keys from the lock and fully opened the door. "You have a visitor." As the guard scratched the side of his forehead and wandered absently into the hallway, a red-haired woman entered the room.
"It's well past visiting hours." He turned and slowly met Katrina's eyes. "And yet, here you are."
"My powers of persuasion are second to none," she smiled lightly. "I am in need of your assistance."
"Now?"
"At this very minute," she nodded. "I am afraid it is rather urgent. Henry and Abraham have blocked my abilities to see Ichabod and Lieutenant Mills from afar. I am no longer able to follow them; no longer able to see to their safety."
"Okay," he said slowly.
"I need you to be my eyes."
"Your…eyes."
"There is a spell that will allow me to see what you see."
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of locked in this building."
"I did indeed notice," Katrina stated, stepping gradually closer to him. "It is a minor, mortal obstacle." Irving laughed nervously and slowly started to back away.
"Are you breaking me out of here?" She nodded.
"You shall be my eyes; I shall be your key to freedom." His back hit the wall and Katrina stopped a half step in front of him.
"Do I have a choice in the matter?" he asked quietly.
"No," she answered with a slight shake of her head. "I am afraid not."
SH
Abbie squirmed her way out of the blankets and rolled lazily onto her back. She stretched her arms above her head, her hands tapping the bed's headboard. She lifted her eyes, glancing at a portion of the window framed between her fingers. She felt as though she had been sleeping for days, but the dark sky told her she had not yet reached morning. With a sigh, she settled her arms across her stomach and watched the flicker of firelight dance across the ceiling. Abbie was warm, comfortable in the covers that Crane had tucked meticulously and tightly around her body. The covers, however, were not enough. Releasing another sigh, she turned to her left and eyed the empty half of the mattress. She missed the feeling of Crane's arms around her. His hold was much more than warmth; it was security, protection, care. Love.
A dim flash of light from the top of the nightstand caught Abbie's attention. She rolled onto her stomach and crawled across the bed, reaching for the source of the light. A slim, black cell phone rested on the nightstand; a phone she did not recognize. Pushing a recessed button near the bottom of the device, she turned on the phone and read the displayed incoming text message. Crane, you were asleep when we returned. I left Abbie's bag in the bathroom. This is a burner phone for you to use – I'll explain what that means later. Headed back to town before the storm hits. Call if you need anything. P.S. There's food in the fridge now. Abbie can thank me later. – Jenny
Abbie returned the phone to the nightstand and gingerly extracted herself from the wrap of linens. She limped her way across the chill of the floor, wincing as her muscles cried in protest of her movements. She stopped at the partially open bedroom door, peeking through its small opening. Crane was sitting on the floor between the sofa and the fireplace. His posture was straight, stiff, but his head hung. Wiping a few guilty tears from her eyes, Abbie headed towards the bathroom and into a long, hot shower.
SH
"Abraham taught me how to make it," Jonathan explained as he set a cup of warm tea on the table in front of Katrina. "He said it is your favorite."
"It is," she replied with a smile. "Thank you."
"Mother," he started as he sat beside her, "are you certain this course of action is wise?"
"Ichabod Crane and Abigail Mills seek one thing at present. That one thing is your death." She lifted a hand and tightly closed her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Wise or not, it is the only way I can guarantee your safety, my son."
"There are clearly ill effects."
"It is just a small headache," she explained. "I am certain it will dissipate soon." He nodded. Katrina took hold of the teacup and brought it to her lips. "This is perfect, Jonathan. Thank you." The host watched with a well-placed, feigned smile as she enjoyed her tea, listened absently as she explained how she was to see to his safety. There was only one voice he wanted hear, only one voice he would obey. And as that voice filled his thoughts, overtaking the timbre of his mother's words, he understood what he needed to do.
"Tomorrow, may we walk in the woods?" She looked at him, raising an eyebrow to his interruption. "I am sorry," he said quietly, bowing his head. "I rather enjoy the fresh snow." She smiled softly and placed a hand over his. "Perhaps the fresh air will alleviate some of your worry."
"Perhaps. Yes," she agreed. "Tomorrow we shall walk in the woods."
SH
Abbie squeezed the towel around the ends of her hair, drawing out as much water as possible, as she moved slowly through the dark cabin. Crane was crouched in front of the fireplace, prodding the burning coals beneath a thick log freshly placed in the hearth.
"Hey, Crane," she called quietly.
"Lieutenant," he greeted gently, rising from the floor. He moved quickly to meet her and placed a steady hand under her elbow. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," she answered.
"You move as though you are injured," he observed.
"My muscles are sore from the cold. That's all."
"You are certain?"
"Yeah, I am." He nodded. "You didn't sleep long."
"No," he responded. "I did not."
"What was your nightmare about?"
"Nothing of importance." He took the towel from her and led her to the sofa.
"That's what you always say, Crane." As she sat, he placed the towel over the arm of the sofa and reached for the blanket draped across the back. "Tell me about it." He unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Please," she added carefully as he sat beside her.
"It was the same dream I had the first night I occupied that motel room; one of my first nights in modern-day Sleepy Hollow," he sighed. "I was running through the woods, the four horsemen giving chase." He frowned. "Though this time, the Horseman of Death's broadax found its target."
"Your neck?"
"Correct."
"I'm curious," she started. "What did the horsemen look like when you first had the dream? I mean, did they look as they do in real life?"
"There were minor differences," he replied. "Yet for the general description, they are matched."
"What about Famine? What does he look like?" He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.
"Interestingly enough, I believe my dream portrayed the Horseman of Famine as a female."
"Really? Famine is a she?"
"I could not see a face; the hood of the cloak worn was large and covered all features. However, I did see arms, from wrist to elbow. They were decidedly that of a female." He tipped his head to the side. "Of course, as I have stated, details did vary from my dream to reality. Famine may indeed be as male as the other three." She nodded.
"Interesting." Crane studied her carefully, bothered by the fact that the word left her mouth with a bit of a giggle. He sighed.
"Do not hold back. Please," he invited, waving his hand. "What untasteful quip have you on your tongue now?"
"I have no untasteful quip on my tongue." She giggled again. "None at all."
"And yet there is something that makes me doubt your sincerity." He smiled gently. "Keep me in suspense no longer."
"Fine, fine," she laughed. "I was just thinking…maybe you dreaming about Famine being a woman…maybe that's your…" She struggled through a chuckle. "Maybe that's your deep, dark desire." She closed her eyes as she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. "Maybe that's your ideal woman, one who rides a horse from hell and is bent on torturing you. Oh!" She laughed harder as she leaned into him, placing her hands on his arm. "Torture! Is that your fetish, Crane? Hmm? Like a little lickin' from your women?"
"Ha, ha," he said flatly as she nudged him with her elbow. "You are truly insane, Miss Mills. Truly insane." She offered a content sigh and pulled at the blanket.
"I couldn't let that one go," she smiled. "Sorry."
"Someday you shall receive yours," he promised smugly. "Someday." The two sat in silence for the following moments, each of their smiles slowly fading as they stared at the fire before them. Abbie chewed at her bottom lip as she glanced at Crane.
"I suppose we should talk, huh?" she started quietly.
"Now seems as good a time as any," he answered. "Do you wish to rehash my decision not to seek a reconciliation with Katrina?" She eyed him carefully, judging the level of bitterness in his voice.
"You've been dealt a rough hand, Crane." She nodded slowly, absently. "I get that. It's just…what bothers me…" She shook her head and looked away.
"Lieutenant, speak your mind." Her eyes dropped to the floor and she nervously tapped her fingers against her knee.
"After everything we went through to free Katrina from Purgatory… that could have been the end for us. You were buried alive, Crane, buried alive. And if you would have died before…" She choked back a sob. "It makes Katrina's turn to the dark side that much harder to swallow."
"If I would have known how the following events were to have unfolded…" He shook his head. "If I could go back to that point in time and change our course of action, I would do so without a second thought." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"But you can't do that." He offered a defeated sigh as he watched the tears swell in her eyes.
"No, I cannot. I cannot change past events any more than I can reverse the decisions any of the lot of us have made." He knelt on the floor, settling between her knees with the fronts of his thighs pressed against the front of the sofa. "There is not one day that passes that I do not regret leaving you in Purgatory." He placed his hands along her cheeks, forcing her attention to remain on him. "Not one. And the thought that I may have perished before freeing you…it is an unbearable one. I will gladly burn for eternity in a thousand hells before I allow anyone or anything to take you away from me again; before I allow myself to put you in harm's way." He dropped his gaze and his hands slipped to the blanket, needlessly adjusting it around her shoulders. "The incordata told me that I was afraid of losing all I love. I have come to realize those I have loved, those I have lost…my best friend, my wife, my son…they were never truly mine to lose. Their decisions are their own, yet these possibilities were path laid before them; paths I believe inevitably taken." He lifted his right hand and absently tucked Abbie's hair behind her ear. "Yet you, Abbie," he breathed. "Against all odds, against all we could have imagined possible, we have found the way to each other's side. With all I feel, with as fiercely as those feelings flood my mind when I deny them, I cannot help but wonder if our bond as Witnesses is not the only bond we are meant to share." The building tears reached their peak and spill from Abbie's eyes. "You said you had no one to whom you could return. What of me? Do you not wish to return to me?" She lowered her head and blinked through another set of tears. "Tell me, Abbie. Please," he pleaded quietly. "If I am wrong, I will retract every word and I will never again speak of it." She met his eyes and shook her head.
"I don't want you to take it back," she whispered. He released a subconsciously held breath and leaned towards her. Placing his hands on the sofa, he gently pressed his mouth to hers. Abbie's eyes closed, her eyebrows lifted and she stilled in the moment. The whistle of the wind, the crackling of the fire disappeared; nothing existed beyond the man that surrounded her. Crane steadied himself, took a tight hold of the blanket and dropped the hem to the back of her hips. He pulled back slightly, leaving a breath of space between their mouths, and used the blanket to draw Abbie to the front of the sofa's cushion. He kissed her a second time, a third time, a fourth, each touch of his lips lingering longer than the previous, soft and cautious. Then his mouth remained against hers, unwilling to relinquish its newly found purpose. Without breaking their connection, Crane sat back on his haunches and tugged on the blanket, pulling Abbie off the couch and onto his legs, her knees to either side of his hips. Screw propriety, she thought as he wrapped his arms around her. Her hands moved from his forearms, over his shoulders and to his chest, skimming the velvety fabric of his shirt. Slowly, carefully, she pushed him back. "Crane," she breathed. "Comp…complications." He licked his lips and moved his hand to the back of her head, threading his fingers securely in her hair.
"Indeed." The last consonant of his words vanished against her lips as he leaned in, capturing her mouth once more. He was gentle, teasing, yet intense and persistent at the same time. Her body was on fire and all Abbie could do was sigh and melt into him, allow him to control their interaction. And she would give anything, she decided, anything to stay in the cabin and let him control everything he wanted. When he pulled away, he drew a deep breath and pressed his forehead against hers. "Lieutenant," he whispered. "Do not ever again decide to take a demon head on by yourself." He locked his eyes on hers. "Triumphant or not, we do this together."
"I know. I'm sorry. I don't know what—" He placed a long finger against her mouth and trailed it over the center of her bottom lip. Placing a gentle pressure against her chin, he parted her lips for a long, involved kiss. Anything, Abbie thought. Anything you want.
"No more apologies. Let us simply move forward…" Crane's eyes flicked up to Abbie's; hers grew wide.
"Did you hear that?"
"A knock at the door?" he asked. She nodded. "At this hour?" They remained quiet and motionless, Abbie still on Crane's lap, listening. "There. Again."
"Yep. A knock." Crane looked towards the door. "Was Jenny planning on coming back here?"
"No. She and Mr. Hawley were to stay in town and avoid the treachery of the snowfall." A third knock, louder than the first two, echoed through the cabin. "Lieutenant? Where is your firearm?"
"On the dresser in the bedroom," she answered, her eyes following his line of sight.
"Perhaps…"
"Yeah, I'll get it." As she placed her hands on his shoulders, he placed his hands on her hips and helped her into a standing position. As Abbie disappeared into the bedroom, Crane moved cautiously towards the right side of the door. "All right," she said quietly as she brushed behind him. "Let's do this." Taking position near the back of the sofa, she aimed her firearm and nodded for Crane to open the door. As their visitor became visible, Abbie's jaw dropped and her stance lost its authority. Irving stood before them on the porch, Sheriff Reyes cradled in his arms.
"Crane, Abbie," he greeted solemnly. "I know I'm not welcome here, but I didn't know where else to go."
a/n: Just a quick side note to the 'lieutenant' vs. 'leftenant' controversy. I have searched through several sites that indicate the 1755 publication 'A Dictionary of the English Language' written by Samuel Johnson is the stem of modern British English. 'Leftenant' is not an actual word. It is 'lieutenant'. It is believed the British picked up the 'f' sound as they heard a slurring of sounds in the French (and possibly Russian) version of the word. The spelling is the same regardless of pronunciation. I understand the significance in Crane pronouncing the 'f', but I cannot fall in line to spelling it incorrectly. Seeing the word as intended and hearing it in Crane's manner is to me part of the magic behind the significance. : )