Liberty Bell
By: piperholmes
A/N: It's always so intimidating and scary to post a story, especially so in a fandom I've never written in before! I hope this is alright. It is speculation on the idea of Katrina being held captive, and Henry and Abraham doing all they can to try and break her and how I believe that would affect her, and continue to affect her. I just don't think a person can spend over 200 years in Purgatory and then be held captive by the horsemen of death and war—one of whom is a jilted lover and the other a son—and walk out unscathed. This is just a glimpse, and if people are interested I'd be willing to expand with a few more chapters, but no worries if it isn't good! But practice makes perfect so this is my first attempt. Unbeta'd.
She heard him coming.
The heavy pounding of boots against wood, the usual knot in her stomach tightening as she curled into herself, the musty pillow she rested her head against, it all surrounded her, seeped through her, tearing at her.
How long had she been his prisoner? How long had she'd played his dangerous game?
Was she even still alive?
She kept her face buried; her eyes closed, her wrists criss-crossed, bound together though the band had been removed long ago. The position felt natural now, habitual, and, besides, they both knew she wouldn't run away.
She heard him shout her name and winced, the sound cutting at her.
Again her name carried through the carriage house, but she remained still, unwilling to face him.
The pounding stopped and she knew he had found her.
"Katrina! Are you hurt?!"
She suddenly felt his hands on her, grasping, searching.
She cried out, pushing away from him, violently protesting against the contact.
"Katrina?"
Her name on his lips; a reverent whisper.
Her throat clogged at the pain. He'd fooled her before, tricked the truth from her, punishing her with his face, his voice, his touch.
She couldn't bear it again. She couldn't risk opening her eyes and seeing him gazing down at her with love and tenderness and know it was an illusion.
"Oh Katrina," he breathed sadly. "Please my love, open your eyes."
His compassion reached into her depths, squeezing at her heart.
"No," she chocked out. "No. You're not him."
"Katrina—"
"No. You're not him. You mean to play me for the fool again, to hurt me." She pressed herself more tightly against the bed, shrinking as she felt him kneel down to her.
"My love, please," he implored, his broad shoulders blocking the light, plunging her further into darkness. "I know…I know Abraham has led you to believe your cause is hopeless, but look at me, look at me and know that I have come for you."
Her heart screamed for relief even as her mind warned her; the constant battle within her making desolate her soul, leaving her weary.
So very weary.
Slowly she allowed her eyes to open, grimacing as the light burned her sight.
She knew what she would see, but still her breath caught as his face came into view, the face of the man she loved.
"Ichabod?"
"Yes, it is I," he answered carefully, speaking as one would to a frightened child.
Immediately her eyes slammed shut, water pooling beneath the lids. "Please," she begged. "Please, no more. No more games. I can't…"
Her words died as a sob broke free.
She had withstood all she could withstand. She had fought with all she had until the fight was gone. A single, delicate thread of hope was all that was left of her defenses, all that which held her tethered to this world. She would not survive another loss.
"This is no game," he offered tenderly, his arms aching to gather her up.
"You've said that before."
"No, Abraham has said that," he insisted, risking a hand against her shoulder, surprised when she did not flinch from him.
Katrina had expected the touch. It was what he always did: using their affection for each other as his greatest weapon against her. Steeling her heart, forcing it to slow its natural reaction to his nearness, she looked at him silently.
He could only gaze back at her, unknowing how to reach her, as her glistening, watery eyes met his. A fury he had experienced but once before, in the house of his son's birth, shot through him. His wife—his beautiful, strong, independent wife—seemed but a shell of her former self. He prayed they had reached her in time.
Using all his strength to keep his body still, he kept his voice calm, understanding. "Keep your skepticism; I understand it must be all that is protecting you," he said gently. "Only, allow me a chance to show you, prove to you that I am your Ichabod."
He felt her go stiff beneath his palm. "No harm will come to you," he assured quickly. "And we will go as slowly as you wish."
He stood, mindful to step away from her, to not tower over her, and offered his hand. "Please, Katrina."
She eyed his hand warily, the silence pounding in his ears, before sitting up, pushing herself to her feet, pointedly ignoring is proffered hand.
"I will follow you, because I know I have little choice," she announced, the shaking in her voice betraying her. "And so we may come to the end of this charade."
Ichabod made no comment, only stepping aside, his arm extended out in silent communication for her to lead the way.
He followed her out to where he knew Ms. Mills was waiting, nearly walking into his small wife when she stopped abruptly.
"Are we to once again play out this scenario?" she demanded quietly, an emptiness to her tone that he'd thought never to hear.
Abbie frowned. "Crane?"
He stepped around his wife, coming to stand between the two women, always keeping his hands where Katrina could see them. "Luftenant, will you please tell Katrina why we have come?"
Abbie raised an eyebrow at him, her question clear.
"I have gathered that this is not the first time we have appeared to Katrina," he answered deliberately, giving Abbie a significant look, a silent plea for help.
The young lieutenant's brow cleared. "Ah, gotcha." She turned to Katrina. "I understand. Moloch tried to trick me as well, in Purgatory. I see Headless has followed his Master's example."
"Not Abraham," Katrina said weakly. "Well, not only Abraham. Jeremy…"
She couldn't say it, couldn't confess to her weakness.
"What did Jeremy do Katrina?" Ichabod asked tightly.
"He…stole my memories, used them against me, used them to convince me, trick me into believing you were real…to break me," she answered. "As I suspect he is doing now."
Her words hung heavy in the air.
"Henry's fled," Abbie informed her. "And we sent Death back to hell."
Katrina shook her head, the denial on her lips.
"What can I say or do that will help you know the truth?" Ichabod pleaded, refusing her disbelief.
A deep feeling of helplessness clawed at her, making it difficult to breathe. "I don't….I don't know. I am afraid to believe you. He has used my hope against me, and I have no reason to believe this is any different."
Hearing her desperation tore at his heart, making him unable to control his need to touch her. Ichabod reached for her, taking her hands in his, pressing them tightly against his chest.
Her whimper was nearly inaudible as her eyes dropped to the floor, refusing to look at him.
"I have no words powerful enough to break his hold over you," he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. "Only the beating of my heart, which became yours the day you awakened in me the man I longed to be."
Her fingertips throbbed, pressed tightly against the soft material of his shirt, the rhythmic pounding beneath matching her own exhausted heart: a lullaby she knew well.
"A heart that will beat every day for you. A heart that has long been protected and watched over by you. A heart that now swears to carry your burdens and heal your pain."
He saw her control crack, her face crumple as sobs shook her body, and gently he took her into his arms, doing all that he could to sooth her tears.
She gave no resistance, knowing that if this was a lie, her heart would break beyond repair; yet as his body surrounded hers, she was unwilling to deny the safety of his hold, the relief of his love.
"Come," he spoke softly. "Let us leave this place."
He held her tightly, guiding her to the door.
She stumbled against him, her fingers clenching the material of his shirt, her heart pounding as they approached her freedom, afraid to feel the sunlight against her skin.
She wanted to resist, pull back, allow herself one last chance at avoiding her own destruction, but Ichabod continued forward, and Katrina could only watch as Ms. Mills pushed open the door.
"Ichabod?" she breathed, not sure why, or what she was even asking.
"Come my love," he answered. "You are free."
Together they stepped through the door.
Thanks for reading!