"Mrs. Crane!" Abbie exclaimed, running towards the woman, lying in a heap on the floor. She was limp and covered in her own blood, but still alive. "Mrs. Crane… Katrina… stay with me…" she pled, dropping to the floor, grasping the prone woman's shoulders, and setting her head in her lap. "Where are you wounded?" Abbie asked, beginning to check Katrina over.
"Miss Mills," Katrina had whispered. Rasped. Her hand weakly came up to cover Abbie's, stopping its movement. Only then could Abbie see the deep gashes in the witch's wrists.
"Katrina… what have you done?" Abbie gasped, now reaching for Katrina's skirts, looking for something to bind her wounds and stop the blood. "Crane!" she shouted, unsure of where her partner was in these God-forsaken tunnels.
"No," Katrina protested. "This is how… it must be. This is the only way I can… escape from Abraham…"
"You escape Death by killing yourself? That doesn't make sense!" Abbie said, trying to tear a strip of material from Katrina's skirts. The fabric, though old, wouldn't give, and Abbie growled in frustration.
"It is only in dying that I may… escape his clutches," she explained, her breathing ragged, chopping her speech into fragments. "He must… allow me to… cross over… as Death, he is bound… no choice…"
"Crane!" Abbie yelled again, desperate. His wife cannot die here in my arms while he is somewhere else. "Crane!"
"Miss Mills," Katrina's soft whisper brought Abbie's attention back. "You must… open your heart to him," she said, bringing her hand up and resting it over Abbie's heart. "You… have walls… around it…"
"Him? Him who?" Abbie asked, but she knew the answer.
"You have let… few people inside, but… you have allowed it... at times," Katrina continued. "Jenny… August Corbin… You must let Ichabod in."
"But…"
"He was never mine to keep," Katrina sighed, her hand dropping from Abbie's chest, leaving a streaked, red handprint on her skin and shirt. "My duty was… to deliver him to… to you… to ensure he… was united with you…" Her voice was getting much weaker.
"Katrina…" Abbie begged, knowing her partner would be crushed and heartbroken.
"Abbie," Katrina rasped, then coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and Abbie delicately wiped it away. "Love him well." Her eyes closed. "Tell him… tell him I loved him… and… I release his heart... into… your care…" She opened her eyes one final time and looked directly into Abbie's for a few seconds.
Lieutenant Abbie Mills watched as the light left Katrina Crane's eyes.
Tears she didn't realize were falling landed on Katrina's pale face, and she wiped them away, then gently closed the witch's eyes.
"Crane… Ichabod…" Abbie closed her eyes and whispered, still cradling Katrina.
When Crane arrived a few minutes later, he was wide-eyed and desperate. "I… I felt you calling for me, Lieutenant…" he gasped, out of breath from running. "We just secured Abraham under the lights again, and… oh, God!" he exclaimed, finally walking into the chamber far enough to see the scene before him.
He collapsed to the ground, wrapping his arms around both women.
xXx
"So... did you do these kinds of things with Katrina?" Abbie asks, cradled naked in his arms, snuggling against him in a post-coital cocoon of warmth and love. It's a question that's been on her mind since he first shed his inhibitions. She absently rubs the marks on her wrists from where one of her scarves was tied around it.
Crane takes her hand and kisses the faint marks, rubbing her skin gently with his thumb. "She was not as... accommodating as you are, my love."
Abbie lifts her head and looks at him. "Really?"
"She was quite reserved."
"She was a witch."
He lifts his head to look at her. "She was a Quaker, as far as I knew," Crane reminds her, raising an eyebrow. He drops his head back against the pillow. "This is not a topic with which I am comfortable," he adds.
"I'm curious, though," Abbie gently presses, shifting so she is lying on her stomach on top of him. She folds her hands on his chest and rests her chin atop them. "She's been gone over a year, plus she gave us her blessing, remember? In fact, she knew before we did. Well, before I did, anyway."
Crane smiles guiltily, recalling his admission of how he had first realized the beginnings of romantic feelings for her on that fateful day when she convinced him to leave her in Purgatory. Of course, at the time, he was horrified and resolutely pushed them away. "What would you like to know?" he sighs smiling slightly, conceding to her. As always. She never fails to answer my questions. It is only fair that I reciprocate.
"Was it really against the law to do... well, most of the things we've been doing?"
He nods. "No touching below the waist. No giving oral pleasure." He raises an eyebrow at her. "And I'm sure tying your lover up and spanking her before giving her a good hard shag would have been frowned upon as well."
Abbie giggles and drops her forehead against her hands. "So, then... how...?" she asks, lifting her head again.
"In the most basic sense," he answers, not realizing he's answering the wrong question. "Mostly employing what I believe is now referred to as 'the missionary position.' I convinced her to – as you very accurately say – ride me once. It was certainly pleasurable, but... I would have liked more variety."
"Actually, what I was going to ask is how do you know about all this kinky shit we do?"
"Katrina was not my first," he admits. "She knew this. There were... places one could go... safe places... to indulge oneself." He pauses a moment. "And now, with the miracle of the Internet, worlds have been opened to me."
"I don't know if I am glad I showed you how to surf the 'net or not," Abbie chuckles.
"I found your books about Mr. Grey, and they were nowhere near the computer," Crane points out, and Abbie laughs harder.
"Wow. So, Katrina was boring in the sack, hey?"
Crane pinches her backside in response, and she squeaks. "I never said 'boring'. I simply stated that I would have enjoyed a wider range of activities. The important thing was we loved one another and we did share our love behind closed doors. Frequently. And, that's more than many couples could hope for in those days."
"That's more than many couples have these days," Abbie amends.
"She did... one time... she agreed to..."
"Ooo, what did she do?" Abbie asks, perking up.
"We traded garments once. She wore my shirt and trousers and I donned one of her gowns."
Abbie's mouth opens wide, smiling in disbelief. "Her gown fit you?"
"You may have noticed I am a rather slender man," he says. "And Katrina was not as tiny as you, though she was still quite slim. I merely slipped it on. We did not fasten it." He scowls slightly. "The shoulders did give me trouble. And, of course, it was much too short."
Abbie has been giggling the whole time, picturing him struggling with Katrina's gown. "What did you do?"
"I pulled her trousers off of her as slowly as I dared, then rucked up my skirts and gave her a good..." he leans his head up and kisses her, "hard..." he kisses her again, longer, squeezing her backside, "fuck," he finishes.
"Dirty mouth," Abbie teasingly chides. She can probably count the number of times she's heard him say that particular word on one hand. And that's probably a good thing, because there's something about the way he says it that just makes me want to... She leans up and kisses him deeply, writhing slightly atop him. "So... you like to play dress up, hmm?"
xXx
Crane returned from an after-dinner walk a few days later to find a bag on the table with a note taped to it.
"Abbie?" he called, not seeing any sign of her. "Love?" He lifts the note and puzzles over it.
Put this on, then come find me.
A small smile spreads across his face. "Hmm, a game, then?" he mutters, reaching into the bag.
He finds a costume in red, black and gray, complete with a helmet and a large, plastic hammer. Smiling, he recalls their conversation several days prior and knows exactly what has inspired the evening's activities.
Thus far, Abbie has shown him The Avengers, both Thor movies, both Captain America movies, and all three Iron Man movies. Crane is quite familiar with the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
Crane is also quite familiar with Abbie's crush on Thor, played by Mr. Hemsworth of Australia (though Mr. Mackie's Falcon from the second Captain America movie is now a close second).
So, it is not a surprise that she would have him don a Thor costume for this little escapade.
"I suppose I should be grateful the bag did not contain a blue shirt and false, pointed ears." he mutters, taking the bag to the spare bedroom to change. Abbie has also subjected him to Star Trek, but only the "new" movies. She's been promising to "show him the older stuff one of these days," but they haven't gotten around to it as of yet. "However, I do not think I would have minded the white shirt and black waistcoat that is Captain Solo's favored garb," he adds, Star Wars springing to mind as he pulls the tie from his hair to facilitate the helmet. He smiles as he recalls how pleased she was when he recognized that Natalie Portman and Samuel L. Jackson were in The Avengers as well as some of the Star Wars movies.
"Hmm, if I am Thor, surely that means Abbie will be Jane Foster," he smiles. "Or Loki," he frowns, remembering some frankly quite disturbing things she told him about "shipping" and "fan-fiction" and how there are people who "ship" Thor with Loki. I do hope she has chosen Jane Foster. Mr. Hiddleston is brilliant, but I much prefer Miss Portman. A female version of Loki would have definite potential for being quite delicious, however...
Crane heads to the bedroom they have been sharing, clad in his own trousers and boots along with a vest made from some strange plastic-like material, red cape, and plastic winged helmet, plastic Mjolnir dangling from one hand.
He pauses outside the closed bedroom door. She must be in there; the door is never closed. A crafty smile creeping across his face, he reaches for the handle, then bursts in as heroically as possible.
"You have summoned me, Jane Foster?" he booms, striving for Thor's heroic speech cadence.
Abbie is facing a white board she has set on a dresser, which she has covered with various numbers and letters, attempting to make it look vaguely scientific. He can see e = mc2, a2 + b2 = c2, a recipe for some sort of baked good, and a section that appears to be a grocery list, among other things.
She turns and her lips twitch momentarily as she takes in the sight of him. For her part, she's wearing jeans and a t-shirt topped with a plaid flannel shirt. Her hair is loose and she has on a pair of glasses. In one hand is a dry-erase marker and the other is clutching some sort of hand-held electronic device Crane doesn't recognize.
"Thor," Abbie says, a smile spreading across her face. "I've figured out the formula that will repair the Bifrost."
Crane steps forward, slowly walking towards her. "This is most excellent news, Jane. It will allow us to more easily move between realms once again."
Abbie sets the marker down and removes her glasses, which Crane now sees have no lenses in them. They were most attractive on her, however. "I know," she says, her voice dropping to a more seductive tone. "That's why I'm trying to fix it," she adds, running her hand over his chest.
"I do believe this is cause for celebration," Crane says, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him like he's seen Thor do in the movies. He leans down and kisses her, slowly and softly at first, then intensifying as his desire increases.
Abbie drops the electronic device and slides her hands around his chest to hold his back. Crane drops Mjolnir and lifts her into his arms, growling deliciously.
She wraps her legs around his waist, tangling them in his cape. He carries her the short distance to the bed, slides his hands to grasp her under her arms, and tosses her – carefully – to the bed.
"Cr— Thor!" Abbie squeals, a giggle escaping.
Crane keeps his eyes locked on her as he removes his cape and tosses it aside with a flourish. "Jane Foster, I have wanted you for many of your Earth years," he says, removing his faux-armored vest. "Since the day I first laid eyes on you." He steps out of his boots, looking down only briefly. "After you struck me with your automobile. I opened my eyes and, confronted with your beauty, I thought I surely was in Valhalla."
Abbie's eyebrows rise, impressed. I don't remember them talking about Valhalla in the movies. He must have done some independent research. "Thor," she says, shrugging out of her flannel shirt and throwing it on top of his cape, "I've been waiting for you." She pulls her t-shirt off, revealing that she's not wearing a bra beneath it. "For so long," she continues, lying back on the bed.
"Wait no more, fair maiden, for I intend to have you until we are both weak and spent." He removes his trousers and underwear. He lifts his hand to his helmet, intending to remove it.
"Leave it on," Abbie whispers, biting her lower lip seductively.
Crane quirks an eyebrow, but drops his hands. He moves to the bed and continues his speech as he prowls over her. "You will know ecstasy this night. You and I will glimpse Valhalla," he rumbles, kissing his way up her body.
"Wow," Abbie gasps, overcome by his kisses and his words. "Damn."
"I will not stop until you are screaming my name, Jane Foster," Crane promises, sucking a waiting nipple into his mouth. "And then, I will begin anew." He licks a trail up to her neck.
"Oh..." Abbie moans, arching beneath him. "Damn, but you're good at this..."
Crane doesn't know if she's praising his prowess as a lover or his commitment to his role, but he grins against her skin regardless, because he realizes he doesn't care which. She is pleased, that is all that matters.
She pulls his head up to hers, kissing him deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, pushing it against his as they tangle and slide.
He groans, his hand roving her body, drinking in the softness of her skin beneath his calloused hands. One moves lower, slipping between her legs.
"Ah," she breathes, tearing her lips away when he touches her, lifting her hips, searching for more contact.
Crane moves to kiss her neck, and his helmet knocks against Abbie's nose. She curses lightly and removes it, tossing it carelessly to the floor. "Worth a shot," she gasps, threading her fingers into Crane's hair as he places wet, hungry kisses on her neck.
"I knew it would not last," he mutters against her skin. He nips the soft place where Abbie's neck and shoulder meet, then soothes the spot with his tongue, drawing a whimper from her. His fingers continue to dip and sweep between her legs, and her head tosses on the pillow, the sensations threatening to overtake her.
"I'm not gonna last," she moans, reaching between them to grasp his length, stroking him until his breathing is shallow and harsh.
"Miss— Jane," Crane gasps, and Abbie smiles at having gotten him to slip up. She stops moving her hand on him and gently guides him into place.
He enters her swiftly and with some force, burying himself deep. Abbie cries out and clings to his shoulders, and he pauses.
"Go," she urges, wrapping her leg around him and kicking him lightly. He growls and obeys her command, pausing only to slide his hands along her arms to take her hands. He twines their fingers together and pins her hands against the mattress on either side of her head.
Crane drops his head, kissing her hungrily, and resumes, unleashing himself fully, thrusting into her until the headboard pounds against the wall.
"Oh... fu... oh, yes, Ichabod!" Abbie tumbles quickly, hips bucking beneath him, her fingernails digging into the backs of his hands.
He thrusts into her a few more times before he stills, his back arching as he presses in as deeply as possible while he floods into her. "Abbie..." he groans, her name a strangled prayer. He releases her hands and drops gently over her, sliding out and resting his head on her chest. He kisses her breasts a few times, then lifts his head and kisses her chin, smiling up at her.
Abbie brushes his damp hair away from his face and kisses him. He hums happily against her lips, then rolls off of her, tucking her against his side.
They are quiet for a few minutes. Crane's long fingers drag idly over Abbie's skin; Abbie's smaller fingers gently trace the scar on his chest.
After a while, Crane stirs, lifting up slightly to look down at Abbie, eyebrow raised saucily. She looks up at him, intrigued.
"Another!" he declares, and Abbie falls into a fit of laughter.