A/N: This one shot has been sitting on my computer for a few weeks. I have this picture in my head of drunk Ichabbie and I hope y'all like it.
Ichabod sat in the passenger seat of Abby's Jeep, looking dubiously at the neon flashing sign on the building in front of them: Cantina de los Amigos. He wasn't fluent in Spanish, having forgone learning it in favor of Russian. He turned to Abbie, watching as she expertly reapplied her lipstick. He paused, his question on his lips, to stare longingly at the swell of her bottom lip, the delicate curve of her Cupid's bow. Only when she finished and turned to look at him did he look away so he didn't appear to be staring.
"Miss Mills, I'm afraid I'm very unsure of this event you've described. Why is there an entire day dedicated to the consumption of tacos? And what, pray tell, are margaritas? Why are they being sold two-for-one? Is this a common modern day occurrence?"
"Taco Tuesday is like Happy Hour but with food. It's—"
"What is Happy Hour? Your colleagues in the department often speak of being ready for it but no one elaborates on what happens."
"Happy Hour is a special time in places that sell alcohol. It usually happens from 5 to 7 because that's when the average work day is over. There's usually specials like $1 beers, $5 wings, dart contests, and stuff like that," Abby answered. Ichabod nodded, the concept much clearer. "Anyway, Taco Tuesday is like Happy Hour for food. And margaritas are like alcohol slushies, you know those things you like me to bring you from Seven-Eleven."
Ichabod nodded again, much more excited about this endeavor. He loved tacos, and guessed he would soon become a fan of margaritas. Inside the restaurant, he and Abbie got a table to the left of the stage where the mariachi band was setting up. A waitress in a sombrero brought them a basket holding four tacos and two large margaritas, one green and one orange. Crane peered into the glass with interest. "Why is mine green? Is this made with absinthe, lieutenant? Because I decided some years ago—centuries, rather—that that drink and I were not pleasant acquaintances."
Abbie snickered as she shook her head. "No. Margaritas are made with tequila. Usually there's rum too, and sometimes vodka. Yours is green because it's lime. Mine is orange because it's peach."
He nodded and took a sip of the delightfully cold drink. He licked his lips and pursed them. "Why is there salt on my glass?"
"The salt counteracts the bitter aftertaste of the tequila. When you're better acquainted with modern day drinking, I'll introduce you to body shots."
"Is that another drinking game like beer pong?" He smiled. "Speaking of which, I found a mint-condition beer pong table on the Amazon. Have you shopped there? It's got the most wonderful things. And every time I visit the page it says, 'Hello Ichabod' like we're friends. And they've got a whole list of things they think I might like. It's filled with the most interesting books and vinyl records that require some special sort of player that I've been attempting to track down on the Google. It's all fascinating and I must thank you again for the iPad. It's proved most entertaining."
She wasn't sure what made his modern-day naïveté so charming, but it never failed to make her smile. "Crane, we don't need a beer pong table. That's more of a college thing. And vinyl records are like beyond ancient—almost as old as you—but lots of people like them. There's nothing cooler than Jimi Hendrix on wax, believe me. If you want to buy some records, go ahead. I've got a player."
"That is most exceptional. I shall purchase some tomorrow. Do you also have a blu-ray machine? The Amazon recommended The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie on blu-ray and I would like very much to see it."
"I have a blu-ray machine, and a DVD of that movie. We can watch it tonight when we get home."
"Exceptional!" He drank more of his margarita, gulping it almost greedily.
Abbie laughed as she took the glass from him. "Easy, Crane. Those are a lot stronger than they taste."
He smiled, licking his green lips. "I very much like them. May I have another?"
Abbie slid him her glass then signaled for the waitress to bring them another round. Ichabod drank the peach margarita with the same fervor. Abbie knew she should stop him, but he seemed poised to let his hair down, something he never did, and she was curious as to what a loose Crane would show her. The waitress delivered their margaritas, one red and one yellow.
Abbie sipped the red one. "Cherry."
Ichabod sipped the yellow one. "Lemonade."
The waitress reappeared, holding a larger glass. She set it down then poured their margaritas into it before placing two straws on either sides. "This is our lovebird special. Whenever it gets empty, a waitress will fill it for you."
"But we are not lovebirds," Ichabod replied, frowning at the large glass though he stuck a straw in it. "We are partners, roommates too. Miss Mills is my dearest friend. I am not even sure what lovebirds are."
The waitress looked at Abbie and she smiled apologetically. "He's already had one too many."
The woman nodded and walked away. Ichabod smiled as he slurped the margarita, his cheeks red. Abbie smirked at him. He could drink bourbon straight, but 2-for-1 margaritas were poised to put him on his ass. "Maybe you should eat your tacos."
"Ah! My tacos I had forgotten them!" He picked up on and bit into its crunchy shell, smiling as he chewed. "These are the greatest joy to consume!"
Abbie began eating her own taco then stuck her straw into the other side of the margarita. It wasn't long before she and Crane had drained the large glass. He heartily called for it to be refilled. A waitress brought a pitcher of cherry, and a basket with more tacos. "Do y'all want to start a tab?"
"Yeah. Just put it under Mills. And bring us some chicken wings please," Abby replied.
"And some of those delightful fried sticks with the cheese in them!" Ichabod added.
She nodded and left. Ichabod continued drinking his margarita and Abbie watched as his face reddened, quickly drinking to catch up. The waitress delivered their food and they ate then went back to their drinks. A waitress with a mass of dark curls took the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've officially sold 100 margaritas! You know what that means!"
Ichabod turned to Abbie. "What does it mean?"
Abbie gave a drunken smile. "They play this great Jimmy Buffet song!"
"Livin' on sponge cake/ Watching the sun bake/ All of those tourists/ Covered in oil/ Strumming on my six-string/ On my front porch swing/ Smell those shrimp/ They're beginning to boil," the sombrero-wearing man onstage song.
"Wasting away again in Margaritaville/ Searching for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim/ That there's a woman to blame/ But I know/ It's nobody's fault," Abbie sang loudly, surprising Ichabod.
The lead singer grinned at her, waving her onstage. Had she been sober, she wouldn't have gone. But she was far from it, and Ichabod was too, happily joining her as she pulled him along. He quickly grabbed their large margarita before they got away from the table then looked at her as they walked up the stage's small stairs. "I do not know this song."
"It's easy to learn," she replied with a smile as the singer put his sombrero on her head. She pointed to the karaoke machine's screen. "Don't know the reason that I stayed here all season/ With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo/ But it's a real beauty/ A Mexican cutie/ How it got there I haven't a clue."
Ichabod bobbed his head to the music. "Wasting away again in Margaritaville/ Searching for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim that there's a woman to blame/ Now I think/ Hell it could be my fault."
Abbie laughed, throwing her arms up and shaking her hips. Ichabod smiled as he watched his partner let loose, stepping closer to join her at the mic. "Blew out my flip flop/ Stepped on a poptop/ Cut my heel/ Had to cruise on back home/ But there's booze in the blender/ And soon it will render/ That frozen concoction that helps me hang on."
Abbie stood on her toes and plopped the sombrero crookedly on his head, her vision blurring and doubling as she swayed on her heels. She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself and Ichabod took hold of her waist to help, laughing drunkenly as he too swayed. Abbie laughed as leaned on him and pointed to the screen. "Last time."
"Wasting away again in Margaritaville/ Searching for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim that there's a woman to blame/ But I know/ It's my own damn fault," they sang, Abbie wrapping her arms around Ichabod's waist to avoid tumbling over.
"A round of applause for our lovely guests!" The crowd gave riotous applause as Abbie and Ichabod tumbled off the stage to their table.
Their waitress walked over and set another lovebird's margarita before them, this one an electric shade of blue. "Courtesy of the band. After that, I'm gonna call y'all a cab."
"We'll just call Jenny," Abbie slurred, plopping her straw into the drink and taking a hearty sip.
"Alright. Y'all got a credit card to run?"
Abbie pulled out her wallet and Ichabod leaned over to point at her Visa. "Pay with this one. It's a most delightful shade of green."
"But this one's so blue," Abbie replied, pointing at another card that she pulled out to give the waitress who gave her a smile.
"This is a bus pass, hun."
"That's my bus pass!" Ichabod exclaimed, taking it back and putting it in his shirt's front pocket. He went into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. He placed it on the table. "A most generous tip for your delightful service, madam."
The waitress smiled and took Abbie's card and the ten-dollar bill then left. Abbie pulled out her phone and dialed Jenny's number. Jenny answered on the fourth ring. "What?"
"Crane and I are at Cantina! We went to Taco Tuesday. We're drunk."
"Do you need me to come get you?" Jenny asked, already trudging out of bed.
"May we walk?" Ichabod asked, attempting for a second time to get to his feet only to have gravity pull him back down.
"No," Jenny answered. "Stay put. I'm on my way."
Abbie hung up as their waitress returned. "Jenny's coming!"
"Good for y'all." She put Abbie's card in her wallet then put the wallet in Abbie's purse. Abbie stood on shaky legs and pulled Crane from his seat. They stumbled out of the bar, bumping into each other and giggling drunkenly as they walked. Outside, they sat on the curb waiting for Jenny.
Ichabod rocked back and forth, tapping his hands on his knees. "So show me family/ Ho!"
"All the blood that I will bleed!/ Hey!" Abbie replied.
"I don't know where I belong!/ Ho!"
"I don't know where I went wrong! Hey!"
"But I can write a song! Ho!"
They snickered, the song a favorite of theirs, swaying as they sat on the curb. "I belong with you/ You belong with me/ You're my sweetheart/ I belong with you/ You belong with me/ You're my sweetheart."
Jenny's Tahoe slowed to a stop before them and she got out of the car, a smirk on her face as she stood before her sister and Ichabod. "You two wanna explain?"
"It's Taco Tuesday and they had two-for-one margaritas," Ichabod answered, "a surprisingly bountiful offer. We had chicken wings and those fried sticks with the cheese in them."
Abbie grinned. "And we got to sing onstage with the band and they gave me a sombrero."
"That you gave to Crane," Jenny replied, unable to stop smirking.
"I think I look rather dashing," Ichabod interjected.
Jenny smiled as she pulled out her phone. "You do. Smile."
Abbie grinned broadly as she leaned on Ichabod's shoulder and he leaned down to rest his head on hers, knocking his hat even more askew as he grinned at Jenny's camera. She snapped their picture and nodded at it. "That's definitely going on the Christmas card. Let's go you two."
Ichabod scrambled to his feet and helped Abbie up then into the backseat. Jenny got in and looked back at them, both pleasantly marinating in their intoxication. "Seatbelts on and windows up unless someone needs to vomit. Do not vomit in this car. I will kill you both and make it look like an accident. Believe me, I know how."
Abbie laughed as she put on her seatbelt and Ichabod did the same then looked at Jenny. "May we stop somewhere for more margaritas? I've recently learned that they come in cans sold in gas stations."
"No more margaritas. We're going home so you two can go to bed."
"But we have the Spongebob movie on DVD and Crane's never seen it," Abbie whined.
Jenny looked back at her older sister. "Home. Bed. No questions."
"This is most unfair, the grievances for which revolutions are fought," Ichabod muttered.
"Can it Yankee Doodle," Jenny admonished then turned up the radio.
Ichabod smiled at the song playing then turned to Abbie. "I most enjoy this song, leiutenenenant. That's a rather fun word to say, I've recently discovered. I've no idea who Marvin Gaye is but this song is most exceptional."
Abbie giggled. "Marvin Gaye makes sex music, Crane."
"Ah. Then this explicates the 'it' the singers must get on."
"You've got to give it up to me/ I'm screaming mercy mercy please/ Just like they say it in the song/ Until the dawn/ Let's Marvin Gaye and get it on," Abbie sang, bobbing her head to the music.
Jenny rolled her eyes as she pulled into a gas station and stopped at a pump. She turned to look back at them as she cut the ignition. "I'm going to pay for gas. I'm locking the doors. Do not open the doors. Do not try to get out or let anyone in. If you promise to be good, I'll bring you slushies. Do you promise?"
"Yes," Abbie answered.
Ichabod nodded. "I will promise but only on the condition that my slushie contain alcohol."
"No." She looked at them one last time then got out of the car and went into the gas station.
Abbie unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over the console to change the radio then plopped back onto the backseat beside Ichabod, looking over at him with a tipsy smile. "You're so tall. How'd you get so tall? And pale. You're so pale, Crane!"
Ichabod snickered. "Well I'm English. We're a pale bunch."
He was surprised when Abbie took hold of his face, squishing the lower half in her tiny hand. "Either way, you're adorable."
Ichabod smiled, reaching up to pinch Abbie's cheek. "You're adorable as well, leiutenenenant. That word is becoming terribly difficult to say. I believe my tongue is abandoning me."
"Let me see it."
Ichabod snickered then stuck out his tongue. He yelped when Abbie nipped the tip of it, leaning back away from her as she laughed. "You bit my tongue!"
Her voice dropped to a whisper as she stopped laughing. "Call me Abbie."
Ichabod hiccupped. "Abbie…Abbie…Abbie… Such a lovely name."
Abbie took hold of his face, leaning closer to him. "Say it one more time."
"Abbie." The last capitulation earned him a drunken kiss pressed gently to his lips as Abbie leaned against him.
Ichabod smiled against her mouth. "Had I known such a small concession to decency would earn me such ripe rewards, I would have made it ages ago, and without margaritas and fried cheese on my breath."
They were still trading soft drunken kisses when Jenny got back in the car. She rolled her eyes at Abbie half-straddling Ichabod's half-reclining frame. "Don't make me come back there. Butts on seats. Seatbelts on. Hands in laps. Your own laps."
Abbie smirked as she did as she was told. Ichabod looked at her, his eyebrows raised as he grinned. "Fear not. We shall soon be away from her watchful eyes."
A/N: Please review! XOXOXOXO