House

Chapter 4

Summary: Why is it that emergency services always seem to arrive only just after our heroes have already saved the day? What has Jenny been doing all day? Also, there is a special appearance by a certain Detective Morales and, of course, Ichabod finally gets a chance to show what a good friend he is to Abbie, and reveals an interesting detail from his past.

A/N: This chapter is kinda like the immediate aftermath of the action-adventure scenes, the parts that are usually skipped over on the show because there's so much happening, and really why fanfiction was invented, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

…..

The tires screeched as the armored Police van turned the corner onto Mills' street.

Lieutenant Ford had been here just once before, several years ago, when Mills had thrown a house-warming party and invited pretty much everyone from the Sherriff's Department. He didn't get to work with Mills very often, but she had a good reputation. She was solid, dependable, and she had a good attitude. He suspected that more than a few of his men harbored secret crushes on the pretty Lieutenant, but not Ford. He had his beloved Sandra to come home to every night.

It was because of Sandra that he'd left the Army. He'd made the Army his home, it was where he belonged, always on the move, always ready for the next deployment, but there'd come a point where he realized that, if he re-enlisted one more time, Sandra wouldn't wait for him any longer. She wanted a family, one where he was home every night to share it, and he knew he'd never love someone like he loved Sandra.

So he'd settled in to life in Sleepy Hollow and quickly taken leadership of the Tactical Response Team, whipping the men into shape, refining their emergency procedures, drilling the team for every contingency he could imagine.

Most people said he was too paranoid, too gung-ho, that nothing calamitous ever happened in Sleepy Hollow, but a couple months ago all that had begun to change. Ford was sure that Captain Irving knew more about what was going on than he let on, but he trusted the Captain to fill him in when it was time. After all, his team had done him proud on the night of the power plant sabotage.

Ford allowed a small, appropriately grim, smile to settle across his features as the van sped down the residential street. Finally, this was it; this was where he belonged, on the front lines fighting the forces of evil that would threaten his precious home.

"Is that her house, sir?" asked Billy, the driver, pointing ahead, "At the end of the lane?"

They were still a few blocks away but they could see a red glow, growing bigger and brighter, where Mills' house was supposed to be.

"Yeah, that's it. Better call it in," Ford said, reaching for the radio to alert the fire department.

Billy pulled to a stop a safe distance from the burning house.

Ford raised his voice to give the men in the back of the van their orders, "Listen up! Secure the perimeter and locate Mills and Crane, then spread out and search for hostiles!"

There was a chorus of "Yes sir!" from his team before they unloaded from the van.

It was time to get to work.

….

Jenny Mills sipped her now lukewarm coffee and flipped the page of her book.

Well, the book wasn't really hers, it technically still belonged to Barnes and Noble, but it was free to sit in the café in the back of the bookstore and read whatever she wanted. She'd been there all day. It was a nice atmosphere. She liked the quiet bustle of people coming and going, ordering coffees, studying for exams, meeting up with friends. Sometimes it was the casual, every-day places like this that she missed the most when she was locked up.

Her phone buzzed on the table. Was Abbie finally calling her back? She tapped the screen to see who it was.

Frank Irving.

Her eyes lit up for just a second then she thought, 'No, he wouldn't call just to talk to me, there's probably something gone wrong. I'm probably in trouble, just my luck. Well, you don't know that yet. Play it cool.'

She tapped the green phone icon, accepting the call, and brought it to her ear.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked, a little too nonchalantly.

"Where are you?" he interrogated, no pleasantries, that wasn't his style.

"Bookstore," she replied, then added, "I'm locked out. My idiot sister gave me the wrong house key. She won't answer the door, won't answer the phone."

Everything had seemed fine when she'd left that morning, Abbie still asleep in her room and Crane passed out on the couch. She'd even been considerate enough to leave a note. Abbie didn't have to take her in, but she had, even after everything they'd been through.

Then that afternoon she'd returned to find herself locked out, ignored, given the silent treatment. It stung. She'd considered breaking a window but had decided it wasn't worth the fight that would surely ensue. Better to let Abbie take all the blame for this one. She'd go chill at the bookstore, enjoy some free wifi, and come back home when she was good and ready.

If Abbie wanted to spend some alone time with Captain America, she could have just said so, what did Jenny care? But no, not even a text. Especially after insisting that they were just friends and Crane still considered himself quite married, albeit to an undead witch trapped in Purgatory, her sister's behavior was inconsiderate and irritating.

'That's her problem,' Jenny had found herself thinking off and on throughout the years, 'Abbie's never known what she wants. She always wants to have things both ways. Like when she wanted me to trust her and do what she says, but didn't want to admit aloud what we both saw in the woods that day.'

Frank's voice interrupted her musings, "So you haven't spoken to Mills at all?"

"I just said she isn't answering her phone. So, no, I haven't spoken to her," Jenny replied tartly. Was that sirens in the background? What was going on?

"Where are you? What's this about?" she asked, becoming concerned.

"You'd better come home," he said, "Now."

There was a small click as the call disconnected. Jenny looked at her phone in alarm.

Well, that was less than informative. What did he mean by that? Did that mean he's at her house now? Is Abbie in some kind of trouble?

Jenny felt a cold stab of pain in her gut. Has the Headless Horseman returned and here she was, sitting in the cozy bookstore, thinking resentful thoughts about her sister?

She stood and ran out of the store, leaving her forgotten coffee cup and half-finished book sitting on the café table.

….

Abbie clenched the itchy emergency blanket tighter around her shoulders and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Her thin pajama pants clung to her legs, icy water dripping into her soggy, muddy sneakers.

The worst of the flames were dying down, faltering under the fire hoses' onslaught.

Captain Irving stood nearby, speaking into his radio. She'd already given him a bare-bones breakdown of what had happened. No, there hadn't been any Hessians involved. Yes, she was definitely sure the threat was eliminated. She'd left him free to make up whatever version of events he felt was most appropriate for the official record. If he asked, she'd explain what really happened later, in private, but she didn't think he would ask.

Lieutenant Ford and a few of his men were still loitering around. Ford nodded to her and then went back to his conversation.

Earlier, after they'd made sure no bad guys were lurking around the neighborhood, Food had come over to Abbie to express his condolences.

"I'm real sorry about your house, Mills," the burly ex-soldier had said, placing a hand on her shoulder somewhat awkwardly, "If you need anything, you only have to call, okay? You have a lot of friends in this town, after all."

She appreciated the sentiment, but she felt Ford would never believe what was really going on in Sleepy Hollow. He was the classic, by the book, only trust what I see with my own eyes, type of man, even more so than Captain Irving.

Abbie sighed. She was so tired. Even Luke had shown up, just at the height of the chaos, and tried to talk to her. That was really just the icing on the cake, she thought bitterly.

"Abbie, Abbie!" Luke called, breathlessly.

She turned towards the sudden warm hand gripping her arm to see Luke, the last person she expected, or wanted for that matter, to see that night.

"Abs, I have to-" he started, his eyes uncharacteristically wide, even panicked.

"What the hell, Luke?" Abbie rebuffed him, determined not to care why he looked so anxious, "I don't have time for this!"

"Listen to me, Abs, this is important," Luke went on undeterred, almost desperately, "There's something I should have told you, just give me five min-"

"No, Luke," she wrested her arm out of his grip, stepping closer to Crane who was talking to an EMT, "Please stop it."

She was trying to keep some semblance of cool but she really couldn't deal with her ex and his endless demands.

"Abs, I know you're mad and I'm sorry. Just this once, please," Luke said, then hesitated, startled by Crane's looming glare.

"Whatever, Luke. I'll call you later, okay?" Abbie said dismissively, turning away from him.

Crane, bless him, put his arm around her shoulder and guided her over to the back of an ambulance, not once sparing a glance back at Luke.

"Oh honey, you must be near hypothermic, come here," said the EMT, unfolding a large emergency blanket.

"I, ah, tripped in the stream back there," Abbie explained, some part of her mind worrying that someone was going to ask why, exactly did they run and hide so far away from the fire, had she been expecting a large explosion?

"I'm okay, really, just a bit cold," she said, but was mostly ignored.

Abbie gratefully let the EMT fuss over her and Crane, pushing any thoughts of Luke to the back of her mind.

But when the chaos had died down some and she found herself standing alone, staring aimlessly at the ruins of her home, her thoughts drifted back to Luke.

She recalled the day that she, Crane, and Captain Irving had laid their trap and captured the Headless Horseman and in the middle of it all she'd left Luke a voicemail cancelling their lunch plans. He'd never called her back. At first she hadn't noticed, she'd been so busy dealing with the undead Andy Brooks turned necromancer, Crane interrogating the headless agent of the apocalypse and the whole can of worms that had opened, and getting Jenny moved in.

In the days that followed she didn't see Luke when she stopped in the office, he was always out when she was there, so she'd left him one, then two more voicemails. No answers, not even a text. She stopped just short of leaving a post-it on his desk. Why did she care so much? He was the one who had wanted to talk, after all.

Then the other day, during a quiet moment in the Archives, Crane had caught her staring forlornly at her phone, flipping it around in her hand.

"What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing, Crane," she said, less convincingly that she intended, slipping the phone back into her pocket, "It's nothing. What are you reading now?"

"Are you perhaps waiting for a call?" he asked knowingly, how did he always know?

Abbie sighed. She knew by now that he wouldn't be satisfied until she answered him honestly. He had a way of knowing immediately when she was the least bit distracted or upset, when she tried to deflect attention, to hold her thoughts inside where they belonged and he knew just what to say to get her to spill the beans. Nobody else did that, nobody else would even bother.

"Luke never called me back," Abbie found herself confiding, "after I cancelled our lunch plans, before. I left a voicemail and it's not like I had a choice. Even if he's mad, he could have at least called."

She wasn't going to tell Crane, with his intense gaze, just how many voicemails she'd left. "I think now he's avoiding me, which is totally middle school."

Crane looked thoughtful, "Why would he avoid you? It's clear the man has not relinquished his attachment for you."

"Huh," Abbie rested her chin on her hand, absently rustling some of the papers on the desk.

"I don't know," she said, "I kinda deserve it. I essentially did the same thing to him after we broke up, so I guess it's only fair."

She trailed off, wanting to stop this conversation before Crane started asking about the break up.

"Miss Mills, that is nonsense," Ichabod said decisively.

"Oh?"

"A lady should always be treated with kindness and grace. If Detective Morales is unable to hold on to your friendship, then the fault and the loss is his alone."

Abbie wasn't sure what to say to that.

Ichabod continued, with a small smile, "After all, if you have found it in your heart to befriend someone so unlikely as myself, then surely you are gifted with superior quality of character."

"Oh, Crane," Abbie finally cracked a smile, "you're a good friend too. And thanks."

His task of cheering her up, if only for a moment, completed, Ichabod handed her an old book, saying, "If you would, take a look in here and see if the author makes any mention of my Mason brothers."

"Mills. Lieutenant Mills?" Captain Irving's voice broke in to Abbie's thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

"Yes?" she tore her eyes away from the dying fire. The Captain's usually strict face looked worn and concerned.

"We're going to need your official statement regarding tonight's events, and Crane's too, but that can wait for now. Don't worry about it tonight."

Abbie just nodded wearily, not trusting her voice. The smell of smoke was so strong. The image of flames steadily devouring her house, the home she'd made for herself, the only place she'd finally felt safe after so many years of uncertainty, was too bright in her eyes.

"Mills, are you sure you're okay?" Irving asked in a softer tone.

She tried to say yes, or at least nod, but couldn't. She felt her face scrunch up as she tried, and failed, to keep the tears from spilling over.

"Where's Crane?" she managed, barely audible.

"Hold on," Irving said, putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, looking up to spot Ichabod sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, bundled in his own emergency blanket.

"CRANE?!" he yelled at the top of his voice, causing Abbie to flinch at the loud noise next to her ear. Was that really necessary?

Irving knew his voice was probably too loud, but it did the job. In seconds Ichabod was by Abbie's side.

Ichabod took one look at his partner, her shoulders were shaking, one hand half covering her face, and promptly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close in a tight embrace.

Abbie choked back a sob and leaned her forehead against his chest, her body tense.

"I'm here," Ichabod said softly, bending his head closer so she could hear, "We're safe now. You're safe. I have you."

Ichabod felt her relax some of the tension in her body, letting her fists unclench.

"I don't…I don't have a home…" Abbie cried, then pushed her hand over her eyes, saying in a ragged voice, "I'm so sorry…to you…you're the last person I should complain to…"

"Oh Abbie," he said her name tenderly, "you have every right to be sad at a time like this."

He gently stroked her hair and held her close as she cried. They stood like this for a long time, one Witness releasing her sorrows while the other laid aside his own sorrows in favor of guarding his friend's heart.

Eventually the worst of her tears gave way to sniffles as Abbie kept her face buried in Ichabod's chest, not yet willing to face the outside world again. She wanted to unbend her arms and hug him back, more comfortably, but she was too tired and cold to move, and his hold was too secure.

"Now Lieutenant, I do not believe I have shared this part of my past with you," Ichabod began in his soothing, story-telling voice, not at all sure if Abbie was even listening, "but, as it happens, I am in fact an adept carpenter. I give you my word that, as peace allows, I will strive to rebuild your house, although this time perhaps we will forgo the basement."

He rambled on about how he'd spent his summers as a youth apprenticed to a local carpenter, which at the time he had detested, but his father had insisted that he experience more of life beyond his scholastic endeavors, more specifically manual labor, which is of course necessary for young men to build character, discipline, and respect.

"Wait a minute," Abbie interrupted his monologue, right when he was getting to the part about being force to fell no less than one hundred young trees at the age of fourteen.

She wiped her face and cleared her throat, pushing away a little bit to look up at him curiously, and said hesitantly, "Crane?"

"Yes?"

"Did you just say that you're going to build me a new house?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he replied.

"Seriously?"

"I assure you, Abbie, I am most sincere," he said, relaxing his hold on her just a little. He was still worried at her shivering.

"Okay," Abbie said, too exhausted and bewildered to question him further. She rested her cheek against his chest, head turned away from the smoldering lot where her house used to be.

"Thank you, Ichabod. For everything," she said softly, before falling quiet again.

…..

To Be Continued…

A/N: There is still a lot more to this story, but as this chapter was getting a bit long I decided to stop it here.

Preview: Join us next time for, what else, even more Ichabbie friendship and hurt/comfort adorableness AKA Ichabod vs. the 21st Century First Aid Kit!

And also (this might be the chapter after next) more Irving/Jenny interaction because, never mind finding a new home, where are the Mills sisters going to sleep that night? More hints, and more special appearances (not Luke), to come soon!