Hello there! Here is yet another chapter, the last of the pre-time jump era. I'm excited to see what happens next. Thank you once again for the reviews and for taking the time out to read through my jumble of words. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks again!
Ichabod could not remember the last time he had been held with such tenderness. He never allowed it. Yet, the profound affection in her embrace poured into his aching soul. His head lay on her chest, the strong beat of her heart lulled his broken one. He felt her fingers caress his disheveled hair. Her soft lips gently held a kiss atop his head.
He needed to contemplate her gaze. He had not known Abbie capable of demonstrating such care and wanted to behold her rare expression. He lifted his head and felt her delicate fingers brush his hair off his cheeks, tucking it behind his ears. He closed his eyes, relishing her touch.
She had never touched him so delicately. She rubbed his wet cheeks, her wrists stroking his beard. A warm tingle spread throughout his body mixing with the warm buzz from the rum. It soothed the turmoil within him. His eyes snapped open. He held her loving, brown gaze.
He was uncertain as to what prompted him to glance down at her full lips but he nearly praised God for the sudden notion. They were as he imagined in close proximity; tempting as a delicious, rare fruit and supple as a flower petal. They slowly parted open. Crane's followed suit. She lowered her eyelids and her petite body leaned forward.
Time nearly stopped. He could feel a slight quiver in her touch. He held his breath as his eyelids lowered.
The instant his eyes were enveloped in darkness, a sudden chill came over him. Out of the darkness, a quiet voice whispered his inmost feelings. The taunting thoughts he had been repressing for weeks. It hissed, you were wrong. You told her to have faith, aware of her greatest weakness. You led her to slaughter. Your partner. Your friend. After everything she has sacrificed for you. You have held her back. You, Ichabod Crane, are the source of her sorrow.
He inhaled sharply. He couldn't do it. He couldn't lose himself further. Rejoicing in her gentle caresses, her soothing sounds, her exquisite body would be heaven. He did not deserve heaven; she did not deserve a broken man.
He slowly pulled back and shifted away, her petite hands slipping from his face. "I can't," he murmured, looking down at his lap.
She opened her eyes. Her confused gaze searching his downcast eyes. It was evident that the arrow of his cruel rejection hit its intended mark. She nodded slowly and sharply inhaled as her disenchantment became clear. He cautiously studied her reaction from the corner of his eye. Flickers of shame, uncertainty, and acceptance crossed her expressive brown eyes.
The warm buzz of his emotional release mixed with alcohol he had consumed was slowly dissipating, leaving frigid temperance in its place. He felt wretched. He desperately wanted to apologize. He couldn't bear to see her rebuffed yet he couldn't remain in her presence. It was too tempting. It was too torturous.
"I-I must…rest," he mumbled, running a nervous hand through his hair before standing up from the couch. His legs were as unsteady as a newborn foal's yet he managed to step away from her. His hand twitched nervously at his sides. It took all his strength to abstain from taking her in his arms and selfishly luxuriate in her affection.
Slowly rubbing her hands on the top of her thighs, Abbie muttered, "Yeah, s'good idea." She peered up at him before uncertainly standing up. She gave him a tight smile and pointed at the door with her thumbs, "I should go."
She walked away and hastily grabbed her keys off the table. Crane looked at her longingly as she avoided his gaze. Regret drowned his insides. He wanted to call after her. The urge was so strong he nearly uttered her name aloud. Yet he managed to choke it back, although, not without a whimper escaping his throat. He disguised it by clearing his throat.
She paused in front the door, her still hand fixed above the door knob. He feared yet ached for her to misinterpret his noise. Without turning around, she murmured, "I'm…don't forget to drink more water. I-I'll stop by later. G'night, Crane." She quickly slipped out the door.
Incapable of moving, Crane stood staring at the closed door. His heart ached, pleading with him to run after her. He could perceive rejection and shame radiate from where she had stood. Or perhaps it was his own rejection and shame he could feel? He shook his head, trying to rid himself the blighted desire blooming in his soul.
Had he really been that close to destroying a friendship, a partnership, a bond over an impulsive yearning? Did his depravity know no bounds? He was responsible for the death of his son and wife yet here he was happily sauntering into a moment of debauchery with the one person who had unconditionally looked after him since bursting forth into this time.
He could not in good conscience initiate a deeper relationship with Abbie. It was frightening to see how easily, quickly, and mindlessly profound it could be. They could not afford to do it whilst in the middle of war and grieving for the loss of his family. He would not commit the same mistake twice. He felt far too guilty and had too much misguided anger at his powerlessness. In addition to the fact that he felt betrayed in the most intimate by the woman he had devoted his soul to love forever.
The almost nonexistent trust he currently possessed and could bestow upon her would be tainted and insincere. He had to learn to live again, to understand who he was and what place he held in the world. He needed to feel secure in his abilities as a man to provide her with everything she deserved. He admired her ability to be self-sufficient and generous beyond belief yet he needed to, as this generation put it, "pull his own weight". He and Abbie would need to be secure individuals, free of duty, and with a clear sense of purpose if they were to commit their love to one another.
He needed to place distance between themselves and the intensity of their feelings. Abbie was not about to leave, not after he had demonstrated his inability to embrace his independence over and over again. She would unquestionably not leave him after he had imposed upon her the idea that she could never leave Sleepy Hollow because their fates were entwined. He was frightened and alone when he had said it, not that much had changed since then. She, in turn, needed the opportunity to pursue the goals she had put on pause because of him. She needed to become the person she had always dreamt of becoming. He could no longer stand in her way. Therefore, the wisest decision was for him to leave.
With a shattered heart of sorrow and despair, he gathered his wits and began the laborious task of packing his few possessions.
Abbie took a deep breath as she sat in her car, staring at the cabin door. It had been a couple of days since, what she had begun to refer to as, the "couch incident". She had hoped that giving Crane some time and space would calm things down between them. They had been riding on an emotional high when the incident happened so they needed to have cool heads the next time they met. She hoped that 48 plus hours was enough.
She climbed out of her car with the brown bag of donut-holes she had bought on her way here. She hoped her peace-offering would break any residual tension. She could already imagine his childish smirk as he dug into his favorite treat. She smiled as she approached the door. She looked around the cabin, just in case he was working outside or hanging out by the lake. No sign of him. She stood in front of the door, contemplating walking in as per her usual routine but hesitated. Boundaries had been crossed. They had been close to altering their relationship. She couldn't just barge in without reestablishing said broken boundaries. They needed to find the solidarity they had developed as partners.
She hesitated before decidedly knocking on the door. She sighed nervously, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. God, when had she started feeling like a hormonal teenage girl at just the prospect of seeing him again? She tried to stop smiling but couldn't stop.
She waited patiently for a few moments before her smile began to falter. He usually responded to her within a few seconds anytime she needed him to respond; he knew better. She set down the bag and took her gun out of her holster. She used her spare key to open the door. She pushed open the door cautiously and peered inside. There were no signs of a struggle. Everything was in its place.
She stepped inside the cabin with her gun in position. She carefully walked around and looked inside all the rooms. There was no sign of Crane anywhere. She lowered her gun and walked into the bedroom. The usual trinkets he left on his dresser and nightstand weren't there except for his cell phone and charger neatly arranged in the corner, as if on purpose. She frowned. Something didn't feel right.
For some reason, her gut instinct was to look inside his drawers and closet. She swallowed back a growing lump in her throat. The dread building inside of her made her lightheaded. She shakily opened his top drawer. Nothing. It was empty. She slammed it closed and checked the others. All empty.
She breathed in unsteadily as she walked toward the closet. She closed her eyes and ripped the doors open. Empty. All of his things were gone. He had taken everything. No boots, no outdated shirts or pants, no old, musty coat. Her stomach dropped to the floor.
She immediately took out her phone. She dialed Jenny. The instant she answered, she asked if she had seen Crane. Jenny uncertainly said no and asked what was wrong. Abbie, feeling overwhelmed, just shook her head and asked her to let her know the instant she saw Crane. She hung up on her sister and continued to call the list of people she knew had some sort of interaction with Crane. Officers at the precinct, his reenactment friends, his historical society contacts, and basically anybody who would have seen Crane within the past two days. None of them knew anything about him.
Abbie was scared. She was scared for him. What if he was hurt? What if he had been kidnapped? Okay, sure, the possibility of that happening was slim to none. First of all, who in their right mind would kidnap a giant? Secondly, kidnap victims rarely packed for the occasion. So she was stuck contemplating one possibility: he left by his own free will. He had up and done the one thing that she dreaded most in the world. He abandoned her.
She began to shake. She sat down on the couch that had witnessed their almost moment of indiscretion. She suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe. She panicked. She could barely think straight. How could he have left? How could he? She hiccuped violently, her hand covered her mouth, muffling the sound.
Then her police training kicked in.
She took deep controlled breaths trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. She calmed down and rubbed her palms on the seat of the couch. He left. She couldn't believe it but he left. He left her without saying a word, without leaving anything behind. Nothing. No note. No text. No voicemail. Absolutely nothing.
She shook her head. No, he wouldn't, would he? God, how could he? She buried her face in her hands. She squeezed her eyes tight, refusing to let her tears fall. She lost the battle as her body racked with sobs. But just as quickly as the tears came, they stopped. She choked back her sobs as she roughly wiped the moisture from her face. She shook her head determinedly. No, she wasn't going to cry. Not again. She had done enough of that to last her a lifetime. She balled her hands into fists.
Fine. If this was what he wanted, if this was what he needed, then fine. She wouldn't, no, couldn't change that. If this was what he thought she deserved after everything they had gone through, after everything she had sacrificed, then fine. He wasn't the first to leave her, he wouldn't be the last. She hastily stood up. She shook out her hands and breathed in. She was done. She rushed out the door and slammed it behind her.
She was alone.
She looked out across the driveway, the trees, the lake. The serenity of it mocked her. The silence couldn't have been more irritating. She looked down at the abandoned grease-stained bag of donut-holes. She was tempted to leave it behind.
She crouched down and picked up wrinkled, brown bag. "At least one of us isn't being left behind today," she muttered, holding the bag close to her side as she self-assuredly walked to her car, refusing to look behind her. She strangely felt as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Or maybe it was just the way she wished she felt as her insides twisted and turned threatening to burst from her body. She climbed into her car and rested her hands on the steering wheel. She calmly reversed and drove off with the intention of never turning back again. Her life was ahead of her. Nothing was keeping her back. Nobody needed her.
As she drove back to town, she dialed a phone number she rarely ever called. After a few rings, the person on the other line picked up. She cleared her throat and cheerfully replied, "Hey, it's Abbie Mills from Sleepy Hollow. Yeah, I'm good, thanks. No, I just called...I was wondering, is Quantico taking any applications right now?"