A continuation from Episode 8, Novus Ordo Seclorum...

"Abbie," he whispered as he fell to his hands and knees, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of him.

Ichabod stared at the blackened tree in disbelief. There was no sign of her. Not a trace. She had walked into its abruptly open trunk only to have the energy contained within the shard disperse violently as the tree swallowed her whole. Did she survive? He did not know. His wrists gave out beneath him as he fell to his side.

Abbie was gone.

His insides battled within him as he fought back the urge to vomit. He drew in a shuddering breath. She had sacrificed herself. He was too late.

Gaping at the lifeless tree in terror, he searched determinedly for an opening, any sign assuring him that she was unharmed. Nothing. His vision blurred. He blinked furiously as he tried to swallow the knot that had formed in his throat but only managed a nearly inaudible gasp.

Unaware of how much time had passed, he heard a voice call out to him, piercing through the ringing in his ears.

"Crane!"

He slowly turned to the voice, his expression frozen in one of absolute incredulity.

"Crane, we need to get her out of here. Help me get these things off," croaked out Joe, holding his side and wincing in pain, his other hand hovering over the branches restraining Jenny.

He nodded as if in a trance. He turned to look at the tree once more. His mind could not accept the events that had just transpired. Any moment now, Abbie would appear and he would hold her in his arms whispering her name into her hair, laying kisses upon her head, thanking God for returning her to him. He would forbid her from ever recklessly sacrificing herself again. Then he would tell her over and over just how much he loved her, how much he couldn't bear to live without her. He willed these thoughts with all of his heart yet the tree remained deathly still.

As he backed away in dismay, slowly staggering down the stairs in a daze, a thought came to the forefront of his memory: the fate of Paul Revere's young nephew, Jonathon. The energy of the Eye had dispersed with its destructive force and no trace was ever found of him. He had dissipated into nothingness. Revere's forewarning resounded in his memory: Don't let anyone in too close. When you lose them, it'll break you.

His legs gave out beneath him.

Joe looked up at him concerned. Ichabod blinked, taken aback by his sudden weakness. He upbraided himself. This was certainly not the first time he had lost someone, he was only too familiar with the casualties of war and their mission. He must collect his wits, Joe and Jenny needed him.

He sharply inhaled before his breath unexpectedly escaped him in the form of an anguished gasp. He knit his brow. His body's reactions were out of his control. It was as if his ability to recover from hardship had suddenly vanished.

Closing his eyes to gain a sense of composure, he held out a reassuring hand to Joe. "I'm fine. Tis fine," he mumbled absent-mindedly, striving to push himself up.

His friends needed him. He needed to…, his thoughts muddled together as everything spun around him. He struggled to stand, his legs too weak to bear his weight. He reached out to the cave wall for support as he slid down it, falling once again. This time his mind and body stilled.

It was near impossible to draw breath. The truth stood in front of him yet he refused to acknowledge it. She could not be dead. Not her. Not his partner, his friend, the woman he loved. Abbie Mills, the strongest person he had ever known, whose very soul was intended for him, whose destiny was entwined with his since the beginning of time, could not be gone. He rubbed his hand over his face as a moan of pain escaped his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cupped his hand over his mouth, his blood pounded in his ears.

He whispered, muffling his implorations, "No, no, no..."

Not his Abbie Mills. Their future was foretold. She could not be so callously taken. Their mission was not over. She must be at his side and he at hers until death came to claim them both.

His eyes pricked with an unwelcome heat. Come what may. If he had known what was to await them, he would have never agreed to it. He had led her to slaughter once again, only this time, he'd completed the task.

Tears streamed silently down his face as he hugged his other arm across his middle. Pain emanated from his chest and spread throughout his body. He felt empty as he shuddered in agony. A firm hand shook his shoulder.

"Crane, we need to go. Come on, man."

He kept his eyes closed as he shook his head silently. He did not care that he was conducting himself as an obstinate child would. The anguish deriving from what remained of his heart was too much to bear.

"Crane, hey. Hey, I need you to look at me, man. Crane," firmly coaxed Corbin, shaking his shoulders.

Ichabod peered up at him as he choked back sobs. He gazed into his fellow soldier's face and the nearly nonexistent pride within him set a bridle upon his urge to weep aloud. He could not allow himself to break. Not here. Not in front of him. Not just yet.

Joe widened his eyes, attempting to get through to him. "Listen to me, we have to go. They might come back and we need to get Jenny out of here. Come on, I need your help," he insisted.

Ichabod blinked at him through his tears. He could see it in his eyes; the fear. Although Master Corbin was familiar with the atrocities of war, he was unfamiliar with the unexpected, swift cruelty their supernatural mission brought. Hence, the fear. Nevertheless, he could perceive his soldier's resolve, that strength to endure, cast aside his fear for the sake of the needs of others. Ichabod understood that resolve. It was what had allowed him to endure the sheer terror of awaking to this time. It was what he needed to summon to survive this tragedy.

He swallowed his sobs and nodded firmly. Joe helped him up, steadying him into a standing position. Once steady, Ichabod waved him off. He must find his strength. He still had a mission to complete. Damn his crippling emotions. Damn his broken heart.

They warily began walking down the remaining steps. He stumbled on the rubble but Corbin was there to steady him. As they reached the last step, Ichabod tasted something sour in his mouth. His insides were too weak to contain anything in his stomach. He staggered forward and ran to the nearest cave wall. He rest his hand on its rocky surface as he expelled the contents of his stomach out his mouth.

Once his stomach had emptied, he continued gagging as his thoughts turned to the painful truth he could not accept; he was alone. It was not the same feeling as when Katrina and Henry had died. It was not as when he had left for nine months. It was unlike any of it.

The numbness, pity, and guilt that surrounded his wife and son's death were nowhere in sight. This time he felt every bit of pain and loss. Nothing was numb, there was no pity, and the guilt drowned him. He was fully aware of his torture. The tears from his eyes would not cease from falling. They mixed with the puddle of vomit and dirt on the floor.

After a few moments, he found his resolve once again. He roughly wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking wrist. Hastily rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he stumbled toward Joe and Jenny. He sniffed at the mucus running from his nose, wiping the rest away with his arm. He winced as the pain from his bruised ribs reminded him to keep his arm protectively at his side. He knit his brow and squinted through his tear swollen eyes at the motionless Miss Jenny. He must do as he was told. He must take care of her.

He began mindlessly tearing at the branches still restraining her arms and legs. Once she was free, he and Corbin maneuvered her unconscious body between them holding her arms over their shoulders and standing her up with their arms around her waist. They gathered what was left of their gear and carried her out of the lair. Her feet dragged as they slowly winced their way to Abbie's vehicle and gently laid her in the backseat.

Once she was secured in the seat, Ichabod turned back in the direction of the lair. They couldn't leave without her.

"I must return..." he mumbled, walking toward the trees, his mind too far gone to make sense of his actions.

Corbin shut the doors of Abbie's car and called after him, "Crane, we need to go. Those explosions were probably heard across town. The cops are going to show up any minute."

Ichabod paused and turned his head slightly. Logic tried to reason with him. Master Corbin was right. They mustn't be there when the authorities arrived. Too many questions and not enough answers. Yet, the remnants of his heart and soul pleaded with him to return. To wait. To hope.

He took a deep breath and blinked slowly. He wanted to listen to reason but his thoughts were too turbid for him to think clearly. "I-I cannot leave her behind," he said decidedly before resuming his path.

A police siren could be heard in the distance.

Losing patience, Corbin raised his voice, "Crane, we can't…she…Abbie's gone. We need to get the hell out of here."

He disregarded his admonition as he continued walking toward the trees. "She cannot be...she is not..," he muttered, adamantly denying the truth. She could reappear. She could still be alive. They could not leave.

"Crane," shouted Joe edgily.

Ichabod clenched his hands into fists. The rage building inside of him became too much to contain. Why couldn't he understand that they could not leave?How could he be so stupid, he thought angrily. He fists shook as he could no longer restrain his fury.

"I will not leave her behind!" he bellowed furiously, sharply turning to glare at him, the echo of his shout reverberating throughout the trees. He clenched his jaw and took in a shuttering breath. His shoulders heaved. His eyes wild, he stared Corbin down. He must have appeared to be a raving mad man with his clothes and hair in disarray, red-rimmed eyes, vomit on his boots, and dust covering his clothing.

Then as quickly as his anger came, it disappeared. He was suddenly overcome with sadness and denial. The knot in his throat threatened to unravel into cries of anguish. He swallowed thickly and held up his finger with his eyes wide, his chin trembling and chest heaving.

"I will not leave her behind," he choked out softly, a tear escaping his eye.

Joe blinked at him in apprehension. He licked his lips nervously and slowly raised his hands in surrender. "Alright. We'll go back then. I'll be right behind you."

Crane nodded and turned to walk back to the lair, ready to wait by the tree in hopes that it would open once more either to return her to him or to swallow him into its depths.

Suddenly, Joe's arm was around his neck and he couldn't breathe. He choked out a whimper of surprise. He clawed at his arm as he fell to his knees. His body jerked in an attempt to escape. His lungs burned. Everything was fading into black. He heard a muffled, "I'm sorry, Crane. We can't go back."

One last image appeared before him of Abbie's sorrowful eyes, searing her pain into his soul. Then the world faded into nothingness.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hours later, Ichabod awoke to find himself buckled in the front seat of Abbie's car. For a moment, he thought he had dozed off on one of the many road trips he and Abbie had taken. He winced as he felt a sharp pain in his ribs. He grimaced at the putrid taste in his mouth. He groaned. No, this was no road trip.

He closed his eyes and rested his pounding head against the seat. He sighed in defeat. Abbie was gone. He was alone. His chest ached. It was difficult to swallow. As much as he desired to disappear from existence, he couldn't stay there forever. Reluctantly, he squeezed his eyelids closed once more before opening his stinging eyes to his darkened surroundings. It was the middle of the night and he was outside the cabin that was once his dwelling.

He grunted as he hastily unbuckled himself and shoved the car door open. He stumbled out, his legs too weak to support his full standing weight. He fell to his hands and knees. He breathed unsteadily. What was the point in continuing? His sense of hopelessness nearly overtook him but then a sudden realization came over him: Corbin choked him unconscious. He made him leave her behind. His breath became shallow. He looked up at the cabin, a single light glowed from within the window. He glared. He wasn't certain why he was enraged, he solely knew that Corbin was going to experience his full wrath.

He staggered to his feet and made his way to the cabin door. He threw it open, wildly scanning the inside of the cabin with his bloodshot eyes. Joe looked up at him startled. He had just come from the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, a medical kit in hand. Crane narrowed his eyes and crossed the room in a few angry strides. Corbin dropped the bag and held up his arms protectively.

He began hastily explaining, "Crane, I had to do it. I..."

Ichabod angrily grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and violently shoved him against the door, ignoring the shooting pain in his side. Joe laid his hands over Ichabod's clenched fists as his body loudly struck against the door.

"How dare you?!" he shouted, his voice breaking. Joe's chest heaved as he looked up at him in surprise. Logic tried to reason with Ichabod. It was not Joe's fault. Yet he paid no heed to his rationality as he shakily drew in a breath. His need to blame someone was too strong to resist.

"How dare you?!" he repeated, tears filling his eyes, as he shoved him against the door again.

Joe's Adam's apple bobbed uneasily, "I had to get you out of there. If the cops would have seen us..."

"Abbie!" he cried out, tears rolling down his cheeks as he struggled to take in a breath. "You abandoned her!"

Joe sadly gazed at him. He shook his head gently, his chest still heaving, "She's gone, Crane. There was nothing left," he stated bluntly.

Ichabod's rage grew. "No!" he roared, shoving him violently away from him, releasing his grip on his shirt. He did not want to hear those words. He refused to accept it.

Joe stumbled back into the door once again. After a moment, he caught his breath and blinked at him desolately. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

"She couldn't have survived that blast and you know it," he panted quietly.

Ichabod shook his head in denial, roughly wiping the tears from his face. "She..." he whimpered. "She cannot be dead."

Corbin sighed. He looked up at him, attempting to explain, "Trust me, I know that's what you want to believe. Hell, with all the weird shit that goes on with you guys, it would make sense. But you saw what happened. She's gone. Abbie's gone, Crane."

Ichabod backed away and waved his hand dismissively, refusing to continue to listen to him. "No, no. We...we are not finished. Our mission is incomplete," he rationalized through clenched teeth.

Joe looked at him sympathetically. He sighed as his eyes filled with tears. "I know. I know, man. I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking.

Ichabod widened his watery eyes and raised a trembling finger up. "No," he whimpered. "She is not dead. She is NOT dead."

Tears fell from Joe's eyes. "I'm so sorry," he breathed sadly.

"No!" shouted Ichabod.

He took in a sharp, painful breath and cupped his hand over his mouth. The room spun. He stumbled out the door and down the steps. Memories of her filled his mind. Her smile, her laughter, her intense gaze, her stoic presence, her embraces, the way she would say his name. All of it was no more.

A frantic energy burst from inside him. He stumbled toward the edge of the lake. He tripped and fell to his knees. Too weak to rise, he dug his fingers into the soil, clenching fistfuls of it in his shaking hands. He squeezed his eyes closed. A feeling deep in his stomach worked itself up his body until it reached his throat. He growled and let out a painful, broken howl. He moaned until his throat was raw. When it became too painful to make another sound, he fell to his side, trembling.

His worst fear had come true. Grace Abigail Mills was dead.

What the hell?

Abbie's eyelashes fluttered in disbelief, taking in her familiar surroundings.

Literally, two seconds ago she was walking into a tree with her hands full of glowing shard, moments from going nuclear, and now she was stumbling through the doorway of her house.

She looked behind her. Nothing but blue skies, birds chirping, and cheery neighborhood noises in the background. She slowly walked backwards through the doorway again. Was she dreaming? Could this all be a dream? Doubt filled her mind as she heard the sound of her boots hitting her very ordinary, very real porch. A cool breeze caressed her skin. No, this felt too real. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. How was this even possible?

She warily walked back into her house, closing the door behind her. Everything was clean and tidy, basically the same as she'd left it this morning with a few additions here and there yet something was off. She looked down. Different outfit. Different shoes but she was still herself. Except...what the hell was that?

A gold band gleamed on her ring finger. She brought it closer to her face to inspect. She blinked at it before hastily trying to remove it. It took a few good tugs before it came off, leaving behind a thin pale line as if she'd been wearing it for a while.

She held the ring carefully, rotating it in her fingers. How could she have been wearing it long enough to leave a tan line if this was the first time she'd seen it? A strange symbol was etched into the inside of it. Her nose crinkled as she tried to make out the design.

"Abbie?"

She hastily pocketed the ring intending to study the symbol later. She looked up with an unassuming expression on her face. Her brow crinkled in bewilderment. "Crane?"

This was not the Crane she had left standing in frozen disbelief moments ago. This Crane had a strange goatee and shorter hair. And was that a cardigan and slacks? He smirked and gave her a look as if he intended to devour her whole. She frowned. Yes, this was definitely not the same person she left behind. She narrowed her eyes distrustfully while he raised his eyebrow.

"Oh, are we...? Well then, beg pardon, 'Lieutenant'," he rumbled, her former title rolling off his tongue seductively.

He slowly stalked toward her, the echo of his shoes setting her nerves on edge. She could tell by his determined walk, he knew exactly what he wanted. Realization came over her and her body tensed. Goosebumps crawled up her arms and neck. She drew in a shuddering breath. His intense blue eyes raked over her unashamedly, his gaze pausing at her ample chest. He licked his bottom lip before catching it between his teeth as he stared. Her eyes widened. She felt a sudden urge to modestly pinch the collar of her shirt together. This was...wrong? Or was it right? Okay, better said, she wasn't sure. What she did know for sure was that this man was not the Crane she knew.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he stood toe to toe with her giving her an unfamiliar, positively sinful look of pure desire. He aggressively pulled her toward him with one arm before she could react. She grunted as she slammed into his very firm and surprisingly strong body. He hummed as his eyelids fluttered closed and he leaned in for a kiss.

"Mmm, Lieutenant..."

"Oh! Woah! Hey now," she exclaimed, snapping out of her daze in the nick of time, smashing his lips with the palm of her hand, ducking out of his arms.

Her world, everything, she knew was gone. This wasn't Crane. This wasn't her home. She needed to assert some sort of self-control, as difficult as it was proving to be. Her priority needed to be to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Mmff...," he grumbled against her small hand as she placed some distance between them, reluctantly releasing her from his hold.

Abbie furrowed her brow and blinked at him. Her chest heaved as she held up a finger at him, her other hand on the doorknob behind her. Judging by the smolder on this Crane's face, she may actually need to rely on her sprinting ability or close quarter combat skills to get him to calm the hell down.

"Mmm, you want to play rough then?" he purred, stalking once again toward her.

Her eyes widened. "The hell…?" she whispered under her breath. This Crane could not take a clue. Before he could lay his hands on her, she maneuvered herself around him, grabbing one arm and twisting the other behind his back, immobilizing him. She shoved him against the door, his body roughly thudding against it, hers pressing him still.

"Ouch, okay. I...I'm unfamiliar with this one," he mumbled confused but with a hint of delight. "What role playing activity is this?"

She knit her brow as she kept a firm hold of him against the door. "Role playing? What the hell are you talking about?" she asked bewildered.

"Your jacket? Boots? I have not had the pleasure of seeing you in that tempting attire in years," he said breathlessly, glancing down at her through the side of his eye. He grinned.

"Years?" she questioned. What did he mean years?

He grunted uncomfortably. "As much as I would love to continue this, dearest, I'm afraid I must ask you to release me. These types of activities are more suitable behind our bedroom door and perhaps not in broad daylight."

Her mouth dropped open. He thought she was putting the moves on him. Appalled, she attempted to explain, "I'm not…"

Crane raised his eyebrows, and glanced down at her body pressing against his back. She quickly released him and placed enough space between them that if he tried that again she could knock his ass down. She brushed at her shirt and eyed him distrustfully, trying to gain some composure.

He pushed away from the door and rubbed his arm. He playfully smiled at her. When she didn't return the smile, his face fell slightly. "Are you feeling well, my love?"

She raised her eyebrows incredulously. "My what now?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Love?"

Scoffing, she looked him up and down. Yeah, no way in hell would she ever let her Crane ever call her that, she'd never allow herself to be called by a recycled pet name. This was definitely not her world.

"Pfft, what's going on here?" she demanded, ignoring her need to correct him.

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her unsurely, baffled by her demeanor. "Is there something the matter?" he asked cautiously.

She widened her eyes and sarcastically replied, "Yeah, you could say that."

Panic filled his eyes. He seemed to go through a list of possible things that could be bothering her. He carefully asked, "To what do you refer?"

She blinked at him and tilted her head. "To what do I refer? Mmm, let's see, how 'bout everything," she retorted. She looked around the house disconcertedly. "Where are we? When are we?"

Crane looked out of sorts. He did not know how to respond to her unexpected questions. He simply replied, "I do not understand."

Abbie laughed incredulously. Of course he didn't understand. This man, whom she assumed she was married to, had no idea what was going on. For all he knew, this was reality, not some alternate time portal thing. She closed her eyes and shook her head, grinning disbelievingly.

"This...this is all wrong. You are not you and this is not real. It can't be real," she muttered to herself, opening her eyes to look at him, motioning toward him with open hands.

He looked at her questioningly. She lowered her hands to her sides and avoided eye contact with him. She looked around the house again.

"What is this? Some kind of Grimoire thing again?"

"Grimoire?"

"Was the tree a weird time traveling portal or something?"

"Tree? No, there is no tree or Grimoire."

"Then what is this?"

He sadly blinked at her, hurt in his eyes. He sharply inhaled before hesitantly explained, "This is...this is our home. Our life."

Abbie studied him. This Crane was fully acculturated to the time. He was just as handsome as ever, a few strands of silver hair shimmered near his temples. His full beard trimmed to a goatee that gave him a scholarly look. A gold ring rested on his finger, similar to the one now hidden in her pocket. And his eyes, those eyes were filled with evident, unconditional love all directed at her. She looked around their home. It was full of memories she had not yet made. Happy memories, fond memories with him, her husband. She sighed and closed her eyes. This was definitely not her Crane.

She looked up at him warily and muttered, "Yeah, this sure as hell isn't my life."

"Abbie..."

"Stop," she grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut and holding up her hand. She couldn't bear to hear him call her that. He only used her name when things got serious, when it was life or death. Frankly, she wasn't sure what this was and she didn't want to hear it.

She muttered, "Just don't."

"Please, my love..."

Those words again. Anger bubbled inside her. That pet name was getting on her last nerve. She hated it. She hated how it came from his lips. She hated how it was directed toward her. She hated how it reminded her of all that time when she was second best, when her entire life revolved around that woman that so callously betrayed her own husband without a second thought. Everything she had sacrificed and risked had all been for naught because of that woman's selfishness and cruelty.

"You need to stop calling me that," she said edgily, opening her eyes to the floor. She looked up to glare at him.

Suddenly, flashes of her last moments flickered in the back of her mind. Jenny. Ichabod. Joe. The story of Paul Revere's nephew. It all came rushing back. Her last moments before entering the tree. Jenny possessed. The shard. Sacrificing herself for her sister. Realization hit her. Of course she didn't travel through time. She couldn't have. None of this was real. She looked up at him.

"I'm dead," she whispered.

"Pardon?"

She nodded determinedly. "I'm dead," she repeated flatly.

"You most assuredly are not."

"I am. The shard exploded in my hands. I couldn't have survived that. So where am I? Purgatory? Hell? Or is this supposed to be some messed up kind of heaven?"

Crane frowned at her. He stared at her in concern before asking, "Have you taken your medication today?"

"My medication?"

"For your…anxiety."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she scoffed, feeling offended that he was dismissing her current state as a result of her apparent poor mental health. She was perfectly fine. She didn't need medication.

Suddenly, a tiny voice came from the foot of the stairs behind her. "Papa?"

Abbie turned around to look at the small person wearing a purple tutu over her jeans and t-shirt, clinging to a floppy eared stuffed bunny. Her heart leapt in her chest. She had never seen such a beautiful child. She was four or five years old. Her dark curls were gathered into a tight little bun on the top of her head, escaped wisps of hair tickled her cheeks. Her brown skin glowed. Her blue eyes sparkled curiously. Her perfectly full lips pouted much like hers did when lost in thought. The little girl bit her lip and furrowed her brow at her.

"Jennifer, wait in your room," ordered Crane firmly.

The little girl studied Abbie. "What's wrong with mama?" she asked quietly.

Abbie gasped. Did she just…? No, this couldn't be happening. She was dead. She died. She couldn't be a…mother?

"Woah, wha…?" breathed Abbie, looking at her then at Crane in bewilderment.

They had a daughter? When did this happen? How could they have brought a child into this world knowing the dangers that threatened their lives? How could they even dare? And how could she not know about her? This was all wrong. What kind of afterlife was this? The Maury Povich edition?

"What the hell is going on here?" she demanded in frustration, turning to raise her voice at him.

The little girl looked at her in surprise but then smirked. She looked up at Crane.

"Mama said a bad word," she said playfully, hiding her face behind her stuffed bunny's head.

Crane raised his eyebrow reproachfully at her as if expecting her to understand the expectations of their behavior around the little girl. He directed his attention to the tiny person. "Jennifer Mills Crane, to your room at once," he ordered her, pointing up the stairs.

The little girl huffed and flipped her non-existent hair out of her face. Good Lord, she looked exactly like her father. All that was missing was that damn finger in the face routine. Crane widened his eyes at her. The little girl, understanding his silent reprimanding, pouted.

Reluctantly, she replied, "Yes, sir."

She slowly made her way back up the stairs, occasionally glancing back to look at Abbie. When she caught one of Crane's firm, humorless looks, she ran up the rest of the stairs, her tiny stomps echoing throughout the house.

Abbie couldn't catch her breath. How could she have a daughter? And she named her after Jenny? She closed her eyes and shook her head. She couldn't be a wife and mother. Wasn't she supposed to be resting in peace? What kind of cruel joke was this?

"Who was that?" she asked, opening her eyes to stare up the stairwell, hoping yet dreading to catch another glimpse of her.

Crane looked at her grimly. "You are not well."

"Who was that?" demanded Abbie impatiently, turning to him.

He sighed, the sadness in his eyes never leaving. He took a few steps toward her. Abbie's nerves were too frayed for her to care. When he was within reach of her, he reached out hesitantly and rubbed her shoulders. He smiled. "Our daughter, Jennifer. Do you not recognize your own daughter?"

She scoffed, "I think I'd know if I had a kid. That...she's not mine. And we don't have kids."

She wiggled out of his grasp, folding her arms protectively in front of her. As beautiful as that child was, she was not hers. As wonderful as it may be to imagine having a child with Crane, it was not possible. There had to be some baby making involved to make babies. As far as she knew, there was definitely none of that going on nor had there ever been. She would have definitely remembered that.

He frowned at her indifference. "Something is wrong."

"Oh, you think?" she guffawed sarcastically.

He narrowed his eyes in irritation. He sighed and calmly asked, "What is your last memory?"

She looked at him nonplussed. "What difference does it make? I'm dead! Or at least I should be," she bit out, ditching any effort to pretend to be okay with the current situation.

The muscle in his jaw tightened. She had pushed one of his buttons. He didn't like her unfriendliness or appreciate her attitude. She could tell but, frankly, she couldn't care less. She wanted an explanation. Or a one way ticket home. Something, anything that made a lick of sense.

"You must tell me what you last remember," he reiterated, looking at her completely serious.

She raised her eyebrow. "First, you tell me where I am," she countered challengingly.

He plainly stated, "This is our home."

She smiled sarcastically. "Yeah? I don't think so. Where is this?" she asked again, distrustfully stepping away from him.

He huffed impatiently. "Abigail, this is our home. Now, tell me what you last remember," he demanded, his voice getting harsher by the moment.

Abbie could sense that he was beginning to lose his temper. He rarely lost his temper but on the occasions that he did, she knew how to handle herself. She glared at him. She didn't have time for arguments. She wanted answers. If answering his stupid question would get him to answer her, then so be it. She rolled her eyes dispassionately.

"Alright, fine. We were in Pandora's lair. I had the shard, pieces of it, in my hands. The tree opened up. I walked toward it. And seconds later... I'm here, wherever the hell 'here' is," she explained peevishly.

He knit his brow in concern. "That is not...," he began but decided to pause. He looked at her before decidedly saying, "We must call Joe."

She didn't understand what Joe had to do with anything. "Joe? Hang on, where's Jenny?" she asked, suddenly realizing that if there was anybody in the world who would understand her, it was Jenny.

He gazed down at her with a pained expression. She stared back at him warily. Something had happened to Jenny. She could feel it.

"Where's my sister?" she asked again, approaching him slowly.

He looked away. "You don't...you don't remember," he pointed out, his eyes filled with sadness.

She continued walking toward him suspiciously. "Remember what?" she asked quietly.

"We must call Joe..."

She walked up to him and pushed her tiny finger in his chest. He looked at her taken aback by her actions.

"Crane or whoever the hell you are, you're gonna tell me what's going on or we're going to have a bigger problem than me not remembering anything," she warned, lightly pushing him with her finger. He nodded silently.

He took a deep breath before cautiously explaining, "Miss...Jenny, we...the shard did not function. We were too late."

The air left her lungs. "What?" she gasped, knowing fully well what the next statement was going to be but desperately hoping she was wrong.

"Jenny is dead. She has been for many years now."

Oh my! Right? Update out of nowhere! :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Man, this was fun to write! Kind of long but I'm kind of excited to see where this is going to go. The idea kind of came out of nowhere. There was just so much angst coming from Crane I needed to balance it out and put Abbie in a super strange situation.

So, what do you think? Where is Abbie? What's Crane going to do next? What do you think of the hiatus so far?

Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to write reviews and read my story. I truly appreciate you!

Your humble writer,

semul