Whistling a lively ditty, Ichabod strolled into the house with a bag of freshly baked croissants from the local bakery in one hand and a single, red rose carefully plucked from his flourishing rose garden in the other. His chest was full of emotion. He'd awoken that day with a smile upon his lips and his heart brimming with joy, as he had every morn upon Abbie's return.

She'd filled his life with her beauty and splendor all these years and, now, she was his and he was hers. Their destinies were fully entwined. He knew her heart and she knew his. There were no lies. No betrayals. No more fences. They'd bared their very souls to one another. What once was shrouded in mystery was now theirs to explore and their bond was ever stronger for it.

With her, he'd realized that love truly was a gift, a rare honor bestowed upon him. It had required two centuries for this understanding to find him but it had hit its mark with such precision, it would be a mortal sin to waste such a providential opportunity.

Life was unpredictable, even more so for a Witness. Each day was a blessing and to spend it alongside the person he'd come to trust and admire most was a greater gift than what he could have ever hoped to deserve. He finally understood what real love was supposed to feel like and with whom he was meant to share it.

Though she continued to face the demons that had wounded her soul, they'd found strength in each other to overcome the worst of it. It was as if their love was a well of power they drew strength from to conquer challenges along their path. It was fierce. It was strong. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Of course, he'd been in love and married in the past but it paled in comparison to what he'd realized by Abbie's side.

Upon courting her, or as she would say "going out", – an expression that made no sense given that they'd gone several places together all these years – his sense of purpose was clearer than ever. In return, their courtship was the crucial connection she needed to finally reveal her soul to him. She allowed him to share in her burdens and he received her candor as he would any privilege; with great caution and care. He provided any means of support she desired. Though, at times, it appeared that Abbie coped with her personal tribulations better when she sought out a physical release: a simultaneous blessing and curse.

It oft commenced rather innocently enough. A caress here, a brush of her lips there, a throaty sigh, then it wasn't long before his fingers were buried in her delectable arse – referring to it as a double jug was simply blasphemous – and her fingers were pulling at his hair sending delicious tingling throughout his body. In those feverish moments, he could not have his fill of her addictive taste. Her soft lips, her breath, her sinfully skillful tongue, a truly dizzying taste inspiring him lose all mental faculty. 'Twas as if he'd been given but a small taste of a heavenly nectar and his entire being thirsted for more.

It could indeed be said that Abbie was gifted in the art of caresses. It was under her tutelage that he finally understood what 'macking on a lady' truly meant and, dear God, was it ever so extraordinary. Regret twisted his insides at the thought of the wasted years he'd restrained himself from reveling in her caresses. Had he any sense, he would have lost himself in wild abandon the instant she'd offered him a taste of her lips. Every time they kissed, it was all he could do to stop himself from falling upon his knees and beseech her to never share her taste with any other man. As the song recommended, he was more than willing to 'put a ring on it'.

However, in accordance to modern societal expectations, marriage was not a necessary prerequisite to physical intimacy. Abbie was a firm believer in this ideal. Nevertheless, his mind could only compensate his sinful thoughts of her with an intention of marriage. Though, his actions were beginning to exhibit a great disregard for even this simple show of propriety. It was becoming nearly impossible to subdue his urges to physically demonstrate his adoration for her as was evidenced during their last chess match.

That night, an insatiable yearning had possessed him. An urgent need to feel her lips upon his and her warmth against his body had overtaken his senses. Though that aborted mission had resulted in a very painful – lonely – journey back to his room, it had awakened a passion inside of him he'd never known.

He was no stranger to physical urges but this sensation was shaded with a need he hadn't endured since the beginning of his adolescence. It was fervent, heated, and near impossible to restrain. He desired her desperately, any way he could. This was evident by the mortifying number of times he needed to achieve an aching, unsatisfying release throughout the day.

Nonetheless, he understood and respected her need for patience and comprehension. She'd suffered a trauma no one could possibly fathom. And so his heart had only grown with love. The lust he felt was merely a resulting condition of his true feelings. Through her affections and sincerity, she had swiftly found her way deeper within his soul, a feat he'd never thought possible.

Yet, upon entering the dining room that morning, he promptly realized she was presently not in the same mindset as he.

Abbie was upset. She barely acknowledged his presence whilst she glared at the empty bowl in front of her. Unsure as to what had provoked her mood, he hastily hid the small gifts behind his back.

As he studied her infuriated form sitting at the table with her tight jeans and low cut shirt, an unexpected desperation slithered its way throughout his body. He mentally reprimanded himself for his improper reactions. Ichabod, calm yourself. His inappropriate thoughts were unbecoming of a gentleman. He needed to attain a sense of restraint, decorum. This was not a time to release any repressed desires.

Suppressing an onslaught of untimely thoughts and sensations, he cleared his throat and walked toward her slowly. "Abbie?" He knit his brow when she refused to look at him. "Are you alright?"

She sucked in her cheeks, continuing to refuse him eye contact, and raised an eyebrow. "Fine."

Doubtful of her assertion, he cautiously asked, "Are you…sure?" He slowly approached the table.

She gave him an unimpressed look, relaying her irritation.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, gently setting down the paper bag and crimson flower on the table. She glanced at the items quietly, a flash of remorse in her eyes before she inhaled deeply, continuing in her silent rage. She was withholding something from him, again. He resigned himself to the tense situation and pulled out the chair beside her, flipping his coattail as he sat.

By now, he'd become accustomed to awaiting her acquiescence in sharing her insecurities. It would require a few moments of denial, perhaps a few more moments of deflection, before she would eventually share with him. It was her way and he respected it so as long as she would share and not maintain her frustration hidden or suppressed for too long.

Resting his folded hands on the table, he gave her a patient look. He would wait as long as it took to convince her to share in her burden.

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what he was doing. She could deny and deflect as much as she wanted but she'd eventually reveal it to him. She narrowed her eyes in annoyance and turned slightly to give him a questioning look, wordlessly inquiring as to what he was attempting to do.

He shrugged his shoulder indifferently. "I have no pressing engagements, Lieutenant. Though, I must admit, I had hoped by this point in our relationship, you would not hesitate to share in your frustrations with me. Please, believe me when I say, I am here to bear in your burden, Abbie."

She looked up at the ceiling, maintaining her silent fury. He continued waiting patiently. After a few moments of tense silence, she finally broke.

"I'm mad."

He blinked at her until she reluctantly expressed the level of anger she was withholding.

"Alright, I'm pissed."

Ichabod nodded slowly. He could perceive the frustration directed at him. He strived to see her happy. She had lived enough of her life in fear and anger, he never intended to inspire more distrust in her life. Yet, it appeared that his intentions were all for naught.

He swallowed nervously, hoping his fears would fail to transpire. "And might I inquire as to why you are feeling...peeved?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes toward him. He blinked at her in concern but she looked away before he could detect anything in her eyes. Fortunately, he needn't catch her gaze to understand that she felt uncomfortable. It was as if she herself was struggling to make sense of the emotions warring within her.

"It just doesn't make sense," she finally said quietly.

"What doesn't make sense?"

She shook her head and blinked in exasperation. "This. Me. Us. It's been months and I'm still…"

"Upset?"

She widened her eyes in affirmation.

Ichabod panicked. He racked his brain shifting through every moment he'd spent with her in the past six months trying to find a single moment that could have possibly upset her. There were several possible instances he could think of but he wasn't prepared to go through an entire list just to remind her of said moments. His heart hammered against his chest hoping it wasn't something too offending.

He cleared his throat and carefully continued. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I'm not entirely certain as to what is responsible for provoking your ire."

She stoically stared at him as if doubtful of his understanding. After a moment, she leaned forward, resting her folded hands on the table. He straightened his back uneasily.

She studied his eyes as if searching for a sign of something as one word passed through her lips. "Zoe."

His mind went blank. "Zoe?" he repeated quizzically.

His mind drew blanks. The nonsensical word bounced around in his head as he struggled to find any meaning to it. The fear clenching at his heart and guilt in his stomach made it impossible to make any connection to the name she'd uttered with a trace of hurt in her voice. His mind could only process the fact that a single name was capable of evoking pain in her.

She stared at him expectantly. His eyes shifted as he furiously worked past his panic to find familiarity to the cursed name she'd uttered.

After a bout of silence, she huffed, annoyed at his sudden memory loss.

"Miss Corinth, your...'tutor'," she emphasized, widening her eyes and looking away as if reluctant to use that particular word to describe her.

He closed his eyes in recognition. Miss Corinth. He hadn't thought of her in months, not since the incident with the Kindred.

He put an end to her advances that very day, something he'd overlooked the moment he and Abbie began their relationship. He'd lost himself in such a state of euphoria, he'd completely overlooked bringing closure to that brief acquaintance.

The young historian meant no more to him than a potentially beneficial acquaintance. Of course, she was an enchanting young woman but – to use an accurate term modern romance films used to describe a lack of attraction between two characters – the charming Zoe Corinth was not 'his type'. His interest in her lied solely within the realm of self-interest: he solely wanted to use her connections to aid him in attaining his citizenship.

Now that he managed to obtain his citizenship by his own merit, he realized he had acted cruelly and selfishly in allowing Miss Corinth to entertain the possibility of something more than a friendship with him. It was not something he deemed boast worthy, therefore, he had intentionally put it out of his mind. Thus, explaining his brief moment of forgetfulness.

Yet, he continued in his uncertainty as to why Abbie held a grievance in regard to that unfortunate liaison. She had appeared encouraging of their brief relationship. Unless...he thought cautiously, perhaps she had been more affected by their short-lived relationship than what she'd admitted to him. Considering her ability to withhold her emotions, it was a very real possibility.

He silently nodded as he proceeded with caution, careful to not reveal his uncertainty, "Of course, Miss Corinth, Zoe."

He folded his hands on the table, awaiting her explanation, not wanting to immerse himself in his assumptions yet unwilling to reveal his ignorance.

"Really?" She looked at him in disbelief after a moment of silence.

Abbie had seen right through his façade. He nervously shifted in his seat, resting his now fidgety hands in his lap. He licked his lips and glanced at her uneasily. He could perceive by Abbie's incredulous tone that he'd forgotten something worthy of note. He continued carefully.

"As I've assured you in the past, there is nothing between Miss Corinth and myself. We are both members of the same historical society. It is unavoidable that I may see her occasionally but it is solely on cordial terms, nothing more."

He hoped his explanation was enough to remove any doubt from her mind. He swallowed back the knot forming in his throat and gazed at her with the most innocent expression he could muster.

She remained unconvinced. She nodded, pursing her lips.

"Nothing?" She tilted her head, preparing herself to reveal the reason behind her sudden displeasure. "I'm not sure how there could be nothing after catching the two of you making out on my dining room table. Or did that slip your big, eidetic mind?"

His face dropped. Yes, that had happened, hadn't it? And she had borne witness to that moment of weakness. It was shameful to imagine what Abbie must have felt at witnessing it.

In his mind, it was insignificant in the grand scheme of things considering that he'd failed to remember it. The kiss had been mediocre, at best. He'd learned nothing from it and had quickly overlooked its significance. He held no residual feelings toward Miss Corinth and she had assured him that there were none on her part. What could have been never was and never shall be.

He was uncertain as to why the memory of this unfortunate event had surfaced. It had occurred long ago and he'd assumed that Abbie had forgiven him given the conversation they'd had immediately following the incident. Apparently not, he thought anxiously. He inhaled sharply and carefully treaded forward.

"No, I…I did not forget that unfortunate moment. It was a most reprehensible display of indecorous behavior on my part and I should have never indulged her flirtatious advances. It was a regrettable mistake and it was never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable in your own home."

He searched her eyes hoping she would accept his admission of guilt. She looked away. It appeared his actions were not going to be so easily excused.

"That doesn't change the fact that it happened, Ichabod," she said quietly, glancing up at him.

He could see the hurt in her big, brown eyes. He felt a bitter blow to his heart. Though that insignificant kiss meant nothing to him, it had meant something to her, enough to cause her anguish. In turn, it caused him to feel anguish as well.

He gazed at her, desperately wanting her to feel his remorse. He reached a hand toward her, a futile attempt to comfort her. "Abbie, I…"

She blinked at his extended hand and quickly became uncomfortable with the confrontation. She stood abruptly, gathering her bowl and glass, and made her way to the kitchen without another word.

Ichabod sighed, retracting his hand, his heart throbbing in pain. He woefully stared at the forgotten bag of pastries and slowly wilting rose. He closed his eyes in shame, wanting the earth to open up and swallow him whole. He'd allowed himself to live in a moment of obliviousness, presuming perfection. He'd claimed their relationship was based on honesty, that they had discovered a flawless love in each other.

He had but she hadn't.

He hurt her. Though, the kiss had occurred before the start of their relationship, it had caused her pain. He should have perceived it in her eyes the moment it had occurred. If he had been more perceptive, he would have seen the strain it had placed on their bond before she had gone missing. He should have sensed it in how she pulled away from him the days following the incident, in how she'd been quick to sacrifice herself to save them all.

Abbie, the one who would always remind him that there was always another way, had decided there was no other way but to suffer through months of torture to save them. She'd felt betrayed. He had blindsided her with that tactless kiss. After rejecting her all those months ago, how could she not have been? How could she have found another way when his thoughtless actions had plagued her? He was such a thoughtless cad. If he had shown more remorse, if he had stopped to notice her pain, if he hadn't kissed Miss Corinth, perhaps Abbie wouldn't have had to suffer all those months.

Slowly, he arose from his seat and followed her to the kitchen where she quietly washed her dishes. His fingers restlessly twitched at his side as the guilt flowed throughout his body. Emotion threatening to escape, he swallowed thickly. He didn't deserve the luxury of tears. His feelings weren't the ones hurt.

He inhaled shakily as he pleaded with her. "Abbie, it was a moment of weakness. I cannot explain the logic behind my actions simply because there was none."

She remained silent as she mechanically rinsed her dishes.

"Please, Abbie. Forgive me, I-I did not realize the impact of my thoughtless conduct."

She shut off the water and reached for the drying towel. She dried and put away the dishes as he gazed at her in agony. If her silence was any indication, she was not going to forgive him.

He closed his stinging eyes reluctantly, his heart slowly shattering into pieces. He'd found a priceless treasure and had fumbled in his attempt to keep it for himself. She deserved more than what he'd presented to her. She deserved more than a man who only managed to hurt her with his graceless actions. He inhaled shakily. "I understand if you no longer desire a relationship with a dishonest, inept fool such as I–"

"Stop."

He looked at her with a flicker of hope. She put the towel down and turned to him. She leaned against the counter, folding her arms, and looked at him unimpressed with his declarations. "You don't get to end this relationship or make me feel guilty."

"I'm not–"

"Yes, you are. I get to be the angry one here. I get to be irrational. Not you."

He blinked at her and nodded uncertainly, feeling a bit relieved but fearful of what well-deserved wrath she would release upon him. He silently waited her rightful judgement.

"Crane, I know we weren't together at the time. I get that. And I get that I was the one that pushed you toward her. It's just that, for some reason I'm still trying to figure out, I'm pissed off at you. I'm trying to be rational here but the only thing I see is you shoving your tongue down her throat at the same table I eat. At the same table where you and I…," she looked at him knowingly, deciding any further explanation unnecessary.

He inhaled slowly, nodding in understanding. Abbie did not seek retribution nor explanation. She simply felt territorial.

Unsure of how to proceed with this knowledge, his mouth bobbed open as he tried to form intelligible words. She felt possessive of him. He'd never known Abbie to express anything resembling envy or jealousy or possessiveness in the few years he'd known her. This was a revelation.

Unthinkingly, he reassured her, "I can assure you there were no tongues or throat…shoving."

She scoffed in amazement. "Really, Crane? You really want to get into details right now?"

"No, I...no," he immediately regretful of his inane comment.

She sighed grudgingly. "I'm pissed off, Crane. I'm just not sure if it's at you or me. I've never felt…whatever this is before."

He nodded silently.

"Maybe…maybe it's just a delayed reaction to what happened. It just…it must've affected me more than I thought." She shrugged, leaning her palms against the edge of the kitchen counter.

"''Tis possible," he replied carefully, narrowing his eyes cautiously.

Abbie folded her arms again and huffed, "I don't live in envy. I accept things for what they are. I don't go around wishing for what other people have. So all this doesn't make sense. But it's something I can't help."

Seeing her struggle to come to terms with an emotion he was only all too familiar with, threatened a smile along the edges of his mouth.

She looked at him curiously. "What's so funny?"

He inhaled deeply before giving raising his eyebrow. "It appears that we both suffer from the same irrational thoughts. I held a certain level of possessiveness upon my first encounter with Agent Reynolds," he admitted.

She tilted her head admonishingly. "Crane, Danny isn't a part of my personal life anymore."

He closed his eyes in acknowledgement of that delightful fact. "Of course." He then gazed up at her tenderly. "'Tis merely an observation that though we are people who hold fidelity and honesty in high esteem, our insecurities lie within the same realm of groundless conjecture."

She scoffed lightly and looked at him doubtfully. "I don't know about groundless…"

He immediately approached her and took her small hands in his. She reluctantly gripped them with a sigh, her body easing to a sense of subdued acceptance. She looked up at him as he gazed at her, desperate for her to believe in his words.

"Abbie, treasure, I would never hurt you. I would never be disloyal. Though you may feel that the kiss that occurred between myself and Miss Corinth signified something more than the foolish curiosity of an insecure man, I give you my word it was nothing more than that."

She sighed tiredly, her shoulders sagging as if ridding herself of a great weight upon her shoulders. "I don't know why I'm so fixated on this. It wasn't like we were together at the time."

They gazed at each other, a flash of regret passing over her features. She sighed again. "Maybe…maybe it was just the state of mind I was in at the time."

Though she had admitted to witnessing the kiss, it appeared that something else had occurred prior to that unfortunate event. Something she had failed to disclose to him.

Knitting his brow, he prodded, "And what state of mind was that, Lieutenant?"

She looked at him hesitantly before confessing. "Something happened that night, Crane. Something I haven't told you."

Hey there!

Sorry to leave you hanging! I had to cut this chapter in half, it was getting to be too big of a monster to handle!

I'm doing my best to wrap this up. I have two more chapters planned with an epilogue to follow. And for those of you that have patiently waited smut, the next two chapters will contain smut. I'm trying to make it tasteful but Abbie and Ichabod are making it near impossible right now. Totally my fault. I shouldn't have kept them apart this long! :)

So hopefully I can get that posted soon and get this story all wrapped up. I've enjoyed writing Ichabbie but I'm thinking this will be my last story for the Sleepy Hollow fandom (which probably explains why I'm subconsciously dragging this story out). I will do my best to give these two the ending they deserved.

Thank you for all your patience and a big shout out to those of you still reading and reviewing. I can't tell you how appreciative I am for you guys taking the time to express your kind words. Thank you.

Your chugging-along writer,

semul