A/N: Hi guys, uber long chapter for you. I tried to split it, but nothing really happens in the first part of the chapter, so I felt guilty about not giving you the answers I'd promised. So, you get the whole banana, as the saying goes… actually, is that a saying? Oh well, it is now.

I just get caught up in these characters interacting. Abbie and Ichabod end up having a particular conversation in this chapter that would never be on TV, for a variety of reasons. But I like the aspect of fanfiction where you can explore these kind of really human interactions between characters that a show can't do, because they have restricted time to push the narrative.

Of course, a strong argument could be made for me to try and push a bit more story narrative rather than dick around with all this conversation business… particularly when I just wanted to write a little 'sorry I'm not doing the sequel to Jargoggling' piece and now, 20 000 words later, I'm still going. Argh, sometimes I drive myself crazy!

But, in the interest of sharing the annoyance around, I give you this chapter… which isn't that great of an intro, I know… just try and pretend it was a better one, okay? Fantastic, let's crack on… :D

CHAPTER FOUR

Ichabod had just located the extra rope in the back of Hawley's SUV, slinging it over his shoulder before turning back around to return to the trapped man. And to the Lieutenant. Ichabod's hand tightened on the rope at the thought of the young woman. That second kiss had caught him off-guard, even though, as with the first round, he'd been the one to initiate it. Abbie had been talking about the fact they had nothing to show for their evening, but even as the words had left her mouth, Ichabod could see she was thinking about their previous kisses. One minute he was drowning in the memories he could see in those brown, expressive eyes of hers, and the next thing Ichabod knew was that he had to be kissing her. It was like there were all of these invisible threads running back and forth between them, and they'd suddenly tightened all at once, and being apart seemed like an impossibility.

A pretty description, but Ichabod was struggling to find the words to truly encapsulate what was happening between them, let alone coming close to understanding them. He'd worked with Abbie for nearly three years now, and held her in nothing but the highest of esteems. She challenged him, made him smile with that dry wit of hers, stunned him with that fierce intelligence and relentless spirit. A romantic overtone between them was not something Ichabod had considered before now. He'd been a married man, one who was in love with his wife. There was no justification for entertaining any kind of tender thoughts about another woman, ever. Although, even as he thought that, Ichabod knew he did have an affection for Abbie which he'd found no comparison to in any of his other relationships. They were unique, and since their first introduction, Ichabod had been happy to settle on that as a descriptor for their relationship.

But then things changed.

Katrina was now lost to him, and maybe she always had been, even when he believed them to be partners in all things. There were still so many unanswered questions there. Questions he'd never have resolved, which Ichabod struggled with. It made him feel undone, which was an intolerable situation for him to try and reconcile. Then, amongst all this confusion, he'd gone and made advances to the one person in his life who made sense to him. Was there some kind of self-destructive bent to his nature whereby he didn't believe himself due any happiness, any kind of peace? Was there some force inside which drove him to fracture his dearest relationships? Abbie was beautiful, staggeringly so, but Ichabod was not a man to lose his head over a pretty face. It would be simpler to chalk up his recent actions to pent up frustrations of the carnal kind, only it wasn't. Sex was freely available in this society, as it had been in his. If all he required was a release of desires, than there were many avenues he could have explored. Kissing his best friend was not the only recourse open to him.

Only it had been the only recourse he could fathom in that moment.

Not kissing Abbie had seemed like as great an impossibility as sprouting wings and flying to the moon. But why now? Why had all this confusion entered his head and heart about the roles he'd set for both of them in their friendship? An answer came to Ichabod that he wasn't entirely comfortable with. Abbie's relationship with Hawley had shocked Ichabod, pushed him out of his inertia. She still denied there was an entanglement, and Ichabod wanted to believe her, more than anything, but this all felt so horribly familiar. With Katrina there seemed to be no end to the falsehoods and half-truths he continually discovered. Each time she'd had a denial, or a justification, and Ichabod had clung to them desperately, only to have his faith shattered and confidence in their relationship waver. He knew Abbie wasn't Katrina, but the insecurities lingered and caused him uncertainty.

Ichabod was not a person used to wavering. He'd always known his own mind, had always seen the right thing to do clearly. This self-doubt and uncertainty was new to him. Once he'd seen the world in black and white, now everything around him was shades of grey and full of shadows. The one thing in sharp relief in his world had always been Abbie. Now, somehow the lines between them were blurring, and as much as Ichabod feared that shifting understanding, he also couldn't pull back from it.

Ichabod's footsteps slowed as he thought about their kisses. Apparently walking and remembering the way it had felt to kiss Abbie was something he couldn't quite manage. He unconsciously ran his tongue along his bottom lip, fancying he could still taste her there. His heart gave an unsteady lurch at the thought… and made him crave more. Ichabod's lips tightened in fierce opposition to those feelings. He would not reduce what was between them to purely the physical. That was a disservice to their friendship, and most certainly to everything the Lieutenant stood for. To diminish her to a simple object of desire was demeaning and unacceptable. Ichabod gritted his teeth as a terrible reality washed over him that refused to be silent on the matter. Despite all of his opposition and protestations against the very idea, Ichabod knew the reality of his desire for Abbie was now as inescapable as that blasted hole they'd been trapped in.

"Mercy," whispered Ichabod in quiet anguish at that prickly truth. The revelation was an uncomfortable one for two reasons. The first was that he didn't want Abbie to ever think that him finding her desirable as a woman in anyway superseded all the other ways in which he admired her. That was vitally important to Ichabod. This was not about simple lust, and for her to ever think that might be the case was an intolerable thought to him. The second was that he didn't have the first clue about what to do with this epiphany. Abbie was his partner, his fellow soldier. The last cohort in a war he'd fallen in love with was Katrina. He'd acted on his feelings for her then, and that had ended very poorly for all concerned, particularly Katrina. Would Katrina's life had been happier, more contented without him following his heart and pursuing her? It was hard to imagine that it couldn't have been. Katrina herself had cursed the day she'd allowed him to love her in the end. If Ichabod chose to explore this new facet to their relationship, would Abbie one day be making a similar proclamation? That thought caused an actual fissure of pain to run through his body, ending up in his heart.

"Crane! Crane!"

Ichabod was jerked out of his reverie by a shifting wind bringing the sound of Hawley's voice calling his name. It was from far away, but the note of panic in its tone was unmistakable. The fact that Abbie's voice wasn't present in calling for him brought Ichabod to only one possible conclusion. "Abbie," he breathed fearfully, immediately breaking into a run. Ichabod dashed through the dark woods, easily navigating the shadows and uneven ground and avoiding the scattered booby traps. Had Abbie fallen down another hole, as had Hawley? It was possible, but Ichabod had enough confidence in Abbie's ability to doubt she'd fall victim to the same trap. Maybe there were new dangers installed by the landowner which she'd become entangled in? Ichabod's imagination ran wild as he raced back to where he'd left the other two. He burst through the trees to find Abbie lying on the ground, looking a little shell-shocked.

"Lieutenant!" he said urgently, immediately moving to her side. "Are you alright? What happened? Were you attacked?" Ichabod's rapid questioning gave her no time to answer as he glanced around, making sure there was no present threat to their safety. He crouched down beside her, putting a hand on her arm. "Are you injured?"

"I-ah-no, I'm okay," she said unsteadily, gingerly propping herself up on one hand.

"No, you're not," called out Hawley from the hole. "A couple of minutes ago she was in agony."

Ichabod searched her face, concerned with this information. "Lieutenant, is this true?" She was a little pale, and looked confused.

Abbie shook her head, but then recanted her own denial. "Yes, but it's… I'm fine now. The pain is gone."

He cupped her face with one hand, thumb running over one cheek in an unconscious display of physical familiarity. It wasn't usual between them, but then, nothing about tonight seemed usual. "Lieutenant," he said softly, worry etched into the single word. Something wasn't right. Ichabod could see that in Abbie's demeanor. Her robust state of being was absent, replaced by an unfamiliar frailty. "What happened?"

Abbie blinked a couple of times. "I don't know. One minute I was fine, then the next I-I… wasn't," she trailed off, and then bit her bottom lip. "I don't know what happened."

"You collapsed screaming, that's what happened," volunteered Hawley from his hole, sounding just as worried as Ichabod felt. "You need to go to hospital, get checked out."

When Abbie didn't immediately respond with a terse dismissal of such a suggestion, Ichabod knew this was serious. He moved to pick her up.

Abbie immediately balked, pulling back. "What are you doing?"

"Ambulation in your current state is not to be recommended," said Ichabod quickly. "I shall carry you to the car."

This earned him a scowl. "I can walk, Crane."

"Are you certain of that fact? Also, even if you prove to be able to walk, it is undoubtedly ill-advised to do so until we ascertain what ails you."

"Man, that was a convoluted sentence," sighed Hawley.

"There was nothing convoluted about that statement," snapped Ichabod over his shoulder in the general direction of the hole. "And the sentiment is a sound one."

"You're not carrying me," said Abbie stubbornly, the usual force to her tone returning. She abruptly stood up, dusting off a few clinging leaves. "I'm fine."

Ichabod hastily straightened up as well, looking her over. "I do not believe that to be the case, Lieutenant."

"It's passed, whatever it was," she said in an attempt at dismissal of his worry.

"The very fact we do not know what 'it' is demands that we investigate this further." Ichabod wasn't giving up on the notion of medical attention for Abbie.

Abbie opened her mouth to argue further with him, but then she closed it again. She put her hands on her lips. "Fine, but I'm doing the walking and the driving."

Hawley's exasperated voice was back with them. "You can't drive, Mills. That's just crazy. What if you have another seizure? I'll drive."

"I can drive," said Ichabod without hesitation.

"You don't have a license," pointed out Abbie.

Ichabod grimaced. That had been a niggling problem for him. It was difficult to have the correct documentation required to ascertain a driver's license with his background.

"I'll drive you both," said Hawley in frustration. "Just get me out of this damn hole already."

Ichabod hesitated.

"Get him out of the hole, Crane," said Abbie calmly.

Ichabod made an irritated sound. "I would prefer to get you to medical attention swiftly."

"Hey!" said an annoyed Hawley. "You're not leaving me in this hole, got it?"

"You are not my primary concern right now, Hawley," said Ichabod tersely.

"What if she collapses and you're driving?" shot back Hawley. "You need me."

"I'm not going to collapse again," said Abbie in exasperation. "I feel perfectly normal now."

Even so, Ichabod couldn't help but notice she wasn't doing away with the notion of consulting with a medical professional. That fact was incredibly worrisome to him.

Abbie reached for the rope over Ichabod's shoulder. "Here, I'll get the idiot out of the hole if you won't."

Ichabod pulled back, so she was unable to take the rope from him. "Absolutely not," he said in horror. "You may have sustained internal injuries from your fall into the hole. Physical exertions is not to be entered into under any circumstances until we know fully the state of your condition."

"Fine, just get Hawley out of hole already," she shot back. "I'd like for this night to end at some point."

Ichabod had mixed feelings about that sentiment, but right then he didn't have time to ponder them. He hurried over to the hole, and looked down. "We're doing this quickly and then you're driving both the Lieutenant and myself to the hospital? Is that understood?"

"Less talky, more ropey, Crane," said Hawley impatiently. "I got earthworms down here I'm on a first name basis with."

Ichabod didn't bother with a retort, just started to retrieve the bothersome man from the hole.

Twenty minutes later they were at the hospital. Hawley had dropped them at the front entrance before heading off to find a park, agreeing to meet them inside. It had felt like it had taken an eternity to get there. Ichabod's gaze had barely left Abbie the entire time, fearful she would once again collapse. He kept his stride purposely shorter as they walked the halls of the hospital, heading towards the Emergency Department. Normally Abbie had no trouble keeping up with him, despite his much longer legs, but Ichabod did not wish to cause her any undo exertion in her current state, whatever that might be. The only trouble was, it was taking them far too long to get where they were going at this rate. Ichabod idly wondered how bad his injuries would be if he suggested carrying her again, or perhaps employing the services of one of those wheeled chairs would result in a less vehement dismissal. His musings were interrupted by them finally reaching the front desk. Ichabod addressed the woman behind the counter with unintentional irritation.

"Good evening, Madam," he said with attempted cordiality, "we require the assistance of a practitioner of medicine with hastened immediacy, seeing as we have already traversed what is frankly a ridiculous distance from the entrance of this place of healing to where your department is presently residing. It makes little to no sense to me to have such little planning in the location of the area of your establishment which is meant to provide aid which boasts of being of the first nature and then expect your wounded to traverse such a vast distance. It is oxymoronic in its expectation."

The middle-aged woman behind the counter gave him a long-suffering look, and then moved her gaze to Abbie. "You want to break that down for me?"

"We'd like to see a doctor, please."

"Please God tell me it's for you," said the nurse dryly. "It's already been a long night."

Abbie half-smiled. "It's for me."

The nurse's gaze flicked over to Ichabod, sizing him up. "Good. You need to fill out this paperwork." She went to reach for the appropriate papers.

Ichabod made an impatient clucking sound. "We do not have time for such trifles. The Lieutenant may well be suffering from injuries of an internal nature. Any further delay would be an unconscionable exercise in endangering her health."

The nurse seemed unmoved by Ichabod's impassioned censure. She looked at Abbie. "You need a pen, honey?"

Abbie nodded. "Yes, please."

The pen and paperwork was handed over and Abbie nudged him. "This way." She walked over and took a seat.

Ichabod immediate took a seat beside her. "That woman did not take my concerns seriously," he complained.

"You don't say," murmured Abbie as she perused the paperwork on the clipboard. She went to start filling out the questionnaire but the pen fell from her hand.

Ichabod bent down to retrieve the pen, and straightened up to find Abbie grimacing at her hand as she attempted to open and close it. He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I-ah-my hand," she muttered, "it's gone numb or something." Abbie shook it, frowning at the unresponsive limb.

Ichabod immediately took her hand and squeezed it. Abbie's hand was troublingly cold. "You are just chilled from our evening in the woods." Ichabod offered up the reassurance, not really believing it, but wanting desperately for it to be true. He held her hand to his chest and covered it with both hands, rubbing it to restore some circulation. "It is uncommonly cold tonight." Only it wasn't, but Abbie didn't argue with him, clearly needing the assurance as much as he did.

Abbie forced a tight smile to her lips. "Yeah, that'll be it." She let Ichabod rub her hand for a little bit longer, and then gently pulled it away.

Ichabod reluctantly let her go. "Is that better?"

"I think so." Abbie reached for the pen again, but her hand gripped the instrument stiffly, and Ichabod could see she was still struggling to hold it properly.

"Allow me to be your personal scribe for the evening, Lieutenant." He took the pen and clipboard from Abbie, not giving her a chance to argue. "It was a routine task for me when I was in the employ of Benjamin Franklin."

Abbie gave a little laugh to cover her frustration. "Hawley is right, you do name drop a lot."

"I cannot help the fact of my previous acquaintances," said Ichabod easily, starting to fill out the paperwork. "They are a matter of recorded history."

"I guess," she said wryly, watching him fill out the first series of questions.

Ichabod noted down Abbie's name, address and date of birth in his neat, cursive script. He continued on filling out the questionnaire without requiring any information from Abbie.

"You know my social security number?" she asked in surprise.

"You showed it to me once, and it's only a nine digit number," he said dismissively, already having moved on to other questions.

"That eidetic memory of yours strikes again, huh?" asked Abbie wryly.

Ichabod moved one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I suppose it does." Abbie was leant up against him, reading over his arm as she kept an eye on his answers. Ichabod put all of his attention on the task at hand, and not how it felt to have her pressed up against him like that. Acknowledgement of the pleasure the feel of her against him once more was not something likely to help their circumstance. What this whole situation really called for was for Abbie to be seen by a doctor. This ridiculously detailed paperwork stood between them and that happening. Ichabod pressed on with his question-answering mission with renewed determination, noting down her previous medical history of a broken arm when she was eight and a case of chicken pox when she was twenty one.

"I guess you really do pay attention when I talk," said Abbie in mild surprise as Ichabod accurately noted down information from their previous conversations. Conversations that were often held late at night, while staking out a place, or waiting on an informant, where they'd just share their lives with one another in idle chatter.

"Is that not the purpose of conversation?" asked Ichabod, still furiously writing down all the required information. He came to the next question – date of last period – and filled it in without thinking. Ichabod felt Abbie stiffen beside him, and he immediately looked at her in concern. "Lieutenant, are you alright? Are you in pain?"

"How did you know that?" she asked stiffly.

He looked at her blankly. "Know what?"

"The date of my last period."

Ichabod looked back at the date on the paper, and then back at her. "Is that not correct?"

"Yes, it is, but that wasn't my question." She was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and vague distrust.

Ichabod immediately realized his social faux paus in his haste to have the annoying paperwork completed. He scowled at his own stupidity. "I am sorry, Lieutenant. I did not mean to overstep any boundaries between us." Any more of them, at least.

"You're not answering my question, Crane," she said impatiently.

Abbie was justifiable concerned about how he should know such a delicate fact about her personal life. Ichabod scrambled to try and explain himself. "Well I-it's just that…" he cleared his throat. "I noticed you would have an extra sugar in your coffee on occasion for two days in a row, and then would skip coffee for the next day. Over time I realized this was happening every month, on the same days, and simply put it down to—"

"Me having my periods?" said Abbie a little irritably. "Seriously, Crane, you paying that much attention is kind of creepy."

"I pay a great deal of attention to many things," said Ichabod a little stiffly. "It is in my nature, and not directed towards you in particular. I have always seen patterns in things, and my habit is to make sense of them. This is an inclination on my behalf not to offend, but instead to make order of a disordered world." He gave a small grimace. "I'm sorry if I have caused offense, Lieutenant. Most of the time I do not realize I am doing it." That was true. It hadn't been a subconscious conclusion Ichabod had come to regarding Abbie's habits, one he'd not given any thought to until the paperwork had demanded him sourcing that information. Which he had done, unthinkingly so, much to his chagrin now.

Abbie still looked unsettled by his revelation, frowning up at him. "So, what, you know my sister's time of the month too?"

Ichabod gave a short shake of his head. "No, I do not see her every day, it is impossible to recognize such a pattern if I do not see her every day." His lips tightened as he realized how that must sound. "Not that I spend my days pondering such matters."

"Only you kind of do," she said a little accusingly. "Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Ichabod gave a short sigh of exasperation at not being able to communicate this better. "When in deep thought, Irving uses his thumb to rotate his wedding ring three times clockwise, and two times counterclockwise. He will do this repeatedly until broken from his reverie. Hawley always tugs on his right ear when he sees a woman he is physically attracted to."

Abbie's eyebrows shot up. "He does?"

"Yes, I don't want to know that, I simply do." Ichabod was at pains for her to understand. "I am unable to stop my brain from collecting data and applying meaning to it. It is unconscious and it most certainly not—" He hesitated, not sure of his next word.

"Personal?" supplied Abbie, looking at him very seriously.

"Yes," rasped Ichabod, although now, with the two of them staring at each other, it suddenly felt like personal was the only thing it could ever have been. Those strings were tightening between them again, he could feel it. Every ounce of willpower was currently employed in not letting his gaze drop to Abbie's lips once more. The now familiar tension was back between them. He could see in Abbie's eyes that she knew what he was thinking.

"Don't you dare." She gave the whispered warning in such a way that Ichabod wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself. Abbie's expression became troubled. "What is wrong with us?" she asked unevenly. "Why can't we stop—" She drew in a strangled breath, unable to complete her sentence.

Ichabod lost the fight with his willpower, and his eyes dropped to Abbie's lips. What was wrong with them? Why was this pull between them suddenly so irresistible? "Perhaps the earth we were trapped in was enchanted?" Ichabod dragged his gaze from her lips to look at Abbie to see if she in anyway might believe such a fanciful thought.

"Crazy kissing dirt?" she offered up unsteadily.

Abbie was still leaning against him. They were too close for Ichabod to have a chance of reining this moment in. He swallowed hard. "Our lives are filled with strangeness and curiosities, it is not outside the realms of possibility that the old man employed the services of a Sharman or witch to enchant his grounds to ward off intruders and perhaps the spell was merely meant to discombobulate and it has affected us a certain way because we are the Witnesses—" Suddenly Abbie was grabbing the front of his shirt and cutting off his ramblings, pulling him into a kiss. Ichabod instantly forgot his frankly dubious attempts at justifying their behavior tonight, instantly consumed by her kisses. "Lieutenant," he groaned against her lips, overwhelmed to find themselves in this situation yet again. Abbie gave a short shake of her head, and resumed their kiss, clearly not wanting to talk anymore. Ichabod shared her reluctance to do anything other than lose themselves in these intoxicating kisses, but even the rapid pounding of his heart couldn't completely drown out his worries. He broke the kiss. "You-you may be hurt," he managed breathlessly. Her pained seizures still weighed heavily on Ichabod, and he didn't want to do anything to hurt her further. Besides, what kind of man made advances on a possibly injured woman?

"Finger's crossed," murmured Abbie, moving to kiss him again.

Ichabod drew back in horror. "Do not even jest about such a thing, Lieutenant," he said hoarsely.

"Brain damage would explain a lot," offered up Abbie, almost casually.

"A trauma to the brain is the only way for you to make sense of-of this?" asked Ichabod in disbelief.

Abbie sat back in her chair, lips twisting in self-derision at her own lack of control. "It's better than your dirt theory."

"My dirt theory, as you call it, doesn't end in your death," said Ichabod hotly. He was inexplicably stung by the fact that Abbie would rather imagine herself hurt than to be kissing him of her own volition.

"I'm not planning on dying from whatever this is," shot back Abbie. "But you've got to admit, neither one of us is acting like ourselves tonight."

"Because of a few kisses?" he said tersely.

"Yes, and there were more than a few."

That sounded somewhat accusatory to Ichabod and he stiffened. "I wasn't keeping count."

"Either was I," said Abbie quickly, "but seeing as our previous record of number of kisses was zero before tonight, and now it's definitely not zero, it makes a girl wonder what the hell is going on." She looked at him expectantly.

Ichabod hesitated. "I have no answer to that question."

"Then I'm hanging onto my brain damage theory."

"I kissed you first." Ichabod didn't know why he felt the need to be so stubborn about this, but he did.

"Okay, you can have brain damage too. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," said Ichabod flatly. They were back to arguing again, which was most likely safer than the kissing, but Ichabod knew which he preferred.

"The doctor will see you now."

Ichabod started a little at the sudden reappearance of the nurse by their side. He hadn't even seen her approach. "We haven't finished the paperwork," he said guiltily.

"It can be finished in the room. The night has slowed down a bit at last, so folks aren't having to wait as long."

"Good," said Ichabod in relief. No matter what his state of confusion might be regarding Abbie, the one thing he wasn't confused about was her need to see a doctor and have it confirmed that she was alright.

"Also, we try and keep things in the ballpark of PG13 around here."

Ichabod frowned, not understanding the reference. He looked at Abbie who was pressing her lips together tightly and blushing a little.

"Cause, you know, kids present and all."

Ichabod immediately took her meaning, glancing over at a child sitting on his mother's lap over to their left, a toy car jammed halfway up his nose and a glass jar stuck on one hand. Another person he was just noticing for the first time, which was a little surprising, given the state of said person. "Ah," he said, mortified that he'd paid no attention to his surrounds in returning Abbie's kisses. She didn't look any happier about that fact either.

The nurse took the clipboard from Ichabod, and motioned for Abbie to follow her. Ichabod went to stand, but the nurse shook her head at him. "You can wait here. We don't allow crowds in the examination room."

"I am but one man," protested Ichabod. "I fail to see how I could crowd."

"Okay, fine, it's policy then," said the exasperated nurse.

Abbie shook her head at him. "It's okay, Crane, just wait here. They'll just check me out and then we can go."

Ichabod reluctantly sat down. He didn't want to hold up the process of finding out what was wrong with Abbie any longer. "Very well." Ichabod watched Abbie follow the nurse to the room at the end of the hall, the two women disappearing inside. Ichabod leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the patience to sit still. He straightened up and caught the disapproving eye of the parent of the young boy. Ichabod wasn't in the mood for the woman's censure over a few moment's indiscretion. "It would serve you well not to judge, madam," he said a little snippily. "Your child currently has a small vehicle lodged in its nasal passages and a jar on its hand. You clearly have bigger concerns in your own life to vexate over other than the conduct of two consenting adults. An example of which would be, why it is exactly your offspring didn't simply stop at either the toy or the jar, but felt the need to impale himself on both? Surely one or the other would have been sufficient to garner your attention?"

The woman gave a sniff of offence at Ichabod's rebuttal of her disdain. It was uncommonly rude of him, but his worry over Abbie meant he had little thought to spare for that right now. The woman turned in her seat, making a show of ignoring him, which suited Ichabod just fine. It was only a minute later that Hawley made an appearance.

He looked down at Ichabod. "Abbie's in with the doctor already?" Hawley asked in surprise. "That was quick."

"If you say so," said Ichabod a little moodily.

Hawley folded his frame into the seat beside Ichabod, instantly noting the child across from them. "Whoa, someone went for broke tonight." He gave a lopsided smile at the child. "Way to go, kid." That earned him a glare from the boy's mother. Hawley made a face. "And someone's a little sensitive tonight."

Ichabod didn't own up to his part in that sensitivity. Instead his gaze remained steadfast on the closed door to Abbie's examination room.

"How long has she been in there?"

"Less than five minutes."

"I'm hungry." Hawley twisted in his seat, looking around. "Did you see a vending machine around here at all?"

"No."

"This is going to take a while. I'm getting something to eat." Hawley stood up. "You want anything?"

Ichabod gave a short shake of his head. Eating was the last thing he felt like doing right then.

"She's going to be okay, Crane."

Ichabod looked up at him. "On what are you basing that declaration?"

Hawley shrugged. "Because she's a Mills. Those women are indestructible."

"That is absurd, no one is indestructible," said Ichabod impatiently. He grimaced. "But thank you for your attempts at reassurance nonetheless."

Hawley shrugged. "Probably low blood sugars. Food will fix that." He headed off and Ichabod was left to his worrying in peace. In fact, it was nearly an hour before he got to see Abbie again. He and Hawley were finally allowed into her room and it was a relief to see Abbie again, even if she was covered in wires attached to machines making intermittent beeping noises.

Beside Abbie's bed was a confused looking doctor, staring at the monitors.

"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?" asked Ichabod as soon as he walked into the room.

She smiled at him. "Good."

Ichabod looked her over, seeing nothing to contradict her declaration, and then his attention was on the doctor. "And the medical opinion about this matter is in agreement?"

The doctor scratched at his chin. "Ah, well, I guess."

"You guess?" said Ichabod in open disdain.

"It's just that her vitals were a little weak, but now they're not." The doctor looked between Abbie and all the monitors. "And I don't know exactly why."

"You don't know?" repeated Ichabod. "Is there something wrong with the Lieutenant or not?"

"Probably not," said the doctor hesitantly.

"Probably not?" said Ichabod with real ire. "Is that what your many years in medical school has gifted you with by way of an answer? Probably not?"

"Crane, calm down," said Abbie with a note of censure in her voice.

"I am calm," snapped Ichabod, his attention not leaving the flustered doctor. "Do you have anything to add to your vague statement at all? Do you know anything about the Lieutenant's condition, or are we to settle for the vagueries of your probably not and require nothing further of your seemingly inadequate skill set?"

"He means what the hell, man," translated Hawley. "Tell us what the problem is already."

"I don't know, okay," said the doctor defensively. "I've never seen vital signs like this before. Ms. Mills' heart rate was slow, and her pulse, her O2 sats were down, as were her internal body temperature, but I can't find any reason why any of those things should be happening. And now, everything has returned to normal."

"So, I can go then?" pushed Abbie. "If everything is back to normal."

"Oh well, I-ah-I should probably talk to the senior doctor on call first," stalled the young doctor. "See if he's seen anything like this before."

"Indeed," said Ichabod impatiently, "perhaps that should have been your first recourse when it became clear you had not the first idea what you were doing. Something to ponder for the next time when you find yourself a hapless fool in the face of dispensing the duty charged to you."

Hawley leaned over towards the doctor. "That was a verbal bitch slap," he said helpfully, "just in case it didn't translate, or you nodded off halfway through all those words." Hawley gave a wry smile. "Cause God knows, you wouldn't be the first person Crane has talked into a stupor."

"I find your commentary as unnecessary as your presence, Hawley," bit out Ichabod.

Hawley grinned. "I do what I can."

Abbie made a sound of impatience. "Would you two give it a rest already? You're like children."

"He started it," they chorused as one. Ichabod glared at Hawley for that, but Hawley just seemed to find Ichabod's ire amusing.

Abbie's attention was now on the doctor. "And you, go and get your second opinion already. It's past midnight. I want to get out of this bed and into my own at some point." She held up an imperious finger at Hawley. "Don't. Whatever crack you were going to make about me and a bed, I don't want to hear it, got it?"

"So bossy," complained Hawley. Then he winked at her. "I like a woman who isn't afraid to tell a man what she wants."

Ichabod was instantly annoyed at Hawley's flirting, and opened his mouth to tell the man this was neither the time nor the place, but Abbie was ahead of him.

"Don't, Crane, he's just doing it to annoy you." She was back looking at the doctor. "And you, why are you still here?" Abbie made a dismissing gesture with hand. "Go already."

The doctor gave her a wide eyed look, but then he was scurrying off to do just that.

"Men," muttered Abbie under her breath, "they're all insane and trying to drive me crazy tonight."

Ichabod immediately felt guilty for any undo anxieties he might be causing Abbie. "Is there anything you require of me, Lieutenant?"

"Other than not bickering like a schoolkid with this idiot?" she asked sharply. Abbie pursed her lips. "Coffee."

"Are you allowed such a beverage?" asked Ichabod, slightly worried.

"I'm going to say yes, because nobody seems to be able to tell me anything anyways," she said in irritation.

Ichabod inclined his head. "I shall fetch you a coffee then." He withdrew from the room, just happy to have something useful to do at last. Sitting around and waiting was not something Ichabod found easy. He walked briskly down the hall in the direction Hawley had sourced his food stuffs from that night. Ichabod was at the end of the hallway when he heard Hawley calling his name.

"Crane!"

Ichabod swung back around and raced back towards the other man.

"Her vital signs are dropping again," said Hawley urgently.

Ichabod burst back into Abbie's room. "Lieutenant!" He walked up to her, and laid a concerned hand on her shoulder.

"I-I'm okay," said Abbie unsteadily, looking at the monitor. "It's okay, everything is back to normal now."

"I shall fetch a doctor, a more competent one, if this establishment boasts such a thing," said Ichabod determinedly. He strode towards the door once more. Ichabod had only managed a few steps down the hallway before Hawley was calling him again.

"Crane, wait."

Ichabod turned and looked back at him impatiently. "What is it?"

"Come back here."

"But—"

"For once in your life, don't argue, just get back in here," said Hawley impatiently.

Ichabod gave a grunt of annoyance and walked back to Abbie's room, standing in the doorway. "What is it?"

Hawley was staring at the monitor but lifted his hand to beckon Ichabod closer with a crooked finger. "Come closer."

"Why are you insisting on wasting time in this manner?" snapped Ichabod.

"Just shut up, and come closer."

Ichabod made a clucking noise of disapproval, and then stalked his way into the room.

"Stop," Hawley ordered him, still watching the monitor. "Now back up again."

"For the love of all that is sanity, what is the point of this?"

"Back up and I might be able to tell you."

"Do it, Crane," said Abbie, now staring at the monitor too.

Ichabod retreated to the door.

"A little bit more," said Hawley.

Ichabod made another grunt of impatience but did as he was asked. The beeping of the monitor slowed.

"Okay, come back," instructed Hawley.

Ichabod drew closer to Abbie, and as he did, the beeping of the monitor sped up again. Now Hawley had his full attention. "What is happening?" asked Ichabod slowly. "Why does this device slow and hasten in accordance to my presence?"

"It's not the monitor that's doing the slowing down and speeding up," said Hawley. "It's Mill's vital signs."

Ichabod met Abbie's concerned gaze. "What does that mean? In what way can my proximity be affecting the Lieutenant's wellbeing?" In an attempt to prove Hawley's hypothesis as incorrect, Ichabod retreated to the doorway again. Once more, the beeping machines indicated Abbie's vital signs declining. Ichabod immediately walked towards her, and this was reflecting in the machines.

"Well, that's… concerning," said Abbie at last, still staring at the monitors. She looked at Ichabod. "I didn't start to feel any discomfort out in the woods until you went to get the rope. The worst of the pain was when you would have been the furthest away from me," said Abbie slowly. "And then when you came back, the pain went away."

"Something happened to you two out in the woods," said Hawley. "Something that's making you need Crane around to survive." He pulled a face. "Ugh, talk about a fate worse than death."

"This is no time for jokes," said Ichabod sharply.

"Trust me, I wasn't joking," said Hawley straight-faced. "What happened with you two tonight? Did anything out of the ordinary happen?"

Ichabod shared a guilty look with Abbie. "No," they said as one.

"You were both in a hole, but so was I, so that can't be it." Hawley tugged at his beard as he thought. "Was there anything else that you did that could explain what is going on?"

"Nothing comes to mind." Abbie sent Ichabod a warning look. "Crane and I fell in a hole, got stuck there, and then you came and got us out." She suddenly frowned. "What was in that flask you gave us for the old guy?"

Hawley looked suddenly worried. "Why?" He grimaced. "Please tell me you didn't drink any of that stuff." Hawley looked between them. "Right? You didn't drink anything in the flask?"

"Why, what was in the flask?" asked Ichabod intently.

"It was whiskey," said Abbie. "It tasted like whiskey."

"It tasted like whiskey?" repeated Hawley in distress. "Are you kidding me? You drank what was in the flask?"

"Again, what was in the flask?" asked Ichabod forcefully.

"Stuff you shouldn't be drinking," said Hawley flatly.

Abbie sat straighter up in bed. "Could you narrow that down a little bit for me? Just how bad is this?"

Hawley hesitated. "Truthfully?"

"Sure," said Abbie acerbically, "let's set sail in those previously uncharted waters."

"I have no idea," admitted Hawley, "but I'm leaning towards this being bad, possibly very, very bad."

"You gave us a potentially life-threatening potion without any word of warning?" asked Ichabod in horror.

"That's because you weren't meant to drink it!" shot back Hawley. "What kind of crazy person puts something they don't know what it is in their mouth?"

"Isn't that a normal Friday night for you?" asked Ichabod bitterly.

Hawley jabbed a finger at him. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Basically true, but still… hey!"

"The Lieutenant's life is endangered because of you," said Ichabod hotly.

"This is in no way down to me! I just gave you something to trade for the spell book. How was I supposed to know you'd take that as an open invitation to use it on yourself? Lucky I didn't give you the disemboweling cutlasses instead, otherwise this night could have been a whole lot worse than it already is!"

"Stop shouting at each other and tell me what do we do next?" Abbie yelled at them. "What was in the flask, Hawley?"

"Nothing that should be doing this," he said unevenly. "It's just like an elixir of life kinda deal. You know, puts a bit of a spring in your step."

"Does the Lieutenant look like she has a spring in her step?" asked Ichabod angrily.

Hawley screwed up his face. "Yeah, that's not quite right."

"What precisely is the name of the concoction?" Ichabod demanded to know.

"My Hebrew isn't great, but the book that I got with the flask called it the Nogah, which is meant to give you extra brilliance or something."

"There's a book?" asked Abbie quickly. "A book that could tell us what is going on?"

"It's in Hebrew, but yeah, there's a book."

"I can read Hebrew," said Ichabod.

Hawley rolled his eyes. "Of course you can."

"Where is this book?" Ichabod demanded to know.

"In a safe place."

"Hawley," said Abbie impatiently.

"Look, it's okay. I can take you to the book. It's not a big deal."

Abbie started to pull the leads from her body. "Great, let's go."

"We can't get the book right now. We have to wait."

"We most certainly do not have to wait," said Ichabod in outrage. "We do not know what that potion is doing to the Lieutenant. Haste is of the essence."

"I get that, but like I said, the book is in a safe place, and we have to wait for a little bit to get to it."

Ichabod and Abbie exchanged looks again. Ichabod didn't care if the book was at the bottom of the deepest lake, or atop the highest peak or guarded by beasts of the underworld – nothing would stop him from retrieving it to undo the wrong done to Abbie.

"Where's the book, Hawley?" said Abbie sharply.

"It's in the bank."

"The bank?" Abbie blinked. "Okay, that felt anti-climatic for some reason."

"I have a safety deposit in the bank in town. I keep some of my important stuff there. It doesn't open until nine tomorrow morning." Hawley glanced at his watch. "Check that, this morning, it's past midnight."

"Can we not access this safety deposit earlier?" asked Ichabod in vexation.

"It's a bank, Crane, they get weird about you just coming in out of hours and helping yourself." Hawley wrinkled his nose. "Learnt that the hard way."

"So we wait until morning," said Abbie slowly.

"Yeah, we wait, and as long as you two don't let each other out of eyeshot, then it's probably going to be okay."

"There's that word again," grumbled Ichabod. "Probably. I was hoping for more of an assurance than that."

"I was hoping to be in the arms of a beautiful woman by now, Crane, or at the very least, drunk." Hawley inclined his head. "As a rule, life can be pretty disappointing, at least in my experience. You two just stick together, and who knows, by the morning, maybe this stuff would have worn off?"

"Or gotten much worse," said Ichabod morosely. He hated not fully understanding what was going on.

"Way to go glass half empty on this one, Crane," said Hawley sarcastically. "Or should that be flask half empty seeing as you two seemed to be having sculling competitions with the one I gave you."

"It was me, I took the drink, this wasn't down to Crane," said Abbie soberly.

"And why did you feel the need for alcohol in the first place? Was it because you were in a hole with a pompous doofas? My money is on a big old 'hell yeah' with that one."

Ichabod's expression clouded over. Hawley was right. This entire disaster of a night was his fault, from beginning to end. He'd failed to notice the booby trap in the first place, then he'd been churlish to Abbie while they'd been trapped and had driven her to look for a distraction in the form of the contents of that flask. Now Abbie was stricken with some malaise that had no rhyme or reason to it, and the possibility that the outcome could be a fatal one for her was all too real. Was it his lot in life to endanger and ultimately end the life of everyone foolish enough to allow him into their lives? Ichabod was scared to answer his own question as he looked at Abbie and silently vowed to make this right, if it was the last thing he did on this earth.