A/N: And here we are with an update. Not quite as quickly as I hoped, but it's less than a week, so I'll take it.

So, last chapter, killed off the Witnesses… as you do. Am I going to fix that in this chapter, or just go with it? Good question. Another good question is how do chickens know the size of egg cups? Enquiring minds need to know.

I guess the best way to find out is to read the chapter… although probably not so much about the chicken thing. That will remain a mystery for the ages.

Speaking of mysteries, which I seem to be obsessing over in this A/N's for whatever reason – I've had a couple of people reference my use of the word of 'Lieutenant' when Ichabod addresses Abbie. For all the non-British/Australian/Canadian people in my readership, just read that as Leftenant. The thing is, in the aforementioned countries, we spell it as 'Lieutenant' but pronounce it as 'Leftenant' – the spelling is the same, pronunciation is different. It used to be spelled differently back in the day as Leftenant, but that archaic form of spelling died out by the beginning of the 1900's as far as I know. So, that's why I still use the word Lieutenant but know that Ichabod would pronounce it as Leftenant.

Okay, history lesson over. Suppose you want to crack on with the chapter now. I'm off to make my Sunday dinner. Can't decide what's on the menu yet. Probably not turtle. That's about as much as I can narrow it down right now.

See you for the last chapter, hopefully sooner than later…

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hawley stood over the makeshift grave he'd just dug, shovel still in hand as he looked down at the body of Ichabod lying in that grave. He grimaced. "Sorry, man, I know I should say something here, quote the bible or something." Hawley hesitated. "I can only really remember the story about Jonah being eaten by the whale, which doesn't seem to really fit what happened to you." He screwed up his face. "And the only poetry I know are some limericks. Probably best not to go with that either. Somehow you don't seem like someone who's going to appreciate the story of a guy from Nantucket." Hawley sighed heavily and shook his head. "Sucks that you went out like this way, man. You weren't a total dick all the time. Just, you know, a lot of the time… mainly when you talked… which was a lot." He scratched at his beard. "Umm… amen." It wasn't the most memorable of eulogies, but seeing as his only audience was a dead man and a statue, it didn't matter that much. Hawley bent down and picked up a load of dirt with his shovel and tossed it on top of Ichabod's bloodied and broken body. He grimaced and shook his arm as the damaged limb protested the use. He still had a couple of shotgun pellets embedded in his arm, but he'd just thrown a bandage around it to stem the worst of the blood flow. The priority right then had been to try and work out what to do with Ichabod and Abbie. It wasn't like he could drive back into town with a dead man in his trunk, particularly as a statue was currently residing there. A statue of a well-known local police officer. He'd have enough explaining to do about Abbie, let alone a dead history professor who had enough questions asked about him when he was alive. The only option Hawley could come up with was burying Ichabod in the woods. Trying to work out what to do with Abbie was a second priority right then, because out of the two, she was the less likely to start to draw flies. His phone rang as he went for the next load of dirt, stalling him. Hawley drove the shovel into the ground and then answered his phone, grimacing as he saw who it was.

"Hey, Mills," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Telling Jenny her sister was now a garden ornament wasn't something Hawley was looking forward to, and he really didn't want to do it over the phone.

"Hey," said Jenny. "Have you seen Abbie? I've been trying to reach her but she's not picking up."

Hawley's gaze strayed to the back seat of his SUV. "Ah, yeah, I've seen her," he said vaguely.

"Recently?"

"Pretty recently."

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Where have you seen her?" asked Jenny impatiently. "Is she there with you now?"

"Not exactly." Hawley really didn't want to do this over the phone. "She's… um… she's doing Witness stuff with Crane."

"So, they're together?"

Hawley looked at the partially dirt-covered Ichabod in his grave. "Yep, they are." He walked a little distance away from the grave. Ichabod's eyes were open and it was creeping him out. He'd tried to shut them but they wouldn't stay that way. A dead man's stare was pretty off putting.

"Okay, it's good that they're together," said Jenny, sounding relieved. "I always feel better when they are. They always have each other's back."

"Mmhm," said Hawley non-committedly. That was true. It was just this time it hadn't been enough. "So, when are you coming home?"

"Why, honey, are you wondering if I'll be home for dinner?" asked Jenny with amused sarcasm. "I thought we agreed that there was no point to… you know, us."

"I know," said Hawley quickly. "It's not that. It's just that, umm… we should probably talk when you get back."

"Why?" asked Jenny suspiciously. "What have you done?"

"Oh, like right away I've done something?" said Hawley, a little miffed. He didn't want to, but he felt guilty about the whole flask thing. He should have just told them what was in the flask, but it honestly hadn't occurred to him that either of them would drink it. Hawley told himself it really wasn't his fault, but as he was the last person standing out of this fiasco, he was most likely going to be taking all of the blame. At least in Jenny's eyes, anyway.

"You've always done something," said Jenny in exasperation. "Is it bad?"

"Umm… good and bad are pretty relative terms," he hedged. "I couldn't really say."

"Okay, is anything on fire?" she asked in mild irritation.

"No," said Hawley immediately, grateful he could at least deny that. "Nothing is on fire."

"Are demons trying to cross over into our world and bring on the Apocalypse?"

"Not that I'm aware of. At least not right at this minute."

"Then whatever it is can't be too bad."

"Okay then." Hawley was happy to take that out. "You sound tired." She'd left a day ago to look for an artefact that might be useful in their arsenal.

There was the sound of her stifling a yawn. "Yeah, drove almost straight through to New Orleans and been looking for my contact ever since."

Hawley looked up at the sky, wondering how the hell he was going to tell Jenny what had happened to her last piece of family. "You should have flown."

Another yawn. "I would have, but airports are weird about you carrying crossbows on planes these days, even ones that are meant to have vanquished Count Dracula himself."

"I hear that." He paused. "So, when do you think you'll be getting back?"

"Hopefully sometime tomorrow."

Hawley swallowed. "Okay, I'll see you then."

"When you see Abbie, tell her to give me a call, okay?"

"Will do," said Hawley hollowly. Jenny hung up and Hawley blew out a long breath. "Damn it," he hissed. Their next conversation was going to be hard.

"Am I in another hole?"

The incredulous question had Hawley reeling around and dropping his phone at the sight of Ichabod sitting up in his grave, looking around in confusion. Hawley stumbled backwards, slipping on some loose leaves and losing his balance. He ended up on his butt on the ground, but his eyes still didn't leave the sight of a now very much alive Ichabod.

Ichabod scowled fiercely. "I am, aren't I? I'm in another bloody hole."

"What… how… what?" gasped Hawley, staring at Ichabod and still not comprehending what he was seeing.

Ichabod seemed to be having a similar difficulty with comprehension as he took in the shovel stuck in the ground and the dirt which was in his lap. "Were you burying me?" he asked in outrage.

"Ah… yeah," said a dumfounded Hawley. "I was."

Ichabod took in his shallow grave, lips thinning in absolute disapproval. "I believe it's customary for a grave to be at least six feet deep," he snapped. "This laughable attempt is barely three feet in depth."

"You're critiquing my grave?" asked Hawley in amazement.

"There was no effort put into this at all," said Ichabod accusingly.

"The ground's really hard," protested Hawley. "You know how hard it is to dig a six foot deep grave?"

"Yes," said Ichabod sourly, "I do. I have buried many men in my military career and have always given them a decency of a final resting place that would not have seen them being picked over by woodland vermin." His look was pointed and full of condemnation. "Your slip shod attempts at grave making would see me carrion fodder in a matter of hours."

Hawley's eyes narrowed at Ichabod's censure, forgetting for a moment that he was talking to a dead man. "Well, that's easily fixed," he said sourly. "Get out and I'll dig you a ten foot hole. Then maybe I can finally get some peace and quiet from all of your yammering."

"Something which would not be an issue if you'd at least had the common decency to wait until I was dead before attempting to bury me," said Ichabod unabashed annoyance. He stood up, dusting himself down.

"Oh, you were dead, believe me," said Hawley unsteadily as he too stood up.

Ichabod sent him a look of exasperation. "Clearly I was nothing of the sort."

"You were every flavor of dead and then some," said Hawley hotly.

Ichabod rolled his eyes and stepped out of the grave. "Poppycock."

Hawley approached him, looking him up and down with some trepidation. "This isn't possible."

"Yes, you'd think a few seconds of your time to check a man's pulse wouldn't be too much to begrudge," said Ichabod bitingly.

Hawley came to stand in front of Ichabod, eyes glued to his chest which when he'd last seen it had been a mangled piece of tissue and bone. He stuck out a cautious finger and poked Ichabod in his newly reformed chest above the V of his shirt. It was solid and seemed perfectly unremarkable… which was impossible.

Ichabod slapped his hand away. "Do you mind?" he asked impatiently.

"Why aren't you dead?" asked Hawley in consternation.

"Because I wasn't dead to begin with," snapped Ichabod. "Obviously. You've just taken to randomly burying people who are—"

Hawley frowned. "Who are what? What do you think happened? What's the last thing you remember?"

Ichabod hesitated. "Ah…" He cleared his throat. "The Lieutenant and I were caught down a hole and-and—"

"And?"

"And then we weren't," he said hesitantly. "Because you rescued us." Ichabod pouted. "After being arguably as annoying as possible about the whole thing."

"And?" pushed Hawley. "What happened next?"

"I-we—" Ichabod blinked rapidly as his memory obviously returned. "Lieutenant!" he said anxiously. "Where is she?"

"In the back of the car," said Hawley, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Ichabod immediately raced over to the car and looked in the window. He gave a little cry of horror. "No!"

"Yeah, it's not good," agreed Hawley.

"You have her in the trunk of your car like she is some kind of spare tire," said Ichabod accusingly.

"I had to lay down the backseat for her to fit," said Hawley defensively. "The way Abbie's hands and legs are positioned, she doesn't fit in a regular space."

"And this was your solution?" asked Ichabod indignantly.

"Well, putting her on the hood as an ornament seemed a little insensitive," threw back Hawley. "It was either this or strap her to the roof rack, and frankly I had enough trouble getting her into the trunk. Abbie's only tiny, but weighs a ton when all that tiny is made of stone."

"This is unacceptable," said Ichabod angrily.

"Well, it was the best I could come up with and you weren't exactly in any condition to offer up any suggestions," said Hawley tersely. Unbelievable, the guy was back from the dead for two minutes and hadn't lost any of his ability to be instantly annoying.

"You could have waited," said Ichabod flatly. "I was merely knocked unconscious from that gun blast."

"You weren't unconscious, you were dead."

Ichabod put his hands on his hips. "Would you desist with your moronic assertions about my death? If you're so hell bent on insisting I was killed, how do you explain me standing here, talking to you right now?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Hawley sarcastically, "off the top of my head I'm going to go with magic potion." He grimaced. "That and God clearly hates me." Hawley had initially been happy to see Ichabod wasn't dead. Only, why couldn't the guy have come back mute? Was that too much to ask?

Ichabod's eyes went wide. "Magic potion?" he repeated unsteadily, seeming to finally start listening to him.

"Look at your shirt." Hawley inclined his head at Ichabod. "It's got holes in it and it's covered in blood. Now, either all that blood is from the world's worst manscapping attempt, or—"

"Or I was shot," said Ichabod hoarsely, taking in the state of his shirt for the first time.

"You were shot," agreed Hawley. "Kind of a lot."

Ichabod looked at his arm. "As were you."

"Flesh wounds," said Hawley dismissively.

"And the gunman?"

"Ran away screaming." He shrugged. "Probably a sound instinct."

Ichabod's shoulder's sagged. "The life I have taken from the Lieutenant has granted me another." His expression let Hawley know what he thought about that turn of affairs.

"Now don't go getting sucked into that guilt vortex of yours, Crane," said Hawley in exasperation. "There are enough things about you that suck. We don't need to be adding to that list."

"I am alive because I have killed Abbie," ground out Ichabod, his face contorted in grief and regret. "I am the one who should be dead in trunk of your vehicle."

"Well, if I had a choice, I'd prefer no one was dead in my car. You know, if anyone's asking." Hawley looked at Ichabod whose attention was back on Abbie. "Which nobody is, clearly." He cocked his head. "So, what do you think the deal is with you now? Are you permanently immortal or was this whole resurrection thing was a one-time deal?"

"I do not have the faintest notion," said Ichabod quietly. He put a hand on the side of the car, staring at Abbie though the window.

Hawley sighed, feeling the guilt vortex firing up again. "This isn't your fault, Crane."

Ichabod sent him a dark look.

"Okay, it's a bit your fault, with the kissing and sucking the life out of her and all."

Ichabod's expression hardened.

"This is where you're meant to say something uppity," prompted Hawley.

"I have no rejoinder to give, seeing as your allegations are true," said Ichabod painfully.

Hawley screwed up his face. "Oh come on, don't do that. It takes all the fun out of it when you get all guilt-ridden and stuff."

"I'm sorry I cannot be a greater source of entertainment for you, Hawley," said Ichabod dourly. "Apparently murdering people I care deeply about puts me in a less than jocular frame of being."

"Nobody has been murdered," said Hawley in exasperation. He paused. "Except for you, but you walked that off no problem. Maybe it'll be the same for Abbie. I mean, she's not dead dead, right? Just turned to stone. There has to be an undo button on this situation. We can fix this." Ichabod's uncharacteristic silence was making Hawley nervous. "Right?" he pushed.

Ichabod was back to staring at Abbie. "I do not know what to do next." His confession sounded utterly defeated.

Hawley made a clicking noise. "Oh come on, Crane, don't make me get my pompoms out on this one and shake 'em about."

That earned him a blank look from Ichabod. "I am unfamiliar with that word, but you may keep your shaking pompoms to yourself. I doubt they would help this situation in any shape or form."

Hawley rolled his eyes. "Either does throwing a pity party. Come on, you're usually the last person to give up. Now is not the time to try something new." His look became pointed. "She needs you, Crane. Enough with the guilt thing, time to man up."

Ichabod gave him a long, hard look.

Hawley held his gaze unflinchingly. "If you're thinking of throwing me into a tree, I just want to remind you I'm your ride home and only I know where the car keys are."

"They are in the ignition," said Ichabod coolly.

Hawley glanced past Ichabod's shoulder and grimaced. "Oh yeah, so they are." He put his attention back on the other man. "But still not cool with the tree thing, just so you know." Hawley tensed as Ichabod took a step towards him. This new Ichabod was somewhat unpredictable, it was hard to tell what was going to set him off. Actually, it wasn't that hard. Anything to do with Abbie pretty much would do it. He was one giant exposed nerve when it came to her.

Ichabod stalked past him. "Come along, man. We must make haste. This evil cannot be undone with us simply standing here."

"Um, okay," said Hawley, a little taken aback at Ichabod's sudden change in mood. "That was kind of my point, but whatever."

Ichabod was already climbing into the car and Hawley hastily followed. He really didn't want to keep Ichabod waiting in his current frame of mind otherwise the guy would probably just pick up the car and drag it to wherever they were going. His car had seen enough trauma today. Hawley settled in behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. "Where are we going?"

"The archive library," said Ichabod, his face set in stern determination. "You are right. There is a way to undo this, and I will find it."

Hawley tried not to look back over at their silent passenger. He'd just given the pep talk, but it was hard not to have doubts that this story had the longest of shots at having a happy ending.

#

Ichabod heard the other man's footsteps on the wooden floors, but didn't look up. It would have done him no good even if he'd bothered, seeing as he'd created a wall of books which stood far above where he was currently sitting and could no longer see the door. He'd been holed up in the archive library since returning there at lunchtime. It was now nearly the same time the next day and Ichabod hadn't paused in his pursuit to find out as much as he could about the potion which had started all of this. Ichabod kept on scouring the latest book he'd found which might have some answers to undo what had befallen Abbie. "Your search was fruitful?" he asked distractedly.

Hawley's voice came to him over the tower of books. "The fruitiest of the fruit." He walked around into view, pulling a face. "Yeah, okay, I heard that, it was weird. Blame it on lack of sleep."

"Mm," said Ichabod with decided lack of interest in the other man's tiredness. Without looking up he held out his hand. "The pages."

Hawley placed the book leafs in his hand.

Ichabod finally looked up and scowled at the state of them. "They are torn."

"You're welcome," said Hawley sarcastically as he took a seat on a lower stack of books. "It wasn't me who threw them out of a moving car."

"The wind took them," said Ichabod shortly.

"Yeah, because somebody removed my entire car door to let that wind in." Hawley's look was pointed. "You're lucky I found them at all. Tell me I've got them all now, because I'm not going out again."

Both men knew that was a lie. Hawley's first two attempts at retrieving all the pages scattered in the woods of the original book from the bank had not resulted in him finding all of them. Ichabod had sent him out again for the final three. Hawley had complained bitterly, but they both knew he was going to do it if there was the slightest chance one of those pages contained any kind of antidote for Abbie.

Ichabod looked at the pages. "These are the remaining pages." His look was disapproving. "Or what remains of them."

"Hey, I had to throw down with a squirrel who decided it was great nesting material. You're lucky I have a way with animals."

Ichabod's eyes narrowed as he took in the state of the other man. "What is that scratch on your face?"

Hawley put a hand to his cheek. "The buck tooth little bastard took a swing at me while I was up the tree trying to get the pages back."

Ichabod arched an eyebrow. "A way with animals indeed."

"Hey, I got the pages back, didn't I? Almost killing myself in the process I might add."

Ichabod's tone was openly disdainful. "You were almost bested by a squirrel? An unsurprising turn of affairs."

"No, I fell out of the tree when he scratched me," threw back Hawley. "But not before I got the pages."

Ichabod shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"I wasn't seriously hurt, but thanks for asking," said Hawley acerbically.

"Of course you weren't seriously hurt," said Ichabod dismissively, already scanning the retrieved pages. "Otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here being bothersome."

Hawley looked over at Abbie where she was standing in the center of the room. "Yeah, I know, you should get a medal for working with this guy day in and day out. It must be nice to have a bit of a rest from him."

Ichabod glared at him for his flippancy. "You make light of the Lieutenant's predicament?" he asked fiercely. "Her life hangs in the balance."

Hawley stifled a yawn. "Sorry, guess I'm a little punch drunk seeing as I haven't slept in nearly two days now." He looked Ichabod over. "Neither of us have, but I guess only one of us has a little extra in the tank thanks to unforeseen circumstances."

"If you are tired then sleep," said Ichabod tightly. He felt clear headed and alert, but didn't require the reminder as to why that was the case when he hadn't eaten or slept in nearly two days.

"Nah, I'm good," said Hawley casually as he stretched out his long legs in front of him. "I blacked out for a bit when I fell out of that tree. I'm good to go. You found anything yet?"

"I have found reference to the Nephesh potion in another book."

"Oh, okay, that's good." Hawley hesitated. "Isn't it?"

Ichabod looked up from the page he was studying. "An old Algerian text references it and claims that to seal the transference of life, the stone must be shattered."

"The implication being that without pulverizing the stone person, there might be a way to get the soul back into the person?"

"Inference."

"What?"

"It's an inference, not an implication."

"They're the same thing."

"They are in no way the same thing. The person speaking implies, the person listening infers. They are two completely different things."

Hawley just stared at him with an unimpressed look.

Ichabod frowned. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Oh nothing, just remember how good it felt to fall out of that tree and land on that big old rock after being savaged by a squirrel," said a straight-faced Hawley. He waved a hand between them. "You know, compared to having my grammar corrected by you." Hawley gave an overly nostalgic sigh. "Ah… good times. I wonder what old rocky and squirrel are up to right now?" He shook his head and gave a disappointed click. "Man, that was actually kinda funny, but you wouldn't even know why."

Ichabod sent him a dour look. "May I infer from those unintelligible ramblings you do not appreciate my suggestions to help you render a tighter grasp on the English language?"

"You can infer your brains out, Crane," agreed Hawley laconically. "My grammar isn't the problem here."

"I do not need to be reminded of the problem," said Ichabod darkly. He was avoiding looking at Abbie because it was too distressing. Her expression was frozen in such a way that Ichabod knew her last moments as flesh and blood were ones she suffered in agony. That was hard to know, especially as he was the reason why. That knowledge caused him actual physical pain. He forced his dark thoughts down, and instead focused his attention on the retrieved pages.

"Anything interesting?"

Ichabod didn't answer, his pulse quickening as he finally found another reference to the Nephesh. He read feverishly, then reread it just to make sure he was understanding it properly.

"Hello, earth to most obnoxious guy on the planet."

Ichabod finally looked up.

Hawley smirked. "Made you look."

"I have an answer," said Ichabod unevenly.

Hawley gave a snort. "You don't announce pithy rejoinders, Crane, you just say them."

Ichabod's lips thinned. "I have an answer to the Lieutenant's predicament."

Hawley sat up straighter. "You do? What is it?"

"Do you still have the flask?"

Hawley reached into his jacket. "Yeah. Figured I was the most responsible person to look after it." He shook his head. "How the hell did I become the most responsible person in the room? You know the situation is bad when that happens."

Ichabod held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Hawley hesitated. "You're not going to drink it, are you?"

"Yes."

Hawley pursed his lips. "I think we can all agree that didn't work out too great last time."

"This text suggests that the life force can be returned to the original person if the one who originally stole the life breath was to partake of the potion and breathe that breath back into them." Ichabod's heart was pounding at finding a possible solution to this horror.

"Suggests?"

Ichabod moved a little restlessly where he was seated. "The text does not cite any known examples of this working—"

"So, what, it's just a guess then?" asked Hawley in horror.

"An educated one."

"But still a guess."

Ichabod's shoulders squared. "That does not matter. If there is only the slightest chance that the Lieutenant's life may be redeemed, I will attempt it."

"But what if it ends up turning you to stone as well?" Hawley looked worried.

"I do not believe that will happen."

"What are you basing that one?"

"Instinct."

"Where was that instinct when Mills was swigging statue potion?" snapped Hawley.

Ichabod's jaw hardened.

"Okay, say you don't get turned to stone, but have you thought about how you're only alive right now because of Abbie's life force or whatever. What happens if you do manage to give it back? Do you go back to being dead?"

Ichabod clicked his fingers together impatiently, hand still outstretched for the potion. "It does not matter what my fate is, only that Abbie is returned to life."

"Pretty sure she's not going to feel the same way."

"The potion," Ichabod ordered him. "This matter is not open for further discussion." If there was only the smallest hope this might work, Ichabod was going to take that chance. There was no other course of action to be taken to his way of thinking. Giving his life for Abbie was something he would always do without pause.

Hawley reluctantly handed over the flask. "I don't feel good about this plan."

"Which only serves to validate it further," said Ichabod simply. He took a long drink from the flask without hesitation.

"Well, that's that then," said Hawley in resignation. "What comes next?"

"The potion should now cleave our two life forces, separating them." Ichabod looked over to where Abbie was silently watching over them. "I have only now to return the Lieutenant's breath to her body."

"Via a handshake?" put up Hawley hopefully. "Because I've done a lot of things in the last two days that I'm not in love with, but watching you make out with a statue is probably crossing a line even I'm not comfortable with."

Ichabod gave him a hard look. "Then your presence is no longer required."

"So, you want to be alone to make out with stone Abbie?" Hawley screwed up his face. "That's even weirder, which I didn't think was possible."

"I will not be making out with the Lieutenant," said Ichabod hotly, outraged at the suggestion.

"You mean again," shot back Hawley. "Don't make it sound like you're in virgin territory here, Crane. We wouldn't be standing here if you hadn't thrown your hat into that particular ring." He screwed up his nose. "Which came out way dirtier than I intended, but you know where I was going with that, right?"

"My only thought and motive is restoring the Lieutenant to life," said Ichabod sharply. "That is all that matters now."

"Even if you die in the process?"

"Yes, absolutely, without question." Ichabod had never been more certain of anything in his life.

Hawley stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, if you're hell bent on doing this—"

"I am." Ichabod stood in front of Abbie, swallowing the lump in his throat at seeing her pained expression again.

"Alright then, so, if this goes horribly wrong, which, based on pretty much everything that's happened in the last two days, it will – is there anything you want me to tell Mills if, you know, you don't make it?"

Ichabod looked at Hawley, surprised at his thoughtfulness, and then looked back at Abbie. Without thinking he put out a hand to touch her cheek. It chilled his blood to feel only cold stone beneath his fingers when he could still remember so clearly the feeling of Abbie's soft, warm flesh against his skin. "Tell her I'm sorry," he rasped. "That this was all my fault. Tell her—" Suddenly there were a million things Ichabod needed to say to Abbie. They crowded his brain, all screaming to be heard, knowing that this might well be his last chance to tell her how important she was to him, how she'd changed his life forever and that he'd never met another soul like hers. Ichabod's thumb stroked Abbie's smooth cheek. "Tell her I—" Words failed him. His feelings in that moment were too all encompassing to be contained in mere words. How do you tell someone that they've fundamentally changed you as a person, that they've given you a purpose to a life that had always been looking for something more without even realizing it? Abbie and the life they were making together was the something more, it was everything. She was everything and Ichabod lamented the fact he'd never found the presence of mind to tell her that when he could. He cupped her face with his other hand, lost in the face he knew so well and just praying that if he was about to die, that he'd be granted just one last glimpse of those brown eyes looking into his eyes and seeing him. One last chance to be looked upon by a woman who saw all of his faults and foibles but stayed by his side regardless. Ichabod didn't finish his sentence. He simply ducked his head and pressed his lips to Abbie's lifeless ones, willing the life back into her body. The world couldn't lose this extraordinary soul and he'd gladly give his life to make it so.

"This feels like a new low point in my life," sighed Hawley from behind him.

Ichabod blocked the other man out, every sense locked onto Abbie, needing just the slightest indication that this was going to work. For one terrifying moment Ichabod feared that wasn't going to happen, then he felt a sudden flush of warmth against his lips. There was a brief concern that it was only his touch heating the stone, but then he felt Abbie's lips soften beneath his. Her cheeks were no longer cold, the flesh wonderfully warm and oh so blessedly supple against his hands. Ichabod opened his eyes just as Abbie's eyes once again became flesh and blood. She breathed a breath of surprise into his mouth, looking up at him in wonder. "Abigail," he breathed her name past her lips. Ichabod felt a euphoria threaten to split open his heart at seeing her return to life, but then that same heart was in excruciating agony. He gave a choked gasp of pain. He was forced to break the kiss as his knees buckled from the pain. Ichabod dropped to his knees, looking down at his chest.

"Oh crap," said Hawley, eyes on Ichabod's chest as well.

The flesh was breaking down and Ichabod could feel the air burning in his suddenly damaged lungs as he clutched at his chest.

"Crane!" Abbie's frightened cry had her suddenly dropping to her knees in front of him, grabbing at her chest as well.

Ichabod's eyes went wide in horror as blood started to soak through her blouse and he could see her skin breaking down as well, as though Abbie too had been shot. "No!" cried out Ichabod in distress. It seemed that in returning the breath to Abbie's body, he was also gifting her with the wounds that had taken his life.

"Double crap!" said Hawley, hovering anxiously over the two of them. "Not good, not good. What do I do? How do I stop this?"

Ichabod's agonized gaze was locked with Abbie's and then she was collapsing to the ground, and his body gave way, following suit. They both lay on the floor, matching gaping wounds opening up in their chests.

"Crane," gasped Abbie in shock and pain. "Wh-what's happening?"

"I'm s-sorry," said Ichabod through lips numb with pain. "I-I did this to you." He reached out blindly for her and then Abbie's hand was in his, squeezing it hard. There seemed to be no end to the horror he was intent on visiting down Abbie's head these days. Only he was meant to give his life, but now their fates seemed intertwined and Ichabod couldn't stand it.

"Definitely not the plan," said Hawley anxiously. He was crouched over them, not knowing how to help. "Worst case scenario was only one of you dies, not both."

"Oh God!" cried out Abbie, bucking up.

Ichabod gave his own grunt of pain as the burning in his chest reached a new crescendo. He could feel the flesh and bones being torn and broken and the coldness invading his body. But then there was also the heat as he felt like someone was stabbing him with a red hot poker. He held tightly to Abbie's hand, desperate to believe she wasn't going through the same level of agony, but knowing she must be. Suddenly the pain began to recede and Ichabod knew this must be death coming for him. He looked over at Abbie, who had tears in her eyes from the pain and he shook her head at her as they both lay there on the floor. "I am sorry," he whispered in anguish, seeing the pool of combined blood they were both lying in now. Abbie closed her eyes and squeezed his hand. "No!" yelled Ichabod. "Please, no!" He couldn't watch her die, not Abbie, it was too much. The pain was back, but now it was of another kind entirely.

"Whoa, this is crazy." Hawley's stunned declaration barely registered with Ichabod.

"Get her to a-a hospital," Ichabod ordered the other man. "They can save her." He wasn't giving up yet.

Hawley was looking between the two of them in confusion. "I don't think she needs saving, Crane, and neither of you do."

Abbie drew in an uneven breath, her eyes opening again as she looked down at herself in confusion. She went to slowly sit up, gingerly touching at her chest.

Ichabod looked on in astonishment as the torn flesh he could see above the V of her blouse started to repair itself, leaving behind only smooth skin. He looked down at his own chest and his wound was performing an identical miracle. The blood remained, but the damaged flesh and bone were being quickly repaired.

"Wh-what just happened?" gasped a confused Abbie. She put an unsteady hand to her head as she sat, bent over on the floor. "What is going on?"

Ichabod sat up, one hand still on his chest, but the other refusing to let go Abbie's. "It-it worked," he said with real amazement.

"What worked?" asked Abbie in frustration. "What's going on?"

"It all came out in the wash," marveled Hawley. "You got each other over the line somehow." He shook his head slowly. "Which is good… a little bit creepy with the statue kissing and the matching gaping chest wounds and all, but ultimately good."

"Who was kissing a statue?" asked Abbie in consternation. "Somebody tell me what is going on right now." Her voice was rising with her frustration level. Abbie went to stand up, but swayed badly, and Hawley caught her before she hit the ground again.

He lowered her back to the floor gently. "Careful there, you've both lost blood, possibly a lot, it's hard to tell."

"Why have I lost blood?" Abbie looked up at Hawley. "Have you been shot?"

"And savaged by a squirrel," confirmed Hawley. "It's been a rough forty-eight hours for all of us."

Abbie's attention was back on Ichabod. "Crane, are you alright? What the hell is going on? The last thing I remember is being kicked out of the getaway car and trying to get back to you."

"And you did," said Ichabod with a rush of emotion which threatened to overwhelm him. "You came back to me, Lieutenant." Nothing else mattered. Suddenly Ichabod was overcome with exhaustion and he collapsed back on the ground, overcome with relief. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, not knowing what the way forward was with Abbie now, but just grateful they were both alive to even contemplate the question.