#ichabbie first kiss

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Ichabbie Vignettes

TITLE: Firsts (But Not Last) - Part 1: Mistletoe

A/N: This is the first in a series of vignettes that feature Ichabbie firsts (but not lasts, obviously). Also on AO3.

The first time he kissed her under the mistletoe came as a startling surprise. Ichabod and Abbie stood in the doorway waving goodbye to Jenny and Joe as they drove away after their night of Christmas fun—baking sugar cookies, watching a movie, and sipping on wine. They moved back into the house together, their hands joined, and Ichabod closed the door, locking the cold night air outside. Abbie moved towards the kitchen, but he tugged her back towards him, and she gasped an “oh!” as she ended up in his arms. She wondered at the smirk on his face until he rolled his eyes up, pointing to something above them. As she looked up to find a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, Ichabod swooped in, his lips settling warmly against her throat. “Mmm,” she hummed low as he kissed his way up the side of her neck. Quick pecks along her jaw, and then he kissed her fully.

[like-bunnies]

First Kiss #3: Love Goes On And On

Remember that first kiss challenge thing I suggested this past February? And I did two stories and my life fell apart (again) and that’s all I had time to do. Well, I finally finished the third story. This one is incredibly silly and short. 

“Are you watching this movie again?” Crane asked. Abbie was curled up comfortably on her couch and was part of the way through Disney's animated version of Robin Hood.

“Uh huh. It's one of my favorites.”

“I thought the one with the mermaid and the talking crab was your favorite. Or the one with the frog,” Crane said. She moved her legs so he could sit beside her and ended up with her feet on his lap, as so often happened when they watched movies together.

“I said one of my favorites. I appreciate many of them... mostly the one with the mermaid and the one with the frog – oh, you know their names! But this one is good to watch after a long day at work,” Abbie said, letting out a sigh. It had been a long day that reminded her once again how horrible humans could be to one another. It just wasn't the supernatural world that wreaked havoc all over Westchester County.

Crane watched silently for a few minutes before having to comment on it.

“Obviously, if Robin Hood had been a real person and not just a legend or an amalgamation of several people or legends, he wouldn't have sounded like that.”

“Obviously.”

Abbie waited for another lecture about the various forms of English over the ages and to be told precisely what form the legend would have spoken if he was real and not a legend. Crane must have been in one of his moods. He had watched enough Disney movies to know that they most certainly weren't historically or scientifically accurate, not even his favorite, Mary Poppins.

In their battle with the supernatural and other worldly, they had seen plenty of things but the dishes rarely broke out into song and crabs rarely spoke. He was disturbing her escape into a world where she didn't have to think about criminals or demons or drug cartels or demons running drug cartels.

The Robin Hood character in the form of a fox was talking and Abbie let out another sigh. A dreamy kind of sigh. Crane gave her a look, his eyebrow arched like usual.

“What!? I love his voice. I love his accent,” Abbie said with a shrug of her shoulders. She wasn't going to let Crane ruin her movie. She sat up, swinging her feet off of his lap and nudged him with a little poke to his thigh. “Can you do that accent?”

“Don't I already?” he asked.

“No, not quite. Can you?”

Crane turned toward the TV and watched as the Fox-Man ran around trying to escape the lawmen in the form of rhinos, hippos, and crocodiles. He was silent for a few moments, listening intently to the few words spoken. He reached for the remote control, paused the film and swiveled so he was facing Abbie.

“Marian my love, will you marry me?”

Abbie didn't really hear much after that. He could mimic the voice of the animated fox perfectly. He even had his eyes all wide like the silly little fox character. And Abbie was mesmerized as Crane said something about their honeymoon in London, Normandy, and sunny Spain. And then he mentioned the children they would have and although Abbie didn't quite want that many, just hearing him say the words...

She leaned forward and silenced him with a kiss. A short and sweet kiss that would fit in perfectly to any of her favorite animated films. When she pulled back from him, his eyes were even wider now and his bottom lip was trembling. 

“You'd make a cute Robin Hood,” Abbie said while Crane tried desperately to regain his ability to speak proper words.

“Would I have to be a fox?” he finally managed to say, dropping the fake voice and using his own. “Or wear all green?”

“No, you just have to do good things,” Abbie said, enjoying hearing Crane's real voice as much as she had his Disney voice.

“Oh, Lieutenant. I can do good things,” he said, licking his lips ever so slightly and leaning in for another kiss. “I can do very good things.”

“I'm sure you can,” Abbie said, suddenly enjoying this movie more than ever.

The End

[nathyfaith]

Snacks

{isnp}  

A big thanks to my lovely beta @sleepymr 

This wasn’t the first time it happened, of that he was certain. Ichabod had observed this same behavior a handful of times. Usually, he would watch her, mesmerized by her beauty and fluid motion while preparing this particular snack.

She had downed half a bottle of wine already yet somehow still maintained her balance while she threw two pieces of bread on a plate and covered it with an enormous amount of cheese. That couldn't be healthy but he stopped trying to understand what comfort food means to certain people a while ago.

The last time it happened he promised himself he would try to film her in the act and put it on the Internet. With her permission of course. The Captain in him knew people would fall in love with her in an instant.

That's how he found himself in his current predicament. He could hear her in the kitchen, mumbling about stupid bosses and their big egoist asses, wanting to tell her how best to do her job when she has done undercover work more times than she can count.

He smiled and spoke softly into the cell phone mic as he moved along the hallway capturing her melodious even if a bit drunk voice. “The Lieutenant has just arrived home from work and she is currently in the kitchen making what she calls 'grilled cheeses’ and I’m about to investigate.”

“Good evening  Miss Mills,” he called out as he entered the kitchen.

“Crane, hiya,” she greeted, extending the last word in a sing-song voice, her full lips twisting into a smile.

“Are you making grilled cheeses, is that it?”

“Yah, see, I wanted to make grilled cheeses sandwiches but we don’t have enough bread left, so I’m making goldfish cheeses,” she explained, as she put more goldfishes on a plate.

Ichabod tried not to laugh as he filmed her, but his laughter escaped anyway as he asked trying to maintain a modicum of  seriousness, even though this was bordering on crazy talk, “So you are making goldfish--”

“Have some wine?” Abbie offered as she grabbed the bottle of Pinot Noir.

“No, thank you --” Ichabod shook his head. She was adorable. In bare feet, sleepy eyes and looking so damn sexy in her work outfit.

“I just had some..” she affirmed, and he retorted, “I can tell.”

Abbie simply smiled and poured a bit more for herself.

“Miss Mills are you sure you want to have more wine? Maybe some water or some other beverage?”

Abbie set the wine glass on the granite counter and lost her balance for a second before reaching for it again forcing Crane to murmur, “Oh dear lord,” as she also gathered a fair amount of cheese from the container. She was about to start shredding it over the goldfishes but seemed to change her mind.

“It’s so hot today--” she complained as she took off her white long sleeved blouse, leaving only her colorful skirt and red slip.

Ichabod watched her, not really surprised since this wasn’t something he hadn’t seen before.  Abbie threw her blouse on the floor and continued to prepare the snack. She suddenly started to laugh at the amount of cheese, and he laughed along with her. “Abbie, what in the world? Are you laughing at the cheese? Stop it, you minx.”

“Oh, gosh Crane I forgot to put the garbage out.” The way she said this made it seem as if the world was ending. He answered her, “It’s okay, treasure, I already did.”

“You did? Oh, you’re like the perfect husband, without being a husband at all,” she mumbled, as she put the plate, now full of cheeses and goldfish, inside the microwave.

“Well, thank you. And you, dear Abbie, are a goddess, beautiful beyond any words I could summon,” Ichabod asserted.

“Oh, really, Crane? Well, if that’s your truth, why haven’t you tried to kiss me before? I might be a “goddess” but I am also a flesh and blood woman,” Abbie whined, pouting her lush lips.

Ichabod’s brain immediately short-circuited. At a loss for words, he also stopped recording and put his cellphone back in his coat pocket as he watched Abbie take her skirt off and toss on the floor on top of her previously discarded blouse.

“Is Captain Crane, History  Professor, Linguist extraordinaire and First Witness, suddenly tongue-tied?” Abbie asked, teasing him.

She turned as the microwave beeped, her body rotating perfectly towards it. Ichabod swallowed hard because honestly, she was being completely unfair. The red slip clung to every curve, her hair fell  in gentle waves of curls around her lovely face. And now his petite goddess was slowly consuming the damned ‘goldfish cheeses’ with her delicate hands and lord if he didn’t suddenly have a raging desire to be one of those goldfish.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he murmured without thinking, “Bewitching.”

“Am I?” Abbie teased, licking her fingers one by one, reaching for the wine again. This time Ichabod was faster and before her fingers touched the glass he took her hand and pulled her gently towards his body.

“I never kissed you before because I feared to cross our unspoken boundaries might injure our bond. But it seems that, as guarded as you can be, my dearest Abigail,” Ichabod murmured, his free hand coming up to first run a long finger along her cheek and then twist a curl lovingly behind her ear, “you’ve hidden the same desire I’ve had for far too long.”   

Abbie moistened her lips and sighed as Ichabod grew bold and rested his forehead on hers, giving her a gentle Eskimo kiss as he rubbed her nose softly with his.

“Will you tease me or kiss--” Abbie’s words were cut off by the feeling of Ichabod’s soft lips pressing against hers. It took her a moment to register what was happening and that she wasn’t having some sort of wine induced dream but actually feeling Ichabod’s lips. He tasted of something sweet mixed with earl grey tea and like herself, it seemed he had eaten a snack as well.

“Crane...did you make grilled cheeses, too?” She asked smiling as he claimed her lips again.

“You are the only ‘snack’ I could ever desire, treasure.”

[darlablovesichabbie]

I IMMEDIATELY went searching for your page as soon as I finished reading that article abt Nicole. Part of me wants to sit and sob all over again for what we all lost when she left the show. I grieved when that happened. I've missed this place so much and reveling in the shared love of Nicole and everything Abbie meant to us. And of course Ichabbie. Still daydream about my fav moments regularly. So glad you're still on here! Thank you for all you do here. It's a.... treasure. ;)

First of all thank you anon for such a nice message .I just want to hug Nicole, cry with her, and tell her that she is enough. I want to tell her that she is truly loved. As far as this blog,  I honestly don’t know why I’m still here. I started this blog specifically so I could fangirl Ichabbie and my fave new show, Sleepy Hollow. 

The best part about being in the Sleepy Hollow fandom at least in the beginning was that it formed it’s own sub fandom, Shady Hollow. Now that was the best time I’ve had on this website. I met some amazing people and created several mutuals that I still connect with even today. Even tho I will forever be salty about the show and their mistreatment of Nicole as well as Abbie, I will forever be grateful for the Shady Hollow crew. Real talk they really helped me through a dark time in my life. 

I’m not that great with words otherwise this ask would flow a bit better, I will still be around as long as their Nicole content to reblog. So thank you for sticking around. Before I forget, Fuck Sleepy Hollow, Fuck the writers. Fuck the producers. Fuck the showrunners. Fuck Fox. They can kiss my Black ass. Bye. 

[castleriggcircle]

Sleepy Hollow Beauty

Fairytale first kiss fic, crossposted with AO3:

Abbie, raised on Disney movies, had laughed when they found out the fourth tribulation was all about surviving fairytales.

Crane, raised on dark and grisly folk tales from an 18th-century nursery maid, had not.

An assortment of ogres, witches, ravenous wolves, and foiled mutilations later, Crane found himself with an enchanted sword in hand, hacking his way through a wall of thorns a full yard thick that had grown up overnight to surround Abbie’s house.

He found her on the sofa, eyes closed, motionless except for the slight rise and fall of her slow, slumbering breath. First he called her name, then shook her by the shoulder, gently and then with desperate vigor.

Not that he had truly expected either method to work. Never had a fairytale ended with so trivial a touch.

He hoped the Disney version of the story was right this time. The alternatives didn’t bear thinking of.

Sinking to his knees beside her, he brushed aside her tumbled hair—such glorious springy curls—and stroked the smooth skin of her cheek. And yet he hesitated. He knew his part in the script, but whenever he had dreamed of kissing the Lieutenant, he had pictured her awake. Willing, eager even, with that spark of mischief in her eyes. Not unconscious and ensorcelled.

So much for dreams. He brushed his lips over hers, so lush and supple, but so dreadfully still. Shuddering, he drew back. How presumptuous he’d been, to imagine that only he could be her prince…

…but then she stirred and shifted, one hand coming up to seize him by the collar and pull him down for another kiss, all too brief but real and living. “Hey, Crane,” she said sleepily.

“Abbie! Thank God.” He crushed her against him in a relieved embrace, which she returned, then drew away enough to meet his eyes.

“How long was I out?” she asked.

“A day and a half, at most.” It had seemed like an eternity as he’d endured it. “The last I heard from you was when you texted that you’d meet me for lunch at the Archives.”

“Yeah, that was just before I…” She frowned at the coffee table, and for the first time Crane noticed a little sewing kit and a red blouse he was particularly fond of seeing her wear for how the bright color seemed to make her beauty glow even more vividly. “How the hell did that witch manage to enchant my sewing kit? I bought it at Target over a year ago and this is the first time I’ve taken it out of the hall closet since.”

“You were wearing that same shirt a week ago when we first encountered her,” he pointed out.

“And she did grab my arm—you think she enchanted it so a button would fall off and whatever I used to fix it would knock me out?”

“Well, with everything else we’ve seen this year, we’ve grown far too wise and wary for her to tempt you with a spindle or some ancient needle carved from human bone, or the like.”

“Ha. I hope I’ve always been too wise and wary for that.” She glanced at him sidelong. “So…does this make you my Prince Charming or something?”

She sounded wary but curious, even a little playful. “Only should you wish it so,” he said carefully.

“Hm.” She leaned a little closer. “And would my wish be your command?”

“Try me and see,” he murmured.

“I think I will.” And she kissed him again, a kiss that lingered and grew into a hungry thing of grappling tongues and tangled limbs. “Oh yeah,” she murmured when they broke apart to breathe. “That’s magic.”

[shrilaraune]

Straw Man all you'd like, but you can't do it here

Dear Anyone still watching Sleepy Hollow/those who see no problem with the current situation, I’m really tired of you trying to use the ichabbie ship to invalidate our very real grievances. “They’re just mad because half of their ship died.” I’ve seen you say, suggest and hint at that sentiment. So why don’t we just be honest? You don’t get what the big deal is.

Behold: our grievances, in the interest of honesty and in no particular order:

1) Trying to pull off the “strong independent black woman” trope is bad (It’s a hurtful, racist stereotype. And if you don’t understand why, I suggest some research. There are many beautifully written blogs that expound upon that point in general and a quick search will turn them up), but trying to break that stereotype by having a main character’s boss initiate a kiss without consent, in a glass office at her place of work?

And before you say, “But Jenny– Jenny isn’t a main character. A beloved secondary (at least in the first 3 seasons. I will not watch the 4th) but not a main. Jenny’s rolls in the hay with Hawley and viciously ended relationship with Joe a) have their own problems and b) have nothing to do with how this show treated one of it’s suposed leads (except maybe for colorism). Which brings me to

2) Killing Scully? Bad. But killing Scully with a, “my whole purpose in life was to guide you forward”? AND then getting her name wrong on her tombstone?

3) Killing off or disappearing just about all your characters of color? Bad. Killing off or disappearing just about all your characters of color for no discernable reason? When they did not have to vanish for the story to remain interesting and coherent? Andy? Gone before Moloch is resolved. Luke? Just disappeared. Frank? Shabbily patched up exit after being asked not to return. Abbie? See 2. The rest of the Irving family? THE ENTIRE SHAWNEE TRIBE? In fact the only person of color whose exit has some connection to plot (though it did not have to) is Reyes.

4) Creating a Quaker witch/battle field nurse/ spy (?) and placing her opposite Ichabod’s intelligence and wit? Fantastic actually. Squandering that super interesting premise/ internal charcter conflict with breathily whispered lines (a choice I’m sure Winter had not much say in) and defining her only in relation to other men? Bad. Throwing in a noncon demon baby pregnancy? Worse. Disposing of her character with a, “oh women are all about their babies to abstraction! A mother’s love will always blind her! Even to the mission she’s been carrying on for over 200 years whilst trapped and on the run in purgatory uwuuu.” Find your own adjective ‘cause I’m done with you.

5) Trying to introduce a white dude bro Indiana Jones type character when there is already a better integrated black female version? Bad. Trying to solve #1 by tossing said dude bro between the Mills sisters? Ugh. (AN: I don’t even think many of us minded the idea of Hawley with Abbie (or Jenny) for a time. UNTIL IT BECAME OBVIOUS HE WAS DISRESPECTING THEM BOTH.)

6) Wasting perfectly awesome storylines that would have given the remaing POC refugees something positive to engage in? Petty and not the fun kind. I mean would the Orion storyline have disappeared if he had been female and showing interest in Ichabod?

7) I told myself I wasn’t going to do it, but here’s one I’m laying at the feet of the Ichabod/everyone but Abbie shippers: Not shipping Ichabod and Abbie? Whatever your perrogative. But making a straw man of the ichabbie ship? Making it out like we’re rabid shippers and “Ichabbie right now this instant even when it doesn’t make sense in the current plot because Ichabod is faithfully married” or whatever the case may be? Do better for yourself. There is no ichabbie shipper who would have wanted that pairing to manifest in a way that was not done thoughtfully. Slow build would have been fine, preferred even. Our complaint is the, “Nope. Never these two. In no known universe,” response the writers and some of you have when this pairing is brought up. Really? Never? Despite their obvious chemistry? Why? Now that you know we’ve never advocated for a hamfisted coupling of Ichabod and Abbie plot be damned, you’re going to have to find another reason you disagree with that ship. If Scully and Mulder can do it, why not these two? And before you say, “why do all mains have to get together,” stop. Why does THIS pairing in particular have to be the one that takes the platonic hit? One of the only interracial couples in genre fiction? One of the even fewer with a black woman? One of the even fewer that didn’t start with the mains as a couple? When these conditions are met in genre fiction (or even general fiction), which is rarely, the mains are almost never paired romantically (see 1). So when you say “all mains” you’re talking about white mains. And if that bothers you, the lack of platonic white co-leads, then go ahead and holler. I’ll holler right alongside you. But that logic does not belong here. Not when black women have historically been discriminated against when it comes to having and being romantic prospects. Not when that discrimination sharpens if the other party is the male, white lead.

These are just the grievances I recall at the moment. I haven’t even touched upon the dearth of Asian Americans (after Andy’s second? Third death?) or the complete absence of sexual orientation and gender minorities in the first three seasons. Now you can never say you did not know. Take a good hard look at your relationship with this show. Are you okay with it because these problems don’t touch you and your experience? If so, you may want to rethink your status as an ally. And before you ask, “Why does everything have to be about [insert social issue here, usually race]? Can’t I just enjoy my show?” Don’t. It’s the definition of privilege, not having to think about your [insert social issue here, usually race] and illustrates the very inequity that has most of us up in arms in the first place.

[imadork26]

Simpy Ichabbie: Mirror (Part 2) Ichabbie Fanfic

Last part. :) Have another chapter or two for “Strings” coming soon. :)

           Jenny paid for their one-week stay at a fancy hotel. And insisted they enjoy it.             "You both look like you've been fighting an Apocalypse or something," she said, after she surprised them this morning. "Get back to you. I’ll take care of her."            Abbie sat on the comfy bed while Crane brought in their luggage. She didn't know how to temporarily forget about burping cloths soaked with spitup, lost pacifiers, containers of Healthy Grow milk formula, half packs of baby wipes, and stuffed animals that chimed classical music. She didn't even know how to forget about the piles of work she couldn't bring with her. Jenny said she took care of it, that she already talked to their bosses for them. Though hesitant, they ended up agreeing to it and called to say as much. How in the hell she did that was a mystery to Abbie. She was just relieved their bosses understood, though they'd have to find someone to fill in for them.             "What do you wish to do?" Crane said. "We have all this time on our hands." He sat beside her, grabbed her hand.             She yawned. "How about sleep?"            He kneeled in front of her and removed her shoes. Then his own. He stripped down to his boxers, ready for bed.             Abbie stayed where she was, making no moves to change in front of him like she would’ve done before. Instead, she went to her suitcase, grabbed her pjs, and headed for the bathroom. But Crane stood in her way.            "Allow me." He tried to pry them from her.            "I got it."             "Why are you hiding from me?"             "I'm not the only one hiding. You won't tell me anything anymore. I didn't hear a word from you in the car. Normally, you talk my ear off. I'm trying to figure out what's gotten into you, too."            He sighed. "Perhaps we both should take the time to bare our souls. The last problem we need is lack of communication. Neither of us can seem to let the other in, for fear of judgment and pride, I'd say."            She nodded. "I want us to talk. Just not right now. I'm really tired, Crane. Okay?"            "We'll try later." He kissed her cheek and stepped out of her way.            She wasn't ready to talk about her insecurities. Her body had changed. The stretch marks on her stomach resembled squiggly veins. Each time she sat or bent over, a little pooch appeared. Her thighs and arms acquired a jiggle now. She didn't see herself as sexy since having Chloe. But if Crane talked, then she'd talk. They both needed to have an honest conversation about things or else their issues would get bigger and bigger. And they both knew all of that would affect Chloe. So, yes, she’d talk, for Chloe's sake, if not hers.

         It was night when Crane woke. He found one of Abbie’s legs between his and the other clutched around his hip. His hands were bunched under her shirt with his chin in her neck. That's not how they went to bed. At home, they slept with Chloe between them and gave her as much space as they could. It’s been a couple of months since he’s really held her like this.

           He nuzzled her neck, her cheek, her lips that he barely kissed now. Crane wanted to gently wake her with his head between her thighs and his tongue and lips sucking and licking the spot that caused her nails to dig into the mattress. She wasn’t ready for intimacy yet. He respected her boundaries and had to be patient.

           There was no telling what time it was. Instead of thinking of all the ways he’d make love to her, he untangled himself. They should eat. The clock on the night stand said ten o’clock. Or maybe Abbie wanted breakfast. He didn’t know what he was in the mood for. Perhaps Chinese or a burger. He wiggled his fingers, paced. Should he wake Abbie and ask her what she preferred to eat? He almost did, but stopped himself. She needed her rest. Or maybe he’d just get back into bed.

           He sighed. Crane has been doing that an awful lot lately: being indecisive. That wasn’t like him. Even if he knew he was wrong, he was always so sure of himself, his choices, his actions. There was no doubt in him. That was until Chloe came along, his little love. He’d do whatever he could for her. Each moment he held her, he was shook with so many questions and concerns. There were so many decisions to make with Abbie about her wellbeing and future. Which milk formula is best for her? Which diapers should she wear? Which doctor should they take her to? Which school will she attend when she is older? As parents, as a father, Crane knew they had so much to consider. He didn’t know the best option, so he kept quiet and let Abbie determine the course of action.

           While Abbie slept, he settled upon a shower. Maybe it’ll make him sure again. Muchier as the Mad Hatter said to Alice. Chloe took his muchness.

           Abbie heard the shower in her sleep and after a while, she opened her eyes and stretched. Her rest was amazing. She missed sleeping. It’s not like she had an abundance of it before Chloe. She was an FBI agent; this job kept her up all kinds of hours. She’d be certain to enjoy this week-long vacation and thank Jenny for it once again.

           She wasn’t hungry, so she removed her night clothes. Crane liked to leave the bathroom door cracked in case she wanted to join him.  

           She poked her head in; the mirror was foggy. “Got room for one more?”

           He pushed aside the shower curtain, smiled. “Of course, Treasure.” He made space for her in the shower.

           “You’ve been in here long?”

           He shook his head. “Did you sleep well?”

           She nodded as she let the water seep down her neck and breasts. Crane kissed her shoulder, neck, jaw, held her.

           “Crane.”

           He sighed, gave her distance. “As you wish, Leftenant.”

           She faced him. “I want to, but…” She glanced at her feet.

           Crane took her hands. “Treasure, you can share what you wish. I will not judge you.”

           “I know. It’s just…”

           “Did I do something?”

           “It’s not you. I haven’t been myself lately. My body isn’t what it was. It’s changed, and I’m not too thrilled.”

           That was as much as she could say. She was too embarrassed to tell him more.

           He touched her cheek. “Do you think I’m not thrilled with your body? I assure you I am more than satisfied with your appearance, even after giving birth. If only you would permit me to show you just as much…”

           Though she felt relieved by his words, this was something she’d have to work on for herself. He could tell her she was beautiful all he wanted, but it was in vain if she didn’t believe it herself.

           He kissed her tummy and stretch marks, gently gripped her thighs. “Your body is a reminder of the amazing daughter you’ve given me. How can I be repulsed by it when it created such a beautiful child? You’ve given us a family.”

           “Come here.”

           When he stood up, she kissed him for the first time in a couple of weeks. He was still all mint and tea. They wouldn’t make love tonight, but this was a start until she was more confident and comfortable in herself. She took his hands, placed one of them on her breast and the other on her butt.

           “Are you sure?” he said.

           “We’ll go slow. Touching and kissing for now.”

           “If it is what you wish, Abbie.”

           She kissed him again, thankful for his patience and gentleness. He was never one to push her. Abbie let him touch and kiss her in all the ways she missed until the water cooled.

           “What about you?” Abbie said, drying off with a towel. “What’s going on?”

           His fingers wiggled and he sat on the ledge of the tub. “You don’t deserve a weak man. Chloe surely doesn’t deserve a weak father. Lately, I can never make up my mind. I suppose it is fear. I’m anxious about fatherhood, about the choices we’ll have to make. What if I can’t be the father she needs? What if I don’t make the proper choices for her and her life ends up ruined? You do such a great job with her. But me, I don’t know where to begin.”

           He’s afraid of failing Chloe, his biggest fear as a parent.

           Abbie sat beside him. “Crane, it’s okay to be scared. You don’t think I’m not? That I don’t worry if I’m making the right choices for her? You can read as many books as you want, but there’s no guide on how to parent. I think the biggest thing is just following your instincts.”

           He felt like it was impossible to tune in to those instincts, his intuition. How does he do that?

           “All it takes is listening to her. I know she can’t speak, but she is communicating with us. It takes paying attention. When you do, you’ll know what to do. You’re amazing with her, Crane. I see how you look at her. Trust yourself.”

           If only it were that simple. He’d be a mess before he had it all together, but he had Abbie with him. She’s always been his guide when he couldn’t see clearly.

           “And don’t be afraid to ask questions. Ask for help if you don’t know something. I know you have questions as inquisitive and curious as you are.” She smirked and poked him.

           He chuckled. “Plenty. My pride, however.”

           “You gotta let that go. You can’t be a parent and be prideful.”

           “No. Then I’ll never learn.”

           She shook her head. “Trust yourself, Crane. I trust you with her. She trusts you, too. Chloe needs her daddy.” She hugged his arm.

           Crane felt a little bit optimistic and less nervous about Chloe. He knew it’d take practice and patience with himself. This was learning process and he intended to learn all he could.

           “Thank you, Abbie.”

           “And thank you, Ichabod.”

           “Shall we get dressed and find a place to eat?” He stood, extended his hand.

           She took it, nodding. As he led her out the bathroom, she tugged on his arm. “The mirror.”

           They stood in front of it with their towels wrapped around them. Both decided to wipe it clean. And afterwards, they saw themselves. Two broken things finally able to face themselves and where they were since having a baby.

           “We’re going to be okay, Crane. It’s okay.”

           “Indeed, Leftenant. Indeed.”

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Merry Distractions

A/N: Just a bit of Ichabbie Christmas reading for you. You’ll find lots of longing with a sweet and happy ending and a smidge of Joe, Jenny, and Irving thrown in for good measure.

He'd watched her all night as she'd played hostess, flitting around filling glasses and snack bowls, changing the music when an unloved song sounded through the speakers, ensuring everyone had enough to eat, and making merry with the whole lot of them. Her festive attire, a silken, emerald green dress with gold flecks in it, lent her skin a rosy hue, and she'd pulled her crown of ringlets into a golden clasp at the back of her head, leaving her neck and dangly, Christmas light earrings exposed. The dress's short sleeves showed off her muscular arms, and the square neckline cut low but not so low it distracted him—or anyone else, he was happy to note. Not that it made much of a difference for him though: the woman was a walking distraction as far as he was concerned. Her large, expressive brown eyes twinkled at him in every one of his daydreams. Her hair, so versatile and stylish, begged him to brush it away from her beautiful face. And those full, Christmas-red lips she smiled with now would pleasantly haunt his dreams for weeks to come. Oh yes, most certainly a distraction, but tonight he almost felt safe with it. The handful of people roaming throughout the house gave him a buffer he didn't often have while working alone with her in the Archives or in the field or riding next to her in the car. As such, he freely 'checked her out,' a phrase Miss Jenny had used once that he'd mentally squirreled away. Much to his chagrin, he'd checked her out a bit too much this evening, and it’d left him feeling out of sorts. The new lieutenant on the force made her laugh easily, that wonderful smile of hers breaking across her face at something Mr. Muscular and New had said. The man's eyes twinkled at her, and a white-hot pearl of jealousy burned in Ichabod's chest, blooming large and ugly as Abbie’s new colleague gazed appreciatively at her, pleased and proud at the response his words had elicited from her. Not much of what he and the Lieutenant did as their day job made for amusement, but Ichabod felt ripples of pleasure when he could draw a laugh from her, loved watching the worries ease away from her beautiful face, that gorgeous, full-fledged smile and tinkling laugh filling his heart with gladness and his eyes with nearly more beauty than he could stand. None of her sheriff's department colleagues had acted so freely with her before—and she'd never responded so openly. Until this man. And it concerned him, more than he cared to admit. Seeing Abbie and Mr. Muscular standing next to one another, her hand landing lightly on the man's forearm as she laughed at his joke, raised his hackles. Not because he thought the man ill-willed or a foe to their cause, but precisely because he didn’t think those things. In fact, he couldn’t find a flaw in the man at all. The truth of the matter was...they made a striking pair: Abbie petite, stylish, stunning, and effervescent, and Mr. Muscular broad, powerful, and clearly amusing enough to hold the Lieutenant's unbridled attention. Further, Mr. Muscular exhibited everything he, Ichabod, did not: power, raw strength, position, and a gregarious personality. Gainful employment, modern style, shorn hair, and a tailor-cut suit. Together, the two of them looked like they'd stepped right out of the television box and into one of those yuletide films the Lieutenant indulged in on weekends. He, on the other hand, often drew strange stares and chuckles from strangers and acquaintances alike. He'd thought himself rather dashing this evening though, having traded his normal attire for a dark green shirt in his usual front-laced style with black breeches, his boots, and a fitted black tailcoat. This last piece had caused the Lieutenant to do a double take, and when he'd questioned her about it, she'd nodded with an appreciative eye and mentioned that it looked like a tux jacket. (He'd surreptitiously done an online search before the guests arrived to find out what a tux was and felt satisfied with his choice of finery, if only because Abbie seemed to like it on him.) But now, standing across the room from Mr. Muscular and Abbie, he questioned it all: how he could ever compare with a modern man who didn't need to be assisted with the mundanity of today's world, how he could have begun to think he was fitting in to the here and now, what he'd do without the Lieutenant by his side should she ever pair up with another man, how he'd thought he could have a chance with the beautiful, independent, strong, and wonderful woman who'd wrapped herself so intricately around his heart he'd have to surgically remove her should that pairing occur.

Tamping down his vexation, Ichabod kept a neutral look on his face, though he doubted anyone noticed his clandestine surveillance. He hadn't much cared what people thought of him, of his strange (in this era) manner of speaking and colonial attire and his 'hippie hair-do' (another of Miss Jenny's colloquialisms). From early on but more and more now, he'd hoped someday the two of them might become something more than just 'the two witnesses.' Watching Abbie so carefree with another man, and one that clearly had his sights set on her, made him question whether that had ever or could ever be a possibility. After all, he would always be a man out of time, and the Lieutenant deserved more than he could ever possibly provide for her. No, he seemed a far cry from a good match for her, and the sudden realization soured his mood. The music ringing from the wireless Bose speakers (he hadn’t bothered to ask what that particular moniker meant) certainly didn't help his mood. In his day, Christmas music spoke of the birth of the Christ-child, the peace that accompanied his glorious arrival, and the hope of the world fulfilled. Now, much of the festive music focused on missing one's 'true love,' as every voice ringing around the room seemed to long for a lost or distant lover, crave the attention or presence of 'the one,' or be begging Saint Nicolas for a partner. He simultaneously cringed at the desperate, needy lyrics and felt them resonating in his heart as he watched the Lieutenant and Mr. Muscular continue to chat. Ichabod felt like a giant flaw in the evening’s festivities, suddenly overcome by feelings of inadequacy as the weight of his imperfections wrapped their maudlin tendrils throughout his mind. His reticence to assimilate more bothered him in a way it never had. Not when he'd first ran though the dark streets of Sleepy Hollow just having woken from a centuries’ long sleep, not when the Lieutenant and Captain Irving and Miss Jenny had harangued him about the past, and not even when Abbie had purchased modern day attire for him to wear and he'd handily refused. He believed now that'd been a mistake. He could never compete with the likes of today's men such as he was. A Captain from the Revolution with odd speech, hair, and mannerisms, and a significant (though improving) lack of knowledge of modern phrases, places, and ways? No wonder she laughed with Mr. Muscular: he was nothing less than perfectly suited for her. The melancholy of the moment settled over him, and Ichabod turned away from the happy couple across the room and made his way to the drink table. He downed a few shots of rum—the Lieutenant had bought his favored brand, he noted with a twinge of pain—and let them burn through him before he rejoined the festivities, actively avoiding the Lieutenant and her new friend. He did his best to forget the vision of her—and she was a vision—and Mr. Muscular, instead choosing to make merry with the Captain for a while, then with Miss Jenny and Master Corbin. Though he easily feigned happiness, his insides ached at the sense of loss that had solidified into his heart. Despite his realization that someone else likely held the Lieutenant’s affections, the party had gone well. Lots of laughter and some drinks, talk of family traditions and something called a white elephant gift exchange. (He hadn't had a clue what that was, let alone what to buy, so Abbie, ever his patient guide, had rescued him, purchasing his party gift for him.) He'd walked away from the game with a gift card to a local spa. There'd been jokes about him finally getting a proper haircut or soaking in a sauna, trying a steam room or getting a body wrap, which, to hide his already miserable thoughts about himself, had set him off explaining how his Native American friends, well versed in natural healing properties of steam and mud, had taught him the finer points of self-care. He'd meant it in all solemnity, but it'd left everyone laughing, much to his chagrin. Now, as people began to leave and amidst saying his goodbyes, he downed another shot of rum and slowly started cleaning up, putting the leftover food into smaller containers and throwing away garbage. "Crane." He turned at the sound of Captain Irving's voice to find him and the Lieutenant standing by the front door. Regardless of how he felt after this evening's revelation, his eyes were drawn to her—always. How could he continue to live here, under the same roof as her, and maintain a friendship that he'd hoped would become more, knowing it'd never progress beyond what they had now? How long could he keep pretending he was unaffected by her, knowing his heart nearly beat out of his chest when she stood near him, fell asleep against him while lounging on the couch, lingered in mundane conversations with him over their morning coffee? How could he watch her be with someone else? Abbie's eyes went wide, pulling him into the present as she pointed at the Captain, indicating he should say a proper farewell. Irving lifted a hand in a goodbye wave, and Ichabod swallowed down his heartache, wiped his hands dry on a kitchen towel, and rushed to see the man off. He avoided looking at the Lieutenant as he approached them but put on a smile. "Good night, Captain. I quite hope you enjoyed yourself this evening." Abbie smiled indulgently as Irving glanced at her, the Captain never quite comfortable with his formality but appreciating the man's earnestness all the same. Irving opened the front door. "I did, thanks. You two have a great Christmas." Ichabod dipped his head in military affirmation, the idea of spending the blessed holiday alone with the Lieutenant, mere hours ago an exciting prospect, now beginning to turn his stomach sour. "Merry Christmas, sir," Abbie called out as he headed down the porch steps. A loud whistle rang out as she closed and locked the door, and they turned in tandem to see Joe and Jenny, their last remaining guests, smiling broadly at them. Confused, Ichabod glanced down at Abbie, who returned his questioning look, and they turned back to the duo. "What?" Jenny's smile widened, and she pointed above them. "You're standing under the mistletoe," she sing-songed in response. Abbie peered heavenward as Ichabod's eyebrow arched up. God’s wounds, of all nights… He could’ve wished this a thousand times over, anytime, day or night. Except tonight. How had no one else gotten caught under the vine? He briefly wondered if the duo had set them up. "Go on," Joe encouraged enthusiastically. "It's tradition." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbie angle towards him, her expression wondering and... hopeful? Must be the rum, he thought, sure she couldn't be all that interested in dallying with him under the mistletoe. Besides, he'd tried this scheme once before and she'd handily brushed him aside. He didn't think he could handle her rejection tonight. Miss Jenny's eyes bugged wide as she nodded towards Abbie, and Master Joe, still smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, egged him on with a happily condescending "Don't be shy." Ichabod longed to return to the confidence he felt mere hours ago, before he realized the Lieutenant's interest might reside in another. Instead, he felt unsure and afraid of her dismissal, even as he knew he'd be more than willing to fulfill tradition's demand if she were amenable, despite the fact that they had an amused audience. He swallowed hard, steeling himself, and turned to face her. Her eyes danced merrily at him, the fun of the party not yet worn off, and the look on her face nearly took his breath away. She stared at him hopefully, lips parted slightly, the corners of her mouth lifted up in the early stages of one of those smiles that froze him in place. What he wouldn't give... His heart beat wildly, even as it ached and screamed at him to flee. But she looked so pleased at the prospect before them, so beautiful in the soft glow from the lit candles and Christmas lights adorning the room that he could hardly resist. The setting seemed perfect: warm from the rum, frosted lighting setting the mood, the Lieutenant staring at him expectantly and eager and so beautiful it made his heart ache. Why then did he hesitate so? How had witnessing one encounter of her with another man send him into fits of self-doubt? He really would need to revisit that later. At the moment, his Lieutenant stared up at him, and if he didn't know any better, he'd call that longing in her eyes. "Lieutenant?" He asked her permission on a soft exhale, needing her approval before he'd ever make so intimate a move. It didn't matter that he'd dreamed of this moment for years now, that he'd envisioned myriad ways this momentous event would occur. He would never step over boundaries she felt uncomfortable crossing; he loved and respected her too much. "If you're going to kiss me, you might as well call me Abbie," she commanded softly, that playful smile still tugging at her lips. Those lips that'd teased and taunted him nearly every day for years without ceasing looked luscious and full and as red as the blood pounding furiously through his veins. She was stunning, all smooth dark skin, feminine features, sultry gaze, and quiet confidence, anticipating his next move. He absently drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh, overcome by her proximity, her encouragement, her downright anticipation. Was this actually happening? That after worrying half the night about not living up to what she deserved, he—not some other suitor of hers—stood next to her under the mistletoe with their closest friends encouraging them to lock lips? And she appeared excited about it? He made himself move before the moment passed, doubt and affection warring within him, creating a maelstrom of wanton confusion, even as she gazed at him longingly. "Abbie," he whispered obediently, his gaze flicking down to her perfect lips as he slowly leaned in, his eyes dropping closed as his mouth finally, wonderfully, touched hers. He kissed her tentatively, softly, gentle in his respectful way, and he reveled in the feel of her plump lips against his, the realization of a million dreams sending his mind reeling, his heart free-floating into oblivion. She felt like fire, his lips burning deliciously where they met hers, liquid heat running through his veins as shivers tingled down his spine. Somewhere beyond them he heard a door slam shut, but he couldn't be bothered by it with Abbie's mouth attached to his. He didn't plan on moving for a while, maybe ever. She shuffled closer to him, her hands landing against his ribs and sliding achingly slow up his chest as her mouth pressed more firmly against his. She moved against him, the intensity, her urgency leaving his body thrumming and aflame, and he sunk into the moment, drowning in her. Her tongue slipped between his lips, and he heard a moan escape, though he couldn't be sure if it came from her or himself. Sensations swirled around and inside of him, more than he'd felt in centuries, and he put his hands on Abbie's hips, inviting her closer to him as he settled into the rhythm they'd found. She waited until she was starving for air before slowly easing away from him, her eyelids fluttering open to see him frozen in place, eyes still closed, a look of wonder on his handsome face. "Abbie," he whispered again before slowly opening his eyes to peer down at her in wonder. A satisfied smile graced her face. "I was wondering if you were ever going to do that." "Mmm," he hummed absently, still trying to restart his brain. She'd done a factory reset on him with her lips and tongue. His eyes went wide as her words finally found traction. "You were?" he heard himself murmur breathily above the sound of blood thrumming through his ears. She nodded, the pleased smile on her just-kissed lips nearly making his knees weak. "Wondering...and hoping," she admitted. "But I thought..." He'd started talking before he realized what he was about to say and forced himself into silence before he made a village idiot of himself, sans village. She tilted her head questioningly. "You thought what?" With his head still swimming, he couldn't decipher a way out of the corner he'd walked himself into, so he forged ahead with the God's honest truth. "I thought you might prefer...a more modern gentleman." Her quizzical—and if he wasn't mistaken, curiously amused—look remained, and she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. He forged again, sure if he’d had all his wits about him this conversation would not be taking place. "You know, more like your friend, the new lieutenant?" He attempted nonchalance but failed, and she smiled knowingly. "Ah, you mean Mark." Though the warmth from her kiss still burned his lips, her use of the man’s given name irked him. "Yes," he agreed with a clipped tone. "Mr. Mu—Mr. Mark." She inhaled a breath. "He does have the modern thing going for him,” she admitted, nodding thoughtfully. “And he’s easy on the eyes. Though I doubt his wife would be too happy if we started something up.”

“His wife,” he murmured in confusion, the notion of Mr. Muscular having a wife never having crossed his mind.

“Not to mention…I don’t make it a habit of dating married men.”

She looked at him pointedly, and the realization that she’d pined for him as long as he’d desired her washed over him like an overwhelming, cleansing tide. At times he’d wondered, hoped that what she’d just admitted could be true, but they hadn’t looked back after he’d returned from Scotland, and so had never spoken of their long-standing feelings towards one another. Though never in her presence, Master Corbin and Miss Jenny often teased him about the Lieutenant and…and where had those two gotten off to anyway?

He looked to where they’d last stood, but he saw no sign of them.

“Do you think they planned this?” he asked distractedly, realizing it was a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

“If they did, we should be thanking them, but nevermind them. If you’re going to get distracted, it should be like this.”

And with that, she took hold of his lapels and pulled him down to kiss her again.

[like-bunnies]

First Kiss Story #2: The Art of the Kiss

“Crane?” Abbie called out, unable to find her fellow Witness in between the shelves at his favorite bookstore. He was usually easier to find than this, sticking mainly to one section but today, he must have gone exploring. She called out for a him a few more times before she turned the corner to find him in the self-help section.

He was completely engrossed in the book he was reading and didn’t even notice when she approached him. She could see the title plain as day when he finally looked over the top of the book and saw her standing there.

The Art of the Kiss.

According to the few lines she could catch on the back cover before he crammed it in place on the shelf, it covered such things as learning how to French kiss all the way to actual art that featured kissing. It seemed pretty inclusive and judging by the flush rising to Crane’s cheeks, pretty embarrassing to get caught reading if you were a grown man with no one to kiss presently.

“This is not what it seems,” he stammered, moving so he was standing in front of the section of books he had been focused so intently on that he didn’t even hear her call his name.

“What is it then?” Abbie asked, reaching around him for a copy of the book. She grabbed it and starting flipping through it. It was all rather lovely, actually. There were men kissing women. Women kissing women. Men kissing men. And art… from everyone’s favorite dorm room poster, The Kiss by Klimt to Pygmalion kissing Galatea in a work by Jean-Léon Gérôme.

“I was just curious,” Crane said, his hands now behind him as he stood there, not looking at the book as she flipped through the pages.

“Curious?”

“Truth be told, it has been a while since I kissed someone… besides my wife…” Crane started to say, sort of mumbling through his sentence.

“Yeah, I remember. I saw a few of those kisses,” Abbie said, trying not cringe too hard at the memory.

“She and I weren’t getting along all that well then, as you remember… anyway, it’s been a while and I didn’t know if things were different now… if the occasion should present itself where I would be… kissing someone… again… if things… I don’t know,” he said, still not looking at her or the book.

“A kiss is just a kiss,” Abbie said, laughing just a little at all of this. “The fundamental things apply, Crane.”

“Don’t mock me,” he said, looking at her seriously. “This concerns… you.”

“What now? How?” Abbie asked.

He took the book out of her hands and set it aside before putting a hand on each of her shoulders and pulling her just a little bit closer. She wanted to tip her face up to look at him but before she could, he kissed the top of her head. Just a soft, gentle kiss. When he backed away slightly, she looked up at him, gazing into his eyes. His breathing was no longer as steady as it had been and as they looked at each other, they both breathed in and out, opposite of the other. Her heart started racing and she wasn’t sure how this turned into this so quickly but here they were, in a little bookstore, about to share their first kiss. At least she hoped he had the nerve to do it.

She stood up on her tiptoes and he stood with his legs just so that he could kiss her forehead now. He put his forehead against hers and they just stared into each other’s eyes, still breathing. She wasn’t sure how she was still breathing but she was.

He kissed her.

Softly.

Slowly.

Finally.

He kissed her and it was everything she had hoped for.

Just long enough so she could commit to memory the taste of him. Short enough to make her want more.

And she got more. She pulled his face down and showed him how she liked to be kissed. Yes, books were one thing but nothing beat practice. Her fingers twisted in his long hair, holding him close as her tongue parted his lips.

They were in a public place but yet somehow she had let this get far enough that he parted her thighs with a knee and she was rubbing against him as they kissed. His hands held her tight around her waist and the world was spinning… like she was some girl getting her first kiss all over again.

She was, sort of. The first first kiss that was going to matter for the rest of her life. The last first kiss she ever planned to have.

“Abbie,” he said, pulling away from her, and licking his rosy lips. His face was completely flushed now and she didn’t want to stop but knew that they couldn’t continue this here.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to catch her breath.

“I don’t think we’re going to need to buy that book,” he said and she laughed.

“No… I don’t think so. But what else do they have in here…” she asked, turning around in his arms and looking at the books on the shelves. Hard to believe that some of these were in print now, what with the internet acting as everyone’s guide these days.

“I don’t think we’re going to need any of these books, Abbie,” he said, pushing her hair aside, leaning in, and kissing her neck. She tilted her head to the side and he continued to place tender kisses across her jaw line and every inch of uncovered skin he could reach, taking a moment to suck on her earlobe. She shivered from the sensation and couldn’t wait for his mouth to explore all of her.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure we can manage,” Abbie said, turning around and kissing him once more before staring into his eyes again. “We can manage just fine.”

The End

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: After the Catacombs

A/N: Missing scene from s3e10, ‘Incident at Stone Manor.’ I couldn’t NOT write their reunion words once they were alone. I don’t know how we were robbed of such angst fulfillment! 

Ichabod closed his eyes, attempting to compose himself. He couldn't say all things he'd been saving up for the moment she returned, not with their captive audience, so he made a ridiculous joke.

“Your move to counter my queen's knight four, that was a false gambit. I'd have outfoxed you handily.” She laughed, her smile nearly breaking his heart into a million slivers, and they turned together towards the door, leaving Jenny and Joe to close up the Archives. They understood his need to be alone with Abbie—he knew they did. They'd watched his erratic behavior, his long days and longer nights of coffee-fueled research and studying, his slew of attempts and failures, and the absolute, bull-headed stubbornness he’d exhibited as he’d endlessly searched for her. He'd even overheard them discussing him once, wondering how Abbie dealt with him when he got desperate like this. Miss Jenny hadn’t been wrong when she'd said she didn't think Abbie had ever seen him like that.

But now Abbie was here, walking beside him, her arm and hand brushing against him as they made their way to the tunnel entrance, falling into their familiar gait of quick steps for her and slower strides for him, each of them accommodating the other. He could barely believe they'd made it back here. That she’d made it back after all this time.

Crane opened the door to the tunnel entrance and motioned Abbie inside. She stepped over the threshold, waiting for him in the darkened space, and he sealed them inside, alone.

His heart pounded against his ribs like a jackhammer. He swallowed hard, all the things he’d wanted to say when he’d opened his eyes to find her standing beside him flooding his brain, causing his hands to shake. Completely overwhelmed, he absentmindedly lifted one corner of his mouth and forged ahead down the hallway, headed towards the street.

“That wasn’t my only move, by the way,” Abbie continued their conversation from a moment ago, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “In the best game we played…”

He couldn't concentrate on what she was saying, though her voice flowed over him like a warm salve, soft like silk and smooth as honey, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves and aching heart. He had no idea what she'd endured—they’d get to that soon enough—but her jovial tone, teasing words, and feminine cadence warmed him like he hadn't felt in weeks. They reached the stairs, and Abbie motioned him forward as she continued explaining chess moves, a gesture for which he was grateful. He needed another moment to compose himself, to reign in all that had come untethered with her sudden appearance in this world again: his emotions, thoughts, heartbeat, and—he feared—his tongue. He’d wanted to proclaim from the rooftops how grateful he was that she still breathed. That she'd held on. That they'd found a way for him to get to her. That she meant everything to him and though it'd taken losing her like this to realize it, damned fool that he was, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and hold her and comfort her and promise her the world. And then show her how important she'd become to him. Instead, with Miss Jenny and Master Joe hanging on his every word, he'd merely taken her hand, needing to touch her, his fingers running along her arm and wrist, their fingers intertwining, reminiscent of their bond and, he hoped, their hearts. But now they were alone, her voice and presence and footfalls right behind him, and he couldn't help himself. He descended the last step and unexpectedly whirled around to face her. She stopped mid-sentence, mouth frozen and eyes wide and trusting and curious. Abbie. His Abbie. Here with him again. She stood directly in front of him, the unusually large steps and her much shorter stature putting them nearly at equal heights, an unusual experience for them both. Abbie's raised her eyebrows questioningly, but no words came from his mouth as he drank in the sight of her. Bright, if tired, eyes, arched brows, satiny smooth skin, full lips. Beauty personified. How could he begin to tell her what a wreck he'd been while she was gone? What lengths he'd gone to to find her? What she'd come to mean to him? He'd explained it well enough to Agent Foster that night in the car as they chased after that demon. Yet staring at Abbie now, watching the curiosity and amusement at his extended silence play over her beautiful face, his eidetic memory failed him. He'd held back, swallowed his feelings, pretended he didn't care as much as he knew he'd come to, both out of abject fear and because he wasn't privy to her feelings about him. But somehow those things mattered little at the moment. She stared up at him with an intensity he felt thrumming through his veins, and the temperature of the air around them changed, charged. He burned from the inside out, pulse quick, mouth dry, head swimming. Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned into her space, holding on to the handrails at her sides, and kissed along her jawline, just below her ear. It was only when Abbie leaned into him that he realized what he’d done, the intimacy of his affections. Propriety demanded he retreat, give her respectable space, profusely apologize for having acted so rashly, and escort her to a public place to ensure his offense wasn’t repeated. To Hades with propriety, he thought as Abbie's hands landed softly against his chest, sending shivers across his flesh. "Abbie," he murmured along her skin, nuzzling into her. He heard her give a soft sigh, and his heart tripped. He forced himself to ease away from her, though it ached to do so, fearful she expressed regret at his affection and how his impetuous actions might change their partnership. But she looked…awestruck, and he realized she'd sighed from pleasure. Still holding on to the railing with one hand, he used the other to tuck a wayward ringlet away from her face. His eyes caressed her, from her full, gorgeous hair to wide, innocent eyes, the pink tinting her cheeks, her kissable mouth. "How I've missed you," he whispered, barely able to get the words out without trembling. Her face broke, much like it had just moments ago when she realized he'd followed her out of the catacombs, and she nodded in agreement, swallowing hard. He didn't need to hear the words back; the look on her face spoke more than a library's worth on the subject. He longed to take this trial and nearly year-long tenure of solitude away from her, but his power was limited to the present and future. And he'd give her anything she needed, everything he had if she desired it. She reached for him then, her arms sliding around his neck, and she pressed into him, her body flush against him as he slipped his arms around her waist to hold her tight. "Crane," she whispered, her breath feathering into his hair. “Ichabod,” she corrected herself. He felt his name from her lips reverberate in his soul, and he closed his eyes, reveling in finally…finally arriving at this moment. She felt warm and sturdy in his arms, the real flesh and blood Abigail so much more perfect than the illusion that'd haunted his dreams the past month. He marveled at the feel of her: strong and vulnerable, petite and powerful, fierce and feminine. He never wanted to let her go. He felt every breath she took, her small frame filling his arms and his heart, and for a moment he thought he might keel over from the sensations flooding him. "I thought I lost you," she whispered against his skin, her fingers lacing into his hair, sending shivers along his scalp and down his spine. "You saved me," he returned softly. "We saved each other."

He nodded slightly against her, barely daring to move for fear he'd wake from this dream and enter another day's harsh reality without her. Abbie eased away from him slowly but didn't go far. With her arms still draped over his shoulders, she leaned her forehead against his. He held her, his hands splayed across her back, eyes closed, body thrumming with need and anticipation. Her breaths teased across his lips, making him ache anew, and still he refused to move. He'd held her in his arms before, at times lingering longer than decorum deemed admissible, but this....this was altogether new, and he prayed it never ended. Her fingers played with the hair at his neck, and he felt unhinged, as though he'd float away if she decided to let go of him. He sighed dreamily, and Abbie pulled away enough to stare into his eyes. As if he weren't already in danger, he lost himself in her deep brown eyes, looking at him with such tenderness and hope. Her eyes flicked to his lips for a moment before meeting his gaze again, and his stomach dropped out. "Ichabod," she whispered, both a statement and a question. He gave a slight nod of encouragement before he dropped his gaze to her mouth, inching closer to her. She met him halfway, and when his lips touched hers, she let out a little sigh that made his blood boil. Her arms snaked around his neck again, and he slowly, tenderly pulled her close. Her lips were gentle but firm, and he let her lead this slow, sensual dance, content to enjoy the heat she caused to surge through him after feeling bereft for so long. She'd missed time, but now....now they had all the time in the world, and he intended to make up for it as languidly as she pleased. And she pleased. They moved slowly, tentatively exploring this new intimacy together. Tender but passionate, teasing and light and feathery-soft as their need built, second by perfectly aching second... Until they heard a door slam and distant voices. They eased away to stare at one another. "Abbie," he sighed on a shaky breath, staring at her like she'd just upended the world. She looked star-struck, much like he felt, and his heart leapt that he wasn't alone in it.  She swallowed hard before speaking in a near whisper. "Joe and Jenny, " she realized as the voices moved closer. Ichabod nodded, trying to shake away some of the fervor from mere seconds ago. "Come, let's go home." "Home," she repeated. He gave her a small smile, moving aside, and she descended the last step to stand beside him as they walked towards the exit. Abbie's arm slid around his bicep and she leaned against him for a moment, nearly causing him to trip. He needed to get ahold of himself before they reached the car or they'd certainly be in trouble with him behind the wheel. He peered down at her next to him, a space that'd been empty for far too long, now filled with the woman he loved and filling his heart anew. A full-fledged smile, one that actually reached his eyes, broke over his face, the first in weeks. Abbie moved away, her hand sliding down his arm until she clasped his hand, interlocking their fingers, and he couldn't help lifting their joined hands to place a kiss on the back of hers. She looked up at him and smiled, and together they navigated the tunnels, heading home.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Healing Wounds

A/N: Songsty (soft and angsty) Ichabbie fic borne out of a little hurt/comfort. 

"Is it still bleeding?" Ichabod slowly pulled the gauze pad she'd given him from the glove box away from his head and eyed the pool of red it'd soaked up. "Significantly less now, but yes." He pressed the gauze back against the deep gash along his hairline and sucked air in through his teeth at the sharp pain. Abbie glanced in her rearview mirror, half expecting to see the demon who'd nearly bested them following, regardless of the fact they'd sent it screaming back to hell. Instead she saw only inky blackness. Still, visions of the demon scratched at her brain: an ugly, horrid, horned beast of a thing, similar to Moloch in size, ferociousness, and power. And it'd used that power to nearly choke Crane to death. Until, armed with the weapons Jenny had discovered would kill it, she'd stabbed it with a wooden shard made from a cross around the time of Christ and flung salt blessed by a priest on it. At which point the demon had screamed in agony, threw Crane with all of its might, and nearly imploded in a burst of brilliant light. She'd run to him then, her unmoving partner whose head had collided with an old brick wall delineating the property they fought on. Her heart in her throat but breathing his name all the same, she gently eased him onto his back, afraid the light had left his eyes. He blinked rapidly, stunned, and she started breathing again, tears stinging her eyes as she felt the rise and fall of his chest where her hand lay upon him. If she'd lost him...no, she couldn't think about that, needed to check his injuries and see for herself he was alright. She shook the minutes-old memory from her mind and focused on the road in front of her. "We're almost home," she stated unnecessarily, trying to ease any worry he felt, to calm herself. A few minutes later, she swung the car into the driveway and bolted out, meeting Ichabod near the front bumper and holding on to his arm as she assisted him inside. He appeared to have all his faculties, but the wobbling he'd done for the first minute after taking that hit to the head had her worried. "Sit here," she commanded, patting one of the stools at the breakfast bar on her way to the freezer. He complied without comment, head pounding too hard to calm her nerves—or his own—though he managed to keep a neutral look on his face. He'd seen the worry on her since she'd rolled him onto his back after that hell monster had thrown him, and it hadn't left her since. He could feel Abbie's concern, felt the tension in her the whole ride home, watched her fingers absently tap the steering wheel to some silent tune of agitation.

He couldn't fault her: it'd been his fear for her safety that'd put him in the grips of that demon to begin with. The thought of her small body, fierce though it may be, in the hands of the horrid monster had compelled him to forfeit their plan and go rogue. He felt no regret though; a concussion was a small price to pay to protect her, to ensure her safety. Abbie grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and pressed it into his hand before heading down the hallway to grab the first aid kit. By the time she returned, Ichabod had removed his coat and thrown it over the back of the couch and now held the ice pack over the gauze.

She set the kit on the breakfast bar and held her hand out to him. "I'm gonna get you some water so you can take these," she explained as she dropped Tylenol into his open palm. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he intoned gratefully, if wearily. Abbie handed him a bottle of water from the fridge, then flung open the first aid kit and rifled through it until she found the needle and medical thread. She laid them out on a kitchen towel, along with gauze, cotton balls, bandages, antiseptic, and medical tape. "How you doing, Crane?" she asked him lightly after he'd swallowed the medicine, her voice betraying the fear she felt at how quiet he'd stayed since taking the hit to the head. He smiled reassuringly at her. "I'm still alive, which is a vast improvement over other battles I've experienced." She eyed him warily, her head tilted in consternation. "A tad woozy," he admitted sheepishly. "And my head is pounding." "The Tylenol will help with that, but let's take a look." He gently removed the ice pack and the gauze, and he breathed in deeply, steeling himself as Abbie stepped in close to him. Heat radiated from her—or was that him?—and he welcomed her proximity, the feel of her soft hands and gentle touch on his brow. He never took hits purposefully, but her ministrations almost made it worthwhile. Even now, with a harsh blow to the head, her fingertips pushing his hair away from his face sent shivers running through him. Abbie pushed her fear aside and inspected his head, the ache in her heart easing slightly now that she could doctor his wound in the safety of their home. The two-plus inch gash looked angry and deep but had nearly stopped bleeding. "It needs a few stitches," she mumbled, more to herself than to him, forcing herself to stay on task and her emotions down. "But...it should be fine." She could feel him watching her carefully, intensely, but she avoided his gaze, not wanting him to see how much their scuffle with the demon, how watching him go airborne only to land head-first into a wall, had shaken her. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken his neck. She got to work cleaning the wound, dabbing at it with an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball as gently as possible. She could see him holding his breath against the pain, though he only let a few, nearly imperceptible moans escape. Each one stabbed at her heart though, and she forced herself to concentrate harder on the wound and less on the man. Ichabod tried to keep his breathing steady as she stitched him up, and he made his mind focus on each inhale and exhale instead of the pain. Not to mention her hands on him, her body only inches from him, the tension emanating off of her. There'd be hell to pay later for his wayward actions in the woods tonight. He didn't relish the thought but couldn't help feeling grateful he was still around for Abbie to reprimand. And she would, he acknowledged to himself in adoration of her. She'd glare and scold and sound fierce and fiery, and he'd apologize—and mean it. He'd stood on the other side of a plan when someone had gone rogue and knew the righteous anger that accompanied that.—while admiring her spirit and strength and fortitude of character. Which she was currently exhibiting: keenly focused, strong as steel, gentle as silk. Right now he was the task at hand, and he felt most grateful, much preferring her doctoring over an emergency room technician’s. Her fingertips skimmed his brow line, feathered through his hair, and his eyes dropped closed for a moment at the sensation. Abbie tied off the stitches and covered the gash with gauze, taping it to his forehead. She eyed her handiwork, estimating he may have a faint scar but hoping this latest fight wouldn't mar him. "It's gonna be painful for a while, but I think it should heal nicely. Hopefully without a scar." He remained silent, unsure what to say, too many emotions roiling inside of him. The adrenaline of another fight, fear for her safety, then for his own, relief they’d survived, sheepishness at having made the fight more difficult for her, the pain flooding him, her agitation and solemnity, her proximity, her touch, everything about her filling his senses…he felt drained and emotionally raw, a bad combination to keep himself under control. "You okay?" she asked, her brow wrinkled with quiet concern. She stood next to him, in his space, closer than normal—not nearly close enough if he had his say. But he didn't, and now wasn't the time, no matter how much he desired her. He wanted to reach out and wipe the worry from her face, to assure her that everything would be fine, so long as she stayed right here with him, kept stroking his brow, playing with his hair, breathing against his skin. Instead, he gave her a reassuring half-smile. “Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.” Abbie eyed him curiously, wondering at the strange expression on his face, the far-off look in his eyes, but she let him have his secrets for the time being. They had enough to discuss after tonight's deviation from their plan, but it could wait until tomorrow. Right now he needed to rest, and though it wouldn't be his inclination, she meant to ensure he got it. She nodded once. "You need a little more ice and then some rest." He needed more than that, but he kept his thoughts and comments to himself. Grabbing the ice pack off the breakfast bar, he stood and instantly regretted it as a wave of dizziness came over him. He reached for the counter, dropping the ice as the world slowly set itself right. Abbie watched him wobble and instinctively reached to help steady him, one hand gripping his forearm, the other landing flat against his chest. "Woah," she said softly, staring up at him, trying to decipher from his expression whether he could stand on his own two feet or not. She attempted a small smile of encouragement, but she felt more distressed than reassuring at the moment.

She wasn’t ignorant of the dangers of head wounds and wondered if she should’ve taken him to the ER instead of handling it herself. He’d have resisted, but she could have persuaded him—and if not, she’d been driving; she could’ve made him go.

The fear gripping her insides squeezed relentlessly. If she lost him, she couldn't be sure she'd continue this fight. Not after losing Corbin, her mother, Frank, and Joe to it. She couldn't add another casualty—couldn’t add him—to the tragic roster of failures. And especially not without him knowing how she felt. And what do I feel? she wondered, eyes locked on the man standing before her, filling her vision. Was it simple affection that left her smiling at his quirks and historical rants and funny descriptions of modern day appliances? Was it attraction that made her stare a bit too long into those baby blues when he got revved up retelling colonial stories or caused her eyes to roam his fine features—long, lean, strong hands, hair you could run your fingers through, wide shoulders, toned arms that encircled her comfortingly—when he wasn't looking? Was it mere friendship that made her want to spend more hours than she rightly should learning more and more about him, about his previous life, his hopes for one beyond this infernal apocalypse, all the facets of him and his mind and his heart that they hadn't had time to explore yet?

No, it was something more, something she feared putting a name to. And right now she didn’t have to; she just needed to make sure he survived this latest wound.

She shook away her thoughts. "Take it slow," she advised as she pushed his hair back once more to check the bandage on his head. Ichabod had nearly collapsed, and yet all his senses remained attuned to Abbie standing mere inches from him, her hands upon him, the faint scent of her lotion teasing his nostrils. He'd caught her furtive glances, her emotions on edge, both of them coming down from the high of battle to the realization of the aftermath. But this felt different. Abbie's movements were taut and precise, more clinical than normal and cool in their familiarity. Until now. Now he felt her hands on him, her breath against his chest, her gaze burning his skin, the air between them charged, morphing into something altogether heavy and heated. She was a live wire, and he couldn't help but touch her. Her hand against his heartbeat and her fingers in his hair again sent his pulse racing, and his hand came to rest over hers where it lay against his chest. She avoided his eyes—had since they'd sent the demon back where it belonged, he calculated—as her gaze followed her hand, which trailed down a lock of his hair to his jaw. Her fingers caressed down the side of his beard until they dropped to his collarbone, sliding along it until they dipped into the hollow of his throat. He swallowed hard, her exploration sending both shivers and heat racing through him. Could she not see what she was doing to him? Did she not know the depth of his attraction to her, the swell of desire she elicited, his yearning to be with her? Apparently not since her fingertips continued their study of him, teasingly snaking along his chest where his shirt lay open, the drawstrings having come undone sometime during the demon fight. Only when she reached the v-point of his shirt did she lay her palm flat against his breastbone and finally, finally look at him. What he saw in her eyes sent his head swimming: bright brown pools of desire and aching need coupled with fear. He felt dizzy again, and this time it had nothing to do with his head and everything to do with the woman before him invading his heart. Her touch sent his blood boiling, left his knees weak, and he slowly sat down again, putting them nearly at eye-level. Abbie didn't know what’d come over her, what made her cross the unwritten boundary line that'd always kept them professional and friendly, even if at times they became flirty or intensely heady. Didn't know what’d possessed her to trace that tempting patch of bare skin that taunted her every day, wondering what it'd feel like to touch him. She feared she’d made a mistake, and an icy-hot sensation flooded her. It wasn’t enough that she worried about his safety; now she worried she’d destroyed their partnership with her wayward hands and inappropriate thoughts, and she wilted inside.

She could handle rejection and embarrassment—though God knew the humiliation would sicken her—and courageously face any demon or monster to protect the world, but she couldn’t bear the idea of her actions changing their dynamic, the way they worked and communicated and played off of each other on a daily basis. She still wanted him around to cause her headaches and irritation and laughter and companionship...and now maybe more? His skin, warm to the touch, made her crave more, and she gazed up at him. Fire burned in his eyes, making her heart pound, and when he dropped to the bar stool again, she wanted nothing more than to move against him, press into him, feel the length of his body warm and hard against her. She saw his eyes drop to her mouth for a second, causing her stomach to dance somersaults, and she unconsciously licked her lips in anticipation. "Abbie," he whispered, his breath feathering against her lips, and she didn't know how he'd learned to speak a plea, a statement, and a question all at once. Her heart had jumped into her throat and, unable to respond, she merely nodded, her wide, trusting eyes never leaving his. One of his hands, warm and gentle, cupped her shoulder, drawing her closer as he leaned towards her, and when his lips touched hers, the earth fell out from beneath her. His lips moved softly, tentatively against hers, and she let the moment wash over her. The miles they'd traversed to make it here, the hurts and losses and aches and triumphs and long days and lonely nights and missed opportunities they'd endured to arrive at this moment, here, together, hearts yearning, blood pounding, lips speaking a new language as old as time itself. Too much—every nerve ending attuned to him, his hands sliding heat along her arms as he moved to embrace her, his lips firm but tender, his mustache deliciously abrasive, his body close—and entirely not enough at the same time. Ichabod floated through a dream, utterly awash with Abbie: her hands flat against his chest even as she pressed against him, her small frame held in his arms, her full lips, warm and inviting, pressed against his. And then she stepped between his legs, her hands sliding up and over his shoulders, fingers lacing into his hair as she snaked her arms around his neck. He felt aflame and started to pull back for air, then changed his mind, kissing her anew, this time more insistently as she moaned low in her throat. Abbie felt like she was simultaneously floating, falling, and flying, and she couldn't get enough. His lips molded to hers, hot and needy and insistent and more perfect than she’d ever imagined. His mustache scratched and tickled her, an entirely erotic sensation she could get used to. The mouth that infuriated and encouraged her, that spoke in eloquence and intellect, would now be her undoing.

“Lieutenant,” he rumbled her name against her lips.

It washed over her like a potent elixir, and she silenced him easily, kissing him harder, unable to mask her ardor any longer. He succumbed with a pleased sigh as her hands roamed over him every place she could reach, his nape and back, broad shoulders, the pulse point at his neck, his strong jawline. And then she started over again, running her hands through his hair, a fantasy she'd imagined thousands of times. But in her fantasies, she'd never hurt him doing so. He suddenly jerked away from her and gasped lightly, her hand having brushed over his wound in her fervor. Regret instantly took over her face. "Sorry, I'm so sorry," she gasped.

He shook his head slightly, brushing aside the pain and giving her a gentle smile before setting his hands on her hips and leaning his forehead against hers for a moment. When he pulled away, she cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs feathering over his lips, still mesmerized that he'd kissed her. His mouth quirked up beneath her ministrations. "You are most adept at this, Lieutenant," he admired, his Puritan sensibilities screaming against the passion racing through him now that her mouth wasn’t working magic on his. He kissed her thumbs where they lay against his lips.

“As are you,” she returned, feeling a slight flush on her cheeks. She ran her hands down his arms as she stepped back from him, only now realizing as his hands dropped from her waist how intimately she’d moved into him.

He clasped her hands before she trailed them away, holding her at arms’ length and staring openly at her, at her flushed cheeks and wide, bright eyes, luscious, just-kissed lips, the light purple shirt that lent her skin a rosy complexion, small waist perfect for his hands, jean-clad legs that teased him on a daily basis.

The attraction he felt for her actually made him hurt.

Rein yourself in, scoundrel, he commanded himself. Swallowing hard, he met her eyes, which did nothing to help his cause as her heated, sultry gaze set him on fire anew.

“I…” He swallowed down the desire threatening to overwhelm him again. “I believe I could use that ice now.”

He realized the unintentional innuendo of his words as her face broke into a smile, and they both burst out laughing, releasing their clasped hands as Abbie handed him the ice pack.

“Come on,” Abbie motioned for him to follow her as she headed to the living room and sat on the couch. Ichabod held the ice pack against his wound and followed her, sitting near her but leaving a few much-needed inches between them since his heartrate still raced wildly.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, each lost in thoughts of what’d just passed, their evolving relationship, the delicious tension that still wound around and through them.

After a few moments, Abbie peered up at him. “You alright, Crane?” she asked, indicating his wound.

He nodded once. “I am quite more than ‘alright,’ Lieutenant. Abbie,” he corrected, his voice dropping low as he gazed at her appreciatively. “I have the best doctor in town.”

Was he flirting with her? She felt giddy at the prospect. “Don’t let it get out. I don’t do house calls.”

“I certainly hope not. You’d cause significantly more heart palpitations than you’d cure. Speaking from first-hand experience, as it were,” he teased.

She chuckled, kicking her feet up onto the couch, wrapping her hands around his bicep, and leaning into him. “I could get used to your flattery,” she admitted on a sigh.

“And I to your…ardent bedside manner.”

She turned her head and kissed his shoulder, tucking closer into his side. “Keep up the sweet talk, Crane, and there’ll be a whole lot more of it.”

“I can only pray this isn’t a wonderfully potent dream induced by my head injury.” He nuzzled the top of her head.

“Wonderful, potent, and dreamy. And as real as the possibility that you may have a concussion,” she affirmed, turning serious for a moment.

“Mmm, it is concerning.”

“We should stay up for a while, make sure you’re still feeling well.”

“Hm.” He nodded in agreement, even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Whatever shall we do with our free time?” he queried coyly.

She smirked up at him. “You can start by telling me why you went rogue out there.”

The amusement dropped from his face, replaced by chagrin, and he relaxed back into the couch with Abbie’s weight pressed comfortingly into his side. Better now than later, he mused. The quicker we can return to making up.

“Yes…,” he began. “About that…”

[like-bunnies]

First Kiss Story #1

This was the third night in a row that Abbie was awoken by Crane crying out in his sleep. She would hurry down the stairs to make sure that he was still in the house and that no monsters had dragged him off into the night. Just like the last two nights, he was in his bed, tossing and turning and calling out names she didn't recognize. The look of fear and panic on his face was nothing like she had ever seen before.

Night terrors. She had experienced plenty of those herself. The last two nights, as soon as she had stood next to his bed, his had stopped. Not tonight. He had his blankets twisted around him and soon he was calling out for her.

“Lieutenant!” he now cried out and she sat beside him on his bed. The motion of her sinking into the mattress didn't wake him so she touched his hands and assured him she was right there.

“Crane, it's okay. I'm here,” she said over and over. She leaned closer to him, pushing some sweaty strands of hair off his troubled brow. He started shaking his head, as if denying that she was there and she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead. He began to calm down but as soon as she pulled away, he became agitated again.

She brushed her lips against his forehead again, and then kissed each of his eyelids, hoping to erase whatever he was seeing in his sleep. “Shh, shh,” she whispered over and over, her lips lightly touching his flushed skin. Nothing was helping.

Abbie sat up and looked at him and his rosy lips. Well, kissing worked in fairy tales, didn't it? And didn't fairy tales usually have some truth behind them?

Leaning close, she placed the softest of kisses on his lips, hoping like hell he wouldn't mind if this saved him from whatever was going on in his dreams. It wasn't the romantic first kiss she always imagined they'd have one day, coming together after they had finally saved the world, but it would have to do for now.

After a moment, he returned the kiss, his hands moving to gently hold her face. She was going to assume that he didn't mind her kissing him at all.

She pulled away and found him blinking at her, as if trying to bring everything into focus.

“You kissed me,” he said. Or maybe it was a question.

“You were having a nightmare. Worse than a nightmare. I couldn't get you to wake up so I thought I'd try... what were you dreaming about anyway?” she asked, trying to change the direction of the conversation.

“You wouldn't believe the dream I had. You were dead... you went into the box and you were gone and then there were all these other people... people who needed things from me... but I was so alone without you... I'm so thankful that you're still here,” he said, clutching onto her hands as if he was afraid she would disappear into the night.

“I'm right here. I'd never leave you like that. We promised each other that,” she said. He pulled her hands to his mouth and kissed each of her fingers.

“You kissed me...” he mumbled against her fingertips.

“Yes, I kissed you,” she said.

“Like saving some sort of Disney Princess?” Crane asked.

“If you're the princess in this scenario, then yes,” Abbie replied with a sigh. Crane always did have the look of a Disney character about him, especially when he'd bat his eyelashes at her when he wanted something.

“Can I now kiss you in return?” he asked politely, indeed batting his long eyelashes in her direction. “That's all. One kiss. To ward off any more bad dreams that may come my way.”

She snuggled in beside him, both of them trying to get comfortable with the other in the confined space of his bed. Then he kissed her. Again and again and again. So many times, that if goodnight kisses truly did chase away bad dreams, neither of them would have a nightmare again for the rest of their lives.

The End

[like-bunnies]

Ichabbie First Kiss Challenge

Inspired by @thymelady‘s wonderful Ichabbie First Kiss drabble, I thought we should have an Ichabbie First Kiss challenge so the great writers and artists in this fandom can create that first kiss we never got on screen. BECAUSE THIS DOESN’T COUNT!

Write a drabble. Write a full-length multi-chapter fic leading up to that first kiss. Reblog or post a link to a story with your favorite Ichabbie first kiss. Make a mood board. Draw a picture. Reblog your favorite scenes that obviously should have ended in a kiss because I can think of a few. 

I know it’s not the same as a million gifs of that first kiss (and you know we’d still be reblogging that over and over and over) but this fandom could always imagine great things. Tag it #ichabbie first kiss. Don’t tag the show’s name. There are no deadlines. Just have fun. 

[like-bunnies]

First Kiss Story #2: The Art of the Kiss

“Crane?” Abbie called out, unable to find her fellow Witness in between the shelves at his favorite bookstore. He was usually easier to find than this, sticking mainly to one section but today, he must have gone exploring. She called out for a him a few more times before she turned the corner to find him in the self-help section.

He was completely engrossed in the book he was reading and didn’t even notice when she approached him. She could see the title plain as day when he finally looked over the top of the book and saw her standing there.

The Art of the Kiss.

According to the few lines she could catch on the back cover before he crammed it in place on the shelf, it covered such things as learning how to French kiss all the way to actual art that featured kissing. It seemed pretty inclusive and judging by the flush rising to Crane’s cheeks, pretty embarrassing to get caught reading if you were a grown man with no one to kiss presently.

“This is not what it seems,” he stammered, moving so he was standing in front of the section of books he had been focused so intently on that he didn’t even hear her call his name.

“What is it then?” Abbie asked, reaching around him for a copy of the book. She grabbed it and starting flipping through it. It was all rather lovely, actually. There were men kissing women. Women kissing women. Men kissing men. And art… from everyone’s favorite dorm room poster, The Kiss by Klimt to Pygmalion kissing Galatea in a work by Jean-Léon Gérôme.

“I was just curious,” Crane said, his hands now behind him as he stood there, not looking at the book as she flipped through the pages.

“Curious?”

“Truth be told, it has been a while since I kissed someone… besides my wife…” Crane started to say, sort of mumbling through his sentence.

“Yeah, I remember. I saw a few of those kisses,” Abbie said, trying not cringe too hard at the memory.

“She and I weren’t getting along all that well then, as you remember… anyway, it’s been a while and I didn’t know if things were different now… if the occasion should present itself where I would be… kissing someone… again… if things… I don’t know,” he said, still not looking at her or the book.

“A kiss is just a kiss,” Abbie said, laughing just a little at all of this. “The fundamental things apply, Crane.”

“Don’t mock me,” he said, looking at her seriously. “This concerns… you.”

“What now? How?” Abbie asked.

He took the book out of her hands and set it aside before putting a hand on each of her shoulders and pulling her just a little bit closer. She wanted to tip her face up to look at him but before she could, he kissed the top of her head. Just a soft, gentle kiss. When he backed away slightly, she looked up at him, gazing into his eyes. His breathing was no longer as steady as it had been and as they looked at each other, they both breathed in and out, opposite of the other. Her heart started racing and she wasn’t sure how this turned into this so quickly but here they were, in a little bookstore, about to share their first kiss. At least she hoped he had the nerve to do it.

She stood up on her tiptoes and he stood with his legs just so that he could kiss her forehead now. He put his forehead against hers and they just stared into each other’s eyes, still breathing. She wasn’t sure how she was still breathing but she was.

He kissed her.

Softly.

Slowly.

Finally.

He kissed her and it was everything she had hoped for.

Just long enough so she could commit to memory the taste of him. Short enough to make her want more.

And she got more. She pulled his face down and showed him how she liked to be kissed. Yes, books were one thing but nothing beat practice. Her fingers twisted in his long hair, holding him close as her tongue parted his lips.

They were in a public place but yet somehow she had let this get far enough that he parted her thighs with a knee and she was rubbing against him as they kissed. His hands held her tight around her waist and the world was spinning… like she was some girl getting her first kiss all over again.

She was, sort of. The first first kiss that was going to matter for the rest of her life. The last first kiss she ever planned to have.

“Abbie,” he said, pulling away from her, and licking his rosy lips. His face was completely flushed now and she didn’t want to stop but knew that they couldn’t continue this here.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to catch her breath.

“I don’t think we’re going to need to buy that book,” he said and she laughed.

“No… I don’t think so. But what else do they have in here…” she asked, turning around in his arms and looking at the books on the shelves. Hard to believe that some of these were in print now, what with the internet acting as everyone’s guide these days.

“I don’t think we’re going to need any of these books, Abbie,” he said, pushing her hair aside, leaning in, and kissing her neck. She tilted her head to the side and he continued to place tender kisses across her jaw line and every inch of uncovered skin he could reach, taking a moment to suck on her earlobe. She shivered from the sensation and couldn’t wait for his mouth to explore all of her.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure we can manage,” Abbie said, turning around and kissing him once more before staring into his eyes again. “We can manage just fine.”

The End

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Ichabbie Vignettes

TITLE: Firsts (But Not Last) - Part 2: Cotton Candy

A/N: The 2nd in a series of vignettes that feature Ichabbie firsts (but not lasts, obviously). Also on AO3.

The first time he saw cotton candy his mouth opened into a little ‘o’ and Abbie chuckled.

“Come on, I’ll buy you some,” she enthused, looping her arm with his and pulling him towards the stand. She bought a blue, pink, and purple swirled wand of confection as he watched the carnie spin the fine yarns of sugar.

“What is this fairy confectionary called?” he asked as he inspected the treat she’d just handed him.

“Cotton candy.” She claimed a picnic bench, and he sat next to her, removing the wrapping from this new sugary sweet.

“Ommm,” he hummed, his eyes going wide when the sugar touched his tongue. A mere second later, his brows drew together. “It…it’s gone!? What devilry…?” He peered suspiciously at the wand of sugar.

Abbie couldn’t help smiling at him and his childlike wonder. “Here, come here.” She reached up to pluck away a wayward strand of sugar that’d stuck in his beard. “It’s magic,” she answered him, a sweet smile on her face.

One eyebrow arched up in disdain and disbelief.

And then, her hand still on his face, she drew him to her and kissed the sweetness from his lips.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Sleepy Holloween

A/N: This Ichabbie Halloween fic is pure fluff and cuteness. No plot to be found here, just flirts and enjoyment.

“I’m sorry, Emily. I had to wait 300 years for a virgin to light a candle.”

An orchestra played an epic few bars of music, a drumroll sounded, and Abbie turned the TV off as the credits started to roll.

“Well, Crane, what’d you think?”

He turned to Jenny, who was cuddled up with Joe on the opposite end of the couch. “It was…palatable.”

Jenny gave him her blank stare of disbelief, and Joe smiled knowingly, but it was Abbie, who’d stayed tucked into his side for the duration of the movie, who prompted, “Come on, tell us what you really think.”

He glanced down at her, noting her sincere, if amused, look. “Is this, in all honesty, a children’s film?” he asked, genuinely perturbed.

“Well…not small children,” Joe supplied.

“And what is considered ‘small,’ Master Joe? I dare to presume there are parents who’d rather not expose young minds to witchcraft and the occult. It’s difficult enough for the four of us to manage it—but to appropriate it for entertainment on our youth…”

“You mean to tell me children in your day didn’t watch real life horrors worse than a little Halloween fantasy?” Jenny countered, forceful but kind. “That they weren’t exposed to hangings and gunfights and war? Not to mention the treatment of slaves.”

Crane looked duly reprimanded. "I suppose I can see where…times have altered enough that All Hallow’s Eve fantasy films are less traumatic than real life has been known to be.”

“And that’s your only comment on the film?” Abbie asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Certainly not. The inaccuracies in this movie are quite numerous.”

“Here we go,” Joe murmured good-naturedly, eliciting knowing smirks from the Mills sisters and a slightly offended look from Crane.

“To begin with, most cabins in the 17th century would be much smaller than the one Binx and Emily shared, and they likely would have slept in the same room as their parents, perhaps even in the same bed, depending on their economic status.”

“Oh! We’re starting at the beginning,” Jenny teased, extracting herself from Joe and stretching.

Crane tilted his head at her in disdain but continued as Joe and Jenny rose to take their leave. “By dawn, the entire town would have been roused and already about their day. The witch Sarah would not have had the opportunity to lure young Emily to her demise at daybreak.”

“Speaking of a break, we need to head out,” Joe explained, waving at them as they headed for the door.

“Good luck, Abbie,” Jenny threw over her shoulder, smirking as they exited the house.

Abbie smiled and waved, content to stay securely tucked into Ichabod’s side for a few more minutes, even if she had to listen to another historical inaccuracy rant in order to do so.

“You get three,” she stated.

He peered down at her questioningly. “I don’t understand.”

“Tell me three issues you had with the movie. Only,” she held up her hand against his coming dispute, “three.”

“Very well. One: If the witches had spent 300 years in eternal damnation, should they not have recognized that ridiculous man dressed as the devil wasn’t him? We’re supposed to believe they think Lucifer takes on human form, has also left the depths of Hades—the place they’ve just escaped from—and lives in a modern home with a wife and a dog?”

“Everyone’s gotta live somewhere,” Abbie teased, earning her a classic Ichabod glare.

“Two: When the sisters are chasing those poor children, Witch Winnifred mocks young Max’s words, ‘it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.’” His professor’s finger came up, and Abbie did her best to refrain from smiling at him. “Regardless of the fact that ‘hocus pocus’ is a sham-Latin phrase that jugglers employed in the 17th century—not to mention a common stage name both they and magicians used—how would she have known he said such phrase since he hadn’t yet lit the black flame candle, and therefore she wasn’t in this realm?”

Abbie nodded, considering his point, but refrained from answering, instead holding up three fingers to remind him he was about to round home.

“And three: Since the sisters only returned for one All Hallow’s Eve and they spent it chasing those children around all of Salem, how in Heaven’s name did Witch Winnifred know what a driver’s permit is? It took me months to get mine, and that only after you spent every waking hour explaining the 21st century and all of its advancements and gadgets to me and teaching me how to master the iron horse.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded, mildly entertained by his nitpicking, though she couldn’t help adding, “It is a fantasy film, though.”

Ichabod looked pleased she agreed with him and nodded. “I do admit, it was a bit of fantastical fun though,” he allowed, his voice calmer now that he’d aired some of his grievances. “Quite comforting to know others fight the tyranny of evil, even if it is merely make-believe. Will we watch this every year?”

“It’s a requirement in this house. And since you live here too now…”

“Indeed I do.” He lifted an eyebrow, a flirty smile teasing his lips as he kissed her.

“Come on.” Abbie patted his thigh as she pulled away from him. “It’s time to get ready. The kids’ll be here soon.”

*****

“Abbie…are you coming down?” Ichabod called up the staircase.

“On my way. You dressed?”

She heard him mumble something about ‘infernal style,’ but then his voice carried up to her. “Yes, and most anxious to see your costume.”

Abbie didn’t know what to prepare for, either in terms of what costume he’d chosen or what he’d think of hers. She couldn’t help hoping he’d appreciate her outfit choice even more than he had her Beyonce get-up from last year—which he’d enjoyed just fine. She recalled how his appreciative gaze roamed from her full head of faux curls, across her face where she’d applied a classic but simple make-up style, lingered a few seconds too long on her lips before dropping down to her neck where her ‘Queen’ necklace caused him to smirk approvingly at the statement before sliding down to her unusually low-cut shirt, which provided a rare and revealing view of her cleavage. His eyes lingered again, then traveled down the length of her body to stare at her shorts with the bling on the pockets and her bare legs. After a few moments, he suddenly seemed to remember himself, and his eyes snapped up to her face where her knowing smile made him a bit embarrassed to have gawked at her so.

This outfit didn’t reveal her attributes in the same way, but she’d bet money it’d please him all the same.

She smoothed down the sides of her costume, then started down the stairs. Ichabod came into sight, standing tall, proud, regal, and ramrod straight, and she nearly tripped over her own feet. His hair had disappeared beneath a white sailor’s cap with a black bill and gold trim. The white jacket with epaulets on the shoulders and gold buttons running down the middle made his blue eyes shine even brighter than usual as he heatedly watched her descend the stairs. A single, thin, gold ribbon encircled the jacket’s wrists and striped down the sides of the white pants he wore, the entire uniform making him appear nobler and even taller than his 6 foot-plus frame.

She’d never expected to see him in a contemporary costume, having long since given up trying to get him to wear anything modern, and she had no clue what had possessed him to go military for Halloween. But he certainly didn’t disappoint, and she suddenly wished she had one of those old handheld folding fans ladies used to carry around to cool herself off with.  

Ichabod watched Abbie float down the stairs, mesmerized by her costume. She’d pinned all of her hair up, leaving a single, thick curl falling over her shoulder. Her dress, a deep green that complimented her beautifully flushed brown skin, had long sleeves that ended with a frill of off-white lace at her forearms. The court neckline, cut down nearly to her armpits, highlighted the length of her neck, her collarbones, the glow of her skin, and her bust. The dress’s bodice, an inset corset also in off-white, contrasted beautifully against the dark green of the rest of the dress and emphasized her petite frame and small waist. From her hips, the dress flared out and down to the floor, her tiny feet hidden beneath its layers.

She looked stunning, as though she’d stepped out of the Revolutionary War era with him. He knew his gaze lingered in awe, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d admit he loved seeing Abbie wear her modern-day clothes—blue jeans, form-fitting shirts, a silk robe, a tank top and short shorts to bed—though Heaven knew they all left little to the imagination, which he was both forever grateful for and infernally distracted by. But seeing her like this, resplendent in Colonial couture, left him speechless and mesmerized as she came to stand in front of him.

Abbie recovered first. “Hello there, sailor,” she cooed, a full smile gracing her face.

Ichabod mentally shook himself out of his stupor and swallowed hard. “Ah-ah, it’s Captain,” he corrected, pointing to one of the stripes gracing the left side of his chest.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, impressed. “O Captain, my Captain.”

“And no other’s,” he assured her, his voice dropping low. “Abbie….you look…” While his words trailed off, his hand started at her wrist and slid up her arm, over her shoulder, across her bare collarbone.

“Colonial?” she supplied, delighted her endeavor to please and surprise him had elicited this effect.

“Well, yes, but I was going to say 'magnificent,’” he explained as he tipped her chin up and kissed her, his other hand finding her waist.

He felt her smile against his lips, and he pulled away, then changed his mind and gave her another peck before taking her hands in his and a step back to drink in the sight of her once more.

“You seem very pleased, love.”

“I am,” she confirmed, smiling, watching his eyes roam over her again. “I wanted to surprise you with a little something from your…previous life.”

“Mission well accomplished,” he affirmed, tugging her towards him with their still-clasped hands. He leaned in close to kiss her neck. “Though I can’t wait to take this off of you,” he whispered against her skin.

“Ah,” she gasped, simultaneously easing away from him and pushing him away, though her hands remained on his chest. “Don’t start; it’s much too early for that. Besides…” Her eyes roamed heatedly over him again. “I need some time to enjoy you fully embracing the military style of today.”

“Mm,” he hummed, taking a step back from her and holding his arms out wide for her perusal. “So this suits you?”

“It suits you,” she returned cheekily. “It pleases me.”

He arched one brow. “How much, we shall find out later.”

“Indeed,” she agreed in a teasing tone, mocking his go-to affirmative.

One side of his mouth turned up, amused. “Shall we get on with the festivities, Mistress Abbie?” he asked, changing the subject before things got too out of hand. Heaven knew he’d need to try to keep things neutral in order to make it through the rest of the evening without ravishing her.

“Mistress? You know…that designation doesn’t mean the same thing now as it did before,” she informed him as she headed towards the kitchen.

“No? What, pray tell, does it mean now?”

She reached into the cabinets for the bags of candy she’d bought, handing them to him. “It usually refers to a woman in a relationship with a married man.”

“Has this generation found no end to the butchering of the English language? In my day, a mistress was the head of her home, holding a position of control and authority; it was a title of respect. It boggles the mind how a term of female empowerment has been subverted such that it now refers to something…tawdry.”

“Agreed; your definition is much better,” Abbie stated, pulling the large orange bowl with black bats all over it from another cabinet, setting it on the island between them. “You can call me Mistress, if you feel the need, with the understanding that you’re referencing the original meaning. How’s that sound?”

“But you are my Mistress,” he said matter of factly.

Abbie splayed her arms wide, gripping the countertop, and stared at him questioningly, waiting for him to explain himself.

“You’re the head of the household. And respected, of course. But you’re also a woman in a relationship with me, a married man.”

“But you’re married to me. That’s not…tawdry,” she mocked his phrasing again.

With a glint in his eye, one side of his mouth quirked up. “Not yet…but the night’s still young, my mistress Abbie.”

She shook her head, amused and not a little warmed by his flirtations, the smooth way he breathed her name sending heat dancing up her spine. “You’re incorrigible. And if you don’t stop, this will be the last time you see me wearing this costume.”

“That is the idea.”

Needing levity, she pointed to the bags of candy in front of him. “Will you open those and pour them in this bowl while I go turn on the porch light? Light on means free candy. Light off, kids skip the house.”

Ichabod tipped his sailor’s hat at her. “Your wish is my command, Mistress.”

“Mmhmm.” Though her heart thrummed wildly, she threw him a disbelieving look as she headed to the entryway, her dress swooshing around her as she moved.

She chosen her costume to surprise her dashing husband, but truthfully she enjoyed the dress herself. It made her feel feminine and stately. Not that she’d want to wear the layers and corset-style bodice every day—thank God she’d been born in the 20th century—but it was a nice change. Her childhood and her profession hadn’t allowed for many of life’s pleasures so she’d always made a point to have fun on Halloween as an adult. Choosing a costume each year—the range varying from Wonder Woman and a mermaid to a Greek goddess and Beyonce—gave her the opportunity to pretend she was someone else, imagine all the fantastical lives she could live if given the chance. It’d become one of her favorite holidays, and she hoped Ichabod would come to love it and all the ways to celebrate it too.

He’d certainly taken to it more this year than last. He’d huffed and chuffed as they’d searched the Spirit Halloween store the previous year, becoming more horrified by the evil nature of most costumes and more offended by the lack of creativity of women’s outfits with each passing aisle. After perusing the entire store, he’d resolutely decided on a colonial figure, which really hadn’t required a costume at all, and wouldn’t budge. This year he’d suggested they choose costumes separately. She’d thought he’d just rather avoid the pretense of shopping for an acceptable get-up when he knew one couldn’t be found to appease his colonial sensibilities, but he’d deliberately surprised her, just as she’d done for him.

“Why are these called 'fun size’?” he called out to her.

She saw him warily eyeing the miniature Snickers bar he held and smiled, making her way back to the kitchen. “Because they’re smaller than average.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled with uncertainty, tossing the candy back into the bowl before he realized he had an audience. His eyes landed on her again, taking in the exquisite dress and the beloved woman wearing it, and his expression changed. “I’m most certainly of the opinion that smaller than average is 'fun size,'” he teased, dropping a kiss onto her temple as he grabbed the candy-filled bowl and made his way into the living room.

Another 15 minutes passed before the doorbell rang with the first trick-or-treaters seeking candy, and the two jawed on about their day: the pumpkin carving fun they’d had with Joe and Jenny before they’d watched Hocus Pocus, how they’d each selected their costumes with one another in mind, how they’d spend the upcoming holiday season, and what they’d do with any candy left over if they didn’t give it all away tonight.

Sitting closer to the front door, Abbie got up to answer it, and Ichabod sprang up to accompany her. She unlocked the deadbolt and reached for the doorknob when she felt his hand upon her arm, restraining her.

“Hold on a moment, Fun Size,” Ichabod’s voice rumbled from behind her as he curled himself around her and slid his hand down her arm to cover hers. “A captain must ensure his mistress is safe at all times.”

She smiled at his flirtation as he peered through the window at the top of the door, a full head above her own height. “Such chivalry,” she preened.

“Tis my duty,” he corrected.

“And your pleasure.”

“You’ve no idea,” he informed her, leaning down to kiss her bare neck. But before he could, Abbie ducked beneath his arm and out of his embrace.

“Not as of yet,” she taunted, throwing him a brazen smile and opening the door with one hand, grabbing the candy bowl off the entryway table with the other.

A small princess, Thor, and a clown stood on the porch, candy baskets held aloft as they all chimed ‘Trick or Treat!’ together.

Abbie grinned at the excitement on their faces and graciously dropped candy into each of their bags, waving as they skipped away to the next house.

“My, I do see the joy of celebrating All Hallow’s Eve in this fashion.”

His voice came from behind her, and she turned a bit to see him watching the children roam around on their street in a myriad of costumes: dragons, superheroes, monsters, pumpkins, fairies, and Disney characters.

“No wonder children enjoy it so immensely.”

“And you, Captain Crane?” she wondered, happy seeing the delight on his handsome face. “Are you enjoying it?”

He peered down at her and smiled contentedly. “Yes,” he affirmed, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back into him as they stood in the doorway waiting for their next visitors, and he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head, causing them both to smile. “Yes, I most certainly am.”