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“I'm sorry, I just have to go,” Abbie spat out from the other side of the bed where Luke Morales lay, half-asleep and less than half-covered by crumpled sheets. She tried to ignore his disoriented grumbles as she nearly tripped into her panties while reaching for her bra. Damn, what's wrong with me?
“Abb, I don't get it,” he complained while he groped for his alarm clock, “it's like, two in the morning. No. That's a three. It's three twelve.”
Abbie groaned inwardly at the pleading edge to his voice. Even if he was rough around the edges, most women would be falling over themselves for him. He was cute as hell, was driven — Morales was a damn good cop — so, why didn't she want him back? It was Quantico, yes. That was why they ended it. But, now she wasn't going anywhere but into the woods chasing supernatural clues with a reed-thin Brit with hair nearly as long as her own. She had no life but by the side of an anachronistic oddball with musty 200-year-old clothing and a flair for making her feel... Ugh. I just need to go home.
“Luke, I can't really explain what happened between us last night, but can we just talk about this... umm, never?” she asked, annoyance creeping into her voice.
“Wait! Abbie. Slow down, would you?”
Abbie fumbled her way into her jeans and with her shirt barely on, she grabbed her holster and keys and ran out of the room. Morales's apartment and her familiarity in it whirlwinded by her as she sped out toward her car. Damn. When Abbie realized that she forgot her badge on Morales's nightstand, she stopped in her tracks. For a fraction of a second, she debated turning around and getting her badge. But, what would she say when she knocked on the door?
'Hi, Luke – I'm sorry that I ran out on you like that. It's just that I had this incredibly hot dream about Crane and woke up feeling like a made a major mistake by going to bed with you. By the way, I think that I left my badge behind. Would you mind grabbing it for me?'
“Forget about it,” Abbie mumbled to herself as she clumsily handled the car keys. Flustered, she got into her car and peeled away from the curb. I'm about as subtle as a sock in the jaw, she thought as she gripped the wheel tight enough to pale her knuckles. Hey, neighborhood! I really wish that I hadn't slept with my ex-boyfriend last night, because...
At the stoplight, Abbie loosened up on the steering wheel and found her hands to be shaking. Even in her mind she couldn't put a name to why she left, even though the reason pulled at her heart like a lead weight.
“Don't you be a fool, Abbie Mills,” she said to herself, the stoplight, and whatever spirits were probably trailing her. It seemed that ever since she was unwillingly forced into the role as a witness she had supernatural shit stuck to her boots. “Just go home Abbie, drink some water, take a shower. Go to bed.”
The light turned green.
“And forget about it. All of it,” she finished with all of the solemnity of a nun closing a prayer. Abbie Mills determined that she would leave all those unnamable feelings regarding Ichabod Crane back at the stoplight.
Being home did not help. She was able to wash the sex from her body, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn't get the stuff from the dream off her mind. They were shirtless as they rested beside each other in the tipi, much like they did during the ceremony to face Ro'kenhrontyes, except there were no scorpions, nor was there the sense of impending doom. It was more like inevitability. Eyes steady upon one another, it felt to Abbie like more than just their roles as witnesses bound them together. She called to him in her thoughts, and he reached out to her. Within that action, they suddenly were not on separate tables, but together on one. She laid her head down upon the shoulder of his outstretched arm, which he wrapped about her like a blanket. Leaning forward, he kissed her. It was not as though it was the first time, the way he kissed her. It felt as though they were married, and it was Sunday morning.
Hot water streaming over her body followed her every curve like warm hands, the sensation asserting the latter images of her dream upon her. Abbie reveled in the feeling of skin, bodies hot against one another, as she slid her hands down to unbutton his pants. Mouths interlocked, each embrace of their tongues was a study of one another, gift and receipt. She groaned into him when her hands found his erection, and memorized its form.
Before she could recall any more of the details, she shuddered her eyes open. She wondered at the source of her imaginings of him, of how it would be to fuck him. No, it would be ‘making love’, she thought, even if that sounds outdated. Calling it anything else would be... wrong.
Closing her eyes again, she imagined that he was in the apartment with her, the shadows of his feet showing beneath the crack of the bathroom door. A turn of the doorknob, and he entered, his eyes glued to hers. Barely obscured by the transparent shower curtain, her body glistened, his eyes wandering down over her lines. She could swear that it was like his hands were moving with his gaze. He pulled the curtain back slowly, his erection pressed against his pants. Oh, god. I would ruin him. She imagined herself grasping at his shirt, pulling until the laces were undone. I’d suck at his collarbone, trailing up his neck, teasing him with my hands until he moans into my mouth. Oh, god, I need to stop this, she thought, opening her eyes to the realization that she had started moaning, herself. I need another shower. A cold one.
When she arrived at the cabin to pick up Crane, she was determined to put on her best poker face.
There was nothing to talk about, after all. There was no need to act strange. Idling in the front, she checked herself in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were red, her hair was a little off. She looked tired. Sighing, she put her palm to her forehead, as though to push away the headache from lack of sleep. The movement of Crane heading toward the car drew her attention.
Despite his length of leg, or perhaps because of it, his tall figure moved with a grace which she'd never possessed. His arresting eyes, which seemed to change blue to green and back again for no particular reason, were trained on her. Damn. Abbie's heart felt as though it was going to stop beating. She looked away from him, alarmed. With another glance up at the rear-view, she saw her eyes and spotted a guilty suspect: herself. Damn.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Crane said, with his usual disregard of American pronunciation paired with a sidelong glance.
“Good morning, Crane,” Abbie said, a bit more gruffly than she intended. Driving is great, Abbie thought, calming her erratic heartbeat back down, 'cause if I look at him, I'll crash. Good. I can do this.
They maintained their rather awkward silence all of the way into the station. It followed them to her desk, and remained, until Abbie realized that Crane was well aware of something being amiss. She kept feeling his eyes on her. I need to act normal. Just start talking about the current case.
“Crane, clear out of here,” Luke Morales said, interrupting her plans.
When Abbie looked up, projecting her fiercest don't-mess-with-me glare, Morales tossed her badge down onto the desk. Abbie's fierceness melted into embarrassed anger when Morales insisted on staring down Crane.
“I am in the midst of consulting with Lieutenant Mills regarding our current case,” Crane said with a protective tone, “I do not sense, sir, that you have something to contribute which would aid us. I shall remain fixed in this seat unless the Lieutenant requests otherwise.”
Abbie grabbed the badge and stuffed it into her pocket.
“I just did help you. You see, Abbie left that badge at my place, last night. Late, last night,” Morales said, with a pointed sneer, “If you know what I mean.”
Abbie watched, mortified, as Crane’s eyes wavered momentarily. Geezus, what’s he thinking?
“I figure I'm saving you a lot of trouble by bringing it around,” Morales said, finishing his obviously prepared monologue.
Abbie let them continue their staredown for another moment before she remembered that she had the power to stop it.
“Crane, would you please give us a second?” she stated, rather than asked. She stood slowly, and with authority, to face Morales.
“Of course,” Crane said, glancing at Abbie briefly before turning his eyes from both of them. She did not look closely at him, but was sure that she saw the red of embarrassment in his cheeks.
“I shall be nearby, if you require my assistance,” he said, as she watched him go. For a second, he looked over his shoulder with concern at her. There was a certain understanding in his look, of judgment, which she would rather that he didn't have. He’s disappointed in me.
“Detective Morales, we're taking this discussion elsewhere,” Abbie said with venom, feeling her teeth grinding as she struggled to maintain her composure. She nodded toward the exit.
“What is wrong with you, bringing this drama to my desk? At the station!? Who do you think that you—”
“Abbie. I'm just trying to—”
“Mark your territory?” Abbie asked, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Is that what you think you're doing, staring down my consultant like he's some threat?”
“Isn't that why you left, last night?” Morales asked, regaining some composure. “I’m not an idiot, all right?”
Abbie softened, seeing her truth in his eyes, and the hurt that it caused him. Nonetheless, she looked away. She never did have luck with relationships. She could count the number of people she trusted over the course of her life on one hand.
“I left because I don't want us to go down that road, again.”
“You left because I'm the other man—the mistake,” Morales stated, as though it were a fact as clear as Newtonian physics. He shrugged, as though it didn't matter to him, but Abbie could see through his disguise. She knew him. “We both know who you are with, or if you're not with him yet, you want to be. It doesn't really matter which it is, does it? The point is: you don't want to be with me.”
Abbie felt her throat go dry. She felt as though she were being cross-examined, but worse. She felt naked, ugly, wrong. Crane is married. Even though Katrina has one foot in Purgatory, she's got the other foot firmly planted between us.
“Are you finished?”
Morales reached out to Abbie's face. She let him tuck her hair back behind her ear, like he used to.
“I guess I am. I just... I never told you the words, you know? I never said them, but I felt it, back when we were together. Last night I guess I thought that I'd get a second chance.”
“I'm sorry I ran away,” Abbie said, swallowing her pride to offer up a bit of honesty, as he had. “But, I'm a different person, now.”
“Because of Corbin?” Morales asked, his voice hushed with sympathy.
“Yes, but it’s more than that. Much more. I can’t really tell you all of it, but I’m truly a different woman than I used to be. It was wrong for me to make you think otherwise, last night. Just believe me when I say that we couldn't work.”
As she said the words, she asked herself whether or not it would ever work with Crane. She thought that maybe she'd just be untethered for the rest of her life. If she managed to live through the Tribulation, that is. Morales took his hand back and shoved it into his pocket, filing away their relationship along with the lint at the bottom. He nodded, took a step back from her. Abbie felt the space between them grow—it was freeing to feel the air clear between them—and she breathed easier because of it. It felt good to be honest then, almost like when that Catholic foster family suggested that she try Confession at church to clear her worries.
“I'll see you inside,” he said with a frown, and disappeared around the corner. Abbie decided to wait until she heard the door open and close before following him into the building. Morales need a little room, and so did she.
“How long you been lurking over here, Crane?” she heard Morales say from around the corner. Abbie squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach falling. It was like she'd just gone over a blind drop on a rollercoaster.
“I... I do not 'lurk', Detective. I simply came outside to retrieve Lieutenant Mills. Captain Irving would like a word with her.”
“Right,” she heard Morales grumble before opening and then slamming the door to the station behind him. There was a long moment before Crane appeared around the corner. His eyes were filled with questioning, but it was a question which she guessed he wouldn't ask. Even if he did, she wasn't sure what she would say. Would she tell him the truth? Abbie watched him close the space between them, and imagined him embracing her. She could almost feel his mouth on hers, their breaths intermingling. I can't be thinking about this stuff. We have work to do.
“I hope that I have not intruded, Lieutenant,” Crane said, when he reached her. The way that his eyes flitted from hers straight down to the ground, Abbie knew that he heard enough of her exchange with Morales. He seemed conflicted, the way he uncharacteristically scanned the ground, rather than meeting her eyes.
Abbie turned away. Of course. Welcome to the Tribulation.
“Whatever it was, it's resolved. Over. It's behind us,” she said, sighing with resignation.
“It is not my business,” he said with protestation, “and I am certain that there are many things which I have yet to understand about relations between a gentleman and a lady in this era...”
His long fingers fiddled with one of the brass buttons on the coat which he continually refused to have dry cleaned. He seemed nervous. Abbie never expected she would find comfort in her partner being nervous.
“Yup. I'm pretty sure that's true, Crane,” Abbie said. “I suspect that some things don't change, however. I imagine you made other men irrationally jealous a couple of centuries ago, too.”
Abbie was relieved to see Ichabod Crane look up from the ground to smile at her. She wasn't just relieved, she was giddy to see those eyes, again. She felt her heart stirring to form three words she'd never truly felt before, in the romantic sense.
“I knew you did!” she said with a rare giggle, taking the opportunity to step forward and give him a smack on the elbow.
“In my defense,” he said mischievously, with a light touch to lead her back toward the station door, “it has never been my intention to do so.”
“I'm sure it wasn't,” Abbie said, glad that they were walking in step, once again. He had only brushed her back for a moment, but it was enough to inspire that chain of inappropriate thoughts, all over again. As they stepped into the station, Abbie Mills wondered if she would ever again be able to think of him as a mere colleague. Perhaps this is my curse, she mused.