Fic: Sleepy Hollow - Three Gifts

[carriemac]

Title: Three Gifts
Fandom: Sleepy Hollow
Wordcount: 3697
Characters: Jenny, Ichabod/Abbie
Notes: Written for Yuletide 2013
Summary: Ichabod struggles with Moloch's claim about Abbie's soul, while Abbie tries to forget her worries and get into the holiday spirit. Jenny just wants them to figure out they're into each other. Takes place right after "The Golem."

Read on AO3

 

Ichabod

 I. The Price

Ichabod couldn’t get the bitter taste from his mouth, nor the sour burn from his stomach. No food, no drink—not even the astringent liquid Lieutenant Mills called “Listerine”—would remove it.

It wasn’t truly physical, he knew that. It was a sickness in his soul, and every day it got worse as he waited for something to happen, something that would make Moloch’s claim come true.

I touched her soul once. Soon it will be mine forever and you will give it to me.

The thought terrified him. It ate at him like a cancer until he could barely look the lieutenant in her eyes. He’d already lost so much. How could be bear losing her too?

He had a son—he’d had a son—and would never know him. His beloved Katrina was locked away, out of his reach. The lieutenant was the only thing he had left. The only family he had left.

When Ichabod tried to sleep, Moloch hovered just on the edge of his dreams, taunting him.

“What would you give, Ichabod Crane, to release Katrina from Purgatory? What would you give to meet your son? What is your price for the Second Witness’s soul?”

Dream Moloch chanted his temptations over and over until Ichabod woke and the sourness welled up in his throat so acrid and poisonous he could scarcely breathe. He had to get away.

 

II. The Façade

Walking the streets of Sleepy Hollow so late was a poor idea, and doubtless Lieutenant Mills—Abbie, Ichabod reminded himself; it was no longer improper to use a woman’s given name—would be angry and insist he needed backup if she found out. But whenever he woke at night in a cold sweat, when the anger, guilt and fear threatened to overtake him, he needed to be alone, and he needed the fresh air—or what passed for fresh in modern-day Sleepy Hollow.

And maybe he needed the darkness. He could pretend he was home in a way not possible during daylight hours, when cars and people swarmed like ants, following paths and patterns he couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t the same—not even close—but it was something.

By morning he’d be exhausted but able to smile when he should, and laugh when he should, and if he seemed a little less jovial than usual, well…it was the end of days, after all. What else did anyone expect of him?

 

III. The Tail

It was nearing three a.m., the deadest, deepest hour before daybreak, when Ichabod became aware of someone behind him. How long the person had been there—following him, Ichabod assumed—he didn’t know. But Ichabod couldn’t risk anyone finding his special spot, the one place he went to at night when even walking wouldn’t help.

He walked three steps then pivoted to confront the person directly. He expected a police officer assigned, unbeknownst to him, by Lieutenant Mills to protect him, or perhaps Andy Brooks, following for his own peculiar and incomprehensible reasons.

A slim figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing some type of hooded overshirt and the close-fitting denim trousers he’d learned were called “jeans.”

“Miss Jenny,” he said in surprise when she lowered her hood. “This is most unexpected. Is it safe for you to be out so late unescorted?”

Her lips twitched into a wry smile. “I could ask you the same thing. Do you even know how long I’ve been tailing you?”

“I assume you refer to following behind me without announcing your presence, as would be polite.”

“You assume correctly. Forget demons. Any person—living or dead, in this town—could have attacked you.”

“And yet somehow no one did.”

She shook her head as she moved closer, but he saw the edge of amusement in her gaze. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Isn’t it passed your bedtime?”

“My reasons are my own.” He realized too late how brusque he had sounded.

The light faded from her eyes and her face went blank. “Suit yourself.” She shrugged one shoulder and began to turn away.

“Miss Jenny…wait, please.” He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but her question had reminded him again of his reasons for needing to escape. Moloch’s prediction was nothing he wanted to think about, let alone discuss. “I apologize for being inexcusably rude. Would you care to accompany me for the rest of my promenade?”

He held out his arm and waited.

“Fine,” she said after a brief hesitation. “But I’m not holding your damn arm.”

 *

Jenny

 I. The Habit

They walked in silence, circling around until they were almost back to Crane’s hotel. Jenny watched him with half-hooded eyes, trying to figure him out. He seemed different tonight.

Not that she knew him very well. A few meetings in the midst of supernatural turmoil…that didn’t exactly add up to much, as far as having time to bond went. And then there was Abbie’s constant presence by his side.

Maybe that was it. Away from Abbie, without her there to keep him in check, he was free to be himself. And “himself,” as far as Jenny could tell, was intense, serious and angry. And deeply frightened. She’d seen that same shell-shocked fear before; she saw it every time she looked into a mirror. He’d pushed his down so far, he probably thought no else would notice it.

But Jenny noticed. She sensed fear and subterfuge the way other people sensed hot and cold. That was her gift.

She’d seen Crane out before, late at night like this. At first she’d thought it was some plan of his and Abbie’s, an attempt to draw out whatever bad guy had found his way to Sleepy Hollow this week, but one late-night walk turned into two, and then three. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, until following him turned into a habit she couldn’t seem to break.

A habit she was starting to regret. He walked, shoulders stiff, gaze straight ahead, either lost in thought or ignoring her, she wasn’t sure which.

 

II. The Button

The hotel was only a block away now, and Jenny decided to give it one last shot. Something was bothering Ichabod, something more than usual, and she wanted to know what it was, whether he wanted to share it or not.

Abbie had said to Jenny once in the middle of a fight, “You can’t see a button without having to push it,” and she was right.

Jenny cleared her throat until she got his attention.

Ichabod glanced sideways at her with the ghost of a smile. “Do you have something to say, Miss Jenny?”

“This time of year, things suck for everyone.”

He stopped walking. “That expression is highly inappropriate…yet somehow fitting.” He shook his head. “It’s amazing how the common vernacular has developed.”

“The language is probably blunter now,” Jenny said. “But we still manage to hide things. Say everything but what we’re really thinking.” He did nothing but cock an eyebrow, so she went on. “You don’t want to talk about why you’re out here. Fine. I get it. But you should talk to someone. Maybe Abbie can…”

Jenny stopped and looked hard at Ichabod’s face. He’d blanched at “Abbie’s name. It hadn’t been much; most people wouldn’t have caught it. But Jenny had.

“This is about my sister. Isn’t it?”

No answer, just a tightening of the mouth and straightening of the shoulders. It was definitely about Abbie. Their relationship may have been a minefield of regret and resentment, but if something was wrong with her sister, Jenny had a right to know. If Ichabod wouldn’t talk, she’d jab the button again—and again and again and again until he either told her or forced her to stop.

“What? Did you two get into a fight or something?”

“Please, I implore you, do not continue this line of questioning.” That was real panic in his eyes, and true desperation in his voice.

“Crane. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing. Miss Jenny, do you trust me?”

Did she? She barely knew the man, and she was not someone who trusted easily. “As much as I trust anyone,” she said after a long silence in which they stared each other down like two cats getting ready to fight.

“Then know this. I will do everything in my power to protect Lieutenant Mills—Abbie. She will come to no harm from me. Now. Goodnight, Miss Jenny.”

He turned and strode away, his long legs eating up the distance to the hotel before she could form the words she wanted to say. Because apart from being confused—harm from Ichabod? He wasn’t a threat to Abbie…was he?—she’d seen something else in Ichabod’s eyes. Something she wasn’t sure he even realized himself.

Ichabod Crane was in love, at least a little, with her sister.

*

Abbie

I. The Sister

Abbie tried not to curse as she pulled into her parking space and shut off her car engine. Jenny was waiting for her, arms crossed, face serious. It wasn’t that Abbie didn’t love her sister. It wasn’t that she didn’t value the tentative friendship they’d developed over the past few months. She was just tired and wanted nothing more than a glass of wine and a bubble bath. And then another glass of wine.

It wasn’t even noon, but the holidays did this to her every year. She’d gotten up early and taken food and presents to the Sleepy Hollow Women’s Shelter, her personal holiday tradition. Once her shift ended—and she always volunteered for the Christmas Eve and Christmas day shifts; Corbin hadn’t liked it, but he’d given them to her—she’d visit every hospital, group home and shelter she could, giving out as many toys as she’d been able to afford. She remembered what it was like, being alone and scared during this time of year, thinking no one cared.

Though her relationship with Jenny had improved, it was still strained and dangerous—one wrong move and everything might crumble beneath their feet.

“Hey,” she called as she crossed the parking lot. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Jenny looked left then right. Abbie tried not to stare at the dark circles beneath her sister’s eyes, or the way her eyebrows were pinched with worry. “Where’s Crane?”

“Under the weather this morning. Why?”

“Of course he is,” she muttered. Then louder: “We need to talk. In private.”

Abby hesitated but then nodded. “Okay. We’ll go to the archives.”

 

II. The Impossible

It felt odd to be there without Crane beside her, and Abbie did not want to think about what that might mean. She’d grown too attached to him, too fast. It was a simple fact of life that people didn’t stick around. She wasn’t bitter about it—she didn’t blame Corbin for dying, or her even her father for leaving—but she still needed to protect herself. Especially given what Moloch had told Ichabod…

But no, she wouldn’t think about that here, now. Jenny was staring at her, and Abbie realized her sister had been speaking for a while.

“What is going on?” Jenny asked, clearly frustrated. “Something is up.”

“It’s nothing,” Abbie said, trying to keep her voice light. “Just trying to make it to the New Year.”

In more ways than one.

Part of her wanted to tell Jenny the truth—of all people out there, she deserved to know. But another part of her, the part that was tired and afraid, needed to keep it under wraps, at least for now. The last thing they needed was for Jenny to turn on Ichabod because of something Moloch had said. They needed Jenny’s help. And maybe, just maybe, she needed Jenny. Period.

If she were really honest with herself, she’d admit she was just as afraid Jenny wouldn’t turn on Ichabod. That she’d find out Abbie’s soul was in danger and not even care. Or think Abbie deserved whatever she had coming to her.

But she wasn’t going to be that honest with herself, not today. Today she’d just try to get through.

“Right,” Jenny said, her voice flat. “Your reasons are your own. I get it. Next time I won’t try to help. You and ‘Ichie’ are on your own.”

“Wait,” Abbie said, tired. “It’s not like that. We do need your help. It’s just…this is complicated.”

“Has anything in our lives ever been not complicated?”

“Good point.” Abbie took a deep breath, counted to ten and then let go. She had a lot of atoning to do where Jenny was concerned, and Jenny should hear this from her anyway, rather than learning it from someone else by accident or chance.

Abbie told Jenny everything, watching her face as she spoke, trying to read her expressions. When she was done, Jenny leaned back.

“No wonder Crane can’t sleep.”

“Right? Wait, what? How do you—”

“Never mind,” Jenny said. “Look, you guys are a team, right?” When Abbie nodded, she continued. “So far you’ve beaten Moloch every time he’s tried something. So now he’s trying to drive you and Ichabod apart. He’s a demon, Abbie. You can’t trust him. But Abbie?”

Jenny hesitated so long that Abbie finally said, “Yes?”

“I trust Crane, at least with you. He’s…I think he’s in love with you.”

Every drop of blood in Abby’s body rushed to her head. It roared in her ears, blocking out all sound and thought. She turned around, unable to meet Jenny’s knowing gaze.

“That’s impossible,” Abbie said, pleased her voice came out hard and tough, even though she was shaking. “He’s a married man. He loves—adores—his wife.”

Thinking of Katrina gave her the strength to shove down all the confusion and…no, not longing, she wouldn’t think of it that way…roiling inside her, to pack it up in little boxes where none of it could affect her. She turned back around, hands on her hips, completely collected.

“Abbie, his wife is dead. You’re alive.”

“She’s not really dead. She’s just…trapped.”

“Trapped in a place where someone’s soul goes…when they die. You’re flesh and blood. And I’ve seen it in his eyes. He’s into you.”

Abbie tried to smile and change the subject. “You know, you should come over for dinner tomorrow. Nothing special—pizza or takeout, maybe. Exchange a couple gifts, watch some old movies. What do you think?”

“I think you’re avoiding the truth. And I’m busy tomorrow.”

“On Christmas?”

Jenny shrugged. “Look, you need to talk to Ichabod.” She took a small slip of paper from her pocket and held it out. “Be here tonight. Three a.m.”

Abbie looked at the address and then at Jenny. “I don’t understand. What is this? Why three in the morning?”

“Just be there. Alone. Consider it my holiday gift to you.”

*

 Three a.m.

I. The Rendezvous

Abby shivered as she trudged through a dusting of snow on the sidewalk, her hands in her pockets for warmth. No one had predicted snow, but that hadn’t stopped it from falling. She asked herself, not for the first time, what the hell she was doing.

If this was some kind of practical joke, she’d kill Jenny.

“If I don’t freeze to death first,” she grumbled under her breath.

She checked the slip of paper Jenny had given her and compared what was on it to the address of the building in front of her. She was here, wherever “here” was. It looked like an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. Was she supposed to knock on the door? In the middle of the night? Or should she just go on in?

She contemplated so long she almost missed the sound of someone walking up behind her. Almost, but not quite. Her hand went to her gun and she whipped it out in one smooth, practiced motion as she turned.

“What do you want?” she barked, then lowered the weapon. “Crane? What are you doing here?”

He stood in the dim light from the lone street lamp on this block, his coat collar turned up to protect his neck from the cold. Snow dropped on his shoulders and stuck in his hair.

“Lieutenant. Why are you here?” He didn’t sound happy.

“What are you doing here—alone in the middle of the night?”

“I asked first.”

“Don’t be juvenile.” That got a brief smile from him.

“May I point out, Lieutenant, that you are also here alone, in the middle of the night?

“Jenny sent me.” She held up the slip of paper and shrugged.

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

He said nothing else, so she walked closer.

“Well, I’m glad it makes sense to one of us, then,” she said. “Whose home is this?”

He glanced at it as if he’d never seen it before then looked back at her. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she self-consciously licked them without thinking. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “No one’s. Lieutenant…may I show you something?”

He reached for her and, face burning hot in the cold night air, she slid her hand into his and let him lead her into the house.

 

II. The House

Ichabod kept swallowing. His throat had never felt drier. Neither of them wore gloves, and the contact of skin against skin shocked him. He had not gotten used to how freely men and women shared affection in these modern days.

The door was unlocked; the house was empty. He’d discovered it open and unoccupied on one of his late-night wanderings and it had become his refuge during the worst of his fears. Jenny must have seen him enter at some point. Why she had sent Abbie here, he had no earthly idea.

He’d tried to avoid Abbie all day, fearing that even a casual interaction with her could lead to some inadvertent betrayal. Yet having her here with him felt right.

“I need a damn flashlight. How did you find this place? Why did you find this place?” Abbie asked.

He tightened his grip on her hand, and a strange lightness moved through him when she squeezed back. “Since Moloch said what he did—”

“Right. I don’t believe that, Crane. It’s demon BS.”

“Be that as it may, I’ve had trouble coming to terms with my role in your…fate. This place has become somewhat of a refuge for me. I keep waiting for someone to return, but it’s been empty for weeks.”

“Probably foreclosed on. There are tons of empty houses like this in Sleepy Hollow,” she explained. “It didn’t used to be so bad, but times are tough.”

“It reminds me,” he said quietly, “of a quote in the Bible about the end of days. Many houses shall be desolate, even great and fair, without inhabitant.”

“And that’s why you come? To be reminded of the Apocalypse?”

He laughed softly. “I come because in here, in the dark and quiet, if I close my eyes, I could be anywhere—in any time.”

“You’re homesick.”

“I—yes, Lieutenant. I believe I am.”

“You miss your wife.”

Something about her voice made him pause. “I do.”

“But…” he felt like adding but he didn’t know why, or what words should come after it.

“You love her.”

“I do.”

But…ran through his mind again.

“But what?” Abbie whispered.

He tried to step away, but she held on to his hand. “Did I say that aloud?”

“You did. But what, Crane?”

“But it isn’t Katrina I think about when I’m here,” he said finally, his voice rising in frustration. This wasn’t something he wanted to admit, not to her, not to himself. “She is lost to me. You…you are not. When I’m here, I pretend I am no danger to you. That I won’t betray you. That there is no Apocalypse standing between us.”

He took a deep breath. “But I cannot pretend forever. Those things are between us. I may be a danger to you yet.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Your belief isn’t necessary for it to be true.”

Her grip loosened and he broke free, stepping back and away from her, where he couldn’t feel the heat from her body or smell the fresh scent of her skin.

The darkness no longer seemed like a gift, like a retreat from the everyday world of Sleepy Hollow. In the darkness, things were becoming all too clear.

“I care about you, Miss Mills—Abbie—more than I should. In a way that I should not.”

“It’s okay, Crane. I get it. Listen, I should go. I’m going to go.”

“Perhaps that would be for the best.” But he didn’t really mean it. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to be able to ask her to stay.

 

III. The Goodbye

“Do you want a ride?” she asked, damn proud of how even and strong her voice sounded. And damn thankful for the darkness, since it kept her from having to see Ichabod’s face, or from having him see hers. She’d gone from frightened to elated to resigned so quickly she no longer had the ability to keep her expression neutral. “It’s cold out there. Hell, cold in here too.”

“I believe I’ll walk, Lieutenant.”

She nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Be careful out there, then.”

“You as well,” he answered.

She turned to leave, wishing he’d ask her to stay but knowing he wouldn’t. That he couldn’t. That the twin threats of betraying Katrina and betraying Abbie kept him locked in a position neither of them, she knew now, wanted.

Jenny, damn her, had been right.

“Lieutenant?”

She stopped, her heart racing.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Happy holidays, Crane.”

He said nothing else so she closed the door behind her and walked off into the snow.

Note: there may be minor differences between what's posted here and what's on AO3. I did a LOT of tweaking before Yuletide went live, and I'm not 100% all my changes were saved to my main document. Just FYI!

Also--you'll have to click the cut and go to the entry page, rather than just revealing what's behind the cut, to read the full story. If you don't see the "Three A.M." section, that's why!