Chapter Text
In the end, it is not a supernatural being that lays her low, but a petty criminal.
Abbie smiles at him before she exits the vehicle, asking if he wants anything from the convenience store. He asks her for Ho-Hos and then indulges in a mini-rant about their ridiculous name, only slowing down when she laughs.
"I don't know what's more amusing," she says, "your sweet tooth or you having to say the names of convenience store pastries."
He huffs, slightly insulted but secretly pleased at making her laugh.
"I am delighted to be your own personal Jester, Lieutenant. Remind me to acquire pantaloons for your future entertainment."
"Now there's an image I'd like to see," she chuckles, and heads inside.
He allows himself a small smile. It is good to see her laugh and smile again. The past few days had been trying, what with the new danger lurking in Sleepy Hollow. One they had not yet identified, but had almost claimed the life of several college-aged men. Abbie is always restless when there's an open case, and more so when she doesn't know what she's fighting. But these moments--the ones where he can wrest from her some merriment, a sparkle in her eye, he cherishes these moments.
It's only when she's gone a moment that he recalls that he would also like a so-called moon pie, so he reaches for his phone to text her the request. He notes as he does that she has left her own phone in the cup holder and sighs. If there were an emergency, how would she--a gunshot rings from inside and Crane bolts out of the car.
He arrives in the brightly-lit store to see the Lieutenan--Abbie holding her hands up above her head, her badge and gun in one and the other trying to calm a desperate-looking dark-haired young man holding both her and a weeping store clerk hostage.
"Don't you fucking move, lady, I swear to god--"
"Hey," Abbie says, calmly, "it's okay. Look, I'm not gonna shoot. I'm not even gonna call for backup, just... just give me the gun, okay?"
Crane's heart seizes at the sight of the gun pointed at Abbie.
"Lieutenant, what--"
The robber--startled at hearing Crane's voice--jerks, and Crane swears he can hear the second gunshot before it ever happens. The clerk screams, Abbie grunts and falls, and Crane doesn't even notice when the robber panics and runs past him because he can see her face dear God he can see it she's been hit no.
He runs to her, accidentally kicking the badge and her gun out of her hand.
"Abbie, Abbie, please," he's whispering frantically.
Her glazed eyes find his and she smiles faintly.
"Hey, Crane," she says.
A slight crack in his heart appears. He clears his throat and tries not to sound as afraid as he really is.
"Lieutenant," it's a little choked, but it serves.
"Lieutenant," he tries again, "what is the delay?"
She laughs, and he winces when it turns into a horrible, liquid cough.
"Well, you know, I was gonna get you your ho-hos but then I thought: 'why not get gut-shot instead?'"
It's horrible, but in that moment he hates her. Hates himself. Hates everything about this, holding his partner as she bleeds out and wanting more than anything to tell her everything he'd stopped himself from saying countless times before now.
He tries to laugh at the absurdity of it, but it comes out as a sob.
"What can I do," he says, bringing his hand to her face now, not caring that it's bloodied. With her blood, his damnable mind supplies. He strokes her cheek, and the gesture is an I love you in itself. An I've always loved you. A please don't leave me.
"Well, about that..."
"No," he whispers.
"I'm sorry, Crane. But you're a soldier. You know abdominal gunshot wounds."
"No." The word is a sob.
"God, this--fuck, this actually hurts a lot."
"It does," he agrees.
Abbie winces, brings her hand up to hold his. He would rather keep touching her face--she's so beautiful even now, like this--but he takes it and grips it as if it will keep her here.
"The clerk, is she--"
He looks away to see if the clerk is still around but doesn't see her.
"I don't--I don't see her, Abbie."
"Okay. That's okay, it's... fine. Probably went... to get help. Hope... so, anyway," she tries to smile again and another sob rises in his throat.
His beautiful, brave Lieutenant. The crack in his heart widens.
She lets his hand go and reaches slowly, painfully up to touch his face. His hand meets it there, unwilling to let go.
"I've got... maybe fifteen minutes... if she went for help. Less, if--"
She coughs more violently now, and he stiffens.
"Lieutenant. Abbie. Please, you mustn't speak if it's--if it'll hasten--"
She shushes him.
"Need... to get this... out...okay?"
A tear makes its way out of her eye. No. Not Abbie, if there ever existed a blasted God up there He wouldn't do this to her. Never her.
"You need to... Jenny... she'll be--" a tiny hiccup here, he imagines it's meant to be a laugh, "she'll be pissed... don't let her.... anger... she spirals."
The cough is weak now.
"And you... let people take... care of you... okay? Jenny... Irving... anyone. Don't do the... Captain... thing."
"Abbie," he begs, "please don't do this. You speak as if you--"
Even weak as she is, she manages to look exasperated with him. It only makes him love her more.
"You're not stupid, Crane."
Her expression softens.
"Did I ever tell you... you have... beautiful eyes?"
And with that, she's gone. And the crack breaks open.
Emergency services finds him several minutes later, still holding her, his gaze fixed on her face.
"You're late," is all he says.