Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Humans are flawed beings.

To a fault.

Oh they will try, endeavour to push through and do right but there is always one misstep, one unprecedented act that alters and changes the course of not only their lives, but each others. Redirecting, shaping the landscape of futures to come. Paths that will set them a drift, or call them back home. The lost, found.

All they can hope for, is that in the depths of this darkness, that they can take comfort in the certainty of a new day breaking.

That after night there is always Dawn.

I've been teaching for several years, but this is my first term back in my hometown of Sleepy Hollow Public School. It's report card time, and parent teacher interviews are at the end of this week.

I'm thirty two. Got my masters in Education, a double major in music and english and I love my job. I love these kids. These sparks of the future, "Hey Joe" That one there? with the pretty earnest blue eyes? He's got stories to tell. His daddy was Sheriff here, died from a heart attack bout, eight, ten years ago I think he said. He went army after that, came back and changed lanes to paramedic. Seemed a feat to me in itself, high pressure, lives always at stake. In the midst of that, in his daylight hours and whatever other spare moments he could wrangle from sleep, he went back to school. He's here now. Kids favourite science teacher. Parents least favourite, always sending the kids home with assignments of something to blow up or some food to turn mouldy, or a system to build, or some other effect they wouldn't to melt.

"Hey Abbie," he flashes that smile---its the sort that makes you think things will be alright---as she goes down the hall, carried on the tide of children changing classes between periods. And this is my stop here, one of them anyway, my music class. My kids file in behind me, taking their seats and waiting for me to begin. Holiday concert around the corner, after all. First order of business is attendance.

"Aislin"

"Here"

"Dalton"

"Here"

"Richard"

"Morning!"

"Morning Richard, Kayla?"

"Here"

"Aurore"

I glance up and search their faces. They all look back at me with no answer. "Aurore" I call helplessly again. I mark an X beside her name.

It's friday night and I'm in my music room after school hours. But it's parents I'm waiting for now. Or the last set. I've been through my roster and now I'm waiting for Aurore Crane and her parents to come in. I try not to let my mind run away with me. Sophie's the other english teacher, second teachable in drama, and her and I will be working together for the school's theatrical functions. I like her. I've gone for lunch with her and Joe, funniest, smartest teachers on staff. She'd asked me today if I was going to be seeing The Cranes.

"They're on my list." I'd said. "Aurore missed class this morning. I wanted to give her a chance at a part for December."

Sophie had shrugged. "If you're hoping for explanations from Mrs. Katrina Crane you can forget it."

"Why are you people so afraid of her?" I'd laughed. Since I'd arrived at this school all I heard about as far as parent teacher nightmares went was Katrina Crane. Plain and simple.

"Oh I'm sure you'll figure it out tonight." Sophie teased. "That's when it's clear for most of us."

When I hear footfalls in the hall I glance up, not sure what I expect, a domineering giant who thinks I'm not trying hard enough, probably---I've met parents like that, want to take the teachers to task if their child isn't doing well. They didn't then and don't phase me now. If they earn a failing grade that's what they'll get, That's what these interviews are for. To open dialogue between parent and child. Figure out whats going on and how we can help.

Who comes through the door is a woman in green tailored suit. Her fiery red hair messily put up. In heels that maybe she walks well in when sober. By the slight waver in her gait, the flush of her pale skin--- she's had a drink or two before coming in here tonight. Is that a reason to write her off?

"You must be Aurore's mother, Mrs. Crane?"

The red headed woman squares her shoulders and extends a hand. "Yes. Call me Katrina. A pleasure, Miss……" she trails off, squinting into the air as if she hopes my name might write itself above my head. "Mills," I supply.  "Is Aurore with you?"

Her eyes dart away from mine. "Home sick."

"Oh."

"So," she gives herself a shake. "Tell me, how's she doing?"

"I have some, concerns about her attendance record Mrs. Crane,"

Here it is. I think as I watch her shoulders tense. Her jaw sets. "What are you trying to say," any and all politeness turned brittle and edged.

"She misses a lot of material and it's hard for her to keep up, that's all. She's in my english class too, in the afternoons. I don't want her falling behind, Mrs. Crane."

"Aurore's a bright girl." she snaps back, defensive. "Takes after her damn father in that, there's nothing you can teach her in here that she couldn't glimpse once and recall for you to a perfect t. She's not going to fall behind."

"Mrs. Crane,"

"Just make sure the work gets to her and she'll be fine, Miss Mills."

She rises to her feet before I can speak, and I bite my lips together. Pick your battles, mama would have told me. If this is the worst of the infamous Mrs. Crane, I'll call her irritable and a little ignorant---nothing some after school tutoring can't remedy if Aurore is having trouble, and stay out of this woman's way. It's blatantly clear she's hard headed. "A pleasure to meet you this evening, Mrs. Crane. I look forward to seeing all of you at the winter recital?"

She narrows her eyes. "All?"

She does go by Mrs. I furrow my brow. "Your husband,"

"He won't be coming here." she says coldly. "He use to, sure, course, made a damn fool of me, each and every damning year well he's not setting foot in this room alright? Not with you, not with anyone. I've got long enough list of names. Don't need to add none. Good night, Miss Mills."

I watch her go, feeling a little attacked. As if I was just accused of an unknown crime. But maybe that's just part of the unfortunate charm that comes with the territory of Katrina Crane.

Chapter Text

Monday Morning. Before the first bell.

"Abbie Mills" Joe raises his coffee to me as I enter the teachers lounge in a sort of mock toast. There's a smattering of applause from the other teachers present. Sophie Foster in dress pants and oversized collared sweater in burnt orange. Dark hair swept to the side, gives me a smirk. I tug at one of my curling strands absently as I draw closer into the room, meeting the other teachers eyes. I crack a nervous smile.

"Just me," I laugh.

Joe shakes his head. "No no no, this is a toast to you surviving your first round with Mrs. Crane."

Another round of clapping, and a chorus of agreeable noises, this wave rising from the women in the room.  To be honest until this moment, I'd forgotten about the encounter. Art teacher Miss Caroline shifts uncomfortably and looks determinedly out the window.

"You guys made her out to be such a terror," I laugh, making my way to the coffee machine. Sophie scoffs.

"And she wasn't?"

I shrug as I press the buttons. "I mean I think we've all met worse, right?"

Silently exchanged glances makes me uneasy.

"Well I heard it was just her that came, right?" I can't remember this ones name. I pinch my brows trying to simultaneously answer and remember.

But wait, "How did you----"

"I crossed her out in the parking lot," Sophie supplies casually, but there's a sort of fire kindled in her eyes I don't understand.

"That's probably why then."

What is her name?!

"I don't follow"

"They're worse as a pair. The screaming match I endured one night."

This is ridiculous I think, grabbing my coffee, adjusting my bag and checking my phone. "First bell is in five," I say, making my excuses. Getting myself out of this conversation and out of the possible embarrassment of needing to actually address the teacher by the name I've thoroughly forgotten.

"When she's right she's right,"I hear Joe chuckle as I leave. "Time to enlighten some minds guys! Who's with me?"

An exuberant, if forced cheer goes up in the room and I can hear them down the hall as I turn the corner. I may not know all of their names. And they may be gossips---I think for a second on Sophie's fiery gaze and Caroline's staunch silence---and they might even have secrets, but they're good teachers, I've seen that. And so what if they do have secrets.

So what.

I'm there before the shrill ring echoes down the hall. Just setting down my coffee, pulling across the board with the permanently printed grand staff on it. I begin drawing on a few notes for the class to sing. I won't pretend sight singing is their strong suit, and they probably won't take to it properly until they're teens but getting it in is ground work. I begin writing in the solfege beneath each note, working my way up the treble clef staff. Do, re, mi…..

"Good morning Miss Mills."

I glance over my shoulder and then turn around. "Good morning Aurore---"

"I'm sorry I couldn't come on friday,"

"Your mother told me you were sick. It's alright."

Her gaze shifts, glancing at the floor. "Yeah." she agrees half heartedly. Looking at her now I'm struck by the absolute lack of resemblance she holds to her mother.

Aurore is a beautiful child. Warm brown skin, light eyes. Brownish black curls, undecided between kinds and waves, woven into meticulous braids before ending off on two puffs at the back of her head. I've got to say, I'm impressed by Mrs. Crane's attention to detail.

"Are you feeling better now?" I query, quietly, as the others file in, chattering about their weekend.

"Yeah" she says again, voice small and turns around for her desk.

"Wait, Aurore,"

She pauses, turning strangely. I reach my hand into my bag to pluck out the sheets of lyrics and the short melodies we covered last class. "What you missed," She smiles shyly. That girls smile lights up a room, I swear it. Wish I saw it more. She leans a little, stretching to take them out of my grasp and then continues to her seat. That's when I notice it.

She's limping.

"Aurore," I call after class. Her friends---Richard and Kayla---taunt that she needs to hurry up for gym class or she'll have to do extra laps. 

"Miss Mills?"

"I want you to look over that part, did you see it? For you'll be in my heart?"

Her mouth turns up at the corners. "It's not a christmas song, Miss Mills," she laughs, as if I'm being silly. Well maybe I am.

"I know," I confide, smiling back. "But  I think it's fitting isn't it, it reminds us that during the holidays, even when we're apart, we're in the hearts of those we love, and we keep them with us, right?"

"There's I'll be home for Christmas" she counters pointedly.

"Fine," I concede. "I like this song better. Happy?"

"You want me to sing it?"

"Part of it. Would you?"

She looks away again.

"Aurore?"

"I can't sing."

"Nonsense. I hear you every class."

Her eyes brighten. "Maybe." she begins to shuffle off and I steel myself for my next question.

"I don't think you should be running in gym," I say and my heart constricts at the way her shoulders go rigid beneath her bag. "Aurore, what did you do to your foot?"

And I've never had my heart broken so swiftly before, by something so small. But it was the look she gave me, when I asked.

As if she knew I'd been laying a trap, as if she distrusted everything we'd spoken about before.

In that small instant, Aurore looked at me like I'd betrayed her.

Wincing, favouring her right foot, she left the class.

Chapter Text

"Hey," I glance up when the bell goes for lunch two periods later and see Sophie leaning on the frame. "Joe says its his treat in the caf. Come on,"

I move slow. It's been two hours if not more since this morning but I'm still haunted by Aurore's eyes.

If her and Mrs. Crane have nothing else in common, it is an astounding ability to make people feel guilty without cause.

"Earth to Mills," Sophie calls, snapping her fingers before me.

I wave irritably at her while I gather my papers, filing them neatly in my bag before turning around to wipe down the board.

"Hey. Hey Abbie, what's wrong."

"Aurore……" I hesitate and trail off. Whatever I'm thinking, and whatever that child is making mad at me for, maybe I'd do better not to share it around with the others. The Principle, maybe, the guidance counsellor. At least until I know for sure. But I'm already dreading what I think I know. 

"The Crane kid?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I think I forgot to give her a piece this morning," I lie. Sophie shrugs.

"Well come on. My stomach is screaming for cafeteria poutine."

I muster a laugh and smile, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and follow her out into the hall, hitting the lights on the way out.

3:30 pm

"Aurore?" Katrina calls when the door opens. "Au---oh." she deflates to see her husband.

"Afternoon 'Trina" he hiccups and staggers.

Her mood sours. He only left an hour ago. "You're supposed to be at work till ten."

"I, quit," he announces, very pointedly, very politely. She nods her head as she pads toward the kitchen, ignoring him, and glances at the clock on the microwave.

"I can set a clock by you, there's that." she mutters tersely. "Go lie down."

"'Trina" he protests weakly. She whirls on him, boiling pot in one hand, spoon in the other.

"I said go upstairs. She's not coming home to you like this, not again."

"Then how. Am I suppose to hide from my daughter?" The fog lifts from his eyes with frightening speed and she knows before he moves what comes next. She steps back and whirls with pot in hand to put it on the stove and brings the spoon up before her to stave him off but then his hands are on her arms. "The way you want to hide me away---"

"You're embarrassing. To both of us."

"It's not like you're any better than I, Trina. You…you….drink,"

"Three am. Three bloody am." She musters her strength and throws him off of her. "Where were you?"

He sets his jaw. "Getting some air."

Aurore hears the echo of the slap as she comes in the door. She carefully removes her shoes and hobbles into the kitchen. She catches the back of her father slinking off and away upstairs and her mother is in the kitchen, eyes teary and rubbing her hand that still stings. She forces a smile and tosses back her head, kneeling swiftly to the floor to catch her daughter up in her arms.

"My girl." she coos. "How was your day?" She glances down. "Your foot? here, let me have a look at it." Wordlessly Aurore follows her mother into the living room where she plunks down in the chair and Katrina peels off her sock and examines the sole. Her mouth twists. Aurore stepped on glass thursday night. She'd woken up, padded downstairs for a glass of water, and……her father  is unpredictable when he comes in at night. Clumsy bloody oaf Katrina thinks bitterly. Knocked over a lamp and had made no move to clean it up. It was Aurore's piercing scream that jolted her out of the bed, had her streaming down the steps and hollering curses as she cleaned the wound, the blood, bundling her up in coat and swinging her up in her arms to the car, to emergency to get it stitched. It was an alarmingly impressive gash.

Her husband out cold upstairs.

Friday morning it was tender and Aurore howled to put weight on it. So she didn't go to school. And she didn't accompany Katrina to the interview. And her father was already gone who knows where by the time Katrina had come in, a little irished up  and buttoned up in her one green suit and had pressed a kiss to her forehead promising to be home soon.

Her mother wasn't gone long, and her father still wasn't back by the time she'd returned.

While Katrina's brow knits, unthinkingly swinging her foot up in the air to catch the light, Aurore's mind goes to the inquisitive look in Miss Mills eyes this morning.

She likes Miss Mills. She's new, and spunky and fun, and she has the sweetest voice. The fact that she wants Aurore to sing both awes and terrifies her. She could never sound as nice a Miss Mills. Could she?

Her mom has always said she sings like an angel, but that's mother's job. Make her feel special and gifted when she comes home to a too silent house or a less than impressive meal----can't be helped her mom works around the clock----moms are supposed to tell you nice things to dull the sharp of edge of less than ideal reality.

Katrina has said, more than once, bringing her home from church that whenever she sees the money, she's getting her voice lessons. "Heaven knows I'm certainly not fit for it," she'd joke, her smile soft. If there's one thing Katrina will openly and willingly admit, it's that she cannot sing, so there's no chance of Aurore's shy angel voice coming from her.

"I think it's alright," Katrina interrupts her thoughts, swinging her back up right and caressing her cheek pecks her forehead. "Had a good day?"

"You told Miss Mills I was sick?"

Katrina blinks a few times. "Who?"

"My teacher,"

"Oh." she waves a hand. "Yes. I'm sorry hon. I…I just wasn't up for explanations."

She never is. When she was too young to put her incredibly specific memory to work to do her homework no one wanted to explain why someone couldn't help her complete it. Or why she ate the same thing every day for nearly a month. An invasive stretch of time when teachers wondered when the last time her hair had been combed. Why her father used to come to parent teacher night alone. Why Katrina started joining him. Why he stopped coming altogether. Too many things to explain.

"She asked about my foot."

Katrina casts her gaze on the floor. "What did you say love?"

"Nothing." Aurore remembers the tender, bare concern in Miss Mills eyes. The stricken look that had crossed her teachers face when she'd turned her back to walk out.

She'd hurt Miss Mills feelings. It makes her want to cry.

Katrina misunderstands, wrapping Aurore in her arms and kissing her hair. "I'm sorry honey I'm sorry."

"Why…why can't Daddy….."

A sharp intake of breath. The sort of breath that indicates weariness. An impatience with a question she has repeatedly asked herself with astonishingly increased frequency. "I don't know, Aurore." she squeezes tighter. "I don't know."

Chapter Text

5:00pm

He's still upstairs. She'd called for him when she'd finished supper  but he hadn't answered, whether because he was still sleeping it off or wilfulness who can tell anymore. But it aches her heart still. She's sorry for the demons he battles and the nights he thrashes and where she should have been his rock, his haven----but---No. Katrina shakes herself as she washes up the last of the dishes. Plastic wraps his share and rests it in the fridge. You….you moved past that. He could have moved past that and he's chosen this now, this is his road, the path he wants to walk.

But didn't you help lead him down it? a voice niggles in the back of her brain. It doesn't help that it's his voice. Soft, breathy, stealthy. A tortuous whisper he had used on her so often before, accusing while soothing her all at once.

She checks the clock and glances out the window. Sky's darkening but suddenly the house feels too small. He won't mind if they step out for a bit. He'll barely miss them.

But who's she kidding. He won't miss them at all.

They pull up outside the stately house on the other side of town. Frederick Manor. Old lineage type building that she would have expected anyone but her best friend to take residence in. But unexpected things happen all the time. Aurore's head lolls a bit to the side in the seat as she puts the car in park. Katrina takes a deep breath to admire the place. The finish, the columns, the manicured, but now leaf ridden lawn. The doorway.

Another woman might have flown that American flag high and proud at her front door.

But not Cynthia Irving.

No, when that flag turned up instead of her man, Cynthia wept, kissed that fabric too many times to count and folded it up neat, nestled now at the bottom of a trunk at the foot of her bed. Back when they were all friends and all happy and trusting Katrina'd had a spare key. She'd come in one day, calling for her and had found her upstairs, caressing the red, white and blue. Humming. Not the national anthem. Cynthia's patriotism went out the window with his life. But a song he used to sing. One he'd written for her, write before he'd gone. Use to sing it to their daughter.

But that was before…..and the day Cynthia asked for the key back, informed her they were changing the locks and it "has nothing to do with you, Kat, but" And she'd nodded her understanding. Because she did, of course she did. But it still had cut deep.

Having noticed a car idling in her driveway the curtains draw and a figure appears there before they fall back into place and the door swings open. "Well you coming in or not" Cynthia hollers as the evening wind whistles through, wrapping herself tight in her sweater. "Hurry, up!"  she scolds as Katrina wakes Aurore, grabbing her book bag, her hand and ushering her up the walk way.

Half asleep Aurore staggers a little until she sees her godmother waiting for her. "Goddy!" she mumbles happily, extending her arms. Cynthia easily scoops her up. "Goddy no" she protests as Cynthia swings her around. "I'm---"

"You're what." Cynthia teases as Katrina draws near. "Too old for Goddy Cynthia to pick you up? to swing you around? to----" She performs an abrupt terrifying flip that has Aurore dangling by her ankles, shrieking with laughter and Katrina yelping her surprise. "hold you upside down?"

"Cynthia stop it she just ate" she snaps.

Cynthia continues to jostle her goddaughter until she glances at her friends face. She rights Aurore, setting her back on the ground, grasping her hand tightly when Aurore wavers a little, still giddy. "How you been?" Cynthia asks softly, catching Katrina's eye.

"Well, Cynthia." She looks around as she follows Cynthia in, scanning the house. Last time she was here was back in the summer. Aurore's been over a few times, three, maybe, to play with Cynthia's second daughter and classmate  Kayla.

"She's upstairs hon." Aurore dumps her bag and looks contemplatively at the steps, a frown etched on her face. Just as she's sets foot on the first, hiding a small grimace, Kayla pokes her head over the railing.

"Hey, you said you couldn't come over" she calls accusingly, but her face is wreathed with smiles as she skips down the stairs to meet her best friend.

"I didn't think I could." Aurore replies as Kayla grabs her hand, tugging her along cautiously into the living room. Young and keen, Kayla remembers seeing Aurore treading uneasily at school. When the girls disappear Cynthia arches a brow.

"Rore's walking funny."

"Where's Macey?" Katrina interrupts.

"Library with Zoe---Miss Corinth." Cynthia corrects herself when Katrina glares.

"You still talk to her."

"Pandora was asking for you the other day."

Katrina grits her teeth and takes a sudden deep interest in a painting on the wall. This wasn't here last time.

"She's your enemy, not mine." Cynthia says.

"There was time when you would have disagreed."

"Look I don't have time to make enemies out of half the town on your behalf. Especially when we went to school with most of them and Sisters besides."

Katrina snorts on the word 'sister'

"We're supposed to look out for another, help each other."

"Oh I think they all helped enough, didn't they?" Katrina counters, fury and hurt that buries beneath her medications threatening to unleash themselves here. In the sitting room, there's a fireplace and mantle, brimmed with achievements. Medals, certificates, photos. And there's the one, that image that mocks Katrina every time she crosses it in her rummaging through old papers--always hunting for something more important, receipts etc around tax time---the Sisters of the Sacred Heart, gathered on the front steps of SHU.

Most ancient Sorority and most infamous for rumours about it being founded by a supposed coven of witches in the 18th century.

A band of women stalwart, strong, stubborn, fantastical, horrible, ambitious. The pride and thorn of the Sleepy Hollow University campus. Her and Cynthia had been Sisters. Lead the house once Serilda left---unanimously one of the most famed, hated and wretched members---now far away and highly successful and no one keeps in touch with her because she lived to torture her pledges. It was a long standing belief that Serilda might have actually been a witch herself.

But the Sisterhood doesn't carry nearly so much malice now as it did, even before Katrina and Cynthia were heads. They were just smart girls, clear headed, who, yes, threw entertaining parties---but they all had great aspirations for themselves. For a few, those dreams came true. She looks away from that photo, smiling and happy and hopeful, surrounded by women she'd known through and through she could trust with her life----until----well.

"They teach our children." Cynthia announces as she joins her at the mantle. "They work in our stores, they make up this town. You can't keep feuding with half of it because of what he did."

"What are you saying" Katrina fires back. "Forgive him? Absolve him, them everything?----I never thought I'd see the day when you would take sides---"

"Stop it" she cuts in and Katrina splutters.  "You listen to me. When he found out? When he was mad and looking for a way to hurt you back he came here." her eyes blaze and Katrina feels ice flood her veins. It's the question she's always wanted to ask yet feared the answer. "I was just done with Frank upstairs. In my damn silk robe and nightie and he used that spare key, Katrina, came in my back door, through the kitchen. Grabs me---I decked him. You know I did, threw him and dragged him back out because if Frank had caught him he'd have blown his head off and I didn't want any trouble. I lied to Frank that night."

Katrina's eyes blur with tears. Distantly, they can hear the girls laughing.

"I lied and told him the house was broken into. That's why I asked for the key back, that's why I changed the locks Katrina. Not because he was drinking and people were saying they'd seen him out with Luke Morales. No because he came in here to hurt you through me. And I wouldn't have it. So don't you question, my loyalty to you Kat. Issues with the others? fine yeah its hard to say let by gones be by gones. But what else can be said than your husband is a thorough man and he meant he planned to hurt you. I still stood up for you when he tried to paint you a villain."

"I did that to him." Katrina curses. "I did that to him----he was gone, fighting for his life, seeing things I could never imagine---"

"He's damn lucky he has nightmares to come home to." Cynthia snaps. "My man didn't come back home." she blinks hurriedly, dashing away the tear that starts to her eye.

The American Flag tucked in her trunk.

"He didn't come back and he left me behind with a child and I'm glad, I got Frank. Glad, that I moved on. You two need to do the same. He can't keep using these past hurts  as an excuse. You can't let yourself be blamed for what he's choosing to do. There are other people caught in the fire of your lives." she tilts her head pointedly in the direction of the living room where cartoon music plays. "That girl needs peace, Kat. A stable, reliable home. And I know you're doing your best but you can't keep trying to bail water out of a sinking boat."

Katrina inhales sharply, shaken. This isn't what she came out to the house for. She just wanted to see her friend. She didn't mean to get snippy and to pick this fight and have this all crash down on her again. Cynthia's face softens. "Look. I'm…..I know you can't forgive those girls. Maybe I wouldn't either. It's just…..we all remember who you were. Who we were, before….before we grew up." she says wistfully. "And because we're Sisters, Kat, for all they've done they're still trying to take that seriously…..they want to help. I, want to help."

Katrina brushes stray strands from her face. "Help me do what" she breathes. Just then they can hear the girls feet approaching them.

Cynthia turns with a smile to greet them. "Guys ready for a snack?" Aurore and Kayla nod and perform an about face, headed toward the kitchen when Cynthia looks over her shoulder. "Whatever you need to do." she says meaningfully. "You know where to reach me."

Thursday Afternoon.

"Come stop your crying it'll be all right. Just take my hand, hold it tight. This bond between us, can't be broken. I'll be right here, don't you cry."

Sophie blinks beside me, her voice a little garbled. "God Mills why didn't you just have them sing 'The Christmas Shoes'? You're gonna have the audience in a mess."

I shrug my shoulders but I can't pretend I'm not moved. This song is special to me. It's the one I use to sing to Jenny when she was sick. I have to admit I'm having some regrets about the choice now. At the time it seemed a nice tribute, but now, all I can remember is an already lithe body made gaunt by sickness. The waves of her hair, thinning, thinning, gone. And a resilient, defiant smile, even knowing she was going to die. We'd done everything for her, Mama and I.

Volunteered my College fund for her treatments.

And she still went.

Her future and mine, gone in the dirt with her.

"Stop blubbering Foster," I tease as I collect myself and bring rehearsal to a close. "It sounds great you guys. Really. Tomorrow we'll get some shakers and stuff okay?"

They fold up their sheets and gather their bags and I catch Aurore's eye as she shuffles her feet in her shoes. Her gait has straightened out now and she's laughing with Kayla and even smiles at me. Whatever unwitting affront I had posed to her seemingly forgotten. As they head toward the door I give a small wave and the smile widens.

"You're keen on that girl huh."

"She's a good girl who could do more, be involved more but sometimes I feel like she's not always, here"

Sophie's jaw ticks.

"You know something," I press as I grab my bag.

"Everyone knows something  Mills. I thought you grew up here."

"Yeah well….." After Jenny passed, my closest confidante and friend, damnit my sister, I needed out of this town, needed to find a way, while broke, to still pursue my career and future. "I left before it got interesting," I grin.

"Well  I can tell you, interesting has been happening here for a minute. You coming?"

"Where?" I ask. Like I have other plans, other places to be. Well, I am owing on a phone call back to the city. Although I feel I already know how that conversation's going to go.

"Dinner at Mabie's, with Caroline."

I quirk a brow. I find it hard to think straight shooting Sophie and quiet artsy Caroline have much of anything in common but I'll bite. "Oohhkay." I laugh. "Sure."

For a thursday this late in the season, place is busy. Chatty.

Food smells good and warm and threatens to give you that much needed insulation for the coming winter. Caroline's waiting in her floral blouse and cardigan for us already at a table. Sophie waves and we join her. I sling off my jacket and glad for a chance to sit down toe off my heels. I don't know why I thought my comfort was worth looking cute today, but hey. When Sophie does the same we share a smirk. Well I'm not the only one with vain tendencies. I pick up the menu, feeing a little queasy as I pass my gaze on a double stacked burger when the other women's chatter dies. The atmosphere shifts. People are still eating, talking, laughing, but there's the barest note of awareness, like they're all keeping up appearances so they don't look like they're staring. I gaze around perplexed and turn my eyes toward the door.

There's a man there. Tall. Handsome by anyone's standards no denying that. He's got eyes that pierce, even in the evening light and dimness of the restaurant. His hair is short and waves. He's wearing a rugged coat thought. Something old and army issue. And big, thick sturdy boots. Despite his lankiness he looks more hardy than should be possible.

"There he is." Sophie mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes.

Caroline swallows and reaches for her glass of water, her cheeks turning pink. "Small wonder you haven't met until now."

"What do you mean."

"Hah." Sophie cackles lowly. "Most women have. That there is the man who waited three months before he told me he was married when I first got into Sleepy Hollow. That's how I first met Mrs. Crane, now if you want the story. Parent teacher night for Aurore. Woman slashed my tires."

"Came to my art class for weeks, months!" Caroline flusters. "I meant nothing by it but Katrina….."

Sophie takes another swig from her glass, glaring daggers as he makes his way to the bar. For his kind of tall grace, his walk betrays him. It's ambling and slow and as he draws closer the eyes look are over bright in manner of heightened awareness, maybe even chemical. "Well, that's him, Mills. Mr. Ichabod Crane."

Chapter Text

Philanderer.

Drunk.

Addict, depending on who you ask and on what day might be true  might be not but it's none of their business what he does for recreation, truly.

Veteran. Hero. Wounded. Scarred. Survivor.

Charmer. Scholar---if he bothers to read, anymore.

Unhinged.

If he was a little off kilter before, always the eccentric, he's an attractive ticking menace now. The coat that reminds everyone he saw things they couldn't dream. Th boots that walked terrain they'd never seen, would never set foot on, and heaven help them would never be cursing them when sprinting away or toward danger.

They all know him. Equal parts mystified and weary of him. They know he hasn't been right since. He hates therapists. Won't talk about what eats him up and what he dreams.

Won't invite anyone with him out to the memorial he visits alone for his fallen comrade, the man who was a best friend and brother to him. Certainly won't talk to the mans widow----she betrayed him too----She won't even fly the flag in honour of him. He thinks its disloyal of her.

He wasn't with Abrahams unit that day. Wasn't there. All he'd heard, was there'd been an explosion. No bodies recovered, but  a singed ID and photograph of his wife and daughter were found. Cynthia and Macey. Shortly after that he was sent out to another camp. While out there they got attacked. Communications were disrupted. Stranded in hostile terrain and he couldn't get in touch for weeks. Much less back home.

When he got sent home,  his life had already gone to tatters and Abraham's flag filed neatly away and Cynthia had remarried. Quietly, he'd been told. Early crack of dawn ceremony down at the church to Captain of the force, Frank Irving. 

He stays up at night and questions how deciding to serve his country cost him so much. His ignorance. His peace. His best friend. His marriage. The hurt that gnaws at him and won't let go.

He was almost eager to go back for another around after. After his first reckless selfish  binge and his malicious lashing out into the bedrooms of the women his wife knew---it seemed best he go back out to find his death. Because the life he'd come home to sure wasn't what he'd been fighting for. But he survived that too, lucky bastard---he'd heard Cynthia mutter on the rare occasion she'd come out to visit.

They don't sit well with each other since that night he made that pass. He regrets it, for the morality of it. The low wrongness of it. To aim for Katrina's best friend. But he'd been lying if he  hadn't gone sour on Cynthia since for burying the honour of his friend  Abraham Van Brunt, and on top of which sitting idly by while Katrina wronged him. Had tried to damn well reason with him about it.

He survived. And maybe that new lease on life had given him a little vigour. To try. Put it behind, and try again, forgive, move on.

It just so happens Ichabod Crane is a more stubborn man than he'd thought.

He wasn't a man who forgave easily anymore.Wasn't a man who could shake it off and start fresh. He just had more horrors in his memory bank now and another blanket of distrust laid upon the former.

He needed something to live for.

Can't remember now which one of them thought they ought to take another go at starting a family. Well let's just say that journey itself was stressful and didn't help. When something finally took, he didn't dare hope till she was past six months.

And it was okay, after then. For a while. He'd pulled himself together long enough to land a position at SHU----until they made cuts to the department. That was another slippery slope.  And he still didn't heal, and he never conquered the pains. And his most destructive comforts, were there for him just the same.

It's been a long few years and the world for him is grey. Except for around his daughter, Aurore, who lights up his life when he's sober enough to bask in her glow. She's the hope he wanted so desperately to turn him back around.

But he's lost faith in even his own wishes.

Someone might ask, why doesn't he take her and leave.

Because what's left of his life, is all he knows. And from what he's seen, there's nothing better waiting out there for him.

And besides which, he's not whole enough to keep her.

"That's Aurore's father?" I ask, a little put out. Noting his blue eyes, pale skin, Mrs. Crane's own fire red hair, and Aurore……well, perhaps, something in his nose?

Sophie cracks up. "Everything you just heard and that's what concerns you?"

I shrug and sip my water. Truthfully, what concerns me is I feel like I'm being watched.

And when I chance a glance around I find Mr. Crane looking over at our table. Our eyes connect and hold for a beat but I'm quick to look away. 

"Don't do it" Sophie advises, looking over the menu.

"What?"

"Uh huh." she muses, sharing glances with Caroline. She nods her head toward Mr. Crane at the bar, still gazing in our direction, or perhaps the dimly lit corner behind us is especially intriguing. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Caroline, please tell this woman I don't know what she's talking about? Sophie I don't know what your'e talking about"

With a sly smile Sophie opens her mouth to elaborate but then my phone goes off. I frown as I pick it up. Well, there's that phone call I've been avoiding. "'Scuse me ladies I've gotta take this," I shuffle my feet back in my shoes and slide from behind the table as I swipe across to answer.

"This your idea of 'when you get settled'?"

"I----"

"I didn't peg you as the ghosting type."

"It's busy down here."

"You press a button to dial, Abbie." his voice sounds hurt.

"Look can I call you when I'm back home----sorry," I turn sideways to sidle past another man walking into the restaurant but he halts at the sight of me, eyes squinting. It takes me a moment to place the face before shock kicks in.

I've only been gone a decade and change but most of this town, the people in it are almost completely foreign to me. The fact that he's still here? Doesn't add up. He was too slick, too crafty, too…."Abbie?"

"Luke."

"Hello?" the irritated voice interrupts on the phone. "I'm still here."

I grimace and motion to the phone as I hurry past but Luke grabs my wrist. My face heats. "Let's catch up." he says, I nod quickly, pulling away. No time to exchange numbers or make plans. "I'll find you,"

"Hello!"

"I'm just stepping outside Orion." I hiss.

I leave Luke and glimpse over my shoulder, catching the perplexed faces of Sophie and Caroline watching me go.

And Ichabod Crane clasping hands with Luke Morales, gazing over Luke's shoulder at me. Outside the air is too cool and I curse that  I've forgotten my jacket inside.

"What."

"Wow, what's with the chilly reception."

"Well it goes with how you've been handling me since I picked up the phone."

"If you'd called when you said---"

"Well I didn't!" I snap. "I didn't call you and you've clearly made up your mind what I meant by it so why did you call?"

"So we're just not going to talk about what I found in the trash."

My hand shakes. "No Orion. We're not."

"Abbie---!"

But I've already hung up.

Chapter Text

When I get back inside I'm too flustered to sit and wait for food. I tell Sophie and Caroline I've changed my mind, I'm not feeling well, grabbing my jacket, my bag weaving around patrons. I think I feel Luke's eyes on me as I leave but when I check over my shoulder he's laughing it up with the bartender. Good, I think, relieved to be alone, invisible as I push out the door and inhale deeply outside.

"Nice evening."

I startle and see Mr. Crane leaning on the wall. When did he turn around so fast to come outside, I don't know. Street light glow bathes his face in eerie luminescence, highlighting his profile. The long nose, strong chin. Maybe Aurore has a hint of something around the cheekbones, I find myself thinking.  His gaze is fixed heavenward and I could pretend not to hear him, not to acknowledge he's speaking to me. So that's exactly what I do. I don't know what the man is about, and I certainly have no desires to get myself in any sort of fix with his hotheaded wife----I've….I've got enough going through my mind as it is.

Reaching my car feels like salvation. Putting it in drive and peeling away into the night, not home, because I'm not ready to be alone and still by myself yet. For the amount of time I've been back in town, I haven't treated myself to a proper lazy drive. The dash board reads six thirty though  its dark enough for eight. But that's okay.

I use to leave the house later than this when I was a teen. When I fancied that I liked trouble. Fell in and out of love with it a few times, actually.

I roll down the windows and let the night air sweep in. Let it fill my lungs. I didn't always like night time driving. It was more Luke's thing. And yeah, as time wore on, it became ours.

There's something about that rite of passage they call teenaged rebellion. Some youth get a taste, get caught, and go reeling back into their well mannered shell. Others, so goody two shoes straight laced that the prospect of breaking a rule made them sick. Yet, some take to it, like birds to sky and fish to sea. The trouble sits well on their shoulders. And at sixteen, it was sitting well with me.

I'm not going to sugar coat it. I was a bad kid because I could be. Because I was fed up with my parents arguing and wounded the night dad finally left. I chose destruction as a coping mechanism and why not. It was  the teenaged thing to do.

Luke Morales, was the guy with the brains but don't you dare remind him. He had the first tattoos, a motorcycle. Muscled, lean and you could count on him to win the highschool wrestling matches---when he was allowed to compete. He skipped class because he was so damn bright. Got expelled once for hacking some records. Because he could. He was an odd sort of contained storm. Always straddling the boundaries between being the school darling or the reject.

Because he wasn't liked, Luke. Sure, if he tried, he could be smooth and the girls might fluster a bit around him. There were times when I wondered if Luke had actually lifted his persona from a 90's after school special, sometimes he was so, unassuming.

He was the kind of guy who could get you into trouble if you wanted it and just as easily get you back out---if you didn't tick him off. A gatekeeper.

Jenny'd had a crush on him---a fact she'd tell me only after he'd dropped me home one night, hopping off the back of his bike---she'd been mad at me about it too. Tears, yelling, 'I'd stolen her first love' the whole works. She'd deny it passionately when I recalled it to her a year after that but it's one of those memories I hold dear.

It was Jenny at her vulnerable sweetest. Before illness would make her cynical, sharp edged and cold, later on.  Desperation for life would make her walk in my shoes, trying to feel everything that was in the world before she left it.

I'd set a precedent for dealing with trauma for my sister. I like to tell myself that had I known it, I'd have been a more responsible head on straight youth. I like to tell myself that'd I'd have been selfless enough to change, set a better example.

I guess I like to tell myself lies.

Our 'meet-cute'? that's the trending way to say it now, right? my meet-cute with Luke was a cliche. I was skipping school. Down at the river, scowling out at the water while clouds threatened to roll in. I heard his bike before I'd turned to look at him.

"Which class?" he'd asked.

"Family Studies." maybe he could tell by the way I'd growled it, but it seemed then Luke understood. Had read something in my face and answer that told him everything he needed to know.

"You?"

He'd given me a sharp teasing smile. "Doesn't matter. None of them are any good to me." Then he'd rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out a neat little roll. "Yeah?"

Because I was young, because I was rebellious, a caricature of my generation, a textbook case of acting out I'd said, "Yeah." He put it to my lips, lit it, and I inhaled deeply.

After when our heads weren't as light anymore and we stopped snickering for no reason, he'd told me to get on his bike; he was dropping me home. I'd made him stop two blocks away. No reason he needed to know exactly where my door turned.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow." he'd said. Forward. Self assured. Solid. For all anyone might say Luke was overwhelmingly willing to be dependable. There.

"You haven't asked my name."

"Don't need to. You wrote that poem in the paper. Sang that solo last year at the fundraiser."

I'd gaped at him. Astonished someone like Luke Morales read the cheesy school paper or went to fundraisers. But what it really amounted to is, he'd been watching me. Waiting for a day like that I guess. For us to be on the level.

I remember I'd opened my mouth to tease him about it. What kind of 'bad boy' wasted energy engaging with  frivolous constructed things?

"Your words. Your voice." he'd shrugged, answering before I could even ask as he  reved up. "Guess they stick."

He was at my drop off of the previous day waiting for me. Everyday. Until I must have let my slip my address. And he picked me up at my front door.

He  kept me out too late on school nights.

Got me up early on weekends, sneaking out before dawn to catch the sunrise, coldest morning chill ripping through my sweater as I leaned my head on his shoulder and held on.

Snatched my notebook from me, every chance he got to read my innermost thoughts. Invasive, prodding. Luke looked at me like a puzzle he intended to figure out---guess he was so used to everyone being predictable, but somehow he couldn't get a proper read on me.

Luke always had money.

I don't think I ever asked back then from where. He'd miss days of school. But still handed in assignments on time. If Luke had thought I was hard to understand he hadn't properly met himself.

He entered me in the spring showcase that year after I had specifically told him I didn't want to and I was so mad at him about it. We didn't talk for two weeks. I got fired up angry and wrote the ugliest most brute scathing thing and on talent night I went up and sang my ode to him.

About the boy who thinks he's so cool but he's still got A's across the board. The boy who doesn't need a class to pass. The messed up boy who thinks he can set me right when his own damn life doesn't make sense.

The broken, misfit, what the hell are you after all, reject, boy, trying to fix, me.

The crowd loved it.

And Luke left me alone well into summer.

That was when our cycle began. Together, apart. Neither of us able to decide whether we wanted to be all wrong or all right. But Luke seemed to like the greyness of living between.

And I didn't know it then, but in the midst of my storm, I was trying to find a light.

When the darkest day came, when Jenny died, he was waiting on his bike.

We went for a ride.

If I was going to run into Luke anywhere tonight, I'd have figured he'd have turned up at the river. But no. Leave it to him to be sentimental. He's at the two block point away from my house. I don't mean for it to but my heart warms over. This is Luke. This….smart alec smarmy, ass, who will show you and tell you, time and time again, that he knows you. That he knows showing up here, indicates neutral ground, not too close to home, not too far from where we first officially met. It's calculated. Clever. Him. I slow down as I draw near and roll down my window. He raises a brow."Said I'd find you."

"You were gonna wait here all night?" I tease.

His lips tug into the smallest smile. It's tense. The slick boy I'd known had an easy, ready, made to order smile. Available at a moments notice if he needed it. His face is harder than I remember, and though his eyes glimmer, they're colder. He'd always seemed tired, bored, back then. It looks like now that weariness has caught up to him.

"How long you been back?"

"Bout three months."

"Didn't even cross your mind huh? Come see me?"

"I didn't think you of all people would stay here. You always made Sleepy Hollow seem like it was too small for you."

"I'm not the one that left, am I" he counters and his eyes lock with mine. Pointed, meaningful. A reminder. I owe him. Wonder if he's decided to collect now. He leans down to the window, curling his fingers inside the car to look me over proper. "I got a bad name here." he breathes.

"Worse than Mr. Crane?"

"Oh you've heard huh"

"Women at the school were filling me in before I ran into you. What do you do Morales?"

"You know what I was good at, Mills. I play to my strengths."

"You coming my way?" I ask, glancing up and down the darkening empty street. We're starting to look like we're doing shady deals here.

"Your mother would turn over in her grave." he drawls but then winces. "I'm sorry."

I choose not to point out that if he knows my mother died, he'd known when I got back in town. And he didn't try to find me either.

"She'd have thanked you, if she knew." I say instead, meaning it. "After she got mad as hell and killed us both."  he cracks a smile, one of the old ones. He turns his head away as if he's trying to hide it "She'd have thanked you for what you did for me."

"I didn't thank myself. It was dangerous, illegal, stupid." something in the way he says it though tells me he'd do it again. Because he's cold hearted? Or because he couldn't say no to me?

"You coming?" I ask again. I feel young. Troublesome young. Like I can afford to forget that I have a reputation since getting back here as the lively new teacher. That teachers should be respectable, people you can trust your kids around. Not courting the idea of men who won't tell you what they do for a living----never told you much about himself, to be honest, for all the time you've known him. Especially given the fact you just got off the phone with another irritable amber eyed man who's been daydreaming enough for you both since you met.

Luke bites his lips together, considering.

Say no, my mind whispers, but in the same traitorous breath coaxes, say yes.

Cynthia looks in on the girls fallen asleep on the couch, just as Frank emerges  behind her, tray full of hot chocolate and marshmallows ready to go but Cynthia shushes him gently. His face softens as he looks at Kayla and Aurore, leaning on one another. Down the hall the light is on, Macey up late night reading one can only assume. Zoe gives her more recommendations than Cynthia can keep up with. They've got cards for the books store and the library.

"I'm gonna tell Macey to shut up shop," he whispers, pressing his lips lovingly to her cheek.

She takes the tray from him and saunters back into the kitchen, setting it down and popping a marshmallow in her mouth. Frank comes back in to join her, chuckling. "What? what's funny?"

"Our daughter's in there reading a book about a girl who's too sick to go outside but then falls in love"

"And?" she queries, ignoring the way her heart still flutters when Frank calls Macey 'Ours' She's always been grateful that he has been so willing to call her his own.

"It's not funny," he amends. "It's just, she gets so excited when she's reading."

"Well,  you know she has her blog. She's gonna sit in there tomorrow editing and filming for her review channel before posting and piecing together layouts for her page. It's good she's excited about it. What's she reading now?"

"One called 'Everything Everything' by Nicola Yoon? supposed to be a movie soon."

"Remind me to borrow it from her when done so I can keep pace with what she's into," she chortles and turn back to the living room. "Come on, help me get these two upstairs."

"It feels like forever since Aurore slept over here." he says offhandedly as he swoops her easily up into his arms. "What'd you say to Mrs. Crane to swing it?"

"I told Kat little girls should have sleep overs."

"That it?"

She grabs Kayla  and begins slowly following him toward the stairs. "Said they'd have fun, get their homework done. Get them to school. The whole nine yards." Cynthia pauses and then adds. "Sleep some place peaceful for a few days. If I can I'll keep her for the weekend. She can come to church with us on Sunday."

"How's Crane."

"Crane is Crane," she whispers, sashaying behind Frank as he nudges the bed room door open.

"Has she thought about….."

"I told her to come to me." Cynthia supplies, laying Kayla down beside Aurore, drawing the blanket up under their chins. "I've got papers just waiting for her to sign her name."

"Cynthia," Frank admonishes. He's always been tender hearted toward Ichabod, and it's crossed her mind more than once to tell him that man who's made himself the eternally sinking vessel once tried to dock in her harbour, under their roof, but she doesn't. She can understand Frank's sympathy. 

Cynthia doesn't hate, Ichabod Crane, no. She knows what's happened to him, it isn't fair, and no one should be expected to come through it unscathed. She just also knows that no child should be caught in the middle of it. A mother torn between working and maintaining a home, with the arguing and scenes that him and Katrina have put on over the years. Aurore deserves better. She's a strong, beautiful shining little girl who should be carefree.

"They could be sisters" she murmurs as she turns out the light.

"If we kept her think anyone would notice?" he teases. Cynthia swats his arm as she grabs the door, pulling it shut behind them. He swings an arm around her waist.

"Katrina loves that little girl, with all of their differences. With all  of the questions and raised brows they've had and still get in the streets for Aurore's skin. That's her ray of sun. Her new Dawn.She's damn proud to be Aurore's mother. No one can take that from her. But if she's not careful someone's going to stick their head in to do just that."

Frank frowns. "You heard something?"

"They're not an island, Frank. People have jobs to do."

Luke meets my eyes. He nods down the street. In the set of his jaw is resolve. Acknowledgement of something between us that can't be broken properly. It bends, it twists, it snags. But it holds. I think of the times when I was sick and needed that ride into the clinic and couldn't stand to stick myself with a needle---he did it for me.

What we have, had, holds. That's my fault.

I asked him to do things for me, break all the rules, pull all the strings, so he did. Cover my tracks. Get me out. So he did.

"Lead the way." he whispers sauntering over to his car.

"No bike Morales?" 

"There are somethings we outgrow."

I lick my lips, press on the gas and drive. Luke Morales follows me home.

Chapter Text

First time Luke touched me, ran his fingers on my skin?

It was one month after we'd officially met.

Picking me up on a Sunday morning at nearly half past four am.The sky was still dark. I'd made my escape in a tank top and jeans but Luke hadn't thought twice about slinging his jacket over me.

Held it open while I slid my arms in, zipped me up. I grumbled at him about being babied, but he ran a thumb across my cheek instead. "If I don't care it's not so bad if I leave, right?"

I hadn't answered. He took me to a lookout. Spread out a blanket, threw it on the ground, laid down on it and motioned for me to join him. Lying side by side and honestly still fending off the last clingy remnants of sleep I'd drifted off. When I blinked my eyes open my head was on his arm and a hand at my waist. My top had ridden up, and his fingers traced lazy patterns there, absently, his eyes fixed on the rising sun. He felt me looking at him and didn't even pretend to feel guilty about being tucked so close next to me. He looked down at me in his arms, rubbing my eyes and stifling a yawn, as if of course, I was meant to be there. That's where I should be. "I wondered what it would be like to one day wake up next to you." he'd said.

I think I opened my mouth to ask about his family. It seemed important then that I ask, but then his lips touched mine.

And it was warm and it was sweet.

Distantly it nagged at me, why he staged this moment. I thought it was a trademark of young relationships to auto assume their longevity. To have an unwavering faith that they were the ultimate, one, only, would stand the test of time.

When I look back on it now, Luke was always stealing moments from me.  Like this imaginary life where we would wake up together. Like making me get on stage to sing. Seemed to me Luke always knew, he wouldn't get all of those firsts, and memories, with me.

In someway, Luke had always been telling me goodbye.

He parks and gets out of his car. Looking up and down the road. I jingle my keys in my hand as a summons and he glides up behind me. Broader. Taller. Nearer. I feel his hands close on my waist and I almost laugh with the hesitancy of it.

All of the jagged weird odd unruly angles of me he saw as a youth, you would think he'd be past being skittish with me now.

"What do you want from me," he breathes, lowering his head to the crook of my neck. He's not trying to be seductive. He's trying to hear me. Closing me in, sheltering, so whatever I answer, whatever I do next, it's protected from the outside. It's cloistered between us.

There were a lot of, almost's, with Luke and I. Times he pulled away before it crossed my mind to draw a boundary. He'd have never asked me for this, no matter how close we got.

I didn't then, still don't like people taking care, caring too much about me. My dad left. Jenny passed---- And mama, recently deceased--- It never occurred to me then that Luke was glad to have whatever I gave, and almost hasty to get me out of his life because he was dreading, waiting, preparing for the day I'd leave him behind.

"Let me tell you goodbye."

"Abbie."

I  turn my key in the lock.

He follows me in, turns me around and holds me.

I think I used him. I know I did. Took advantage of his nature even though I couldn't understand at the time I was being conniving. And I'm still so greedy. Should I be relieved this reckless selfishness hasn't changed? That in one night it can be awoken? That I haven't strayed so far from how I started out?

I'd had no right to ask him for that favour back then, and I shouldn't  want this from him now.

But I want it. The barest heart of him. Break him down, find who he really is, right here. Feel it.

"I think I should go," he says, arms still latched around me and hurt rears its head as he pulls away.

"Luke,"

"This isn't us, Abbie, we were never---"

"You wouldn't let it be us."

He furrows his brow.

"I know I was a case but you pushed me away as much as you tried to draw me in. You made me write, made me sing, fill out applications and dream, chasing me away from you. You spent all of our time getting ready to let go. You gave me memories to keep for later on,  rather than share with you."

I know I've struck a nerve because he won't look me in the eye. He knows I see through him now in a way I couldn't articulate before.

"Stop it Abbie."

"You gave me everything I needed, damn the consequences for me to run away from you because you loved me, Luke. You wouldn't say it and wouldn't let me hang around to figure it out myself but you loved me to the point of making me leave you. I hated you for it." And the next thing I say is a revelation I didn't own up to for years, "I loved you for it. You let me, helped me run."

"Rocky teen romance isn't a reason to skip out on your future, Abbie. We both knew that." but his voice is rough. Did he think of me? Does he regret? "I wanted good things for you."

"You know what I want from you tonight Luke?"

If he really wanted to leave he'd have been edging toward the door, not further into the house. If he didn't want me to catch him and force him down memory lane with me to have this one thing resolved and out in the open. Had Luke Morales any intention of showing me he wouldn't surrender all over again if I asked him for something else crazy and bizarre he wouldn't have found me tonight. He's shown his hand too many times already, has always been.

"I want you to stop looking out for me,"

He doesn't move when I wind my arms around his neck and he presses his forehead to mine. We stay that way a moment, breathing each other in. "You know what amazes me,"  he says finally. I meet his eyes. He smiles. "How you're still so short."

I slam my fist into his chest but I laugh and reach up to kiss him. I kiss him, soft and slow to makeup for all of the things he never let me feel.  All of the complicated and understated ways he showed me he cared without putting it in words or on my skin. Because as teens we shouldn't have cared about tomorrow but that's all we seemed to live for. What he was always anticipating.

He thought if we didn't care too much it wouldn't hurt us so much to part ways. 

He matches me, fire for fire and follows where I lead.

Does what I ask him to. Goes where I tell him to go and how.

Slower. Deeper. There. 

I tell him with my breath shallow and feeling whole and torn all at once, "Let go"

So he does.

Some things never change.

Katrina takes a bath, washes her hair. Does everything  painfully slow. Letting the quiet set in her bones. Listening for the door. She wants to be in  bed before he comes in if she can. But without Aurore giving structure to her evening; homework and bath time, a snack, a little chat about school, all activities that more or less devour the latter parts of her night---and she loves that---with Aurore staying at Cynthia's it's harder for Katrina to measure time. To gauge how long any one activity takes. She'd called before her bath, to say good night but Cynthia said her and Kayla had already fallen asleep.

Which leaves Katrina to herself. To her thoughts. Treacherous reminiscing.

"Don't do that Kat," she mutters to herself, waving her hands around in the water. "No rhyme or reason in that. Look forward, move forward." she inhales deeply as she submerges herself in the water, counts to ten before heaving back up, gasping a little and making to step out of the tub. She does that often. She can't hold her breath long but the time it takes for her to panic and abruptly rise reminds her, reassures her that there's fight left in her. Whatever her instincts maybe sometimes to just be weary and tired and finish wrecking herself right along with her husband, this instant gives her a fright and hot on the heels of it is: Aurore. No matter what she feels, thinks, there is her daughter. And she won't abandon her for anything. Even if she does need a borderline little dangerous reminder of the fact.

That's why she works so hard anyway. To keep living. Maybe have something of small value to leave behind for her only child.

Katrina used to work in the same building as Cynthia. Downstairs in estates and finances while Cynthia practiced family law.  But then Ichabod and Abraham left and she…..the rest is history.

Katrina spiralled, first. Erratically, deeply. Oh, Crane was dejected and hellish and set out to ruin her and himself in kind but she had the guilt. Her own brain hammering and nagging at her that really, this was all her fault. And then of course Crane was being…..who he is, and the bottle called.

There were absurd, sad and oddly peaceful moments in which they would both sit at the table with a bottle between them. Drinking every care and hurt away.  She had to leave her job. She just wasn't well enough to manage others affairs. She'd switched veins when she was ready to return to work. Nothing that required as many appearances as strutting through halls with her head held high and put together. A call centre for the bank. High volume inbound, nineteen dollars an hour, long days. The occasional belligerent client on the phone. But it was a clean office, if a little packed. They expected her to dress professionally. Which saw plenty of wear on her one suit. It kept the roof over their heads and the bare necessities, since Crane wouldn't be buggered to get it together.

Just as she's towelling off she hears the door and she studiously ignores it until he calls for her.

"Katrina?"

She  bites her lips together.

"Katrina?" that's his feet on the stairs. "Trina?" Strange, she thinks, listening to his walk. His foot falls sound sure, steady. "Trina?"  she thinks to lock the door too late and he flings it wide. Startled she drops her towel and he passes his gaze over her. "Sorry." he grumbles.

"What do you want," she snaps, reaching for the towel and hurriedly draping herself.

He sniffs as he looks her over. "Nothing. Just wondered if you were home."

"I'm more surprised that you are, honestly," she mutters to herself.

He pauses in the doorway, back still turned. "What was that?"

"I think you heard me."

He chuckles. "What's this, are you growing a spine on me Trina? getting some bite to go with your bark?"

"Look if all you want is to quarrel Ichabod, you can show yourself out tonight. I'm sure you know someone who would oblige you."

His lips curls in a snarl and Katrina curses. She's provoked him. "You would know about obliging Trina, wouldn't you?"

"When will you let that go?" she lashes out. "Nearly---"

"Don't you speak to me of time. You have no concept of it." he spits. "You don't know what time is until you spend it fighting for you life. You hear me?" he roars. "You know nothing and dare to make me out like some jaded, pris when you didn't have the mettle to hold faith for a few weeks!" he rages. "A wrinkle in time by comparison---"

"I'm not going to let you keep making me and my daughter miserable for a mistake I admitted to so long ago---"

"Your daughter?" he splutters maliciously. Mocking. "With the curly dark hair and almond eyes, yours? She's more mine than she'll ever be yours Katrina surely you see that, hell I'm sure half of Sleepy hollow must know that."

It's not a slap. It's an angry balled up alien thing she turns her hand into as she lays into him. He touches his bleeding nose wonderingly. "Is that what we're at now?" he taunts. Her hairs raise on her skin but she's so angry, so hurt that no matter what tells her to back down a savage rises up to the challenge.

"Do it." she says. "Do it Ichabod. Maybe if you'd done it first thing you wouldn't have slept your way through my Sister's, hmm? The school? whoever else?" he advances into the small space with her and she backs up, stepping carefully. "Do it. You've wanted to everyday, you think I don't see the way you look at me?"

"How do I look at you," he murmurs. "Like you betrayed me, hurt me, so easily forgot me"

"How the hell could I forget you" she screams. "Before you left I lived for you, you know it. Breathed you, dreamed you, you were all I had and needed so kill me I didn't know myself without you. I never asked you to enlist. I never wanted you to go. I was always dreading it and you went and it cut me up inside. I had been letting my life, everything revolve around you"

"So you were glad for the chance? is that it?"

"Are you gonna hit me or not." she asks, shivering with her skin still damp. "You're either going to start something or end it, that's the only reason I can think of for you coming in here tonight," When his hand lances out and wraps in her hair she gasps as he pulls her face up close.

He holds her there, eyes boring into her before they widen in terror and his grip slackens. He begins to shake. "My God Katrina I'm sorry."

She slaps his hand away and pushes past him, shaken and confused. They're just like this. For a while after Aurore was born, there were glimmers of affection still there. Then there was cool distance. They alternated. Time when a laugh could still be heard and a fleeting if forced kiss to a cheek. But now they're like this, hostility that can flare without notice but never….she looks at the blood on the tile and her stomach plummets. For a minute while he held her she hadn't been entirely sure he wasn't going to return the favour.

"Katrina." he says, voice distant, as if outside of himself. His temper has always been out of control when struck. It's why she had thought therapy would help him, but the stubborn, ass, wouldn't go before a shrink. It's not just what's happened in their marriage she knows. It's what he saw out there. He buries it beneath all of the other crap he does to cope rather than deal with it outright but. Shit. she thinks. It's never been like this. She trembles as she rummages under the sink for gauze and runs water on the face towel. She turns towards him and approaches slowly, reaching to clean the blood off his face and then stuffs the gauze in his hand, still shaking.

"Katrina,"

"Don't you ever talk about Aurore that way again." she says, her voice wavers but there still lies an edge in it. A threat. "I've been a better parent to her than you have. I've raised her. Don't you ever" she growls. This is it, she thinks. In that moment, she feels it. She's done. "Don't you ever throw that in my face again. She's ours, she was our decision. I'm her mother and I'll be damned if my own husband is going to come in here and make that a weapon against me. Don't you dare do it again" When she slams the door behind her, the tears come.

She can't name what she's crying for.

Luke kisses my temple and strokes my arm. I hold the other one wrapped around me, breathing deep. Skin to skin close. "Exam season," I say. He doesn't ask me to clarify what mid point conversation it is that I'm starting. He just stays there, close. My bare feet rub against his legs beneath the sheets. "There's always some jerk in the practice room next to you, an upper year who's sung your song or done your warm up before who decides to upstage you. It can be playful sometimes but others it's…..it's just annoying."

Another kiss but I can feel his lips curved on that one. I pull away to catch the faintest grin as he listens to me. "Go on." he says.

"I was doing a harmony exercise and the jerk next door decides to show me up. I get fed up and go next door to let him have it," I'm telling him the story of how I met Orion, really. But he doesn't know that. "And he opens the door, and…..for some reason I'd been expecting you."

He raises a  brow "Because I'm an antagonizing show off?"

"I'd been missing you and I hadn't known it." I laugh. "And yeah he was pushing my buttons. The way you used to. And when it wasn't you there." I shrug and turn my head out the window. "That was when I'd realized I'd loved you."

He's silent, letting this old confession hang between us. His arms tighten around me.

"How's your family." I ask next.

"You never asked before."

"You were a selfish jerk who didn't share."

"My mom died when I was a kid. Dad raised me, you knew this didn't you?"

"I think that was all you ever said. Months after we met."

He bites his lips together. "Well, there was nothing to us. Dad worked, raised me, we had a good relationship. I was a troublemaker, but so was he…..although not nearly as smart and simultaneously dumb as I was. He passed two years back."

"I'm sorry to hear."

He shakes his head. "Old, sick. You know how it is. I'm sorry about your mom. I'm sorry I didn't come to the funeral"

It doesn't cross my mind to be mad at him.

I blink. "It's okay" I swallow and carry on "You know I only applied for the job out here because I figured, come home, be close to her. She'd been wanting me to move back." He catches the tear running down my cheek on his thumb. "And I get here, and it's not, not even a week….heart attack. Gone. I was down at the grocery. She told me to bring banana's, she was gonna make pancakes." and then I can't breathe. The sobs come and he holds me as I wrack us both with my grief. He makes soothing sounds until I go quiet. 

Softly, tentatively he asks,"What are we doing here, Abbie."

"Want me to write it off?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I don't know I---I---I just what now? Was this just something you needed out of your system?"

I turn inward to face him completely and move closer, reaching up I brush my lips against his. "You'll never be 'out of my system', Morales. That's not how we work"

He closes his eyes and breathes deep as rolls me over on my back.

He knows its true.

My alarm goes off at six thirty and Luke's arm is thrown over me. "Morning," I whisper.

He groans as he turns over, stretching and yawning wide. I can't help but smile.

"What" he yawns.

"This is what it's really like to wake up with me,"

His eyes light up with memory and he straightens, sitting up and swinging his feet out of the bed. His gaze sweeps the room. I know that look. He's trying to pinpoint his clothes. I tap his shoulder and gesture vaguely to where he kicked off his pants. He looks at me sheepishly as he rises, bunching up his discarded boxers in front of him. "Your phone went off." he says. "You sleep like the dead."

"I was tired." I counter. "I was worn out."

"Who's Orion?"

I freeze.

"Abbie?" his voice sounds strange. "Abbie is that your man?"

"No. It's…we aren't….I was calling it off with him before I left,"

Luke pauses. "Calling, what, off"

"Our engagement"

"Your, what"

Outside a car door slams. A voice I know.

No.

But there it is; knock knock knock.

Chapter Text

Pinstripe navy and white with ruffled sleeves. Sleek navy pencil skirt with an asymmetrical slit up the front. Her fitted blazer waits on the bed. As she sweeps her sleeping cap off her head, reaching for the comb, she thinks she can hear him, still. After all this time. "That's my favourite suit love. You look a treat in it." It's years old, but it was the first, and only suit Abraham had bought for her. Cynthia wears it sparingly now, only if she's in a particularly good mood. Frank has grown to accept her sentimentality without  being jealous of it. Although their first christmas together, when he'd thought it sporting to gift her a suit of her own it had started a rather confused disagreement. He buys her jewellery now instead. And books. Cynthia wasn't always an  extravagant woman.

But life is too short both for being frivolous and not to be. So she takes her indulgences more liberally. Deeply grateful for her home, her two daughters; Macey and Kayla,  and the life both men, past and present have given  her.

When she thinks of the cases she hears on any given day, and increasingly of her friend's long enduring, long suffering marriage, there are times when Cynthia refrains from going to  that Flag in her trunk----whispering stories of growth about Macey and her accomplishments to it----there are times when she tells herself; Be present, Cynthia. You're a lucky one. She says a prayer and carries on about her day. And she's happy.

Happier still this morning, as she fastens on a watch on her left----no one uses them anymore but they're fashionable, and a bangle on the other----happier still because she can hear Kayla and Aurore play shoving and splashing each other in the bathroom. She glances at her phone. Six Thirty.

"Cynthia hon I put the coffee on, eggs down here for you and the girls" Frank chimes as he strides down the hall, looking for her. "I'm headed in early with Macey, she wants to get a few library hours in" he says ducking into the bedroom he comes over to the vanity where she gets dressed, sweeps her hair to the side and kisses her cheek.

"Nuh uh." she reprimands, calling him back and he gives her a cheshire grin before kissing her properly.

"Have a good day." he rumbles, looking her over.

"Be safe. Love you."

"Love you more."

"No I----"

"Don't start that argument with me woman we'll be here all morning." another swift peck before he bounds down the steps. Macey hollers as she goes.

"Bye Mom! Bye Kayla! Aurore! Love you"

" Bye Sweetie!" Cynthia chimes back, peering in her jewellery box for her diamond studs. When she's finished dressing the commotion in the bathroom has stopped and both girls are staring contemplatively at Kayla's closet.

"Green?" Kayla asks as she holds up a jumper. Aurore shakes her head vigorously. "Yellow?" Again no. "Aurore!" Kayla snaps and Aurore shrieks with laughter a her friend throws this garment at her.

"Hey you two." Cynthia greets. "What're we wearing today?"

"Aurore is no help" Kayla grumps but Aurore grins impishly. Cynthia smirks. "I think that's because she wants to borrow that jumper and blouse, isn't that right?" Aurore rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

"Aurore!" Kayla yelps, affronted.

Chuckling Cynthia goes to the closet and pulls out an identical jumper in blue with a red top. "How about it Kay? let Aurore borrow them?"

Kayla folds her arms. "She could have asked. She didn't have to be sneaky about it" but she sticks her tongue out, laughing.

"Alright. Get dressed. Breakfast, and I have to do your hair. Come on, come on, come on," she ushers them and goes downstairs to get her coffee.

He's just laying into the doorbell.

I've stalled in the bed and Luke is still looking at me like I may have sprouted extra limbs. "You're engaged?"

"Was," I amend. The constant ding dong-ing of the bell accompanied by measured knocking has an odd musicality to it, maddening almost in its relentless rhythm.

The past tense seems to hold absolute no meaning for Luke whatsoever. "Engaged?" he repeats again, like a stuck record.

"Yes. And I was, as in no longer." I find myself gazing across the room at my open closet and trying to piece together my clothes for the day. "I have to be at school for eight thirty," I mutter, trying to factor in time for the shower, breakfast.

"Abbie" Luke cuts in and I look up at him. "The door,"

"Is it supposed to rain today?"

"The door."

I lift the sheets and approach the window. Luke makes a garbled sound before he yanks be back. My brows knit. "What, what is it?"

He glances pointedly down at my naked form and I hear myself snicker in a not entirely sane fashion. "I just flashed the neighbours across the street didn't I."

Ding, dong. Knock, knock, knock. Ding, dong. Knock, knock, knock knock knock.

He grips my arms and holds my gaze. "Were you expecting someone?"

I shake my head, weary already. "No. But it's probably Orion." I sigh and give myself a shake, reaching for my robe.

Luke has his pants on now and is tugging on his socks. "I don't understand." he casts about for his shirt. "If you broke up, before you got back in town, why would he show up here?"

Covered now in my robe I approach again and press my hand to the glass to feel the temperature. "Because unlike you, Orion isn't so willing to let me go." Damnit. "Luke I didn't mean it like that."

The look on his face is indecipherable as he finds finishes buttoning himself up in his shirt. He straightens his collar and glances around for the bathroom. I gesture to the door for my en suite. He nods and walks past me. The assault on my front door continues. "You better get that"

Cynthia parts Aurore's hair after having just finished with Kayla. Her fingers work quick, turning over and under as she braids greases. "Tell the truth when was the last time your mother steamed your hair," she chides. Aurore answers vaguely.

"Uhhh"

"Uhhh" Cynthia mimics. "If you stay this weekend you're getting a deep conditioning. Kayla pass me that bin."

She hasn't combed Aurore's hair in ages. She remembers when the girls were small and her goddaughters hair was starting to challenge Katrina, she would be over there almost every other night, asking for Cynthia's help. Showing her how to detangle and moisturize---being a test subject for Katrina herself. The girls would play, they'd have a movie on, and it would be a sort of girls night. Playing in hair and chatting and laughing when their daughters wanted to try braiding themselves. She's happily reminiscing when Kayla waves her phone in her face. "Mom," she warns and Cynthia gasps at the time.

"Well, finished just in time. Grab your bags girls." She dusts the little bits of curls from her skirt, and at the door slips on her navy heels with the gold details. Reaches for her brief case. The pleated navy coat and helps shirk on the girls jackets. They skip and race towards the car and Cynthia is following behind them, key in hand when she notices another car driving up.

Katrina emerges.

"Mom!" Aurore calls, equal parts excited and confused.

"Get in the car sweetheart." Katrina motions towards Cynthia's vehicle and tentatively Aurore goes. Her giddiness of the morning instantly replaced with worry.

"Kat?" Cynthia asks as she draws near. "Kat are you alright?"

Katrina takes in Cynthia's happily put together appearance. The way the girls had come skipping out of the house, happy, laughing. She wants this for herself. Aurore deserves a home life like this. But she can't do it as is.

"I'm done, Cynthia."

Her friends brown thoughtful eyes gaze deeply into hers. She rests a hand on her shoulder before pulling her in for a hug. "Kat."

It takes everything within her not to cry. Not to go to bits. What does she think she's doing? Is this really where all that time has gone? All of that for an end?

"Stay here, okay? I'll be back early today. I'll let you in. Do you have bags?" Katrina nods weakly and then follows as Cynthia marches swiftly back up the walkway with Katrina in tow unlocking the door. "The spare's set up if you want to rest. There's---"

Katrina nods and waves. "Thank you." is all she can manage. Cynthia smiles faintly at her.

"Okay. I should be back around two. I think the girls have rehearsal again today?"

"Aurore has a solo."

Cynthia blinks, she can see Katrina looks about to splinter. "Kayla told me. She says she sounds great."

"Don't know where she gets it from." Katrina chokes, her words turning into a watery burble. "God knows she doesn't get it from me. She doesn't get anything from me. " and all at once her voice is raw and broken and her face red "Damn it. Damn it"

Cynthia raises a skeptic brow. "Maybe I shouldn't go in."

"No no I'll…I'll just….." she fans herself and tries to regain control. "I'll be fine. Go, they'll, they'll be late for school."

Biting her lips together Cynthia nods once, embracing her again as she turns to leave.

"Thank you so much."

"You're gonna be okay Kat." Cynthia assures. "You both will. Don't touch that coffee machine, it's new and it's finicky" She warns and earns a small weary smile from her tear streaked friend. "Okay then. I'll see you soon." She waves as she ducks in the car.

The when she looks up in the mirror she sees the little girls exchange glances with one another in silence.

"You girls have fun today" Cynthia says, voice measured, calm. "Learn. Sing well at rehearsal after school, alright?"

"Yes mommy." Kayla replies dutifully.

But Aurore's gaze is fixed out the window. She doesn't know what's happening, but she knows her life just changed.

When I open the door I've changed into my blouse and jeans and boots. The teachers tend to go a bit more casual on fridays. He smiles when he sees me but I just can't believe, though I'm not surprised, that he made this trip. "What are you doing here."

Orion Angel is a handsome, sharp dressed man. He's got the voice of a saint. He's a performer, through and through, and he has a quartet he sings with. They've just done their second recording, a Christmas album and they'll be touring soon. And he's--was--my fiance.

"You make me do things like this you know." he blusters by me, dropping his bag in my doorway. I watch him aghast. "Well?" he asks, arms flung expectantly wide and does not give me a chance to choose an embrace before he swoops in on me.

"Abbie I'm just going to….head….out….." Luke grinds to a halt at the bottom of the steps. Orion stiffens.

"Who's this?"

Luke glances over at me, challenging. Daring.

"A friend." I say quickly, easily.

The look Luke gives me makes me feel very, very low. It's all there in his gaze. Friend? really? after last night?

"A friend" Orion repeats slowly, smirking at us both because he has us figured out, but he's not phased by it. "A friend of my fiance is a friend of mine."

Puzzlement creases Luke's brow. "Great to meet you."  He says and offers his hand .They shake and then Orion hefts his  bag and begins walking down the hall, looking around. He follows Orion with his eyes until he gets intrigued by my kitchen and wanders out of sight. Luke turns back to me, a mixture of hurt and irritation.

"Luke."

"It was nice meeting your fiance, Abbie."

"Ex-fiance."

"And I'm a friend" he fires back through gritted teeth. "Either neither of those are true or I'm disillusioned about last night."

"Don't get that way with me."

"I'll get how I want, Mills." He reaches for the door but I grasp his arm.

"What are you doing tonight"

"Are you kidding me?"

"I want to see you."

"For what, friendly round of beer? a friendly fuck?" he hisses.

"You're being an ass."

"The same ass you said you loved once."

"I just want---"

"Don't you have to get to school?" he cuts me off. 

"Oh Abigail, that reminds me" Orion comes bolting back down the hallway brandishing the bauble triumphantly over his head. "I retrieved this before the trash went out that day." And there's my engagement ring, shining in the morning light. Like a damn delayed boomerang. I hurriedly snatch it out of his hands. Luke inhales sharply.

"Have a good day. Both of you."

"Luke."

"Have a good day, Mills. Again, pleasure meeting you….."

"Orion Angel. Likewise, Luke…..?"

"Morales."

"I hope to see more of you."

Luke laughs harshly. "Hah. Yeah, I'll take a hard pass on that one." he won't meet my eye as he walks away.

Orion and I watch in silence as he gets in his car and drives off. My heart is thundering inside me.

"I just want to know. Give me a scope of where your head was at on this one, darling." I take several deep breaths as I head back inside to get my coffee. "In about a month or so, you were going to tell him it was his? Is that it?"

"I have to get to school."

"What am I supposed to think when I find a positive---"

"I don't want you here when I get home. Clear? Be anywhere but here." Bag in hand I head for my car. "I've got rehearsals until five. That gives you plenty of time."

"Abigail."

"Orion. I mean it."

Chapter Text

Everything about Orion was an accident. And I'm not saying that to be malicious but sometimes the truth is unfortunate. Like so many things in life. Illness and death and people who helped create you but that run out and never looked back. Friends that wanted more but were too cowardly to ask and wrong place right time.

I'd knocked on the practice room door sharply and it swung open on him. Tall----an unfair thing that by default of my stature I have to describe everyone as tall---trim and tailored and smirking at me and I wanted badly to wipe it off his face.

"Yes?"

"You're distracting me and I'm trying to get that assignment done for Sandberg."

"Is that what was?"

I'd rolled my eyes. "Could you just knock it off?" He stared at me for a full minute. Arms folded, leaning casually on the door frame, as if he found me direly entertaining.

"Who are you"

"Grace Abigail Mills."

"Oh, you. You requested a Studio transfer."

I stammered."How do you know that?"

"Because no one has ever been so aggressive about switching teacher's before the year is done. Your form came in at my desk in the performance studies office yesterday."

For a minute I'd felt a little shaky. A dreaded feeling that I was snapping at the wrong person.  He must have noticed the guarded expression that came over my face. He huffed and chuckled lightly.

"I work in the office but I have no influence on their decision. First years don't know enough about themselves to make this decision"

I started to lose track of the conversation. "I'm sorry who are you?"

"Orion Angel. Performance, third year. They hire students often. Don't expect that request to go through, by the way. No one switches studios mid year."

"Listen, I just need you to stay out of---my ears, while I work on keyboard harmony and never mind me and my request."

"I don't understand anyway. Clare is a nice small studio. All first years."

"I don't feel challenged."

"Oh? Come to my masterclass tonight then, upstart. See if you think a senior studio is your fit."

"I don't---"

"What are you still doing here? Go practice, Sandberg is a hard marker." and with that he'd spun around, gathering his music and bag and exited the practice room slamming the door shut behind him. "We're in  Germain Hall tonight, recital preparation. Six o'clock"

I'd staunchly told myself I wasn't going to go.

But I did. Of course I did.

I can't say Orion was good that night. He'd passed that mark after the first four bars and he'd had the audacity to blaze into astonishing, maddening craft by the end of the first phrase. I hadn't counted on that.

On all of them being brilliant.

And if Orion had meant to scare me off from finding a more critical ear to shape my talent he would be greatly disappointed that it had done the opposite. When I'd asked for a switch from Clare I hadn't a clue which voice teacher I wanted in her stead. But that evening it had become clear. I wanted to be in this studio. Singing complete cascading circles around him.

This isn't the first time I've tried leaving him.

During his first tour I went to stay with a friend, took my things.

Changed my number, the works.

When we took a break I ignored his calls.

When he came back I would slam countless multiple doors in his face.

I would tell him I needed to breathe.

This life he wanted couldn't be mine.

Stop following me.

Stop following me.

I thought it was what I needed, his wanting of me. It was something else to be openly wanted. Desired. Needed. Protected.

He moved in and I didn't know how it happened.

I woke up with the ring on my finger. To this day the word 'yes' hasn't passed my lips.

But I'd let it stay. It was promissory. It was guarantees and all the safety and surety I could want-----that he wouldn't let me go, not after I had worked so hard to get him.

I had been a hot rival coming up in the faculty back then. Switched studios twice, got cast in the same productions, sang the same festivals, even while I was writing my education papers I was coming up on his trail and it drove him mad. He could see me coming in the distance. The fiery first year racing toward top of the heap. When we got cast as leads, playing opposite, the tension would be so hot between us, his acting, or perhaps it was him, making my skin flush with inappropriate heat under so many watchful gazes.

Nothing about us, was forced. Sturm and Drang, cold and hot, whirlwind passionate, maybe. My drive during our school years was insatiable, no one accomplishment was enough, and when we'd graduated I was still doing other artist programs, we were still maddeningly orbiting in the same circles, drawing closer each time.

I wanted to conquer. I wanted to demolish the smug smile on his face that had looked down at me on that first day. That had thought he could mount a challenge I wouldn't accept. But nothing was enough. Pulling myself taught between teaching and performing I was trying in every way to outpace and out match him. To excel.

Exceed.

Be beyond imagination.

Confounding.

To be more, greater than, the girl who's father had left her family behind.

More, greater than, the girl who was pushed away by a fickle young man, hell bent that he understood her full potential better than her.

Guess I thought I was paying back a debt I owed to Luke. To say yes, see, I am meant for all of these grand things, Luke, this life, busy, bustling thriving, yes this is the life you were so adamant I could have, that I wanted, so yes let me prove it to you now---you were right. Yes you were right to push me away because look at me now. You were right, you could never hope to keep me. You would do anything I asked because you believe in all of this. So I took the chance he'd given me, pursuing and wanting and being greedy for every success, for every coveted thing, and Orion was. Company's wanted him. Women wanted him.

And I had my admirers too.

But I wanted to be greater than in a way he couldn't ignore.

Wanted to be wanted and celebrated the way I hadn't been before, by the 'best'.

He treated me like gold.

He seemed, almost relieved when I'd managed to win a role in a show he hadn't been cast in---an uproar in the local art magazines that he'd been passed over----It was the end of the school year when he'd turned up outside to offer me his congratulations. "To being everything and more." he'd said.

I was young of mind still in so many ways. Simple. It was enough for me.

Just as I'd wanted to catch him, a sought after prize----he was just as happy to catch me---coveted and rare. He had visions now of what we could do. Plans. Futures.

He was always planning for tomorrows-----Luke had made me live for them-----

But these tomorrows included, me.

I was an inherent part of the equation. A need. A fixture. An asset.

He was everywhere.

I carried him with me.

The necklaces he bought, and the blouses he wanted me to wear.

The music he gave me to sing. "Now that I've met my match to sing them"

The possessive bites he'd left on my shoulders and neck so I had to cover them up for class----in some chic high collared dress he'd ordered.

The parties, concerts, places we always went together.

The studio he made me sit in for hours during recordings with his group.

The clothes he didn't want me to wear when they were over for rehearsal----even though they were garments he'd purchased.

The places I couldn't go.

His car idling in the school parking lot when I told him I'd be late after a staff meeting.

His eyes watching me at the back of the theatre during rehearsals.

His arms locked tight in sleep and his lingering, showy kisses whenever we had to part ways.

"Who's this"

"Where are you going"

"What time are coming home?"

"I'll be there to pick you up."

"I can't wait to meet them."

"We should just have them over."

"I'm home this weekend. Let's stay in."

"We should audition for----"

"We should record----"

"When we get married----"

"When we have children-----"

"When We----"

When we.

When we.

When we.

Stop following me.

"You and I-----"

I can't breathe.

"We are going to----"

I need a break.

"Sure darling. Now,  when we-----"

You're hurting me.

"Why didn't you answer the phone"

Stop following me.

"We're meant for each other."

Stop it.

Stop it.

I can't breathe.

Let me go.

"You've never been loved as much as I love you. Wanted the way I, want you Abigail. I deserve you. You deserve me."

Oh I had him.

But I no longer had myself.

I don't know how I ended up in the school parking lot. The drive over is a blur and my head is spinning and my breath coming fast. I only lift my head off the steering wheel when I hear the bell and then take a gulp of air, grabbing for my bag and darting through the front doors and down the hall to my class.

The first thing I notice is Kayla and Aurore are wearing similar outfits with their hair combed the same way. The image of their sweetness, compounded with my recent onset of anxiety makes my heart ache.

I love children.

Never had any experience with them before teaching but I've always been drawn to them, in a state of wonder about the unknown. Although, maybe it's a delayed reaction to the choice I made so long ago.

But they're so, different. They're walking talking evolving things discovering and learning and born into innocence only to one day lose it. They are rich fertile soil in which to plant dreams and aspirations. They are the future. You can have a scope of your impact on the world when you interact with children----whether you have your own or not. When you see how they smile and laugh and know that memory has been formed, with your face attached, you know they will take that out into the world and in some way, it'll colour their experiences, affect the world around them.

I'd been vomiting.

Every morning.

He didn't seem concerned. He was leaving for a performance in Italy that day. Three month run.

He knew I was planning to move back and stay with my mother. I had told him, and this once he had listened, that I needed time away. I hadn't told him how soon I'd be leaving, only I'd call when I was settled.

Maybe because he was distracted with his upcoming shows he hadn't tried to get in my way about it. Or make promises to fly out as soon as he could.

Maybe he thought it was just something he'd sort out when he got back, as he paraded from one room to the next belting the Catalogue Aria from Don Giovanni through the halls.

I think he thought 'd gotten fleeing out of my system.

He always treated my attempts to call us quits like some game.

Like I was running away from a good thing because I hadn't ever known a good thing before----so I was self sabotaging.

Somewhere in there, I started to believe him.

Of course no one had ever been so desperate for me, so sure of my worth and so direly needed to know everything about me, all the time, that I was frightened by his devotion.

I was spooked by a love that was too strong.

But love shouldn't make you feel like you can't breathe.

Everything I had worked hard for, of my own accord and stubbornness, seemed turned against me. It had landed me in his lap. Had put us on level and made me----God, what name is there for it?

I think if he could have locked me in a gilded cage he would.

Between my hectic schedule and his overbearing, my pills---that I knew I kept in the medicine cabinet "Darling maybe you misplaced them"---he'd say, vanished.

So when I took the test, a day after he'd left, and a day before I would leave to return to Sleepy Hollow----panic set in.

Bone deep.

Dry mouth, panic.

I couldn't start a family with Orion.

I didn't want a family with Orion.

And not because I was afraid of his great possessive love.

Because I couldn't imagine bringing a child into the world, whose memories and experiences, would feature a mother desperate to flee. Who would grow up suffocated by his overbearing and expectations.

Who would stifle me.

Who would keep me under lock and key.

Who would surely see this as a way to keep me, detain me. Trap me.

"A happy home, mother and father, and I'd never leave you, like your father did."

I hadn't been sure then, what I would do with this new information, more than it seemed clear then, that I had to leave, now. I had to go, now. I tossed the ring---because I thought that would be clear, I'd never thrown away anything he'd given me before----I tossed it and got on the plane and in my haste,

In my eagerness, neglected to empty the washroom trash.

He'd been calling, of course. Between his shows. He was easy to brush off then because I could hear he was exhausted.

I answered to tell him my mother had passed.

That too, bought me some time.

And……I don't know, should I have called myself lucky? In the grief of mama's sudden passing, verified after by a doctor.......something else also passed.

I felt like a wretch that I was relieved. That I felt freed, from him.

I thought this time he wouldn't come. This time, he would know I've gone for good. And weeks passed and he called and I ignored them.

He would have gotten back to the apartment last week. Discovered it abandoned save for the furniture. Rent paid up until he returned.

Would have wandered around in bewilderment, hunting for clues----and then went looking in the trash. Then saw all his ideals crashing down. My ring, the pregnancy he was hoping to trap me with. 

But there's nothing left  to claim.

I was careless with myself, my body once. And I won't do it again. I'm not going back to him.

And he'd better not try to make me.

"Ta, ta, ti-ti ta," I chant, clapping the rhythm.

The class responds dutifully.

"ta, ta, ti-ti, ta"

"Ti-ti, ti-ti, ta-ah"

"Ti-ti, ti-ti, ta-ah"

"Ta-ah-ah-ah"

"Ta, ta-----haha!" the children get tripped up on the last one and laugh at their mistake.

Their laughter is music itself.

Children, they begin from chance and hinge on possibility. Such an organic, scientific, fact of life----but the happening of it still----it's not to be taken lightly.

I should have considered that back then.

I wouldn't wonder so much now.

Quietly and privately to myself I'll admit I love teaching because it brings me so close to the unknown. The possibility that somewhere out there----well it got me here.

Life tends to come full circle.

And what I gave, brings me here now, every so often nagged by curiosity about an offering I should have already forgotten.

I smile at the class and call for their attention as I bring out the bin of shakers and instruct them to pass it around. Then the room is full of a cacophony of rattling and a few tambourines later the bright metal clanging against hands and thighs. I point to the board where I've drawn separate lines of rhythm.

"If you have a tambourine, follow the top line. If you have a shaker, follow the bottom."

It takes a few tries and my head starts feeling fuzzy with the racket afterwards but they're having the times of their lives. I give them handouts and instruct them to write in the count beneath the notes.

"Don't forget rehearsal today!" I call and they nod smile and call back. "Bye Miss Mills."

And  Kayla links her arm with Aurore, pulling her close, whispering childish little confidences that I get the impression are meant to make Aurore laugh. But instead a practiced untroubled expression sits on her face. When her gaze meets with mine it holds for a second before quickly darting away.

Closed off again.

"Katrina, Kat----you cooking?"

Katrina turns bashfully from the stove to greet her friend. She shrugs. "It seemed the least I could do----once I made sense of half the things in here. You have more food than I know what to do with," she laughs and then stops herself. What she says about what Cynthia has, says just as much about what she doesn't. Cynthia smiles faintly.

"Thank you. I did expect you to rest, though."

Katrina shakes her head. "Couldn't lay in the bed with my thoughts, couldn't do it. I've done it Cynthia. I ruined my marriage."

"Oh no not this, come on sit down." Cynthia goes to the cupboard, grabbing two cups and then puts on the kettle. "You made a mistake. He made several. Some forgivable, some not. But if he had not intention of forgiving you and moving on, he should have let you go."

"I was holding on to him Cynthia. I didn't…..I wanted……I kept hoping----"

"Mm mm no, stop it, let's have some tea. I could go for a drink myself but I've gotta drive to get the girls after school so, tea."

Katrina inhales deeply, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't unpack,"

Cynthia glances over her shoulder from where she's stirring the pot of boiling potatoes and then lifting the hissing kettle of the burner as she pours. "And why is that"

"You tell Frank?"

"Called him when I got in this morning."

"What did he say?"

"I married him for a reason you know. Got a good heart." she turns and winks. "You're good to stay here. In fact I wanted to ask if there's anything of Aurore's you wanted to grab today."

"No no no, not yet, I….I don't want to upset her."

"Huh." Cynthia scoffs. "Aurore's smarter than you think Kat. Should've seen her face this morning on the drive over."

Her heart sinks. "You see? What am I doing? tearing up her life like this?"

"I don't like to say it Kat but you and I both know…..her life was torn to begin with, and you shouldn't have…." It's hard for Cynthia to say. She'd been skeptic of their decision but back then Crane was still at the University and Katrina had believed so strongly they were on the up swing that her small, half formed reconsiderations got thoroughly buried beneath Katrina's hopes for the future.

The women share a look.

Don't go there today.

Cynthia finishes making the tea and brings the cups over. She reaches across the table and grips her friends hand.

"We're Sacred Heart." she says. "And what do we do?"

"Stand together, lift each other."

"What do we do?"

Katrina begins to sniffle. "Dream for us and one another."

"And what do we do, Kat?"

"Survive and thrive." the tears come and she slides off the seat into Cynthia's arms.

"I've got you." She whispers. "Just like you had me when Abraham didn't come back. We've got you, okay? You've got me, Frank, Kayla, Macey, and Aurore. She loves you. Trust in that Kat. Trust in that love and that's all you'll ever need to get through anything. Don't let him make such a small difference ugly because he's hurting."

"I tried to help him, I wanted to."

"You can't help no one unless they want it." Cynthia cuts her off. "Focus on doing right, for you and my goddaughter. Okay?"

Katrina nods tearfully and then gasps, tearing out of Cynthia's arms lunging toward the over. "The chicken!"

"See?" Cynthia laughs, watching the redhead flit about for the oven mitts, the door opening unleashing smoke and the smoke alarm goes off as she removes a slightly past golden brown roast chicken and rests it on the stove top. Then proceeds to dash around for the kitchen towel to fan the detector. Cynthia watches amused until her friend turns around, flummoxed and wiping her nose. "See? you got other things to worry about. Like not burning my damn house down."

"Ohhh" Katrina grumps and throws the balled up cloth at her.

Her friend shrieks with laughter.

And Katrina laughs too. 

"I will protect you, from all around you. I will be here don't you cry."

Sophie is talking quietly with some of her drama kids about the set design while I accompany the kids.

"For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you keep you safe and warm"

I lift my head from the music because something sounds wrong. Aurore's line is faltering, her breath becoming shallow and her face pinching with the strain of concentration.

"Stop" I call immediately but not soon enough. There's already a tear streaking down her face which she valiantly dashes away. Kayla touches her shoulder gently and beside them Richard leans in.

"What's wrong with her" he asks.

Kayla pretends not to hear him, instead focusing on her friend. I rise from the piano and approach. I can see the regret welling up inside her as I draw near. Like she's terrified of me seeing something, finding something that's not supposed to be known. Like she doesn't trust me not to make a production out of her.

"It's dry in here, isn't it?" I say. She gulps and looks infinitely grateful that I don't open with 'what's wrong' "I'll bring water for us next time. Let's call it a day." I announce and a few of them cheer and a few of them groan, one of them being Sophie.

"Hey! Mills, what are you doing, we still got ten minutes in here."

"That gives us time to nail down a few details about lights," I say pointedly, nodding toward the stage where Aurore moves slowly. I expect her to be one of the first to grab her bag and bolt but instead she walks to the edge and sits down, legs dangling off. Sophie bites her lips together and then bobs her head in understanding, going back to talking about set up.

"Kay so which one of you know how to paint? Sistine chapel type skills?"

I roll my eyes and sit down on the stage with Aurore.

"Aurore," Kayla calls tentatively. I glance over and see she's got her bag on and holds Aurore's coat and bag in her other hand. I chuckle lightly seeing her so over burdened and gesture for her to come over. "Class today was really fun Miss Mills." Kayla says cheerfully and I smile. She's a confident little girl. Laughs, smiles, readily. Asks questions, volunteers to read when I see her for English. I remember her parents, they came with their elder daughter even. Smart young woman who had an even more keen interest in what books we were reading than Mr. and Mrs. Irving. Nice people. Steady. Kayla reflects that. When I think back on what I've heard about Aurore's father. having met Mrs. Crane……I sadly conclude Aurore reflects this skittish uncertainty. I want direly to help in some way to rid her of it.

It's awful to not be sure of home.

Who you are.

"Glad you enjoyed it Kayla. I've been thinking of getting a drum. Would you like that?"

"I'd play it?"

"Sure. I'd teach you, you'd have your own drum solo."

"This is the best holiday concert ever." she gushes unabashedly and at the very least her enthusiasm makes Aurore lift her head with  a small smile. 

"Time to head home you two, will your ride be here?"

Kayla nods. "Mom's always a little early."

"Well let's get ready to go." I hold out Aurore's jacket and help her sling it on her shoulders. She's the type of child who doesn't want help, doesn't want to be noticed, the fact that she lets me do this tells me something truly is bothering her. I can't help but wonder how much I can pry. I help her with her bag next and hear the auditorium door open.

When I see a male figure in the doorway my heart stops until he starts down the aisle and the dim lights illuminate his features.

"Hey officer." Sophie greets and my head spins. Luke Morales, right side of the law?

People do change.

"Miss Foster." he flashes a smile. I take him in now, holster on his hip. He must not have been working last night. I'd have noticed that. I'd have damn well noticed him bringing a gun in my house. "Miss Mills."

"Officer Morales." I say, trying to be formal, keeping some of the surprise and relief out of my voice. As he gets closer Aurore turns around and he stops in the aisle. His eyes dart between us and then he shakes his head.

"Have a good weekend." I say, waving them off with the others.

"Have  a good weekend Miss Mills!"

Sophie begins dismissing her team of students and gives me a salute as she goes. That leaves Luke and I alone.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Look I'm sorry about this morning." Luke starts. "I….I have no right, I don't own you----"

"No but Orion thinks he does"

Whatever he was about to say next peters off. "Abbie?"

"I don't even know why I said that."

"Because you need help." his brows knit. "Does he hit you?"

I shake my head. "This isn't what I wanted to talk about."

"Abbie answer the question."

"He shook me once."

"He shook you?"

"Luke."  I snap. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him before. But I, I just didn't think he'd be this stubborn-----"

"Abusers are."

"He's not an abuser," I scoff, "A self centred diva that has our life planned out and wants to suffocate me  but he's----"

"Then why'd you run?"

A beat of silence. After the way this morning went, after the previous night, our history in general, I'm wary of tying myself up further with Luke. Even if  many ways being with him last night felt like closure, even if there is a tether that binds us, I doubt.

He inhales deeply through his nose. "That girl." he says, abruptly changing the subject. "That Aurore Crane?"

"Why."

"Know her father, that's all." but there's something in the expression on his face, as if he's concentrating elsewhere. Calculating. His gaze flits to me again and then away.

"Look can we, can we talk? get a bite?"

"Where's Orion going to be?"

"He better not be at my house. I told him to leave."

"How long have you been trying to get away?"

For the briefest moment I'm not sure if he means Orion, or myself.

When he woke up, she wasn't there. The bed slept in but not made. He'd thrown himself down on the couch after their confrontation and listened to her crying in the bedroom until she fell asleep. He made coffee, ate toast, then sat with his head in his hands. Awake, in the empty house.

He doesn't blame her for taking off. He lifts his head to look down at the alien hands that wrapped themselves in her tresses and slaps himself for the ugly words he said, trying to gut her still about their daughter.

Their daughter.

He decides to take a walk.

Not far from the library----he used to love it there----there's a mural on the wall. Commissioned by the city. Caroline Gigere had been hired for it. Her and her studio.

That was three, four years ago?

He'd liked the class. The quiet order of it. Paint and brush. Blank canvas of possibility. It could be past, present, future, nothing, everything. He was doing well in it. It's where he'd snuck off to some nights, inebriated if not entirely sober, to let his thoughts spiral out somewhere. Let the hurt find some place to go.

The Mural was supposed to represent human condition. Broad, lofty subject. Caroline had of course done the main piece, but had welcomed her students to contribute.

Sign their initials at the bottom, or embed them in the design.

He had hope, somewhere inside him then, a small burning ember before he'd let himself succumb entirely to going down hill. Before Katrina had crashed the class in a jealous rage----and hadn't he been giving her just cause for it? She'd discovered his affair with Miss. Foster mere days before at parent teacher night. He frightened Miss Caroline so badly, and embarrassed them both so profoundly, he'd quit the class.

He stares at the Mural now, at his contribution to it. He'd painted a rotted garden.

But amidst the waste there had been one single stubborn bloom. Shining bright like a sun. A new day. Hope. Dawn.

Tears start to his eyes and he tracks his initials etched neatly among the dead leaves. I.C

Aurore.

He'd painted Aurore.

In all of their wreckage there had still been that bright point before he let himself get turned away by his pain. Their daughter was still a light in Katrina's life and he had taunted her with it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? I get weepy sometimes too. Your Aurore's dad, right?"

He splutters amidst this sudden emotional break to address the person who's joined him. He squints.

"Macey. Macey Irving. I was just coming from the library." her voice trails off suddenly. "You okay?"

"Fine," he rasps, collecting himself. "I'm fine."

Macey regards him skeptically. "Well, have a good day, Mr. Crane." shortly after a car pulls up and he glances over. Frank emerges and hails him.

"Crane."

"Frank."

With Macey in the car they begin the drive home. Frank glances up in the mirror, watching Crane's form retreat in the distance and wonders if the man understands that his wife isn't coming home tonight.

That she might never come home again.

Chapter Text

Katrina wishes she could smoke.

Even after everything she's been through, nearly ten years of steady, harrowing, gut wrenching erosion of her marriage, Katrina has never felt this shaky and nervous in her life. Because for the first time, she's disrupting one.

She's turning the life of an innocent, unequipped to cope or understand, her daughter's life, upside down.

She has never so badly craved a cigarette. She use to go through a pack a week while Ichabod was deployed. Two, when it all started going downhill. But she quit when he got the job at the University. There seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel then. God yes he was still snippy with her. Still not talking about what he had seen, what he felt. He still drank in a practiced facade of moderation, at least when he wasn't working the next day. But his hours were more or less preoccupied. Not as much time to be miserable on his own, with her. He had found some tentative representation of peace.

And that's when it had seemed like a good time, to start fresh. Try to, pick up where they had left off before. Start a family.

One would think a natural biological process like pregnancy shouldn't be so hard but it was bafflingly so, almost wilful in its obstinate refusal to plant and stay planted.

A torment on her end. She kept wondering if it was her own body betraying her, paying her back for that one mistake that made her inner workings shy. Maybe it was anxiety from the first time coming back to her again and again that wouldn't let anything take hold. Wouldn't let anything be let go much less.

Hormones. Doctors appointments.

And finally a last resort, and she was desperate, she just wanted to be a mother now, needed to be one. Yes. Sure. A donor.

It took.

Her glee.

Her fearful, skittish glee didn't dare even think about a nursery until six months and everything seemed normal, well.

So she'd had to quit smoking back then. And then, once her joy was here, didn't dare give into that temptation again. Smoke in the air, her small pure lungs. She should have quit drinking sooner, though. And she still feels guilty about the one or two she takes, just enough to take the edge off of sharing roof with that temperamental storm she's been calling husband for so many years.

Enough to give her the belligerence she needed to get mad at him, accuse him, to cause scenes about the women he'd stepped out on her with.

She'll need to curb that next.

Immediately.

Because, well she's screwed up her marriage and she's rattling Aurore's world like a magic eight ball and just hoping a good sure fortune will float to the surface.

Am I doing the right thing?

Shake shake shake.

Dear God please say yes. 

She opens her eyes and looks up from her tightly clasped hands at Cynthia who went to go meet the girls at the door. She swoops down to Kayla, arms outstretched and gathers Aurore in her embrace as well.

Katrina sits up straighter in her seat, undoing the seat belt, slapping down the mirror in the front to check her face before she steps out. She swings the door wide without noticing as she clambers out only realizing after she's blocked a man from his car.

She swallows. "Joe," she says lightly.

He looks off into the distance of the fields. "Mrs. Crane." bobs his head and ducks into his truck. She waits until he backs out before crossing the distance of the parking lot to join Cynthia, now holding each girl by a hand---why does Aurore have to look more like she belongs with them than her---she thinks sadly but the thought fragments because immediately upon seeing her, even wary as her precocious child is, Aurore drops Cynthia's hand and picks up her pace to reach her.

"Hi sweetheart!" she coos when Aurore grows nearer, gaze assessing, before throwing her arms around her. "Oomph!" she chuckles. "How was your day? hmm?" she pats Aurore's hair, instantly confounded by the twisting weaving pattern she feels on her daughters head and concludes she'll be asking her friend for a tutorial this weekend.

"Okay." Aurore answers. When she pulls away her eyes sweep over Katrina's face, as if taking inventory. She's been aware of a fundamental shift since this morning when her mother showed up at her Goddy's house. She can't put her finger on what it is, exactly, but it seems prudent now to make sure nothing else has changed.

The delicate fine features she doesn't have. The flaming mane.

The green eyes.

But there are her mothers hands, which always hold her and stroke her cheek and cramp when working her hair. Her mother's lips and smile, their touch and their look, so infrequent but she knows her mothers smiles because they've become a sort of exclusive insider perk to her alone.

Her mothers warm voice that tells her she loves her and calls her 'sweetheart'---These features, biological or none, these are Aurore's. These are the memories she will keep and hang on to and grow with.

"Auditorium was 'dry'" Kayla pipes, reaching the car and giving Katrina a quick hug too.

"Dry?"

Kayla opens her mouth to elaborate when Aurore shoots her a glare.

It's a disconcerting thing to see such quick stern looks on her daughters young face, but comical too, and she stifles a giggle. "Oh dear. What happened Aurore?"

Aurore looks down at her shoes.

She knows her mother has spent so long not explaining and not talking to anyone about their home life, she can't possibly like to know that Aurore is somehow giving away hints that things are less than ideal to Miss Mills.

"Aurore" Katrina presses, placing a finger under her chin and tipping her head up. "You can tell me." she assures, willing herself to not tear up. Aurore needs to know that she will be strong for them both, that she doesn't have to put on brave fronts for anyone. "You can always tell me love. Alright?"

"Yes mommy."

"Your mother approximated something resembling food home." Cynthia calls, twirling her key around her finger. "Let's hurry up and head home huh? before it starts walking?"

"Cynthia!"Katrina cries.

"I'm kidding Rore, get in the car, come on, let's grab ice cream? yeah? and a cake?"

Aurore wrinkles her precious brow in confusion. "Who's birthday?" she asks.

"Not a  birthday honey." Cynthia smiles. "But sometimes we should celebrate ourselves, for being the beautiful smart ladies we are? For waking up this morning. How about it?"

The girls get in the car and Katrina buckles in. As they pull out of the parking lot Aurore mutters something and Kayla howls with laughter.

"What's so funny back there?"

Kayla hiccups as she tries to regain her composure. "She says you must celebrate a lot cause your bums bigger than her mommy's"

"Aurore!" Katrina chastises.

"Rude!" Cynthia exclaims and looks back at her sticking her tongue out. "When we're done celebrating we're all gonna have big bums, and big tummies, too! I'll be able to roll you down the street."

Aurore gapes at the suggestion, affronted in a way that reminds Katrina distinctly of her husband before her mouth curls into a smile and Kayla begins to poke her side, laughing. Then Aurore's face scrunches, and she laughs too, loud and high.

In the front the mothers exchange a glance. "That was out of line Cynthia I'm sorry I've never----"

"Ach." she drums her fingers on the wheel and glances back up in the mirror at the girls still giggling. "It's true." she muses. "My bum is nicer than yours. We'll work on that."

"Cynthia!"

"Laugh, Kat" she scolds. "Its good for you. Gets you through things. Laugh a lot." she glances sideways at her friend. "You'll need it."

It says something about us, that he brings me here.

A place that touches and hurts me deeply, all at once. We came here, night that he gave my mother that forged scholarship letter, to explain the sum of money I'd come into. Top notch work. School official seal and everything.

She was so happy I still had a chance at it, her joy overruled suspicion of why it arrived so late in the summer. He asked if he could take me out to celebrate.

Mama never did like Luke. Probably because he'd characterized himself like such a rebel without a cause. Walking around proudly with 'squandered potential' scrawled across his forehead. He's a policeman now, Mama. I think. See?

I think she expected him to hold me back from doing right.

She never understood how determined Luke had been to see me do just that, bending to my every hair brained whim.

But that night, still happy for me, she'd clapped him on the shoulder. "Morales don't you think you get any free passes to keep her out late."

"No ma'am"

I'd kissed her, tears running down my face, a mix of happy and shame of the trick I'd pulled as I embraced her. But the happy because just this once she didn't seem inclined to  look down her nose at him. I remember thinking in that moment, as I let her go and clambered on the back of his bike, waving before he revved, One day I'll tell her. Everything.

And then speeding into the night, he'd brought me, here.

It's a nice restaurant, antiquated old place, half burrowed among tunnels for the kitchen staff to run around in. Archive. He'd had a fake ready for me to provide the waiter when he ordered me a glass of wine.

We didn't know anything about wine then. It was dry and it warmed up on the way down and I think I'd spluttered and eyed it warily rest of the night while he grinned at me over the menu. He didn't drink. Of all his strange facets Luke was at odd turns laughably responsible.

I'd cried half way through dinner, a belated onslaught of remorse for my deceit.

"Not now. Keep it together Mills." he'd said, sliding his chair around the table and wrapping an arm around me. "You did it. We did it. And the doors are open to you now."

"I shouldn't have. I can't believe I----why did you let me--you should've stopped me"

He'd swallowed and looked away, working his jaw. "Cause you make me stupid. Everything out your mouth sounds like a good idea Abbie."

"Luke---"

"Ask me to jump off a cliff I'd take it running."

"Luke"

"Don't make me explain it." he'd begged.

When I look back on it that was as close as Luke had let himself come to saying he loved me.

Even last night he didn't admit it.

And I certainly don't expect him to now.

"So how do you know Mr. Crane," I ask as we saunter up the entrance. He chuckles as he holds the door.

"Honestly? Man's got a bad temper when he drinks. I was called in for him a few times. Around the third I asked him what the hells going on with him. You've heard stories I'm sure."

"Drinks and cheats."

"Drinks and cheats, yeah well. That's the half of it. We got talking and, well you know I never kept many friends, so." he trails off like that's the most natural thing. "I was going through a reckless time myself back then. Don't look surprised" he smirks.

"I'm not, not really" I tease. "I sobered up, got clean, he….he just hasn't been as lucky I guess. I think he half inspired me to straighten myself out, to be honest."

He pulls out the chair for me.

"But you're still friends with him."

"He's a messed up man." Luke concedes. "But humans are messy."

Well, I can't fault him that one. I sit back in my seat and glance around.

"Hey Abbie? what would you like?"

I'm bombarded by taking in the subtle changes of the place so I defer to him this once. Let him order. He watches me taking the place in.

"You know it never even crossed my mind since getting back to come here."

He shrugs. "Why would it? The point was to move on and find better. Ending up back here was a good intention on your part, Mills. I'm surprised you stayed."

I shrug back. Reeling with the grief from Mama, the whirlwind of my miscarriage, the idea of moving back---to what, my gilded cage?---had not been high on my list of to do's.

"Maybe I'm tired of trying to outrun things, Luke. Maybe I want to make my home rather than being detained, or forced out of it."

His eyes tick to me over his glass of water, hearing the barb in my words. "You still have it in your head I was trying to get rid of you."

"You had some sort of complex. What other explanation was there?"

He goes silent until the food arrives, and continues to assault me with it half way through the meal except to interrupt with a comment on how good it is and I mutter an agreement in response.

"You know my mother, had never wanted to stay here."

I pause with my glass on the way to my lips.

"She wanted…..she was a dancer. But she met my dad. And his life was here. He was happy here. He loved it here. He loved her. And she loved him."

I sip and  set the glass back down.

"They were happy, don't get me wrong. But you know, people disagree, they fight. And every time she heard about some success on her side of the family, about a friend she went to school with, pursuing their dream. She'd throw it back at my dad. That she stayed for him. Passed up her future for him. She'll never know what it would have been like if she tried. It hurt him. Haunted him after she died. He regretted not having the strength to let her go. Even though she would tell him after she didn't mean it, she loved him, she was happy. Those words lingered Abbie." at last he looks up from the plate and meets my eyes. "I couldn't do what my father, my blindly madly in love, selfish greedy father had done, in keeping…..letting my mother stay here instead of choosing her dream."

I blink and fan the water gathering in my eyes. He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together and my mouth is dry.

"So I let you go, Abbie."

The tears come, and I make to pull my hand away but he holds fast. I hate him for doing this to me now. I hate him for being who he was back then. I am vindicated. I am hurt.  I hear him more plainly than I think I ever tried to when we were young.

He says it again, like he thinks I missed it the first time, like I wouldn't have caught the words lying underneath. I loved you . "I let you go"

"Please," I rasp.

He calls for the check.

Frank washes up and listens to the chorus of laughter coming from the living room where his wife and daughters are eating cake and having a marathon of Shrek. Macey is in there with them, for once not reading---she's done her submissions for her blog and review channel already---and is enjoying a girls night along with them. He's glad of it, she's been working really hard at school, reading, finishing university applications, she  hasn't decided if she wasn't to be a writer or in publishing yet but that's where her head is at. And nothing is getting in her way of that----he admires  her ambition. She was in an accident a few years ago and her chair is now part of her life, but dreams beyond it, and for that he  is infinitely grateful.

He puts the last plate to dry and Cynthia pads in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She kisses his cheek. "Hey there," he rumbles, turning in her embrace to kiss her back.

"You coming?"

"Just finished tidying up after you barbarians." he jokes, giving her his signature, mischievous smile.

"Thank you, for that. And letting Kat stay."

"We've known them long enough Cynthia. They're family." he pauses. "Saw Crane tonight."

Cynthia pulls away. "Oh?"

"Macey was talking to him, looked like. He…..he didn't look, alright, you know what I mean?"

"I mean Frank we know Crane hasn't looked----"

"No but I mean, I don't think he gets how serious it is. And it is serious, isn't it?"

"I haven't shown her papers yet."she replies. "She's been through a lot with him, they've been together a long time. It's not an easy thing to just adapt to life being different than before."

"Mhmm. I know. It wasn't easy for you to start over after losing Abe."

Cynthia swallows and pulls away, reaching for his hand instead. "No. But Katrina was there for me during all my inconsolable nights. And then there you were."

Frank looks at her warmly.

"You answered prayers I didn't know I was praying." she confides. "I'm happy. Kayla and Macey, they're happy. I want that for them. Everyone should have what we have."

"Well I'm beside you on that. Got plans for the weekend? since we have the women's retreat here?"

Cynthia swats his shoulder and he kisses her temple. "Aside from Church on sunday? not a one besides carry on."

"And be good friends to our displaced Cranes."

"You know sometimes you work my nerves"

" You know I know how to work your nerves," he murmurs, hands beginning to wander.

"Frank!" she admonishes. "After the movie."

"You better put that ogre on fast forward."

Laughing, they go back out to the living room. Aurore is folded in her Katrina's arms, smiling at the screen.

He insists on coming inside with me, to make sure Orion isn't still here. Checks every single room and around the perimeters. I tell him he's acting crazy. But I appreciate it. When he comes back inside he says, "Maybe he left."

"He doesn't take direction well if it's not happening on a stage, but maybe he decided to listen to me."

He turns a curious gaze on me. "You gonna level with me about him?"

"I don't see how----"

"Well if we're---"

I turn to him. "---if we're going to what."

He pauses, taking me in and then laughs to himself. "I knew silence, in my mind, inside myself, for years. Cool, collected, clear headed I could focus, damn it, it was great."

When did my halls get this narrow? I wonder, as he steps forward I step back and fell myself connect with wall.

"My mind hasn't been quiet since last night." he continues. "I can't just walk away from you." he says at last. "You know that. I'll, be here for you, in whatever way you want me to be. But I'm concerned about Orion, and the fact that you didn't expect him to come here Abbie. I will---"

"Don't you dare say protect me."

"If, if I'm going to be, around, I would like if I could, I hope you'd tell me what's going on with you two."

"Maybe you should go,"

"Tell me to." he challenges. I feel, very, uncomfortably warm.

"I…..I want you to go, Luke." he exhales and steps in toward me. Presses his forehead to mine. "Thanks for dinner."

"Anytime, Abbie." he breathes. When he kisses me, my brain pounds. It's different than last night, our encounter that was rife with absolutions and resolutions of things we'd failed to address in the past. No this, this is now, it's present, it's vulnerable, fresh and the meaning is clear. This is a dormant thing waking up new. "I don't think I want to 'write it off'" he whispers as he pulls away, darting in for another quick kiss and Then he goes out the door, leaving me with too much to think about. I feel scattered in a matter of two very short days. Floating between my past and present.

Mama used to say, after dad left, when Jenny was diagnosed, there was a just one place she could find a little peace of mind. However temporary.

It's been a really long time since I last went.

But I think service still starts at ten.

Crane wandered into the library after Mr. Irving picked up Macey. Zoe Corinth behind the desk flummoxed at sight of him. "We'll be closing s-s-s-soon, I-I-Icha---where's Mrs. Crane?" she asked, glancing around worriedly.

"Just me, Zoe"

It doesn't relieve her any. "We're closing soon."

He nods curtly and glances over at the shelves and rows of books. There was a time when he found refuge in words. Now he lingers here to stave off the return to whatever unsure state of affairs awaits him home. A few moments later the lights begin to dim and he slinks back out into the street, only shocked out of his ruminations by a blaring car horn. He shields himself from the headlights, blinking dazedly at the driver who emerges in a yelling fit before going still.

"Ah hell. Get out of my way, Crane I nearly splattered you."

"Sophie,"

"Miss Foster." she corrects sharply. "Are you going to get out of the road?" when he doesn't answer Sophie curses to herself. "I'm not going to say it more than once, and don't talk to me on the drive. Hop in, I'll drop you home."

"You're on the fourth floor Mr. Angel, we hope you enjoy your stay"

"Thank you." he grins. "I think I will"

Chapter Text

"Crane you're gonna catch these hands if you don't get out my damn car, and if not you, your crazy wife waiting in there and I am not in the mood for her tonight." They're pulled up outside the Crane family home, shuttered and dark. Sophie lost her patience with Ichabod precisely the minute he sat in the car too long, making no move to get out of it. "I'm serious because I don't think I paid her back for vandalizing my car."

"She's not there." Crane mutters wearily. "Neither is Aurore."

"Then you should have a peaceful night in there, get out----"

"Thank you for the ride, Miss Foster."

Don't ask Sophie why, but she hit the lock on the car and turned in her seat. Crane looked at her, hazy eyed and dull, too steeped in his own head to try and put together what was happening around him. Why Sophie's face was shifting into a sort of carefully tended blaze and her eyes narrow. "Sophie." she hisses. "Sophie, you insisted, every damn night for the three months and didn't bother to mention you were married. I must have been the last fool around here to know and how'd I find out? Parent teacher night you bring your wife, to my classroom."

"Sophie," he dimly corrects.

"I felt things for you." she blasts. It's the sort of put aside hurt and humiliation Sophie never got a chance to properly resolve. She never got explanations from Crane. Why he did what he did, how. Sophie was new in town when it happened, fresh faced, friendly, really sure of herself and back then Ichabod Crane was just rough around the edges but put on good appearances in public. Fooled her, didn't he. He was charming, an intellectual, and he could finish just about any line she started from any play without any prompts or hints. He'd felt like her match.

It was fast, it was heated, it was involved and she was happy. Sophie had come this close to calling her parents back home, telling them she was in something serious.

"I----why the hell. I didn't do anything to you. I just get here and you made me look like an idiot in front of my peers, toyed with me, wouldn't give me any explanations. Ichabod Crane when I talk to you, you better look me in the eye."

"It's hard." he confesses, but slowly turning to meet her gaze. He wishes he didn't see the lingering hurt there. Wishes that part of him didn't still work to feel anything at all. All the destruction he's so thoroughly wrought he'd been self convinced he'd succeeded in making himself a husk, a shell. A downward spiral content to keep going down. But meeting Sophie's eyes. He does remember.

He thinks he started up with her, with such ferocity in the beginning because he was out to see if he could really hurt Katrina deeply. He did it because he thought somewhere in his mind at the time that he was done. He was going to ruin his marriage, completely. But he met Sophie Foster. Quick witted, easy to laugh, freckles that made him smile. It abruptly had seemed en route to becoming more between himself and Sophie and he just wasn't in it for that. The idea he could dare approximate feeling anything for anyone again----after being betrayed by his wife---vexed, terrified him, made him skeptic.

So yes. He'd willfully brought Katrina to that meeting, faded and long ago now.

If he'd been the one back then to call it off, Sophie would have wanted explanations, as she did now. And who the hell was anyone outside to demand explanations of him? What would it have mattered? Would it have changed anything?

No.

No, it didn't bloody well change the fact that out there in field fearing for his life that Katrina cheated on him. Cheated on him with someone he knew, much less, on top of which, with held the fact until she had discovered she was pregnant. He was home, a full three months, before she'd even told him of the indiscretion. And wouldn't have bothered to either, he suspects, had the doctor told her, her body was just changing, not nurturing a life.

So he hadn't seen a point in offering explanations. Just flimsy admissions of wrong that fall through just as easy and not worth the breath. He'd given the cues.

He was wearing a suit, Katrina a blouse and skirt she'd managed to iron, Aurore, five going on six. And Sophie looked up, professional, smiling, unprepared entirely for the turn of her evening. "Mr. Crane, and…."

"Mrs. Crane,"  Katrina had said, mild, holding together fragments of dignity. He'd made Katrina an ill tempered wreck with his behaviour. She'd drank and smoked and had out bursts before Aurore. And then all of her stress and anxiety had had to be bottled. But he hadn't forgiven anything. He was who he was, by then. Still drinking, cheating and spending time out the house because every time he looked at her he remembered. Sophie's jaw had gone a little slack.

"Pardon me?"

"Mrs. Crane," Katrina repeated, "His wife, Aurore's mother?"

Sophie should have stopped herself but she didn't when she'd turned to him, shocked, "You're married?"

And bless her, his suspicious and crazed wife was quick to catch on, "You've met?"

"I'm sorry Sophie,"he'd said. Between them, Aurore looked up at her parents, confused.

"Sorry?" Sophie gasped. "Sorry?"

"Is this is her?" Katrina cut in. Her grip had tightened just a little on Aurore's hand before she remembered herself. "Her teacher, Ichabod? Are you---"

"Serious?" Sophie had been gutted. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Katrina, it's not what it looks like,"

Like a deliberate damning, tell tale cliche. It incensed his wife, as he knew it would. She released Aurore's hand and marched out the room.

"You're a bastard," Sophie had gritted out, storming after her out into the parking lot where sure enough there was Katrina.

"This one?" Kat had screamed. "Is this you here? This is the friendly car that dropped you off when you drank too much the other night, Ichabod?"

But she already knew, of course she did, made quick work of Sophie's tires.

And he never spoke to Sophie again. He let Katrina be the crazed wife. Let Katrina be the one to  blame. Let Sophie remember Katrina's jealous madness.

And forget that Crane had stayed behind, standing just in the school doors with Aurore in his arms at a safe distance, ignoring his daughters perplexed cries, demanding explanations for her mother's temper.

Explanations don't change the facts. So he gave her none.

Yet he finds himself here facing that same thing he had avoided back then. Confronted with retrospective wrong and a creeping awareness that he cannot be content to sink, sink, sink anymore. The world will move without him. Has been. And now he feels desperately slow. "I wronged you." he admits. "Nothing was going well with Katrina and I shouldn't have…she completely betrayed me, I was hurting and out to hurt her back, and you, Sophie, I'm sorry, you were caught in the middle."

"All of this right here, this situation should have been declared before you were in between my legs four nights a week."

"I can only be so sorry."

"I know its time past and gone. And I'm over it, Crane. Don't think I'm not, I feel dead nothing for you. But it grates on me that you thought you could just, just, fuck with me, and not face consequences for it."

"You use that mouth to teach?"

"You would know about what my mouth can do you selfish bastard. You know what Foster," she reels herself in, hitting the button to unlock the car. "Forget it. I don't know what I thought, would happen trying to get straight answers or some sort of vindication for the most notorious hazard in town. Go inside to your family."

"I told you they're not there," he rasps. Irritated that he's been forced down memory lane with Sophie in this way, aggravated to find his apology so casually glazed over. "they're not there, I don't know if they ever will be again" his hands start to shake.

Sophie regards him. "She left you?"

"I put my hands on her."

Sophie freezes. Her gaze flickers to the tapered fingers that she use to know and tries to imagine them an instrument of violence, destruction. It hurts when she realizes, it's not so hard to picture after all. "You hit her Crane?"

"No, I---I---I don't know what I did Alright?  To you, to me, to those people out there that I've never met but took their lives to keep my own. To---to Katrina---what she did to me---I don't know!"

Taking a deep breath Sophie gets out the car, walks around and waits on his side. "Come on," she instructs sharply. Crane sits a moment, dazed at his brief slip of control before emerging and following behind as she stalks up the path to his dark, empty home. "Key" He rummages in his pocket and  hands it over to her. She unlocks the door, stepping cautiously aside, as if expecting an ambush, maybe. That Katrina is home after all and waiting to harangue them both. But there is only silence. The staleness of a house that's been closed tight all day. "Go to sleep." she says, nodding toward the couch.

"Sophie?"

"Miss. Foster." she counters. That momentary break forgotten now and she reminds him they are distant. "I'm staying with you tonight. You're acting too damn crazy to be left alone. And I sure as hell don't want to walk into school come Monday morning and hear Aurore's father did something stupid and harmed himself over the weekend."

He trudges into the living room and settles on the couch. The mention of Aurore hurts him. The life he gave her in all her innocence being brought into the world on shaky ground, and the unrest he has visited upon her life. He feels weak again. A dreading, heaviness, weighing in his chest, making his breath feel shallow. "I've ruined my life." he says.

Sophie looks him over, sitting down in the chair at the far opposite of the room. "Yeah well. I'm sure you had plenty of help along the way. Sleep."

Sunday Morning.

I run my hands down the pale yellow. I feel like it's mocking me in its sweetness. Hugging me tight and snickering you know damn well you aren't this demure. Well, I say to myself in the mirror as I reach for the modest light beige cardigan that I sling my arms into and tie a neat scarf around my neck, looking the perfect picture of a homely homebody, a church mouse. No one out there has to know.

Katrina wrestles and wrangles in her one suit. She must have thrown it in with the regular wash by accident and no part of it feels right. The skirts gone narrow, the arms won't move. She'd have gone in her jeans and t-shirt if Cynthia hadn't come down to the kitchen with the rest of the family in tow, Aurore included, all dressed so proper and matching. Little black strap shoes with the smallest clickety clack heels on Kayla and Aurore's feet. Long sleeved dresses, one with a red and black tartan bottom the other burnt orange. Macey in her chair with her brushed, and down, in a billowing blouse and slacks.

And of course Cynthia, in her cowl neck dress in magenta and the lipstick to match. Hair down and smiling lovingly at Frank, fussing with his collar as they'd descended the stairs.

Cynthia had insisted, no one cares what you look like at Church. It's the Lord's house. He cares about what's inside, not without. Feeling a little mean spirited Katrina had almost asked then why she had bothered to dress nice and the rest of them besides. But that's not her place or right to get testy over something like clothes, with her friend who's taken her in no less. And in the end, glancing between herself and the others, she'd felt in a word, cute, in her casual clothes. So there she was stuffed in the suit she'd worn was it really just last week? To parent teacher night at the school.

Some belligerent and ill advised left over pride had made her too proud to accept Cynthia's offer to borrow anything of hers, since she wanted to change. She'd done her though, brushed it and did her makeup, quick and nice. They all emerged from the car like a tight knit, put together group. Katrina dared hold her head tall, taking Aurore's hand in hers as they marched from parking lot to the open church doors. The sound of music and praise, morning welcome chatter already stirring within.

She was setting up her mind to be hopeful. To try and take in something today. Katrina has never been a devout woman. A believer, an automatic response that she never questioned or actively rebuked. Just a way of being. Used to go with Ichabod before he was sent off. Back then Cynthia was a Van Brunt. Abraham was alive.

Back then is always so long ago but somehow it manages to make itself feel near. Close to you. These were the church doors she'd walked through the day she became Mrs. Crane. She fights hard not to remember that day, her happy joy and the way he'd lovingly touched her face, she wills herself not to pit that with the piercing angry gaze of the other night. His hand wrapped too tight in her hair.

Water starts to her eyes and she dashes the malignant little drops away just as a voice greets them at the door. It's smooth and purring and her being revolts. "Cynthia." she hisses, keeping her eyes downcast. "How could you not---"

"She goes here," Cynthia hissed back, shuffling in behind the gaggle of the congregation, filing in the doors, doing their hellos and mornings with the elders.

"Captain Irving, Good morning" Pandora, then Rivers, now Older, cascading dark hair, a beauty mark on her chin. Always with a flare for the dramatic in a heavily embroidered matching dress and jacket. "You look scrumptious, if I weren't married," she pats Frank's arm and he subtly pull away.

A wince that he passes off as a smile, "But you are," and continues ahead waving and clapping others as he makes his way to the front.

"Cynthia," she gushes now. "Don't mind me, I'm just teasing Frank." Cynthia purses her lips.

"Mhmm. You better be or I'll tell the Deacon."

"You want to see me stoned," Pandora jokes, clasping the woman's hand.

Ducking her head and trying to wedge past with Aurore Katrina aims to side step them but no such luck. "Kat!" Her skin crawls as the woman's arms come up around her in an embrace. She stiffens.  These same arms held Ichabod once she thinks bitterly. Stayed out late at the bar with him, took him home staggering drunk and packed him off with her aubergine thong-----monogrammed, Pandora had liked to monogram everything, even in their school days--- as a souvenir. Anger roils inside of her but Cynthia shakes her head tightly. "You look lovely!"

"You too, Pandora."

"It's so good, to have you here. Where's Ich----" she cuts off abruptly when Cynthia shoots her a glare, a brow raised in indignation. Pandora swallows. "It's good to see you, Kat. And who's this little drop of sweetness?"

"My daughter," Katrina replies through clenched teeth. It's been this many years since she's been face to face with a woman she once called Sister. She's the one Crane settled for when his pass at Cynthia failed. Pandora had caved to his desire to give her pain. It's a years old hurt but Katrina has never forgiven her for it. She would give Pandora piece of her mind were she not in front of her daughter.

Pandora's face registers mild surprise.

They always do.

They think on Crane in all his pale lank and her lithe fire main glory and for the briefest moment they seem inclined to believe in storks. How else does one explain a mother that looks like she does, to a daughter like Aurore?

Adoption. Some were quick enough to conclude.

But that theory was confounded by the memory of her waddling through town, heavy with child.

The suspicion then, that she had stepped out.

Which seemed almost as laughable as it was cruel.

Because Katrina had stepped out on Crane. When he was stranded and she was afraid and she slipped up. Yes. She she did, and there was something to show for it after.

But that never came to anything.

"She's beautiful." Pandora recovers quickly, bending down to smile at Aurore who shrinks away. "You can call me Dora," she begins.

"You're making us hold up the everyone else," Cynthia chides the woman, giving Katrina the much needed excuse she craves to whisk Aurore down the aisle with the rest of their group to front pews. There a far more exuberant dark man than Katrina remembers commanding the service, wanders up and down at the front, sweeping in his robes.

"Morning Brother Frank."

"Morning Reverend." they chat amiably and while the keyboardist noodles away on the hymns. Someone knocks a steady beat on a drum kit. A wary guitarist flails to follow the progression. To be honest the worship committee seems a little ramshackle, though they make an impressive amount of racket.

"You should have told me Pandora would be here, and why is she here anyway" Katrina whispers tersely.

"Can't exactly ban the deacons wife, Kat."

"Wife---"

Cynthia stubbornly bites her lips together. "Three years ago. She got saved and married Deacon Hezekiah Older. She sent an invite." she widens her eyes at her. "And you tossed it."

"Pandora, adulterer," Katrina reiterates but Cynthia smacks her arm when the reverend approaches them.

"Sister," he greets Cynthia and then turns on Katrina with benevolent eyes. He's decades younger than the reverend Knapp, smooth comforting type voice that makes you feel, familiar. "Visiting?"

Katrina nods hurriedly, shaking his hand. "Family friend."

"She use to go here. Reverend Knapp retired last month" Cynthia continues, making eyes at Katrina that explains how this man came to be head of the flock instead.

"Reverend Daniel Reynolds. But you can call me just Rev, or Danny." he entreats, eyes twinkling.

"Thank you."

When he moves on Katrina sits down heavily with a head ache. The band's playing is not coming any closer in approximation to a proper tune, and there's too many changes for her to adjust. Kayla and Aurore though are at the front of the church with some other well dressed children, playing little skitter scatter games of tag and alternatively miming or dancing to the band. She feels a little faint when a program is shoved under her nose. She looks up to another face she doesn't recognize. Dark bald headed man with a slithery deep voice. "Deacon Hezekiah Older, but you can call me HO. Pandora says you're a friend of hers" it's disconcerting the way his mouth turns up in a smile and the friendliness that rolls off of him. She wonders how on earth Pandora tricked this man into marrying her. But all she can do is nod, and hope that service isn't long. She thinks she might faint in this suit, honestly.

"Good morning, how are you?"

"Good morning," I reply, I shake hands with the woman greeting at the door, imposing figure passing as cheerful but she stops me as I try to pass. Her brow furrows. I look at her expectantly.

"You're Lori Mill's daughter,"

Swallowing I nod. "Yes, Yes I am." I nod inside. "I'd better grab a seat."

"We'll talk after service?"

Blinking rapidly I try to place why this woman has taken such an interest in from the start. "Pandora, the Deacon's wife. There's tea after service. Do stay."

Another bob of my head and I walk into the church I haven't been in since I was small. I got out of the habit when I was in high school, my appearances then rare sightings. It's changed. I don't know if I should be happy or sad that it changed. Why are you surprised that sometimes the world keeps spinning without you in it Mills, I chastise myself.

When things stay the same you feel cornered by your memories. When they change you feel betrayed. You can't have it both ways. But I do. I want to cobble together bits and pieces into a world that makes sense, and feels like home, for me. I sidle into a pew next to a smiling family and then the Reverend starts my way and my stomach plummets. No. No. I find myself rising from my seat, rethinking this entirely.

"Abbie? Abbie Mills?"

I turn. "Yes?"

The Reverend blinks at me, astonished. "Abbie. Abbie it's me. Danny!"

I try to feign that I don't recognize him "Danny?"

To my abject horror, he quickly launches into an old tune. He sang bass baritone back then. The smooth warm croon that knew it's way too light footed around odd harmonies. He sang in Orion's group but he'd left after the first album. He was there, when I sat in the corner like a good little pet during those first studio sessions. He was there when Orion would hiss in my ear to go cover up while he entertained them.

"What are you doing here" 

"Found my calling. I started here just last month, it's been a real shake up. Music director passed few months ago.  How's Orion?"

"Orion and I, are-----"

"There you are, babe."

Cold. Ice, lodges itself in my bones as his arm slings around me and pulls me close. "Wait a minute. Reverend Reynolds?" Orion calls jovially. 

"Orion Angel." Danny shakes his hand, pulling him in for a hug before he begins motioning to the front. "Got to get service started. The two of you, stay after for coffee hour. Fellowship."

When he turns away I shirk out from Orion and begin to march away but his hand clamps down on my arm. "Orion let me go."

"It's rude, to walk when they're just about to start, Abbie," he tugs me back grip firm, aiming me back toward the pew and the people shuffle down to make room for him.

Hot tears prickle my eyes.

What am I doing here.

In this damn dress, from mama's closet. I shouldn't have damn well gone in her closet this morning. I'm here in this church and they're clapping and singing, the band is clamouring and it's chaos but there's Danny, and here's Orion, and when past and present collide you can't breathe then either Mills.

I feel light headed, I feel sick.

I feel------

"Cynthia, I need some air," Katrina mutters, quickly trying rising and trying discreetly to excuse herself from the bloody front row. Cynthia nods and continues to clap and sing. Aurore is caught up in the music, catching the refrain quickly and singing with the Irving girls.

I need to get out of here.

I can't stay here.

"Excuse me"

There's a small commotion when  Abbie suddenly  from the pew in a flurry, nearly colliding with Katrina coming up close behind her down the aisle. Orion, unbothered, watches them go with mild interest before turning after them. A small frown flits across the face of Reverend Daniel Reynolds, but he doesn't miss a beat.

The congregation keeps singing.

Keep lifting up His Glorious Name.

Chapter Text

The longest strides I can muster, one foot in the front of the other there is the  sound of more scampering steps behind me. When I glance over my shoulder I see it's Mrs. Crane bursting through the doors, fanning herself and heaving. For a moment her gaze flits around, as if searching for further escape. I can relate to the feeling. But then her eyes find me.

Her brow wrinkles in an expression of recognition. No, I don't expect she has any very clear memories of me. I whirl back around and keep moving, keep walking.

Outside in the parking lot I withdraw my keys and beep my car but then thundering  foot falls on the pavement, gaining on me fast and I know before I turn that its him.

It's always him.

For the first time I consider that this might be my future. My normal. No matter what I do and where I go---that it's going to be him. Running after me. Chasing me.

Hunting me.

Between my hectic schedule and his overbearing and that my pills---that I knew I kept in the medicine cabinet----"Darling maybe you misplaced them"---he'd say.

Hiding my birth control---

the truth of it rears up inside me with icy terror and then red anger. Hiding my birth control trying to trap me.

And he did.

When he'd seen that positive test---Orion thought he had me. He ignored the trashed ring thinking he'd have leverage. That he'd won.

How dare he---

I'm ready when he grabs my arm, I swing and he doesn't expect resistance, so that one connects, boxing his ear. But my next throw isn't as lucky when he grabs both my hands, firmly, hard. His face stoic and serious. "Where you going, Abigail."

"Home." I spit. "My home, my mother's home. And don't follow me. For God sakes Orion stop following me---"

"You're not gonna keep me away from our child----"

"What child!" I shriek.

Overhead, the skies roil and rumble, foreboding and dark with promise.

"I saw---"

"You saw and I lost,"

One, singular tell tale drop falls and slides down his nose. His grip tightens and he tugs on me. I don't know if he understands that the way he's pulled my arms up my weight shifts forward and I'm stretching on toes. Straining against him. "Lost?"

"My mother dies, first thing when I get back and I miscarried, Angel. But before that I ran out on you. Do you think it was an accident I trashed your ring? I don't want you----"

"You lost them?" he asks. I can't decipher his face. Sadness or anger, it's hard to tell when the torrent comes and he scrunches his face to keep water from his eyes. "You lost them!" he repeats, voice higher. He gives a rough jerk and my feet leave the floor. "You lost them what have you done-----" he continues over and over again. 

I struggle and pull and fight. I'm soaked through and shivering and I don't want this. I don't want him.

"Let me go, Orion. It's over-----"

The man bolted out behind Katrina shortly after the woman did. She side steps out of his way and leans on a wall, fanning and catching her breath when she hears a roar that she's not sure is human, or weather made. She edges closer, out where she can view the parking lot and sees them. The man that's got the woman's arms captured and he's yelling and shaking her harder and harder as she thrashes and struggles to fight and get away. It's none of your business, she thinks, even as she strides forward out into the rain.

How often, if ever, did anyone ever bother to take up for you when Ichabod made himself a public mess? Humiliating her, their daughter?

She soaks through quickly as she goes. her mind quickly evicting the selfish thoughts. But you wish someone had. She thinks. You wish people spoke to you instead of whispering. You wished someone spoke to him instead of watching. She'd been enduring her own hells with Ichabod for years with little recourse or intervention. And aside from the other night---which had been terror enough for her---he'd never laid hands on her. And if he did, you wouldn't want to be caught out there with him alone.

"You did it on purpose!" the man shrieks.

"What, did I spoil your plan?"

"You were careless!" he accuses. "You lost them on purpose."

"I can't help what my body did for grief." The woman shrieks back, her face pinching in a wince.

"Excuse me," Katrina starts, her voice coming out in a creaky croak.

"Why do you do this to me? to us? We're perfect together."

"Let me go, Orion."

"We would have it all, engaged, baby on the way, I was trying to help---"

"You admit it? That you hid my pills on purpose?" I scream. "You're crazy----"

"Don't tell me I'm crazy Abigail-" he screams. The veins bulge stand out in his throat and he begins to turn red. 

"You are! Only someone insane can't take a hint. We're through, Orion, I don't want you anymore---"

"Well I want you so we have a problem"

"We're done."

"You're not leaving me---" He growls.

It happens so fast. He pitches me away, dropping my hands, and  I stagger backwards. I see eyes glinting and his face contorting into something I've never seen before.

His hand balling into a fist  winding up and---- I keep tripping and  fall.

My dress tears.

My knee scrapes.

Orion blinks and whirls around in bewilderment at the person that's wrapped their hand in the back of his collar and narrowly ducks out of his way. I recognize the hair and suit though I can't believe it.

"Leave her alone." She tells him. Watching him with dangerously burning eyes. She's angry. Angry enough to look like she might think she can take him on.

"Who the----"

"I said leave her alone, whoever you are. I'll call the police."

Orion stands there a moment, hedging, as if he can't decide whether to try and assault us both or take her advice. He casts a glance at me and advances as if to help me up off the ground but I'm shaking, so hard, and jolt away from him. Out of fear. Out of shock.

He'd nearly hit me.

If it weren't for Mrs. Crane, Orion would have boxed my face in.

He has the nerve to flinch, as if stung when I move away. He casts one more glance over at Mrs. Crane, a glare, really before he turns and stalks away, rain still coming down hard. I sit there stunned.

"He's gone." She says, she approaches carefully and extends her hand. I watch it, and then up into her eyes. I think of the things I've heard about her marriage, and wonder if I got a wrong impression of her on our first meeting. "Katrina Crane," she says.

"I know." I struggle as I take her hand and she pulls me to my feet. "I'm…I'm…Aurore's, teacher, we met on parent….."

The reality of what just happened really hits then and my words dissolve amid tears.

Her eyes widen. Key to lock, there it is, she can place my face now. "Miss Mills."

"Abbie, Mills." I choke and heave, feeling unsteady on my feet.

If Mrs.Crane wasn't here what would have happened? Would his rage have continued that I'd ruined everything? Would he have just kept pummelling away at me---I was fighting him as much as I could but he'd exerted force I'd never felt from him before. More anger than I'd ever seen from him. I can't stop shaking.

Gingerly she reaches to put an arm around me. I want to lean in for comfort but part of me is rejecting anything that resembles bodily contact at the moment and she quickly steps back.

"Do you want, to go back in?" She asks.

Inside the church, it's quiet. Reverend Danny Reynolds---I can barely even think if with a straight face----must be delivering his sermon. I know I'm dirty, I know I am torn, and wet, and quivering from the coldness of it. I want to be anywhere but a public place right now.

I want my bed, I want my sheets and covers and to sleep and burrow and I wish for just that moment I was a child again, that my mother could hold me and I'd be safe.

I wish I wasn't a woman who'd chased so hard for dreams and to be better and prove myself to who by what standard and chased myself into a man that seemed bent on tracking me to the ends of the earth---and keeping me. No matter what it took.

But he knows where I live. He knew before and I wasn't bothered by it but that……encounter, has given me  a proper taste for Orion and his potential. The monster he could be if I let him.

I can't go home.

What if he's waiting for me.

Mrs. Crane coughs lightly, slicking her wet hair from her face. "Miss Mills" she coaxes. "Do----do you want me to call the police?" she asks.

Were I not shaken I would ask how she could see how clearly my fears. I would ask if her husband had ever shaken her and held on so tight she thought her wrists might snap. Bruised her arms in a tight grasp.  Yelled at her like that. If she'd ever seen the signs but told herself she was handling it, it was okay, he wasn't that man. What had I told Luke?

"Orion's not an abuser"

 I would ask her if he'd ever harmed her in front of their sweet daughter, Aurore.

"You're drenched." Katrina offers. Her eyebrows are pinched with a pain that feels eerily sympathetic.I barely manage to nod as I follow her back in.

"My clothes," I hear myself say, voice small. He shook my voice out of me. Screaming and hollering over his wild accusations and assertions. My throat is hoarse.  "I…."

"Well my suit barely fits." She replies, trying to sound cheerful. "We don't have to go back, in there." She says, motioning towards the closed doors. Joyously and obliviously cloistered within is the congregation. I can see Danny gesturing purposefully, the rise and fall of his voice as he delivers the message.

I came to Church this morning in the hope I'd find something to set my head and heart right.

I got roughed up for putting my faith in Faith.  "ladies is this way, we can…..God I don't know" Mrs. Crane falters, her own hands beginning to shake.

"Thank you," I manage. "For, stepping in, out there---"

She nods hurriedly and looks away. "I couldn't not---no woman should have to endure a man….trying to make her feel….."

Like he owns her? I wonder. Did Mr. Crane try to claim ownership of his wife the way Orion seemed to think he could of me?

Make her feel less than? Was Mr. Crane a man that belittled her at every opportunity? Parading his infidelities?

Was he someone that Katrina, Aurore's mother, had been trying to escape? as I struggle to escape Orion?  she becomes unintelligible and we both stand there, shipwrecked in the church foyer before ambling into the ladies, shirking off jacket and cardigan and trying feebly to dry them beneath the hand dryer in silence. It might be a minute, or three, before she says. "I think you're probably her favourite teacher Miss----"

"Abbie," I rasp.

She saved me from getting my face caved in. I can't pretend to have much composure and professionalism right now. I'm too raw to be handled with propriety.

"Katrina," she replies. "She's excited about----" the door bangs open and Mrs. Irving pokes her head in.

"Kat I came looking---Miss Mills" she exclaims, looking me over. Then back to Katrina. "What happened to you two?"

Katrina and I share a glance before she speaks. "We stepped out too far for air and she tripped. And got soaked, just my luck. I think this suit is done for."

Mrs.Irving chuckles softly. "Well I could have told you that when you squeezed yourself into it this morning, but you were in a mood. It's so good to see you here this morning Miss Mills. Is this your first visit?"

"I grew up here, actually." I manage. "Didn't come much in high school, and then well of course I left."

"What a homecoming." Mrs.Irving murmurs. "It's turned nasty outside. Well service is wrapping up, are you coming down for tea?"

I hesitate. The last thing I want nor need to is to be surrounded by well meaning strange faces and too eager familiar ones in my state. But I can't go home.

I hate that I'm afraid of going home to my own house.

I hate that I'm afraid he's there waiting for me.

To plea with me, apologize for his rough handling.

Or maybe not apologize at all. Maybe tell me I brought it on us both for losing the child I had no idea he'd be so wild over. So crazed over. So deranged to trick me the way he had.

What if he was there, waiting, angry-----"Sure," I say, nodding quickly with an enthusiasm that must be too put on because I can feel Katrina turning an incredulous gaze my way.

Even Mrs. Irving pauses after my answer, as if I've shocked her.

Well we all had shocks today and I think mine wins, so.

"Okay, Well I wonder if there's a towel or blanket we could use for you two to towel off properly…..I'll be right back."

"Kayla's mother," Katrina supplies.

"I remember."

Katrina flushes. "Right. Kayla and Aurore are best friends, Mrs. Irving and I--Cynthia, are best friends, we've known each other, forever, pretty much. She's Aurore's godmother."

I shift uncomfortably. Just then Mrs. Irving returns.

"Thank you Mrs. Irving---"

"Cynthia," she insists with more warmth than Katrina had. "At least on Sundays, if that's alright with you?" she jokes.

"Abbie then,"

"Great. okay, I heard them gearing up for the final hymn. Let's catch the chorus" She invites. I admire Cynthia in that moment, because she's treating our dishevelled state as if it's perfectly ordinary.

Cynthia Irving crosses me as a woman who sojourns. Pushes ahead, takes her knocks and moves on.

She reminds me that's who I thought I was before I got back in town.

She reminds me of the tremendous lies I've been telling myself for years.

"Oh dear, what happened to you two?" Pandora calls worriedly when afterwards. Abbie's a little surprised that as much of the congregation has stayed afterwards. She can't remember lingering much back then. But back then there weren't as many children. Aurore and Kayla, and some others run and skip. Katrina bristles at Pandora's nearness. House of the Lord or no she is not in the frame of mind to start calling this woman sister again in any sense of the word.

"We needed air," Katrina replies tightly. Pandora's pouring the tea at the table and she meets her old friends eyes carefully. She knows she wronged Katrina. She has a very unpleasant memory of the confrontation she'd had with Katrina back then. Of the screaming and her thong brandished at her and then flung down on the street before she'd stormed away. She doesn't often feel shame or remorse, but she does regret she did it. She enjoyed herself, make no mistake----but she'd acknowledged no amount of booze should have made sleeping with her friends husband---state of their marriage aside---an excuse.

"Kat---"

"Milk please" she quips and Pandora bites her lips together as she obliges. Satisfied Katrina walks away without another glance and takes a seat to watch her daughter and the other children play.

I'm standing at the other end of the refreshment table knowing I'm a spectacle in my still damp sullied dress, stirring a strong cup of coffee. I here before I realize Danny---Reverend--- is approaching me.

"Abbie!" he calls exuberantly, engulfing me in his arms and pulls away, straightening his tie and jacket. I use to see Danny in rolled up collared shirts and slacks. Once in a tuxedo at a more formal concert back when he was part of Orion's quartet. But seeing him buttoned up in his Sunday Best feels strange. He stands taller and smiles wider. Shoulders back and straight. His face is more welcoming than I remember it.

But what a wonder I can remember much of his manner at all. Orion was always chasing me out of the room.

"Where's my man Angel?" .

Well he raised his hand at me, fifteen, twenty minutes ago? "Left early."

"How are you guys?"

"I'm well."

I wonder how much do I really believe that.

His brow furrows for a moment, noting that I don't mention Orion. It's only then he seems to notice my clothes. "Oh wow."

"It was getting too warm in there---"

"I here you. I sweat right through those robes in the summer," He jokes. "Guess it started raining though huh."

"I was worried we might need an ark." I remark dryly and he guffaws in a loud robust way that's warm and friendly but yet still so alien to the man I thought I'd known.

Maybe we're all different people when not in the orbit of Orion Angel.

"Hopefully we aren't that far gone! Anyway, Abbie, I meant to talk to you, actually. Remember I told you our choir master passed----"

"There you are," the woman from earlier gushes, a darker man in tow.

"Sister Pandora, Deacon Older." Danny introduces us. "And this is my old friend Abbie Mills. She's a fantastic singer."

"Well I hope she is, actually, Reverend." Pandora purrs.

There's something off putting about the constant sort of sly sensuality pouring off the woman. Like she can't help but slink and smoulder her eyes. "This is Lori's daughter, I thought I recognized you."

Danny blinks rapidly and smacks his forehead. "Why didn't I make the connection. Of course, that makes complete sense----"

I look between their faces, waiting for someone to explain this apparently obvious thing looming large around us.

"Your mother was choir master, music director here before she died," Pandora supplies helpfully. 

Dread trickles into my stomach. I'd known that. That isn't the problem. The problem is suddenly I think I understand how this conversation is about to go. And I'm not sure I want it.

"We've been looking but it's been very hard to find anyone. No one had her skill set," Pandora continues. "We've had a few candidates but…..they didn't, feel----"

"Like home, family." Danny offers.

I side eye him. "You've been here how long?"

"A month," Pandora cuts in again over Danny. His dark skin flushes.

"A month," I repeat, hearing my voice curl into something  malicious. "I've been back twice your span at minimum and grew up here much less but you think you can discern what makes a place feel like home."

I don't know where the hostility comes from. It's just there now and it wants to go somewhere. It wants to hurt somebody. It wants to cut someone.

"Abbie----"

Pandora clears her throat. "We were hoping you might apply---?"Her voice pitches up unsurely at the end, eyes darting at her husband.

"It would comfort the congregation to have someone familiar with the church, and descended from Lori, she was well loved," Deacon Older intones.

"I was hoping---" I start.

To be worthy. To live up to the dreams Luke had for me. To excel beyond the girl who's father left her. More than a shell of a person touched by the loss of a sister. More than a girl who broke a law and trifled with her body to pave a way. Better,  than a girl who lied and kept a secret buried so deep down for all these years from her mother and on occasion she's assaulted by a casual remembrance of it.

I was hoping I'd become a woman who'd done great things, met accomplished, wonderful people, found her match----I was hoping I wouldn't be the woman running from one city to another escaping a man and being grateful she miscarried his child, especially given how often she wonders after the choice she made so long ago herself.

I was hoping many things but a number of them fell through so what's one more, for someone else, for a change?

"Think about it, won't you, please?" Pandora entreats behind me. I hear Danny faintly call after me but he lets me go. Someone skitters past me to clean up the cup I'd dropped.

I didn't know I'd dropped it until the thing was splintering on the floor and a number of heads turned our way.

I was holding it and then I wasn't.

"Luke."

"Abbie?"

"I'm at the church, can you meet me at my place? please?"

"Abbie---are you okay?"

"Just be there?"

"Sure. I'll be waiting."

"Thank you."

When I get off the phone I lean my head on the wheel and cry. 

Cynthia and Katrina had heard the small commotion after Abbie left, they'd watched in silence. Cynthia eying Katrina and Katrina trying hard not to lead on she was over interested in this ungoverned side of their daughters teacher. Aurore runs up then, slinging her arms around her leg. "Was that Miss Mills?"

"Yes it was, did you get to say hello?"

Aurore twists her mouth. "No. She looks different outside of school."

The women chuckle, remembering their own childhoods when encountering a teacher in a casual neutral place seemed like a sort of rude shock. How dare they exist outside of those hallowed educational halls?

"Every one looks a little different when they're not at work." Cynthia replies and motions for Kayla to round up her sister and father. "I think it's time we get going now----oh, here comes Deacon."

"Sister Cynthia, and----" he pauses, thinking.

"Katrina Crane."

Hezekiah Older bows his head. "Katrina Crane. I thought I may have scene you come in early with Miss Mills? She's Lori's daughter, did you know?"

Cynthia's brow furrows. "Good lord was she at the funeral and I didn't even know?"

"You don't notice who's at a funeral, you're too busy grieving" He murmurs sadly. "Pandora was trying to ask if she might consider, taking up Lori's position but well---"

Pandora stalks over then, looking rumpled. She's not used to being handled that way and caught her unawares. Katrina grins smugly around her cup. "Seems she wasn't interested."

Pandora shoots her a glare and straightens her shoulders. "I believe she probably needs a moment to consider."

"Well I was hoping if you ladies know her, you might help her consider faster. Christmas is coming, lots o music to get going for Advent and our praise band and choir are still in rough shape."

"I….I'm she's Aurore and Kayla's teacher, we don't really know her all that well. And she's already helping to direct the pageant----"Cynthia glances at her friend who gives a nod.

"I'm not sure we're of a place to make the suggestion, Deacon. It seems rather forward."

"Oh. Well then" his eyes crinkle kindly. "I suppose our search continues." he smiles cheerfully at Pandora, grasping for her hand. "Come Beloved, I think everyone's had their fill, let's clear up those cookies shall we?"

"You mean take them home," Pandora scolds mildly. "You always take home the leftovers and I'm the one who eats them."

"Sometimes you are sour," He replies, matter of fact. "The sweetness if good for you."

They walk away, heads knit in laughter. Katrina reels around "And he's completely sane?"

Cynthia chuckles. "Entirely sane Kat what do you mean?"

"He married Pandora, he can't really be all there."

"Kat!"

"It's just----"

"People change, Kat. Grow, progress, regress, all of it." She says pointedly and Katrina bites her tongue. "Frank are you ready?"

"I'll grab the car." The girls and Aurore go out with him while Cynthia and Katrina drain the last drops of their tea.

"I guess anything is possible." Katrina mutters, setting her cup down. "But if she could change why can't----"

"People have to want to change for themselves Kat."

Nodding thoughtfully Katrina straightens her posture and hears a very distinctive rip. Cynthia stifles a snicker.

"You need to say bye to that piece, it's had it with you."

"I do need to stop by at the house. Grab a few more of Aurore's things, and mine, I guess."

"We can stop on the way home." Cynthia smiles. "Might as well make it one run."

"Thanks Cynthia." she grasps her friends hand. Grateful.

She remembers how Miss Mills had shied away from her. She wants to forget that moment of vulnerability on the young put together smart woman whom she'd met  not long ago in the class room. Who had addressed her with cool confidence.

Katrina wants to forget that Miss Mills came and left the church  without a friend, and from what she saw today, it had looked like she could use one.

Chapter Text

Deep breath.

It's just a house.

Your, house, Katrina. You have every right.

Aurore and Kayla bounced around so much after service, buzzed on sugar and then quickly crashed on the ride over, jolt awake when the car stops. "Are we home?" Kayla croaks. Macey lifts her head from the book she's reading.

"Not yet Kay."

"Then where are we," She grumps, peeking out the window. "Hey Aurore, we're at your house!" she looks over at Aurore fluttering her eyes open, bewildered.

"Huh?"

"We're at your house!" Kayla chimes. Alertness settles in Aurore's eyes.  "Look!"

"Kayla, calm down we're just here while Aurore's mother picks up a few things." Frank says.

"but why----" Aurore starts, reaching to unfasten her belt.

"We just need a few more clothes,---"

"But why mommy?"

Katrina falters as she extracts herself from the car. "We're having a long sleep over with the Irvings. Won't that be fun?"

"Is daddy home?"

Her heart clenches. "He….he may, be….."

"I wanna say hi---"

"Aurore----" Katrina begins but she's already bounded out of the car and up to the door. "Aurore!" she calls more sharply.

Aurore begins knocking on the door, ringing the bell. "Daddy!"

Cynthia and Frank exchange a glance in the front of the car. "Should I go out there?"

Frank replies out the side of his mouth. "She wants to see her father, she doesn't know what's going on."

"But….this will hold Kat up. "

"I----"

"Daddy!" Aurore bellows again and Kayla struggles out of her seat and scooches to Aurore's abandoned side, peering out the window as the door opens.

"He looks awful," Cynthia says sadly. Beside her Frank silently agrees and clasps her hand.

But to Aurore, he looks just like daddy. He's not much of one, these days, but she does remember piggy backs and tea parties. They are few and far but they are memories and they are hers and she keeps them the way she wants to keep her father-----even if she knows in a vague way, there's something wrong with him, and not quite right between him and her mother.

Crane is bedraggled, hair mussed and shirt unbuttoned and scruff that he hasn't shaved. His eyes are blood shot and on his breath wafts the scene of alcohol. He blinks down at the beaming, well dressed child.

"Daddy it's me!"

"Aurore? Daddy's little ray of sun?" He asks, dropping down on one knee to embrace her and she latches her arms tight around him.

"Ichabod," Katrina stands staunchly behind. Hands opening and closing at her side. His mood sours at the sight of her.

"Katrina."

"I'm here for a few things."

"Oh are you?" voice turned condescending he releases their daughter and straightens up. For the first time Katrina can say looking at her husband, he disgusts her.

"You stink of drink" she sneers, brushing past him and snagging Aurore's hand as they go. "Come on sweetheart, any toys you want to take to play with Kayla?"

"Katrina, a word," he grits out. She ignores him.

"How about you grab two of your favourite dolls, hmm? and which books do you want to bring?

"Katrina," he growls.

Aurore hears the feral note in her fathers voice and turns around, bewildered. "Daddy?" she queries.

"Katrina, We need to talk, this instant----"

"Why" She whirls around quickly, so fast he has to pull himself up short or else he'd collide with her. "Aurore, hon, go grab what you like okay? hurry up now." She shoos Aurore up the stairs but their daughter goes cautiously, looking over her shoulder as she goes. " Hurry love" Katrina calls and Aurore hustles on out of sight before she turns back to her husband. "What." she snaps. "What, do you want, Ichabod Crane."

"I want to know what you think you're doing." he hisses. " Running off like that, where have you been."

"Do you regret not wringing my neck when you had the chance?"

He falters for a moment. "Katrina, you and I both know that was a one time incident----I have never laid hands on you and I would never do that to you---"

"But for a second you did. For a minute Ichabod I saw your eyes."

"But I stopped, Katrina----"

"You stopped then. But you didn't stop, doing any of the other countless things you've done to tear us apart."

"You don't get to play righteous with me now Katrina"

"I'll play how I like!" she shouts, her voice broken. "I will not keep paying penance to you for a wrong I have admitted and apologized for ten fold. I am not your crutch for this behaviour. I've begged you see a therapist. Go to support groups. I have tried and tried at wits end with you and you insist on making me the source of your down fall."

He reaches for her arm and she flinches away so abruptly he's reminded of the other night. "Katrina I wasn't going to hurt you---"

Her brow lifts. Her lips tremble before bursting into a tremulous shaky laugh. "You weren't going to hurt, me? You must think I've been living in an amusement park with you these past months? Years?"

In the car Cynthia's foot taps anxiously. The front door is still open and she can hear rising voices. "I'm going in,"

"Honey---"

She lifts a hand, unfastening the belt and opening the door. "I'll just help her get a move on Frank, I'll be right back."

"You thought it best to sleep with a fellow soldier, why just because he came home first?---"

"What do you want, Ichabod. I told you it was a mistake, I told you---"

"Katrina he got you pregnant!"

"And I was an absolute wreck about it. And I miscarried. And came home to you. Drinking. Drinking. Drinking. Sleeping with everyone I knew so you could hurt me. Losing your job. Kicking and screaming at night beside me but never telling me anything. Going out, at odd hours. Having affairs, with our daughter's teacher---I think you've made me pay sevenfold, and you've no intention of healing from that. Or anything else about you that's wrong."

"So what are you going to do---just leave me?"

"I've already, left, you, Ichabod"

"And where are you staying? Where have you gotten the guts to run to now after all these years of my egregious mistreatment----"

Just then is when Cynthia's foot crosses the door. She pauses, taking in the tension in the air and glances up the steps at Aurore, standing in shock above, two dollies and books stuffed under her arm with a bag. Avoiding the gaze of husband and wife she crosses quickly toward the steps and takes them near two at a time, ushering Aurore back the way she came. "Come let's get this bag sorted out Rore, hurry! I wanted to stop at the bakery for cupcakes."

Crane's eyes had followed Cynthia Irving up the stairs and then swung back in the direction of his wife. " I should have known." he sneers. "I should have known, that if there was anyone who would pick your side, of course. Helping you poison Aurore against me."

"I haven't said anything about you to our daughter Ichabod. If there's anything for her to think she's seen it herself."

"I won't let you do it." He says.

Katrina balls her hands and takes off up the stairs, tearing down the hall to their bedroom, ripping through the closet and stuffing her belongings hurriedly as she hears him coming rapidly up the stairs behind her.

"Katrina put the bloody bag down!."

"We're going, Ichabod."

"Katrina, You can't, just, do this"

"All of a sudden you care?" She asks, quickly casting about and landing on the dresser. "All of a sudden you need us?"

"You are my wife----"

"You handily remember to remind me of the one time I didn't behave like one. And you've since forgotten the definition of husband and father Ichabod, so yes, we're going." She stuffs underwear in her hand bag begins bungling down the steps with her arms full of clothes. She just catches the back of Cynthia carrying Aurore in her arms going out the front door.

" You can't do this!" he shrieks behind her. " YOU CAN'T JUST UP AND DO THIS"

He trails her down the steps, out side to the parking lot, railing and raving and Aurore struggling to peak around her godmother as Cynthia buckles her back in.

"What's going on?" she asks, her face beginning to crumple. Cynthia's heart aches. She touches Aurore's cheek.

"It's going to be okay, alright Rore? Just sit tight." she straightens and calls over her shoulder. "Katrina! Let's go"

"And you!" he accuses, striding forward. Cynthia closes the car door and stands tall. "You---she got this idea from you. You take up for her no matter what wrong---"

Cynthia swallows, smoothing her dress and hair. "I allow people to be flawed, Crane." she counters, voice calm, collected, carefully measured.

"Flawed? You tried to defend her skipping out on our marriage vows----but what would you know about loyalty? I don't think Abraham was cold a year before you remarried---or was that going on behind his back too? the pair of you, men out at war and sleeping around----"

Calmly, Cynthia begins to remove her earrings, she searches for the pocket in her dress.

"Go in the car, Kat."

"Cynthia---"

"I said go in the car," Earrings secure she begins to approach him. "Because I'm about to give your husband Mr. Crane here a second dose of what he got the night he tried to come on to me in my kitchen."

In the car Frank pauses and turns his head incredulously out the window.

"I don't see why it would have mattered. You tried to tell me it wasn't Katrina's faultt she cheated on me---she was lonely, she was hurting. Is that the excuse you used for yourself while cheating on Abraham?"

The sharp clap of skin against skin stuns Katrina and whips Crane's head to the side. Cynthia looks at him, heaving with anger.

"I never cheated on Abraham, Ichabod Crane, don't you think you can come for me with that. I loved Abraham Van Brunt with my whole heart." She screams, eyes brimming with tears of fury. "They sent me back a flag. Instead of him. You think I don't know you judge me for it. I keep that flag close, where I can reach it, where I can touch it and talk to it---I got lucky, that I found love again. But I would never have done that to Abraham, and you keep my marriage out of your mouth Ichabod Crane. I mean it." she shakes out her hand. "Kat, get in the damn car."

Crane holds his jaw, staggering. "That's assault. I can have you arrested----"

Frank emerges from the car, coming around to Cynthia's side. "You made a pass at my wife Crane?"

"It was ill advised, Frank."

"Ill advised?" he repeats, marching forward. Defensively Crane lashes out at him. Hitting wildly and they scuffle and struggle before he grabs Crane's collar. In the car the girls yell and Macey tries her best to calm them down. Outside Frank gives Crane a shake.  "You've been living ill advised, Crane. Get a grip man, look at you. Look at your wife, your daughter? What have you been doing with yourself?"

"With all due respect Frank, this is none of your business, or your wife's---"

"It sure as hell became all of my business when you started on our marriage. Know your place Crane. Stay in your lane." He releases him abruptly and for a moment Crane is chastised. He turns his eyes on the car. On the girls in the back watching the whole scene unfold. He zeroes in on Aurore's face. Katrina packs things in the trunk and begins to hiss for Cynthia and Frank.

"You can't just take her Trina she's my daughter too." he begins desperately, lunging for her he grasps her arms. "You can't take my daughter from me"

Cynthia works her mouth and turns on her heel.

"Trina don't do this, she's mine too. She needs her father"

Katrina pointedly looks him up and down, lips trembling. "I don't see one here, Ichabod." she flings him away before she can start crying. Frank follows, getting back behind the wheel.

She continues speaking with her back turned before she gets in. "If you want her you'll have to fight for her…..I want a divorce."

When I pull into my driveway he's leaning on the side of his car. He lifts his head and comes over to get the door. "Abbie?" he asks, voice soft and tentative. I'm still damp. I'm still dirty. But Katrina and Cynthia had gotten a bandage and helped me clean up my knee. "Abbie?" he offers his hand and I take it getting out of the car.

When I'm out he grips my hand firmly, as if he knows I need him to be steady because I'm not. "What's going on.?"

"Inside, Luke, can we talk inside?"

He nods quickly. "Yeah. Yes. Sure." and follows me up the drive way. If he notices me glancing nervously around he doesn't let on. He's quiet as I go to the kitchen "Coffee?" I ask.

He nods, taking a seat and watching me. I take off my cardigan as I move around, kicking my shoes off haphazardly.

"You gonna tell me what happened?"

"Orion." I say simply. "He….he ….I decided, to go to church, this morning. I don't know how he knew I'd be there, but there he was, and……." it feels like my throat begins closing up just talking about it. I silently hand him his cup of coffee and he grabs my hand. I wince and he mutters an apology, holding it gingerly and tugging me closer, examining my wrist. The bruises that circle it.

I begin to tug away.

"Abbie." he starts, "Abbie what….he put his hands on you?"

"He grabbed my wrists and started shaking me and he wouldn't stop-----" the words are barely out of my mouth before he leaps from his seat and pulls me in close, my head to his shoulder.

"That son of a bitch. I'll kill him" He whispers fiercely. Are you okay?"

"He almost hit me."

"What" he presses in tighter and I wince.

"Sorry." he apologizes and lets me go, rubbing my arms gently and then reaching for my chin, tilting my head this way and that. "He's dead, Did he---"

"No, Katrina Crane stopped him."

Luke hesitates. "Katrina Crane? Ichabod Crane's wife?"

I nod and look away. "If she didn't intervene I don't know, I might have a new blush on right now."

"Abbie this isn't a joke."

"I know it isn't." I snap. "I know it isn't I just can't believe it happened, okay?" I abandoned the kitchen for the living room couch and sit heavily on it. "He's been taking over my life but I didn't..I was stupid or blind or I didn't want to admit it but, he really could have hurt me today Luke. I didn't understand until today how much danger I could be in with him. I told him it's over and he said he still wanted me and-----I called you because I afraid to come back here by myself," my word choke off. I'm ashamed of this fear.

The fact that Orion can make me feel this way.

"I know I told you I don't need you to protect me, but I…..I was scared to be here. I didn't want to be alone in case he came here, waiting for me."

I feel the weight of the couch shift as he settles down next to me. He turns me towards him and I lean on his shoulder. And I cry. I shudder and quake and cry.

How could that have happened to me? How can this be happening to me?

He lets me. Rocks me quietly and lets me be a vulnerable mess in his arms. It's after I stop heaving that he asks, "Do you want to press charges?"

This town is so small.

I think of the rumours about the Cranes.

"It'll go around. My name, my personal affair, and He's……he's a famous tenor, he'll get media attention for it, it'll be----"

"He hurt, you." Luke interrupts. "If there's a fall out for it that's his problem. You have a right to report it. I'm right here Abbie, all you have to say is you're reporting a case of assault. We can do the paper work for a restraining order, the whole bit."

"I….."

"Abbie."

"He knows I live here. He can find me, he said he wasn't ready to let me go----I was pregnant before I got her, Luke. For him. And I miscarried when my mother died but…..He wasn't happy, Luke. He thinks I'm ruining this perfect life, and he's not going to stop following me. He lost it today. If I report this----what if he gets angrier at me?"

"Abbie, I'm here." he says firmly. "I will protect you. As an officer of the law, as a man who cares about you. Look at me and say the word"

"Can you just stay here tonight. Please."

He hovers a moment, searching my eyes before he gives a quick nod. He caresses my cheek and coaxes my head to his shoulder. "Yeah Abbie. Of course."

Abbie drifts off in his arms and he nods off holding her before his phone buzzes. He answers it to the hysteric and frantic muttering and yelling of a man.

"Slow down, slow down, Officer Morales, what's your---"

"Luke----I need to talk to you she took Aurore----" the voice rasps.

Luke pauses and checks the number "Crane?"

Chapter Text

Luke glances over at Abbie again, the furrowed brow that's only just begun to relax. "What is it, Crane."

"Katrina----" the voice heaves and cracks and gulps. "She came in here, with the Irvings," he spits. "and packed up her things, and…..She says she's keeping Aurore, she can't do that can she Luke, just up and----"

"Sssh, calm down. Look, what do you think I can do for you?"

There's a stunned pause on the other end before Crane's voice pipes in, the smallest and most contrite thing Luke has ever heard. "You are my only friend, Luke Morales. I have….finally, let my life fall apart, and I could use a friend. Someone who could convince me that…..walking out into traffic is a bad idea, at least."

Alarm bells go off in Luke's head. "Yes, that's a definite bad idea. Hard pass on that one Crane but I'm….I'm here with a friend, and she….she really needs me right now. She's going through something too."

"I….I am sorry to hear that." his voice quavers. Imagine, more than one life seeing trials at the same time. It's inconvenient. It's…..it's the most selfish thought Crane could have, but it makes him feel unbelievably inconsequential. "I'll……I'll try to handle myself, on my own, Luke, I…..thank for taking my call."

Luke bites his lips together, at Abbie beginning to shift, and hearing the worrisome note of desperation in Crane's voice. Luke knows he'll blame himself if he hears something's happened to Ichabod, but he can't leave Abbie like this.

"Luke," she calls groggily. "You on the phone?"

"A…distress call."

Her eyes flutter open. "Oh my God, sorry I can't keep you here, what was I thinking." and Abbie rights herself hurriedly, straightening her rumpled sunday clothes and rising slowly to her feet. "You've got your own life. I'm sorry, I just…..needed someone here."

"And I'll be here," Luke retorts quickly, "Just….it's Ichabod Crane." he sighs.

Abbie turns wearily around. "Crane?"

Luke inhales deeply, unsure how much he should divulge. It's only Crane's voice still on the line that jolts him.

"I'd appreciate if you could…call, later----"

"Crane stay on the line."

Ears perking up and eyes squinting Abbie eases back down into the chair. "What's he want?" she mouths.

"Luke, I understand, tend to your friend."

"You're also my friend Crane and I don't wanna hear any bullshit about you come tomorrow."

"Is he in trouble?" Abbie presses.

Screwing up his mouth in frustration Luke hits a button on his phone and lays it face up on the cushions between them. He acknowledges that this is unprofessional, but between Abbie and Crane the boundaries of friendship and work have been severely blurred.

These aren't just troubled citizens he's sworn to defend and protect.

These are people he knows. Bonds with them both, one a foolish risk that has begun to gnaw at him afresh since he visited Abbie at the school the other day. The other, well, by now everyone has a sort of complicated history with Ichabod Crane. The fact that he use to drink too and met him at a bar, it's a small narrow little vein of addiction that ran nowhere near as it deep, but it held.

He knows things about the two of them, and it puts him in a unique place that he may be the only one who can understand them, at this moment.

"You're on speaker, Crane." he announces.

"Damn it Luke what for----"

Luke cringes to think this might be an introduction he'd have had to make sooner or later. Nothing's been confirmed, no…..but he feels it like a comet hurtling out of space, and when it strikes who can tell what sort of crater it'll leave behind.

It's weighed on him for years.

The feeling that a forgotten question is about to be answered. He glances at Abbie she gazes back at him, perplexed.

"I want you to go to Mabie's, Crane." Luke instructs. "I'll be there soon, I'm----if its all right with you---" he directs this to Abbie seated beside him and she bobs her head unsurely. "I'm….I'm bringing my friend, Abbie Mills."

Cynthia goes into the kitchen when they reach back into the house and puts her head in her hands at the table.

Upstairs Katrina tries to explain over Aurore's tearful questioning. Why was Daddy angry. Why were you angry with Daddy. Why are we bringing our stuff here. Why did Goddy hit daddy. Why did daddy  try to hit Uncle Frank----an endless litany that had been taking a toll on her since they pulled out the driveway and she'd clutched her hands together tight in her lap, trying to reign in her frustration and anger and regret.

When they'd pulled in she was first in the house, opening the door and retreated here, breathing hard, replaying the moment over and over again and cursing to herself. Kayla and Macey have gone upstairs to get changed, and she's not entirely sure she even wants to be here to face them all when they come back down the stairs. She's just deciding that she needs to go for a drive when Frank strides in. She doesn't look at him. Cynthia wouldn't look at anyone once she got out the car.

She wanted to be far from Aurore. Couldn't face her daughters.

They've never seen her that way.

He's never seen her that way.

Rising from the table she makes to dodge around Frank when he grabs her arm. Firmly, but gentle.

"Cynthia,"

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I had no right to do that, I shouldn't have done that…..Aurore must hate me….."

"Cynthia, babe," he reaches to tilt her chin upwards to look at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

His eyes bore into hers with a kind of hurt that makes her stomach twist. She'd never told Frank about Crane's drunken come on. It was buried, far away, long ago, something she'd thoroughly forgotten and was over it….wasn't she?….but that doesn't explain why you lost your temper today.

"I shouldn't have gone there today." She says simply. "That's all---"

"---no, what's  all is why my wife wouldn't tell me when a man tried to assault her, in our home."

Cynthia's eyes water. "Because he's my best friend's husband? Because he was drunk, and I know he was trying to hurt Kat…..and what if you didn't believe me."

Franks heart sinks. "Why wouldn't I----"

She shakes her head and tugs away from him.

In college a guy had tried to come on to her at a party, had followed her when she went outside for air.  Refusing to take no as he pushed her into a bush, hands busy, his weight baring down at her.

Tearing her blouse, hiking her skirt,  trying to wedge her knees apart.  She was fighting.

Screaming, clawing, struggling and about to  give up until Katrina had found them.  She'd missed Cynthia inside, searching for her friend when she'd heard the commotion outside and had come shrieking  and kicking at him, making a scene.

Cynthia gathering herself together out of the bush, picking leaves from her hair, crying. Shaking. Clutching her ruined clothes together while Katrina tried to shield her from the curious judgemental gaze of their peers.

Her assailant was gone. Guy from another school, friend of friend, no one knew. No one to identify him. He'd bolted, fast. Before police could arrive. Party disbanded quick, abrupt.

Abraham had been away that weekend, playing a gig. But it had gone around campus. The news of it garbled and incomplete. And every other wrong story had circulated before she could blink. By Monday morning there were  whispers and rumours that she had been unfaithful to him, no matter what she said. Only Katrina  decrying and tearing down peers who she heard uttering it. Cynthia had been cowed and humiliated and shamed and hadn't known how to tell Abraham.

She'd been acting dodgy for a week and some when he got back. Not wanting to socialize, not wanting to be around any of the student body who'd made all the possible inaccurate assumptions about who she was. Didn't want to hear the malicious little first years sniping that she didn't deserve someone like Abraham if she was going to cheat.

By the time she told him----he came to the sorority house and refused to leave until she spoke to him---he'd already heard it from everyone else. Cynthia was prepared to be doubted and turned away from him too, but she told him anyway, quiet, avoiding his gaze, and Katrina was there, "You have to believe her, Abraham. Cynthia wouldn't lie about this. I saw it, I was there, don't believe what you've heard."

And he hadn't.

He'd taken her in his arms instead, the pair of them, and stood by her and bore all of the scrutiny. All the doubting whispers that flew around her for weeks until it quieted, but didn't go away. But then after it was in their eyes, that they still hadn't believed her. It should have been enough to have Abraham and Katrina in her corner, but it still had hurt, cut her, that judgement had been passed on who she was, and no one had tried to help her identify the man who'd assaulted her.

Maybe that's why Crane's  misjudged night left a scar a little deeper than it should have. Why she hadn't been quick to tell anyone. She'd easily fought him off, for one, a dedication to self defence--- but She'd known the doubt of the entire student body---back then half of Sleepy Hollow, once. That itself was a public opinion of her past she has only managed to pave over being focused on her career and family.

But it's still there, and to have Crane hint at it, that she'd ever-----"I let him get under my skin." she huffs. "And----"

"I'll always hear you first, Cynthia. You must know that."

"It's not my immediate experience." she admits, looking away. And she tells him. For the first time she tells Frank this part of her history. How her only friend, had been the troubled woman upstairs, consoling her. Asking her again and again, did he do anything? Are you hurt? Slept in the bed with her when she was scared that night. Held her hand.

It was Katrina who had defended her and always did and had saved her that night, so yes, she was in Kats corner when she slipped up. Katrina had her back, back then so Cynthia had hers. To the bitter end.

"It doesn't matter now, Frank, what matters is---"

"What matters is you have a responsibility to yourself, and our daughters, that if someone harms you, or tries to, that you tell someone." He cuts in, tone gone fierce and a little angry. "And it doesn't matter who it is. It doesn't matter what the form. If they succeed or not, you need to tell someone. Tell me. Tell police, tell someone, Cynthia. Don't do that to me again."  for a minute she looks at Frank confused, disoriented by the turn in conversation.

"We were all wrong, today." Frank says. "And what happened in the past, is past, but….I love you Cynthia. Don't doubt my love, your worth, your voice, because you were doubted once. If you'd said back then I'd have kicked Crane's ass."

"And I didn't want you to kill him." She retorts sadly. "He didn't manage to do anything anyway, like I said he was drunk and…he….he's  a troubled man, Frank," tears well up in her eyes and it surprises Cynthia that can she have tears for Crane. "I---"

"You see how you're beating yourself up right now?" he cuts in. "People don't get free passes for bad behaviour. No matter what state they're in. And what happened at that party, wasn't your fault. And what happened here, Cynthia, that wasn't your fault. Now, I mean I saw you swing on Crane today myself," he adds, eyebrows raised, his tone a little teasing and she allows herself the faintest, bare smile. "We're flawed. I'm just upset I didn't know this about you. I mean how must that have triggered you and you didn't tell me?"

"It's past. And I'm safe. He was wrong then, but I was wrong today Frank." she bites her lips together and swallows, tossing her head back and blinking welling tears from her eyes. "I need to apologize to Rore. She's a beautiful little girl going through enough without me making it worse."

Frank leans in, kissing her cheek gently and taking her hand in his. "We both have sorries to say to Aurore. But I mean it Cynthia, you can always come to me, with any, and everything. And always speak up."

Cynthia lets her husband lead her from the kitchen, a little shattered and a little mended. She'd have never admitted until now, that she was carrying a burden. A dark smudged memory that brought back unwarranted shame.

Guess some wounds aren't as healed as we like to make them out to be.

If you're cut deep enough, you'll always scar.

"Hey Rore? it's Goddy, can I come in?"

Aurore glances unsurely up at the door and then at her mother who gives a small nod. "Will you let Goddy Cynthia in?" Katrina asks.  Aurore's gaze sweeps towards her again, distrustful, and Cynthia's heart aches. She may have a long road to repave with her goddaughter after today.

"Okay." Aurore says, and Cynthia edges inside, Frank sidestepping in behind her.

"You mind if uncle Frank comes in too?" Aurore shakes her head no and they all join her on the bed. Katrina, emotionally wearied trying to answer Aurore's question without outright telling her life as she knew it is over, gives a bare encouraging smile to Cynthia. She can already guess what Cynthia's come for, and to be honest she's not convinced her best friend has anything to be sorry about, but it was a bad scene for them all to make today. She chastises herself for not realizing taking Aurore to the house would have been a bad idea.

"Hey, sunny girl," Cynthia calls tentatively. "Today…..was very hard, on you, wasn't it. Seeing us all upset at your daddy. Seeing me get so upset with your daddy."

Aurore nods, eyes full of hurt and questions. Sure, she knows daddy isn't always in a good mood, she knows sometimes him and mommy yell or talk in hushed quick tones, they don't hug or kiss anymore….but she's never considered that people would be mad at him. Mad enough to hurt him. Especially not Cynthia. She feels a betrayed and conflicted. She loves her mother, and her godmother and her daddy, she doesn't want them to fight.

"Why did you…hit him?" she asks, voice wavering and she watches Cynthia's brow crease.

"It doesn't matter why, Rore. Some times grown ups, get upset with each other, say not so nice things, and some times we choose the wrong way to deal with it. Violence, is never the answer Rore. I'm very, deeply sorry that I hurt your father."

Aurore's brow scrunches and her nose wrinkles, digesting Cynthia's words. "My daddy said something that hurt you?"

Cynthia swallows and glances at her friend. Katrina seems at a loss and Frank can only gently squeeze her hand. Aurore watches all of their faces and grows a irritable with their silence.

"Sometimes they argue," she looks at Katrina. "I think they are saying things that are not nice to each other. Mommy does daddy say things that aren't nice to you? Is he saying mean things to Goddy too?"

Panic flits through Cynthia. "Don't trouble yourself with that honey. Okay? We've all said things that aren't nice. I said things that aren't nice today," she admits.

"So did I," Frank joins in. Katrina lays a hand on her daughters shoulder and gives it a light squeeze.

"And so did I. Grown ups…..we aren't always right, sweetheart, we try, but we make mistakes too. Sometimes…..sometimes we're bad."

Aurore looks at them considering this. It's a tense moment, while they all try to gauge how Aurore is absorbing their words. "I forgive you." she says at last, looking at Cynthia.

A collective sigh of relief. "Thank you, Aurore, you have no idea how much it means to me, to hear you say that. And I'm going to apologize to your father too."

At this Katrina looks up, quickly reigning in her shock. Beside her Frank calmly strokes the back of her hand with this thumb.

The sweet girl nods, pleased with this and then quickly her head shoots up. "And he should say sorry too, if he was mean."

A light little laugh. Katrina hugs Aurore tight to her side and then stretches her arm open for Frank and Cynthia to join in, smothering Aurore with affection until she begins to squeal. "You're an absolute angel and miracle in my life I don't know how I got so lucky," Katrina chuckles, wiping at idle tears on her cheek with her shoulder.

"What's going on in here?" Kayla asks, appearing in the doorway. The adults pulls apart and Aurore pokes her head out from beneath their crisscrossing arms.

"Hugging too tight!"

Kayla quirks a brow. "Why are you all hugging Aurore?" she asks, voice curious. Frank pouts.

"Baby girl wanna get in on all this loving?"

Kayla's eyes widen. "No!" she laughs as Frank lunges for her, scooping her up and dropping her on the bed and then Cynthia and Katrina trap the two girls together in an embrace with Frank bracketing them, while the girls yelp and laugh until they're released.

Freed, Kayla grabs Aurore's hand and goes streaming down the stairs with her. "Macey!"

"Yeah?"

"Help they've gone hug crazy!" she hollers as she goes.

"Oh yeah?" They hear the elder girl answer. "Well how do you know I'm not hug crazy down here too?"

Upstairs, straightening their clothes and rising to their feet they all hear Kayla and Aurore's shrieks as Macey presumably tries to trap them in more embraces. "Come back here! You look especially huggable today!"

Frank chuckles. "Our girls, eh?"

Cynthia smiles affectionately at him. "They're the best," she meets eyes with Kat. "The absolute best. We're blessed to call them ours." Katrina nods.

"I should have known better than to take the children,"

Frank frowns. "We all should have, it just….guess we didn't know what to expect, it's been a while since I've seen him."

"Like that," Cynthia frowns. "Kat how long has he been like that?"

"To be honest he seems to just be getting worse…..I don't know what to do for him,"

Frank sighs and grips her shoulder. "Well, you're in the next stage to do something about that now. You already know you're in good hands with Cynthia. She'll set you straight."

"Thank you again, both of you, for…..being with me through this."

The Irvings give her another hug, "Don't mention it," they murmur and leave her there in the room to finish unpacking Aurore's things.

Crane glances up from the drink he's nursing in a back corner when the door opens. False alarm. He's been looking up every minute tonight, waiting for Luke Morales, the only  friendly familiar face that might  help him keep his grounding. Everything now is a whirlwind he can't catch. A courtroom keeps flashing before his eyes. A litany of ways he's an unfit parent.

"last time you worked?"

"Do you attend school meetings?"

"help with homework?"

"Are you sober?"

"How long have you been?"----and it all ends with sole custody granted to Katrina and him cold, desolate, mired in all the pain he won't address properly. All the hurt that festers in him and has turned him down the darkest path. Alone with his tormented thoughts. Not just of infidelity but images that haunt him still from the field. Screaming and bodies and injuries. Terrified faces of civilians and desecrated streets. Things he can't take back. Radio silence and fending for himself in hostile terrain. A death count he'll never be table to tally, of men lost on his side, and theirs. The world he returned to shattered, his prospects dimmed and, there goes the door again, and he looks up.

He pauses. He's seen her before. Once. Last week? Has time been so slow?

The woman enters, casting her gaze around the room, searching. She's clean, crisp. A glaring contrast of what he is not. He looks down at himself in the dark  rumpled shirt and pants he stuffed himself in, not entirely sure now in retrospect how clean they are. Her hair, a crown of curls and waves pulled back loosely. She's wearing a very simple navy sweater, with a round neck, grey slim jeans. Her face, there's no fault to be had in it. Brown eyes, nice cheekbones. Warmest brown skin. Something about her tugs his mind with familiarity. A thing he's forgotten but cannot be remembered what. Behind her, he sees the face of Luke  emerging from holding the door open for her and he strides forward ahead of her, reaching back with his hand for her to take.

Crane notes the way she takes Luke's hand readily, drawing herself closer to him. Outwardly she appears calm but he doesn't miss the way her eyes occasionally flicker.

It's stupid to think anyone here would know about the scene with Orion today, but I feel conscious of it all the same. I tug my sleeves down to cover the bruises on my wrist. I try not to make eye contact with anyone but still I wonder if anyone is looking at me. Did any of these people go to church this morning and notice me walking in put together and appearing later unkept. Was there someone besides Mrs. Crane who might have seen Orion, shaking and yelling at me in the parking lot, and then made themselves scarce. Can anyone tell looking at me that I'm still shaken up by the encounter. That I cling to Luke a little now in a way that betrays me---I'm not use to feeling like I need someone. Like I dread being alone.

I'd tried to tell Luke to go ahead without me, but in the back of my mind I was relieved he insisted on keeping his promise to stay with me. And then I showered and changed and tried not to think of the events of today. Think of anything else, like how I'm going to meet the infamous Ichabod Crane.

As Luke guides me I catch a glimpse of him, and he's not much different than when I first laid eyes on him, though he looks somehow inherently worse, broken, somehow.

He looks how I feel.

The thought lights through me so quick and sharp.

To even think of myself feeling broken makes tears prickle my eyes.

Mr. Crane rises as we approach the table and Luke shakes his hand solidly, releasing me for only a second to reel Crane in and give him solid thumping pats on the back that makes Crane squeeze his eyes shut and emit a choked up sound like a stifled sob. "Hey Crane."

"Luke," he croaks, wiping haphazardly at his eyes and clearing his throat. "Thank you for coming. I……" his voice trails off, lost.

It's an odd thing for me, to see both of the Crane's today. Both in a state of distress. I remember Katrina's tears after intervening with Orion, and now her husband is here, looking wrecked, and I can't help but wonder where is Aurore, how is she amidst this turmoil. Are these the people she goes home to? Is she in the same pain as her parents?

"Anytime Crane, you know I'm there for whoever's in need."

Crane nods and for the first time makes eye contact with me. He squints a little, scrutinizing before rubbing his eyes. "You are a popular resource." he says to Luke, cracking an what one would think from his demeanour would be an unpracticed smile. I'm surprised it appears fleetingly with warmth. Some long discarded remnant of charm.

Luke smiles and gently brings me forward. "This is Abbie Mills, she's….." he looks to me trailing off. What words can Luke use to describe me? Us? "She's amazing." he says at last. His gaze keeps darting between us and I can't think why. "She teaches," Luke continues. "Sorry, Abbie, if you want to continue?"

Straightening my shoulders I extend my hand to shake. "I teach down at the school. Your wife, came in for parent teacher night. I teach Aurore english and music."

Mr. Crane grips my hand, eyes locking with mine,  theirs a curious intensity to his gaze even in his distracted state. "Ichabod Crane. I'm sure you've heard awful things about me. They're all true."

Chapter Text

"Well I guess I shouldn't argue with popular opinion," I reply, caught off balance by the strange introduction and slowly extracting my hand from his. His eyes never leave my face--a dim faraway blue---even as Luke begins to speak.

"Crane, that's not true. Abbie, don't take him to heart, he just."  Luke pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deep. "You want something to eat?" he asks me instead. "To drink?"

My stomach is empty but I don't have an appetite for anything in particular. "I'll eat anything."

Luke nods, turns to Mr. Crane. "You Crane? anything I can get you---not another drink."

Finally tearing his gaze away from me I feel able to move and he turns to Luke, screwing up his mouth. "I don't have an appetite, Luke."

Neither of us are being very helpful to him but Luke gives us each a smile anyway and gestures I should take a seat. "I'll…get something to share. Be right back."As he turns toward the bar Mr.Crane sinks back down into his seat, hand stretching once more for his glass. He looks down at it contemplatively before he lifts it to his lips, draining what remains. I shift uncomfortably. Since getting back in town I've heard so many things about this man, none of them good. Somehow I feel inadvertently woven into his tale even though we've only just officially met. The way he keeps sneaking glances at me does not make me feel any better for it.

I recall Sophie and Caroline's warnings, the way he goes through women---inciting his wife's ire. I wish it was more of a struggle to picture Katrina raging and angry but it's not too far a stretch. I haven't forgotten her hostility that first parent teacher night, although if your husband has made a habit of hitting on your child's teachers I suppose I can't blame her being irritable. And even today facing Orion, coming to my aid, there had been a fire in her eyes that suggested she had fight in her if it comes to that.

Yet compound that with her tears in the restroom and I'm not sure what to believe. Guess in the end, she's not everything she seems, maybe not the deranged madwoman Sophie made her out to be.

Everyone can't be an open book right?

I'm certainly not.

"You teach Aurore"

His voice jolts me out of my thoughts.  "I do, Mr. Crane." I watch his lips press into a firm line. Drunk, I've heard. A malicious cheater. But he looks absolutely torn up right now.  How is it people have painted the Crane's like these ill tempered malevolent people when they're so clearly fragile. Well I guess it comes down to they've hurt each other. Being hurt, abandoned by people you love and trust….I guess that eats at you in a different way, a deeper way.

If I'm  honest with myself I've never gotten over daddy running out on mama with me and Jenny.

A beat before he continues with, "You can call me Ichabod. 'Mr.' has more respect that I have for myself, right now."

"Crane," I counter. Because Ichabod is friendly. And I don't feel friendly tonight. There's a small twitch of his lips, as if he thinks my stubbornness is charming.

"You….like it…. teaching, I mean."

"I do." twisting around in my I seat I pan the room in search of Luke. He catches me looking for him and waves. Guess he's waiting for his order.

"That's, good. That's very good." he nods to himself. I note a tick in his jaw. "The school has, very, fine teachers." the more he talks the scratchier his voice gets and I eye him warily.

"They do." I nod again.

"Scholars, and….veterans…" he grits out. It's only then I notice he's looking beyond, at something, someone behind me.

"Officer"

Luke gives a small salute to Joe Corbin who claps him on the shoulder. "Hey Corbin, how you doing?"

"Got done grading some tests and needed out the house. Don't usually see you off hours, what you up to here?"

Sighing and leaning over the counter to peer in the kitchens Luke wonders what takes his order so long before he answers. "Here with….two friends that need me tonight."

Joe gives a small frown and a nod. "Didn't know you to have friends, per se, officer, sure they're real?" he dead pans and Luke gives him a light shove.

"I know everyone in this town has thought they had me pegged at one point or another, but they've no idea what I'm capable of." Luke laughs. It takes a moment before Joe joins in. After all, he thinks, memory niggling at his brain. The same could be said of him.

Joe Corbin had done a thing he hadn't known he was capable of once, either. He gives a half hearted chuckle and gratefully accepts his drink from the bartender, turning away from the counter. "Small world, one of my colleagues are here tonight."

Luke shifts around. "Yeah wh---"

"Abbie Mills--hey Abbie!"

Behind him Officer Morales eyes widen and he splutters. "Wait how---"

"We work at the school, course I know Abbie, kids new favourite. Abbie!" he calls again.

Impossible. I think.

I want to shrink, I want to vanish. How is it every where I turn someone knows me, calling for me, pulling me back into some sphere where I have to pretend my reality is normal and common place and not the shambles it is. Forcing me to put up the shields I'm too weary for. Fronts I'm too….too battered inside, and, I hiss as I turn my wrists…..sore, to hold up.

"Abbie! hey" the voice draws nearer and I struggle to place it as I begin to turn. At the same time the table scrapes as Mr.Crane pushes it forward, giving himself room to stand and striding out from the seat. His face gone from withdrawn and strange to a barely contained storm cloud.

Luke takes his order in both hands, wide strides to catch up to Joe approaching the table and faltering when he sees Crane rising.

I watch Mr. Crane warily as I rise too and hail Joe Corbin. "Hey Joe!" I call, false cheer and joviality, packaged and unwrapped quick and swift at the ready for moments like these. "What are you doing here"

He's drawing nearer but then his steps falter.

"Joe?"

"Joe, Corbin," a growl sounds from behind me.

No, I think, feeling myself flinch. I can feel it like today, the menace, the anger, boiling temper. It runs down my skin like the rain, it roils through my heart like thunder. When I look back at him, I imagine an amber glint in his eyes and everything inside my being shutters again. Orion. My mind blinks. Orion and his yelling. Thunder cracks. My wrists throb. I keep screaming----

Joe stalls, mouth hung slightly open. A man who's walked into something by accident, but looks more as though he's backing out of what he knew would catch up to him anyway, sooner or later.

"Joe. Corbin." Mr.Crane says again and I reel away, pitching from the table as he crosses the space, fast, too quick.

"You," his voice starts, low, accusatory. "You….it all starts, with you!"

No. I shake my head. I hear Orion's voice ring in my ears.

"You did it on purpose!"

Throwing his hands up in the air Joe speaks calmly, cautiously. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr…."

"Pretend you don't know me." Crane challenges, lunging forward.

I hear a shout, a yell.

A clatter of plates.

I look for the cause of the noise and see food abandoned on the floor in the wreckage of shattered plate. Luke, dodging swiftly between the two men, arms out, facing Crane, speaking in measured tones. "Walk away, Crane," he murmurs.

But he's not listening.

"Pretend you don't bloody well know we served our country together!"

Joe licks his lips, "Crane….that was years ago…."

"And I'm still paying for it!" he screams. Ramming against Luke and snaking a hand out. "You, mangy coward. You dishonourable cur."

I want out of here.

The barbs land and stick. Joe's retreat morphs rapidly into an advance. "You want to see dishonour you look in the damn mirror." he spits. "Running around left and right----"

"I don't need you of all people," Crane laughs mirthlessly. "To lecture me, on morals! good God, no. Is that what you called it crawling on top of my wife? Was that good morals, young Corbin? hmmm?" The fight flickers out for a second and he's left there, heaving and demanding answers.  "Did you think you were….doing something honourable, keeping my side, of the bed warm? Lost in the middle of nowhere," his voice cracks. "No communication, no way to reach base, to call home, you think you did me a favour, ruining the only comfort I would fight to come home to? Did you? ANSWER ME," when he lunges forward again Luke barely catches him as Joe dodges backwards. Cranes  voice breaks into ragged sobs and he crumples on Luke's shoulder. "You came home first, lay, with my wife. Look at you, employed, enlightening young minds, and I…? I, live, haunted. I have, nothing, now! Thank you, for that, JOEY." he shouts. "I bloody well thank you for all of it from my soul."

The bar is silent. Suspended. Tentative, small whispers, start. Joe Corbin's gaze darts around quickly and he clenches his jaw. "Night, Officer, See you tomorrow, Abbie." he says politely and then meets Crane's eyes. "I'm sorry to hear it, Crane. Really am." in the din, his words ring out too clear and crisp as he turns on his heel, forgetting whatever joviality he had planned, marches right back out the doors.

I take a deep breath and look to Luke, still holding the inconsolable man up on his shoulders. I feel a headache rising again. This day is too much, more than I can bare anymore.

"Luke," I rasp. "Please," my cheeks are wet. Dear God when did that start?

Crane's muttering and murmuring into Luke's shoulder while he comforts him. "Breathe man, you've gotta breathe, come on." Luke coaxes.

"Luke," I try again, my voice scratchy and half gone. "Luke, please"

He turns and his eyes find mine at the same time Crane lifts his head. I'm shaken by how swiftly he turned from fragmented spirit to fiery rage and back again like this. The abruptness of it puts me on uneven keel. 

Righting Crane Luke turns toward me. "Hey. You alright?"

"I need to go home. Please."

He looks between us, torn.

Don't ask me, I plead. Please do not ask me to bring this addled, tormented man into my home. I know you must fear for him, he's your friend, but please, Luke you have to see what I do, please don't ask me. My eyes brim and spill over and I look away.

I hear the way Crane's voice goes soft in shock, remorseful. I chance a glance at him, the hand that lifts in my direction as if it crosses his mind he could comfort me. "Miss….Miss Mills…. I've frightened her, Luke, I'm…I'm sorry, I've…..I shouldn't have behaved, like that, I can't afford to behave like that "

"Easy." Luke says, steadying him, but I can feel his gaze on me, Crane's too. "It's okay, Crane, it's….there are things you've got to let out, no one's judging you for that, I'm….I'm not judging you for that okay man?---"

"What's going on here?"

Luke reaches swiftly, flashing his badge. "It's alright, Mabie, it's alright, okay? I've got it under control."

Slowly, the atmosphere of the bar returns.

The broken plate and food cleaned up. The people chatter, exhilarated. The eyes linger. On him, Crane. Through my blurry wet lashes looking at him I am unsure of who he is, fragments and jagged malfunctioning parts. How on earth does he function in Aurore's life.

And why has Luke Morales introduced him into mine?