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In all of Abigail Mills' short years of life, never did she think she would be a witness to the apocalypse. Never had it crossed her mind that a deranged, over 250 year-old English man would become her closest confidant, her partner. Never could she imagine this until the day a man stumbled into the new world and essentially, her lap.
Now they were here at the end, wondering what to do next. Wondering how to explain the last seven years of tribulation to themselves. Wondering what they meant to each other.
Katrina had helped them in the last battle as much as possible, giving Ichabod the clues he needed, summoning spells from her otherworldly dimension. As the revolutionary and lieutenant have learned, nothing is without consequence. Katrina needed the headless horseman's skull to break free from her limbo, but in a desperate attempt to save Abbie, Ichabod smashed it against a gravestone. Little did he know, he was not only sealing the fate of the horseman, but his late wife.
As they stood in the ashes of their destruction, it occurred to Abbie just how broken this man was, moreover how it was effecting her. This mix of emotions surprised her. She was angry. She was relieved. She was full of discovery, both of self and him. She never felt so alive.
Ichabod Crane was indeed broken. Every part of him felt like a dull ache, body and soul. After years of calculations and confusing directions, his wife was lost to him forever. It left him exhausted and enraged but slightly hopeful if he admitted it to himself. He wouldn't have to anticipate prophetic dreams telling him of coming horrors. Sleeping had already given him cause to be anxious, but as thrashing became a recurring thing he resolved to stay up as long as he could.
One night Abbie even suggested he sleep in her bed (on the complete opposite side of course). He wanted to be calm for her, he wanted to feel calm with her. Until he woke up hours later drenched in sweat, kicking and screaming into his pillow. Once she loosened the pillow from his clutches, he wept until the sun came up, only taking comfort when she draped her arm around him and traced patterns into his back. She steadied him. It was such a rare gesture that he couldn't move at all, in fear that she would wake up and go back to glaring at him.
Ichabod Crane tried not to fall in love with lieutenant Mills.
Now as he stands, lost in ruin, she comes to him. She grabs his hand in both of hers and gauges his reaction. It is a precaution, it is a silent plea.
Those blue eyes she knows so well are somber, but not unwilling. He knows Abigail Mills is not one to take advantage. She kisses his knuckles lightly and flashes a sad smile at the ground. She has to turn from him, because if she doesn’t everything will come pouring out and oh, she wants it to but it just isn't the right time. It never seems to be.
He rests a hand on her shoulder to stop her from going but she won’t turn around. She won’t see the storm brewing there. "You haven't had proper time to grieve, Crane." It’s playful and reminiscent but he knows it’s more than that. It is so hard, but she walks. She hates herself a little for it, but she goes.
Days go by and Ichabod doesn't come to her house. She thinks she’s being noble, giving him this space. The dominant part of her starts to wonder if he misses her too. Just as she resolves to put out an APB for him, there is a series of taps on the door. She knows no one else would be knocking at this hour. She is exhilarated and nervous and filled with trepidation all at once.
As soon as he sees her, the only instinct left is to pull her to him. He hugs her with so much fervor that her feet leave the ground. To both of their surprise, she lets out a squeal and then, a sigh.
"Abbie." It is an exhalation of breath, a name that brings relief.
You never call me that.
He sets her down but still holds fast to his stability. There is so much to be said.
"I couldn't sleep."
Me neither.
"I missed you."
I missed you.
"I stayed in that decrepit cave for three days, wondering if any of this had actually occurred."
Stay with me.
"I wasn't sure if you were real."
I am. We are.
"Are you, Miss Mills? If so, waking up in the wrong century was worth it." She laughs lightly and clutches his jacket harder. It is enough.
He smiles and kicks the door closed behind them. It is red, like the door in her subconscious that welcomed him so long ago. It is red, like her cheeks that beckon to him with a smile.
He gently peels her away and grabs her left hand, kissing the tips of her fingers, her knuckles, all the way to her collarbone. She giggles once he’s traveled to the inset of her ear and it is music to his own.
She is baffled. Seven years. Seven years of fighting and protecting each other and it has taken them this long. She grabs his face and connects them like a puzzle piece that was found alone in the attic. It is so worth it.
Time is endless, it seems. They are unending.
"I tried so hard not to fall in love with you."
"Well, we’ve broken every rule since you ended up in my jail cell. One more infraction is nothing.”
“Now there’s where you’re wrong, lieutenant.”
“Excuse me? See, I try being sappy and you always have something to say.”
He laughs and kisses her once. After a moment, “It is quite accurately the opposite of nothing.”
It is a whisper into the fabric of their hearts, an echo of seven years. It is a fate entwined, a strange road traveled by two. It is everything.