Hey! Co-mod here! Wrote another one-shot. A bit longer than the last one!
Ichabod had grown accustomed to staying in Abbie Mills’ apartment. At first, it seemed improper to have her house him. ‘Hey, you can go back to the cave, but in this generation: you want to sleep somewhere, anybody – no matter the gender – is gonna give you a place to stay’, was her response to his hesitancy. And to put it even more direct: there was the cave and the sanatorium, both of which were uncomfortable lodgings that housed him.
So he chose to stay with her. She had a spare room in her apartment. For the time being, he was to be a guest in her home. Which was fine with him, since he had no mementos or clothes (except for the brand new outfit he and Abbie had procured from the local mall and the bible) to fill the wardrobes or closet. The bed was instantly his favorite thing about the room. Gone were the days of sleeping on beds with rope latticework to hold the mattress. Now there was comforpedic, a mattress that seemed to curve to every part of his body. There was also Egyptian cotton, which seemed a lot softer than the starchy fabric that would graze his skin. So because of this he enjoyed sleeping nude.
As part of his long discarded daily ritual, he would retire early for bed. As he was entering the room, Abbie appeared. She knocked on the door frame. “Please,” he gestured, “come in.” And so she did, shoving her hands into her pockets and looking at him with hesitant eyes.
“I’m gonna be out late tonight,” she stated. This confused him. Since they had become paired (joined spiritually by fate), they never did things without the other. To have her not with him for the night was surprising.
“Do you need an escort?” he asked, turning and grabbing his coat.
“About that,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’ll just be me tonight.”
“You…?” He prompted, leaving the question open.
“No,” she said, breathing a sigh. “Not just me, my ex.”
“X?” Ichabod quizzed. He took this as one of those words that meant something related to the current times. Abbie helped him. “My ex-boyfriend… previous lover.”
Oh! “Previous lover,” Ichabod inquired, “meaning you are not currently courting?”
“No,” she said, “well, we did. Things got complicated and we mutually ended it. Things have gotten quite crazy now with all this” she gestured at the word ‘this’, “and I thought maybe that it was time that I needed someone to…” She was finding her words difficult and messy now. “Anyway, we’re going out tonight. So you’ll be here alone. Is that fine?”
“Yes,” he said, dropping his coat on the bed. “I mean, you have an escort,” he added, stating the obvious (making him feel equally awkward as she was).
“Great,” she said. “Well, I’m gonna get ready and then leave.” She reached into her back pocket and handed a small black object. He took it and inspected it. Ah, the talking box. They called it a phone, or a cell phone. She had taught him how to use it. To which it was pretty easy, hitting coordinated numbers.
“I also wrote down my number,” she said, handing him a piece of paper to which he inspected. “If you need to contact me while I’m out, for any reason, just push those numbers on the phone and hit the green button. I’ll answer.”
Nodding along in agreement, he looked up from them and into her eyes. For a brief moment he caught sight of a glance, an emotion of sadness. She hid it pretty quickly as she left the room. He strode on after her.
“Abbie?” He asked, making her turn.
What was he going to say? What does one say? Why was he saying anything? “I hope your evening goes well.” His words hung between them and she gave a small smile.
“Thanks,” and she turned and walked into her room and closed the door.
Ichabod lay on the bed, glancing at the phone from time to time. If he opened the phone he could see the time. It was nine-forty. He placed the phone on the dresser by the bed and closed his eyes. It did not take too long for him to fall into a sleep. He began to dream.
It was dark. He could smell the air. It reminded him of home, then… He could hear the crickets chirping and he took it to be late. He could feel a pair of hands circle his waist and he sighed. His own hands clasped over them and he turned around so that he was now facing the person who had snuck up behind him. He was stunned to see it was not Katrina but Abbie.
She smiled at him, and then she stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Pulling her close to him and wrapping his hand into her hair, he kissed her. The feel of her lips against his was enough to make him remember how much he enjoyed intimacy. He dove deeper into the kiss, parting her lips with his and seeking out her tongue with his own. She responded just as greedily.
He woke up, sucking in a breath. What on earth was that? Where did it come from? He looked over at the phone, seeing that it was now ten-oh-five. He got up from the bed, still dressed in his clothes, and walked out of his room and down the small hall to the large sitting room.
“Abbie?” He called. Getting no response, he relaxed a bit more. Running a hand through his hair he slowly fell into the chair in front of him. Resting his head against the top of the chair, he looked up at the ceiling.
It was a strange feeling he was experiencing. In the dream, though knowing it was Abbie, he insinuated the kiss. And he wanted more of it…
Tagged as: ichabbie. Ichabod Crane. Abbie Mills. fanfiction. Sleepy Hollow.
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