the hours after you are gone; (petrichoric) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-01-26 01:05:00 |
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Whenever Abbie Mills was irritated -- whatever the cause, be it herself or something out of her hands -- she had one reaction: she shut down. Her expression stiffened, and she could feel herself responding in clipped tones. This was true whenever she felt too much of most emotions, truthfully, and lately, she’d been feeling too much of everything. For someone who’d spent so much of her life not making close connections to people in fear that they’d find out the truth about her (that she was crazy, just like her sister) and leave, it was unnerving to find herself connecting on such a deep level with someone else. There was fear, certainly, that Ichabod would run for the hills one of these days, just like everyone else in her life had. There was fear that he’d die like Corbin had, and leave Abbie alone once more. That terrified her more than anything else, more than the threat of Moloch taking her soul, more than being hunted by one of the Horsemen. She cared about him more than she wanted to admit, and that was a weakness. That could be exploited, and she could be hurt. That was the real cause of her sour mood. It wasn’t Ichabod, exactly. It wasn’t all the show, or knowing she couldn’t stop what was going to happen to them, or that she couldn’t lessen the pain of losing a son he’d never known. It was more that he’d gotten under her skin. After going to the gun range didn’t help as much as it usually did, Abbie returned to the apartment, put on sweatpants and pulled Corbin’s files out of the box they’d arrived in. The papers were spread across the dining room table, and a glass of wine sat nearby on the counter. Work was always a good distraction from anything that was bothering her (even if that was more work), and she and Ichabod needed to get organized. That’d keep her mind off how he didn’t mean the things he said, and how much it bothered her that he didn’t (that no one did), and how he was married and how that mattered. And it had to be better than thinking about the damn show. There was a certain art to uttering Shakespeare in the presence of females and though Ichabod Crane had oft used the Bard’s sonnets - or Edward de Vere, whoever he was - to his own advantage it was really very inoften he found himself actually meaning it. It was altogether also inoften that he found himself puzzling over his words to come to a full understanding of their meaning because he typically had such clarity - such vision, such belief and passion in his speech - that he needn’t give it too much thought. But as it was - as in everything - Abbie Mills set him back on his heels. Abbie Mills made him question if he were made of any metal other than earth. And as such, upon swiping his key and entering their shared space he paused in the doorway (catching her at her leisure in the kitchen) to give a brief nod of his head. “Lieutenant,” carried crisply across the distance between them before he perched upon a chair opposite her and leaned forward. “Hmmm. You peruse these files much like I peruse Washington’s Bible - to put my mind at ease with things not of a subsequent normalcy.” The sound of the door opening drew Abbie’s attention, and she glanced up, meeting his gaze with an even, neutral one of her own. Then one eyebrow lifted slowly. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Though she tried keep her expression void of anything he might pick up on, anything that might give away how she was really feeling, she couldn’t hide the twitch of a smile at knowing he’d be baffled by what she just said. “Does it ever really put our minds to ease, though, that’s what I’ve been thinking about,” she continued, stepping away from the table finally. There was so much information here that Abbie didn’t know what to do with it all. “Seems all we ever do is run around in circles.” Her frustration was showing, and she let it. It wasn’t just about how strange things had been between them since the date and New Year’s Eve and Katrina leaving. It was about how helpless Abbie felt to do anything about the situation they were in -- here and in Sleepy Hollow. She’d felt the helplessness seeping into her bones ever since she watched Macey get possessed; even though she could see the resolution for herself, watching it made it clear that her life had never been her own. Nothing ever had been. She was just a pawn. Nothing more. “But I guess it’s gotta be better than feeling sorry for ourselves. Even if we never get anywhere.” “ -- Obvious?” with a quirk of his brow, Ichabod determined that certain elements of twenty-first century linguistic eccentricities would long be foreign enough to cause him to wish he could swear and sit his friends down with a primer, requiring them to copy lines. But language, he reminded himself, was a living beast. And if Abbie so enjoyed herself, then Captain Obvious he would be. “Never get anywhere? Tush.” Rising, he placed two steepled fingers upon the document she was reading and cut his eyes to the sofa. “The television was set to record the latest episode of Klondike. As no denizens of said programme have yet found themselves in New York City, I do not mind watching. Come, Abbie. Put the file away and let me show you how one never gets anywhere.” Abbie hesitated, eyes darting from Ichabod to her paperwork and back again. How could she resist that offer? The words in front of her were starting to swim -- or maybe that was the wine. "You really went and looked up which shows you could watch, didn't you?" Typical Ichabod Crane. Exasperating and thoughtful in the same breath. She doubted she would have taken the time to do so, or even been able to sort through all of the so-called sources. She would have stuck to reality television if not for Ichabod. Abbie grabbed her glass of wine and bowed her head slightly, showing she was giving in. "We could watch the Bachelor instead. None of them are gonna show up here either," she suggested, knowing full well what his reaction would be. He'd caught her once. She'd probably never live it down, but there was nothing wrong with enjoying something trashy now and then. "Or better yet - we'll watch your Klondike, and then we'll watch something I pick. Fair's fair." Settling himself into the corner of the sofa, he made a grand gesture toward the remote control as if to say -- ladies first. Because heaven only knew how long he could maintain his composure during rose ceremony after rose ceremony. A rose by any other name would be far sweeter. But he smiled, gainfully placing both feet on the floor and his hands in his lap to suggest willingness. “Yes, Lieutenant. We have an accord.” Abbie's smile widened. "I'll consider that a win for me." One of these days, she was determined to get him invested in something less than intellectual. He'd give in eventually. She was certain of that. And probably when she least expected it, too, she thought. He had a way of doing that to her. One hour turned into two, and before long, Abbie had curled up under a blanket, her legs tucked up underneath her, eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. She hadn't been sleeping well since Ichabod had arrived in Sleepy Hollow, and coming to New York hadn't helped. There was too much to worry about, too much out of control and out of her hands -- the Horseman appearing and disappearing, how he or Jenny could leave at any second, would they even be able to stop the apocalypse at all, what was going on at home -- Her dream came into focus: the first thing she saw was the cabin, and Corbin and Andy. There was warm apple pie, and Abbie felt like she was home again - until she remembered where home truly was. Then the air was cold around her, and shadows moved through the trees, faceless figures wandering aimlessly. There was a church. Katrina. Saying good bye. The door. Moloch. Whatever she'd been worried about before was nothing compared to what was to come. Forget Ichabod and his sonnets. That was nothing. Abbie twitched on the couch, fighting the nightmare in her head. Remember our bond.. She was trapped in a dollhouse now, left behind in a world full of lost souls like hers. Only she wasn't lost anymore. Her fists pounded on the window of the dollhouse for what felt like the hundredth time, but it wouldn't budge. She had to get out. She had to get back to -- "Ichabod!" Abbie’s way of prostrating herself before the television had often drawn a biting comment from Ichabod - that he did not understand it’s interest was one thing but quite the other was his morbid fascination with the lives which it put on display. So for several minutes after Abbie drifted, Ichabod continued to watch the rose ceremony (with several haughty sniffs during the most ‘emotional’ moments) and finally felt his eyelids fluttering. And he did not fight the inclination to sleep, and instead let his head flop upon the cushion. We the penitent with humble heart -- Elation drove him through the dream; a fierce belief that he could rescue his beloved and in so doing stop the second Horseman’s rise. Elation rode high in his breast until it was replaced by the burdensome yoke of guilt. He could feel the fire warm upon his face, feel the scrape of the pencil along the rough edges of the paper. -- upon this threshold do summon thee -- And then the horror of being within and without; the horror of knowing despite best laid plans that someone would remain in the damned chapel, that hope was lost when surety was at its height. He could not and would not believe that he could leave her, could allow her this choice until she was warm in his arms. (Trust our bond.) In mirrored form appear a gateway to the world between worlds. And then there, there came the sickening twist to his bowels. Abbie locked in her doll’s house. Katrina lashed in the boughs of the tree and Henry’s face (oh god, oh god) leering before them. Henry who was Jeremy. Jeremy who is War. And Ichabod, with the roots crawling round his arms, could only suck in lungfuls of air and scream. No sound came out. Nothing but the inching roots and the slowly trickling dirt until -- “ABIGAIL MILLS,” was less than crisp (it was a roar) as in the blue light of the television, he launched himself at her and fell to the perusal of her face with his fingertips. Her alarm seemed to match his own and somehow - somehow - he knew that his words would be comprehended. “Abbie, how could I?” There was no mistaking the emotion behind Ichabod's words, and the way he reached for her told Abbie enough. He'd been plagued with a nightmare too - or worse, she thought. Maybe what she'd seen and felt was reality. Maybe it was their future. It felt more real than any dream she'd ever had. Her stomach did a flip. Was this the same thing they'd all been through before? Abbie closed her eyes for a moment as she savored how warm his fingers felt. Purgatory had been cold and dark, but here her world was full of warmth and light. He was here. Abbie's hands grasped his shirt and pulled him close, invading his personal space as much as she could just because he was there. She leaned her forehead against his, trying to will her heart to stop beating so fast. There was nothing to be afraid of here, she reminded herself. No Moloch, no lost souls, no demons. It was just them. They were safe. They were together. "It was my choice," she whispered, "unless there's something else you need to tell me about." “I will free you from your prison, Abigail. I swear it to you, I will not leave you to be the plaything of Moloch nor shall I rest before --” he took a breath. Their close proximity brought the intemperate beating of his heart into stark relief and with her beside him - warm, vital and scared - he calmed himself enough to bring her within the circle of his arms. “Abbie, my son.” “It’s Jeremy. You know he’s -- he’s the second horseman. War, which you saw rising.” "I know," Abbie insisted, "I know. You'll find me." There was no doubt in her mind that he would come for her as soon as he could. She expected he'd try to find a way to keep both her and Katrina out of purgatory, but she knew he'd find her. "We'll find each other." They could save each other. How exactly, Abbie couldn't say, but she knew they would. A chill washed over her. She remembered the truth of what she saw in the woods that day. "I saw --" Her throat was tight, and her voice croaked slightly. She'd seen the second Horseman rise, and their entire plan had been for nothing. They couldn't stop him because he was already risen. The more they spoke of what they'd seen, the more she knew in her heart that it was true. "I'm sorry. I know you were hoping…" Hoping for what, it was hard to say. Hoping that maybe he'd survived the spell Katrina's coven had placed on him (he had, in a way), hoping that they might be reunited again. Hoping for mercy. She lifted a hand to cradle the back of his head, just like he'd done with her in the church. "I'm sorry." He knew this portentous knot in the pit of his stomach - and as their stories matched, he too matched it to the feeling he’d received before - and to banish it pressed his lips hard to her forehead. Even if he were alone - even if Katrina or Jeremy were never salvageable - and all his hopes were dashed, even then he knew that he would soldier on to ensure her safety at any cost. And it was not an oath he had to make - such a thing, it was easy as pulling his fingertips along her chin to rest upon her shoulders and urge her closer. “I see no reason to provide apologies, Abbie. We’re not --” he took a moment to catch her gaze. “We must do what we can now, and you should rest. I will keep watch.” What can we do from here?, Abbie thought. What they'd seen hadn't happened yet, but it was going to. How could they stop it? How long would she be waiting? Abbie focused on his face and then nodded slowly. She felt like she had run a marathon, and the reward was her soul. They'd figure the rest out in the morning. For now, all she really wanted to do was sit there with him until the sun came up. She allowed herself to be pulled in close, and settled in with her head on his shoulder, nestled into the crook of his neck. "Don't you leave me again. Don't you dare." Abbie knew she was strong enough to handle anything that the apocalypse threw at her, but she didn't want to be without him. Not again. |