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She jumped into the car and drove like fury. It was a short ride, but damn, the meeting she had been forced to attend had felt like the longest hours of her life - AND it took half an hour longer than she expected. She couldn't sit still in her chair and honestly thought about sliding down to the floor, rolling to the door and bolting, like she was in some imaginary hostage situation. It didn't feel imagined.
She revved the car and her thoughts, like her vehicle, jumped forward. He was right: she should get something with more horse powers. If the news were what they desperately hoped for, then...
No, not IF. It HAD to be positive. He had to stay. But if - IF - he had to leave, it would be for a few months. Jenny and Joe would take over fighting for the archives. She would tell the bureau to fuck it one more time and go with him the UK this time. If.
Her Crane. She would never let him leave her again. They had managed to postpone and postpone and postpone the demolition of the archives more times than she cared to count. Finally, last month, when they had held a rally in front of the city hall, the town council had assured him that if he was ready to take the responsibility for the archives and "The Hudson Valley Armory and Archives" and IF he got the citizenship, then the job was his.
It had felt like all 144,000 inhabitants of Sleepy Hollow had been on that rally. At least 1,440, which was enough for Abbie's policeman instincts, if something supernatural turned up. Even Zoe was there; looking surprisingly happy and telling her, Abbie, to not give up, 'because he was ready'. Then looking meaningfully at Crane, before she winked at them both and left. Crane had blushed furiously when Abbie looked at him.
She had pushed it away, filed it in her own personal Crane-file in her brain archive. A large and shadowy part of her brain, that quite honestly threatened to take over the rest of her. A part of her brain that had kept her sane in the catacombs and led her to balance again, afterwards. The fact that 'Crane on the brain' was her lifeline was something she had not only gotten used to, but also acknowledged more and more. Not so shadowy anymore.
She needed him. He would stay. With her.
The tires screeched when she reached the parking lot. She got out, ran from the car and into the archives.
If he couldn't stay... if he had to leave and come back...
I'll go with him. I'll take him back home again - physically, this time. I'll goddamn ask him to -
She was inside their sanctuary. She stopped abruptly, short of breath, and turned. He stood in front of the pulpets and desks, looking more serious than she had ever seen him. Regarding her solemnly and with resignation.
She lost her breath completely. Her face fell.
No. No. No no no no no...
She tried to say his name, but her voice wouldn't even produce a pitiful cry.
He lifted his hands as if he was showing off a new coat - one that always looked like his last one.
"Behold," he said slowly and gravely. Then he paused.
Abbie felt faint.
"Ichabod Crane," he continued.
Then he smiled. The bastard smiled.
"American," he concluded with a flourish of his hands.
She drew breath again and let out something between a sob and a curse. Then she ran into his open arms, flung her own around his neck and punished his big, teasing smile by kissing him with her open mouth.
He nearly dropped his hold on her, but the very next moment she was pressed to him in a way that was different from their usual hugs, and he groaned as he returned her kiss with ardour. Her feet had already left the ground and her hard, demanding lips turned soft, almost submissive, as he sat her down on one of the high desks.
She felt him draw back a little, but she grabbed on to him harder; her arms locked harder around his neck and her legs around his waist. With a moan, she shameless plunged her tongue into his open mouth and his arms instantly clutched her even tighter.
Hold me, she silently begged as they kissed again. Hold me now and always.
One of his hands cupped the back of her head and he turned his own just enough to plunder her mouth even deeper. Her hands grabbed his hair in response and he moaned desperately. His other hand was pressed on her back and slid down to her round and firm ass. He grabbed it and pulled her up, up against him, so that he could have her whole butt cheek in his large hand. The other hand was quickly down on her other cheek and she was pressed against his chest.
She rolled her hips against him in appreciation of his firm grip. The core between her legs had been throbbing with lust before she had even left the meeting at the bureau. She just couldn't deny it any longer. It had been a mixture of anxiety, nerves and that annoying desire that always vibrated in response to him. Now, she relaxed and accepted it, and she sent it to him with her whole body.
She was rewarded with a softer groan and a softer kiss, that was slow, so slow, and deliberately caressing her lips. His kisses drove her crazy. The good crazy, she realised. The crazy she had always known his kisses would be and feel. The crazy that she had feared all the same, because crazy was crazy. Right?
Wrong. Not this kind of crazy. Not kissing-Crane-crazy. That was good. Oh, God, it was so much more than good-crazy. It was the crazy she needed for her survival, even for her sanity. It was them-crazy. Love crazy.
While she tried to follow her jumbled train of thought, his lips followed the corner of her lips, her jaw, and trailed down her neck; nipping and sucking. She sighed in ecstasy.
"My American Crane..." she whispered.
He stilled and lifted his head. He looked ruffled, almost drunk, as his glazed eyes met hers. His pupils were always dilated these days when he looked at her. In her own haze, she couldn't even detect if they were still blue.
"Yes," he whispered back, licking his pink lips. "Your American Crane. Yours, Abbie. Completely yours." And he smiled that rare smile of his, the one that was both shy and goofy.
"My own..." he began hesitantly and cupped her cheek.
"...Lieutenant, crazy in love," she filled in, informing him and pronouncing it like he did.
"I... beg your pardon?" he asked slowly, amazement all over his features and in his voice.
"You heard me," she whispered and grabbed the lapels of his coat, intent on proving it with more kissing.
He gladly permitted it for many, passionate minutes. Then he broke off.
"Indeed, I do believe you," he mumbled fervently against her lips. "It sounds like a whole, new name. Is it? Lieutenant Crazyinlove?" he asked before kissing her again. "Or is it: Lieutenant - comma - crazy in love?"
"Crane..."
"In either case, I will write Miss Beyoncé and thank her - "
"Oh, shut up and kiss me again."
He acquiesced with enthusiasm.