A/N: I decided to do another set of one-shots based on a song cycle I did at work (I like these. They're fun for me). This time it is "Songs of Travel" by Robert Louis Stevenson, a set of 44 poems written in 1887. Composer Ralph Vaughan-Williams chose nine of these poems and set them to music. The order I am presenting them here is the order they appear in the song cycle, which is not chronological. Again, the fics are what I was inspired to write after reading the poems, not a direct interpretation of the poems.

I The Vagabond

Give to me the life I love,

Let the lave go by me,

Give the jolly heaven above

And the byway nigh me.

Bed in the bush with stars to see,

Bread I dip in the river –

There's the life for a man like me,

There's the life for ever.

Let the blow fall soon or late,

Let what will be o'er me;

Give the face of earth around

And the road before me.

Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me;

All I seek, the heaven above

And the road below me.

Or let autumn fall on me

Where afield I linger,

Silencing the bird on tree,

Biting the blue finger.

White as meal the frosty field –

Warm the fireside haven –

Not to autumn will I yield,

Not to winter even!

Let the blow fall soon or late,

Let what will be o'er me;

Give the face of earth around,

And the road before me.

Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me;

All I ask, the heaven above

And the road below me.

xXx

They lived. Neither of them knew how, but they lived. Moloch was defeated, the world was saved, and they lived.

They weren't supposed to live. Crane and Abbie learned well before the end of the seven years that the two Witnesses were not meant to survive. That they would give their lives to save mankind.

They each dealt with the knowledge in his or her own way. Abbie had a one night stand with Detective Morales which she instantly regretted. Crane got so drunk that when he woke up the next morning (on the floor), he was still drunk.

Personal feelings had been pushed well to the side. Katrina died, and Crane mourned. Then, he moved on. Jenny died, and Abbie mourned (as did Crane). Then, she moved on.

They had to move on. Greater good.

Eventually, they had no lives apart from their mission. Moloch tried to separate them again and again. He would only succeed for short periods of time, but the two Witnesses would always find their way back to one another.

Naturally, when it was all over, Crane's announcement shocked everyone. Especially Abbie.

"I wish to see the rest of this great country of ours," he had declared. Two years in, he had acquired all the necessary paperwork to become a "real" citizen, and even acquired a drivers' license. "I intend to purchase an automobile and embark on a 'road-trip' so that I may personally visit such wonders as the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, as well as re-visit some of my old remembered places. Boston. Philadelphia. Perhaps, one day, I shall make the journey back to England."

"Okay," Abbie had quietly answered, feeling remarkably bereft at his announcement. Okay, I'll just stay here. Alone. No sister, no partner, no career with the FBI... just me and my crappy-ass cop job and my empty house. She pushed her disappointment down, not willing to quash her (former) partner's excitement. She swallowed hard and looked up at him. "Do you want some help buying that car? I know you can drive, but you know nothing about cars."

xXx

Regular police work suddenly became overwhelmingly routine and very boring for Abbie. After battling one of the biggest, baddest demons out there, even "exciting" police work like chasing down an armed robber felt... boring. Unfulfilling.

Captain Irving lasted two days after Moloch's defeat, then decided to retire, going so far as to directly quote Lethal Weapon as he announced to the department that he's "getting to old for this shit."

Abbie thought it was more likely he was as bored as she was. He wasn't that much older than she.

Her personal life wasn't faring much better. She's alone and mostly miserable, but she finds she doesn't want to go out and meet people. She's forgotten how to be sociable, and doesn't care.

Two weeks after Crane left, Abbie is hunched over her desk, scowling over some paperwork. Stupid vandals. I never understood the impulse to—

A pair of large, strong, warm hands land on her shoulders and begin to gently massage the knots she had been busy building as she worked.

Abbie gasps and drops her pen. It rolls across her desk and clatters to the floor.

"Your posture continues to be deplorable, Lieutenant," a soft, heartbreakingly familiar voice speaks from behind her. Her stomach drops.

She can't turn and look at him. She can't let him see the tears in her eyes that give away how much she's missed him.

His cranky demeanor. His superior attitude. His smug little smirk. His condescending manner.

His remarkable intelligence. His unflagging bravery. His bright blue eyes, sparkling with naïve delight. His voice, with its velvety timbre and clipped syllables. The way he pronounces "Lieutenant" like no one else.

The way he listens when she speaks as though every word is fascinating.

The way he can finish her sentences and she, his.

The way he looks at her like she is a precious jewel.

"Abbie," he speaks again, his voice a caress. His fingers still work on her shoulders, finding all the knots, knowing exactly where they are.

"What are you doing here?" Abbie finally asks, her voice a whisper. She reaches up and places her small hand over his. He turns his hand and takes hers, lifting it slightly as he bends down to kiss it.

Abbie can feel his warmth behind her. She can smell his scent. His lips are soft and send a slight shiver through her.

"I missed you." His declaration is simple and heartfelt. She feels his cheek rest on the top of her head; hears him sigh. "I was lost. Even with the amazing GPS system you gifted me, I was still lost because you were not by my side."

Abbie's breath hitches in a small sob. People are openly staring now, but she doesn't care.

"Please, Abbie... look at me," he quietly says. "I have missed your face. Your eyes."

Abbie turns and looks up at him, her eyes glassy. Hesitantly, he reaches out and gently wipes her tears from her cheeks. "You haven't been sleeping," she whispers, noting his haggard appearance. "Or eating."

"When I sleep, I dream of you, and the longing it brings forth is far too painful," he says, pulling her to her feet. "And, you know my opinions about food in this time."

She presses her lips together, torn between crying and laughing. "You mean you still need me to tell you what to eat," she says, choosing to focus on his second statement.

He nods, unashamed. "Come with me, Abbie."

"Crane, I can't... my job..."

"Miss Mills, you are aware of my family's bank account. We discovered it together," he reminds her, one eyebrow hitching upwards.

Crane has plenty of money. Two hundred-plus years is a long time to collect interest.

He takes her hands. "Be with me. Please."

"Are you saying...?" she asks, afraid of the answer. Crane had been gone for a week before she realized exactly why she missed him so much.

Her hands are clasped in his, and he runs his thumbs over her knuckles. "I... I am little more than a vagabond without you beside me. I wander, aimless and lost, yearning for a place where I feel I belong. I realize now that you are my home, Abbie. Wherever you are is where I belong," he confirms, slowly pulling her into the circle of his embrace.

"I missed you so damn much," Abbie finally sighs, leaning into him, the rough wool of his coat familiar and wonderful against her cheek.

"I love you, Grace Abigail Mills," he whispers into her hair. "I did not realize it until I had left your company."

She looks up at him. "I love you, too, Ichabod Crane," she answers. "Figured it out a week ago."

As his lips descend and gently close over hers, Abbie feels her life click back into place. This is where I belong.