The stench of whiskey was strong as Abbie sat at the bar alone, remembering everything that Sheriff Corbin had done for her, mourning the only real father she had ever known. She knew she'd had enough. Her stomach rolled and pitched and her vision had blurred, but spurred on by the stupid bravado that comes with liquor, and the Punch Brother's singing Rye Whiskey on the juke box she indicated to the bartender-

"One more, thanks." She had to close one eye to get a good look at the 20-something year-old college student who had been pouring her drinks all night.

"I said the last one was it, Lieutenant, are you gonna make a liar out of me? You really should go home." He was sympathetic, which was cute and all, but not what Abbie needed right now.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. THIS is my last one coming now and if I don't leave, you get to drive me home in the squad car and use the siren. Whaddya say?" She pouted her lips and then grinned, tilting her head to the side and raising her eyebrows. "Come ooon..."

"Fine, but this really is the last. You've finished all the Jamieson's now anyway."

"What kind of podunk bar runs out of whiskey?" Mills was getting belligerent and stupid now, and she knew it, but she did not have the strength to shut herself up.

"Apparently, one in which you are a patron, Lieutenant." That voice. Crane was standing right behind her and she knew that this was the end of her night. He had come to collect her, although why he thought he had the right, or the duty to do so was beyond Abbie. She slumped over the bar, head on her forearm and groaned. It was a deep sound of boredom and frustration, before she dragged herself upright again, turning to look the walking antiquity in the face.

"Whadda you care, Ichabod...?" She slurred, one eye closed and head tilted, trying to focus on his face.

"Well, if I were completely forthcoming, I would have to say that in truth, I had somewhat looked forward in partaking in some whiskey myself. Detective Mike told me that this Jamieson's brand of whiskey is the best, but now I shall have to go without it. I have not had a stiff drink in over 200 years, and all things considered lately, I felt that I needed one." Ichabod slipped his lithe frame into the seat next to Abbie with a concerned and thoughtful look on his face.

"Good sir, whatever you think an old fashioned man may like shall be drink enough for me." The bar tender shrugged, turned around and grabbed a bottle of Ardbeg 10yr-old scotch. The man seemed old-fashioned enough for a good quality drink, and he didn't look like he knew how expensive it was, which was good for the bar he supposed. The bar tender placed the glass, with two fingers of his best scotch before Ichabod who nodded in thanks.

"So, Miss Mills, it would appear as though you are drinking alone. Well, cheers." Ichabod raised his glass to Abbie and took a sip. His eyebrows immediately raised. He looked down into his glass with a look of amazement and then over to the bar tender. "Sir, your technique is utterly marvellous! I have never tasted anything so delicious. The last drink I had tasted as though it had passed through the bladder of a swine and was full of chewy malt that could not be sieved. Good God man, you are a master of distillery! What do you call this?"

"It-it's just Ardbeg. It's made in Scotland. I just order it from the suppliers. Rich folk seem to like it."

"Well I can see why. Marvellous, please, may I have another. Lieutenant Mills will pay for it." The bartender smiled brightly and poured another two fingers for Ichabod, whose attention had now focussed on Abbie Mills. The fact that she was picking up the bill did not seem to faze her.

"At the risk of sounding incredibly antiquated and out of touch with this new world I am in, I do not think that it is proper for you to be quite so drunk in public. In my day only prostitutes did such things, and considering the details of their occupation, one could hardly blame them." Although his tone was chiding, his face was filled with concern.

"Well in MY day, Crane, we drink when we're sad, and man or woman, there is nothing wrong with it. I am not a prostitute, but I am not proper." The last word was spat out of Abbie's mouth with ferocity. She was humiliated by her behaviour, he could tell, and yet in her defiance, she refused to allow Ichabod to judge her.

"I never thought to insinuate such a thing, I am sorry. I simply meant that it is not usual behaviour, and I suspect, is not your usual behaviour."

"No, Crane, it isn't, but I've had a bad few weeks. Least of all my problems is your crazy ass all up in my shit, causing me trouble. I wish I had never met you." Abbie regretted the words the moment they had left her mouth and she looked up at the man she had insulted with such sadness and hopelessness that he could not be offended.

"Well, meet me you did, my dear Miss Mills, and I fear that I shall now have to escort you home as your drink is finished and I am also quite sated." Ichabod deftly knocked Abbie's glass aside for the bar tender to take as he spoke and in her haze, Abbie thought that she had finished it.

"Thank you... what'syername?" She slurred at the bar tender.

"George, Lieutenant, George Reed." The young bartender looked at Ichabod with a look of sympathy. He'd seen enough patrons throw up in his bar to know that Mills was only minutes from doing so. He turned to Ichabod and warned- "Make sure you got a bucket or something in the car, she's gonna blow any minute now." Abbie looked at the bar tender again, a wry smile on her lips.

"You're cute, you know that? I could just eat you up... Any time you want to have a bit of fun you call-"

"Abbie! I think that's quite enough!" Ichabod dragged the intoxicated woman away from the bar and towards the door. He wasn't sure if the burning on his cheeks was dismay at Abbie's wanton behaviour or the jealousy he didn't expect to feel. He placed her in the front seat and strapped her in, getting behind the wheel for only the fourth time, and slowly driving them to her apartment.

Thankfully, Abbie had a strong stomach and had so far not 'blown' as the bar tender had put it by the time Ichabod let them into the house. She was, however, completely passed out and he found himself carrying her into her bedroom and laying her on the bed. He took off her shoes and her jacket, and tucked her in. As he went to leave he noticed her hair clip and took it out, thinking that it would be painful for her to roll onto in the night. Abbie's hair splayed out on the pillow and over her face and for the second time that night, Ichabod's cheeks burned. She let out a sigh in her sleep which moved the hairs in front of her face, so he tucked them behind her ear, and before knowing what had possessed him, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

"Goodnight Miss Mills."

Abbie woke the next morning with a ferocious hangover. She had no memory of how she had gotten home, or how much she'd had to drink but she was impressed with herself for managing to get her shoes off and hair out before she collapsed.

You, Abbie Mills, are in independent woman, she thought wryly, while trying to control her stomach. Knowing full well the power of a good wash, Abbie jumped straight into the shower and let the hot water soothe her aching body. She washed multiple times, reaching out of the shower to grab her toothbrush, trying to get the smell of whiskey of her skin and the taste from her mouth.

Ok, eat something, then you can puke she told herself. This morning was not pretty and she certainly felt remorse for last night's shenanigans. As he towelled off and then moisturised, trying to make herself feel more human, she had a brief memory of Crane at the bar. She couldn't quite remember though and hoped that she hadn't done anything to offend him. His sense of propriety was stifling, but she found herself always attempting to behave in a way he would approve of. She scoffed at herself, like he gives a shit really, anyway.

As Abbie padded towards the kitchen in her favourite lacy underpants, the ones where half her ass hung out, and her tits were at their best in the matching push-up bra, hair wet around her shoulders, she thought about food and tried to be enthusiastic. Dry toast, she thought, that will be enough I think. As she reached for the bread she heard a noise from the lounge, like fabric dropping to the floor and all her senses went into overdrive. She crept over to her holster, which was hanging from the edge of her dining chair – that was a protocol fuck-up if she'd ever made one – took off the safety and slowly approached the source of the noise with her weapon at the ready. As she rounded the couch with nerves on edge, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw a man sleeping on her couch. Worse still, was the realisation that it was Ichabod.

Shit! she thought, as she recognised him. As she was about to try to move away, Ichabod's eyes sprung open and he shouted in fear at the gun aimed at his face.

"Good God, Lieutenant what are you-" Crane's sentence stopped dead and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Mills in her best Victoria's Secret underwear. She was breathing heavily as she lowered the gun, and for a moment had forgotten her state of undress. As her chest moved and her diaphragm muscles rippled Ichabod Crane was utterly speechless. For the third time in 24 hours his cheeks reddened and he began to stutter "I-I'm sorry, I thought you'd remember, I took you home. I-I wanted to make sure you were alright." After babbling for a few moments he finally shook himself and had the decency to cover his eyes.

Only then did a nauseous, groggy and hung-over Mills remember what she was, or rather was not, wearing. She let out a groan that said everything. "Oh shit, what have I done, so humiliating, kill me now." She ran to her room and slammed the door shut and then had to run again to the ensuite to throw up whatever was left in her stomach. When she left her bedroom again, this time dressed in multiple layers despite the heat, Ichabod Crane was gone, and a note was on the kitchen table. It simply said "I am so sorry to have intruded. Please accept my humblest apologies." Despite the humiliation of the morning, Abbie smiled to herself. I bet he hasn't seen anything quite like THAT before. Welcome to the 21st Century, Mr Crane! With that Abbie was over the embarrassing little incident, but she feared it would take Crane some time to come to terms with it.

As he scribbled his apology note for Abbie, Crane's hands shook and his gut clenched in horror. How had he so badly miscalculated? To stay in a single woman's home, and not make it abundantly clear that he was there was so stupid. He should have known that in her own home, Abbie may not dress completely of a morning (he certainly did not), and that this whole situation was so absurd and so much of his fault that she would surely never speak to him again. For a lady to be seen in her undergarments was such a humiliation for them both. Crane's whole face and neck burned red, and the guilt sat like a rock in his belly. He could not get out of there quickly enough. As he grabbed his coat and shut the door quietly, he let out a breath that he did not realise he had been holding in a short, sharp ha, and then took another deep breath, trying to control his breathing and trembling. He ran his hand through his messed up, untied hair and took just a second to compose himself.

In that moment after he had closed the door, whilst still standing before it, Crane for the first time had a moment to process what he had seen. Abbie Mills was standing before him clad only at the hips and the bosom in black lace. He had seen such garments on the TV box, but he had averted his gaze. This time he was caught so unawares that he had an eye-full. Abbie's breasts had risen and fallen as she breathed, and her tight muscles had all contracted at the perceived threat of an intruder. The look of utter shock on her face, however, was at odds with her body. Her brown eyes had widened, her lips had pouted into an 'oh' and she had never looked more exquisite. Crane had only ever seen Katrina naked, and she was beautiful, but the exotic allure of Abbie's dark, smooth flesh was undeniable. Her body was so strong, yet her womanly shape was still rounded where it counted. As she turned and ran he saw the lower half of her buttocks below the lace, and her round, pert backside was almost too much for him to think on. He shook himself and realised that he had become hot under the collar once again. With that he left Abbie's house and headed towards his motel room.

It was a week before Abbie finally went to find Crane. It had been long enough, she thought, and it was time to put the whole 'Abbie in underpants' saga behind them. She knocked on the door of his motel room and waited for what seemed to be an inordinately long time (in truth it was about 30 seconds) for Crane to open the door. He obviously did not expect her as he opened it with gusto and a smile on his face

"Ah Mike, you are back with the..." his sentence stopped short as he realised that his visitor was not Mike.

"Oh, Miss Mills, my apologies, I did not expect you." He immediately averted his gaze and his unwillingness to look at Abbie upset her. Previously they had shared such a friendly platonic intimacy and now that was apparently gone. Instead of looking her in the eye as he used to, he was making careful study of the fibres in the carpet.

"No-I'm sorry. This is a bad time, I can come back. I didn't mean to intrude, I just thought we should... you know. I mean I think we need to talk." Suddenly Abbie was embarrassed and vulnerable all over again, even though she had gotten over the whole thing almost immediately. It had become clear to her how humiliated Ichabod was.

"I brought you doughnut-holes..." Abbie held up the bag of horrendously over-taxed baked goods and tried her best 'we-can-be-friends' smile.

Ichabod nodded and stepped back from the door, letting Abbie enter. He did not close it, something that he had never done before. Abbie looked irritably at Crane, and then the door, deciding that he needed to modernise-and fast- so she stood back up and slammed the door. Ichabod jumped at the sound and looked startled. Abbie pointed at the chair and the small table in the corner and sat opposite Ichabod, with only part of the table between them.

"Miss Mills, I simply thought that an open door would indicate nothing untoward was happening and that..." Abbie cut Ichabod off mid-sentence.

"Look. I get that you're embarrassed. I'm embarrassed. These things happen, though, and to ruin a perfectly good... partnership over something so silly is just stupid." Abbie had not expected to come on so strong, and she was pretty sure that yelling at Crane was not going to help.

"I had no intention of ruining anything Lieutenant. However I was certain after a few days that you were angry at me for my part in this and so I decided to give you time. It was not my place to approach you. I understand that the world has changed, but please understand that I cannot become a new man overnight. I have only ever seen one other woman in such a state of undress and that was my wife, and even then, those occurrences were only on... special occasions." Ichabod was still not making eye contact although his candour gave Abbie hope.

"Can we just, I don't know, can we just pretend it never happened? Go back to what we were? I am grateful that you obviously took me home that night, and you didn't take advantage of me, or anything like that, and I don't want you to feel bad. I should learn to put some clothes on now and then."

"Take advantage of you? What would you expect me to do?" Ichabod had become stuck on the least important part of the conversation.

"Well, I don't know. Some men take advantage of drunk girls. They take their clothes off them and sometimes do horrible things."

Ichabod was mortified and for the first time looked her dead in the eye. "And you would expect this of ME?" His voice raised half an octave at the end of the sentence and Abbie could see she was losing him.

"NO! That's why I said that you didn't. That was good. Shit. Can we start again?" Abbie was frustrated and feeling helpless.

Ichabod was silent for a moment.

"If I am honest, men have always done these things. They did them in my time too. I'm sorry to have upset you yet again."

"You didn't upset me, I just meant to say can we forget it and start again? It's just as much my fault for prancing around in my underpants."

"I shall be perfectly honest if you do not mind, Lieutenant." Crane looked her in the eye again and she found the moment unsettling and felt the air thicken.

"I shall never forget what transpired that day. I could try until the day I die and I will never be able to erase from my mind what I saw. Nor should I want to. I may be an old fashioned man, but I am still a man, and to expect me to forget a beautiful woman standing before me wearing nothing but a few scraps of lace is akin to asking a poor man to forget a buried fortune. It is utterly absurd. I find myself without a wife and without any friends. I will not forget, but I ask you to remain my friend, even with the knowledge that I find you... exquisite. Perhaps you are right about more clothing, however. I cannot guarantee self-control if you were to appear to me as such with regularity." At the last sentence his eyebrow arched ever so slightly and a smile played just a little on his lips.

Abbie was shell-shocked at his honesty. For a moment she simply stared at Ichabod, dumbfounded. He had called her beautiful, he wanted to remember it. It had not been disgusting or obnoxiously modern for her to appear as she does and he had found her attractive. She did not know how to feel or what to say. His blue eyes burned into her and for the first time she realised that the reason she had gotten over the incident so quickly is because she had wanted him to see her. She wanted him to know what was underneath her authoritarian exterior and see her as a woman, and he had. Had Mike not knocked on the door, neither Abbie nor Ichabod knew what would have happened. Both of them jumped in their chair, startled, as if caught in some inappropriate action.

"Yo, yo, yo, Ichy, open up bro!" Mike's deep voice boomed from outside the door.

"He insists on calling me Ichy. It is infuriating but the more I protest, the more often he uses the term." Ichabod bristled as he stood and strode to the door. As Crane let Mike in, the mood in the room changed remarkably, as Mike in his ignorance of the heated conversation held moments before greeted Mills warmly and asked if she was staying. He was going to teach Ichabod how to play an X-Box and he thought it would definitely be the funniest thing he'd attempted so far.

Abbie politely declined, needing time to comprehend everything that had just happened. She glanced at Crane as she left, a small self-conscious smile playing at her mouth.

"Bye boys. I'll see you tomorrow, Crane?"

"Tomorrow Lieutenant, yes. Tomorrow."

Abbie was so caught up in her confused thoughts that she hardly noticed the room service guy at her cart as she left, bumping a bottle of cleaning fluid off the cart as she walked by.

"Sorry sir," she mumbled as she picked it up and put it back on the cart, wiping the dribble off her fingers and onto her jeans.

Abbie stood in the kitchen, mindlessly staring out the window while waiting for her microwave meal to heat up. She could not get her conversation with Crane out of her head. He had an out, he could have agreed to just forget it and start again, and that would have been it. But he had to go and praise her, call her beautiful and exquisite. Nobody had ever called her that before and it made her stomach flutter every time she thought of it. All through his confession he looked her dead in the eye and it felt like he was daring her to look away. She couldn't. The tension in her chest and her stomach had been there all day and she resolved to use her often-neglected gym membership to go beat the daylights out of a boxing bag.

Just as her microwave dinged her doorbell rang. She sighed and rolled her eyes thinking if it's those Jehovah's Witnesses again, I'm gonna have to scare the crap out of them. Dinnertime every single damn time. She swung the door open with an impatient look on her face only to be greeted by a visibly nervous Ichabod Crane. His hands were stuffed into his jacket, although it clearly did not stop him fidgeting, and he was shuffling his feet, looking at Mills like a small boy about to tell his father he'd smashed a lamp.

"I feel that I was too forward today, and I am sorry. It was not my place to comment on your appearance or to use the stretching of an olive branch as an excuse to indulge in such depraved conversation. I have once again insulted you, when you have been nothing but a gracious lady toward me at all times. I do not know what came over-"

Mills had heard enough. Before Crane could talk his way out of his attraction to her, and before she lost her nerve, she grabbed him by his coat and pulled him towards her, claiming his mouth with her own. At first Crane was utterly shocked and stood there but as Abbie deepened the kiss, seeking entrance to his mouth with her tongue, he kissed her back before breaking away. His breath was ragged and ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair.

"Miss Mills, I- Where do I begin," he stammered, with a bewildered and excited smile on his face.

Abbie immediately regretted her rash action. "I'm sorry, that was improper of me, I should not have kissed you. Here I was telling you not to ruin anything and I have ruined it myself."

"But Miss Mills, you told me yourself, you are not proper, nor would I want you to be." Ichabod crossed the threshold of her house and swooped Abbie into his arms, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist and instigating the most intense kiss Abbie had ever experienced. She did not know what she had expected of Crane, in terms of kissing and general love-making, but her first impressions were of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

He carried her towards the kitchen table, placing her on top, without ever breaking the incredible kiss. His tongue gently stroked hers, and he would nibble on her lower lip before licking it, almost to soothe any hurt he had caused and it drove her mad. Abbie decided to let him control where this was going. She knew what she wanted, but she did not want to push him too far. Perhaps he was a one-base-at-a-time kind of guy, and although her whole body screamed for a good hard fucking, she wasn't about to screw this up.

Abbie's hands were tangled in Crane's hair and she had come to the conclusion that she was a huge fan of his hair. His hands meanwhile had cupped her face and held the back of her head. After a moment or two Crane pulled gently on Abbie's hair, pulling her head back, and deepening the kiss. The groan he forced out of her mouth surprised them both. He pulled away from her and looked longingly into her eyes, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. He smiled indulgently at her and simply said

"If you want to stop, I..."

"Don't you even dare," was all Abbie could respond with before she grabbed his ass and pulled him towards her, feeling the bulge in his trousers against her. That was enough permission for him and he picked her up again and carried her to the bedroom. She could feel his heart beating in his chest and his eyes never left her. Crane flopped Abbie onto the bed and lowered himself on top of her kissing down her neck and chest, pausing at her navel to pull up her shirt. She obliged and let him take off her tank top, feeling self-conscious under his gaze. She must have blushed because he clicked his tongue at her.

"You have nothing to feel embarrassed about Abbie, you are perfect." As if to prove his point, Ichabod endeavoured to kiss every part of her, or so she thought. As he kissed around her bra she let out a short giggle when she realised she was wearing the same set of underpants that he had seen her in. He had clearly noticed himself. He pulled the bra down and devoured her exposed breasts, kneading one whilst the other became a play-thing for his tongue. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, and then closed his mouth over it, biting gently. Abbie twisted and moaned under him and every time she did, she felt him smile against her skin, his beard scratching her gently. She tried to push against his bulging pants but he kept moving and making it impossible. She tried to flip them and take control but he overpowered her and kept her still. He was torturing her.

Slowly, achingly slowly he made his way down to her navel and the waistband of her pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them off her legs, licking, nipping and kissing as he went. Abbie was a quivering mess and by the time he had made his way to her inner thighs and pulled aside the fabric of her panties covering her core, she was gripping his hair so tight she was beginning to hurt him, although Crane didn't mind the adverse sensation. Suddenly he stopped and after a few moments Abbie opened her eyes and looked down, wondering what the hold up was. As soon as her gaze met with his piercing blue eyes, he buried his face between her legs, never breaking eye contact. Abbie thought that she would pass out from the pleasure but couldn't tear her eyes away from his. The intimacy of staring into the eyes the man who had saved her life countless times already, who had given her emotional comfort when no other person could and who she knew would never be doing any of this without true feelings behind it, while he licked her core, sucked on her clitoris and lightly grazed his teeth against the most sensitive part of her entire body was so intense she could hardly bear it.

When he slipped a finger inside of her and crooked it upwards slowly and deliberately he completely undid her and she came, legs trembling, hips bucking, fingers grasping and screaming into his mouth, and it was the most erotic and exciting thing Crane had ever experienced. He was utterly pleased with himself, and with the fact that he had not lost 'the touch' after 200 years. Women still worked the same. Good to know.

When Abbie had stopped trembling with the after shocks Crane found her staring at him again and he finally let her move as he crawled upwards, kissing her thighs, then belly, then breasts and then her neck and ears. She could smell herself on him and in his beard and she kissed him fiercely, tasting herself on his lips and enjoying the thought of him so clearly enjoying her. She gently pulled his hair so his ear was next to her lips, nibbled his ear lobe and said "your turn" in a low whisper.

It was Crane's turn to groan as she flipped him over and pinned him to the bed, giving him the same attention that she had given him. As she made her way down his long and lean body, taking off his shirt – how had he stayed clothed this long?! – And then his pants, Abbie enjoyed learning all of his scars, especially his memento from the horseman, soft spots, ticklish spots and finally she made her way to his crotch, where he was straining the fabric. She undid the tie and pulled down his pants and could not help but gulp. He stood erect and hard as rock, clearly he had been ready for some time and as she grabbed his cock he gasped, closing his eyes and concentrating on pacing himself. For a moment, an evil thought crossed her mind to finish him quickly but she thought better of it, favouring the torture he had devised for her.

Once again their eyes locked and Abbie took him into her mouth. He groaned with his eyebrows furrowed, bringing a hand to his head as if to steady his mind and his hips involuntarily bucked; but as before, neither of them looked away as she slowly sucked him into her mouth and released again and again. It did not take Crane long to beg Abbie to stop. He desperately did not want to ruin the moment and he wanted to be inside of her so badly. As she licked from the base of his shaft to the tip in one final mischievous ministration, Crane grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her upward and on top of him. He needed no guidance and slipped easily into her slick, wet core. He wrapped his arms around her waist and as she arched her back, pulled her down onto him, completely burying himself inside her. This was too much for Crane. He held her hips down onto him with one hand and cupped her face with the other, leaning in for a soft, slow and passionate kiss. It gave him the moment he needed.

Abbie must have known because she started moving her hips in circles, something he had not experienced before and once again he found him gasping along with her. She pushed him back flat onto the bed and rode him hard, Crane speechless at the beautiful woman bouncing on top of him. He knew he would not last, not after so long without the touch of a woman, so he reached to her clitoris and helped Abbie along. As her thrusting became more erratic and her legs began to shake, Crane took over, holding her hips tightly, and guiding her hand to her own core so that she could reach her perfect orgasm. He flipped them over one last time and lifted Abbie's legs up over his hips and thrust into her so hard he thought he might hurt her but Abbie kept spurring him on

"Please, faster, oh God, don't stop. I'm so close, just a little harder." He didn't think he could go any harder and just as he lost control, he felt Abbie's entire core tighten around his shaft and she came again, screaming his name and dragging him along with her. He let out some unintelligible sound along with her name. Ichabod wasn't sure how long he stayed collapsed on top of Abbie but eventually he rolled off of her, his seed spilling onto the bed between them. Abbie lay on her back, still trembling with the last few shudders of her orgasm, as he traced nonsensical pictures over her breasts and stomach. Ichabod kissed her again, gently and sweetly, with one finger under her chin, lifting her face to his, before letting her fall into a deep sleep.

DING! The sound of the microwave brought Abbie back to reality and she shuddered with the realisation that she had been daydreaming. She had been daydreaming about Crane. Her heart was pounding and her core was wet and hot, aching to be touched. Abbie had never been one for daydreaming, and had never been so involved in a fantasy that she had no idea it wasn't real. Something about this was different, something about it was wrong. Not the fantasy itself, although probably far-fetched considering that Crane was obviously not over his wife (and how could he be, as far as he was concerned three weeks ago they were married and in love) and their relationship as it stood was something worth protecting.

There was something wrong here and she immediately thought that she had to tell Crane. That thought only lasted two seconds. How do you tell a man whose manners and sense of decorum are from the 18th century that you are having waking sex dreams about him and want to pin him to the floor and fuck his brains out? Even worse, how do you then explain that there is something fundamentally wrong about that? How to make someone uncomfortable and then insult them in one quick move. Abbie buried her head in her hands, what was going on?

"Dispatch, that address again, please?" Abbie was in a bristly mood and the new girl on dispatch and her quiet voice were getting on her nerves.

"499 Wayfarer Parkway, over."

"Wayfarer. Oh, I thought she said… I don't even know what. Who puts a girl with a mumble who can't yell on dispatch? Far out." Abbie was irritable and tapping constantly on the steering wheel.

"Lieutenant, are you all right? You seem quite on edge today." Abbie sighed and looked towards Crane. He had such a look of concern on his face that it was making her crazy.

"Yeah I'm fine, I'm just not sleeping well. I keep having… never mind. I'm just not sleeping." She seemed embarrassed and clearly did not want to divulge any further.

The last few days had been tense between them. Abbie felt so weirded out by her fantasy involving Crane, and wanted to talk about it, but every time she tried she couldn't muster the courage. Maybe she just really liked him. That didn't explain her completely zoning out though, and the feeling that something was wrong with her. She kept losing time, as she called it, and every time she had a daydream about him. Each one was more intense than the last, as if there was a developing sexual relationship between them, but only in her head.

"I wanted to ask you again about You-tube." Crane pulled her out of her musing with his hilarious mispronunciation of the most popular website in the world.

"Yeah, what about it." Abbie was glad for the distraction if she was honest.

"Where does this video come from? Is it the same as from the TV-box? Can anybody make this video moving picture? How does it work? I have so many questions." He seemed utterly perplexed and frustrated.

"You know what, Crane. I bet you can find the answers to all of those questions… on YouTube."

"My, how very Meta." Crane had been reading Wikipedia like a madman and had been particularly interested in philosophy and art-theory post Kant. He had announced himself to Abbie to be particularly agreeable to the notions of Structuralism and Formalism but found Postmodernism to be a bit cynical and cyclical. He could see the point but he just couldn't understand the benefit. Abbie had to admit to him that she had never really understood modern philosophy and that he had learned something new that she didn't know. He was very pleased with himself that day.

"And sometimes when I want to see a moving picture it asks me how old I am and says that the content is mature. Is this content old? I can't see how that could matter." Abbie looked at Crane to judge if he was kidding and the earnestly perplexed look on her face caused her to laugh suddenly.

"Ha! No, Crane. What videos are you looking at?" She was genuinely amused for the first time in days.

"There is this eastern philosophy called the Karma Sutra. I saw a video called 'Finding peace and strength through the karma sutra' and I wanted to view it. It would not let me." Abbie's sides nearly split she was laughing so hard.

"Crane, please promise me you won't look at that. It's an old Indian book about sexual positions. Ha! I mean, seriously, you could have checked Wikipedia seeing as you like it so much!"

"I suppose the thought hadn't occurred to me, I am still learning how these things work. I find it difficult to comprehend that this Wikipedia has knowledge on everything. And why am I forbidden to see this book? It sounds rather interesting." For Abbie, the conversation had gotten weird again.

"We're here. Thank God." Abbie couldn't wait to change the subject. Every time things turned in any way sexual she could see herself looking into his eyes with his head between her legs and it made her blush.

Mills and Crane stepped up towards the old house, a feeling of foreboding filling them both.

"Lieutenant, this doesn't seem right" Ichabod stated what she was feeling. Abbie took her gun from her holster, took off the safety and held it low. She slowly walked up the rickety steps and to the front door, her heels making a loud thunk with every step.

knock, knock, knock "Sheriff's department, Lieutenant Mills. Is anybody home?"

The door swung as Abbie knocked and Ichabod and Mills looked at each other. Something wasn't right. Abbie slowly went through the door first and the stench hit her nose immediately. Years of police work never prepare you for the smell of decomposition and she gagged, trying to find something to cover her mouth and nose. A handkerchief materialised before her face, attached to Ichabod's waving hand.

"No you take it, I'm good."

"Please Lieutenant, I am from a time when bathing was irregular and war was common. My olfactory senses are far less delicate." Abbie reluctantly took the handkerchief and held it to her nose. It smelled like him. Masculine and musky and like motel soap. She rolled her eyes at herself, get a grip, woman!

Ichabod found the body first, calling out her name to alert here that all was safe, but there was a body. He had been lying there for weeks, with decomposition well set in. It would take DNA and dentals to positively identify the individual, and the cause of death. Abbie and Ichabod walked out of the house and to the cruiser so Abbie could call it in.

"I need forensics to 499 Wayfarer Parkway, we have a body in advanced decomp, over."

Abbie leaned against the cruiser and sucked in the fresh air. Ichabod was sorting through the mail he had taken from the kitchen counter in the house. He was looking puzzled.

"What is it?"

"I know this name. I just can't put my finger on where I know it from."

"What is it?"

"George Reed."

"Yeah, I think I remember that. Not sure why though. Hmm, strange you'd think we'd remember if we both met him."

Ichabod suddenly blanched and it was clear he'd remembered.

"Lieutenant Mills, how long has that man been dead for, do you think?"

"Probably 3-4 weeks I would say. Hard to tell without forensics though. Certain conditions can speed up or slow down decomposition. Why?"

"I certainly hope that the body does not belong to George Reed, as that is the young man who served you and I in the bar I collected you from 10 days ago."

Suddenly, the strange erotic dreams that happened right after they'd both met a man who had been dead for nearly three weeks became a much more pressing issue.

"Crane… Crane, WAKE UP!"

Ichabod woke to Lieutenant Mills standing over him, hand on his forehead and a worried look on her face.

"Alright, I'm awake. What is it Miss Mills?" To be honest he was a bit irritated and did not see why Abbie needed to be forcefully waking him.

"I knocked, but you didn't answer, I saw you on the bed through the blinds, I thought… I thought you were sick or something. You took so long to wake up." She chewed her lip and sat on the edge of the bed, clearly feeling foolish for storming in and waking him.

"It's all right, Miss Mills, I'm glad to hear you're still looking out for me." Crane sat up, keenly aware of his lack of clothing (that was a moot point between them now, he supposed) and looked at Mills. She was troubled.

"What is the matter Lieutenant, you look positively morose." Abbie looked over her shoulder at Crane, a vulnerable look in her eyes.

"Did you mean what you said earlier? About me being beautiful? It has been so long since anybody made me feel that way and I just… I just need to feel close to somebody."

"Yes, Miss Mills, I do not habitually lie. However I do not presume to think that you would want to begin a relationship with a man such as myself. I do not enter physical relations without an intention to, well, to marry. Katrina has been my only lover in my life."

"Then let me be the second." Before Abbie had even finished the sentence, Ichabod had covered the distance between them and taken hold of Abbie's beautiful face, kissing her softly, with longing and desire. She returned his kisses ten-fold and Crane lay her down on the bed. Their pace became frantic with Abbie tearing his shirt and ripping off his pants before ridding herself of her own clothing.

Ichabod could hardly think, not thirty seconds ago he was asleep and now he was poised over Abbie Mills, who was grinding her wet, hot core against him. He thrust himself into her and she screamed, fingernails digging into his back. He pulled out until only the tip of his penis was inside of her and then plunged in again, burying himself inside her, while pulling her entire body close and losing his senses in her long scented hair. Abbie wrapped her legs around his waist and his pace quickened to her moans. He had never experienced sex like this, it was so fast and so desperate he thought he would lose his mind, and he supposed he did as Abbie took a sharp breath and moaned, clenching around him and forcing his own climax to match hers.

Ichabod woke to sticky sheets. Again. Every night since he had seen Abbie in her underwear he'd had these dreams about her. He felt guilty for thinking of someone other than Katrina, and guilty for thinking about Abbie in such a depraved manner but he could not help it. As a grown man he felt ashamed of his lack of control. What was happening to him?

"What's the news, Doc?" Abbie had charged into the Medical Examiner's Office with Crane in tow, hardly able to keep up.

"Deceased is confirmed as George Reed, 26 years of age. Death occurred exactly 27 days ago, so 26 days before you found him. Cause of death is undetermined at this stage, although it would appear that he was severely dehydrated at ToD." Dr Lucy Hulm was a no-nonsense woman, speaking in clipped sentences filled with fact and absolutely no fluff. It suited her harsh bespectacled appearance.

"Is there any way that ToD could be masked?" Abbie was desperate to find a reason for the M.E to have made a mistake.

"No Lieutenant Mills, there is no way I have made a mistake. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do." That was a bridge she would have to patch later.

"So how does a man who has been dead for 16 days serve you far too much whiskey and me some delightful Scotch?" Ichabod mused aloud.

"Because something seriously messed up is going on here."

"Indeed. Miss Mills, there is something that I need to confess." Ichabod gently grabbed Abbie's arm to stop her walking away. They had reached the front doors of the M.E's office and Mills turned to Crane.

"My place. I feel this is a private conversation." Crane nodded, he couldn't agree more. The car ride was undertaken in absolute silence, both of them trying to think of what they could possibly say. It was incredibly tense and even the radio could not break the tension. Ichabod turned it on but he unfortunately found only mundane pop music. Abbie turned it off tersely. He didn't try again.

"So confess." Abbie had sat Ichabod at the kitchen table. Neutral ground, she thought, but memories were making her regret the decision.

"This is very awkward for me, Lieutenant, I hope you understand that." Abbie nodded, he had no idea.

"I think it's best you just spit it out. Plain and simply just tell me exactly what's going on."

"I keep dreaming about… you. About having sexual relations with you, Miss Mills. I am deeply sorry, but I am beginning to feel that it is not something that is in my control. It began after the underwear incident." Much to Ichabod's surprise Abbie let out a relieved chuckle.

"Thank God, I thought it was just me." Ichabod looked absolutely bamboozled.

"I've been having these dreams too, although when it happens to me, I'm awake. You know when you daydream you know it's happening? To me these little daydreams seem completely real, and I lose time. I can't control it and it seems to be getting worse."

"You are… thinking of me this way?" Ichabod could not help but raise an eyebrow. Dreams aside Ichabod had feelings for Mills and the idea that she reciprocated was more pleasant than he had imagined.

"Well, I suppose on some level, yeah. The important issue though is that mine started the same time as yours and neither of us can control it. Right after we meet a dead guy, we start having sex dreams about each other? Something isn't right."

"You are right Lieutenant, we have to find out what happened to Mr Reed. Although if this is the trial before us now, I can think of worse fates."

"Crane, I think you need a cold shower." Abbie was dangerously close to losing her composure at the sudden suggestive turn of Ichabod's conversation.

"I suppose I do." Ichabod arched one eyebrow at Abbie and that was it.

As Ichabod lay Abbie down on her bed and slowly took off her clothes, never once breaking eye contact except to remove her shirt, Abbie felt a distinct lack of self-control. He slowly took of his own clothes, and as he bent his head to her core, she realised how much better the real thing was. Everything was hotter than last time; his tongue was a little rougher and the real Ichabod, surprisingly, kept better rhythm than the one in her imagination. He took her to the edge but not over before leaning up and kissing her. Ichabod pulled Abbie's left leg up and entered her slowly, and gently. He was concerned with hurting her and the concern for her shone through his eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked her quietly.

"Yes, Ichabod, I'm alright. Please, I need more." That was the only encouragement Ichabod needed and he moved inside of her with growing pace until he felt her tighten beneath him. He reached down and played with her clit until they both came sweating and gasping. He held her for a long time and kissed her until she fell asleep. This time when she woke up, he was still there.

Since he and Abbie had acted upon their feelings, Ichabod had not dreamed, but the frequency of their encounters surprised both of them. When Ichabod did again dream, he got more than he bargained for. Once again, he had an encounter with Abbie.

Abbie was banging at his motel door. He let her inside, and this time was angry at him. She was angry at him for not following her lead on the headless horseman case, and she was picking a fight. Crane liked these dreams, the sex was hard and vicious and rough, and although he was ashamed to admit it, he liked the idea of he and Abbie hurting each other, only a little, through rough play.

Abbie slapped him "You aren't even listening Crane, you clearly don't give a shit."

"Oh really, don't give a shit, eh?" He quipped back.

"If I never gave a shit as you say, I would not have dragged you out of that monumental mess you had made for yourself or saved your life again. Excuse me for giving a damn about you Abbie."

With that Abbie lost her resolve and pushed him on the bed launching herself on top of him. She was suddenly naked (these dreams had lost their lucidness and had begun to feel a little more like dreams) and he was thrusting into her from behind, one hand around her throat, just enough to restrict air, but not enough to hurt her, and she was screaming for more.

"Ichabod you need to stop." The voice in his ear was Katrina's and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Everything in the room had paused. A pillow was suspended where Abbie had thrown it, although she was still writhing against him. He could not stop himself, or her, and was an unwilling passenger in his own depraved fantasy.

"I can't stop." The desperation in his voice was enough to break Katrina's heart. She kissed him then and he felt himself getting close to climax. Having two women in the same room was too much.

"Then listen. I know you cannot control this, neither can Abbie. The both of you have been influenced by a Siren. You have been exposed to Siren Song, an alchemy mix that leaves people unable to control fantasy. If you do not stop this, you will sink into more depraved action and eventually hurt each other. You must find the Siren." With that Katrina was gone, and Ichabod was awake and sticky. Again.

Ichabod had resolved to find the Siren himself. He could not tell Abbie what Katrina had told him. It had been weeks and a relationship had formed between them. It would break her heart to know that it was not real. In fact, it broke his.

As he stood over the creature, no longer appearing as a bar tender or a room service attendant, but as a demon with green shimmering skin and pale eyes, Ichabod could only mourn the woman he was now bound to lose. He fired the shot into the creature's head, spraying brain and skull all over the rocks next to the river. It was done. Ichabod rolled the creature into a hole, washed down the area and returned to Lieutenant Mills. Already he felt different. He had such regard for Abbie, and he did love her, but the unbridled sexual desire had left him. He still desired her, but it was the gentle desire that had been there before, the desire of the moment he met her and thought 'perhaps one day.'

When Ichabod walked through the front door, Abbie was waiting for him.

"Ichabod, we need to talk."