Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to deweydell25, Vivstar, intellectual titmouse, Sarah, IslandGem, BeautifullyBroken86, Ad Hominem Argument, DeathGoddesses, nakala and The Method's Madness. Hope you enjoy this slight change in pace, and any feedback is appreciated.

THE SECOND EVE

Their next fight is the one which truly causes all the trouble.

It's the one which nearly breaks Ichabod and Abbie's partnership up, and it's the one which nearly results in even their friendship being rent asunder.

Because there are things which a man may be forgiven for, and things which a man should not be forgiven for-

And Ichabod is well aware that his behaviour towards Abbie on Midsummer Eve is the sort of thing for which duels were fought, back in his time.

It starts innocently enough, with a momentary bit of stupidity on Ichabod's part. The Horsemen Pestilence, sometimes known as Conquest, has decided to rise again, the better to finish the job he tried to start with Roanoke. To this end he sends one of his emissaries into town, a young woman he calls Eve. Tells her to gather as much information on his enemies as she can and then bring him the heads of one or both of the Witnesses to him as proof of her devotion, before unleashing one of his plagues into the water-supply.

This Eve agrees to do, initially stealing into Ichabod's homestead, the better to get a look, up close, at her opponent. She finds him half asleep in front of the fire, reading, and though he knows it is strange that she should come to his home this late at night, initially Ichabod thinks nothing amiss. That Eve is some sort of infernal doppelganger of Miss Abigail, a "clone," as Irving later calls her, is doubtless the main reason he does not see the danger he is in. But be that as it may, Ichabod welcomes Eve, tells her to share his hearth. It's coming up to the two year anniversary of Luke Morales' death and he assumes that Abbie just needs someone to be with, a friendly shoulder to lean on.

He has asked as much from her, God knows, every time the anniversary of his marriage has come around.

Eve- or Abbie, as Ichabod assumes her to be- agrees to his offer of a place at his hearth. She steals in close to the flames, warming her hands as Ichabod watches. Her shoulders hunched over and vulnerable, her lovely face upset and afraid. Not wishing to do anything untoward, but not wishing to see her upset either, Ichabod offers her a friendly pat on the shoulder, about the only bit of physical intimacy he feels it permissible to share with a woman who is neither his wife nor one of his blood-kin. She takes his offer of comfort though, leaning her cheek upon his hand and then, to his surprise, curling up on his lap, her head on his chest, her arms hooked around his neck.

"Hold me," she says. "I'm so cold. I- I don't ever feel warm with anyone but you."

He clears his throat, honoured that such a proud woman should make such an admission to him.

"I will keep you warm if you wish it of me, Miss Abigail," he tells her hesitantly.

"Good." The words are murmured into the skin of his neck. "I don't want anyone else but you."

The smile she shoots him then is bright as sunlight, warmer than the fire in that cold room, and oh but it makes him think of things that he should not. Makes him think of things which are beneath his dignity, and certainly beneath that of Miss Mills. Ichabod knows that he should have stopped matters there, should have told the woman he thought was Abbie gently but firmly that she should do home, that they must desist immediately. He has a wife in Purgatory and she is unwed: He has seen too many women taken advantage of in his years on this Earth, and she is truly too fine and generous a human being to waste herself on an adulterous indiscretion which cannot last.

But though he thinks that, though he knows with every fibre of his being that it is the right thing to do, when the doppelganger raises her head and stares at him, her eyes wide and dark and lovely and, and Abbie-like, he feels himself succumbing. Slowly, his heart thumping and thudding drunkenly in his chest, his lips brush hers, the first kiss he has shared with anyone since he lost his Katrina. The first kiss he has contemplated since the day he met his wife. He hears the woman in his arms sigh softly, sees her eyes drift shut. Her grip around his neck tightens as her body softens; She lies looser against him, her mouth opening shyly, tongue darting out to glide sweetly over his. The kiss is warm for a moment, tender, a kiss between two sweethearts. A kiss Ichabod knows he has imagined more than once, in the darkest, haziest depths of the night. But it soon changes, becoming charged, lustful, a lover's kiss through and through. Eve twists so that she sits astride him, her hands moving under his shirt, her fingers raking through his hair to loose his queue and tug-

There is a massive, booming explosion, his front door splintering inwards as if an axe has been taken to it. A haze of smoke and sparks- magic?- hissing in its wake.

And then suddenly both Miss Jennie and the genuine Abigail Mills are inside his front room, guns drawn and staring, horrified, at Ichabod with a woman in his lap who isn't his wife.

He sees the look of hurt, then disgust flit across Abbie's face as she takes in what he has done and truth be told, he feels a little sick.

That was three weeks ago now, and while Miss Jenny managed to subdue Eve and even to get information out of her- Molloch and the Horsemen have created copies of every mortal they've taken in Witness, apparently- neither Abbie nor Ichabod have been able to get past what happened. In fact, Mills seems so upset that she's unwilling to talk about it at all. Oh, the fine Lieutenant swears that she isn't angry, says that she knows it's not really about her. She has even gone so far as to suggest that Eve might be some sort of magical creature, a succubus or some such, and that if that's the case then Ichabod was completely unable to fight her off.

She put the sex-whammy on you, Crane, she said. It happens. Just wish she hadn't been wearing my face when she did it, but oh well.

Ichabod is tempted to point out that this theory is all fine and dandy, but why then did Eve not appear to him wearing Katrina's face? Would that not have been more conducive to putting the "sex-whammy," on him? And why did she even try to seduce him at all, when all of heaven and hell should know his devotion to his lady wife? But he doesn't ask those questions aloud, because he doesn't want to examine the thinking behind them. Just as he doesn't want to ponder how close he came to shamelessly debauching his best friend because a demon was wearing her features, and how awkward it is that said best friend caught him in the act. So he keeps to his books, unwilling to be alone with Abbie. God only knows what she thinks he's going to do to her, he tells himself, if given half the chance. The twenty first century is lax and permissive, but surely she must have some care for her reputation….

And so one week passes, then two, then three, until he gets to the point where he's nearly hoping for an Apocalyptic event, and still his embarrassment soldiers ever onwards. It's quite terrifyingly resilient and British, that way.

By the end of week four though, apparently Jenny Mills has had enough though. Not surprising really, since she has to live with Abbie. The situation will have to be dealt with, and to that end she pushes her sister into the Archive Room one day when Ichabod is there, locking the door and taking the key away. Telling the two Witnesses to "sort this crap out, because you don't have to live with her, Crane."

Which at least tells Ichabod precisely where Miss Jenny places the blame for the situation. It's not as if he disagrees.

For about a full minute Abbie stares at him in silence, unwilling perhaps to begin the conversation. But then...

"Look, I know you're embarrassed," she says eventually. "I know… I mean, I guess I'd be embarrassed too, in your shoes. But really, Crane, you've got to get over this: I know you think you're being all respectful and gentlemanly, getting annoyed, but there's no need for it."

Ichabod can't help himself. He jumps to his feet. "This is not about me, Miss Abigail," he says hotly. "This is about you. This is about how I treated you. How could you permit me to be in your presence, after I attempted to- to-"

"To what? Are you actually about to say that you attempted to do something sleazy and smarmy to me?" She glowers up at him. "This, coming from the man who wouldn't even walk in front of me in a towel when we were sharing a hotel room? Crane, you haven't a douche-bag bone in your body." And Abbie gets to her feet too, staring tartly up at her partner. She takes a step closer, arms crossed, until they're nearly nose to nose, or at least they would be if she were anywhere near his height.

For such a little thing, she looks remarkably predatory right now, Ichabod thinks.

"That," he says instead, rather than ponder that particular thought, "is beside the point, Miss Mills."

"That," she snaps back, "is exactly the point. Mr. Crane."

"What?" he demands, "that I did not feel the need to discomfort you with my nudity, a man to whom you're not even related?"

She raises her eyes heavenwards, asking for patience. "Whether we're related or not doesn't matter-"

"Of course it matters! It matters because I must treat you with respect, and the only reason a man in my position would importune a woman in yours in that way would be if he expected- If he expected-"

"What?" she snarls. "Sex? That's what you want to say, isn't it? Sex. Sex, sex, sex, sex, SEX. The word's been hanging around us like the ghost of Christmas past ever since that night with Eve, and frankly, I'm sick of it."

And she crosses uncrosses her arms, rakes her hand through her hair.

Just for a moment she looks so harassed that he wants to reach out to her, but he does not.

He is not to be trusted with her finer feelings, not now, he thinks.

For a moment Abbie says nothing, uncrossing her arms and raking one hand through her hair.

She blows out a puff of breath, obviously trying to calm herself, and when she opens her eyes, her gaze is more collected and calm.

"Look, bottom line, we still have an Apocalypse to stop," she says quietly. "We've still got a world to save, and we've still got four more years before you can head back to your wife and the grave. Whether or not you feel comfortable with this, you're going to have to get over it, Crane: If you don't, we can't work together, and I think that might be what Molloch intended in sending Eve all along."

She sighs.

"So do what you gotta do, square it how you gotta square it. Know that I don't blame you, and that we're ok. But make your peace with this, I need you back in the game-"

And with that she stands up and tells Jenny to, "open the Goddamn door." Once that's accomplished, she leaves, shooting her sister the sort of glare for her stunt that could wither a redwood to dust.

Ichabod stares at her but though he never mentions it again, the memory of Eve is never far from his mind. He squares it, but he doesn't get over it.

And as Abbie said, maybe that's what Molloch wanted after all.