Lieutenant Abbie Mills ponders the cane in the back of her Jeep, decides to leave it, and slings her satchel over her shoulder before closing the back door. She sighs and heads towards Green Hall, thankfully a short walk from the parking lot.

It's very early, so there aren't a lot of students around. A few jog through the quad, getting in an early morning run, but mostly the area is empty. Ahead, she sees a tall, thin man with half of his hair pulled back in a ponytail. He's striding quickly and purposefully on his long legs, his leather boots hitting the pavement nearly in time with every two of her steps.

Is he new? She shrugs as he turns to enter Franklin Hall. Who knows? Just because I've never noticed him doesn't mean he's hasn't been around. The building only marginally narrows the options of what he teaches. Franklin houses the History, Philosophy, and Religious Studies departments. I bet Philosophy. Ponytail says "Philosophy" to me, she muses, absently wondering why she even cares.

She reaches her building (housing Sociology, Criminal Science, and Safety) and heads to her office to prepare for her first class of the fall term.

Abbie makes her way up the stairs and hears footsteps behind her. "Hey, Mills," a voice calls.

She turns. "Hey, Irving," she answers, smiling as the head of the Criminal Science department, Frank Irving, quickly catches her up, taking the stairs two at a time.

"We should get you an office on the first floor," he says.

"Yeah, 'cause I want to hang around with the Sociology department," she says, rolling her eyes. "Second floor isn't bad really."

"Can I help you with your bag?" he asks.

"Nope, I'm good," she says. "Besides, what are you going to carry it with, your teeth?"

He looks down at the full load in his arms. "Good point. And, sorry. You know I can't help but look out for you," he apologizes.

"I know. You made a promise," she says. "Anyone else would have gotten put in a choke-hold by now," she adds, grinning.

"Anyone else would deserve it," he retorts, struggling with his keys.

"Here," Abbie takes them from his hand and unlocks his office door, laughing as she pushes it open for him. "And, he offers to help me," she mutters, going across the hall to her door.

"I heard that, Mills," he calls. She just laughs harder.

xXx

Dr. Ichabod Crane rubs his temples, then sips his tea while sitting in the corner of one of the campus cafeterias. He learned very quickly to bring his own in a thermos rather than trying to obtain quality tea from the university food service. He looks over the notes for his afternoon classes, occasionally remembering to eat his lunch, which is pushed to the side of the table.

Students wander past, but none speak to him, though he recognizes a face here and there. It doesn't trouble him. In fact, he's enjoying his solitude, having spent the first two days of term deftly avoiding the attentions of Professor Katrina Van Tassel. And today, Professor Abraham Van Brunt seems hell bent on getting on Crane's nerves, so he chose to hide in plain sight in one of the places he knows neither the Religious Studies nor Philosophy professor frequent.

Crane is aware of Professor Van Tassel's interest in him. Unfortunately, he does not return her interest, viewing her as nothing more than a colleague. Van Brunt is someone he considers a friend, having been the first person here in Sleepy Hollow to reach out and befriend the unusual Englishman, but Crane has since learned that Bram has the propensity to be a gigantic arse.

He looks up from his notes, eyes scanning the cafeteria until they land on a petite young lady walking with a tray, looking for a table. He can see a burger, fries, and a bottle of water on the tray. She's lovely, with dark skin and long, dark brown hair, but it is her eyes that grab his attention. Large, the darkest, warmest brown he's ever seen, and framed by impossibly long black lashes.

He thinks about offering to share his table, but her youthful appearance stops him. She is undoubtedly a student, Ichabod. She gives him the briefest glance as she passes, and he returns his gaze to his papers. Do not look back at her... damn it, man, get a grip on yourself. You don't want to wind up with a mess like Bram had last year.

Crane tells himself he turned and looked to see if she found a place to sit, not to check out her perfectly rounded and very firm-looking derriere.

He takes a deep breath, sets his jaw, remembers to take a bite of his turkey sandwich, and returns to his task.

xXx

Abbie sees him nearly every morning. She often sees him at lunch, once even looking directly at him as she passed by searching for a table. She tells herself all the while there were plenty of other paths through the dining hall she could have taken, but went that way because it looked like there were more empty tables in that area.

Right. You know you're curious about this man. What you don't know is why.

She sees him when she's leaving for the day, usually walking behind him. She knows he rides a bicycle and there's a from-a-bottle redhead (professor of what? Abbie wonders) who occasionally tries to get his attention, but she seems way more into him than he is her. She also sees him occasionally talking with that douchebag Van Brunt, but thus far that's the only checkmark in the "con" category.

Not that I'm keeping tabs or anything. I'm merely ensuring that my skills stay sharp.

Yes. That's it. In no way am I checking out his ass or watching the way his hair blows in the breeze or straining to hear his voice just because I heard him speak once and his British accent and deep, velvety voice nearly made me drop my bag.

"Crane! Hey, Crane!" a voice calls one afternoon as Abbie walks to her truck. It had been a long day, and her last class was filled with freshman students who haven't quite gotten the hang of being in college yet.

The tall, thin man turns towards the voice.

Crane. His name is Crane.

"Yes?" he asks. She can see he is less than thrilled to see Van Brunt and while he doesn't hide this, his friend either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

"Washington is having poker night. Are you coming?" Van Brunt's voice is very loud and easy to hear. Abbie doesn't even have to try to listen.

"No, thank you. You remember what happened last time," he reminds him.

What? What happened last time?

"They won't still be mad, man," Van Brunt dismissively says. "You can't help your crazy memory and Sherlock Holmes-like mind. Not your fault if they're not able to school their features so you can't read them."

"Says the man from whom I won the most," Crane answers, raising an eyebrow.

Abbie can only just see the eyebrow lift, but just is enough. Sexy. That's all that is. The two men stop near the bike rack, so Abbie continues on to her car, knowing it would be too obvious if she hovered nearby.

The idea to stop and pretend to tie her shoe occurs to her after she is seated in her Jeep.

When she gets home, she looks up Professor Crane in the faculty directory.

Dr. Ichabod Crane. History. Came to SHU three years ago. Office is in Franklin, room 17.

History, not Philosophy.

He's been here as long as I.

Also, don't play poker with him.

xXx

One student. Which is one more than usual. Crane sips a latte and idly picks at a muffin in a coffee shop near campus. Friday afternoons are quiet, and he holds "office hours" at this coffee shop each week from one to three just because it's nice to be out of the office on a Friday afternoon.

Generally, he gets no visitors, but today there was one young man who showed up. After about two minutes, Crane realized the boy was merely trying to get into his good graces, and so it quickly became a short visit.

People walk past; people drift in and out. He sees students, faculty, and local residents pass the coffeehouse, some coming in for a beverage or snack.

He sees a wide variety of people, all the while guiltily wishing a particular person would appear.

He sees her nearly everywhere else, so why not here? He frequently sees her in the morning before classes start. She's on campus early, and he wonders if she is a Teacher's Assistant for someone. She is often in the cafeteria when he eats lunch. He knows when she is walking behind him in the quad after his last class because he has grown attuned to the sound of her footsteps.

He's been beating himself up about his attraction to her since the day he first noticed her, and has even considered granting Professor Van Tassel's wish and asking her out as a distraction. However, that makes him feel like more of a cad because he knows he would only be using Katrina.

Crane's heart nearly stops when the door opens and she enters.

She is as beautiful as always. Dressed casually, she needs no heavy makeup or adornments to highlight her beauty. There is an effortless grace about her, an ease of bearing that tells him she is either unaware of how beautiful she is or simply doesn't care if others find her attractive.

He sighs and returns his eyes to his iPad.

A commotion near the registers causes him to lift his head again.

"Hey! Lieutenant Mills! Sorry, hey. Um, hi. Can I ask you a question about your lecture yesterday?" a young, fit man in an SHU t-shirt bounds up to the young woman, clearly eager for her attention.

"Mr. Brooks. With what can I help you?" she asks, her voice clear and melodious, carrying well enough to reach Crane's ears.

"Well, you were talking about being observant and methods for recalling details, and..."

Crane doesn't hear the rest of the student's question, as his mind is reeling with new knowledge. She's not a student. She's a professor. Mills. Lieutenant? Curious.

This changes everything. He exhales, relieved that his attraction isn't unethical. He could march up to her right now and ask her out and it would not be a conflict of interest or get him in trouble with the university.

He's not going to, of course. But, I could.

"You coming to the game tomorrow?" the young man asks. His voice is louder now, snapping Crane out of his reverie. The student is still standing near the register while Lieutenant Mills has moved towards the seating area with her drink. She adjusts the large leather bag hanging from her shoulder.

"I don't know, maybe," she answers.

"Oh, man, you gotta come! It's going to be a great game!" he presses. His friends gathered with him nod and make comments of encouragement.

"I might make it," she says. Jenny might enjoy watching some live football, she thinks, remembering she promised her sister they'd do something this weekend. "You're a cheerleader, right?" she asks, grinning.

Brooks feigns injury, slumping backwards with his hand over his heart while his buddies laugh. "Nah, he's in the marching band!" one of them remarks.

"Hey, now!" she shoots back, pointing at a young man twice her size. "Don't say nasty things about the marching band! I was in the marching band!"

This is met by a chorus of "Oooo"s from the rest of the men. Brooks grins smugly, then turns his attention back to his favorite professor. Maybe a little too favorite, Abbie notes.

"Thanks, Lieutenant," he says, turning to shove a very large young man on the shoulder, pushing him towards the exit.

Crane watches as Abbie rolls her eyes, sighs, and carries her coffee to her seat. He finds himself glancing in her direction frequently, hoping no more of his students arrive with questions.

She catches him looking once, and he quickly ducks his head, pretending to read. When he peeks up a moment later, she is no longer looking at him, but there is a slight smile on her face as she lifts her drink to her beautiful lips.

When he returns home, he immediately consults his faculty directory.

Lieutenant G. Abigail Mills. Criminal Science. Office is in Green, room 22.

Interesting. We both began our tenure here the same year.

I wonder if she is former military or former law enforcement.