Abbie finally offered Crane a beer after they dried their tears.

"Yes, thank y— no, wait..." Crane says, standing and heading to the door again. He pops back out onto the porch, grabs the cup of coffee he was drinking when she arrived and the bag that he had brought with him. "Kentucky Bourbon," he pronounces, holding the bag aloft. "Straight from the Bluegrass State. I brought it as a sort of… peace offering."

He follows her into the kitchen, where he pours out the now-cold coffee and throws the cup away while she pulls out two glasses. She motions for him to follow her back into the living room.

He removes his coat and hangs it on a hook near the door, then joins her on the couch, where he pours out a small amount of the brown liquid in each glass.

They drink. They drink again. On the second refill, Ichabod pours a larger measure into each glass and pauses, raising his in a toast. "To you, Grace Abigail Mills. To your success with the Federal Bureau of Investigations and to your forgiving nature, especially to those who do not deserve it. You are truly worthy of the name 'Grace', my dear, dear friend."

She smiles and looks down, a bit embarrassed as she brings her drink to her lips, only sipping this time. Quality bourbon should not be tossed back like cheap bottom-shelf rot-gut. Crane does the same, taking a delicate sip, eyes closed.

"Thank you," Abbie quietly says. He raises his glass again. "Crane..."

"May I always have the good fortune to have you call me 'friend' and 'partner', and may I never be foolish enough to leave your side again," he says, stubbornly pressing on despite her protestations.

"That's not a toast, that's a wish," she says, but takes another sip anyway.

"Well, as we have no red, white, and blue cupcake, this will have to suffice," he replies.

They drink in silence for a few minutes. Abbie can't help but notice how still he is. Gone are the fidgeting, flying fingers. He is still sitting like he has a rod shoved up his butt, but he seems more at peace. More himself. The self she glimpsed in 1781.

"You… you're okay then?" she asks at length.

"I am at peace with what has transpired, if that is what you are asking," he replies. "I have said my goodbyes and exorcised any guilt I was feeling. I still stand by my statement about the choices we have all made. She made her choice, and therefore, so did I." He takes a drink. "And I fully acknowledge that my choice to… bolt… was not a wise one." He frowns into his glass.

Abbie sets her drink down. "We're not doing this," she declares.

"Not doing what?" he asks.

"Not rehashing what you should or should not have done. It's done. You left, you came back. You apologized and I've forgiven you, okay? I'm not saying you don't have work to do, but you don't need to punish yourself anymore," she says, her large brown eyes boring into him.

He nods. "I shall endeavor to try," he says.

"You shall endeavor to do more than try," she corrects, picking up her glass again. "This is good. You went to Kentucky?"

He nods again. "Lovely state. I rode a horse. It was wonderful," he says, his eyes lighting up for the first time since he'd been there.

"I imagine it was, for you," she says, smiling a little.

"Have you never ridden, Miss Mills?"

She cocks her head at him. "When would I have had an opportunity to ride a horse?" she asks.

"I suppose horses have become rather a luxury item now, haven't they?" he muses. "Pity."

She shrugs lightly. "I can't miss what I never knew."

"I would love to go riding with you some time. I could show you everything about horsemanship. I..."

She holds up her hand, chuckling. "One thing at a time, Crane," she says, laughing. "Where else did you go?"

"New York, to the city. It was… baffling. I didn't stay."

"I imagine the city would have eaten you alive," Abbie says.

"It was simply too overwhelming," he says. "So was Boston. And Philadelphia." He shakes his head. "So many familiar things surrounded by the unfamiliar… I went to some cemeteries in Boston. I saw the ancient headstones with the names of men I considered friends, crumbling, covered in moss, nearly unreadable in some cases. I wept."

Abbie reaches over and puts her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Where else did you go?"

"From there I went west. Southwest. I decided to miss Washington, D.C., figuring it would be just as overwhelming." He pauses, then ventures, "However, I believe I would risk it with your guidance."

"Maybe," she answers, liking the idea in theory but not ready to commit to it just yet.

He goes on, telling her about everything he saw, adding places he didn't go, always mentioning that they should see the places he missed.

"I thought of you when I watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean," he quietly finishes. "I thought of you every day. Many times a day."

She pours them two fresh glasses. "Empty words, Crane, if you couldn't even be bothered to send a text," she says. "Sorry. I said I'd forgiven you and I have. But… why? Why didn't you call or text, even once?"

He sighs and takes a long drink. "At first, it was pride. I thought I knew what was best. I thought since I needed some time alone, you likely did as well. I was thinking for you instead of talking to you, and that was wrong." She nods, and he continues. "Then, it became shame. I was ashamed of disappearing and leaving you with only a poorly-worded note. I couldn't face your wrath, though I deserved it. After that, well, it had been so long, that I simply felt foolish."

"So you decided to come back and just wait for me on my front porch?" she asks. "What if I had moved? I was at Quantico, Crane, I could have been assigned anywhere. Hell, I could have been in Los Angeles while you were gazing over the Pacific Ocean and thinking of me."

"You could have. But you were not."

"You sound irritatingly confident about that."

"Duty, Lieutenant. You take your role as a Witness very seriously. More seriously than I did, if I am totally honest, though it was originally I who convinced you of our fates. I fear I became distracted by personal matters..."

"Crane. Focus," Abbie says, pulling him back.

"Yes. You know you are needed here, and so, partner or no, here you shall stay. Though things have thankfully been quiet all these months, you stay, because you do not trust that our fight is over," Crane says. "Also, Miss Jenny must stay here because of the conditions of her release, and therefore, so must you."

Abbie purses her lips and nods. "Keep being that logical and clear-headed about things, and we just might be okay," she says. "But how do you know things have been quiet? How do you know I haven't been battling demons and monsters by myself?"

"Ah. Because you never contacted me. I knew the only thing that would compel you to reach out to me would be if Moloch or one of his Minions had risen. I understand why you never reached out to me, Abbie," he answers.

"Good," she says, glad she doesn't have to explain that she would be damned if she was going to chase after his ass after he bailed on her. "So what made you come back? Besides guilt."

He chuckles, then turns serious. "The evening I watched the sunset, thinking of you, of us, of our bond as Witnesses, I realized that in my journey to find myself on my own, I discovered… well, I discovered I am not the man I could be – should be – without you," he earnestly answers.

"That's… a little co-dependent, but… kinda sweet," she replies. "I hate to think that we've had to give up our independence for our mission, but," she heaves a large sigh, "I know exactly what you are saying. There were times when I felt like I was missing a limb. Or, at the very least, my shadow." She smiles, then drinks.

"An apt analogy," he agrees, draining his glass and filling it again.

"Are you hungry? I'm hungry, and we've been drinking strong booze on empty stomachs," she says, picking up her phone. "I'll order us a pizza."

"That sounds wonderful. Please, allow me to purchase our dinner," he says.

"Yeah, you're gonna have to tell me where you got this money to do this traveling yes, hi, I'd like to place an order for delivery," she says, one sentence running into the other as the call connects.

He waits until she finishes ordering, noting how she doesn't need to ask what he wants, then says, "The first place I went after you left me that morning was the cave. Where I woke up. I wandered a bit, lost. Hoping there might be answers there. I found something, but not answers."

"Do not even tell me you found hidden treasure," she says, setting her phone down with a thud.

He sheepishly smiles and nods. "General Washington had… funds… set aside for me. Once he found out where I was, he placed the necessary information there for me to find."

"But I thought—"

"There was a letter. Apparently he found out where I was... interred, but kept Katrina's secret. I've no idea why." He holds his glass up to the light and looks at the amber liquid swirling there. "All I had to do was go to the bank, unlock the safe deposit box, and cash in some accounts."

"Damn," Abbie says. "Do I want to know?"

"In total, it is a larger sum than I was able to comprehend at the time," he says. "I do not know exactly how much is left at the moment. I must go there tomorrow and do some… reorganization. Will you help me?"

She hesitates a moment. "I suppose I can. Do you really need my help anymore?" It winds up being a weightier question than she realizes. As much as he was a drain on her financially and sometimes emotionally, she did miss being his Official Guide to the 21st Century.

"Always," he answers with a small smile. "I would very much like your assistance, as I do not yet fully understand the current world of finance. I do not want to be swindled or talked into anything that would be detrimental to my accounts. You are the only person I trust enough, and I do not mind if you know the details. I am an open book, as far as you are concerned," he says. "I believe it is you who recently called for total honesty."

"That doesn't exactly mean telling me how much money you have, but if it's important to you, of course I'll help," she replies.

"Thank you. I owe you so much, Miss Mills," he says. "I have not said enough how deeply I appreciate all you have done for me."

"You're welcome. You'd do the same for me, you know," she says. "You did, too. Eventually."

"You must tell me about your journey back," he asks, realizing he hasn't even heard about that yet, he left so soon.

"Oh, boy, let's see..." she says, settling into the couch cushions. She pulls her feet up and tucks them under her.

She is just finishing her story when the pizza arrives. Ichabod was in turn horrified, angered, embarrassed, and touched by her tale. "It seems we are drawn together no matter when we meet," he said, just as the doorbell rang.

Over pizza, he asks about Quantico.

"Well, getting accepted – again – turned out to be the easy part," she starts. "The weird part was Joey Corbin was just finishing as I was starting. He's back here, too."

Crane's eyebrows rise. "Is he? That's good news. Isn't it?"

"It is. He and Jenny… they're thicker than thieves," Abbie says. "That's where she is right now – with him."

"With him? Are they… um, romantically involved?" he hesitantly asks.

"No. Well, not yet. She's a few years older than he is, but he doesn't seem to mind since every time I see them together he's giving her heart eyes," she answers. "He's helping her find out more about our ancestors, specifically the one in the vault that was turned to stone."

"I cannot wait to hear all that you have learned," he replies. "Later. First, I wish to know about your training. I have no doubt you excelled at everything."

She smiles and looks down, confirming his theory. "It was hard, but rewarding. I learned so much. Had a little fling. Got into an argument with one of the instructors about American history; you'll appreciate that. Was top of the class every time on the shooting range," she says, giving him a high-level overview before going into detail. Hoping he didn't catch her comment about the fling.

"Fling?" he asks.

Of course. "You know… um, saw someone romantically for a short time. Come on, you could have had short, torrid affairs on the road," she answers.

"I could have, but did not," he insists. "There were several opportunities. I politely and respectfully turned them down."

She unbends her leg and shoves him with her foot. "Don't be looking down your nose at me, Crane," she says. "It's perfectly normal behavior these days."

"I am aware," he answers. "I am merely surprised. You said romantic relationships are a complication you do not need."

"Yeah, that was when we were in the middle of a battle with a demon who wanted my soul and I was spending all my time with a guy who is over 250 years old. It's not fair to keep that kind of stuff from a significant other," she explains. "None of that was happening. Daniel was cute, smart, and available. It was fun, but now it's over. I broke it off."

"Why?"

"Because our battle isn't finished, Ichabod. It's going to come back. You have no idea how many asses I kissed to get assigned to this area. I had to pull the Jenny card and everything," she says.

"Is that all?" he asks. "I am not trying to pry, I am simply concerned that you are sacrificing your happiness for the greater good."

"Okay, first, yes, I am sacrificing my happiness for the greater good. That's what we do, don't you get it? That's why Katrina was a problem." She stops, seeing the pained look on his face, then presses on. "Our individual happiness is inconsequential in comparison to the end of the world. It's simply the facts. Second, I wasn't happy. It was fun while it lasted, but I… I don't know. Got bored? Maybe. I just knew it wasn't going anywhere. That's all. Sometimes that happens."

"I understand," Crane somberly answers. "I understand all that you have said, Lieutenant." He takes a bite of pizza, chews it thoughtfully, and swallows before asking, "Please, continue. I wish to hear everything."

She's switched to water, and takes a large drink before speaking again, telling him everything she can remember about Quantico, training, and her life in general while he was away, including how she told people Crane was a good friend who is "way into re-enactments" when they saw his photo on her phone and asked about him.

"I am sorry I caused you to lose sleep," he says when she finishes. "Especially during such an important time in your life."

"I'm used to losing sleep," she answers. "It was the times I did sleep that were worse actually. Apparently I talk in my sleep now."

His eyes widen. "What did you say?"

She bites her lower lip. "According to my roommate, your name. A lot. And a lot of things that didn't make sense to her." She brings her hands up over her face. "She even recorded me one night. It was mortifying. I was muttering things about Moloch, Henry… oh, God, flint and freaking steel… wendigos… I heard something about Benjamin Franklin… and your name, of course." More times than I would care to admit. "I deleted it from her phone before she got any ideas."

"What an awful thing to do," he says. "An invasion of your privacy."

"Thank you," she replies. "Ugh, I was glad to be able to come back home."

He thoughtfully pauses and then says, "Yes, as was I."

Pizza consumed, they talk some more, catching up, reconnecting, and trading stories until it almost feels like they hadn't been apart for nearly a year.

Finally, Crane notices the time. "Oh, dear, it has grown late," he says.

They clean up from the pizza, and Crane calls for a taxi, insisting that Abbie shouldn't inconvenience herself by driving him back to the cabin, nor would driving be advisable after the considerable amount of bourbon they consumed.

"I can pay rent to Master Corbin if that is his wish… or I suppose I should call him Mr. Corbin," Crane says, feeling somewhat awkward standing just inside Abbie's front door waiting for his cab.

"Or Agent Corbin," Abbie suggests, standing in front of him. "Or just Joe," she adds, laughing. "I don't think he honestly cares, but I'll ask him if you want."

"No, no, I can ask," he assures her. "I do not wish to take advantage. I have missed it, and have come to think of it as home."

She gives a half shrug and says, "Maybe he'll sell it to you."

He half-smiles. "But there are no granite countertops," he says.

She laughs, looking down, then up, remembering that day. "Granite countertops are overrated, Crane. Too much maintenance," she says, laughing more when she sees his face fall a little.

"Oh," he says.

"Well, if you've got mad cash, you can remodel," she suggests, reaching out and straightening his lapel. Old habits die hard.

He nods, then looks out the small windows on either side of her front door. "I am happy to be back, Lieutenant. Happy to be with you once again," he says, still facing the window, like he cannot summon the courage to say these words to her face. "I know I have already said this, but I missed your company more than I can say. I was thankful for my eidetic memory, for it allowed me to summon the image of your face, the sound of your voice…" He finally looks at her. "But a memory is poor company, and an even poorer substitute for the real, flesh-and-blood Abbie Mills." His voice is velvety and low.

She blinks, wondering when and how he got so close. She's had a fair amount to drink, but she knows it's not the bourbon that is making her feel a bit lightheaded and overwhelmed. "I missed you, too. A lot. More than I expected to," she replies, nearly whispering. "Never leave again," she adds. "Not without me, anyway."

"I won't. I promise," he says. He is nearly overcome with an impulse, something he's thought of more than once in the past, something that he's thought of with increasing frequency as he traveled closer and closer to Sleepy Hollow. As he stares down into her upturned face in the dimly-lit foyer, he decides to give in and take whatever consequence he earns.

He leans down and kisses her lips. It is a small kiss, but so full of feeling that when they part, they are both a little dazed. An apology is on the tip of his tongue when she pounces, kissing him back, her hands coming up under his arms to hold his shoulders.

His long arms wrap around her like a blanket and she finds herself pulled flush against him, her head tilted almost completely back. She hardly notices, kissing him just as desperately as he is her.

She feels so good in his arms, like he is finally a complete person. He deepens the kiss and she makes a lovely little sighing sound as her tongue meets his and her grip tightens on his shoulders.

The taxi honks its horn outside, bringing them back to earth.

"We should have done that earlier," Crane breathes, his nose skimming the side of hers.

"Maybe," she replies. "Though I might have punched you some more if you'd tried earlier."

"Will I be pummeled if I try again?" he quietly asks, his lips a hair's breadth from hers.

"Only by the cab driver," she answers with a smile.

"Oh, sod the bloody driver. He can wait another minute," he rumbles, kissing her smiling lips.