B plot sort of stuff - friendship and character development and inventing my own backstory. Takes place in my mind where I've fanwanked some history for Ichabod and Katrina, as well as a juicy old injury for poor Ichabod. Please ignore any errors in battlefield medicine, past or present. Google gave me some random bits of revolutionary war era trivia that I tried to work in. Kathy is definitely breaking some HIPAA regulations, too, but lets just roll with that. No spoilers aside, I suppose, from the existence of the headless horseman, which by this point I think is kind of a given.

As the dust settled over their latest skirmish, Abbie had a moment to think. As usual, she and Crane were the only people who actually knew what it was they were fighting. The cops who had been called to the scene as backup thought it was some guy tweaked out on drugs. She was sure that they would come up with some logical explanation for all the not-quite-right stuff that happened during this definitely-not-normal shootout. The logical explanation that they came up with would be, of course, completely wrong, but it would certainly let them sleep better at night than knowing the truth would.

Rationalization was a powerful tool. One that she sometimes wished she still possessed. She wished the other officers good luck with theirs.

It seemed odd to Abbie that so many of the supernatural forces they were fighting seemed to enjoy using mortal weapons. It had been strange to see the horseman wielding a semi-automatic weapon, and it had been just as strange to see this latest ghoul firing a handgun. Luckily, this guy seemed to actually be harmed by bullets, as well, which was incredibly convenient. He also disappeared into a burst of flames when the amulet around his neck was struck by Abbie's bullet, which certainly made crime scene clean up a little bit easier but didn't help with the explanations.

After discussing some of the facts - those that made enough sense to share - with the other officers at the scene, she turned to look for Ichabod. Usually he hung around, making every stupid excuse she made seem even dumber by his presence. Everyone there knew that he had originally claimed to have been asleep for 250 years and accused of Corbin's murder. They also knew his new cover story, but Abbie couldn't think how that would actually improve anything. Having a 250 year old guy as her partner didn't actually make any less sense than having a British professor of history. But whatever - that wasn't her problem.

She didn't see Ichabod where she had remembered him being last - crouched behind an SUV and using it as cover while he held an empty gun. Once he had learned that guns held more than one bullet, he relished emptying an entire clip with great speed. Sometimes that worked out fine, but sometimes he ended up hiding behind a car without any bullets left. After witnessing his second experience with modern weaponry she began to encourage him to use cover, insisting that the improved ability to aim modern guns made is revolutionary war shooting stance obsolete and somewhat hazardous.

He suddenly appeared from around the corner of the nearest building adjusting his jacket awkwardly with one hand. As he approached her, she noticed his face was a bit more ashen than usual. The grey pallor and the expression on his face made her suspect that something was wrong.

"Crane, what's up?"

It was a common phrase and Ichabod had picked up its meaning quickly. "Nothing, lieutenant. Simply assessing the situation."

Abbie furrowed her brow. His language was often overly formal which occasionally gave the impression that he was not being direct, but this response had seemed particularly evasive. Abbie had the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling her. She noticed that instead of his usual stance - standing tall with his hands behind his back - he was now tilting off slightly to his left with his left wrist cradled in his right hand. Leaning forward, Abbie looked at him more closely. As she leaned in, he leaned as far away as he could without actually taking a step away from her.

Scanning him up and down she finally noticed what looked like blood trickling down his left hand. He eyes traveled up his sleeve.

"Crane, is that a bullet hole? Were you shot?"

"It's merely a flesh wound, lieutenant. Nothing to worry about."

"Are you kidding me with this, Crane? You've been shot! This is something that needs to be dealt with. Take off your jacket."

With great reluctance and obvious discomfort Ichabod managed to awkwardly peel off his coat. The dark fabric had been hiding what now appeared to Abbie to be quite a lot of blood. It looked like Ichabod had tried to staunch the flow by wrapping his handkerchief around his arm, but being unable to tie it in place with only one hand, it wasn't doing much except making him look even bloodier than his dark shirt would have. That must have been why he was skulking around in the alley.

"Look, Crane, there's a medic right over there. Lets go have her take a look at it and decide if you need to go to the hospital." The ambulance had been dispatched, as per usual, to the scene of the shootout. However, definitely not "as per usual" there was no body remaining after *this* shootout, so the vehicle was simply parked there - sirens off but lights on - waiting to be called somewhere else for some other purpose.

Hearing the word "hospital" made Ichabod go positively green and the level of apprehension showing in his face surprised Abbie. What was his problem? Didn't they have hospitals 250 years ago?

He persevered a bit - insisting that he could deal with this wound by himself if she would simply leave him be - but Abbie ignored him and grabbed him by his good arm and began physically dragging him toward the ambulance parked down at the end of the street. Ichabod fell silent until they were nearly half way there. Then he began to pull back again.

"Lieutenant, can I ask you…" He trailed off. "Miss Mills, please…"

"What, Crane!" She said sharply. Seriously, what was this guy's problem? Why was he being such a baby about this? Abbie had had a really long day, an even longer night, and now that they had managed to kill another monster, she just wanted to go back home, take a shower, and go to bed. But she couldn't exactly leave her partner standing in the street bleeding. So she was willing to get this taken care of, but she really didn't want it to take any longer than absolutely necessary.

He finally said quietly, "please don't let them amputate."