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He had known she would be trouble from the very moment he had gotten a good look at her. He standing in the ruins of clock-work droids made to look like revolutionary soldiers. Her holding fast to a reproduction of Betsy Ross' flag with one hand, valiantly holding it aloft as she clung to the top of a flagpole with the other—it would have been less harsh if she had been dangling helplessly, but no, she had been poised like a comic books heroine would had just saved Sleepy Hollow.
The fact she had proclaimed, “Yas Bitch!” hadn't softened the blow to his already thoroughly wounded ego, at the time, as her dark curls floated in the breeze. He wasn't even sure how she had gotten up there without the aid of any kind of equipment.
He had just stared in slack-jawed awe.
In those days, she had just worn black jeans, tank top, combat boots, and a dainty little mask that covered her eyes. He... he had just awakened from a shallow grave, confounded by how the world had changed since what history had dubbed “The American Revolution.”
Somewhere along the way, they had both apparently gotten funding from important people and had wardrobe upgrades. He stuck to his “re-enactment costume” and she upgraded to some sort of stretchy black trousers, black corset, and black knee-high boots. And a much nicer mask to hide her identity.
He had learned a considerable amount about the world around him but absolute nothing about the tiny woman who seemed to be hell bent on making a mockery of his attempts to take over the world.
All right, so it wasn't just yet the world. Then again, how could he expect to take over the world if he couldn't even take over Sleepy Hollow?
Ichabod Crane studied his reflection, making absolutely certain he looked his best. Behind him a pale, lanky creature sulked around the shadows. It growled at him in Latin. Ichabod rolled his eyes. “Oh for God's sake, Molly, can you shut it about the Apocalypse already?” Ichabod scoffed. When it snapped out a response, Ichabod turned to face it. “Oh don't get offended when you're the one that awoke me from the grave. You should have known from the start that it would be considerably harder for you to control me. So don't act as though it comes as a surprise.”
He turned back to the mirror as Molly disappeared into the shadows he belonged in. Honestly... the nerve. Butterflies were in Ichabod's stomach. He sucked in a breath then sighed. He could do this. He could go out to the party and pretend he was bored and not actively seeking her out.
She will come, he told himself. She always came. She couldn't resist masquerades. And the fact this one was sponsored by himself... It was like lighting a match to draw in a moth.
She would be there.
#
She had to admit, subtly had never been his strong suit. But this time he had rented out space on the digital billboards to advertise the yearly Historical Society Ball, sponsored by one Captain Ichabod Crane. It was a literal flashing LED, high def sign calling out to her in challenge. And it was a masquerade to boot.
“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” her sister Jenny asked. “Me and Joe can go.”
Abbie smoothed down the silk of her dress and tried to adjust herself in the form fitting corset. “I don't know what he's cooking up this time,” she said. “It could be dangerous. So, yes I am sure. The Siren is flying solo tonight.”
“He's probably just going to be doing a grand reveal of another shitty robot thing that you can hit with a flame thrower and put a stop to it,” Joe scoffed.
“Or,” Abbie added, trying not to laugh at all the things the Captain had tossed her way that fit that description. “He could be revealing some crazy mind control thing and try to hypnotise the people at the party... That's within the realm of possibility, remember?”
Jenny and Joe shared a look. Joe shook his head. “I'm still not convinced that was his doing. It goes against his m.o.,” he said.
“He was there,” Abbie pointed out. “And whenever I destroyed the device in his hand... everyone snapped out of it.”
“Yeah but, Joe's right...” Jenny added. “Maybe just that once he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Abbie picked up the elaborate, feathered mask she had chosen to go with her dress and put it on. “How do I look?” she asked, choosing to ignore the idea that there might be more than one person that wanted to destroy Sleepy Hollow.
After dual 'great's from her teammates, Abbie tucked a couple of guns under the voluminous skirts and slipped a knife into a special pocket in her bodice.
Half an hour later, Abbie was giving her ticket to a doorman and stepping into the restored colonial manor. From what she understood it had once belong to the Masons but now the Captain used it as his residence. She felt out of place in the room full of rich people and local government, sipping their wine and laughing about their grandson's DUIs. After a quick sweep of the main foyer and most of the down stairs, Abbie made sure the coast was clear before hurrying up the stairs.
At least it wouldn't look suspicious, they had apparently reserved the bathrooms upstairs for those who felt the call of nature. Abbie, however, was using it as an excuse to snoop around and see if she could find out what the Captain was up to. After six unlocked doors, she reached a locked one, which meant it was probably the one she needed to check out first.
She knelt down carefully, pulling the lock picking tools she had disguised as hair pins out of her delicate coif. It was a classic lock so it would be one of the easier ones she had to contend with. Within seconds she had it unlocked and she was pulling herself to her feet. After another quick check to make sure no one was watching, Abbie eased the door open and tiptoed inside.
#
If she hadn't wanted to draw attention to herself, she shouldn't have worn lilac, Ichabod couldn't help but think. It suited her entirely too well and had drawn many eyes, two of which were his own. It was also very hard to ignore how whoever had tailored her frock had done their best to highlight the contents of the bodice.
There was a slim possibility it was not actually her at first, but then she had turned her back to him and he saw evidence of three thin scars between her shoulders. His blood boiled as he remembered exactly how she acquired those scars—Molly attacking her in the midsts of one of their duels.
Ichabod had taken a considerable amount of anger on Molly for it. He could still remember the Siren's surprise when he had carefully tended the wounds and not removed her mask whilst she had been unconscious. Although she had been rather annoyed that she had awoken in a shirt that was not hers, even after he had explained hers had been covered in blood and ripped to shreds by Molly's attack.
He still hadn't gotten his shirt back and it had been almost two years since that day.
Ichabod had watched her ascend the stairs and immediately followed. He carefully peered around the corner to see what she was doing. As expected, she was checking doorknobs. And of course the locked one took her interest. The one to his bedroom. She hummed a soft tune as she picked the lock.
His heart faltered at the sound.
Normally he would only hear her voice just before she would burst into his lab, carriage, or—as was with one occasion—shower. It was nice to know she was at least consistent with singing while picking locks. But he had never been on the outside of a door she was trying to gain entry to. It was a beautiful sound even on the wrong side... it was perfectly captivating when it was clear and unmuffled by wood.
It was part of the reason he had taken to calling her The Siren. Because her song oft foretold his doom. Not that anyone knew the reason for it. The papers had picked up on the name and ran with it. Even she seemed perplexed by the moniker at first but used it (more from lack of a better name to use, he supposed).
His ears pricked when he heard the door to his room creak open. He peeked around the corner again, just in time to see lilac silk disappear into the darkness. Molly slunk from the shadows, going toward the door. “Do not so much as think about it, Molly,” Ichabod growled as he approached the door.
Molly hissed and melded back into the shadows where he belonged.
“And stay out here,” Ichabod whispered. Molly grumbled in Latin. “I have everything under control thank you very much, Molly. I have her exactly where I want her.”
#
“What are you doing in here?”
Abbie had froze as soon her she heard his voice followed by the door clicking shut and the snick of the lock being turned. Her heart started beating rapidly as she heard him stepping closer to where she was haunched over a storage chest with nothing but the light from a nearby oil lamp to guide her.
“I must have gotten lost looking for the bathroom,” she said demurely, standing to her full height and turning to face him. The knife she had hidden in her bodice was now clutched in her fist and hidden behind her back.
“And you... accidentally picked the lock?” the Captain asked, his hands clasped behind his back. “I may be a fool, Siren, but I am by no means stupid.”
“Could have fooled me, Captain,” Abbie said, dropping her voice to a low tone. “Let's just make this easy for the both of us... just go head and get down on the floor and act like I've beat your ass.”
She had known from the very start, when he had mentioned the ball in the middle of a fight that he was planning something for this night (and, as previously mentioned, the digital billboard hadn't exactly swayed the idea). Usually there were some kind of indications around town as to what that something would be. Her hand flexed around her knife when his hands dropped to his sides, his fingers twitching.
“Where would the fun be in that?” he asked, amusement in his tone.
Abbie sighed softly. “Fine, we'll do it the hard way.”
She lunged toward him, brandishing her knife. What she hadn't taken into account was getting tangled in her skirts and tumbling right into his arms. He caught her wrist and dragged her flush up against him with an embarrassing amount of ease. With just a small flick of his fingers, she was disarmed of her knife.
“I have no desire to quarrel with you this night, Siren,” he murmured, leaning his head down toward hers. His free hand rested at the small of her back, holding her in place. “When I spoke of this event, it was intended as an invitation to accompany me.”
Abbie blinked in confusion. Then she recalled his actual words when he had mentioned it. Perhaps it would not an imposition for you to join me at the Historical Society Ball. “Like... like a... a date?”
He closed his eyes and sighed with annoyance. “For lack of a better term... yes. I can understand why it would be confusing... I did ask in the midsts of a rigorously intense sword fight with you.”
Shaking her head to clear it, Abbie realized she had to have passed out from lack of oxygen because of the corset. There was no way this was actually happening. “What do you really want from me, Captain?"
His gaze fell to her bodice then back to her face. The crystalline blue of his eyes glimmered wickedly as a smirk appeared on his lips. “I had hoped to at least have a dance.” He released her wrist and trailed his fingers along her cheek. “Or, if I could be so bold... a kiss?”
What. The. Fuck.
This what not what Abbie had in mind when she had come to the ball. A fight? Yes. Having her nemesis essentially trying to seduce her? Um, no...
“Please, tell me you think about it, Siren,” he said softly, his eyes pleading as he gently removed her mask.
Abbie shivered and tried not to think about it. Thinking about it made things complicated. She shook her head. “No... I don't.” It had been a mistake... a huge mistake. A huge, hard mistake that had felt damn good pushing inside of her over and over until she had been trembling with ecstasy. She shook her head again. “I don't... I don't think about it."
She had been trying to put it behind her since they had escaped imprisonment in a weird catacombs type place by an ancient Goddess they had a mutual interest in destroying. Her because the Apocalypse wasn't going to be happening on her watch. Him because he didn't want the competition.
Abbie made the mistake of looking into his eyes again. “God, I hate you...” she ground out then snatched his face down to hers to kiss him.
#
It had truthfully been all he had been able to think about since their imprisonment. What had felt like months upon months of the two of them mapping out the terrain (her idea) and seemingly endless games of chess (his idea) had also involved their getting to know a little more about each other. That had led to quite a bit of amorous congress.
The first time he had seen her without her usual mask on, he had recognized her... from a brief moment when he had first awakened. She had been a police lieutenant at the time. From what he had learned, she was now with the FBI. She had been the only person to treat him like he wasn't insane.
He had never learned her name.
But fate had intervened and taken them on opposing paths. The others had not wanted to listen to her. He had been locked up in a psychiatric ward until the Masons had come to his rescue and taught him about the modern world which he was in. Now everyone just saw him as some eccentric rich man who could sometimes be mentally unstable and liked to dress in “cosplay” all the time.
Although... they were not exactly wrong. All the time he had spent in the company of Molly—aka, Moloch, fearsome demon of Hell—had driven him a bit insane. Ichabod wasn't sure how he had been able to relegate Molly to be the sulking creature it now was, but he had. And for the most part, he could order Molly about and it would obey him.
Of course, once he returned from the catacombs, it had taken a few weeks to get Molly to listen to him again. Even now, sometimes Molly wanted to argue.
Ichabod had thought, perhaps, things would change between himself and the Siren after escaping. But no, she still wanted to kick his ass. In fact she seemed even more adamant about it upon their return. And he... he found himself longing for her. Not just the very delightfully and wonderful physical parts. He longed for chess games and making her laugh, her making him laugh too. Her smile... oh she had a beautiful smile.
He had letters tucked away in his desk that he had written but had given up hope of delivering to her as he didn't know her actual name. He had extended an invitation to the Ball in hopes he could woo her. Or perhaps at least show her that he wasn't as villainous as she thought he was.
And now he had her fingers in his hair, her mouth upon his, their tongues having a vigorous battle with each other. His beautiful Siren moaned into his mouth and tugged at his coat. Ichabod quickly shrugged out of it and let it fall to the floor. They pulled and tugged at each other's clothes until he was naked and she was standing by his bed in just her corset and shift. He moved toward her and she held up a finger to stop him.
“Hang on,” she said, her voice a beautiful and sultry timbre. She sat on the edge of the bed and hoisted up the skirt of her shift to remove guns strapped to either of her thighs and a third, smaller one that had been strapped to one of her ankles. She set them on the bedside table.
Most men would have probably been put off by a woman that had arrived fully prepared to take no prisoners. Ichabod found it terribly arousing. He licked his lips when she kept her skirt tucked up then propped back on her elbows as she let her thighs fall apart. It occurred to him it would be incredibly rude to decline such a polite invitation.
He dropped to his knees before her. He kissed the swell of her breasts as his hands tugged at the corset strings behind her back. She sucked in a deep breath as it came loose. Within seconds, Ichabod was throwing the corset behind him and dropped his mouth to her thighs, kissing a path up toward the prize he wanted.
Ichabod lifted his head, causing his beautiful Siren to swear profusely. “What is your real name?” he asked softly.
She shoved his face back where it had been, effectively letting him know that she was not going to relent on that one small detail he craved so badly. Ichabod nipped at her thighs, revelling in the loud moan that escaped her lips. She wore a tiny scrap of satin over his goal. Lilac just as her dress had been.
He quickly discarded the satin and delved between her thighs with his mouth. She still tasted like the sweet ambrosia he remembered from the catacombs. Her fingers gripped his hair as she arched her hips toward him. “Oh my God,” she moaned lustfully. The sounds she made were even more intoxicating than the little tunes she would sing whilst picking locks.
Ichabod swirled his tongue around her clit then sucked at it gently. Siren trembled and made a beautiful whimpering sound. He raised his head to watch her face as he eased a finger inside of her, pushing in slowly. Her lips parted in a soft gasp. He wanted nothing more than to claim her lovely mouth in a kiss, to swallow each impassioned moan and gasp she made.
Carefully, he climbed to his feet and did just that. He gently pumped his finger into her, tasted her breath each time she sighed. When he added a second finger he revelled in the soft whimpers she made. When he began stroking his thumb around her clit in time to the thrusting of his fingers, she gripped his shoulders tightly, her nails biting into her skin. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and gently tugged at it as he brought her to the very edge of completion.
She screamed out his name as he felt the warm rush of her juices on his hand. He relented slowly, drawing out her pleasure until she collapsed against the bed, panting for breath. She shuddered, goosepimples dotting her skin, her nipples straining against her shift aching for attention.
“God...” she moaned. She moistened her lips then sighed heavily.
Ichabod leaned over her, planting a palm against the mattress on either side of her head. “And you are absolutely certain that has not crossed your mind since our return?” he asked softly.
Siren caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she laughed. “Not once,” she murmured, shaking her head.
Perhaps, instead of once, it had crossed her mind hundreds of times. Thousands even. Just as it had his. “How dreadfully unfair of you,” Ichabod said against her lips. “You are all I have been able to think about for... months... six months since we escaped.” She hummed softly. “It is also unfair that I cannot even know the name of the beautiful angel which has captured my heart.”
“Hmm... Life's not fair,” Siren replied. She traced the edges of the scar on his chest. “Molly?”
He shook his head. “No. Although it is a symbol of the things which have entwined our fates.” Somehow, he knew some day he would tell her all about everything that had happened in his past. For now he threaded his fingers between hers and captured her mouth in a kiss. She framed his hips with her knees and arched against him.
When he pushed inside of her, it felt like he had found home all over again.
#
Abbie gasped as he filled her. Ichabod squeezed her fingers as he pinned her hands onto the mattress. She couldn't bring herself to feel ashamed for enjoying how good it felt, how each powerful stroke drove her closer to the edge. When he released her hands to gently cup her breast, Abbie immediately wrapped her arms around him and scratched her nails down his back.
Ichabod released a loud, shaky groan against her jaw. His thumb traced lazy circles around her nipple as his lips and teeth explored the curve of her throat. His other hand hoisted her knee further up his side, driving him deeper, hitting a place deep inside that quickly had Abbie sobbing and shaking with another orgasm.
He slowed his thrusts and lifted his head to look down at her. He abandoned her breast and gently stroked away a tear that trailed from her eyes. “Have I hurt you?” he asked, his voice as soft as a kitten's purr.
Abbie shook her head. “It just felt that good,” she said breathlessly.
He cradled her head in both of his hands and rested his forehead against hers. Ichabod withdrew and slowly pushed back inside of her, moaning softly. “Tell me your name, my love... please.”
She bit her lip to keep herself from telling him. “Siren,” she replied.
“No,” he breathed. “That is my enemy. I wish to know the name of my lover.”
Abbie shook her head and couldn't keep a delighted smile from her face. “I'll never tell.”
Ichabod placed feather-light kisses on her brow, her cheeks, and finally her lips. “Tell me...” he growled.
Abbie laughed softly. “Never...” she said with mock disdain and found a giggle making it's way out into the open.
He grinned wickedly and Abbie could suddenly sense their futures were going to be full of “duels” that would end in wall sex. But she still wasn't going to tell him what her real name was.
#
It had taken jumping through a great many of hoops, as it were, to get where he was—Standing on the porch of a quaint little house on an equally quaint street in the quaintest neighbourhood he had ever seen. Taking a deep breath, Ichabod checked the address and the name on the mailbox one last time before knocking firmly on the door.
“I don't know! I swear!” a voice on the other side of the door proclaimed. “I made sure everyone at work knew not to bother me today.”
A few seconds later the knob rattled and the door opened. Ichabod didn't know who was more shocked: Siren—or rather Abigail as he had learned after some digging—or the woman looming behind her in the kitchen door way.
He was more inclined to believe Abigail was most surprise by his presence, especially when he presented her with the bouquet of lilies he had brought for her. “Forgive the intrusion, Miss Abigail Mills,” he said quietly, cradling her unoccupied hand in both of his. “You are quite a hard woman to find.
The other woman stepped forward, eyeing him hesitantly. “Everything okay, Abs?”
“Everything is fine, Jenny, go back to the kitchen,” Abigail snapped. She gently pulled her hand from his and stepped out onto the porch. She pulled the door closed behind her. The shock finally disappeared from her face. “What do you think you're doing?!” she hissed, her eyes darting around to make sure no neighbours were present.
He had no idea what he thought he was doing. It had seemed like a good idea, after finding out her true identity, to go over to her home and pay her a visit. It was only now he was starting to doubt the goodness of it. His nerve was quickly dissipating.
“Forgive me,” he said, looking down at his feet, his fingers flexing at his sides. What was it about this tiny woman that made him feel so nervous? “I see that I made a grievous error in informing you that I had found out your name, in this manner...”
Abigail—good God he couldn't get enough of rolling her name around in his head—nodded lightly. “Yeah... you did. You can try again next time you trying to take over the world.” She blinked up at him. “How did you find out my name?”
Ichabod tilted his chin up and curled his fingers into his palms. “I... may have... followed you to Starbucks... once. Or twice.”
She shoved the flowers back into his arms. “That's creepy.” She patted his chest and tilted her head with a tight smile. “No really... that's some stalker level creepy. You do know I'm in the FBI, right?”
“It wasn't intentional,” Ichabod gawked. “I just happened to see you and... diverted my course.”
“Okay that's not nearly as bad,” she said. “But now is not the time. My... sister is over. And... she just found out she's pregnant. So... we're having to deal with that. When's your next big project due?”
“I am expecting completion sometime early next week, thanks for asking,” Ichabod said quickly. “Probably will be easily disposed of with your normal artillery. How is your ankle?”
“It was swollen for a couple of days but... all good now.” She nodded shakily. “You should go.”
He muttered and nodded, taking several steps back from her. “Of course... of course... of--” he took one step to many and tumbled backwards off of the porch and landed on the hard paved path that led to the street. Ichabod was fairly certain he was going to be testing the theory of dying from embarrassment.
When he looked up at Abigail, her eyes were dancing with laughter but she had the good graces to not actually be laughing. Her sister, whom had apparently been watching from the window, could be heard laughing hysterically. Ichabod picked himself up and dusted off his coat. He dropped a low bow to Abigail. Her face softened and a small smile appeared. “I shall see you on the battle field, as it were.”
She nodded gently. “You shall,” she replied quietly. “Unless, since all this just happened, you just want to blow them up yourself and call next week a draw?”
#
Abbie moaned Ichabod's name as she clamoured for a grip on the bookshelves behind her. Instead she succeeded in knocking more books off of it. The place was called the Archives. It had been one of Ichabod's many endeavours for the Historical Society, but he used it as a sort of evil lair instead of having it open to the public.
It wasn't their first time having sex up against the bookshelves... nor would it probably be their last. It was, however the first time she had visited the place as herself. No vigilante costume. No mask. No code name. She went there as Abbie.
When she came he followed soon after and carried her over to one of the tables to sit her atop of it. Abbie hugged his face to her chest as they panted for their breaths. After a moment Ichabod sighed with relief and lifted his head. He cupped her cheek and smiled down at her with a look of pure adoration. “Grace Abigail Mills...” he said gently. “You are truly a wonder to behold.”
Abbie chuckled lightly. “Yeah, I read your letters. I got that impression.” There had been letters. So many letters. Most of them at least five pages long. The first few had come in a bulk bundle and seemed to have been from just after they had escaped the catacombs. But there had been at least one a day (and two on Monday to make up for Sunday apparently).
While reading the elegant script, she couldn't believe it was the same man that kept a demon as a pet and tried to build robot armies to destroy Sleepy Hollow. The most recent letter had informed her that he had 'grown weary' of dealing with Molly and the endless parade of trying to usher in the Apocalypse that she always thwarted (probably because he had no real desire to do her harm, therefore making himself very easy to defeat).
“Were you serious about... turning over a new leaf and... fighting at my side against Molly?” Abbie asked.
“Most certainly,” Ichabod replied, tilting her chin up enough to brush his lips over hers. “And no, I shall not resume villainy once he is defeated. The only fights I wish to have with you henceforth are over where to make love next.”
Abbie grasped his wrists and closed her eyes. She nodded. “That's good. I like that. That makes something I have to say a lot easier...”
Worry crossed his face when she pulled back. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“You know how last week you came to my house and I said it was a bad time because my sister found out she was pregnant?” Ichabod nodded, concern still on his face. Abbie took a deep breath. “Yeah... it wasn't my sister that had just found out. It was me.”
#
“I can't believe this shit. Can you believe this shit, Joe?” Jenny groused. Joe remained silent but one could look at the young man's face and tell he couldn't believe “this shit” either.
The justice of the peace cleared her throat. “Are you objecting to their union?”
Abbie glared at her sister. “No she's not,” Abbie growled.
Jenny shook her head. “Nope. Not objecting. I'm just saying... I can't believe this shit. Four years you two have been fighting. Four years. He shows up with some flowers and knocks you up and suddenly its... Oh Jenny I love him so much. I don't know what I would do without him. That's Bullshit.”
“It's complicated, okay,” Abbie huffed. “But he's a good guy now so shut up.”
Joe shrugged and finally spoke up. “To be honest I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. I've been shipping it from the beginning.” Jenny gawked and looked at Joe as though he had betrayed her.
“If everyone could kindly shut up so Abbie and I can be wed sometime before our child is born?” Ichabod huffed.
“It's still bullshit,” Jenny said defiantly, which earned her a glare from everyone present.