Auld Lang Syne

[swordznsorcery]

fandom_stocking fic for emeraldarrows.

Fandom: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Characters: Crane, Abbie
Gen, c. 4300 words


Auld Lang Syne

The door to Crane's cabin stood open, for all that it was a frosty morning. The sounds of chopping wood told Abbie where she would find him, and changing course, she headed around the back. Sure enough there he was, coat off and hair awry, busy about the remnants of a tree. He noticed her approach and nodded a greeting, before burying the head of the axe in a chunk of wood to bring his exertions to a close.

"Good morning, lieutenant. The hour is still early. Do we have a case?"

"No, it's a holiday." She looked around at the growing store of wood. "Although apparently you didn't get the memo."

"Memo?" He frowned at her, then bent to collect up a load of firewood. "Holiday or not, lieutenant, there are still chores to be done, particularly if one has no wish to freeze to death when the bad weather sets in."

"Most of us just turn up the heating a notch," she told him, and picked up a few chunks of wood to show willing. His forehead wrinkled in a faintly disapproving frown.

"Of course. How would you people cope without electricity? If something were to steal it from you, you would be quite at a loss."

"It happens. Like when the Hessians attacked that power station, except it's usually a lot less demony." She threw her offering down into the wood store beside his own. "It's called a blackout."

"A blackout?" She could practically see his brain mulling over this latest of many new words. "Yes of course. Because you are without light, I suppose." He looked up from where he was crouched, arranging the logs neatly. "And what happens? Is there national disaster?"

"Usually just a lot of swearing."

"That would appear to be the answer to everything in this era."

"True." She sat down on an old tree trunk to watch him as he gathered more wood. "Anyway, the holiday is why I came up here. We've got a day off, and I wondered if you had anything planned."

"The forces of darkness are hardly going to give pause for your celebration of the new year, lieutenant. I don't imagine that Moloch cares much for the date."

"You have something in mind?"

"Yes. I have some of Sheriff Corbin's files here, and it seemed a good opportunity to go over his notes, and see if I can divulge some sort of meaning from some of his more esoteric collections." He paused in his stacking. "Why, did you have a mission planned? I am of course at your service, should you require me for something other than research."

"No, nothing important." She shrugged, staring at the dried mud and grass about her feet. "I was just thinking we might hang. With it being the new year and all."

"Hang? You do realise that people from my time are hardly likely to be delighted by the offer of hanging?" He smiled, a faint twitch of the lips that might have meant anything. "But thank you for the thought. Holidays are..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely when he failed to find a suitable word. "It has been a complicated few weeks."

"Yeah. The grand tradition of holidays. I know. We talked about it some over Thanksgiving, but by the time you've been through Christmas and reached the new year as well, any bad feelings you have are probably about ten times worse."

"You sound as though you speak from experience," he observed, and she shrugged, kicking absently at a clump of loose grass.

"I guess. I've had so many years begin without any possibility of reconciling with Jenny. It makes an uninspiring start to a year. Now she's back in my life, but she's off somewhere being mysterious, and I thought maybe you might be feeling kind of the same way."

"Yes." The faint, somewhat unfathomable smile was back, and he leaned against the wall of the woodshed, staring, as she had done, at the ground. "I must admit, it has been a... a complicated time. We stand on the verge of a new year, but it is not the year that I wish I were welcoming." He looked up suddenly, meeting her gaze. "My apologies. I realise that I could have phrased that more graciously."

"It's okay. I know what you mean. Anyhow, that's why I came. Maybe we can chase away a few of those holiday blues?"

"Perhaps you are right." He brushed sawdust from his hands and trousers, stamping the worst of it from his boots. "Sometimes, when I am alone up here, I could almost feel as though I were back in the eighteenth century. It's quite possible to go for hours without hearing a car, or one of those infernal airplanes that you all like so much." He sighed. "But that's not exactly healthy, is it. Whether the present is where I want to be or not, it is where I am; and where I shall have to stay."

"Then I have the perfect distraction." She stood up, and began to stride purposefully back to the front of the house. "Today we're going to put the apocalypse aside for a few hours, and we're going to watch DVDs, and eat food that we shouldn't. How does that sound?"

"Alarming." He trailed after her. "DVDs? If you mean your television discs, I'm afraid I have had to conclude that there is nothing of television that I wish to view. It all appears to be singing competitions - if one can really call that singing - and young women purporting to dance, and in the most inappropriate attire. Not to mention quite a ridiculous amount of doctors and policemen."

She laughed. "I promise, no gameshows and no cop shows. No horror movies either. We get enough of that stuff in our day job. I was thinking of something a little more fun. I have my laptop in my car, and we'll set that up in the cabin, make some Irish coffee, and relax. I even brought M&Ms."

"Am I supposed to know what those are?"

"No, you're just supposed to boil some water for the coffee, and then sit down and enjoy yourself." She arched an eyebrow, in a rough approximation of his own, familiar expression. "That's if you've got any furniture left to sit on. You've got to get out of the habit of leaving this place with the door wide open. Anybody could walk in."

"I find the paranoia of the twenty-first century quite baffling."

"You wouldn't, if you'd ever done routine police work. If it's not nailed down, people will walk off with it. Not that you have a lot anyone would want to steal, admittedly."

"If the world were really as bad as you make it out to be, I feel quite sure that you would not strive so hard to protect it."

"Oh, it's not all bad. But I've spent time on both sides of the law, remember. I know first hand the kinds of thing that people will steal."

"Indeed." He took a look around the cabin, as they stood together in the doorway. "Well, it appears that catastrophe has been averted for today at least. Nobody has absconded with my table. I shall boil some water for your coffee." He frowned. "I had no idea that the Irish were famous for their coffee. Have they been growing it for a long time?"

"For as long as I can remember," she told him, not bothering to set him straight. "I'll get the stuff in from the car. Find us the two biggest mugs that you have."

"Certainly." He vanished into the gloom of the cabin's interior, and she heard him clattering about in what passed for a kitchen. It was good that he had settled in so well, even if Corbin's cabin was not quite what he was used to. Turning away, Abbie returned to her car, collecting her laptop and a selection of DVDs. Crane came to help a moment later, and she loaded him up with the rest of the supplies – a half bottle of whisky, a spray can of cream that she only vaguely remembered buying, and was reasonably sure was still in date, several different kinds of M&Ms, and a carton of rocky road ice cream. The latter was probably more like rocky road soup by now, but if being stabbed to death and buried for two hundred years hadn't been enough to kill Crane, she reasoned that some warm ice cream was unlikely to manage it.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you got some modern equipment around here," she said, setting up her laptop on the table, and dialling up the volume good and loud. Crane looked predictably appalled.

"Can I do something to assist you?" he asked, undoubtedly hoping to change the subject. She glared - then, makeshift entertainment system assembled, set about making the coffee. Crane's eyes widened, and when she finally handed him his mug, he regarded it with a sort of fascinated horror.

"Is this a new year tradition?" he asked. She took a sip, and smiled in satisfaction.

"Is should be. Drink up." She began pouring M&Ms into a bowl, unable to hold back a short laugh when his alarm over the coffee was quickly diverted by his first sight of the little coloured balls. "You eat them," she clarifed, and he picked up a blue one extremely carefully.

"In my experience it is not altogether sensible to eat things that are blue," he said. She ushered him into a chair, picking up a handful of the M&Ms herself, and eating them quickly, as though to prove that they were unlikely to explode. He followed suit with his blue one, and looked pleased.

"Most enjoyable, thank you. It seems that the twenty-first century is filled with unlikely, but ultimately pleasing, food items."

"Me and the twenty-first century take that as a compliment. Now, what do you want to watch first?"

"I am hardly best placed to choose, lieutenant. I don't suppose you have any historically accurate depictions of life in the eighteenth century?"

"No." She reached for the DVDs. "But I hope I've got the next best thing. How about a Western?"

"A what?" He frowned as she held up a box that bore pictures of men on horseback.

"A Western. They're an American classic. Mostly they're set in the nineteenth century, and they're about how the west was settled. I thought it might be something that you could identify with, at least a little."

"That's very kind of you, Miss Mills." He looked a little touched. "Yes, thank you. That would be fascinating. I can brush up on some of the history that I have missed."

"Yes..." She hesitated, then ploughed on. It would take a month or more to explain the long tradition of exaggerated half truths that made up the Western myth. "Or you sort of can. Just remember that there's a whole lot more black people in the real history of the west. Latinos too. Hollywood always seems to miss that bit out."

"I shall bear it in mind." He took the box from her, turning it over to examine the various pictures. "Do these films help to tell the story of our Indian friends? I was of course only acquainted with those tribes on the eastern coast, but I should very much like to discover more of the other tribes, and hear their story told as well."

"There's a little bit about them here and there." She winced, hiding it with a sip of coffee. She had been very careful in her choice of DVDs, in order to avoid exposing him to the traditional depiction of the American tribes in Hollywood history. That was a conversation for another day, when they were not specifically looking to be cheered. She remembered all too well his distress over what little he had learned already.

"I shall look forward to it." He took a wary sip from his coffee, negotiating the mound of whipped cream on top as though concerned that it might bite back. "Very well, lieutenant, I place myself in your hands. Let the Westerning begin."

**********
"So what did you think?" asked Abbie sometime later, as the booming theme music juddered to a halt, with the final demise of the laptop's battery power. Crane frowned, setting aside what remained of the long-melted ice cream.

"Are you quite sure that this is a truthful depiction of the nineteenth century?" he asked. She laughed then, tossing the slimy remnants of the ice cream into the trash.

"What makes you doubt it?"

"All those outlaws. People complain of the supposed lawlessness of the modern age, but if this is to be believed, the twenty-first century is a positive utopia when compared to the rampant crime and disorder suffered by your forefathers. These people seem to have spent every day under siege. Highwaymen, cattle thieves, horse thieves, bank robbers. And all in such a very small town. Tell me: these Cartwrights. Are they famous historical figures?"

"Yes," she told him, keeping her face perfectly straight. His frown deepened.

"Then these are truthful stories of their lives?"

"Sure are. Every kid learns about the Cartwrights in school."

"I see." He ate a few of the remaining M&Ms, by now quite inured to the lurid colours. "Well, I'm baffled, lieutenant. I fail to understand how America ever made it out of the nineteenth century, if the history of the period was truly filled with that many miscreants. Apparently we owe the very existence of modern civilisation to the law enforcement skills of a young man with the unlikely name of ‘Little Joe'."

"It is kind of hard to believe, isn't it."

"All the same, it was a fine tale. I found it quite exhilarating." He smiled at her, looking as relaxed as she had ever known him to be, half curled up in one of the battered old chairs. "It was very pleasant to spend some time in an earlier age, with a more familiar style of living. I thank you, Miss Mills. It was a nice thought."

"Glad to help." She closed up the laptop, intending to depart and leave him in peace, but she realised as she began that she didn't want to leave. Not really. He had spoken of his plan to do some research, and she herself had had plans along similar lines – as well as something vague about a long, deserved soak and some catching up on sleep – but her place was going to be quiet and empty. She was used to that, and usually she didn't mind it, especially after a long day in the clamour of the police station. As she had discussed with Crane before, however, this was a holiday. It was a time when she had so often been alone; and now, perhaps, she no longer needed to be. Taking a chance, she abandoned her tidying up, and sat back down.

"Tell me about your life," she said to him, stretching out her legs towards the dark orange embers of the fire. He frowned.

"Beyond our battle against Moloch and his forces, there is not a lot to be discussed."

"I don't mean your life here. I mean then. What would you usually have done around the new year, for example?"

"Oh, I see." He glanced away, and she wondered if perhaps she shouldn't have asked. It might be painful, after all, for him to think of his life with Katrina. For him it was still so recent, for all that it was a quarter of a millennia ago. After a moment he shrugged, and offered her a faint, half smile. "There was nothing grand about it. Christmas was quite a minor affair, although of course we would try to make some celebration about it. Katrina was raised a Quaker, and her faith was important to her." His smile grew a little. "I feel quite sure that it was no celebration that you would recognise, given what I have observed of the modern idea of Christmas."

"No mad crushes in shops, you mean?" she teased, and he laughed.

"And no extraordinary commercial pressure. Children would be glad to receive an orange, or perhaps some small sweetmeats; and then generally only amongst the wealthy families." A flicker of something dark showed in his face, and she guessed at his thoughts. He had missed out on so much. So many Christmasses that might have been, with the wife he had lost, and the child that he had never even met. She reached out, laying a hand briefly on his arm, and he smiled at her. It was a distant expression, but it looked heartfelt. "My apologies. I had no intention of becoming maudlin."

"It was my fault. I should have known better than to ask the question."

"No, please. The fault is hardly yours. If I am to live my life so far from my own time, I cannot imagine anybody more pleasant to share it with." He reached for his coffee mug, but finding it long empty, contented himself with staring into it instead. "You asked about the new year. When I was a child, and still living in England, we made something special of it, after a fashion. My father would entertain. He was a wealthy man, of no small social standing, and he would throw a party. There would be roast pheasant, and sometimes duck or goose. A good deal of wine, and sometimes tarts or cakes made with apples and plums. In America things were different. So much of the time I was at war, on one side or the other. There seemed little time for parties. I used to imagine a time when the war would be over, but of course I have merely swapped one battle for another."

"That actually sounds a little familiar," she told him. "Not the war of course. Just the idea of imagining some future time when things might be more fun. I always hoped that one day I'd have family around. It's been better since I grew up. Corbin, Luke, other friends from work. We go out for drinks, and cheer each other up. I guess I'm still hoping for that proper family celebration though. Jenny and I..." She sighed. "Well, we're working on it now at least. Sort of."

"Miss Jenny is a complicated person," observed Crane. Abbie laughed at that.

"Boy is that the truth. But then aren't we all."

"I suppose so. I would certainly hope, however, for the wellbeing of the nation, that most people's lives are not quite as complicated as ours."

"It's our job to see that their lives never get that complicated."

"Indeed." He frowned at his mug, then rose slowly to his feet. "Miss Mills, might I interest you in some more coffee? I remain unconvinced about the mountain of cream, but the whiskey was a highly commendable addition."

"Now that is a good idea." She stood up as well. "I'll get the coffee. You put some more wood on the fire."

"Are you cold? My apologies."

"Are you kidding? Crane, your draughts have draughts. I don't know how you stand it, living out here all the time."

"It's very pleasant." He smiled. "My clothing does have its benefits, I suppose. You should try wearing woollen socks and long boots. My coat is also very well made. In my time we had to think about such things. It often appears to me as though, in the twenty-first century, style has taken over from practicality."

"Woollen socks?" She almost shuddered. "Yeah. Not gonna happen. The boots are kind of funky though. Not exactly practical for my lifestyle, mind. You can't beat a good pair of running shoes when you're chasing after crooks."

"Perhaps." He seemed to be considering her shoes for a moment, and she laughed.

"I'll buy you a pair if you want."

"Thank you, no." He leaned down to stir the embers, adding several more logs as he did so. The fire, needing little encouragement, leapt back to its previous height. "They seem... insubstantial. Quite inappropriate for horse-riding."

"Not one of my usual considerations when I get up in the morning."

"No, I suppose not. I confess that there are a number of adjustments that I seem to be avoiding making."

"It's early days yet, Crane. Seriously early days."

"Perhaps." He sat down on the hearth, his back to the now roaring fire. "I think, in many ways, I am still wondering it I shall wake up, and find it all a dream."

"That's understandable." Spraying cream with sudden enthusiasm, she finished making their coffee, them went over to sit beside him on the warm stones. "I've wondered about it myself. It would make a lot more sense than demons invading Sleepy Hollow."

"I fear that if either of us is dreaming, Miss Mills, it is not about demons. We had both encountered them long before our present predicament began."

"Yeah." She drew up her knees, resting her arms on them, and sipping cautiously at the hot coffee. "The rest of the world gets to live a normal life, and we get to chase nightmares."

"One cannot argue with destiny."

"I'll argue with whatever I damned well please."

"Well said." He toasted her with his coffee mug, then leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace, staring out at the cluttered little room that was his new home. Abbie had no idea what he was thinking, but his pale eyes, so often bright with haughty self-possession, seemed now somehow murky and still. He turned his head after a moment, however, and smiled at her.

"My apologies. I found myself thinking for a moment about fate."

"Threw us both a curveball, didn't it."

"A curveball?" He frowned, then his expression cleared. "Yes, I see, I think. And yes, I suppose that it did. Perhaps it also granted us something else as well, however."

"How do you mean?" She settled back against the wall as well, her left side roasting pleasantly in the heat of the fire between them. He took a thoughtful sip of coffee, before resting his head against the wall, and smiling a lazy smile. He had closed his eyes, although she didn't think that he was in danger of falling asleep. Perhaps the whisky was starting to have an effect. It made her wonder if she would be safe to drive home.

"Well, for one thing we find ourselves in the twenty-first century," he elaborated, somehow contriving to drink whilst sprawled in comfortable elegance. "We might easily have been from the nineteenth, amongst all those bandits and highwaymen and horse thieves."

"We could have given Little Joe Cartwright a hand," she observed, wondering if perhaps she ought to tell him the truth about that. He nodded.

"He could probably have used the assistance."

"And if you had woken up then, you'd at least feel more at home," she pointed out. "Horses, no electricity, no plastic, no computers to get cross with."

"No M&Ms," he added, and smiled without opening his eyes. She laughed.

"I'm turning you into a junk food addict. By rights the next step in your education should be a cheeseburger with all the trimmings."

"Do I want to ask what that is?"

"Probably not."

"Then I won't." He turned his head to smile across at her, his eyes open again now, and no longer quite so sad. He seemed almost cheerful, which she hoped wasn't just due to the coffee. "The twenty-first century has other benefits, Miss Mills, besides the questionable food and peculiar beverages. Had I awoken in the nineteenth century, I might have found myself rather less at sea, but I should have had to negotiate obstacles nonetheless, and I should have had to negotiate them alone. If one has to be thrown two hundred and fifty years away from everything familiar, one could not easily choose a better confederate."

"As time-travelling British soldiers go, you're not too bad yourself."

"Thank you." Once again he saluted her with his mug, and this time she raised her own in reply. By rights, she thought, she ought to be suggesting some work. He had mentioned research earlier, and if she was going to stay here, she should be helping him with it. She considered her primary reason for the visit to be a success. Some of the old ghosts of the season had been dispelled, for her at least, and he seemed to have enjoyed the experience as well. Time then to turn to Corbin's files. Time to climb to her feet, and concentrate on far more serious things. She stayed where she was. The apocalypse could wait until she was no longer quite so comfortable. Beside her, Crane heaved a sigh.

"Duty calls, lieutenant."

"Yeah." It was her turn to close her eyes. "If we don't answer it, do you suppose it'll go away?"

"An interesting notion." He laughed quietly. "How much whiskey is left in that bottle?"

"Enough for one more coffee each, I think."

"It would be a shame to let it go to waste."

"It would, wouldn't it."

"Although what we have already drunk appears to have robbed both of us of the use of our legs."

It was her turn to laugh. "Actually I think that's just laziness. It's kind of a new thing for me. I'm enjoying it."

"It's quite the new experience for me as well." This time his smile was a bright one, with a hint of mischief that was unfamiliar. She decided that she liked it. "I feel quite led astray."

"Glad to hear it." She held up what little remained of her coffee, for him to chink it with his own. "New holiday tradition?"

For a moment he sobered, and she could imagine the thoughts that her comment had engendered. A lifetime stretching ahead in a new world. No possibility of returning to anything familiar. Then he smiled and nodded, and their mugs rang out a dull, muted note of collision.

"Very well, lieutenant." His eyes met hers, bright and lively with genuine humour. "Rest assured, I shall be looking forward to it."


The End