and I always say
we should be together
I can see below
‘cause there’s something in here
and if you are gone
I will not belong here
"Teach me how to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation."
Abbie raises an eyebrow as she glances up from the morning edition of the Sleepy Hollow paper, and its coverage of the tragic and unexplained drowning death of Caroline Forbes, a local re-enactor and historical enthusiast. (Sometimes she wonders if Henry has a plant down in Quantico and it’s a good thing she didn’t end up there after all, because it’s the only reasons she can think of that this town isn’t swarming with FBI agents.) She regards Ichabod for a long moment as he studiously butters his toast, then says, “That’s a big mouthful to bite off at eight o’clock in the morning, literally. Why? You planning to enter med school?”
"No." He splits a soft-boiled egg as vehemently as if it’s done him a personal insult, or said something disparaging about George Washington. Which seem to be the same thing, really.
"Planning to get certified as a babysitter?" Though who would let Crane near their kids at this point… he was good with little Sara Lancaster, though. Surprisingly so, considering his only begotten offspring is the Devil Incarnate. "I’m sure you could hop on down to the Red Cross with all the sixteen-year-old high schoolers."
"Not that I lack respect for the noble profession of housework and childcare, but not that either." His nostrils flare, which means his constitution is being tried. Poor him. Let it be tried. "Miss Mills, seeing as we were just the other day discussing the necessity of my learning modern skills… and then in the library, with Mary, you were only rescued by the intervention of our…." He struggles to find an epithet for Nick Hawley that encompasses both the breadth of his dislike for the arrogant-as-hell (but kind of cute) tall, shaggy, sassy supernatural specialist (not that Abbie has a type) and the fact that Hawley did save her life. “Mutual… acquaintance, who performed some type of maneuver that, I am led to collect, is commonly known by its shortened acronym CPR. I wish to learn how to do it.”
"Crane." Abbie sets the paper aside. "Now that Mary’s gone, I don’t think we’ll have to deal with that again. They like to change it up on us."
Ichabod gets that stubborn look of his. “I refuse to take the chance, especially one with such long odds as Nicholas Hawley agreeing to do the right thing a second time without being handsomely compensated for it. Just in case.”
"Why?" Abbie says coolly, picking up the paper again. "Katrina didn’t need it."
That is a low blow, she knows, but she can’t bring herself to feel bad. All her misgivings about Katrina’s decision to stay where she is, the look on Ichabod’s face when his wife offered her hand to Abraham Von Brunt and told him she was ready to go home, Abbie’s utter and absolute certainty that there is more to the death of Mary Wells, and Ichabod’s relentless obsession with all of it… her bad feeling has been borne out and then some. Her memories of the incident are a blur. Just seeing that dark, ghastly specter in the corner, being dragged under, glimpses of the Dobbs Ferry bridge flashing overhead… then nothing. Blinking back to consciousness to see Ichabod and Hawley hovering over her and someone saying the paramedics were on their way. (How the hell did they think she almost drowned in a library?) She knows Hawley saved her life because of course he had to rub it in, but Ichabod…
Abbie pushes that thought away. “There are probably some dummies down at the station,” she says at last. “If you really want to practice.”
"On a mannequin? I fail to see how my efforts would be the least bit worthwhile if applied in that direction," Ichabod huffs. "Besides, as Sheriff Reyes has made it quite clear what will become of me if I am once more discovered on the premises without her permission, I hardly think — "
Abbie folds the paper, rests her arms on the breakfast table, and looks at him directly. “It’s not really CPR you want to learn. Is it.”
Ichabod glances away. Finally he says, “What was magic in my time has become science in yours. Do you know what we would have given for the simplest of these medical advances, antiseptic and bandages and painkillers, during the winter at Valley Forge? If that is the least of what this century can offer — which is, I shall grudgingly concede, of a certain use — then surely — “
"Crane." Abbie’s voice is soft. She wants to reach out and take his hands in hers, but she doesn’t. "I can’t teach you how to save me. Ordinary hospitals and such — they can’t. If it comes to that… you can’t. We were lucky last time. Maybe we won’t be again. It’s just a fact."
"No." He’s the one who moves this time, who reaches out convulsively and grabs her fingers, his large ones and her small ones tightly interweaving. "I refuse, Leftenant. As I said. We will not bury one another. Entreat me not to leave thee, nor to depart from thee: for whither thou goest, I will go: and where thou dwellest, I will dwell: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me and more also, if ought but death depart thee and me.”
Abbie’s lip curls a little, quivering. “That’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”
"The pledge of Ruth to Naomi, yes." Ichabod does not look up from their interwoven fingers. "From the Geneva Bible, 1599 Anno Domini, the one used by Shakespeare, Cromwell, Donne, and others — the King James version was a brazen act of plagiarism, it is one of the tragedies of history that it has become so iconic. The Puritan character of it angered the Anglicans, who thus had to commission a — "
Abbie clears her throat. “I get the point, Crane.”
"Ah. Yes." Ichabod actually shuts up, a power she has recently discovered she possesses over him and resolves to wield more often. "The point is, Miss Mills, is that you will not die. I forbid it."
"Right." Abbie sweeps her hair back over her shoulder. Holds onto his hand a moment longer, lets herself that much at least, and then pulls back. Doesn’t want to say the words in return. Can already hear herself in the tunnels, confessing how close purgatory came to breaking her, and when she saw the demon fetch of him, how she truly did. I can’t teach you how to save me.
And even more terrifyingly, she can no longer teach herself.