The Seven Steps of Progression

The first time, it's only a handshake.

It's a how-do-you-do, it's a case well done, it's a silent promise to be in this together, forever, or until the strange happenings involving them both have settled down.

Of course, neither Ichabod nor Abbie had realized what that handshake was, or what it was the start of. At the time, both of them had better things to worry about. Ichabod, how he had ended up in the 21st century, and Abbie, how she was playing babysitting host to a two-hundred-and-fifty year old man who barely looked a day over maybe thirty-five.

"Well," Lieutenant Mills mutters, shoving her fingers back through her hair and then looking up at Ichabod. "To a case well done?" she ventures, and extends her hand.

Ichabod looks at her for a moment, looks at her offered hand like it's yet another unknown thing to him in this world even though he has shaken hands before. With different people, of different times, but a handshake transcended them all.

"To a case very well done, Lieutenant," he responds quietly, and takes her hand in his.

The second time, it's a fist bump.

Ichabod doesn't know the point of the gesture, nor does he know why or where it came from. It's not as elegant as a handshake and it is most assuredly not as formal. Still, there is something special about it, something in the way that Lieutenant Mill's eyes light up or the smile tugs at her lips. Ichabod has to admit that there is something strangely attractive about a fist bump, although he hasn't an idea on earth what it is.

Maybe it's friendship.

Interesting. Friendship was never marked with a fist bump in his days. Of course, there wasn't a fee for drinking water in his days, either.

Ichabod flexes his fingers, still feeling the ghost of the Lieutenant's knuckles against his, and follows her from the room with a ghost of a smile.

"Makes no sense," he mutters, but it doesn't matter, because it's nice.

The third time, it's holding hands.

If Ichabod hadn't faced war and the death of his comrades in a life past, he would not believe the trials that he and Miss Mills had gone through. The trials that they still yet must endure, the battles that they still yet must fight. And he's not someone who is idle-minded enough to think that he can handle it all on his own, just as the Lieutenant cannot handle it all on her own, either.

Fear, when handled correctly, could be converted into something more powerful, and Miss Mills is that point of conversion for him.

Entwining his fingers with hers gives him a strength that he had long forgotten he possessed.

The fourth time, it's a hug.

Ichabod wraps his arms around her and holds her close, tucking her head against his shoulder. It surprises him how much he does not want to let her go. They've formed a close bond, him and the Lieutenant. After being apart from his wife for over two centuries, he has learned the value of companionship and, even though he has found Katrina again, he doesn't want to lose Miss Mills. Not like this.

And when she hoists him into Purgatory, the same way that Katrina used to, and Ichabod finds that he can touch and hear and see, all he can find himself doing is rushing forward to meet her in an embrace that knocks the wind out of both of them.

It's been hours, or days, maybe, but it's been too long.

"I do not accept goodbye," he vows, and he doesn't, and he won't.

The fifth time, it's consoling.

Ichabod knows that there is some standing rule that, at one point, women were, essentially, the lesser of the two sexes. In his day, women had little to no rights. Their place was at home, with the children, while the men faced the horrors of work and war. In this age, however, women appear to have a better foothold upon things, but there seems to still be unspoken ideals that are to be followed.

Such as the fact that women are allowed to be emotional, whilst the man is supposed to be the pillar. Ichabod's seen enough breakups and makeups on reality television to understand the idea.

But he does not protest when he folds himself onto Miss Mills' sofa and she slips her arm around him to draw him close to her presence. He can't protest, too numb from the shock of losing Katrina again, and permanently, this time, as his wife had sacrificed herself for his and Miss Mills' safety.

Instead, he rests his head against her shoulder and stares at the rain beating against the window. She rests her head against his and Ichabod loses track of how long they sit in the silence.

The sixth time, he kisses her.

On the cheek.

Because he still isn't sure what he's feeling for her. She had been a stranger at first, and then a friend, and then a sister-in-arms, and then maybe more. But some part of him still hangs onto Katrina, the part of him that's still too raw over the finality of her death after he had found her again, and that's the part that makes Ichabod dither over what he's doing.

The Lieutenant doesn't seem to see, or if she does, she hides it by having turned away, that Ichabod's having a silent war with himself.

In any case, it's Christmas. He believes that that is an acceptable reason for a kiss on the cheek, if not only for a cover.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Mills," he says quietly.

"Save it for the mistletoe, Ichy," Jenny remarks, then nudges her sister and reaches for the eggnog.

The seventh time, he really kisses her.

On the lips.

This time, there's no room for mistaking his intentions. And the nerves are heavy on his heart and the butterflies are hard on his stomach, all of his nervous excitement taking him back to being a young man courting for the first time. But this feels different, the same and different, because while it takes him back, it also feels perfect. Similar to the way it had felt with Katrina, but different, too, because that was Katrina, and this is Abigail.

She kisses him back, slowly at first and then with more resolve.

Ichabod wants to melt right into the kiss, and then he wants to laugh, partly because he just thought about melting into a kiss but mostly because he's just so happy.

Abbie pulls away. "That..."

Ichabod raises his eyebrows. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I think that means you can start calling me 'Abbie' now," she replies with a smile, and he can't help but smile back.

"Abbie."

It's perfect.

He has never been more happy.

Hey, Sleepyheads on FF! I've been writing S(leepy)H(ollow) (SH for this show and SH for Sherlock Holmes, I get myself confused xD) fanfic for awhile now, it all ends up on my AO3, but this was my first piece and it's still one of my favourites, so I figured I'd put it up for the non-AO3ers to read~

I do not own Sleepy Hollow. Thanks for reading!