Note: Hello and welcome. This is set in a Katrina-less future. I'm not sure how long it'll be, but there will definitely be another chapter or two. Hope you enjoy!

1. Black Tie

The Lieutenant opened her front door looking harried. "Hi Crane. Sorry- I'm running late." She waved him inside. She was barefoot, wet-haired and clad in a blue silk bathrobe.

"Good evening, Lieutenant."

She stood back and looked him up and down appraisingly. "Well, well, well. I thought I'd never pry you out of that moth-eaten coat after the Skinny Jeans Fiasco. You scrub up nice, Crane."

He bowed his head in thanks. He wasn't sure what 'scrubbing' had to do with anything, but he liked her approving smile. "Well, one can hardly disregard a dress code, particularly when we need to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible."

They were attending the Mayor's birthday party: a 'black tie' cocktail event at her home, to which they had not strictly been invited. They suspected that the Mayor was in possession of an artifact that might help them defeat their current foe, a particularly loathsome and extremely bloodthirsty vampire-demon. Their target was an eighteenth-century hunting knife that had been hexed by a powerful witch. This fortuitously-timed party had given them an opportunity to search for it… provided, of course, that they could talk themselves through the front door.

To this end, he had spent his afternoon being prodded and measured and manhandled by a surly Italian gentleman in Sleepy Hollow's Finest Formalwear, and then handing over an obscene amount of money for the loan- not even the purchase, but the loan- of what was apparently called a tuxedo. He did in fact quite like the ensemble, with its sleek black dinner jacket and crisp white shirt. He'd had some difficulties with the bowtie though, as the Lieutenant now noticed. She reached up on tiptoes to re-tie it for him. He looked carefully straight ahead, trying not to notice the closeness of her body in the thin robe or the deft movement of her fingers against his collar.

"So what do you think? Have I finally converted you to twenty-first century fashion?"

"Compared to tank tops, flip flops, skinny jeans… this is indeed rather smart."

The Lieutenant stared up at him with theatrical disbelief. "Ichabod Crane, are you telling me there's a piece of modern clothing you can't complain about?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. But this is hardly suitable for everyday wear. It isn't very practical."

She stepped back and admired her handiwork. "I don't know, I think I'd be okay with you wearing this every day. Speaking of impractical- I'd better go get ready. It'll take me a while to maneuver myself into this damn dress, so make yourself comfortable. Have another look at those plans and work out a strategy for the search."

She disappeared into the bedroom and he settled on the sofa. The television was displaying something called America's Next Top Model, which seemed to involve a group of thin women in outlandish clothes saying rude things to each other. The architectural plans for the Mayor's house were spread out on the coffee table and he bent forward to examine them. They would need to search the whole manor as quickly as possible without getting caught or cornered. The Mayor apparently had quite a collection of historical artifacts and curios, so it could take some digging.

He began marking out the locations where the knife was most likely to be stored or displayed- the library, the Mayor's study, the attic- but he found it difficult to concentrate. His thoughts kept straying back to the Lieutenant. The way her robe had slipped down a little as she adjusted his tie, baring the smooth skin of her shoulder. The warm scent of her, more lovely than any false perfume. The quirk of her lips and the gleam in her eye as she teased him. His mind had been lingering on thoughts such as these for a while now.

It had been more than a year since he had lost his beloved Katrina. A short time after she had come back to him- far too short- his wife had sacrificed herself in battle to defeat a great and terrible demon. He had wrestled with his grief for many months. The Lieutenant had been constantly at his side, supporting him with quiet strength even when his anguish made him irrational and he lashed out at her. She had steadied him and compelled him to carry on their work, which had turned out to be a welcome distraction (not to mention a helpful outlet for his anger: nothing was more satisfying than beheading a demon with a single swordstroke when you were having a bad day).

With the passage of time, he had come to terms with his loss and found a measure of peace. And with that had come a growing realization. He missed his wife and would always love her. But he loved the Lieutenant too. He loved her in the way he always had: he respected and admired her very deeply, and would lay down his life for her in an instant. But he had begun to love her in a different way, too. A way that made him think rather too often about what it would be like to kiss her. A way that made him want to untie the sash on that silk robe and slip it off her shoulders and pull her against him and…

He grimaced, slightly disgusted with himself. He knew that he could never act on these feelings. He was quite certain that she did not reciprocate them. And in any case, they were the Witnesses, the last line of defense against the impending apocalypse. Their work was more important than anything. To complicate matters by becoming… involved would be a dangerous distraction. She saw him as her friend, her comrade-at-arms, her partner. He must do the same.

He knew all this. He did. But it didn't make it any easier.

He turned his attention firmly back to the Mayor's manor.

It was more than twenty minutes before he heard the click of the Lieutenant's shoes coming down the hallway. He rose to his feet and turned, ready with an arch comment about how long it had taken her to dress. It died on his lips.

She stood framed in the doorway, pinning up a last strand of hair. She wore a berry-red gown. The strapless bodice clung closely to every curve, showing off her slender waist and a hint of décolletage. The voluminous skirts fell to mid-calf; they swished elegantly as she stepped into the room. Her skin shone like it had been polished and her hair was pinned up in a simple braid. She wore no jewelry. She didn't need it.

He realized he was quite literally staring at her with his mouth open. He closed it. "Lieutenant. You are… you look very lovely."

"Thanks." She gave a business-like twirl, revealing a flash of her shoulder blades. God give me strength, he thought, fighting a sudden intense urge to run his fingers down that beautiful swathe of exposed skin. "It's my one and only fancy dress- I've worn it to about four different weddings. It isn't really black tie but I think it'll do."

"Yes, I… I imagine so." Pull yourself together, man. Stammering over a pretty lady in a gown like a blushing schoolboy!

"Do we have a plan?" He blinked at her. "The knife, Crane." She gestured impatiently at the blueprints on the table.

"Oh. Yes. I believe so."

"Good." She cast a longing glance at the television before turning it off with a sigh. "I'd much rather spend tonight on the sofa with Tyra, a pair of sweatpants and a glass of wine, but such is the terrible burden of being a Witness. C'mon, let's go. It's after eight already." She slipped her badge and gun into her purse and headed for the door.

He gathered up the plans and followed her out, wondering how on earth he was going to get through the night without making a complete fool of himself.

TBC