Title: Aftermath
Author: occhi bella
Set: 15-03
Theme: Apology (5-02, #2)
Fandom: Sleepy Hollow (movie)
Character: Ichabod Crane
Rated: R
Warning: Non-explicit implications of rape and incest. Spoilers
Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow and its characters do not belong to me. I make no money from this.

Summary: Ichabod departs for New York with Katrina and Young Masbath, but their journey is delayed by unexpected complications. Picks up at the part where the Hessian disappears into the Tree of the Dead for the last time with Lady Van Tassel.

Chapter 1

Ichabod's hand still held Katrina's as he watched the Hessian ride toward the gnarled, twisted tree in a torrent of blasting air, thundering hooves and swirling leaves. The Tree of the Dead opened its gaping roots to admit the horseman and his mistress. It swallowed him up as he galloped through and the roots closed again, covering all signs that he'd been there.

Only Lady Van Tassel's hand remained visible, seeming to jut out from the trunk of the tree among the roots, fingers curled. Oddly, her index finger remained eerily pointing toward him, finally curling slowly, as if beckoning him. Then it was still.

Relief overwhelmed him and he felt his muscles slowly relax. The heat began to leave his body as the night's events flashed through his mind. Discovering that Lady Van Tassel was alive and was the one behind the murders. Finding Katrina and Young Masbath in the windmill, alive and well despite his near-fatal blundering. The chase from the windmill to the Tree of the Dead. Returning the horseman's skull to him and saving Katrina in the nick of time. And finally the way Lady Van Tassel's visible hand seemed to beckon to him.

Ichabod swayed on his feet for a moment then fainted dead away.

oooOooo

The following morning Ichabod emerged from deep, peaceful sleep and slowly rolled onto his back, opening his eyes. Dawn was just beginning to break and a faint light peeked through the window of his room in the Van Tassel home. He stretched luxuriously and sighed, too deliciously relaxed and comfortable to rise just yet.

Ever since the night he'd woken out of the nightmare of his mother's death and into Katrina's arms, his sleep had been untroubled. The images now haunted him sometimes in his waking moments, stirring deep sadness and anger, but he found that he was able to cope with that. It was far better than before, when a black miasma blanketed that time of his life and he couldn't remember anything; neither how he'd lost his mother or why his father despised him.

As the first hint of bright orange streamed into the room he finally tossed off the blanket and sat up. He rose and padded over to the desk in the room. There was still much to be done here before they left for New York. The bodies of the recently deceased, including Katrina's beloved father, had to be properly buried. With every one of the town elders killed either by the Headless Horseman or in the skirmish in the church, new leaders among the villagers needed to step in and fill their places. Completion of a stack of paperwork was necessary in order to transfer all property and titles to Katrina, who was the sole heir not only to Baltus's land and wealth but to Peter Van Garrett's as well now. The village was broken and in mourning, and needed to be rebuilt and reenergized. As the remaining benefactor of the town, Katrina wanted to stay there for a short time to help.

And Ichabod had to rewrite notes about the case of the Sleepy Hollow murders in order to create a report to present to his supervisors. After erroneously concluding that Katrina was responsible for controlling the horseman and summoning him to kill, he'd thrown his ledger with all of the notes and sketches regarding the case, as well as drawings of Katrina, into the fire in despair. Everything he'd written about this case and about many cases from before had been consumed by flames.

Thank God I didn't burn the book she gave me, even if I did believe it to be nonsense, he mused.

Whether that book had any power or not, it was a gift from her and he cherished it. If he had only looked through it in the first place he would have realized that the symbols Katrina drew under his bed and in the church were meant for protection. She wasn't casting evil spells. And she'd given him that book for protection against harm, advising him to keep it close to his heart. A Compendium of Spells, Charms and Devices of the Spirit World.

The book in question lay on the desk in the room, a bullet prominently lodged in the front cover. Lady Van Tassel had flawless aim; the bullet was aimed right at his heart and would have killed him had the book not been inside his overcoat, resting against his chest and shielding him.

Ichabod lifted the book and gazed at it pensively for several minutes. Then he stirred from his daze and shook off thoughts of his mistake and what might have happened had he returned too late, or not at all. He moved toward the table, where Young Masbath had left a pitcher of water, some towels and a bowl for him, washed up and dressed, then made his way downstairs to pour himself a glass of water to drink.

Soft, uneven sobs reached his ears and he stopped, glancing back in the direction of the sitting room, where the sounds were coming from. It was the room where he'd found Katrina reading that night, the night she gave him that book, when he found out that she wasn't always wealthy.

He knocked on the door softly and pushed it open cautiously. Katrina sat on the couch by the fireplace, facing away from the door.

"Katrina?"

She turned around and he saw that her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Ichabod went to sit beside her, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulder as she quickly brought a hand up to wipe her eyes.

He put his other arm around her as she leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Did you sleep?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "Every time I close my eyes I see my father…that night in the church…" She trailed off as her words became choked and she hid her face abashedly.

Ichabod tightened his embrace and stroked her hair tenderly. He closed his eyes, bracing himself against a flood of guilt and remorse that caused his heart to hurt. Ever since they had met it was she who always comforted him, with her soft touch, sweet words and quiet, mysteriously calming presence. She'd been through a terrible ordeal and he hadn't even thought of it, so wrapped up in his own feelings and tasks had he been. How could he forget that she had witnessed her own father killed in a most gruesome manner, skewered with a fence post, pulled through a glass window and then beheaded? She'd seen it all. He of all people should have understood and had compassion. Instead he concluded that she was the one controlling the Hessian and wallowed in self-pity.

What a fool he was. How could he ever have believed her to be capable of such horrors? And how did he allow himself to forget his own belief, that truth is not always appearance?

Despite all of his talk of sense and reason, of logic, objectivity and rationality, he'd hastily jumped to a conclusion based on circumstantial evidence. It hadn't even occurred to him to dig deeper; he ought to have known better, especially after mistaking Baltus as the assassin and being hastily proven wrong. Even Young Stephen Masbath tried to talk some sense into him before he set off, intent on leaving Sleepy Hollow and its horrors behind. He reminded Ichabod of Katrina's kind and loving heart, her inherent goodness; but Ichabod turned a deaf ear to those words and scolded the boy, nearly bringing him to tears.

"I'm sorry," he murmured through his constricted throat.

How terrible it must have been for her to wake up and find that he was gone, without so much as a simple goodbye. And what a coward he showed himself to be.

"Everyone I've ever loved, who has loved me…is gone…taken so quickly…" she whispered. "That morning I watched your carriage as it pulled away…I thought you had gone too…you don't know how relieved I was to see you again…"

"Oh, Katrina." He passionately drew her tighter against him. "Please forgive me."

She pulled back and raised a tear-stained face to look at him questioningly.

He shook his head, deeply ashamed and unable to bring himself to tell her of the awful, misguided suspicions that he'd had. All he could do was silently reach over and gently wipe away her tears with his hand.

"Ichabod?" She brought a dainty hand to his face and began to caress his cheek. "It's alright. That's all behind us."

The gaze in her wide brown eyes was full of meaning and understanding. He couldn't hide anything from her, he thought as he stared wonderingly into her lovely face. She saw into his very soul and knew what he was thinking. Without any words spoken, she had already forgiven him.

He leaned down and buried his face in her hair. "You'll never get rid of me," he murmured into her ear tenderly.

"I'll never try to."

oooOooo

When they left Sleepy Hollow in mid-December it was flurrying lightly, but now, as they traveled further south through the woods, the snow fell harder, slowly covering the ground with a thick blanket of white. The wind howled as it picked up momentum and blew stronger and Van Ripper had eased the horses to a slow walk, no doubt so that they wouldn't slip and slide.

In the dark carriage Ichabod put an arm around his new wife as she shivered from the cold and held her close, attempting to warm her up. They'd been married in Sleepy Hollow. Neither of them wanted to wait until they finally reached New York City and it was heartening for Katrina to be surrounded by people she had grown up with at her wedding.

"Poor Stephen. I'm certain that he regrets sitting up front with Mr. Van Ripper," Katrina murmured, her face pressed into his shoulder.

Ichabod chuckled softly and kissed the top of her head. "No doubt."

He rested his cheek against her head and closed his eyes with a sigh, luxuriating in the feel of her soft hair against his skin. In all the years of living in New York and working as a constable, fighting a corrupt and inefficient system of justice, he never imagined that there would ever be a Mrs. Crane. Now he was married to the loveliest, sweetest woman he'd ever known and they had a young ward, who they would legally adopt as their child when they reached the city.

The coach stopped moving and both of them raised their heads, startled. He reached over and drew the curtain back from the window and looked out.

"Oh, my God!" Katrina gasped. "Look at it!"

Ichabod opened the door and stepped out. "Wait here."

It was nearly impossible to see through the billowing, swirling mass of white. Van Ripper had already climbed down from the driver's seat and was walking back to talk to him.

"A blizzard, Constable," he shouted in order to be heard over the howling wind. "I'm sorry for the delay. We can't continue on in this."

"Quite right," Ichabod answered, noting with alarm that the storm was increasing in intensity. "We need to find shelter. Is there a village nearby?"

"I'm not sure. But there ought to be an isolated farm or two."

"Very well. Take us to the closest shelter possible. What about Young Masbath?"

"He didn't dress himself warm enough," the burly driver chuckled. "Frozen into an icicle, poor boy."

"Send him back here."

Van Ripper turned around and mounted his seat and Ichabod stepped back into the coach. Moments later the door opened and a shivering, wet, ice cold Stephen Masbath climbed inside and huddled on the floor, curling up into a ball to try to warm up.

"We'll need to get you some warmer clothing," Katrina remarked gently, placing an affectionate hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Yes, Ma'am," he answered through chattering teeth.

As the carriage slowly pulled off, Ichabod removed his overcoat and put it around Stephen's shoulders, then coaxed him to sit on the seat between him and Katrina.