Ichabod speaks the Truth

[jagger]

Ichabod pulled his truck in the drive - a massive Chevrolet, built to haul and fully customized with various panels, compartments, and a sliding bed - and keyed the engine off, sitting in the cab for a full minute. He counted the seconds, breathing quietly as he willed himself to swallow his pride and approach the ranch house.

Though the house was brightly lit - the sun was shining, birds were chirping, it was the average day in paradise - it seemed formidable. The steps loomed before him under a dark cloud of doom and gloom. His heart thudded ominously in his ears.
Time to face the music.

A heavy sigh, and he removed himself from the truck and trudged begrudgingly up to the steps, mirrored sunglasses firmly in place. Glancing down at his t-shirt and jeans, he grimaced, flicking crumbs off himself before ringing the doorbell. No need to give Domi any more ammo than the shewitch already had.

The doorbell clanged off the walls repetitiously and the sulky Ichabod stared at his feet. He didn't want to be here; but truth be told, he needed the job - and to be even more honest, he couldn't stand being sent on shit errands for the current vet. Put gas in the truck? Seriously? He didn't stand well for being an assistant, either. He liked to be in charge. Thus why he and Domi did both so simultaneously well and horrible together. After a moment of no answer, he popped the screen open; propping it on his hip to beat on the door incessantly. He knew she was here. She always knocked off early on Fridays; he knew the routine by now. She was probably sprucing up and pretending to be human. Or sucking the life out of some pathetic boy she had found, seduced, and spun in her web of silk to drag home and feast on later.

"Domeena! Company!"

[rain]

The roll of tires was quite distinguishable and had caught the female's attention before it ever pulled to a stop and she peered out of the second story window with a pensive expression. Who the hell was this and why the hell were they here? She didn't have any appointments scheduled, she specifically blocked off her Friday afternoons. It was HER time and no one else's. But apparently this current Friday was not one she had any control over (something she detested - lack of control.) Not even knowing who it was that encroached on her territory, she was already in a pissy mood as a result of their intrusion. She had just finished a long, hot bath complete with lavender bath salts, lit candles, and her favorite Ottmar Leibert album. While she wasn't a flamenco enthusiast, the mood for latin guitar always hit her now and then.

Having just toweled off, she wrinkled her nose as she heard the chime of her organ'esque doorbell and snatched up her kimono robe. Jake, her newly adopted Heeler mix, took off down the stairs in a raucous bark brigade, as if she weren't aware someone was at the door. She did nothing to silence him, let the boy bark. She took her time wrapping the kimono around herself, overly concerned with the knot she tied to keep it all in place. Long draping sleeves slipped down to her elbows as she lifted her damp hair up and wrapped it into a bun, grabbing the nearest writing pen and stabbing it through to secure it. A few strands fell away to frame her face, but they went unnoticed. Satisfied she was at least presentable enough to eat someone's face, she padded down the stairs quietly. Bare feet silently crossed the solid wood floors as she made her way to the now pounded-on door. With each 'thud,' her scowl deepened. This guy had some nerve. Just as she reached for the handle, an all-too-familiar voice rang through the heavy maple door and she froze, feeling the color wash from her face. HIM. It was unimaginable, unforgettable...and at this point, unavoidable.

The feeling in her chest was one of many mixed into an atrocious emotional cocktail. She didn't care to distinguish what each one was, so she swallowed hard and rolled her lips inward, a habit she had when in a negative mood. Long fingers gripped the handle and turned it slowly, as a child would when facing the monster in the closet. Once the latch was clear of the doorway, she forced herself to swing it open fully and then leaned against the frame with an unenthusiastic look on her face.

"I get it, I inhaled too much lavender and now I'm having a bad trip, right?"

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[jagger]

"Hiiiii Honey!" He cried in mock enthusiasm, hands coming up to clasp each other; thumbs brought to his mouth as he blinked rapidly with blue eyes wide. "Oh it's been so long, it was almost as though you were avoiding me." He chuckled sarcastically, placing one fist on his hip and wagging a finger at her. "Ohhh, youuuu.." He turned sideways and slipped in the door to stand in the foray, hands on his hips as he gazed at her house with unabashed curiosity.

"We're looking rather Asian today darling." He pointed out dryly as he glanced over her outfit, inhaling the wafting scent of lavender as it drifted from her still damp figure. Lifting one naturally sculpted eyebrow - that Indian blood, man, it gave you some fine features to work with - he wrinkled his nose, gaze scanning her blatantly from head to foot. "I'm not so sure I like you in lavender, though. Anyway, I always pinned you as more of a Decaying Flesh sort of stench. Perhaps Satan de Toilette." Wandering through to the next room, he dropped to stoop before the red dog and ruffle his coat fondly, scratching the dog's belly when it was presented with a delighted little smirk back at Domi. That was the beauty of working breeds. Rarely aggressive; just loud and liked to herd things.

Standing to continue his self-appointed tour of her domain, he swept into the living area, pausing to pick up a framed photo on the nearest end-table. Sitting back on his heels, Ichabod chuckled throatily. "So, rumor has it you're the head honchette in Bar B's Training program.. Interesting." He replaced the picture, sitting on the back of her sofa and kicking himself over to land on his back on the cushions, patting the seat next to him to encourage Jake to jump up with him, scratching the dog's chest when he made himself comfortable.

[rain]

The grimace on her face only worsened, for his faux-enthusiasm left nothing more than a nauseous feeling in her stomach. The man was a dramatic genius, she had to give him that. If she had an Oscar lying around, she'd be more than willing to give it to him. Face first. As his mood was clearly that of Broadway stagehand, she shifted her glum expression to that of sarcastic enjoyment as he allowed himself into her home. She briefly caught the same whiff of bleach and day-old aftershave, wrinkling her nose at the combination. "You're the Dr. Kevorkian of the animal world, I believe the 'o'de necrosis' you remember is the one you brought home and rubbed all over me." Fixated, having only spun around in her stance as he so comfortably let himself into her new home, she flicked the door shut by fingertip and let it slam into place.

Watching as Jake made a new pal out of her disowned ex-partner, she inwardly growled at the mutt. 'Traitor,' rang loud and clear behind her forehead, but she made no verbalization of her disapproval. Dogs will be dogs. Hands now on her hips in a defiant gesture, she made the short distance between them shorter as she approached the dark leather couch the pair were now sharing in complete comradery. She stood, hands braced on her pelvis as she eyed Ichabod long and hard after his final statement. The tension was palapable as she weighed his words heavily. She drew in a breath, slowly, through her nostrils. Vibrant green eyes flashed upon him as she formed her words in a precise manner. "Interesting. You show up out of nowhere on my doorstep after I took my turn to disappear. That is what is interesting."

Padding around to the navajo-themed chair across the sofa, she settled on the ottoman and leaned against the arm of the plush chair behind her. She hooked a leg over her knee, exposing her tanning skin up to her thighs as she folded her arms over her chest. "And because you start topic on my job, I assume you want money?" Why else could he possibly be here? Unless he were truely out of his mind and he just enjoyed tormenting her, which was also a distinct possibility. At one time, in her younger, naive days, she found that peculiar personality of his to be refreshing and quite charming in his persistent, stalker-ish way. Now, after years of understanding, it was something else entirely.

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[jagger]

Mouth clamped shut as Jake kissed his face, Ichabod rough-housed with the dog before finally uprighting himself to sit correctly on the couch, flopping back against the cushions and picking up her television remote. Propping boots - less than clean boots - up on her coffee table, he flicked on the set and paged through channels at random.

"Don't kid yourself Domi, you enjoyed having me rub all over you." He interjected after her first statement, feeling her gaze bore into the back of his head and in turn remaining completely oblivious to it. After years of her scathing humor he had learned to find the silver lining in pretty near every statement issued. It was a talent. More than a talent - it was a hobby. He enjoyed pissing her off, too; that had never really helped their relationship, as win-some lose-some as it was.

"No, interesting is discovering you'd stolen my wallet and left me for dead handcuffed to a bed in a sleezy hotel room - this? this is amusing. And a coincidence." He laughed outright, slapping his hands against his knees for emphasis. "Do you think I follow you? Don't flatter yourself." Jake lunged away from the sound of skin-on-jeans and Ichabod shrugged, leveling his gaze at the now cowering dog as he made his way to his own round little bed Domi had been kind enough to provide.

Craning his neck to peer at Domi as she pussyfooted to perch on the chair arm, his eyes drank in the exposed skin, peering - nearly leering - at his ex-wife with an unashamed and definitely unhidden appreciation. Why hide it? They both knew the physical attraction was still there, it was just that emotionally - mentally - they hated each other. That love hate thing. Or was that lust hate? Eyes flicking to her face after a moment of silence, he rolled his eyes. Money? How unoriginal.

"Ahhhhnnnttt! Wrong answer." He rocked forward to prop elbows on his knees, chin on one palm as he suddenly changed demeanor. He was never joking when it came to business; which was what this was - business. Or rather, him grovelling at her feet to ask for a job.. which he hated to admit, but he was running out of desirable options, and anything was better than staying where he was. He'd been there over a week and they'd gotten one damn client - a Thoroughbred with a sprained ankle and a terminal case of Terrible Name. Boo. Freaking. Hoo. "Actually love, I need a job." He stared at her, blank faced. Balls in her court.

[rain]

Ichabod's humor actually stirred her own as he regailed their last association. Her laughter erruped at his definition of 'interesting,' her jovial voice echo'ing off the vaulted ceilings as she truely enjoyed reliving that memory. "Yeah... that was our best anniversary, EVER! Nothing like having your husband suggest a drunken binge at the truck-stop motel. 'Oh, and let's get a hooker, honey!' Yep, that had the makings of a GREAT night."] Leaning back into the seat of the chair now, head propped up sharply against the back with her chin tucked to her chest, she passively adjusted the robe as to keep herself (mostly) covered, then rested her hands over her stomach with fingers intertwined.

As her laughter had subsided, Jake made his way to his momma, taking the liberty of hopping up into the chair and curling into the empty space where her head wasn't resting. Catching a musky whiff of him, Domi sat up and cast a disgusted glance at her four-legged partner in crime. "I'm not the only one who needs a bath today..." This was her ignoring Ichabod now as he took his time drinking her in. Sure, the sexual strain was still evident, but she certainly wasn't going to fan the flames. No matter how good bleach and day-old aftershave smelled to her, or the occasional scent of sodium pentobarbitol, she knew better than to succumb to the emotion coupled with the scent recognition. For today.

It was his admission of needing work that snapped her attention back to Ichabod, eyes flashing in a triumphant manner. Sure, he didn't need a loan, but he still needed money. Work = money. And in all actuality, the taste of him beneath her...working...beneath her, was far too scrumptious to ignore. She was speechless for a moment, brain racked with thoughts of abusing power and being the worst boss he'd ever encountered. But, then again, he'd experienced that - he married her. Sniffing softly to break the silence, as well as her excitement at the chance to essentially own him all over again, she leaned against the arm this time in deep thought. She only had one horse on site right now, but more would be in soon enough. So, with a slow sigh, she eyed him precariously. "What's your price?"

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[jagger]

He snickered as she recalled that night in more vivid detail - yes, he'd suggested it; but no, he hadn't been serious. He wasn't that stupid. He had suggested the drunken binge seriously; which Domi had participated in - though he failed to mention that part. What an embarrassing morning when Housekeeping came to straighten the room and found him passed out, nude and stuck.

Staring at her until she finally spoke in regards to his intentions, he rubbed a thumb against his nose, standing to pace slightly, hands shoved in his faded jean pockets. "Not much. Two stalls in your barn; and the guest house out back." Yes, he'd already scoped her place and done his share of snooping. Not skipping a beat, he continued before she had time to interject. "And $200 a week gets you anything you want.. if you need medications we split the bill fifty-fifty, all materials or tools are mine to buy and mine to keep if I --" He paused and corrected himself "-- when I go. You don't even need to pay me until you've got a program off the ground.. I can last 6 months on savings alone. I can't last without working, though. You know me." It was more than fair - it was a damn good deal for both of them.

He paused from his pacing to stride over to her, sitting on the edge of the coffee table with his elbows on his knees, cocked forward to stare at her urgently - almost pleadingly - absently snatching up her slender ankle to rub the ball of her foot with one large thumb. His gaze never dipped from her face; however. He was behaving himself.. mostly. "You know I wouldn't ask if my current situation was livable. My apartment is always noisy and I swear I have a hooker next door. I'm a fucking vet assistant. This. Is. My Own. Personal. Hell." He closed both warm, large hands over her foot, sighing before releasing the contact as he swallowed a large lump of patheticness. His distaste at grovelling was surfacing -- but he was making progress. Soon he'd have to start breaking out the pet-names.. nothing overly ridiculous like Pookie or Muffin, but the occasional term of endearment in that sweet valley dialect of his couldn't hurt.

[rain]

Her icy demeanor began to melt once he took up a pace around her living room, listening to his heels echo around the room. That was something genuine, he only paced when he was in a predicament. Even if he had the whole plan in line, the cause behind it always set him in motion. She listened quietly, not at all surprised to hear her property had been well cased ahead of time. He was thorough, she couldn't fault him for that. Though at times, he could be TOO thorough.

The stalls she could spare, the guest house had yet to be claimed, so in all actuality it was up for grabs. It had been earmarked for an on-site stable hand when things picked up, and she couldn't do without one of those. So, she weighed her options as she chewed on this inside of her cheek. Distracted by thought, it wasn't until he was seating in front of her (on her antique coffee table, but that was a detail) and had her foot in his palms that she met his intimately close gaze. Her gaze bore into him with the same intensity he threw back at her, and as he pleaded his case, the soft side of Domi Taylor (ex. Birmington) was beginning to surface. She was well aware he had a way of manipulating people, he was far too charismatic for his own good. Or anyone else's, for that matter. However she could also sense something real about his cry for help.

As much as she enjoyed watching him squirm in his own skin, Domi could only chuckle lightly under her breath, having seen and heard quite enough. It wasn't the first time she'd be lending him a hand, nor would it be the last. And for some reason, she knew the favor would always be returned by him. They had been each other's safety nets for far too long, come hell or high water. Now if only they could have gotten past their stubborn ego's, there might have been a real, lasting chemistry that was doable for marriage. But their personalities were far too caustic to allow it, and they had to settle for the unique predicament they were permanently entangled in. One couldn't go far from the other, it was their Law of Physics, in a sense. Pushing to her feet, she adjusted the robe appropriately as she began her own striding pace around the front of the living room, rubbing her chin in mock thought. The silence was palpable, and she preferred it that way.

Finally, she spoke up, stopping at the rear of the chair she had been lying in and folding her arms along its back. Leaning over and onto her elbows, ignoring the straight shot view down her front as she did so, she eyed him with a brow piqued just slightly. The scenery she gave him was nothing he hadn't seen already, and was part of her own tool of persuasion. "$200 a week gets me anything I want, just as you said, and I want an on-site stable hand in that guest house. When things pick up, I can't do my job when I'm mucking stalls and tossing grain. If you can handle menial barn chores, you get the weekly pay, two stalls, and the guest house. Electricity, cable and water are included, but you stay the hell outta my fridge. You've got your own." Shifting her weight to lean harder on her right arm, she brought her left palm up and under her chin, staring him down from over the chair as she gave him a moment to chew on it. "Take it or leave it, love."

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[jagger]

Ichabod watched her consider it, knowing damn well as soon as the proposal was out of his mouth that she'd taken him up on it and just needed to tell herself that - though her answer was expected, he still waited for it with bated breath. He even batted his eyes for dramatic effect, tilting his head and plastering that "Love me, I'm Helpless." look on his narrow face - the same look he had used so many times before in so many arguments they had had in the past. Arguments that, he recalled with a slightly smug look, had usually ended with make-up sex. Lots of it, usually dirty, and always good.

He sat back as she stood, removing himself from her surprisingly comfortable petrified coffee table and back to the couch with long legs stretched before him, a satisfied look on his face as he surveyed her appreciatively. His grin widened as she leaned over the back of the chair, drinking in the view as the front of her robe gapped.. he knew he liked those oriental clothing companies for a reason. This was that reason. Snapping his attention back to her as she spoke, he grinned, leaping to his feet.

"Deal!" Ichabod lunged onto the chair to scoop her up in a rag-doll bear hug, squashing her against his chest and dancing a miniature jig before crushing her mouth in a warm kiss. Remembering himself briefly, he dropped her onto the overstuffed arm chair and leapt away, nodding his agreement to her terms. "Of course, of course.. I'll only be in your fridge when we sleep through breakfast." He chuckled and dodged away from her impending kick, smack, or otherwise intention to cause him bodily harm, clattering toward the foyer with a cat-that-ate-the-canary sort of grin. See Ichabod. See Ichabod Run.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you; I don't care what God says about you, you're a stand-up guy, Satan. I mean that." His tone was teasing and the joke less than endearing, but the relief in his features was evident and it would take a blind man to miss the beaming happiness he exuded. Half-bowing at her as he propped her door open, he was out on the porch before he paused to flick his head back in. "Psst. Dog."

At his hiss, the little heeler mix flipped both ears forward and shot to his feet, staring expectantly at Ichabod. Outside meant, of course, animals - and animals meant heeling - and heeling meant work.. which is what his breed was meant to do. "C'mon." He motioned to the door and watched with a cheerful grin as the mutt glanced hesitantly at Domi before tearing toward the door and out, bounding out and onto the lawn in playful leaps.

"Don't start. I'll have him back by dark." He waved a hand at Domi before she could protest, shutting the door and thumping down the stairs to follow the dog to his truck. He was beginning to miss the company of a dog; and while he intended to adopt his own and quit kidnapping Domi's, a car rider or two wouldn't hurt the red pup much. Turning to walk backward down the driveway, he waved cheerfully at the window where he was sure Domi was watching, pulling the passenger door open to allow Jake to jump in before circling to climb into the driver's seat. He'd be back in awhile with his stuff - and his horse - to begin life anew.