Disclaimer: I do not own Sleepy Hollow. The film Sleepy Hollow was made by Tim Burton who adapted it from Washington Irving's short story The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Warning: Slash, Mpreg

Author's Note: I wrote this story in response to a challenge on The Mpreg Archive,in which the story must contain either Ichabod/Brom or Ichabod/The Horseman and must have the element of mpreg. I chose Ichabod/Horseman. It's clear to see that there is mpreg in this story so if you want to, turn back now.

Chapter 1: The Illness

Constable Ichabod Crane couldn't remember the last time he had felt this miserable. His head was pounding, the room seemed to be spinning, and he simply couldn't keep anything down, which was the reason for his current position; kneeling on his hands and knees on the floor, bent over the chamber pot in the corner of his guest room at the Van Tassel household and heaving the contents of his stomach into said pot. His stomach began to ache with the force of his vomiting. He felt as if he were going to spill out his intestines. He gasped and panted as his vomiting finally ceased.

Slumping over to rest his back on the far wall, Ichabod tried to gather his thoughts. He had been like this for weeks now and he just couldn't understand what was wrong with him. He felt tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

Wonderful, he thought bitterly as he whipped fiercely at the tears in his eyes. Now I'm crying like some child! What on Earth is wrong with me?

If he remembered correctly, this all started not long after that unusually warm summer night.

Ichabod sighed as he walked further and further down the beaten path around Sleepy Hollow. It was late, well passed midnight. The moon was out and shinning with enough intensity that it could rival the sun itself. The stars specked the night sky like grains of dust on a piece of black velvet cloth. Yet despite the late hour it was still incredibly hot. It came to the point that Ichabod found himself unable to sleep. He had opened the window of his guest room, hoping for even the slightest of breezes to come and cool him, but there was none. He recalled one of the locals talking about a near by lake, and in his tired, desperate state, he decided to go for a late night swim. Unfortunately, he was too tired to remember where it was or if he was even going the right way.

He frowned as he realized that he had wandered away from the path and into the woods. He began to wonder why he had even agreed to accompany Katrina to this miserable town for the summer. He'd rather be back in New York, among the paved roads and tall buildings. He had better things to do, work to catch up on, cases to solve! And yet he was here, and in his heart he knew why: Katrina.

He'd always believed in logic and reason, and yet he had walked blindly into this relationship without giving it so much as a second thought. Everything had been so spontaneous and happened too fast for the constable. Before he knew it, the sparks that had once been flying about like wild where all but gone, and the two had begun to drift apart. He knew that if he didn't accompany her here, he would run the risk of losing her.

Then again, that may not be too bad a thing. After all, if he was already losing interest in Katrina, then maybe this relationship simply wasn't meant to last.

His thoughts were interrupted when he realized that he had reached his destination. He was so incredibly grateful to see the clear blue water sparkling in the moonlight, that he all but forgot about his troubles with Katrina. Kneeling down in front of the lake he reached in to take a sip. He gasped in surprise as he felt the cold water on his skin. Cupping his hands, he took a few healthy gulps of the refreshing water. It took all the self-control he had to keep from sticking his head in the water and draining the lake.

He unbuttoned his vest and laid it neatly on the ground beside him. Ichabod was about to remove his shirt when he suddenly felt as if a pair of eyes were watching him intently. He shuddered as he heard the sound of hoof beats in the distance. Ichabod spun around quickly, his eye darting around the dark forest. His already white skin paled even further (if it were even possible) and his whole body began to tremble in fear.

There in front of him stood the frightening figure of the Headless Horseman, or rather, once Headless. Despite the return of his skull to his body, the Hessian didn't seem to lose any of his fearsome demeanor. He sat perched on top of his equally frightening stead, Daredevil. His bulky frame was clad in his usual black armor. His dark hair was tousled about wildly on top of his had and his pale white skin was glowing in the moonlight. His sharpened teeth were bared in a slight smile and his eyes were dark with what appeared to be something akin to lust.

Oh God! Ichabod thought frantically. Please, please let me be wrong about that!

His mind in a panic, Ichabod clutched his open shirt closely to his pale, white chest like a distressed maiden protecting her modesty. He tried desperately to work his mouth and think of something to say, but he regretfully came up empty handed.

The Hessian dismounted from his fierce some ride with a thud and Ichabod found himself instantly scrambling backwards in fear. His hand slipped and fell into the cold lake water. He felt the cold water engulf his forearm and gasped as it splashed on his shirt, causing the fabric of his shirt to cling to his chest. The Hessian let out a deep, rich chuckle as he took a few steps closer to the frightened mortal.

"Now see here," Ichabod managed to say at last. He tried his hardest to steady his voice, but it still came out frantic and small. "If... if you recall, I did help you not too long ago! Y-you owe me a debt of gratitude, if nothing elseā€¦"

He squirmed in fear as his words seemed to have no effect at all on the dead man before him.

The Hessian reached a gloved hand down and grabbed the inspector by the wrist, pulling him to his feet and out of the cold water.

"No!" Ichabod gasped. He felt himself break into a cold sweat as he got a clear image of what it was the Horseman was planning to do with him. "Please don't!"

He shuddered in fright as the ghost pressed him closer to his strong, broad chest. His knees buckled and his body felt like a limp piece of string. A gloved hand wrapped around his waist as the other cupped his chin. Before he knew it, his lips were being crushed in a fierce kiss. His head swam as the world around him faded into black.

Ichabod had no memory of the rest of that night. When he had awoken the next morning, he was back in his own bed. He had tried desperately to convince himself that it was nothing more then a dream, but the pain in his rear and a few kiss marks across his body were clear indications that it was all very real.

Ichabod took a few shaky breaths, trying his best to calm himself. Squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, he tried to will his head to stop pounding and the room to stop spinning.

A light knock on the door pulled him back to the present and told him that he was late for breakfast.

"Master Crane, sir?" came the muffled voice of one of the servant girls of the Van Tassel home from the other side of the door. "Miss Katrina would like to know if you will be joining her for breakfast."

"Yes, I'll be down in a moment," he said. Ichabod didn't feel very hungry. In fact the very idea of food at the moment was making him ill, but he knew he had to eat something. He had been vomiting all morning and his stomach was completely empty. Further more, he didn't want to worry Katrina.

Ichabod quickly dressed himself and hurried down stairs to meet with Katrina. When he arrived in the dinning room he was greeted by the worried stares of Katrina Van Tassel and young Masbath. He knew he didn't feel well, but he didn't think his appearance was that awful.

His hair was more hap hazardous then usual, and his constant bouts of illness had helped him to shed a few unnecessary pounds. He had been getting extremely tired during the day as well. He seemed to have no energy at all and had large bags under his eyes because of his tired mind set. Ichabod wondered if it was possible to be pale and flushed at the same time, because that was how he felt. On second thought, perhaps he did look that awful.

"Sir," Masbath started to say, but seemed to be at a loss for words. However, the look on his face spoke volumes.

"Ichabod," Katrina said, her voice dripping with concern, "you look awful."

Ichabod smiled wearily as he sat down across from her. "I must admit, I don't feel quite like myself."

"Perhaps you should go see a doctor, sir," Masbath offered, unable to take his eyes off the older man's diminishing figure.

"He's right Ichabod," Katrina said as the servants placed the bowls of oatmeal down in front of them. "You're not helping anyone, especially yourself, by doing nothing."

Ichabod frowned down at the steamy contents of the bowl in front of him. Usually, he'd be more then happy to eat oatmeal, it being one of his favorite foods to eat in the morning, but this morning his stomach wasn't feeling up to eating anything at all. Dipping his spoon in the bowl, he scooped up some and held it to his lips. His stomach lurched and a wave of nausea over took him. He instantly dropped the spoon and hurried out of the dinning hall before he could continue to make a fool of himself.

Yes, a doctor's visit would be very appropriate.