Work Text:
Abbie could have kicked herself for not thinking about this sooner. She supposed it was understandable, given there was a headless horseman of the apocalypse in redcoat gear murdering people in town…but after seeing the sign in the drugstore window, it hit her once again just how different a world Ichabod Crane was from. She pulled over and regarded him thoughtfully.
“Lieutenant?” he said, sensing her concern. “Is there something wrong?”
“Crane,” she began, wondering how to ask this. Would he even understand the terminology? “Did they have vaccines where you came from? Injections to prevent disease?”
He looked slightly miffed, as if she was insinuating the time period he’d lived in was primitive. “I am familiar with the process of variolation, yes, for the prevention of smallpox,” Crane replied. “Why do you ask?”
“But there were no other vaccines then? Nothing for measles, whooping cough, tetanus, that sort of thing?”
His eyes widened in awe. “Preventative measures for these ailments exist now?”
That decided her. “Change of plans,” she announced. “Instead of researching supernatural incidents in 19th century Sleepy Hollow this morning, you’re going to see a doctor.”
“I saw a doctor when I first arrived,” he said. “At the ‘institution’, as you called it, when my mental state was being evaluated.”
“Yes, but that was to make sure you didn’t have a concussion and that you weren’t drunk or high on drugs, not to check if you were incubating some kind of nasty infection or if you were carrying something that people in the 21st century have never been exposed to,” she explained. This led Abbie to another thought, one she didn’t voice out loud. Sanitation back in the 1700’s was nowhere as good as it was today; hadn’t internal parasites once been very common? She shuddered. //Maybe that’s why Crane is so damn skinny.// “Once we get to the station, I’ll have Irving call someone who’s worked with the police before…we can tell them you were in the tropics or something, and you need updated shots because you might have been exposed to contaminated water.”
Crane didn’t look happy at first, but after hearing more about the wonders of modern medicine he was more agreeable…it was similar to how he’d behaved when he’d been introduced to other modern conveniences such as toothpaste, toilet paper, and deodorant. He was pleased to learn that many of the scourges of his time had been eradicated, or nearly so, and he said that Katrina would be thrilled if she knew about other innovations like anesthetics and antibiotics. So he willingly submitted to the exam by the doctor (after shooing Abbie and Captain Irving out when he saw the short, backless gown he was required to wear during it).
About 20 minutes later the doctor stepped out, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that man never had a full course of childhood immunizations,” he said. “And that scar on his chest…you say he’s a history professor? Where did he teach, in some kind of war zone?”
“Professor Crane’s traveled all over the world,” Abbie said casually. “Some of the places weren’t very safe.”
The doctor eyeballed her. “I can see that,” he replied. “He’ll need some boosters in a few weeks…and make sure he takes the medicine I left with him. Given what he’s been exposed to, he probably has a whole ecosystem swimming around in his intestines.”
Abbie tried not to make a face. Irving just looked disgusted, turning to her. “Make sure he takes it,” he proclaimed, before heading back to his office.
When Crane emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed, he had such a sour look on his face that Abbie had to force back a chuckle. “How did it go?” she asked.
“That foul concoction he insisted I drink tasted horrible,” he complained, resting a hand on his stomach. “Plus I may never sit down again…was it absolutely necessary to receive so many injections in such a small area?”
Abbie shrugged. //Well, if you weren’t so damn skinny…// “He’s the doctor.”
“And I’m the pincushion, or so it seems.” He winced as he shuffled past her; it was obvious where the doctor had given the vaccines.
“We all have to get shots, Crane. Even little kids,” she explained, falling into step alongside him. “That’s when most of us get them, when we’re very young. But you didn’t, so now you need to get caught up. We can’t have you coming to the future to save the world just to come down with diphtheria or polio.” She shook her head. For a man who’d had an ax in his chest, he was being a bit over-dramatic about a couple of shots in the butt. She smiled, giving in to the urge to tease him a little. “Don’t tell me a Revolutionary War hero is complaining about some injections that most people get as children.”
He stared at her for a moment, then snorted. “Tell me, Miss Mills,” he said, resuming his slow, painful walk down the hall. “Is there anything else you have to tell me about modern medicine that could make this day any less enjoyable, or me any more uncomfortable?”
Her expression was utterly and completely angelic. “You’ll need booster shots in a few weeks.”